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hand, tried to speak.
Hush-hush, she murmured, pushing his head gently onto Shadith s knee. He
yielded with some reluctance, opened his battered bloodshot eyes a little
wider, then began projecting warmth, friendliness, trust. His lips moved,
soundlessly at first, then produced blurred mushy words. Who ... are ...
you?
Interlingue. Aleytys raised her brows, then brushed away his attempt to set
his hook in her. Never mind that now, she said, and reached.
5
The shelter had brush walls, chunks of brush crushed together until they were
reasonably watertight, the groundsheet lashed over the top. Aleytys sat beside
a small fire built in a shallow depression burning away the poison fibers,
digging the points of the zel arrows into the earth then passing them again
through the fire to burn off the last vestiges of the poison. Shadith was out
hunting, working off her annoyance at the scolding she got for using that
poison.
He watched her as he worked, amused, wide blue eyes in a crumpled net of
laugh-wrinkles. The Eload ven-myda Wakille. Free trader, he said. Sometime
smuggler, she thought. Age uncertain. Vigor definite. Cunning probable. They
had recovered his gyori, Shadith had, and picked up as much of his gear,
supplies, tradegoods and acquisitions as they could find, though the outcasts
had trampled, torn, and flung about a good deal of his things in an orgy of
destruction that had overtaken them. For no discernible reason, he said.
Frightened the stiffening out of his bones, he said. She didn t think so then,
watching him as he pulled on trousers and tunic much the worse for
spear-points. And she didn t think so now as he sat, busy with needle and
thread, making quick neat repairs in the tunic, his hands clever as his round
face.
They let you into the cities? She dealt with the last of the points, moved
about on her knees, adding wood to the fire, digging out the pot for cha,
filling it from the waterbag and setting it to heat on the three-legged stand
contrived from soaked green brushwood.
Not inside. He snipped the thread, ran his thumb over the repair. No. But
the news gets round when I show up and anyone interested eventually shows
outside. Chancy. He rolled a knot in the thread and felt for another rent.
They get bored with what you ve got to show ... he grinned, rubbed the hand
holding the needle across his throat. Or you show too much and they get
greedy. A flicker of long slim fingers. Takes patience and craft, my
lioness, but once you get them used to you, there s a comfortable profit in
it.
Aleytys chuckled. Doesn t hurt if you re a projective empath.
Doesn t hurt. He ran a hand over the red-brown plush on his head. You
trading?
She drew her legs up, rested her arms on her knees. No. No competition, Eload
Wakille.
I rejoice, my lioness. His voice was rich, caressing, an instrument of some
power, especially when delicately underlined with his talent.
Hands off, Wakille, before I get irritated.
So, sweet lioness.
That s the third time you called me cat. Should I be flattered or angry?
Ever watch a Haberdee lioness stalking? No? Too bad. You might know what I
mean. Great golden beast pacing through dry dusty grass, powerful muscles
sliding and shifting under her skin. Formidable and beautiful and terrifying.
Poetic, but not terribly applicable.
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You can t see yourself.
Clever, aren t you, little man.
Urn, I think, yes. He worked in silence for a moment, setting the last
stitches to close the rent, then looked up, his face going quiet, his eyes
wide and serious. I owe you.
Right. She said it with some satisfaction, tapped lightly on her knee as she
watched his mobile but unrevealing face. No clues there that he hadn t put
there. We could have ignored you, just ridden past.
Um. He lifted his brows, thick red plush hyphens tilting into an inverted
vee, clipped the thread, knotted it, brows down now in his concentration on
what he was doing, shifted the tunic to a new hole. So what are you doing
here? The brows went up again. If I may ask?
Tourists, she said cheerfully. My friend and I.
He snorted. Not likely.
It s all the answer you ll get.
Thought it might be. He reached behind him and brought out the note extract,
lobbed it to her. She caught it, anger flaring in her that he carefully
refrained from trying to soothe away. When you went out for wood, he said.
He smoothed his thumbnail along an invisible moustache, his wide mouth curled
up at the corners. A trader without a nose is poor and maybe dead.
She set the book beside her. So?
You ll find it. He said that with such certainty she had to smile. So, I
think I ll come with you.
Why?
For what I can pick up. He snapped the thread, tucked the needle through a
fold in his trousers, pulled the tunic over his hand, searching for other
tears. Dama Fortuna throws your way, you re a fool to let it pass.
Throws hunger, thirst, discomfort, even death.
But you can t know what it means, can you.
You don t gamble.
Eh-lioness, what else can a poor trader do?
Not without a solid edge on your side.
True, but then ... His eyes twinkled at her from their nests of laugh
wrinkles, his grin bared small neat teeth. But then I have an edge on you,
don t I. A Wolff Hunter. The Wolff Hunter, I might say. He laughed, a
rumbling bumble almost a basso giggle. While back, I happened past Helvetia;
friend of mine got me into the hearing room.
Goggle-eyed fools, the lot of you. Aleytys sniffed. None of your business,
any of that.
Interesting, you have to admit. Besides you never can tell when a bit of
stray fact will prove useful. Look at us, now. How much more confident it
makes me to know Aleytys the Hunter is around to save my hide when
circumstances dictate.
Looks to me I made a large mistake saving it this afternoon. Perhaps I won t
repeat that mistake.
Ah. He smirked at her, shook his head. You couldn t do that, now could you,
lioness.
Don t keep calling me that. You know my name.
Despina Aleytys.
Aleytys lifted the lid on the pot, dropped it back. Not boiling yet. She
shifted until she was sitting on her heels, tilted her head and gazed at the
groundsheet stretched drumtight above them, the few drops of rain tapping out
an irregular rhythm on the taut surface. The greater part of the storm had
passed to the east not long after they finished setting up the camp. She
frowned, swept a probe over the wasteland outside, touched nothing. That
worried her. Shadith had been gone over an hour, not too long for a hunt in
these conditions, but worrying all the same. She glanced at the trader. He was
folding the tunic with small, neat movements that made her smile. Have you
ever crossed the ocean?
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