Part 38 (1/2)
”Put him down.”
The youths hooted. One or two threw back their heads and howled. Darak shoved past them, seized the free arm of one of Bep's tormentors, and twisted it up behind his back. The boy gave a genuine howl of pain and dropped Bep who tumbled awkwardly to the ground. The laughter died, replaced by a far more menacing silence.
Darak's hand went to the dagger at his waist, but before he could pull it free, Bep shouted something in Zherosi that sounded like ”Away, you beast!” and kicked him in the s.h.i.+ns. Darak stumbled backward to renewed laughter, pursued by Bep who clouted him repeatedly with his grain-filled club, all the while yelling curses and hopping from foot to foot like a demented bear cub. Still laughing, the youths drifted away in search of other entertainment.
”Next time, stay out of it, Wild Man.”
Before he could reply, Bep walked away. Only then did Darak realize he had spoken the language of the tribes.
When it happened at the next town, Urkiat urged him to follow Bep's advice, but the cruel laughter of the men and their obvious delight in persecuting Bep was more than he could stomach. This time, though, he took a lesson from Bep. He raced through the crowd, howling and grimacing and waving his stupid club. Even Bep looked startled, then shouted something back that made his tormentors nod eagerly.
Bep lowered his head and charged. Even braced for the impact, Darak's breath whooshed out as Bep b.u.t.ted him in the belly. He stumbled and fell. Bep leaped on top of him. Darak winced as a fist caught him on the cheekbone. He warded off another blow, promising never again to intervene on behalf of the ungrateful little demon. Suddenly, Bep crawled off him-giving him a good knee in the groin as he did-and leaped up, waving his fists triumphantly in the air.
”The Wild Man is vanquished!” he shouted, drawing whoops and cheers from the crowd. One man gave him an approving pat on the head, as if the little man were a dog.
Darak picked himself up, watching with disgust as Bep swaggered off with his former tormentors.
”He's not worth it,” Urkiat muttered. ”Come on. You'd better let Thikia take a look at that eye.”
”It'll do.”
”You don't want it swelling-”
”It'll do, Urkiat.” Softening his voice, he added, ”Just leave me be for a bit.”
While the rest of the company headed to the inn, Darak wandered into the field. Thick, shorn stalks of the grain they called millet crunched underfoot. The richer farmers disdained it for some reason, preferring to plant barley. This year, they would regret that decision. The millet survived the drought while the barley withered. In some fields, he'd seen lines of people pa.s.sing water jugs in a vain effort to keep their crops alive. Even if the rains came now, it would be too late; there would be hunger in Zheros come winter.
He sat down with his back against a boulder and drew his sleeve across his forehead. Although the sun had vanished, the heat remained. The sunsets here were spectacular, but he missed the long, gentle twilights of the north. The light faded so slowly around Midsummer, as if the day were reluctant to surrender to night. And when it did, the reign of darkness was so brief that you could still be dozing off when the birds began to sing.
Here, the birds offered a few halfhearted cheeps and gave up. He'd seen hawks soaring overhead, crows and ravens picking over the carca.s.s of a dead animal, but the chorus of birdsong that greeted him in the mornings was missing. Like the trees. And instead of rolling hills, the land was so flat, he woke each morning thinking he was sure to spy the holy city looming ahead of them. But all he could make out was a dark mountain, s.h.i.+mmering in the haze.
I'm coming, Keirith. Wait for me.
The crunch of millet stalks alerted him to an intruder. He craned his head and made out a short, stout figure, silhouetted against the fading colors of the sky.
Bep leaned against the boulder and folded his arms. For once, their heads were nearly level. What must it feel like to stare up at everyone? To be a man in spirit with a body no taller than a child's?
”You're as stubborn as a bullock,” Bep said.
That was another difference between the two little men: Bo's voice was soft and lilting, Bep's as musical as two stones grating together.
”Just couldn't keep out of it, could you?”
”I don't like bullies.”
”As if you've ever had to put up with them.”
”It was wrong.”
Bep laughed, a deep bellow that sounded surprisingly friendly. ”Right or wrong's got nothing to do with it. This is the world, Wild Man.”
”It shouldn't be.”
”Stubborn as a bullock,” Bep mused. ”And stupid as a sheep. Wait. I'm not through insulting you yet.”
”Well, I'm through listening.”
”Touchy, aren't we?”
”Don't think because you're shorter, I won't knock you on your a.r.s.e.”
”The same a.r.s.e you were so eager to save these last two nights.”
”It wasn't your a.r.s.e I was worried about.”
”Nay. It was the principle of the thing.”
Darak opened his mouth and shut it. Finally, he said, ”I'm not always so self-righteous.”
”Thank the Maker for small blessings.”
”It's true, then? You're a child of the Oak and Holly?”
Bep's mouth twisted. ”I'm n.o.body's child, Wild Man. And n.o.body's friend either.”
”Nay, of course not. The man who offers you friends.h.i.+p gets a bruised cheek and sore ballocks.”
For a moment, he thought Bep would strike him. Then his face relaxed. ”At least you had the sense to make a game of it this time.”
”So maybe I'm not as stupid as a sheep. Why . . . ?” He hesitated, then plunged ahead. ”Why do you let them treat you that way?”
”Good G.o.ds, man. Isn't it obvious? Because they're too big and too many to fight.” Bep shook his head, disgusted. ”I spent my youth trying to prove myself with my fists. Now I play the fool. Instead of a beating, I earn laughter and coins. And women. Oh, aye, there's always one or two want to see what the little man's made of. And they find out quick enough that I'm a big man where it counts. I've got one waiting for me now. A farmer's wife whose husband's off to Pilozhat and left her to care for the fields. Tonight I'll be the one doing the plowing.”
”I see.”
”Do you, Wild Man? Can you imagine what it's like to have your face pillowed between two soft b.r.e.a.s.t.s and your c.o.c.k buried between two strong thighs?”
”Have a care you don't suffocate,” Darak said shortly.
Bep laughed. ”Skittish as a virgin, aren't you? Naught but blushes and lowered eyes.”
”I'm not blus.h.i.+ng,” he said, furious because he was.
”Are you so skittish with your wife?”
”Nay. And it's none of your concern if I am.” He rose.