Into the thinking kingdoms - Alan Dean Foster [78]
Ehomba indicated the fine, well-stocked store in which they sat. “Yet here we sit, in the midst of much comfort, and in passing through your land we saw no sign of the kind of devastation to which you allude.”
“As I be saying, this all took place long ago.” Uncrossing his arms, the owner moved back behind the bar. “Neither side could wholly defeat the other. The degraded had the resources of all the dark crafts at their disposal, but they could not wreak havoc and destruction everywhere at once. The followers of Yaw had on their side numbers and persistence. Eventually, by mutual agreement, an accommodation was reached.” He shook his head at the audacity of it. “Yaw Cresthelmare was a great man. Imagine, if you will, sitting down to negotiate with goblins and apparitions and demons so vile they are not even welcome in Hell.”
Ehomba looked thoughtful. “And the result, it was this Covenant you speak of?”
“Yes. The Inhuman tried everything to trick Yaw, but it was not for nothing that he was christened the Immutable, and that Phan and its neighbors are called the Thinking Kingdoms. The terms of the Covenant were set solid as the stone that underlies Phan itself, and bolted directly to it. The debased could not breach the terms, nor even bend them.”
“These terms . . . ?” A now fully attentive Simna left the question hanging.
Elaboration was not needed. “The day was given to the followers of Yaw, made theirs in which to live and love, to cultivate and populate the land of Phan as they should see fit. In return, the corrupted and disembodied and their ilk were given the deepest part of the night, to roam freely wherever they might choose from midnight ’til dawn, free from insult, attack, or exorcism by the humans who had so forcefully settled among them.”
Simna laughed uneasily as he eyed the now suggestive darkness that ruled the street beyond the still unbarred door. “I’d think that would make for some unsettled sleeping.”
“Not so.” The proprietor smiled thinly. “The impure keep to their compact.” He nodded in the direction of the entrance. “If you will look down as you travel through Phan, you will see that the entrance to every building is circumscribed by a strip of pure copper the width of a man’s thumb. This the specters of the night will not cross. It is so established in the Covenant. Behind that copper line, in any building, one is safe not only in body but in dreams. Step outside that line between midnight and dawn and . . .” He shuddered slightly, as if a quick, sharp blast of cold air had just passed over his body and through his soul.
A no longer smiling Simna set his goblet aside and brooded on the import of the proprietor’s words. “You’re fair game.”
“Just so,” the owner conceded. “And now ye must be moving along.”
“What!” The swordsman did not remove his feet from the table so much as yank them off. “After what you just told us you mean to throw us out into the night?”
“I do.” The owner’s response was firm. “I accord ye no greater hospitality than I did that pair that left moments ago, and in haste. Now you know the reason for their flight. This is a general store, not an inn.” He glanced significantly at the clock, whose soft wooden ticks had grown much louder in the room. “You have time yet. There is a boardinghouse around the corner, only a block distant. It is a modest establishment, but clean and reasonable. The owners are good friends of mine, and not unused to greeting apprehensive patrons caught out celebrating too late to make it back to their homes. A spirited dash of but a few seconds will see you safely there. The street is empty and clear.”
“By Gobolloba, let’s get out of here!” The swordsman scrambled to slip his arms through the straps of his pack, not forgetting his sword, nor to drain the last drops of liquid gratification from his goblet.
Rising from his chair, Ehomba moved quickly but without panic to rouse Ahlitah from his feline