ears. I shook my head and he said, “ Nye etot ot Voinu? Kak etot, toshe ?”
Again, the word Voinu brought the buzzing, and I felt a smaller version of that violation that I had experienced when my new God had looked into my mind. I felt something behind my ears go snap , and then nothing. I reeled on the back of the horse and almost steadied myself with my sword hand before I remembered how sharp the weapon was and used the other.
“I – I don’t understand you,” I said, and in my own ears the language that I spoke sounded strange.
“Ah, an Eldadorian, then?” the little man said. “Fine, then, Man – who are you, Eldadorovitch, and is that truly a Sword of War you are carrying? It isn’t every day that someone rides a stallion from the Wild Horse Plains south into the lands of the Simple People.”
This, I guessed right then, had been my first taste of this foreign culture. Already I didn’t like it.
Chapter Three
The Simple People
The little man looked up at me, a tight smile buried in his beard, eyebrows twitching. I knew I should dismount but I didn’t want the horse to bolt. I thought about his question and looked at the sword in my hand.
“Aren’t all swords for war?” I asked him.
He grimaced and gave a short nod. “Mmm, very philosophical, Man,” he agreed. “And what great Lord are you, that you dress in rags and yet don’t dismount to greet me properly in my own nation?”
Well, that didn’t take long. Randy, if there is money in pissing people off, you’ll be a millionaire, I thought. At the last moment I remembered my God’s advice however, and resolved not to identify myself.
“My name is Ran – um, that is, Rancor,” I told him. That was the best I could think of on the spur of the moment, considering that the word had to start with “Ran.” Actually it suited me most of the time anyway. My voice sounded different to me now, although I couldn’t tell why.
“I just caught this horse this morning and I have nothing to tie him up with,” I admitted. “I am afraid he will bolt if I dismount him.”
The little man chuckled. “The Simple People have a saying: ‘Men are so tall that only the thinnest air feeds their brains.’ I think that you are proof of it, Rancor. I doubt the poor beast could walk even to the river, the way you have ridden him. He will not stray far.”
I narrowed my eyes at the insult, once I figured it out, but I had to agree. I dismounted and dropped the sword, point-down in the ground, then extended my hand to the little man.
I expected him to take my hand, but he grabbed me by the forearm instead. Fingers like pieces of steel probed the flesh between my radius and ulna. “Kvitch,” he told me. I assumed this was his name.
“A pleasure,” I said, looking into his deep, brown eyes. They were hard yet friendly. We broke the grip and his eyes moved from me back to the sword.
“That is no way to treat the blade, Rancor,” he said.
“I have no sheath for it,” I told him. Pulling it from the sand. I noted that the grit didn’t stick to it. Kvitch seemed to, as well.
“That isn’t a normal sword, Rancor,” he said. “And that stallion is from the Wild Horse Plains, from the Herd Which Cannot be Tamed. You are a penniless vagabond, or close to it, in my nation without leave, coming south, not north, which means you either fought the ogre tribes in Volkhydro and traveled hundreds of leagues east, or passed here without being seen. Neither of those seems very likely.”
I could tell that he thought I was a liar. Fair enough. Kvitch seemed to be screwing up the courage to tell me something he knew I wouldn’t like, and I had already guessed what it would be.
The
Again, the word Voinu brought the buzzing, and I felt a smaller version of that violation that I had experienced when my new God had looked into my mind. I felt something behind my ears go snap , and then nothing. I reeled on the back of the horse and almost steadied myself with my sword hand before I remembered how sharp the weapon was and used the other.
“I – I don’t understand you,” I said, and in my own ears the language that I spoke sounded strange.
“Ah, an Eldadorian, then?” the little man said. “Fine, then, Man – who are you, Eldadorovitch, and is that truly a Sword of War you are carrying? It isn’t every day that someone rides a stallion from the Wild Horse Plains south into the lands of the Simple People.”
This, I guessed right then, had been my first taste of this foreign culture. Already I didn’t like it.
Chapter Three
The Simple People
The little man looked up at me, a tight smile buried in his beard, eyebrows twitching. I knew I should dismount but I didn’t want the horse to bolt. I thought about his question and looked at the sword in my hand.
“Aren’t all swords for war?” I asked him.
He grimaced and gave a short nod. “Mmm, very philosophical, Man,” he agreed. “And what great Lord are you, that you dress in rags and yet don’t dismount to greet me properly in my own nation?”
Well, that didn’t take long. Randy, if there is money in pissing people off, you’ll be a millionaire, I thought. At the last moment I remembered my God’s advice however, and resolved not to identify myself.
“My name is Ran – um, that is, Rancor,” I told him. That was the best I could think of on the spur of the moment, considering that the word had to start with “Ran.” Actually it suited me most of the time anyway. My voice sounded different to me now, although I couldn’t tell why.
“I just caught this horse this morning and I have nothing to tie him up with,” I admitted. “I am afraid he will bolt if I dismount him.”
The little man chuckled. “The Simple People have a saying: ‘Men are so tall that only the thinnest air feeds their brains.’ I think that you are proof of it, Rancor. I doubt the poor beast could walk even to the river, the way you have ridden him. He will not stray far.”
I narrowed my eyes at the insult, once I figured it out, but I had to agree. I dismounted and dropped the sword, point-down in the ground, then extended my hand to the little man.
I expected him to take my hand, but he grabbed me by the forearm instead. Fingers like pieces of steel probed the flesh between my radius and ulna. “Kvitch,” he told me. I assumed this was his name.
“A pleasure,” I said, looking into his deep, brown eyes. They were hard yet friendly. We broke the grip and his eyes moved from me back to the sword.
“That is no way to treat the blade, Rancor,” he said.
“I have no sheath for it,” I told him. Pulling it from the sand. I noted that the grit didn’t stick to it. Kvitch seemed to, as well.
“That isn’t a normal sword, Rancor,” he said. “And that stallion is from the Wild Horse Plains, from the Herd Which Cannot be Tamed. You are a penniless vagabond, or close to it, in my nation without leave, coming south, not north, which means you either fought the ogre tribes in Volkhydro and traveled hundreds of leagues east, or passed here without being seen. Neither of those seems very likely.”
I could tell that he thought I was a liar. Fair enough. Kvitch seemed to be screwing up the courage to tell me something he knew I wouldn’t like, and I had already guessed what it would be.
The
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