The Stone of Farewell Read Online Free PDF Page B

Croohokuq —the Rimmersmen—so malevolently active. He hastened to add that of course Simon and his companions, the other lowlander and the esteemed Jiriki, should stay as long as they wished, as honored guests, and that if there was anything he or Nunuuika could grant them to ease their stay, they had only to ask.
    Even before Jiriki finished converting these works to the Westerling speech, Simon was shifting his weight from one foot to the other, anxious to respond.
    “Yes,” he told Jiriki, “there is something they can do. They can free Binabik and Sludig, our companions. Free our friends, if you would do us a favor!” he said loudly, turning to the fur-swaddled pair before him, who regarded him with incomprehension. His raised voice caused some of the trolls crowded around the stone platform to murmur uneasily. Simon dizzily wondered if he had gone too far, but for the moment was beyond caring.
    “Seoman,” Jiriki said, “I promised myself that I would not mistranslate or interfere in your speech with the lords of Yiqanuc, but I ask you now as a favor to me, do not ask this of them. Please. ”
    “Why not?”
    “Please. As a favor. I will explain later; I ask you to trust me.”
    Simon’s angry words spilled out before he could control them. “You want me to desert my friend as a favor to you? Haven’t I already saved your life? Didn’t I get the White Arrow from you? Who owes the favors here?”
    Even as he said it he was sorry, fearing that an unbreachable barrier had suddenly grown between himself and the Sitha prince. Jiriki’s eyes burned into his. The audience began to fidget nervously and mutter among themselves, sensing something amiss.
    The Sitha dropped his gaze. “I am ashamed, Seoman. I ask too much of you. ”
    Now Simon felt himself sinking like a stone into a muddy pool. Too fast! It was too much to think about. All he wanted was to lie down and not know anything.
    “No, Jiriki,” he blurted out, “I’m ashamed. I’m ashamed of what I said. I’m an idiot. Ask the two of them if I can speak to them tomorrow. I feel sick.” Suddenly the dizziness was horribly real; he felt the whole cavern tilt. The light of the oil lamps wavered as though in a stiff wind. Simon’s knees buckled and Haestan caught his arms, holding him up.
    Jiriki turned quickly to Uammannaq and Nunuuika. A rumble of fascinated consternation ran through the trollish throng. Was the red-crested, storklike lowlander dead? Perhaps such long thin legs were not capable of bearing weight for long, as some had suggested. But then, why were the other two lowlanders still standing upright? Many heads were shaken in puzzlement, many whispered guesses exchanged.
    “Nunuuika, keenest of eye, and Uammannaq, surest of rein: the boy is still sick and very weak.” Jiriki spoke quietly. The multitude, cheated by his soft speech, leaned forward. “I ask a boon, on the primeval friendship of our people.”
    The Huntress inclined her head, smiling slightly. “Speak, Elder Brother,” she said.
    “I have no right to interfere in your justice, and will not. I do ask that the judgment of Binabik of Mintahoq not go forward until his companions—including the boy Seoman—have a chance to speak in his behalf. And that the same be granted also for the Rimmersman, Sludig. This I ask of you in the name of the Moon-woman, our shared root.” Jiriki bowed slightly, using only his upper body. There was no suggestion of subservience.
    Uammannaq tapped the shaft of his spear with his fingers. He looked to the Huntress, his expression troubled. At last he nodded. “We cannot refuse this, Elder Brother. So shall it be. Two days, then, when the boy is stronger—but even if this strange young man had brought us Igjarjuk’s toothy head in a saddlebag, that would not change what must be. Binabik, apprentice of the Singing Man, has committed a terrible crime.”
    “So I have been told,” Jiriki replied. “But the brave hearts of the Qanuc were