Gaskan lord."
"What!" Dante said.
"It was taken, along with every member of our cousins the Clan of the Green Lake, some weeks ago. When was that, Vee?"
Vee tapped her hairless chin. "Three weeks ago. That was when we found the lake-crabs, remember? On the way back from finding the bodies of our clan-cousins. The empty yurts. The wailing young who'd hidden in the woods."
"Oh yes, the crabs. You do not often find the lake-crabs. I had begun to think they had all died out, or at least moved to another lake."
Dante pressed his fist against his lips, waiting for his anger to subside enough to open his mouth. "If the Quivering Bow has been taken, I pledge our immediate support to getting it back."
Blays cocked his head. "I call foul on that pledge. My support is thoroughly undecided."
"If that bow has fallen into enemy hands—"
"Yes, yes, then we'll all spend our next Falmac's Eve watching the bunny races in hell. I'd like to at least know why the clan hasn't already gone after the bow—and their cousins or whoever—before promising we'll do what they won't." He glanced at Orlen. "No offense."
"None taken," the man said. "We were simply waiting on the word of Josun Joh."
"Josun Joh?"
"As in the god," Dante said.
"Oh," Blays said. " That Josun Joh."
"He looks out for the people, shows them the way when they're lost. Despite only having one eye."
Orlen nodded. "He lost it in a bet. Over whether he could put out his own eye."
"I thought it was to use it as bait to finally catch Sansanomman, the eternal catfish," Vee frowned.
"That doesn't make any sense."
"You say you were waiting?" Dante cut in.
"Today, Josun Joh spoke to me," Orlen said. "Tomorrow, we move."
"Then I'd like to come with you. I can't speak for my friend."
The two norren leaders exchanged an unreadable glance. Orlen considered the fire. "Josun Joh said we'd find an unexpected and powerful ally. If you help us recover our cousin-clan, you may have the Quivering Bow."
Dante extended his hand. "Agreed."
"Good." Orlen waved his thick hand. "Now please leave the fire and go to your tent. Outsiders aren't allowed here."
Dante forced his eyes not to roll. He stood. "I understand."
Mourn appeared beside the fire. "Your yurt's over here. It doesn't smell very good."
He was right. Inside the deer-leather tent, its fluffy cloth padding smelled musty and faintly fishy, conditions made worse by the fact it was notably warmer than the outside air. Dante conjured a soft white light to illuminate the bare interior. Blays slung out his blanket and sat down with a sigh.
"This whole thing could be a wild goose chase, you know. And I don't see how a wild goose is going to do any good if the Territories get invaded."
Dante licked his thumb and smudged away the black fringes of the fresh scab on his hand. "Even if we don't come out of it with a weapon of awful power, rescuing their cousins will only strengthen one of the nastiest fighting units in the entire region. It's the opportunity to put down a group of norren-slavers, too. How is there any downside?"
"First, we don't know the timescale. Second, if Cally needs to reach us, he may as well shout up his own ass for all the good it'll do him."
"Since when did you care about what Cally wants?"
"It's not Cally I'm concerned about." Blays gestured at the wilds beyond the yurt wall. "My worshippers will have a tough time reaching my grave if I'm struck dead in some stupid forest."
"A long trek will just prove the purity of their faith."
"True enough. Make it a tasteful marker, though. No more than twenty statues of weeping women."
Dante woke in the predawn darkness to the sound of feet squelching in the mud. He brought the nether to his hands, lying silent, until he remembered he was among a strange but hospitable people. He had been dreaming of walking through a forest like this one, but beneath the layer of leaves and grass lurked a gaping abyss, and his feet kept plunging into the open nothing, exposing
"What!" Dante said.
"It was taken, along with every member of our cousins the Clan of the Green Lake, some weeks ago. When was that, Vee?"
Vee tapped her hairless chin. "Three weeks ago. That was when we found the lake-crabs, remember? On the way back from finding the bodies of our clan-cousins. The empty yurts. The wailing young who'd hidden in the woods."
"Oh yes, the crabs. You do not often find the lake-crabs. I had begun to think they had all died out, or at least moved to another lake."
Dante pressed his fist against his lips, waiting for his anger to subside enough to open his mouth. "If the Quivering Bow has been taken, I pledge our immediate support to getting it back."
Blays cocked his head. "I call foul on that pledge. My support is thoroughly undecided."
"If that bow has fallen into enemy hands—"
"Yes, yes, then we'll all spend our next Falmac's Eve watching the bunny races in hell. I'd like to at least know why the clan hasn't already gone after the bow—and their cousins or whoever—before promising we'll do what they won't." He glanced at Orlen. "No offense."
"None taken," the man said. "We were simply waiting on the word of Josun Joh."
"Josun Joh?"
"As in the god," Dante said.
"Oh," Blays said. " That Josun Joh."
"He looks out for the people, shows them the way when they're lost. Despite only having one eye."
Orlen nodded. "He lost it in a bet. Over whether he could put out his own eye."
"I thought it was to use it as bait to finally catch Sansanomman, the eternal catfish," Vee frowned.
"That doesn't make any sense."
"You say you were waiting?" Dante cut in.
"Today, Josun Joh spoke to me," Orlen said. "Tomorrow, we move."
"Then I'd like to come with you. I can't speak for my friend."
The two norren leaders exchanged an unreadable glance. Orlen considered the fire. "Josun Joh said we'd find an unexpected and powerful ally. If you help us recover our cousin-clan, you may have the Quivering Bow."
Dante extended his hand. "Agreed."
"Good." Orlen waved his thick hand. "Now please leave the fire and go to your tent. Outsiders aren't allowed here."
Dante forced his eyes not to roll. He stood. "I understand."
Mourn appeared beside the fire. "Your yurt's over here. It doesn't smell very good."
He was right. Inside the deer-leather tent, its fluffy cloth padding smelled musty and faintly fishy, conditions made worse by the fact it was notably warmer than the outside air. Dante conjured a soft white light to illuminate the bare interior. Blays slung out his blanket and sat down with a sigh.
"This whole thing could be a wild goose chase, you know. And I don't see how a wild goose is going to do any good if the Territories get invaded."
Dante licked his thumb and smudged away the black fringes of the fresh scab on his hand. "Even if we don't come out of it with a weapon of awful power, rescuing their cousins will only strengthen one of the nastiest fighting units in the entire region. It's the opportunity to put down a group of norren-slavers, too. How is there any downside?"
"First, we don't know the timescale. Second, if Cally needs to reach us, he may as well shout up his own ass for all the good it'll do him."
"Since when did you care about what Cally wants?"
"It's not Cally I'm concerned about." Blays gestured at the wilds beyond the yurt wall. "My worshippers will have a tough time reaching my grave if I'm struck dead in some stupid forest."
"A long trek will just prove the purity of their faith."
"True enough. Make it a tasteful marker, though. No more than twenty statues of weeping women."
Dante woke in the predawn darkness to the sound of feet squelching in the mud. He brought the nether to his hands, lying silent, until he remembered he was among a strange but hospitable people. He had been dreaming of walking through a forest like this one, but beneath the layer of leaves and grass lurked a gaping abyss, and his feet kept plunging into the open nothing, exposing
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