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freely forgive them all their jealousies, attempted trammelings, and
even extremest wickednesses, since those all sprang from their
ungovernable love, for you or another, and of many a different matter
most useful to know for a youth on manhood's verge.
But although he knew this much, Fafhrd heard his father only in
snatches, for he was so troubled by the gauntness of Nalgron's cheek
and by the leanness of the strong fingers lightly holding the silver
goblet and by the silver in his hair, and a faint overlay of blue on his
ruddy lips, although Nalgron was most sure and even sprightly in every
movement, gesture, and word, that he was compelled to be forever
searching the steaming platters and bowls around him for especially
succulent portions to spoon or fork onto Nalgron's wide, silver plate to
tempt his appetite.
Whenever he did this, Nalgron would look toward him with a smile
and a courteous nod, and with love in his eyes, and then touch his
goblet to his lips and return to his discoursings, but never would he
uncover his eating hand.
As the banquet progressed, Nalgron began to speak of matters yet
more important, but now Fafhrd heard hardly one of the precious
words, so greatly agitated was he by his concern for his father's health.
Now the thin skin seemed stretched to bursting on the jutting
cheekbone, the bright eyes ever more sunken and dark-ringed, the
blue veins more bulgingly a-crawl across the stout tendons of the hand
lightly holding the silver goblet -- and Fafhrd had begun to suspect that
although Nalgron often let the wine touch his lips he drank never a
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drop.
"Eat, father," Fafhrd pleaded in a low voice taut with concern. "At
least drink."
Again the look, the smile, the agreeable nod, the bright eyes
warmer still with love, the brief tipping of goblet against unparted lips,
the looking away, the tranquil, unattendable discourse resumed.
And now Fafhrd knew fear, for the lights were growing blue and he
realized that none of the black, unfeatured fellow-feasters were or had
all the while been lifting so much as hand, let alone cup-rim, to mouth,
though making an unceasing dull clatter with their cutlery. His concern
for his father became an agony and before he rightly knew what he
was doing, he had brushed back his father's cloak and gripped his
father's right arm at forearm and wrist and so shoved his eating hand
toward his high-piled plate.
Then Nalgron was not nodding, but thrusting his head at Fafhrd,
and not smiling, but grinning in such fashion as to show all his teeth of
old ivory hue, whilst his eyes were cold, cold, cold.
The hand and arm that Fafhrd gripped felt like, looked like, were
bare brown bone.
Of a sudden shaking violently in all his parts, but chiefly in his
arms, Fafhrd recoiled swift as a serpent down the bench.
Then Fafhrd was not shaking, but being shaken by strong hands of
flesh on his shoulders, and instead of the dark there was the faintly
translucent hide of the Mingols' tent-roof, and in place of his father's
face the sallow-cheeked, black-moustached one, somber yet
concerned, of Vellix the Venturer.
Fafhrd stared dazedly, then shook his shoulders and head to bring
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a quicker-tempoed life back into his body and throw off the gripping
hands.
But Vellix had already let go and seated himself on the next pile of
furs.
"Your pardon, young warrior," he said gravely. "You appeared to
be having a dream no man would care to continue."
His manner and the tone of his voice were like the nightmare-
Nalgron's. Fafhrd pushed up on an elbow, yawned, and with a
shuddery grimace shook himself again.
"You're chilled in body, mind, or both," Vellix said. "So we've good
excuse for the brandy I promised."
He brought up from beside him two small silver mugs in one hand
and in the other a brown jug of brandy which he now uncorked with
that forefinger and thumb.
Fafhrd frowned inwardly at the dark tarnish on the mugs and at the
thought of what might be crusted or dusted in their bottoms, or perhaps
that of one only. With a troubled twinge, he reminded himself that this
man was his rival for Vlana's affections.
"Hold," he said as Vellix prepared to pour. "A silver cup played a
nasty role in my dream. Zax!" he called to the Mingol looking out the
tent door. "A porcelain mug, if you please!"
"You take the dream as a warning against drinking from silver?"
Vellix inquired softly with an ambiguous smile.
"No," Fafhrd answered, "but it instilled an antipathy into my flesh,
which still crawls." He wondered a little that the Mingols had so
casually let in Vellix to sit beside him. Perhaps the three were old
acquaintances from the trading camps. Or perhaps there'd been
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bribery.
Vellix chuckled and became freer of manner. "Also, I've fallen into
filthy ways, living without a woman or servant. Effendrit! Make that two
porcelain mugs, clean as newly-debarked birch!"
It was indeed the other Mingol who had been standing by the door
-- Vellix knew them better than Fafhrd did. The Venturer immediately
handed over one of the gleaming white mugs. He poured a little of the
nose-tickling drink into his own porcelain mug, then a generous gush
for Fafhrd, then more for himself -- as if to demonstrate that Fafhrd's
drink could not possibly be poisoned or drugged. And Fafhrd, who had
been watching closely, could find no fault in the demonstration. They
lightly clinked mugs and when Vellix drank deeply, Fafhrd took a large
though carefully slow sip. The stuff burned gently.
"It's my last jug," Vellix said cheerfully. "I've traded my whole stock
for amber, snow-gems, and other smalls -- aye, and my tent and cart
too, everything but my two horses and our gear and winter rations." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]