Into the thinking kingdoms - Alan Dean Foster [51]
“I can believe that.” Coubert turned back to Ehomba. “And you, my tall friend? How are disputations settled in your country?”
“The Naumkib are too small and too few to enjoy the luxury of infighting. We are too busy surviving to waste time and energy on individual quarrels.”
“Yet despite this claimed pacificity you carry not one but three large and unusual weapons,” the observant sheepherder pointed out sagely.
“It was thought I should be as well equipped as possible for this journey. Not every creature, much less every human, that one meets in strange lands is ready or willing to sit down and peacefully work out disagreements.”
“Hoy, you can say that again! Especially the ones that want to eat you.” Simna started to curl his legs up on the chair beneath his backside, then thought better of it. Not that he was shy, but his feet had not been washed in days, and though he would never admit to it, he was slightly intimidated by the unexpected tidiness of their surroundings.
“Whither are you bound, then?” their host inquired. “To which of the Thinking Kingdoms?” Reflected firelight danced in his pale green eyes.
“To none of them, based on what you have told us.” Ehomba felt himself growing sleepy. It had been a long day’s march, the welcoming warmth of the fire was seeping inexorably into his tired muscles, and the plushness of the couch on which his lanky frame reposed was intoxicating. “We have to cross the Semordria, and to do that we have learned that we must go to Hamacassar to find a ship.”
“Hamacassar!” For the first time since their arrival, the little man looked startled. “So far! And yet just a prelude to a greater journey still. I am impressed. You are great travelers.”
“You bet your chin hairs we are.” Simna nodded in the herdsman’s direction. “And my friend there, he’s a grand and powerful wizard. He claims to be doing this only to help some lady, but I know he’s really after a great treasure.” Looking smug, the swordsman crossed his arms over his chest and compromised with his legs by laying them across a small serving table.
The sheepherder nodded slowly as he digested this information before turning back to Ehomba. “Is what your friend says true? Are you a wizard?”
“Not only not a wizard,” the southerner protested, “but not grand or powerful, either. I was well prepared for this journey by the good people of my village, that is all.” He threw Simna a dirty look, but the swordsman ignored him. “Some people get an idea into their heads and no matter what you do, you cannot get it away from them. They bury it as deeply as a dog does a favorite bit of offal.”
“Oh, don’t I know that!” Puffing on his pipe, Lamidy Coubert chuckled under his breath. “A person’s mind is a hard thing to change, it is. Living up here by myself like this, I’m often the butt of jokes from the people of Cailase village, where I buy those things I can’t make myself. Or I am looked upon with suspicion and uncertainty by those few visitors who do manage to make it this far into the mountains.” He manifested a kindly grin. “But after they meet me, their concerns usually disappear quite rapidly. I’m not what even the most fearful would call a threatening figure.” He gestured with one hand at the surrounding room.
“As you can see, I don’t even keep any weapons here.”
Ehomba nodded, then eyed the old man with interest. “Where I live there are many predators. They are very fond of sheep as well as cattle. We have to watch over our herds every minute, or the meat-eaters would take the chance to snatch a lamb or calf. So we need our weapons. You have no predators here?”
“Oh yes, of course. Dire wolves and pumas, small smilodons and the occasional hungry griffin. But Roileé generally keeps them off, and if they’re persistent, whether out of deep hunger or ignorance or real stubbornness, I can usually make enough noise and fuss to drive them away.”
“That