s [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

sword flat-handed, the steel smacking against his palm.
 A foul-looking specimen! Speak up! What are you doing here?
 I m just going through, I squeaked, shaking my shoulders. If these men were ordinary soldiers they d
laugh and offer to share a cup of wine and a handful of palines with me. But I thought I recognized these
masichieri. They were of the cruel persuasion. If they could not have a little fun with a broken-down old
fellow, well, by Krun! what was the world coming to?
  Through? Through where to?
 To Dinel, I said, naming the next village where I d thought to eat bread and cheese and quaff ale and
ask questions.  There may be work for me there.
 There s work for you here, my lad! said the deldar, and the soldiers laughed dutifully. I called them
soldiers, for they aped military ways, but I had to remember they were mercenaries of the lowest sort,
masichieri.
They did not beat me up there and then. But I was kept very busy unloading the carts along with the four
drivers, who were slaves. They were all apims. We carried bales and bundles into the main roofed
section of the still-standing temple. I managed to get a glimpse of the contents of one box when it was
dropped awkwardly from a cart and the lid sprang open. A mass of rusty black feathers within told me
what I wanted to know.
We worked for a few burs until everything had been carried in and arranged to the deldar s satisfaction.
More than once I staggered under the weight of a bale that I could have thrown one-handed. These men
were convinced I was a simpleton, and they were pleased that they had found a pair of extra hands to
help. They offered me no dopa as they drank; to have refused would have looked odd, so I was spared
the expected fight breaking out before I was ready.
 All out! shouted the deldar.
We went out into the declining rays of the suns and I expected that, if there was to be a fight, it would
begin fairly soon. I said,  I left my sack in there, your honor, and turned to go back.
The slaves were drinking water and fighting over a crust of bread and a scrap of cheese. The masichieri
were lighting a fire and preparing to cook a meal. I went back inside and no one offered to stop me.
The knife over my right hip slid into my hand like an eel. I slashed open the bales, pulling the contents
out. Yes. Black robes and cloaks fashioned from feathers, with fierce beaked headdresses in which the
priests could dress to look like chyyans. The chests contained food and drink of a refined kind, reserved,
not for the use of the guards. There was a little money, gold pieces of Pandahem among the golden talens
of Vallia, and these I left strictly alone. There were weapons also. I left them.
Everything pointed to this collection being the paraphernalia for a gathering of Chyyanists.
An iron-bound chest was heavily locked. I did not attempt to open it, guessing it to contain the altar
vessels and the more valuable impedimenta to be used in the rites of the Great Chyyan.
While a certain amount of spying is great fun and serves to thump the blood along the veins, I felt I had
accomplished enough. I have no truck with those imbeciles who consider all spies as rogues  many
are, of course  and during my wartime experiences on Earth I had seen some incredible disasters
through the disdain in which spies were held. But enough was enough.
A quick glance outside showed me the masichieri around their fire, the shadows lying long in their
twinned bars from the columns, the quoffas munching quietly, the slaves tied to the tailgates and trying to
rest. Now was the time for me to walk briskly over to Dinel, find a mount and try to reach the nearest
sizable town, Arkadon, where I might find a garrison in time to make it worthwhile to return here.
Arkadon is a pleasant place, one of Delia s nicest towns, but the garrison troops would be like most
Delphondi, as I then thought, a lazy and inefficient lot. But we ought to be back here before dawn and in
time to sweep up this little lot and the worshipers and the priests. I wanted to get my hands on Himet the
Mak and find out what he was really up to. He most probably would not talk, but I had grown suddenly
weary of spying. Enough was enough. We would at least lop off this branch of the Chyyanists.
A flicker of movement in the tail of my eye caused me to spring abruptly and silently to one side.
I glared into the shadows. An indistinct figure stood impassively staring at me. I could not make out the
features, merely a vague blur with deep pits for eyesockets. Clad all in a long robe, dark in the shadows,
the figure remained motionless.
I knew.
Phu-si-Yantong!
Yes, this had happened before and I knew it would happen again. As I spied on the Chyyanists so the
wizard of Loh spied on me.
Somewhere in the forbidding world of Kregen Phu-si-Yantong had placed himself in lupu, in a trancelike
state, and his incorporeal body had visited me, spying on me. I felt the chill in the air, the shiver as of
millions of tiny needles pricking into my skin. As I started forward the appearance vanished. There could
be no mistake. The blurred figure did not move. It simply winked out of existence.
This ghostly apparition filled me with a fury that was purely ridiculous, for there was nothing I could do
about it.
Cursing the damned wizard and all his misdeeds, I took up my sack and my bamboo stick and prowled
to the far opening, peered out, saw the coast was clear and so stalked out into the dying light of evening [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]