Read Into the Thinking Kingdoms Online
Authors: Alan Dean Foster
Tags: #Fiction, #Fantasy, #General, #FIC009000
Into the Thinking Kingdoms (11 page)
At the strangers’ approach they showed they were not as helpless as they looked. Amid much distraught baaing and bleating, they hastened to form a circle; lambs in the middle, ewes facing determinedly outward, young rams spacing themselves efficiently along the outermost rim.
One old ram, obviously the herd dominant and leader, lowered his head and pawed angrily at the ground. Bleating furiously, he took several challenging pronks in the direction of the newcomers. At this point Ahlitah, who had been dawdling behind his human companions, trotted forward to rejoin them. Espying and taking nonchalant note of the ram’s challenge, he vouchsafed to give forth a midrange snarl, whereupon the suddenly paralyzed ram froze at the end of an advancing pronk, stood tottering on all fours for an instant or two, and proceeded to keel over onto one side in a dead faint, all four legs locked sideways and straight, parallel to the ground.
“Easy meat,” the litah commented idly as they strolled past the trembling herd.
“Mind your manners,” Ehomba chided his four-legged companion. “You cannot be hungry. Not after that half an animal you just devoured.”
“You’re right; I’m not hungry. But I’ve run too many hot mornings in pursuit of prey that eventually escaped ever to ignore something that looks like roast on a stick.” The maned head gestured scornfully in the direction of the herd, and thin, hoofed legs quaked at the casual nod. “These things are domesticated. They are become the vassals of human appetite.”
“You can say that again. I love mutton.” Simna was eyeing several plump members of the herd more covetously than the big cat.
Ehomba sighed. Belying his stocky frame, the swordsman’s appetites were outsized in every way. “If not the shepherd, we may encounter the landholder. Perhaps we can bargain for some chops, if you must have some.”
Walking on, they stumbled not on the landowner but upon his dwelling, a modest and unprepossessing structure of stone walls and thatched roof. There was a well out front, and a small garden fenced to keep out the wild vermin as well as sheep and goats. Smoke rose unhurriedly from the stone chimney, and flowering wisteria vined its way up the walls and around the door and the single window. Several young lambs grazed in a stone paddock back of the main building. At the travelers’ approach, an old dog lifted its head to check them out. Broad bands of white streaked her long black fur. Apparently satisfied, it laid its lower jaw back down on its paws. It did not bark, not even at the sight and smell of the litah.
“Quiet, tidy little place,” Simna declared grudgingly. “Simple lodgings for simple folk.”
“Even simple folk may have useful information to give.” Tilting back his head, the herdsman squinted at the sky. “And there are clouds gathering. If we are polite, and pleasant, perhaps the owner will let us stay the night.” Trying to see inside, Ehomba bent low and shaded his eyes with one hand. “When traveling in a strange land, any known direction is welcome.” Advancing on the half-open swinging door, the lower half of which was latched, he raised his voice. Impressively, the dog continued to disregard them.
“Hello! Is anyone at home? We see your smoke.”
“It’s not my smoke, no. It belongs to the fire. But you may come in anyhow, all of you.”
Ehomba led the way into the cottage, which was very neat and clean. Among the Naumkib, it would have been accounted a palace. Sturdy chairs surrounded a table. Both were decorated with carvings and fine scrollwork. An iron pot hung from a swing-out cooking bar in the large fireplace, and there was a sink with a hand pump on the far side of the room. Facing a stone fireplace off to the right were larger, upholstered chairs and a sitting couch. Bookshelves filled with well-thumbed tomes lined the walls, and hanging oil-filled lamps were in place to provide light throughout the evening hours. To the left, a door led to rooms unseen, and a short ladder leaning against one wall hinted at the presence of a copious attic. The cottage’s lone occupant was working at the sink, wet up to his elbows. He turned to smile at them as they entered.
“Mind your head, stranger. I don’t get many visitors, and few your size. Now, I’ll be with you in a moment. I’m just finishing up these dishes.”
