kov, a powerful and wealthy man; but he did not own to the ham.
Yes, you will say — a common, a conventional, situation. Agreed. From it all manner of devilments and schemes might spring. And — they did. But, as is my wont, I will hew to the path of chronology and relate to you what happened between Lobur the Dagger and the Princess Thefi and Kov Thrangulf, when what happened impinged upon this my own story. Suffice it for the moment, there in Jikaida City, I had my heart set on that voller. Failing the voller, then I might have to walk out. Either way, I had no wish to linger in LionardDen.
Pompino said, “I trust you enjoy yourselves this afternoon. I am for the merezo where they are racing for high stakes.”
As we walked off, shouting the remberees, I knew Pompino lied. He was serious, deadly serious, on a sudden.
“I have had no chance to tell you before, Jak — we are altogether too chummy with these yetches of Hamalese. But — I have had a communication from the Star Lords.”
“The Gdoinye spoke to you?”
“Yes. We are quits of our work with Yasuri—”
“ We are !”
“Aye. If that assassination attempt was all it was about, well and good. What matters now is we will not be prevented from leaving.”
Whatever the situation might appear to be on the surface, I knew well enough that the Star Lords planned long and darkly into the future. What they did they did with fell purpose. Yasuri was important in ways we could not comprehend. But, we were quit of her. I joyed in that, and spared a thought for Yasuri and wondered what she would do now. But that was her business — aye, hers and the Star Lords’, no doubt.
“Most of that lot from Hamal are watching Execution Jikaida,” I said. I spoke lightly as we walked along in the streaming mingled lights of the Suns of Scorpio. “We are known in the hotel now. Why should we not—?”
“Capital. I am with you.”
So we turned around and retraced our steps.
Well, now... If the old blood thumps a little faster around the body, and the sweat starts out on the brow, and the palms grow damp and the throat dry — at memory, mere memory? We were not working for the Everoinye now, we were working for ourselves and for all the help we had ever had from the Star Lords that made not the slightest difference, or so I thought. I recall as we walked along in the suns shine that I contemplated hiring out as a caravan guard and trekking back over the Desolate Waste, as we had planned. But the idea of the voller obsessed us. The speed of a flier is phenomenal compared to a saddle animal.
The caravans continued to ply, one had only just arrived today, and the last had brought in the company of strolling players and the four stikitches who had so signally failed to earn their hire.
Pompino hitched his sword belt.
“Let us have a wet first — in honor of Dav Olmes, for example, or Konec, or—”
“Let us take a drink, anyway, you procrastinating fambly!”
I wanted to give the Hamalese time to get to the Jikaida deren, those massive central blocks where the bloody games of Jikaida were played, before we raided the hotel.
Any hostelry would do, provided it was of the better sort, and not a mere dopa den. The jade and ruby brilliance fell about us. The sweet scents of Kregen intoxicated us with life. Ah, Kregen, Kregen — well, we found a tavern and were about to enter when a man came flying through air and almost brought us both down. And, as far as I know, they don’t play exactly that kind of Rugby on Kregen. The fellow hauled himself up. He was a Brokelsh, squat and hairy and gibbering with rage. He shook his fist at the tavern and then lurched off, rumbling and cursing, swearing about a Havil-forsaken Kildoi.
I chilled.
We went in. I am well aware how foolish, how superficial, it is to say, “I chilled.” But, by Vox, that is exactly right. I felt the cold clamp around me. I did chill, and you may cavil all you wish at the expression.
It is
Yes, you will say — a common, a conventional, situation. Agreed. From it all manner of devilments and schemes might spring. And — they did. But, as is my wont, I will hew to the path of chronology and relate to you what happened between Lobur the Dagger and the Princess Thefi and Kov Thrangulf, when what happened impinged upon this my own story. Suffice it for the moment, there in Jikaida City, I had my heart set on that voller. Failing the voller, then I might have to walk out. Either way, I had no wish to linger in LionardDen.
Pompino said, “I trust you enjoy yourselves this afternoon. I am for the merezo where they are racing for high stakes.”
As we walked off, shouting the remberees, I knew Pompino lied. He was serious, deadly serious, on a sudden.
“I have had no chance to tell you before, Jak — we are altogether too chummy with these yetches of Hamalese. But — I have had a communication from the Star Lords.”
“The Gdoinye spoke to you?”
“Yes. We are quits of our work with Yasuri—”
“ We are !”
“Aye. If that assassination attempt was all it was about, well and good. What matters now is we will not be prevented from leaving.”
Whatever the situation might appear to be on the surface, I knew well enough that the Star Lords planned long and darkly into the future. What they did they did with fell purpose. Yasuri was important in ways we could not comprehend. But, we were quit of her. I joyed in that, and spared a thought for Yasuri and wondered what she would do now. But that was her business — aye, hers and the Star Lords’, no doubt.
“Most of that lot from Hamal are watching Execution Jikaida,” I said. I spoke lightly as we walked along in the streaming mingled lights of the Suns of Scorpio. “We are known in the hotel now. Why should we not—?”
“Capital. I am with you.”
So we turned around and retraced our steps.
Well, now... If the old blood thumps a little faster around the body, and the sweat starts out on the brow, and the palms grow damp and the throat dry — at memory, mere memory? We were not working for the Everoinye now, we were working for ourselves and for all the help we had ever had from the Star Lords that made not the slightest difference, or so I thought. I recall as we walked along in the suns shine that I contemplated hiring out as a caravan guard and trekking back over the Desolate Waste, as we had planned. But the idea of the voller obsessed us. The speed of a flier is phenomenal compared to a saddle animal.
The caravans continued to ply, one had only just arrived today, and the last had brought in the company of strolling players and the four stikitches who had so signally failed to earn their hire.
Pompino hitched his sword belt.
“Let us have a wet first — in honor of Dav Olmes, for example, or Konec, or—”
“Let us take a drink, anyway, you procrastinating fambly!”
I wanted to give the Hamalese time to get to the Jikaida deren, those massive central blocks where the bloody games of Jikaida were played, before we raided the hotel.
Any hostelry would do, provided it was of the better sort, and not a mere dopa den. The jade and ruby brilliance fell about us. The sweet scents of Kregen intoxicated us with life. Ah, Kregen, Kregen — well, we found a tavern and were about to enter when a man came flying through air and almost brought us both down. And, as far as I know, they don’t play exactly that kind of Rugby on Kregen. The fellow hauled himself up. He was a Brokelsh, squat and hairy and gibbering with rage. He shook his fist at the tavern and then lurched off, rumbling and cursing, swearing about a Havil-forsaken Kildoi.
I chilled.
We went in. I am well aware how foolish, how superficial, it is to say, “I chilled.” But, by Vox, that is exactly right. I felt the cold clamp around me. I did chill, and you may cavil all you wish at the expression.
It is
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