Servant of a Dark God - By John Brown Page 0,115

Nettle. “If you wake up tomorrow and find yourself doing a chicken trot with Prince Conroy, then I’ll be leaning towards curse.”

Talen shook his head and began down the slope. Partway down the hill, he said, “If Atra comes to the door, I need to have something to say. Otherwise, I’ll be staring at her like a great ox.”

Atra, the glass master’s daughter, had expressed an interest in him at the last harvest dance. Or at least it had seemed she had, and he’d thought about her ever since. He knew it was nothing more than a fancy, but such an arrangement would be good for everyone: Da would get a family member into a clan, Uncle Argoth would keep his promise to his sister, the glass master would be able to tie his interests with a man close to a warlord of the Nine, and Talen, if she accepted him, would be able to serve and ponder one of the most stunning creatures he’d ever beheld.

He remembered that River had told him once the key to conversation is asking helpful questions. Good humor, a few good stories, and a few helpful questions. Not the stupid lines men came up with after a few pints of ale.

“Helpful?” he’d asked.

“Yes,” said River. “A question that makes it easy for the other person to talk.”

“Well, how’s a question going to do that? Either they have something to say or they don’t.”

“No,” River said. “Everyone has something to say. There are some people that are like an irrigation ditch. You pull the stop up and they’ll go on until you shut them off. But others aren’t like that. Other people are like a pond or lake. You’ve first got to make an outlet for them, only then will they flow.”

“I’ve never heard you go on and on about a man’s questions,” said Talen. “All you talk about is their brilliant parts and all the presents they bring.”

River smiled. “Trust me, little brother. The splendor of fine hair fades quickly.”

“Yeah, well I’d rather fade than never shine at all.”

Except after trying to think up great things to say, Talen was thinking maybe River had the right of it. Let them do the talking. But he’d never asked River for examples. What was a helpful question? How did you make an outlet for them to flow?

Well, it couldn’t be that hard. He began to mumble questions to himself.

“What are you doing?” asked Nettle.

“Thinking up something to help Atra flow like a river.”

“What?”

“Conversation. I’m thinking about making conversation.”

“We’ve got men bent on doing us harm, and you’re worried about conversation?”

“I’ve had enough of hunts and hatchlings and baker’s come-backs. I want to think about something pleasant for a while. Is it going to tax you?”

“No,” Nettle said. Then he grinned. “Tell her she looks beautiful and then ask her if she wants to breed.”

“You can rot,” said Talen.

“Touchy,” said Nettle.

Talen waved him off. Maybe he could ask after Atra’s mother’s health.

“Who cares what you say?”

“I do,” said Talen. “It doesn’t matter what you do, you’re Captain Argoth’s son. Honor and cattle hang on you like apples from a tree. You’ve got a garlic-eater’s wrist. You can do what you want and still be attractive. But I have to make a good impression, especially when I tell them I need an escort and then have to wait around for the glass master to gather one. Besides, we don’t want them asking us questions, do we?”

“You have a point,” said Nettle.

“So?”

“So we keep it short. You’ve been threatened, falsely accused by Fir-Noy. I show them my ear. Then we say it would be mighty nice to have some Shoka with us the rest of the way home.”

Talen nodded. Short and to the point. And if he got to talk to Atra that would be a small gift in a day that was turning out to be one big stinking cow pile.

They crossed the fields and stopped at the border of the yard proper. It could be dangerous to walk into the grounds of a place where the dogs did not know you. But nothing barked. And so he led Iron Boy in.

The glasshouse sat many yards away from the yard, its chimneys smoking. The doors stood open, and and Talen could see men moving about in the shadows. He could not tell what they were doing. And that’s why it had been set apart from the house. The glass master wanted to avoid prying eyes that might discover

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