The owner was plainly dressed in ankle-length pants and matching shirt of dark brown. Both were devoid of decoration. The simple elegance and efficiency of the furnishings suggested that they had not been made by the cottage’s occupant, but were the product of other craftsmen and had been bought and brought to this place by wagon or other means of transport. If true, it meant that the owner’s isolation was deceptive. He was here by choice rather than out of necessity, and had the resources to pay for more than basic needs.
Not that there was any overt reference to wealth to be seen anywhere within the cottage, unless one so considered the many books. But even a poor man could accumulate a decent library through careful purchasing, especially if it was accomplished over a matter of decades. And their diminutive host certainly had, if not obvious wealth, many years to his credit. His beard and hair were entirely gray, full but neatly trimmed, and despite the blush in his pale cheeks he was clearly an individual of considerable maturity.
“Just have a seat, over there, by the fire,” he instructed them as he ran a rag across the face of a ceramic plate. “I should have attended to these earlier, but there were new lambs in need of docking, and I thought it better to take care of them first.”
“Yes,” Ehomba agreed. He watched Simna flop like a rag doll into one of the big overstuffed chairs and then carefully imitated the swordsman’s actions. He was not used to such comfort. In the village, beds were stuffed but chairs were straight-backed and hard. “Better to see to that as quickly as possible or they are liable to become fly-blown.”
Putting the plate in a drying rack, the owner turned in surprise. “You are a sheep man, then?”
Simna rolled his eyes. “Oh no.” Near his feet, Ahlitah wound three times around himself before, satisfied, he lay down in front of the fire.
“Sheep, yes, and cattle. Mostly cattle.”
“I have never been a man for cattle.” Taking an intricately carved pipe from its stand, the homeowner ambled over to the stone hearth. Selecting a narrow taper from a small box affixed to the rockwork, he stuck it into the flames until it acquired one of its own, then touched the flickering tip to the bowl of the pipe. While he drew on the contents, he spoke around each puff. “Too rambunctious for me, and a bit much for one man to handle. Even with Roileé to help.”
“Roileé?” The herdsman searched the room for signs of another resident.
“My dog.” The owner smiled delightfully around the stem of his pipe. “She’s getting on, and she’s lost a step or two, but she’s still the best sheepdog in these mountains. I am Lamidy Coubert, and I think you are not from the Thinking Kingdoms.”
“How can you tell?” Simna chuckled softly.
Coubert laughed along with the swordsman. Removing the pipe from his mouth, he gestured with its bowl. “Well for one thing, no one I have heard of, not even lords and noblemen, travels with a house cat of quite such imposing dimensions. Much less one that speaks.” Seeing Ehomba’s expression, he added, “I heard all three of you talking outside as you approached the cottage. And your manner of dress, my friend, is also strikingly new to me.” He frowned slightly as he turned to Simna. “Your attire I can almost place.”
“You live alone here, Lamidy Coubert?” Ehomba asked him.
“Yes. Except for Roileé, of course.”
“Yet you allow us, three strangers, freely into your home. Two well armed, and the third a meat-eater of great size and strength. And you are not afraid?”
Coubert coughed lightly, checked his pipe. “If your intentions were malicious I could not have stopped you. So I might as well greet you.” His smile returned. “Besides, I have lived a long time now by myself. Here on the edge of civilization I get few visitors. So I try to treasure those I do.”
“I hate to disillusion you, old man, but this isn’t the edge of civilization. South of here lies the port of Lybondai and a host of other coastal cities.” Simna’s throat was calling for refreshment but he decided to hold off a while longer to see if their host offered before he made the request. “And beyond that, the sea of Aboqua, and the cities and cultures of the south. Myself, I’m from far to the east, and I can tell you, we’re goddamn civilized out that way.”
“I am sure.” The oldster was courteously contrite. “I meant no insult. It is simply the view that is generally held in the Thinking Kingdoms, and therefore one with which I am familiar, though I do not hold to it myself.” He gestured expansively. “Obviously, you three are as civilized as any people.”
“Two.” On the thick oval carpet before the crackling fireplace, Ahlitah spoke without lifting his head from his paws.
