'Boys,' said the witch Zelafona, with a click of her tongue which summarized volumes of disapproval.
Then she handed Sken-Pitilkin his country crook, which he received gratefully, for he had never before had more need of its support.
Inside the pierced gateway, a set of windchimes hung from the roof. Though there was no wind, these chimes tinkled regardless, and this tinkling was the loudest exterior sound which the airadventurers had heard since first air-crashing in this upland valley. Led by Jarl, the exhausted air adventurers passed through the gateway into a broad courtyard. A woman was making her way across this yard with a bucket of water.
'Ho there, fench oddock!' said Guest.
Challenged thus, the old woman turned to stare, then dropped her bucket of water. As it crashed and spilt, she fled.
'Very bright,' said Sken-Pitilkin, observing the old woman's skirt-clutching retreat. 'Suppose you follow her and see where she goes.'
'No need,' said Guest, 'for I think the master of the place is upon us.'
Indeed, venturing toward the air adventurers from a small side door was an elderly and decidedly shaggy- haired gentleman who appeared to be of Yarglat race. Accordingly, Guest Gulkan hailed the ancient in Eparget, and was pleased to receive an answer in his native tongue.
'Greetings,' said the ancient, with the greatest of all imaginable courtesy, politely overlooking the dusty and disheveled appearance of his uninvited guests, and overlooking as well the fact that all were splattered with the vomit which had come cartwheeling from Guest Gulkan's mouth during the airship's maiden voyage.
Then the Yarglat-born ruler of the valley's dominant building said to Sken-Pitilkin: 'And to you, greetings. It has been a long time, Torsen.'
'Torsen?' said Sken-Pitilkin in astonishment. 'You call me Torsen?'
'That is your name, is it not?' said the ancient.
'Why,' said Hostaja Torsen Sken-Pitilkin, 'it is one of them.
But – why, if you know that – '
Then Sken-Pitilkin lapsed into the High Speech of wizards, and the ancient replied in turn. The elf-armored Pelagius Zozimus soon joined the conversation, adding to Sken-Pitilkin's tale of aeronautical adventuring, and the three would have been in discourse all night had not Jarl demanded that they stop talking in gibberish.
'Who and what is this?' said Jarl, gesturing at their shaggyhaired Yarglat host.
Jarl gestured in a hand which was perilously close to being a fist.
'This dignitary,' said Sken-Pitilkin, indicating the old man,
'is the abbot of Qonsajara, Qonsajara being the monastery in which we now stand.'
'A priest, is he?' said Jarl.
'In a manner of speaking,' said Sken-Pitilkin. 'His name is Ontario Nol. He is a wizard of the order of Itch – a wizard of the winds.'
'A wizard!' said Jarl. 'And what thinks he of the Rovac?'
'He thinks them dangerous,' said Sken-Pitilkin, 'therefore demands that you do him the courtesy of surrendering your sword while you enjoy his hospitality.'
'That I will do, then,' said Jarl.
With that, Jarl drew his sword. An odd gesture, this. For a blade is not surrendered naked – rather, it is more properly yielded by unbuckling the swordbelt which sustains its scabbard.
Ontario Nol's eyes widened marginally, for he knew the murderous appetites of the Rovac.
With his sword drawn to the full length of its murder, Jarl hacked at the head of Ontario Nol. But the wizard had been given an eyeblink or more to prepare himself for attack, and an eyeblink was sufficient.
'Ja-bree!' screamed Nol, flinging wide his hands as Jarl struck down.
A wizard-wind whirlwind caught Jarl in a wind-slam funnel- spout. Trapped in a wind-whipping whirlspill, Jarl was spun first deasil then widdershins.
'Cha!' shouted Nol.
And Jarl was released from the grip of the wizard-win.
Pirouette by pirouette, the warrior spun to the nearest wall, which slammed him in the face, rebuffing his ballet with puritanical retort.
'Bravo!' said Guest, applauding vigorously as Thodric Jarl slid down that wall, staining its stones with a snail- track of blood from his vigorously bleeding nose.
'Blood!' said Rolf Thelemite excitedly. 'See! Blood, blood!
The ribs have pierced his lungs! He's done for, now!'
But that was not the case.
On close examination, it appeared that Thodric Jarl had suffered no more than a chipped tooth and a bloody nose. He had not even been knocked out. Nevertheless, it must be admitted that this was most definitely not the most auspicious of introductions.
Chapter Eleven
Ul-donlok: valley in the Ibsen-Iktus mountains and site of the ancient monastery of Qonsajara, which is home to a wizard of Yarglat breeding named Ontario Nol. The valley of Ul-donlok, which is high and narrow at its western end, slopes downward to the east, opening out as it nears the Swelaway Sea.
Hostaja Torsen Sken-Pitilkin did his best to make Thodric Jarl apologize for his foolish attack on Ontario Nol. Jarl refused.
'Dogs will hatch from eggs and pigs be born of pigeons before I say sorry to a wizard,' said Jarl, intransigent as any monster of the nursery.
Jarl was sure Nol would kill him in any case, and no Rovac warrior wishes to die with an apology to a wizard on his lips.
'What are we to do with this rune-warrior?' said Sken-Pitilkin, shaking his head in disgust.
'Let's not worry about it,' said Nol, shrugging off Jarl's insolent unrepentance. 'After all, what matters a trifle like attempted murder when dinner is waiting? Come, friends. Let's seat ourselves and sup. For dinner cools monstrous fast in weather like this.'
'Dinner?' said Pelagius Zozimus, who had a chef's highlydeveloped consciousness of the passage of time. 'Dinner? My dear sir, dinner can hardly cool before it's cooked, and we've only just arrived! How can you possibly have dinner ready already?'
'I saw you from afar,' said Ontario Nol gravely, 'even if my servant did not.'
'So!' said Sken-Pitilkin, taking this to be a confession of the possession of Powers. 'The wizards of Itch have powers of sight, do they?'
'They do indeed,' said Ontario Nol. 'Such powers are consequent upon the possession of those ocular organs known as eyes, of which I have two. With my own two eyes I have long had you under observation from the heights of Qonsajara, in consequence of which I have been able to have a dinner prepared for you.'
Upon which both Zozimus and Sken-Pitilkin felt foolish, and made no further comment as the hospitable wizard of Itch led the party of air adventurers into his dining room. It was a small room dominated by a large stone table, and though Nol had threatened them with a chilled dinner the room was in fact kept comfortably warm by a small but efficient fire.
'May we not wash, first?' said Sken-Pitilkin, conscious of the fact that all of them smelt somewhat of vomit, and that the half-digested eyes of two or three of the dogs of Ema-Urk still clung to Guest Gulkan's outer clothing.
'Wash?' said Nol, in patent surprise. 'But why?'
'To please me,' said Zelafona, coming to Sken-Pitilkin's rescue. 'As a woman, I am particular of the company I keep, therefore would have these men washed if bowl, sponge and water to spare.'
'I have no objection to a sponging of my face and my jacket,' said Thodric Jarl, who was perfectly ready to make concessions to the witch Zelafona, though he was ever reluctant to give aid to a wizard. 'Rolf will help me with the sponging.'
