Into the thinking kingdoms - Alan Dean Foster [127]
By evening they had descended from alpine hardwood forest to slopes thick with dogwood and bottlebrush, oak and elm. The ground was bare of snow, and flowers once more brightened the earth between trees and bracken. As Ehomba finally lowered the flute from his lips, the last dozen snowflakes trickled down from above. Concluding a miniature ballet in twinkling white, they corkscrewed around one another down past the herdsman’s face, and paused in the fragile grip of a passing breeze to bow solemnly in his direction. Then, one by one, they struck the warm, rich soil and melted away into oblivion, leaving behind only tiny snowflake ghosts that each took the form of half a second’s lingering moisture.
A solicitous Simna promptly came forward to peer into his friend’s face. “How are you, bruther? How do you feel?”
“Myph—mimith . . .” Reaching around back, the herdsman took a long, slow draught from his water bag. After wetting his lips, he smacked them together several times before trying one more time to form a reply.
“My mouth is—sore. But otherwise I am all right, Simna. Thank you for inquiring. I am also very hungry.”
“We’re all hungry.” Looking around, the swordsman located the black litah. The big cat was scratching itself against an obliging tree and purring like an old waterwheel. “Hoy, kitty! What say me and thee go and kill something worth chewing?”
Before Ahlitah could reply, Hunkapa Aub was standing in front of Simna and waving his arms excitedly. “No kill, no hunt!”
“By Gomepoth, why not? Maybe you’re not hungry, fur face, but me and my friends are starving. All that walking and fighting that cold has left us as empty as a triplet of grog buckets on a forty-year-old’s first wedding night.”
“No need.” Taking the protesting swordsman by the arm, their guide dragged him forward. Though the muscular, well-conditioned Simna did his best to resist, it was like trying to brake a runaway mountain.
Hunkapa halted at the edge of an unseen, unsuspected overlook. Once he was exposed to the splendid panorama that was spread out before him, Simna stopped struggling. They were quickly joined by Ehomba and Ahlitah.
Below and beyond the last foothills of the northern Hrugars, lush farmland dotted with numerous towns and small rivers spread out before them. The revealed countryside resembled a landlocked river delta. Hundreds of canals linked the natural waterways, from which the setting sun skipped layers of pink and gold and purple. Several larger communities were big enough to qualify as small cities.
In the far distance, just visible as a sparkling thread of silver below the sky, was the majestic main river into which every canal and stream and waterway between the Hrugars and the horizon flowed. Hunkapa Aub pointed and gesticulated exuberantly.
“See, see! Great river Eynharrowk.” His trunk of an arm shifted slightly to the west. “Cannot see from here, but over there, that way, on the great river, is Hamacassar.”
“At last.” Utterly worn out, Simna sank to the ground as his legs gave way beneath him.
“We are not there yet.” Tired as he was, Ehomba chose to remain standing, perhaps the better to drink in the view that was as full of promise as it was of beauty. “And do not forget that Hamacassar is only a possible waypoint, a place for us to look for a ship with captain and crew brave enough to dare a crossing of the Semordria.”
A pleading expression on his grime-flocked face, Simna ibn Sind looked up at his companion. “Please, Etjole—can’t we delight in even one moment of pleasure at having lived through this past week? Will you never allow yourself to relax, not even for an instant?”
“When I am again home with my family, friend Simna, then I will relax.” He smiled. “Until then, I anoint you in my stead. You are hereby authorized to relax for me.”
Nodding understandingly, the swordsman spread both arms wide and fell back flat on the ground. “I accept the responsibility.”
Still smiling,