“Yes, well.”
“Where are the Thinking Kingdoms?” Ehomba inquired softly. Beyond the door and window, evening was stealing stealthily over the land. The muffled baaing of sheep was interrupted by the occasional booming of muted thunder. He could not tell which way the gathering storm was moving. With each strobing flash of unseen lightning the walls of the cottage seemed to grow stronger, and to tighten around them all like a finely made, heavy coat. A chill entered via the still open upper half of the double door. Feeling it, Coubert moved to shut the remaining barrier against the rising wind.
“The Thinking Kingdoms are all the lands to the north of here,” their host explained as he returned to stand near the fireplace, slightly to one side of the sputtering, popping blaze itself. “There is Bondressey, and the Dukedom of Veroi-verai. Farther to the north one may enter the Grand Barony of Melespra, which is bordered by Squoy East and Squoy South. East of the Grand Barony lies the river port of Urenon the Elegant, and downstream from it the province of Phan that is ruled by the enlightened Count Tyrahnar Cresthelmare.
“Those are only a few of the most notable kingdoms immediately to the north of here. There are many more, to east and west and to the north of Phan.”
“And all these tribes—these kingdoms,” Ehomba corrected himself. “They are at peace? I ask because we must travel farther north still.”
“There are always disputes and altercations, bickerings and controversies.” Coubert turned philosophical. “It is the nature of sovereigns to debate. But war is rare in the Thinking Kingdoms. Each ruler prides himself on his or her intelligence and learning. Altercations are most likely to be settled through reasoned discussion, sometimes by greatly respected teams of logicians.”
Simna indicated the pack and sword he had removed and placed near his feet. “Everybody’s different, Gulyulo says. Where I come from, we talk a lot while we’re arguing, but it’s usually loud, unreasoning, and in words of one syllable.”
“I can believe that.” Coubert turned back to Ehomba. “And you, my tall friend? How are disputations settled in your country?”
“The Naumkib are too small and too few to enjoy the luxury of infighting. We are too busy surviving to waste time and energy on individual quarrels.”
“Yet despite this claimed pacificity you carry not one but three large and unusual weapons,” the observant sheepherder pointed out sagely.
“It was thought I should be as well equipped as possible for this journey. Not every creature, much less every human, that one meets in strange lands is ready or willing to sit down and peacefully work out disagreements.”
“Hoy, you can say that again! Especially the ones that want to eat you.” Simna started to curl his legs up on the chair beneath his backside, then thought better of it. Not that he was shy, but his feet had not been washed in days, and though he would never admit to it, he was slightly intimidated by the unexpected tidiness of their surroundings.
“Whither are you bound, then?” their host inquired. “To which of the Thinking Kingdoms?” Reflected firelight danced in his pale green eyes.
“To none of them, based on what you have told us.” Ehomba felt himself growing sleepy. It had been a long day’s march, the welcoming warmth of the fire was seeping inexorably into his tired muscles, and the plushness of the couch on which his lanky frame reposed was intoxicating. “We have to cross the Semordria, and to do that we have learned that we must go to Hamacassar to find a ship.”
“Hamacassar!” For the first time since their arrival, the little man looked startled. “So far! And yet just a prelude to a greater journey still. I am impressed. You are great travelers.”
“You bet your chin hairs we are.” Simna nodded in the herdsman’s direction. “And my friend there, he’s a grand and powerful wizard. He claims to be doing this only to help some lady, but I know he’s really after a great treasure.” Looking smug, the swordsman crossed his arms over his chest and compromised with his legs by laying them across a small serving table.
The sheepherder nodded slowly as he digested this information before turning back to Ehomba. “Is what your friend says true? Are you a wizard?”
“Not only not a wizard,” the southerner protested, “but not grand or powerful, either. I was well prepared for this journey by the good people of my village, that is all.” He threw Simna a dirty look, but the swordsman ignored him. “Some people get an idea into their heads and no matter what you do, you cannot get it away from them. They bury it as deeply as a dog does a favorite bit of offal.”
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