Read Online The Forerunner Factor by Andre Norton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Andre Norton
Ads: Link
them? Do you know that he has only to crook his finger joint so much as this,” she stretched out her ringed thumb and made a slight curve in the air, “and he can have the life of near any one in Kuxortal, and set to tremble a few more he could not kill at once? What have you done?”
This Thorn did not seem in the least disturbed by her questions now. He sat as easily as if he were any Burrower. In fact easier than any who would now dare to enter this particular chamber.
“I asked questions—questions concerning my brother who went off into your world some seasons ago and of whom there had been no word since, though he was pledged to a meeting he would not have missed unless he had met with dire trouble. You spoke of him as a witling who went into the Hard Hills. I swear to you that no matter how it would seem to your people, he had good reason to go there, to hunt what he had come to discover. Now—” he hesitated for a moment and then added with the sharpness of a Guild man voicing an order, “can you tell me any other rumors concerning him? Or why anyone would wish him to come to ill?”
“There were tens of tens ways in which he could have come to ill,” she returned, striving to keep her voice as cool and stern as his own. “The Hard Hills have their secrets in plenty. Most men travel by river or by sea. It used to be long ago—when I was very young, that caravans still came in from Qurux across the desert lands which front the Hard Hills. Those were from Semmele and they brought strange things from the north for the trading. Then we heard of a plague which made Semmele a place of dead men and ghosts and no caravans came. What they had ever brought was little—the Guilds could well make up the yield from the rivermen. So the way there was lost. Yes, there was talk when the off-worlder hunted out three of the old caravan men. They say he offered a fortune in broke-bits for a guide. Two of them would have none of his urging—the other got into a shuffle with one of Lord Arfellen’s guards and thereafter agreed to go.” She was suddenly aware of what she had said and repeated slowly, “Lord Arfellen’s guard . . .” more to herself than to him.
“So and so.” He used the trader’s speech so easily that if she shut her eyes, she could not be sure he was not of Kuxortal. “These other two—are they still here?”
The girl shrugged. “If they are, surely Gathar will find them for you. Have you not already made such a bargain with him?”
Again he was smiling. “Your knowledge seems to stretch a long way, Gentlefem Simsa. Does it touch any more on such as this?” He patted with his hand the belt pouch into which he had put the carvings.
“All I know is that the Old One had a liking for such. What I found, what was brought to her, she kept.”
“What you found—where?” He caught that up eagerly.
“In the Burrows. We dig into the back years of Kuxortal, we who live on her refuse. Some of that refuse being very old. Once this,” again she gestured, “might well have been part of some Lord’s palace place. There are bits of wall paint still in yonder corner. Things have been lost as houses collapsed, were built over. Kuxortal was sacked by pirates, three times attacked by armies before the rise of the River lords and their alliance. There has been much destroyed and built upon over and over again. The Burrowers live in the past and on what they can scoop from their tunnels. We are less than dust to the Guild Lords.”
“Even in your place here, you must have heard things from the upper city,” he seemed unable to take his eyes from her silver hair, he studied her, Simsa began to think, as if she were some bit or piece turned up in the underways, “what do you know of Lord Arfellen?”
Her interest was caught now. He was speaking to her as an equal, something which had never happened as far as she could remember. To the Old One, she had always been a child, to the Burrowers a
This Thorn did not seem in the least disturbed by her questions now. He sat as easily as if he were any Burrower. In fact easier than any who would now dare to enter this particular chamber.
“I asked questions—questions concerning my brother who went off into your world some seasons ago and of whom there had been no word since, though he was pledged to a meeting he would not have missed unless he had met with dire trouble. You spoke of him as a witling who went into the Hard Hills. I swear to you that no matter how it would seem to your people, he had good reason to go there, to hunt what he had come to discover. Now—” he hesitated for a moment and then added with the sharpness of a Guild man voicing an order, “can you tell me any other rumors concerning him? Or why anyone would wish him to come to ill?”
“There were tens of tens ways in which he could have come to ill,” she returned, striving to keep her voice as cool and stern as his own. “The Hard Hills have their secrets in plenty. Most men travel by river or by sea. It used to be long ago—when I was very young, that caravans still came in from Qurux across the desert lands which front the Hard Hills. Those were from Semmele and they brought strange things from the north for the trading. Then we heard of a plague which made Semmele a place of dead men and ghosts and no caravans came. What they had ever brought was little—the Guilds could well make up the yield from the rivermen. So the way there was lost. Yes, there was talk when the off-worlder hunted out three of the old caravan men. They say he offered a fortune in broke-bits for a guide. Two of them would have none of his urging—the other got into a shuffle with one of Lord Arfellen’s guards and thereafter agreed to go.” She was suddenly aware of what she had said and repeated slowly, “Lord Arfellen’s guard . . .” more to herself than to him.
“So and so.” He used the trader’s speech so easily that if she shut her eyes, she could not be sure he was not of Kuxortal. “These other two—are they still here?”
The girl shrugged. “If they are, surely Gathar will find them for you. Have you not already made such a bargain with him?”
Again he was smiling. “Your knowledge seems to stretch a long way, Gentlefem Simsa. Does it touch any more on such as this?” He patted with his hand the belt pouch into which he had put the carvings.
“All I know is that the Old One had a liking for such. What I found, what was brought to her, she kept.”
“What you found—where?” He caught that up eagerly.
“In the Burrows. We dig into the back years of Kuxortal, we who live on her refuse. Some of that refuse being very old. Once this,” again she gestured, “might well have been part of some Lord’s palace place. There are bits of wall paint still in yonder corner. Things have been lost as houses collapsed, were built over. Kuxortal was sacked by pirates, three times attacked by armies before the rise of the River lords and their alliance. There has been much destroyed and built upon over and over again. The Burrowers live in the past and on what they can scoop from their tunnels. We are less than dust to the Guild Lords.”
“Even in your place here, you must have heard things from the upper city,” he seemed unable to take his eyes from her silver hair, he studied her, Simsa began to think, as if she were some bit or piece turned up in the underways, “what do you know of Lord Arfellen?”
Her interest was caught now. He was speaking to her as an equal, something which had never happened as far as she could remember. To the Old One, she had always been a child, to the Burrowers a
Similar Books
