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probably throw the figurine away at the first opportunity.
Don t take it to heart, bruther. The swordsman gave his tall friend a
condoling slap on the back.
People are always thinking they can make a difference in some stranger s
life, and invariably they end up making things worse. Raising his voice, he
called out to their new companion.
Hoy, Knuckerman! There s footpaths all over this place. You re supposed to be
guiding us. Stop snorting those stinking weeds and show us the right one.
Bright-eyed and alert, the little man straightened and nodded. Your animal is
still moving forward on the correct line. Keep following him. If he makes a
wrong turn I ll let you know. Don t worry.
Why should I worry? Simna murmured aloud. We re following the lead of the
man who knows everything. Or used to. I wonder: If we got a drink or two into
him not enough to destabilize him, mind
would he stay sober enough to understand the question and still be able to
know the answer?
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Into the Thinking Kingdoms: Journeys of the Catechist, Book 2
As they walked, Ehomba dutifully considered the proposition. I do not think
so. I believe that with
Knucker and his knowing it is all one way or all the other. There is no middle
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ground.
Simna showed his disappointment. Too bad.
But he is happier this way. And healthier, with a new outlook on the future.
Look at him.
Hoy, hoy. Clean and sober but useless. A fine trade-off, that. The swordsman
strained to see over the next hill. They were entering dense forest, fragrant
with towering pine and spruce. Didn t he say something about an interesting
town not far ahead?
Ehomba nodded. Netherbrae. The herdsman surveyed the steeply ascending
hills. Two days journey from here and well outside the borders of
Bondressey.
Good. Simna increased his pace. I could do with some surroundings that were
interesting instead of civilized.
Cannot a place be both?
Hoy, but given a choice, I much prefer the former over the latter. Ow!
Reaching up, the swordsman felt the back of his head. The source of the slight
but sharp pain was immediately apparent: A sizeable pinecone that had fallen
from a considerable height was still rolling to a stop near his feet. Ehomba s
gentle grin at his friend s discomfort vanished when a similar missile struck
him on the shoulder. Together, the two men peered warily up into the trees. As
they did, another cone landed several feet away.
Simna took consolation from his tall friend s ignorance. The herdsman had
never seen seeds like these before. There were no towering evergreens in the
land of the Naumkib.
Such trees drop their cones all the time, the swordsman explained. We just
happened to be walking in the wrong place at the wrong time. As he finished,
another cone struck Ahlitah on his hindquarters. The big cat whirled sharply
and smacked the offending seed pod twenty feet before it could roll off his
backside and hit the ground. His dignity was more injured than his hip.
Your location had nothing to do with it. Knucker had rejoined his new
friends, but instead of on them his gaze was focused on the interlocking
branches overhead. We re being targeted.
Ehomba s excellent eyesight could discern no movement in the treetops except
for the occasional bird or dragonet. One pair of mated azure dragonets was
busy enlarging a prospective nesting hole high up in
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Into the Thinking Kingdoms: Journeys of the Catechist, Book 2
the otherwise solid bole of a giant spruce. Each would inspect the cavity,
lean forward and blast it with a tiny, precisely aligned tongue of flame from
its open mouth, then sit back and wait for the fire to burn itself out. The
pair was already through the bark and into solid wood. Several days of such
careful work would leave them with a fire-hardened black cavity in which to
raise their young.
The herdsman kept an eye on them as he and his friends continued to make their
way through the cool, enclosing woods. Both dragonets were fully occupied with
the task of excavating their nesting hole, and neither paid the least
attention to the party of three men and one cat tromping through the forest
litter.
Certainly they did not pause to kick pinecones at the figures far below.
I do not see anything throwing these cones at us, Ehomba declared. Even as
he concluded the observation, two more cones landed close by his feet, just
missing him. His eyes instantly darted upward, but there was no sign of
movement in any of the branches immediately overhead.
A smiling Knucker tapped the side of his nose with a long finger. This time,
nothing came out. We must be under attack by groats. He scanned the
treetops. Troops of them are common in these woods.
They don t like visitors.
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As a particularly heavy cone plummeted to strike him a glancing blow on the
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