dismounted from his packbeast and approached, carrying a large leather sack over his shoulder.
The Pili’s hand drifted toward the knife at his belt.
“Nay, friend, there is no treachery here. Bide a moment.”
The selkie with the sack placed it upon the ground and stood away.
“I am given to understand that the Pili have a most interesting diet at times.”
“Not for fishman flesh, which is exceedingly vile,” the lizard man said.
Kleg nodded. He knew as much and was also exceedingly glad of it. “But behold.” He bent and opened the sack, then upended it, to reveal the still-unconscious boy kidnapped from the trees.
The Pili’s slit eyes widened. “Ah. A human.”
“Indeed. If truth must be known, we have no great use for him ourselves. Perhaps you would take him off our hands?”
The lizard man blinked and appeared to consider this. “In exchange for allowing you to pass unmolested.”
“That had occurred to me, yes.”
“He is not very large, the human.”
“True, but the only one we happen to have at the moment. And consider the alternative. Your men and mine will fight bravely and many will die. You may win, but it will be a costly victory at best. If you manage to survive to return to your king only to report most of your troop has been slain, surely that will not be happy news?”
“Surely not.”
“If, on the other hand, you return with this nice tender young boy for the communal pot, would that not reflect more honor upon you?”
The Pili glanced over his shoulder at his band, then back down at the boy. “There is some merit in that which you speak,” the lizard man finally said. “Of course, the Pili are fierce warriors and we could probably slay you and take the boy anyway.”
“The bravery of the Pili has never been in question,” Kleg said. “Still, it would not be an easy task.”
The lizard man nodded. “Aye, the fishmen are not inconsiderable opponents.” He looked up from the boy and stretched his lips in a horrible grimace. At first, Kleg took this to be a threat, then he realized it was in fact a smile.
“We of the Pili are feeling benevolent this day, and in honor of the approaching Moon Festival, have decided to allow safe passage to the band of fishmen who wandered onto our territory accidentally.”
“You are generous and wise,” Kleg said.
“So it has been said before.”
“If ever you should happen to be in my land, be certain to ask after me.”
“Indeed.”
The deal was done, and cheap at the price, Kleg figured. Nothing . stood between him and his goal now, save a few days of uneventful travel. He Who Creates would be most pleased.
Chapter Six
Dimma lifted to his lip a carved gold cup of fine wine produced by the famed Aquilonian winemakers; indeed, the region bordering the Tyborg River just south of Shamar might well be the source of the most exquisite wines in the world, and this particular vintage was the best of the best. It had taken only a few hours before the newness of being flesh again had allowed just any sensation to be a wonder; now, Dimma required a higher stimulation, such as this rare and valuable wine. He smiled as he inhaled the fragrance of it, anticipating the smoothness of it on his palate.
Alas, it was not to be. Even as he tilted the gold cup, he felt the sense of cold that sometimes presaged his change.
“No!”
The cup fell. He had not dropped it, only ceased being able to hold it. Even as the falling container passed through his lap to splash on the throne under him, Dimma reaped the fruit of a dying wizard’s curse, becoming no more solid than smoke.
He raged, hurling curses of his own after the centuries-dead wizard of Koth, hoping his epithets would seek out and find the soul of his tormentor no matter how deep the pit of Gehanna he inhabited. Dimma called upon the pox of poxes, the blackest of evil demons, the hate of every major and minor god to smite his old enemy.
He found himself drifting a few steps away
The Pili’s hand drifted toward the knife at his belt.
“Nay, friend, there is no treachery here. Bide a moment.”
The selkie with the sack placed it upon the ground and stood away.
“I am given to understand that the Pili have a most interesting diet at times.”
“Not for fishman flesh, which is exceedingly vile,” the lizard man said.
Kleg nodded. He knew as much and was also exceedingly glad of it. “But behold.” He bent and opened the sack, then upended it, to reveal the still-unconscious boy kidnapped from the trees.
The Pili’s slit eyes widened. “Ah. A human.”
“Indeed. If truth must be known, we have no great use for him ourselves. Perhaps you would take him off our hands?”
The lizard man blinked and appeared to consider this. “In exchange for allowing you to pass unmolested.”
“That had occurred to me, yes.”
“He is not very large, the human.”
“True, but the only one we happen to have at the moment. And consider the alternative. Your men and mine will fight bravely and many will die. You may win, but it will be a costly victory at best. If you manage to survive to return to your king only to report most of your troop has been slain, surely that will not be happy news?”
“Surely not.”
“If, on the other hand, you return with this nice tender young boy for the communal pot, would that not reflect more honor upon you?”
The Pili glanced over his shoulder at his band, then back down at the boy. “There is some merit in that which you speak,” the lizard man finally said. “Of course, the Pili are fierce warriors and we could probably slay you and take the boy anyway.”
“The bravery of the Pili has never been in question,” Kleg said. “Still, it would not be an easy task.”
The lizard man nodded. “Aye, the fishmen are not inconsiderable opponents.” He looked up from the boy and stretched his lips in a horrible grimace. At first, Kleg took this to be a threat, then he realized it was in fact a smile.
“We of the Pili are feeling benevolent this day, and in honor of the approaching Moon Festival, have decided to allow safe passage to the band of fishmen who wandered onto our territory accidentally.”
“You are generous and wise,” Kleg said.
“So it has been said before.”
“If ever you should happen to be in my land, be certain to ask after me.”
“Indeed.”
The deal was done, and cheap at the price, Kleg figured. Nothing . stood between him and his goal now, save a few days of uneventful travel. He Who Creates would be most pleased.
Chapter Six
Dimma lifted to his lip a carved gold cup of fine wine produced by the famed Aquilonian winemakers; indeed, the region bordering the Tyborg River just south of Shamar might well be the source of the most exquisite wines in the world, and this particular vintage was the best of the best. It had taken only a few hours before the newness of being flesh again had allowed just any sensation to be a wonder; now, Dimma required a higher stimulation, such as this rare and valuable wine. He smiled as he inhaled the fragrance of it, anticipating the smoothness of it on his palate.
Alas, it was not to be. Even as he tilted the gold cup, he felt the sense of cold that sometimes presaged his change.
“No!”
The cup fell. He had not dropped it, only ceased being able to hold it. Even as the falling container passed through his lap to splash on the throne under him, Dimma reaped the fruit of a dying wizard’s curse, becoming no more solid than smoke.
He raged, hurling curses of his own after the centuries-dead wizard of Koth, hoping his epithets would seek out and find the soul of his tormentor no matter how deep the pit of Gehanna he inhabited. Dimma called upon the pox of poxes, the blackest of evil demons, the hate of every major and minor god to smite his old enemy.
He found himself drifting a few steps away
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