you and hung you up on a tree down there.”
“No,” Althalus replied with a rueful laugh. “I’ve managed to keep my feet on the ground so far, but only barely. Is your mead ripe yet? That batch you had the last time I passed through was just a trifle green.”
“Come and try some,” Nabjor invited. “This new batch came out rather well.”
Althalus walked into the clearing and looked at his old friend. Nabjor was a burly man with dun-colored hair and beard. He had a large, bulbous nose, shrewd eyes, and he was dressed in a shaggy bearskin tunic. Nabjor was a businessman who sold good mead and rented out ladies. He also bought things with no questions asked from men who stole for a living.
The two of them clasped hands warmly. “Sit you down, my friend,” Nabjor said. “I’ll bring us some mead, and you can tell me all about the splendors of civilization.”
While Nabjor filled two large earthenware cups with foaming mead, Althalus sank down on a log by the fire where a spitted haunch of forest bison sizzled and smoked. “How did things go down there?” he asked, returning to the fire and handing Althalus one of the cups.
“Awful,” Althalus said glumly.
“That bad?” Nabjor asked, seating himself on the log on the other side of the fire.
“Even worse, Nabjor. I don’t think anybody’s come up with a word yet that really describes how bad it was.” Althalus took a long drink of his mead. “You got a good run on this batch, my friend.”
“I thought you might like it.”
“Are you still charging the same price?”
“Don’t worry about the price today, Althalus. Today’s mead is out of friendship.”
Althalus lifted his cup. “Here’s to friendship then,” he said and took another drink. “They don’t even make mead down in civilization. The only thing you can buy in the taverns is sour wine.”
“They call
that
civilized?” Nabjor shook his head in disbelief.
“How’s business been?” Althalus asked.
“Not bad at all,” Nabjor replied expansively. “Word’s getting around about my place. Just about everybody in Hule knows by now that if he wants a good cup of mead at a reasonable price, Nabjor’s camp is the place to go. If he wants the companionship of a pretty lady, this is the place. If he’s stumbled across something valuable that he wants to sell with no embarrassing questions about how he came by it, he knows that if he comes here, I’ll be glad to discuss it with him.”
“You’re going to fool around and die rich, Nabjor.”
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather live rich. All right, since that’s out of the way, tell me what happened down in the low country. I haven’t seen you for more than a year, so we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”
“You’d better brace yourself, Nabjor,” Althalus warned. “This isn’t going to be one of those happy stories.” Then he went on to describe his misadventures in Equero, Treborea, and Perquaine at some length.
“That’s
awful
!” Nabjor said. “Didn’t
anything
turn out well?”
“Not really. Things were so bad that I had to waylay men coming out of taverns to get enough money to pay for my next meal. My luck’s gone sour on me, Nabjor. Everything I’ve touched for the past year and a half’s turned to ashes on me. I thought for a while that it was because my luck hadn’t followed me when I went down into the low country, but things didn’t get any better when I got to Arum.” Then he told his friend about his misadventures in the hall of Gosti Big Belly.
“You really
do
have a problem, don’t you, Althalus?” Nabjor observed. “It’s your luck that’s always made you famous. You’d better see what you can do to get back on the good side of her.”
“I’d be more than happy to, Nabjor, but I don’t know how. She’s always been so fond of me that I didn’t have to take any special pains to keep her in my pocket. If she had a temple someplace, I’d steal somebody’s
“No,” Althalus replied with a rueful laugh. “I’ve managed to keep my feet on the ground so far, but only barely. Is your mead ripe yet? That batch you had the last time I passed through was just a trifle green.”
“Come and try some,” Nabjor invited. “This new batch came out rather well.”
Althalus walked into the clearing and looked at his old friend. Nabjor was a burly man with dun-colored hair and beard. He had a large, bulbous nose, shrewd eyes, and he was dressed in a shaggy bearskin tunic. Nabjor was a businessman who sold good mead and rented out ladies. He also bought things with no questions asked from men who stole for a living.
The two of them clasped hands warmly. “Sit you down, my friend,” Nabjor said. “I’ll bring us some mead, and you can tell me all about the splendors of civilization.”
While Nabjor filled two large earthenware cups with foaming mead, Althalus sank down on a log by the fire where a spitted haunch of forest bison sizzled and smoked. “How did things go down there?” he asked, returning to the fire and handing Althalus one of the cups.
“Awful,” Althalus said glumly.
“That bad?” Nabjor asked, seating himself on the log on the other side of the fire.
“Even worse, Nabjor. I don’t think anybody’s come up with a word yet that really describes how bad it was.” Althalus took a long drink of his mead. “You got a good run on this batch, my friend.”
“I thought you might like it.”
“Are you still charging the same price?”
“Don’t worry about the price today, Althalus. Today’s mead is out of friendship.”
Althalus lifted his cup. “Here’s to friendship then,” he said and took another drink. “They don’t even make mead down in civilization. The only thing you can buy in the taverns is sour wine.”
“They call
that
civilized?” Nabjor shook his head in disbelief.
“How’s business been?” Althalus asked.
“Not bad at all,” Nabjor replied expansively. “Word’s getting around about my place. Just about everybody in Hule knows by now that if he wants a good cup of mead at a reasonable price, Nabjor’s camp is the place to go. If he wants the companionship of a pretty lady, this is the place. If he’s stumbled across something valuable that he wants to sell with no embarrassing questions about how he came by it, he knows that if he comes here, I’ll be glad to discuss it with him.”
“You’re going to fool around and die rich, Nabjor.”
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather live rich. All right, since that’s out of the way, tell me what happened down in the low country. I haven’t seen you for more than a year, so we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”
“You’d better brace yourself, Nabjor,” Althalus warned. “This isn’t going to be one of those happy stories.” Then he went on to describe his misadventures in Equero, Treborea, and Perquaine at some length.
“That’s
awful
!” Nabjor said. “Didn’t
anything
turn out well?”
“Not really. Things were so bad that I had to waylay men coming out of taverns to get enough money to pay for my next meal. My luck’s gone sour on me, Nabjor. Everything I’ve touched for the past year and a half’s turned to ashes on me. I thought for a while that it was because my luck hadn’t followed me when I went down into the low country, but things didn’t get any better when I got to Arum.” Then he told his friend about his misadventures in the hall of Gosti Big Belly.
“You really
do
have a problem, don’t you, Althalus?” Nabjor observed. “It’s your luck that’s always made you famous. You’d better see what you can do to get back on the good side of her.”
“I’d be more than happy to, Nabjor, but I don’t know how. She’s always been so fond of me that I didn’t have to take any special pains to keep her in my pocket. If she had a temple someplace, I’d steal somebody’s
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