The Stone of Farewell Read Online Free PDF

and he is Uammannaq,” Jiriki said quietly, “—they are the masters of the Qanuc ...”
    Even as he spoke, one of the two small figures gestured briefly with a hooked staff. The vast, packed horde of troll folk drew back to either side, pressing themselves even closer together, forming an aisle that stretched from the stone platform to the place where Simon and his companions stood. Several hundred small, expectant faces turned toward them. There was much whispering. Simon stared down the open length of cavern floor, abashed.
    â€œSeems clear enough,” Haestan growled, giving him a soft shove. “Go on, then, lad. ”
    â€œAll of us,” Jiriki said. He made one of his oddly-articulated gestures to indicate that Simon should lead the way.
    Both the echoing whispers and the scent of cured hides seemed to increase as Simon made his way toward the king and queen...
    â€”Or the Herdsman and Huntress, he reminded himself. Or whatever.
    The air in the cavern suddenly seemed stiflingly thick. As he struggled to get a deep breath he stumbled and would have fallen had not Haestan caught at the back of his cloak. When he reached the dais he stood for a moment staring at the floor, struggling with dizziness, before looking up to the figures on the platform. The lamplight glared into his eyes. He felt angry, although he didn’t know at whom. Hadn’t he more or less just gotten out of bed today for the first time? What did they expect? That he would leap right out and slay some dragons?
    The startling thing about Uammannaq and Nunuuika, he decided, was that they looked so much alike, as though they were twins. Not that it wasn’t instantly obvious which was which: Uammannaq, on Simon’s left, had a thin beard that hung from his chin, knotted with red and blue thongs into a long braid. His hair was braided as well, held in intricate loops upon his head with combs of black, shiny stone. As he worried at his beard gently with small, thick fingers, his other hand held his staff of office, a thick, heavily carved ram-rider’s spear with a crook at one end.
    His wife—if that was the way things worked in Yiqanuc—held a straight spear, a slender, deadly wand with a stone point sharpened to translucency. She wore her long black hair high on her head, held in place with many combs of carved ivory. Her eyes, gleaming behind slanting lids in a plump face, were flat and bright as polished stone. Simon had never had a woman look at him in quite that cold and arrogant way. He remembered that she was called Huntress, and felt out of his depth. By contrast, Uammannaq seemed far less threatening. The Herder’s heavy face seemed to sag in loose lines of drowsiness, but there was still a canny edge to his glance.
    After the brief moment of mutual inspection, Uammannaq’s face creased in a wide yellow grin, his eyes nearly disappearing in a cheerful squint. He lifted his two palms toward the companions, then pressed his small hands together and said something in guttural Qanuc.
    â€œHe says you are welcome to Chidsik Ub Lingit and to Yiqanuc, the mountains of the trolls,” Jiriki translated. Before he could say more, Nunuuika spoke up. Her words seemed more measured than Uammannaq’s, but were no more intelligible to Simon. Jiriki listened to her carefully.
    â€œThe Huntress also extends’ her greetings. She says you are quite tall, but unless she is very mistaken in her knowledge of the Utku people, you seem young for a dragon-slayer, despite the white in your hair. Utku is the troll word for lowlanders,” he added quietly.
    Simon looked at the two royal personages for a moment. “Tell them that I’m pleased to have their welcome, or whatever should be said. And please tell them that I didn’t slay the dragon—likely only wounded it—and that I did it to protect my friends, just as Binabik of Yiqanuc did for me many other times.”
    When he