Far-Seer

“Well, then, I guess I’m off,” said Dybo. “Keenir, a most fascinating voyage; I thank you. See me at court when you return; you’ll be rewarded well. Afsan, any message for Saleed?”

“I think I’d better save what I’ve got to say until I see the old fellow in person.” He shuddered. “It’s going to be a tough fight, I know.”

Dybo clicked his teeth in sympathy. Then, turning to immediate concerns, he surveyed the assembled group. “And how should I get to Halporn?”

One of the riders stepped forward. “Val-Toron, at your service, Emperor,” she said. “I’d be honored if you rode my mount; the rest of my party will be glad to escort you to where the Nasfedeter is docked.”

“Right, then; let’s go.” Dybo moved toward the running beast Toron had indicated. The two-legged creature turned its long neck right around to look dubiously at the rotund Emperor. It then looked back at its handler, who was standing now in a relaxed tripod stance leaning back on her tail. The runner tilted its tiny head at her in a way that seemed to say, “You have got to be kidding.”

Two of the other riders helped Dybo mount the beast and get comfortable in the saddle. Then they rode off with the traditional cry of “Latark!”

Afsan turned to Keenir. “Captain, Saleed told me that the far-seer was made for you by an artisan on the west coast of Land.”

“Did he? Yes, that’s true.”

“Well, sir, we’re on the west coast now. I’d like to meet this glassworker. Does he or she live here, in Jam’toolar?”

Keenir wrinkled his muzzle and looked away. For a moment it seemed to have flushed blue, as if he’d been contemplating telling a lie. But then, when he looked back, his face was composed and its normal deep green.

“Yes, she does. Her name is Wab-Novato. But her Pack is Gelbo, and their home base is still a five-day hike from here, or so. It’s a long way, and I really don’t think—”

“Wab-Novato?” said a voice. Keenir turned. Kaden was standing within earshot. “I know her well,” said the hunter.

“We’re from Gelbo; she’s a member of our base group. Quite a talent, that one.”

Afsan’s tail swished in delight. “Will you take me to see her?”

“Of course,” said Kaden.

“But—” Keenir stammered a couple of times, then looked away, his breath coming out in a long, hissing sigh. “Oh, all right. Have a good trip, Afsan. Just—just don’t mention to Saleed that I had anything to do with this.”

“Why should Saleed care?” asked Afsan.

But Keenir did not seem moved to answer.

*24*

The base group of Kaden’s Pack Gelbo was like most mid-sized villages: many temporary wooden structures and a handful of stone buildings. In the dim past, Quintaglios had built many stone temples and houses, but, so the stories went, landquakes had been few and far between then. These days, it didn’t make sense to lavish too much care on a building, for it would not be too many kilodays before tremors would crack its foundations or topple its walls.

The Packs had to move about, lest they hunt all the meat in an area. Soon enough, Kaden’s people would abandon this village and move to another. Likewise, after this territory had been unhunted for several kilodays, another Pack would come here.

Kaden and Afsan arrived at the village shortly after even-dawn. Both were dusty after their long hike. They’d killed well on the way, though, so Afsan sought only a brief swim in a stream before going off to see where Wab-Novato plied her craft.

Novato’s workshop was in what used to be a temple to Hoog, one of the Five Original Hunters. Although most of the temple’s rooms were no longer inhabitable, their roofs having caved in or their supporting walls buckled, several were still usable.

Kaden’s instructions had been no more precise than that—one of the rooms in the temple—and Afsan had to poke his muzzle through the entrances of three chambers before he found the one he wanted. The first housed a massive old female who worked metal into surgical instruments that were traded, so Afsan was told, throughout Land. The second was a small movable-type shop, apparently setting up documents for printing. They had worktables covered with thousands of tiny metal slugs, each one with a different glyph on it. The third was a bizarre place in which two young males had thousands of lizards in open-mouth glass jars. Something about trying to understand why some bred with certain characteristics, apparently.

These two fellows gave Afsan directions to Novato’s room—"last one on your right after you pass the sacrificial pit"—and Afsan headed down the corridor, sunlight streaking through cracks in the ceiling.

On his way, he noted that on some of the walls faded murals were still visible, depicting ancient hunting rituals and—Afsan shuddered—what seemed to be a cannibalistic feast.