Swords and Deviltry

that wrinkled her nose comically. She turned away from him, carefully drew the lacings tight, and spent some time tying a knot on the inside. Then she came over and knelt beside him where he lay, her body erect from her knees. There was no grin now as she looked down at him, only a composed, enigmatic thoughtfulness, which he sought to match. She was wearing the hooded robe of her Mingol costume.

“So you changed your mind about a reward,” she said quietly but matter-of-factly. “How do you know that I too may not have changed mine since?”

Fafhrd shook his head, replying to her first statement. Then, after a pause, he said, “Nevertheless, I have discovered that I desire you.”

Vlana said, “I saw you watching the show from the gallery. You almost stole it, you know — I mean the show — Who was the girl with you? Or was it a youth? I couldn't be quite sure.”

Fafhrd did not answer her inquiries. Instead he said, “I also wish to ask you questions about your supremely skillful dancing and… and acting in loneliness.”

“Miming.” She supplied the word.

“Miming, yes. And I want to talk to you about civilization.'

“That's right, this morning you asked me how many languages I knew,” she said, looking straight across him at the wall of the tent. It was clear that she too was a thinker. She took the cup of brandy out of his hand, swallowed half of what was left, and returned it to him.

“Very well,” she said, at last looking down at him, but with unchanged expression. “I will give you your desire, my dear boy. But now is not the time. First, I must rest and gather strength. Go away and return when the star Shadah sets. Wake me if I slumber.”

“That's an hour before dawn,” he said, looking up at her. “It will be a chilly wait for me in the snow.'

“Don't do that,” she said quickly. “I don't want you three-quarters frozen. Go where it's warm. To stay awake, think of me. Don't drink too much wine. Now go.”

He got up and made to embrace her. She drew back a step, saying, “Later. Later — everything.” He started toward the door. She shook her head, saying, “You might be seen. As you came.'

Passing her again, his head brushed something hard. Between the hoops supporting the tent's middle, the supple hide of the tent bulged down, while the hoops themselves were bowed out and somewhat flattened bearing the weight. He cringed down for an instant, ready to grab Vlana and jump any way, then began methodically to punch and sweep at the bulges, always striking outward. There was a crashing and a loud tinkling as the massed crystals, which outside had reminded him of a giant flatworm — must be a giant snow serpent by now! — broke up and showered off.

Meanwhile he said, “The Snow Women do not love you. Nor is Mor my mother your friend.'

“Do they think to frighten me with ice crystals?” Vlana demanded contemptuously. “Why, I know of Eastern fire sorceries compared to which their feeble magickings—”

“But you are in their territory now, at the mercy of their element, which is crueler and subtler than fire,” Fafhrd interposed, brushing away the last of the bulgings, so that the hoops stood up again and the leather stretched almost flat between them. “Do not underrate their powers.'

“Thank you for saving my tent from being crumpled. But now — and swiftly — go.”

She spoke as if of trivial matters, but her large eyes were thoughtful.

Just before snaking under the back wall, Fafhrd looked over his shoulder. Vlana was gazing at the side wall again, holding the empty cup he had given her, but she caught his movement and, now smiling tenderly, put a kiss on her palm and blew it toward him.

Outside the cold had grown bitter. Nevertheless, Fafhrd went to his clump of evergreens, drew his cloak closely around him, dropped its hood over his forehead, tightened the hood's drawstring, and sat himself facing Vlana's tent.

When the cold began to penetrate his furs, he thought of Vlana.

Suddenly he was crouching and had loosened his knife in its sheath.

A figure was approaching Vlana's tent, keeping to the shadows when it could. It appeared to be clad in black.

Fafhrd silently advanced.

Through the still air came the faint sound of fingernails scratching leather.

There was a flash of dim light as the doorway was opened.

It was bright enough to show the face of Vellix the Venturer. He stepped inside and there was the sound of lacings being drawn tight.

Fafhrd stopped ten paces from the tent and stood there for perhaps two dozen breaths. Then he softly walked past the tent, keeping the same distance.

There was a glow in the doorway of the high, conical tent of Essedinex. From the stables beyond, a horse whickered twice.

Fafhrd crouched and peered through the low, glowing doorway a knife-cast away. He moved from side to side. He saw a table crowded with jugs and cups set against the sloping wall of the tent opposite the doorway.

To one side of the table sat Essedinex. To the other, Hringorl.

On the watch for Hor, Harrax, or Hrey, Fafhrd circled the tent. He approached it where the table and the two men were faintly silhouetted. Drawing aside his hood and hair, he set his ear against the leather.

“Three gold bars — that's my top,” Hringorl was saying surlily. The leather made his voice hollow.

“Five,” Essedinex answered, and there was the slup of wine mouthed and swallowed.

“Look here, old man,” Hringorl countered, his voice at its most gruffly menacing, “I don't need you. I can snatch the girl and pay you nothing.”

“Oh no, that won't do, Master Hringorl.” Essedinex sounded merry. “For then the Show would never return again to Cold Corner, and how would your tribesmen like that? Nor would there be any more girls brought you by me.”

“What matter?” the other answered carelessly. The words were muffled by a gulp of wine, yet Fafhrd could hear the bluff in them. “I have my ship. I can cut your throat this instant and snatch the girl tonight.”

“Then do so,” Essedinex said brightly. “Only give me a moment for one more quaff.”

“Very well, you old miser. Four gold bars.”

“Five.”

Hringorl cursed sulfurously. “Some night, you ancient pimp, you will provoke me too far. Besides, the girl is old.”

“Aye, in the ways of pleasure. Did I tell you that she once became an acolyte of the Wizards of Azorkah? — so that she might be trained by them to become a concubine of the King of Kings and their spy in the court at Horborixen. Aye, and eluded those dread necromancers most cleverly when she had gained the erotic knowledge she desired.”

Hringorl laughed with a forced lightness. “Why should I pay even one silver bar for a girl who has been possessed by dozens? Every man's plaything.”

“By hundreds,” Essedinex corrected. “Skill is gained only by experience, as you know well. And the greater the experience, the greater the skill. Yet this girl is never a plaything. She is the instructress, the revelator; she plays with a man for his pleasure, she can make a man feel king of the universe and perchance — who knows? — even be that. What is impossible to a girl who knows the pleasure-ways of the gods themselves — aye, and of the arch-demons? And yet — you won't believe this, but it's true — she remains in her fashion forever virginal. For no man has ever mastered her.”

“That will be seen to!” Hringorl's words were almost a laughing shout. There was the sound of wine gulped. Then his voice dropped. “Very well, five gold bars it is, you usurer. Delivery after tomorrow night's Show. The gold paid against the girl.”

“Three hours after the Show, when the girl's drugged and all's quiet. No need to rouse the jealousy of your fellow tribesmen so soon.”

“Make it two hours. Agreed? And now let's talk of next year. I'll want a black girl, a full-blooded Kleshite. And no five-gold-bar deal ever again. I'll not want a witchy wonder, only youth and great beauty.”