man’s vitals almost as well as an iron one could.
The canoes drew up in a half-circle between the Seagull and the beach, but a single one was paddled up to within a few yards of Sorgan’s ship. There were only two natives in the canoe. The one who was doing the paddling appeared almost as burly as Ox, and he had a flaming red beard that reached half-way to his waist. The other native was much older, and he had snowy hair that he wore in braids.
The red-bearded native skillfully brought the canoe to a stop, and his older companion rose to his feet. ‘Welcome to Lattash, Sorgan Hook-Beak,’ he said in a deep, rolling voice. ‘Long have we awaited your coming.’
‘I am honored by your greeting,’ Sorgan replied. A certain formality seemed to be in order here.
‘I am White-Braid of Lattash,’ the man in the canoe introduced himself, ‘and the younger men of this village even heed my advice – every so often.’ The old man smiled faintly.
Sorgan had noticed that Longbow had also seemed to have a similarly dry sense of humor. He straightened. ‘I have been told that the Lady Zelana would have words with me, Chief White-Braid,’ he said.
‘I have heard so myself,’ White-Braid replied. ‘This is my nephew, Red-Beard,’ he said, gesturing toward the native who’d paddled the canoe. ‘He will escort you to the cave where she dwells. I shall remain here so that your men need have no concern about your continued well-being. In time, these precautions may no longer be necessary, but we are strangers still, so let there be no possibility of deception.’
‘You are wise, Chief White-Braid,’ Sorgan said, ‘and I shall be guided by you in this matter.’ If White-Braid wanted formality, Sorgan was ready to pile formality on him until he was hip-deep in it.
The two of them rather carefully changed places. White-Braid came on board the Seagull, and Hook-Beak climbed down into the canoe. ‘Treat our friend well, Ox,’ Sorgan called up to his first mate.
‘Aye, Cap’n,’ Ox replied respectfully, as the canoe moved away from the Seagull.
‘Why does the lady called Zelana live in a cave instead of in the village with the rest of the tribe?’ Sorgan asked the red-bearded native who was paddling smoothly toward the beach.
‘She doesn’t really belong here, Sorgan Hook-Beak,’ Red-Beard replied, ‘and she isn’t very fond of us.’
‘I thought that she was the queen of this part of Dhrall,’ Sorgan said.
‘Not exactly,’ Red-Beard replied. ‘Our legends say that she’s lived forever, but that she doesn’t care for people very much. She went away a long, long time ago. She came back just recently, and now she’s staying in that cave at the edge of the village. My uncle tells us that she’s very powerful, and that if she wants something to happen, it will happen. Uncle White-Braid gets a little strange when he talks about her. I think he’s afraid of her, which is strange, because he’s not really afraid of anything. She never comes out of that cave, and the only servant she has is a little girl. The child comes out of the cave to tell us what Zelana wants us to do.’
‘What does she look like?’ Sorgan asked.
Red-Beard shrugged. ‘I’ve only seen her twice, and she keeps her face covered. I overheard my uncle once when he was talking with some of the other old men of the village, and he was telling them that she changes every so often.’
‘Changes?’
‘She doesn’t always look the same,’ Red-Beard stopped paddling. ‘When we get to the beach, I’m supposed to lead you along at the edge of the water. Uncle White-Braid told me to be careful to keep you in plain sight all the way to the cave of Zelana so that your men won’t have any cause for concern.’
‘Your people seem to be very cautious, Red-Beard,’ Sorgan observed.
‘Uncle White-Braid seems to prefer it that way. Old men are like that sometimes.’
‘That might explain how they lived long enough to get old.’
‘You’re probably right,’ Red-Beard conceded, taking up his paddle again. ‘We’ll have to go ashore just ahead. There’s some sharp rocks just below the surface of the water farther down the beach, and I’d rather not rip the bottom out of my canoe.’
‘How far is it to this cave?’ Sorgan asked.
Red-Beard pointed with his paddle. ‘It’s in the side of that hill near the end of the beach.’
‘It’s quite a ways from the village,’ Sorgan observed, noting that the hill was oddly dome-shaped, and its sides were mostly bare rock with scant vegetation.
‘The one called Zelana doesn’t seem to like the way we smell.’
‘Am I supposed to bow down to her or anything like that?’ Sorgan asked.
‘I don’t think so. Uncle White-Braid would have mentioned it. Just tell her who you are. She’ll probably know already, since she’s been describing you ever since she first got here.’ Red-Beard drove the prow of his canoe up onto the beach, and then he and Sorgan pulled it clear of the water. Then they walked down the beach, being careful to stay in plain sight of the Seagull.
‘Have you heard anything about some kind of trouble that might be coming this way?’ Sorgan asked.
‘There’s always trouble in this part of the world, Sorgan Hook-Beak,’ Red-Beard replied. ‘The tribes can go to war about almost anything. Here lately, though, we’ve heard some stories about the creatures of the Wasteland.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Off beyond the mountains,’ Red-Beard replied vaguely.
‘I don’t know much about it, because the old men don’t like to talk about the Wasteland. The creatures who live there are supposed to look sort of like people, but I don’t think they are people. Zelana can probably tell you more about them. I think that’s why she wants to talk to you. There’s the mouth of her cave right over there.’ He pointed at an irregular opening in the rocky hillside. ‘My uncle told me to make some noise before we go on inside. He said that we don’t want to startle Zelana.’
They approached the cave-mouth with a certain caution. ‘Zelana of the West,’ Red-Beard called into the echoing cave, ‘I am Red-Beard of the line of White-Braid the Chief, and I have brought an outlander named Sorgan Hook-Beak to speak with you.’
They waited for a few moments, and then a beautiful little girl with fair hair came out of the dark cave. ‘What kept you so long, Hook-Beak?’ she asked Sorgan. ‘The Beloved was starting to worry about you. Come along, but wipe your feet before you come inside. She gets peevish when anybody tracks mud into her cave.’
Sorgan and Red-Beard followed the little girl through the irregularly shaped opening and on through a twisting, narrow passageway into a large chamber where a small fire burned some distance back from the cave mouth. A woman with dark hair and wearing a filmy gauze garment was seated near the fire with her back to them. ‘It’s about time you got here, Hook-Beak,’ the woman said. ‘Has the Seagull gone lame?’
‘It is a fair distance from Longbow’s village,’ Sorgan replied, feeling more
