looking him over, and grinned at her. Hunh. This one might actually have a sense of humor. He returned her gaze, eyes moving over breasts and hips, then he was done with her, dismissing her as uninteresting. She was both amused and appalled by her reaction. Anger and despair at being rejected by a hunk of muscle who wasnât her type anyway. Well, hell with you too, hunk.
Telka touched her lips, her heart. âTelka. Zânaluvit.â Right. Speaker for women. The way you share the middle with the hunk it looks like you two run this show. Sitting next to that mountain of muscle Telka should have been diminished to nothing, a nullity, a blackhole pinhead-sized. But it wasnât so. She cut as large a space for herself as he did, dominating by the force of personality and will.
âSussaa. Kirushaluvit.â
Speaker for earth, for rooted things and those who tend them.
Sussaa, a secret man, huddled in robes stiffer and more encompassing than Fletâs. His hands were intermittently visible as he played with a string of worry beads, the sunlight shimmering along the muted olive, ocher, and pale umber of his delicately scaled skin. The beads clacked rhythmically through unnaturally long unnaturally thin fingers, more of them than the five the others exhibited; Skeen couldnât tell just how many fingers he had but got the impression of a flickering like spiderlegs. The cowl of his robe was pulled too far forward for her to see anything of his face, but she thought (from the angle of the folds) that he was looking down at the beads, not at her. Always rather liked snakes, even poisonous ones. Very polite creaturesâleave them alone and they reciprocated. Tibo made a lot of jokes about them the time she had that baby constrictor wandering through Picarefyâs corridors, said it meant she was oversexed. Hah! Old Lionface over there wouldnât agree with you. Maybe I ought to haul you back here, you little worm, and feed you to him. He looks like he doesnât mind tough meat. Long as itâs fresh. Huh, youâd give one hell of a bellyacheâyouâre good at that, damn you, damn you, damn you.
âKladdin Delatâluvit.â Speaker for artisans.
A little hairy gnome of a man who was far more interested in the chunk of wood he was carving on than he was in what was happening here. Artisans. Interesting. Thatâs a lovely little knife heâs got there. Local work? Traded for? Wonder if whoever made that makes swords. Always some dimwit willing to pay high for a hand-crafted sword. She looked back at Zâla. He lifted a lip in a sort of smile, baring a pair of hefty fangs. He wouldnât bother with swords. Not with those teeth.
Mmm. This place was grown here, Iâm sure of that. Old Snakehands or his granddaddy did it, no doubt. All right, what do I ask for? Anything I can pick up getting this sister out? Hunh. That I donât ask for; thatâs my business, not theirs. I need information. Yeah, but not for payment. Gold? No way. Too heavy. Canât carry enough to make it worth while and itâd be kinda hard to outrun a saayungka pack hugging a hundredweight to my meager bosom. Gem stones or jewelry. Jewelryâs best. Good old jewelry, artifact and gemstones combined, best price for the weight. And I get paid before I start. This bunch I wouldnât trust as far as I could throw the hunk.
YOUâRE RAMBLING THROUGH A DAMN FANTASY, SO RELAX AND ENJOY IT.
or
GETTING IN AND OUT OF DUM BESAR.
She walked along the dusty road, strolling through a warm golden morning, leading a neat little jennet, a genuine beast, one that wouldnât shed its skin and turn into a hostile Min. This beast was expendable as was everything it carried, part of her disguise as an Aggitj extra earning her living as a wandering peddler. Sussaa had overcome his distaste sufficiently to supervise the bleaching and dyeing of her hair until it was the color of moonsilver. She
Telka touched her lips, her heart. âTelka. Zânaluvit.â Right. Speaker for women. The way you share the middle with the hunk it looks like you two run this show. Sitting next to that mountain of muscle Telka should have been diminished to nothing, a nullity, a blackhole pinhead-sized. But it wasnât so. She cut as large a space for herself as he did, dominating by the force of personality and will.
âSussaa. Kirushaluvit.â
Speaker for earth, for rooted things and those who tend them.
Sussaa, a secret man, huddled in robes stiffer and more encompassing than Fletâs. His hands were intermittently visible as he played with a string of worry beads, the sunlight shimmering along the muted olive, ocher, and pale umber of his delicately scaled skin. The beads clacked rhythmically through unnaturally long unnaturally thin fingers, more of them than the five the others exhibited; Skeen couldnât tell just how many fingers he had but got the impression of a flickering like spiderlegs. The cowl of his robe was pulled too far forward for her to see anything of his face, but she thought (from the angle of the folds) that he was looking down at the beads, not at her. Always rather liked snakes, even poisonous ones. Very polite creaturesâleave them alone and they reciprocated. Tibo made a lot of jokes about them the time she had that baby constrictor wandering through Picarefyâs corridors, said it meant she was oversexed. Hah! Old Lionface over there wouldnât agree with you. Maybe I ought to haul you back here, you little worm, and feed you to him. He looks like he doesnât mind tough meat. Long as itâs fresh. Huh, youâd give one hell of a bellyacheâyouâre good at that, damn you, damn you, damn you.
âKladdin Delatâluvit.â Speaker for artisans.
A little hairy gnome of a man who was far more interested in the chunk of wood he was carving on than he was in what was happening here. Artisans. Interesting. Thatâs a lovely little knife heâs got there. Local work? Traded for? Wonder if whoever made that makes swords. Always some dimwit willing to pay high for a hand-crafted sword. She looked back at Zâla. He lifted a lip in a sort of smile, baring a pair of hefty fangs. He wouldnât bother with swords. Not with those teeth.
Mmm. This place was grown here, Iâm sure of that. Old Snakehands or his granddaddy did it, no doubt. All right, what do I ask for? Anything I can pick up getting this sister out? Hunh. That I donât ask for; thatâs my business, not theirs. I need information. Yeah, but not for payment. Gold? No way. Too heavy. Canât carry enough to make it worth while and itâd be kinda hard to outrun a saayungka pack hugging a hundredweight to my meager bosom. Gem stones or jewelry. Jewelryâs best. Good old jewelry, artifact and gemstones combined, best price for the weight. And I get paid before I start. This bunch I wouldnât trust as far as I could throw the hunk.
YOUâRE RAMBLING THROUGH A DAMN FANTASY, SO RELAX AND ENJOY IT.
or
GETTING IN AND OUT OF DUM BESAR.
She walked along the dusty road, strolling through a warm golden morning, leading a neat little jennet, a genuine beast, one that wouldnât shed its skin and turn into a hostile Min. This beast was expendable as was everything it carried, part of her disguise as an Aggitj extra earning her living as a wandering peddler. Sussaa had overcome his distaste sufficiently to supervise the bleaching and dyeing of her hair until it was the color of moonsilver. She
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