As always, my mind conjured the vivid impression of a whirling Dervish, a maniac cyclone, a hurricane- whirled scarecrow.
Abruptly, Quienyin ceased to whorl about so madly. He sank to the ground and resumed that calm pose of contemplation. Both his hands rested flat on the ground.
And then he looked up at us and was ready to answer our questions. Rather, he was ready to speak to Prince Tyfar.
What the Wizard of Loh had to say reassured the young prince. Had it not done so, I own, I would have found the subsequent confusion inconvenient.
Yet, even as I relate these events, I am touched by the weirdness of it all. Here Quienyin sat, and he was aware of and could tell us of events transpiring dwaburs away across the land. Just how far a Wizard of Loh can see in lupu is a matter of serious conjecture. They, for sure, give nothing of their secrets away to the casual inquirer. True, in conversation with Quienyin I had learned much. But, then, that was before he had recovered his powers. I wondered, as he spoke to Tyfar, if he would recall with displeasure what he had said, and seek in some nefarious and occult way to rob me of the knowledge.
“Is it possible, San-?” began Modo Fre-Da.
“May we crave, San-?” began Logu Fre-Da.
Both spoke together.
So Quienyin told them what they wished to know. I listened, for I needed to learn of my comrades, bearing in mind what I half-purported toward them. They asked for their mother, for their father was long dead, having met his end gallantly on an unmarked battlefield. She lived in Dolardansmot, whereaway that was I did not know, and they were very tender toward her. They made inquiry about no other person.
Nodgen and Hunch, Barkindrar and Nath, all received news, good or bad — Barkindrar’s younger brother had died of a fall down a disused well, which depressed him for a space, until he reflected, half aloud, that what the Resplendent Bridzilkelsh ordained must be accepted as one accepts the needle -
and they all turned to look at me.
“Well, Jak,” said Quienyin, kindly, although he looked tired, “and where in the world of Kregen shall I seek for your loved ones?”
Chapter three
Before replying, I pulled off the boot taken from a dead Muzzard and chucked it down. The boot was not so much either too tight or too loose as badly fitting; it was well enough for riding, but walking in it and its mate would be agonizing. I wriggled my bare toes. The eight pairs of eyes regarded me expectantly. I scratched under my anklebone.
“Well, Jak? And is there no one in the whole wide world?”
“Without disrespect, San — you are clearly tired. Your exertions have exhausted you.” I pulled off the other boot and wriggled those bare toes in turn. “And, you are quite clearly possessed of very great powers indeed, for you have been able to give us news of our relations, people you have never met or seen. This, I know, is unusual-”
“Yes, Jak. Although I do not think I am fully recovered, I am able to do more in lupu than many Wizards of Loh.”
Deb-Lu-Quienyin spoke simply. There was no boasting here. Also, in the comradeship forged between us nine in the horrors through which we had successfully fought, Quienyin’s own history had been, at least partially, revealed.
“Come on, Jak,” spoke up Tyfar. “If San Quienyin is willing, then surely you must long to know.”
Interesting how, when the Wizard of Loh displayed his supernatural abilities, we’d all resumed calling him San.
“Or is it that you do not have any blood relatives still alive?”
Again I scratched my foot.
“There is a man whose whereabouts I would like to establish. If I know him aright he will be tossing people about like split logs. He is a Khamster, A Khamorro, a high Kham. No doubt he will be in Herrelldrin now.”
“And he cannot then be any kin to you.”
“No. A good comrade. As we are down-”
And then I hauled myself up, all canvas flapping. By Krun! I’d been about to say, “down here in Havilfar,” which was a perfectly logical thought to a Vallian, or anyone from the northern hemisphere of Kregen. But if I claimed Hamal, which was the most powerful empire in Havilfar, the southern continent, I’d hardly talk about being “down here.” So I scratched my foot again and reached over for a small piece of meat clinging to a leaf platter, and said, “down not too far it will be convenient for me to go to Herrelldrin and seek him out. If he is there. If you can scan him, San.”
“No blood relation?”
“No.”
He sat quite still for a moment, looking on me. He had put his ridiculous turban aside after the last items of news had been passed on in lupu, and his red Lohvian hair stuck out like the feathers of the rooster with the wind up his tail. His old face had lost many of the lines and wrinkles, and had filled out, and his clear and piercing eyes looked astonishingly young. And I felt he was looking at me as though I were a glass of crystal-clear water.
Sink me! I burst out to myself. I had too much at stake in Kregen to allow a tithe of my secrets to be spilled here, even despite the special comradeship we nine felt.
“No blood relation, this fearsome Khamorro. I suggest you sleep now, Quienyin, and then we can talk on this matter later.”
“You are very desirous of finding this man?”
“Yes.”
“Then I will sleep for a space. Wake me at the hour of mid, when the suns burn in the zenith. I may be able… Well, no matter, Jak the Sturr. I did you a pleasant repose.”
And with that Deb-Lu-Quienyin rolled over onto his side on the spread cloths and seemed immediately to fall into a deep slumber. I chewed my morsel of meat and gazed at the Wizard of Loh. I did not mind if he read some of my riddles. And the six retainers, also, were men amenable to reason of one kind or another. But Prince Tyfar, this brave, bright, bonny princeling of Hamal, my country’s bitter enemy?
What would he say, what do? No. I must continue with my deceptions. And, by Krun, they were not petty deceptions, either!
Tyfar shook his head, smiling.
“I am mightily glad my father and sister are safe. I thank Havil the Green for that. The news for you will be as good, Jak — and did you notice the sudden formality of Deb-Lu-Quienyin? He called you Jak the Sturr, which you claim is your name.”
“And, Tyfar, I notice you do not give a warm thanks to Havil the Green. Mayhap, Krun of the Steel Blade merits a greater gratitude?”
We trod thin ice here.
He eyed me.
“Aye, Jak the Sturr. Aye.”
“So be it.”
Havil the Green presided as the chief god of many lands of Havilfar. He had, in the past, represented to me all that was evil and to be destroyed. I was over those impulses now, and could even come out with a good rolling Hamalian prayer or two addressed to Havil the Green. All the same, fighting men tend toward Krun… as must be clear from the conversations peppered with his name.
“And also, Jak, the Sturr — I do not think your name can be Sturr. It does not fit.”
I lifted an eyebrow. Sturr is the slang name given to a louche fellow, a morose, silent, boorish kind of chap
