Into the thinking kingdoms - Alan Dean Foster [59]
“Please allow me to help. It’s my pleasure. I have so much, and your journey is of noble intent.” Pushing back his chair, he placed his linen napkin on the table and rose. “Besides, Roileé seems to like you, and over the years I’ve come to trust her judgment. Strange how sometimes a dog can be more perceptive than a person.”
“Passing strange,” agreed Ehomba. From her place prone on the floor, the witch dog winked at him. No one else saw it, as was intended.
They departed the cottage with their packs stuffed full of jerked mutton and their water bags filled to overflowing. Though Coubert offered to supply one, Ahlitah refused to wear a pack. It was enough, he growled, that he was compelled to suffer the company of men. To expect him to adopt, however temporarily, their constricting accoutrements was too much. He would remain free physically if not otherwise.
Coubert stood in the doorway of his home and waved until they passed out of sight. His dog sat at his feet, saluting their departure with several joyful yips and barks.
“Nice dog, that one,” Simna was moved to comment as he hitched his heavy pack higher on his shoulders. “Getting on in years, but still good company.”
“More than you know.” As always, Ehomba’s gaze was focused forward, scanning the lay of the land ahead of them. “She was a witch.”
“Hoy? By Gyerboh, I never would have guessed!” The swordsman looked back the way they had come, but the little cottage had already disappeared from view, swallowed up by rolling boulders and brush and the gentle incline they were now descending. “How could you tell?”
“She told me. And showed me some things. In a dream.”
Ahlitah looked around sharply. “So that was not a dream within a dream. Thought it might have been you there with me, but couldn’t be sure.” The big cat shook its head and the great black mane flowed and rippled. “Don’t remember much of it. What were you doing in my dream, man?”
“I thought you were in mine. Not that it matters.”
Simna’s bewilderment underlined his words. “What the Ghoska are you two babbling about?”
“Nothing. Nothing real.” Ehomba stepped over a wandering rivulet, doing his best to avoid crushing the tiny flowers that fought for life on its far side. “It is all gone, like smoke.”
The swordsman snorted derisively, a common reaction when Ehomba or the cat spoke of things he did not understand. After a while he exclaimed, “So she was a witch, was she? I’ve known bitches who thought they were witches, but this is the first one who fully qualifies on both counts.”
“She was righteous, and helpful.” The herdsman did not tell his friend that Roileé had recapitulated the virulent prediction that had first been read to him in distant Kora Keri.
“A man can’t ask any more of a bitch, be she witch or otherwise.” Pleased with that proclamation of itinerant swordsman sagacity, Simna took the lead. “It’ll be great to be back among civilized society again, where a man can find decent food and drink wherever he turns. And perhaps even a little entertainment.” His eyes flashed.
“As you yourself pointed out to Coubert, our assets are much reduced. We need to conserve them for necessities, my friend.”
“Hoy, bruther, I can see that you and I need to achieve a consensus on just what constitutes a necessity.”
They discussed the matter of their meager remaining resources as they walked. When it came to the laying out of specifics, the litah sided with Simna, the only difference being that while the big cat sympathized with and understood the swordsman’s baser needs, he himself had no use for any human medium of exchange, being accustomed as he was to taking what he required when he needed it, and slaughtering the rest.
X
Because the mountains that formed the southern boundary of the Thinking Kingdoms sloped so gently from their heights, the travelers did not encounter the grand, sweeping panorama that might have been expected. Instead, they came upon the first outlying pastures and villages