Into the thinking kingdoms - Alan Dean Foster [58]
“He spoke accurately.” She turned her head up to him but did not move away from his hand. “Lamidy is a learned man, but there are many in the towns and cities to the north who could put his erudition to shame. Not all of them are kind and decent,” she warned the herdsman. “You may have to match wits with more than one. I have looked inside your mind, but only a little. I don’t know if you’re up to it.”
“I will manage.” He spoke reassuringly if not with complete confidence. “I have always managed. Learning does not frighten me.”
“That’s good. What of your companions?”
Ehomba eyed his sleeping fellow travelers. “The litah is smarter than anyone thinks but prefers not to show it. No one will expect anything more scholarly from a big cat than a roar or loud meow anyway. As for Simna ibn Sind, his smarts are of a kind not to be found in books and scrolls, and a valuable complement to my own poor insight in such areas.”
The she-dog sniffed. “I don’t know if that will be enough to get you safely through places like Melespra or Phan. When you are uncertain, look to the night sky, to the left of the moon. There is a certain star there that may help to guide you safely through moments of uncertainty.”
“What star is that?”
“The dog star, of course,” she told him. “It is there if you need it, for serious travelers to follow. That is all I can do for you.”
Ehomba nodded appreciatively. “It will have to be enough.” Rising, he yawned sleepily. “The dream was as tiring as it was interesting. I think I had better get some rest, or tomorrow my friends will lecture me endlessly on my neglect. You must be tired, too.”
The witch dog stretched first her front end, then her rear, and also yawned, her tongue quivering with the effort. “Yes. Magic is always exhausting.”
“As must be herding lightning,” he reminded her as he sought somehow to compact his lanky frame enough for the couch to accommodate it.
“No.” Head snuggled up against tail, she curled up in front of the fire. “That was fun.”
* * *
In the morning Coubert made breakfast for them, providing eggs and lamb chops and bread, along with a complete haunch of mutton for the grudgingly grateful Ahlitah. When Ehomba protested at this largesse, the sheepherder only smiled.
“I have plenty of food. It must be something in these mountains. The air, or the water, or the forage, but my sheep do better than anyone else’s. They grow fatter, and produce thicker wool, and drop more lambs.”
“You are fortunate,” Ehomba told him even as he glanced in the direction of a certain dog. But Roileé did not react, busy gnawing methodically on a scrungy femur.
“You’ll hit Bebrol first,” Coubert was telling them. On the other side of the table, Simna was devouring all that was set before him. “It is the southernmost town in the Dukedom of Tethspraih. A small province, but a proud one. North of Tethspraih lies Phan, an altogether more wealthy and cosmopolitan sort of place. You three will stand out in Tethspraih, but not so much in Phan and the larger kingdoms. If you want to make time you should keep to yourselves as much as possible.”
“We always do.” His mouth full of mutton, the swordsman had difficulty speaking.
“How far from Phan to Hamacassar?” Ehomba ate delicately but steadily.
Coubert sat back in his chair, fork in one hand, and pondered, his lower lip pushing out past the upper edge of his beard. “Hard for me to say. I’ve never been that far north. Never even met anyone who has.” His smile returned. “You’ll be able to get more accurate information in Phan. More tea?”
“No, no thank you.” Simna wiped at his greasy lips with the back of his forearm. “Your fount of generosity filled me with enough liquid last night. Now I need to fill my gut with solid stuff to sop it up.” He punctuated his confession by shoving a sizable chunk of brown bread into his mouth.
“At least let me top off your supplies. I don’t know what resources you have.”
Food muffled Simna’s grunted response. “Hoy! Spent most of our resources, we have.”
“You have been