Star Wars_ The Approaching Storm - Alan Dean Foster [54]
“I am Mazong Yiwa. What are clanless ones doing riding suubatars?”
Kyakhta swallowed. Obi-Wan was shocked at the ease and speed with which the heretofore confident guide was intimidated.
“We beg your understanding, Highborn Mazong. Through no faults of our own, my friend and I,” he indicated Bulgan, “have been forced to travel the trail of the outcast. We suffered greatly, and have only recently been restored to health, if not clan, by these wise and generous offworlders. They are representatives of the galactic Republic itself, come to treat with the overclan Borokii.”
Leaning to his right, Mazong spit deliberately at the foot of Kyakhta’s suubatar. The great animal did not move. Anakin started to tense but, seeing his Master apparently unconcerned, did his best to appear likewise.
“The matter of your casting out remains unknown to us. Why should we believe you, or invite you to partake of our hospitality?”
“If not us,” Bulgan responded, “then do so for our friends. They are Jedi Knights.”
There was a stir among the welcoming party. Luminara remembered what they had been told in Cuipernam. While the Alwari nomads chose to hew to their traditional way of life, that did not mean they were primitive or eschewed modern conveniences. The comlinks and solar-powered homes, the blaster rifles and sidearms they displayed, were proof enough of that.
Mazong’s gaze roved among the humans. As he carried out his inspection, he shaded his eyes with one limber, three-fingered hand. Because of the protruding, convex nature of their eyes, Ansionians could not squint. In fact, Luminara had discovered in the marketplace, when the feat was performed by a human or another sighted creature capable of it, any Ansionian close enough to observe it would wince noticeably. The thought of squeezing an eyelid partway shut induced in them the same reaction a human would have upon being forced to listen to fingernails dragging across a piece of slate.
“I have heard of the Jedi.” The leader of the Yiwa band kept his hands on the circlet of flexible metal that looped through the bump of cartilage above the huge single nostril of his sadain. “They are said to be honorable people. Unlike so many of those they work for.” When none of the humans chose to react to this spur-of-the-moment provocation, Mazong grunted approvingly.
“If you seek an overclan, why trouble the Yiwa with your presence?” Behind him, his clanfolk stirred expectantly.
“You know how the Borokii move about, and how they would react to being tracked by machines.” Kyakhta held his suubatar steady.
Mazong laughed, and several of his supporters smiled. “They would blow them out of the sky, along with any who came after them.”
“Haja,” Bulgan agreed. “So we seek them out in the time-honored way.” He indicated the community by the lake. “A fine camp, but as usual, a temporary one. It is ever such for the Yiwa, as for all Alwari. In your recent traveling, have you come across any of the overclan?”
Trotting forward, a magnificently bedecked female whispered into one of Mazong’s aural cavities. Indicating understanding, he looked back up at the visitors.
“This is no place for conversation. Come down to our camp. We will eat, and talk, and consider your needs.” Looking past the two guides, he locked eyes with Luminara. “An agreeable color, blue. No indication of whether the individual behind it is likewise.” Turning, he urged his sadain to a gallop. Yelling and waving their weapons, his clanfolk followed him.
The visitors trailed at a more sedate pace. “It doesn’t seem too promising, Master.” Having grown used to the staid attire of urban Ansionians, Barriss found herself captivated by the Yiwa’s purposefully wild appearance.
“On the contrary, Padawan, a good merchant knows that getting a