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ourselves. Looking around the table, he grinned and nodded.  Why should we?
Who would ever want to leave Netherbrae?
This time assent was not only general but loud, amounting to cheering more
than mere agreement.
Ehomba thought some of it might have been a little forced, but in the general
melee of good humor it was hard to tell for certain.
 If the beast is of no use, why do you keep him around?
 Of no use? Rising from his seat, a slim young man hefted a small bowl of
table scraps.  Watch this!
Drawing back his arm, he threw it at the cage. It described a graceful arc
before striking the massive, hairy back right between the shoulders and
bouncing off. The cowed creature shuffled forward an inch or so, looking
neither up nor around.
Sitting down, the young man laughed heartily. His companions at the table
laughed with him.
 It amuses us. The words of the woman who had first spoken broke through the
general jocularity.  By letting children throw things at it, their fear of the
beasts that inhabit the deep forest is lessened. And in this we feel we are
truly heeding the word of Tragg, and not straying from the example he long ago
set for us Himself.
Someone passed the herdsman a plate full of fat pulled from various meats.
 Here, friend. Wouldn t you like to have a go yourself?
A softly smiling Ehomba declined politely.  Your offer is generous, and in the
deep spirit of friendship we have already come to admire here in Netherbrae,
but since I am not a true follower of Tragg and am sadly ignorant of so much
of his teaching, I feel it would be presumptuous of me to participate in one
of his ceremonies. Better not to waste it.
 Who said anything about wasting it? To the accompaniment of encouraging
hoots and hollers, one of the other women seated at the table rose and threw
the plate. Her arm was not as strong or her aim as accurate as that of the
young man who had preceded her. To much good-natured merriment, the plate fell
short and clanged off the floor of the cage. But she was applauded for her
effort.
His face an unreadable mask, Ehomba rose from the bench.  We do not know how
to thank you enough for this wonderful evening, and for the hospitality all of
you have shown us. But we are tired from our long walk today, and must be on
our way tomorrow. So I think we will turn in.
 Tired? Raising his recently refilled tumbler, a gleeful Simna saluted their
new friends and surroundings.  Who s tired?
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20krui...ist%2002%20-%20Into%20The
%20Thinking%20Kingdom.htm (189 of 262)19-2-2006 17:05:00
Into the Thinking Kingdoms: Journeys of the Catechist, Book 2
Glaring down, the herdsman put a hand on his companion s shoulder. A
surprisingly heavy hand.
 Tomorrow we must start across the Hrugar Mountains. We will need our rest.
 Hoy, bruther, and I ll get mine. The terse-voiced swordsman brusquely shook
off the long-fingered hand.  I m your friend and confidant, Etjole. Not one of
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your village adolescents.
Next to him, a determined Knucker raised his own drinking utensil.  I m not
tired, either. I can t remember the last night I had such a good time!
Hesitantly, he sipped from his cup. When no one objected, he sipped harder.
 Same here. Simna smiled up at the dour-faced herdsman.  You re so concerned,
bruther, use some of your sorceral skills. Sleep for the three of us!
 Perhaps I will. Disappointed in his companions, Ehomba rose and headed for
the entrance to the tavern that led to the inn s outer office and the front
door, leaving his friends to their elective dissolution.
Across the table, two men leaned forward, inquisitive uncertainty on their
faces.  Is your traveling companion truly a sorcerer?
Simna took a slug from his tumbler, ignoring the fact that Knucker was once
more imbibing steadily.
Furthermore, the little man gave no indication of stopping or slowing down.
But the swordsman was feeling too content to notice, or to object.
 I m convinced of it, but if so he s the strangest one imaginable. Insists
he s nothing but a herder of cattle and sheep, refuses to use magic even to
save his own life. Depends on alchemy he insists arises not from any skills of
his own, but from that bequeathed to him by old women and such of his
village.
The swordsman looked in the direction of the main portal but Ehomba had
already disappeared, on his way to rejoin the fourth member of their party in
the stables around back.
 I ve seen much of the world in my travelings and met many strange folk, but
by Giskret s Loom, he s for surely the most peculiar and mysterious of the
lot. Silent for a moment after concluding his explanation, he shrugged and
downed the contents of his tumbler. Accompanied by smiles and laughter, it was
quickly refilled.
 He didn t look like much of a sorcerer to me, declared one of the men.
 You d far sooner convince me that someone that odd-looking dotes on the
droppings of cows! quipped another. General jollity followed this jest.
Simna knew the not-so-veiled insult to his friend should have bothered him.
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