Swords and Ice Magic - By Fritz Leiber Page 0,64

me for Sea Hawk's voyage and return.” He locked eyes with the man. “Now it comes to the test, for you must take command while I seek Mara. Continue to harry the Mingols but avoid a full engagement. Those of Cold Harbor are our friends, but do not join with them in their fort unless no other course is open. Remember we serve the lady Afreyt. Understood?” Skor frowned, keeping his eyes locked with Fafhrd's, then nodded once.

“Good!” Fafhrd said, not sure at all that it was so, but knowing he was doing what he had to. The smoke from the burning ships was less ― the Mingols seemed to have saved her. Skullick and his fellow came running back with their bows, grinning.

“Mannimark!” Fafhrd called. “Give me two torches. Skullick! ― the tinder-pouch.” He unbuckled the belt holding his longsword Graywand. He retained his ax.

“Men!” he addressed them. “I must be absent for a space. Command goes to Skor by this token.” He buckled Graywand to that one's side. “Obey him faithfully. Keep yourselves whole. See that I'm given no cause to rebuke you when I return.”

And without more ado he made off across the glacier toward Mount Hellglow.

* * * *

The Mouser forced himself to rise soon as he woke and to take a cold bath before his single cup of hot gahveh (he was in that sort og mood). He set his entire crew to work, Mingols and thieves alike, completing Flotsam's repairs, warning them that she must be ready to sail by the morrow's morn at least, in line with Loki god's promise: “In three days the Mingols come.” He took considerable pleasure in noting that several of them seemed to be suffering from worse hangovers than his own. “Work them hard, Pshawri,” he commanded. “No mercy to slug-abeds and shirkers!”

By then it was time to join with Cif in seeing off Afreyt's and Groniger's overland expedition. He found the Rimelanders offensively bright-eyed, noisy, and energetic, and the way that Groniger bustled about, marshalling them, was a caution.

Cif and Afreyt were clear-eyed and smiling also in their brave russets and blues, but that was easier to take. He and Cif walked a ways with the overland marchers. He noted with some amusement and approval that Afreyt had four of Groniger's men carrying a curtained litter, though she did not occupy it as yet. So she was making the men pay for yesternight's false (or at least tactless) accusations, and would cross the Deathlands in luxurious ease. That was more in his own style.

He was in an odd state of mind, almost feeling himself a spectator rather than a participant in great events. The incident of the stirring speech he had made last night (or rather the oration that the god Loki had delivered through his lips while he was blacked out) and didn't remember (and couldn't discover) a word of still rankled. He felt like the sort of unimportant servant, or errand boy, who's never allowed to know the contents of the sealed messages he's given to deliver.

In this role of observer and critic he was struck by how grotesque was the weaponry of the highstepping and ebuliient Rimelanders. There were the quarteastaves, of course, and heavy single-bladed spears, but also slim fishing spears and great pitchforks and wickedly hooked and notched pikes, and long flails with curious heavy swiples and swingles a-dangle from their ends. A couple even carried long narrow-bladed and sharp-looking spades. He remarked on it to Cif and she asked him how he armed his own thief-band. Afreyt had gone on a little ahead. They were nearing Gailows Hill.

“Why, with slings,' he told Cif. ”They're as good as bows and a lot less trouhle to carry. Like this one,“ and he showed her the leather sling hanging from his belt. ”See that old gihbet ahead? Now mark."

He selected a lead ball from his pouch, centered it in the strap and, sighting quickly but carefully, whirled it twice round his head and loosed. The thunk as it struck square on was unexpectedly loud and resounding. Some Rimelanders applauded.

Afreyt came hurrying back to tell him not to do that again ― it might offend god Odin. Can't do anything right this morning, the Mouser told himself sourly.

But the incident had given him a thought. He said to Cif,"Say. maybe I was demonstrating the sling in my speech last night when I whirled the cube of square dealing a round on its cord. Do you