- "Watching from the other houses." said Lovro.
An older man stepped forward. He had long hair, which seemed unable to decide between grey and white. His long beard was a touch greyer, and his full mustache still had traces of black mixed in with the grey and white. The man's face was the color and texture of well-worn leather, from prolonged exposure to sun and wind. But he had shockingly blue eyes which seemed unnaturally bright.
He wore a mixture of leather and fur, with chain mail links sewn into the padded shoulders of a fox or wolf skin. I couldn't tell, exactly, because it was so old and worn. He had a naked dagger tucked into his belt, and carried an axe, bare, in his hand.
- "Who calls on Hanik Sawtooth?" As he spoke, I could clearly see how he had come by his nickname. He had only six or seven teeth left in his mouth, and all had been filed to a point. "Strangers, is it?"
- "New friends." said Borna, as he lifted a leg over his saddle and slid to the ground. "My name is Borna."
- "Just the one name?" asked Hanik Sawtooth, clearly unimpressed.
- "I'm known as Borna Vrej."
The old man grinned - or showed his teeth, his bright blue eyes twinkling. "That's a
good
name - if ye've earned it. Tell me, Borna Vrej: what makes ye think we're going to be friends, you n' me?"
Borna smiled back, and lifted the reins in his hand. "This horse, for one, which I'm going to give you, as a gift. And then the favour which you're going to do for me, in return. By that time, we'll be the best of friends."
Sawtooth studied him for a moment. "But what's to stop me and mine from taking
all
of yer horses?" he asked. "An' yer gear and weapons, too? That's more profit for us, n' we wouldn't have to do any favours."
- "More reward, for certain." said Borna. "But more risk, too. Even if you have three more men in every building here, we'd take quite a few of you with us. And you would be among the first to die." Then Borna laughed. "But why are we talking about killing? What's happened to the fabled hospitality of the Uplands?"
Sawtooth looked confused. "There's no such thing as hospitality in the Uplands."
- "It was a joke, Hanik Sawtooth." said Borna.
The old man chuckled. "Yer a funny man, Borna Vrej. An' I do want to hear the story of how ye got yer name, whether there's to be killin' or no. So come in, ye and yers - we'll have a drink together."
- "That sounds good." said Borna. "We'll leave our horses out here. But I would be very disappointed if any of them went missing while we were enjoying your ... hospitality."
- "They won't. Hammo here'll look after them." Sawtooth indicated one of the men at his side. "Mind 'em well," he added, "or I'll be eatin' yer liver."
We were invited inside the largest of the buildings, and followed Borna - not without some trepidation. Sawtooth wouldn't steal the horses if he thought that we could kill him. But if he felt that he had the upper hand ...
The inside of his house was dark, and filthy. The floor, of hard-packed earth, was covered in mouldy straw and chicken bones. It was unspeakably filthy, and smelled revolting. We had to fight our gag reflexes, to avoid embarrassing Borna. Aare looked like he was crying, but he wasn't alone; I could feel my eyes watering, too.
There was a fire in the very center of the floor, surrounded by large round stones, with a spit for roasting meat. I couldn't see any tables. Sawtooth's guests sat on stools or benches which lined the walls. That, at least, made me feel marginally better. Sitting with our backs to a wall would be safer. But I confess that I did examine the wall, first, to make sure that it was solid, and that there were no ready-made holes, which would allow someone outside to stab through it.
Half a dozen warriors joined us. Sawtooth, it seemed, was a man of substance, an important figure on the edge of the Uplands next to Yeseriya. No doubt he had some fame as a cutter of throats, or backstabbing thief.
He introduced each man in turn. Most of them had two names, the second usually a title, or a descriptor of some kind. There was a Ludis Picknose, somebody Logsplitter, and a Ferretface. Another was called Saltlicker. Borna, to my intense relief, didn't ask how these names had been earned, and Sawtooth didn't elaborate.
One fellow had only a single name. Vepar. It was an archaic word, in our language, but it meant an angry boar. Vepar certainly looked the part. His short beard bristled in every direction, like the quills of a hedgehog. The sides of his head were shaved, but the hair on top stuck straight up. Both his hair and beard were stiff with mud, or lime.
Vepar's ugly face was set in a permanent scowl. His nose was flat, and he had three major scars, two across his nose and cheek, almost parallel, and another on his forehead, just above his eye. He glared at me.
Sawtooth's men were filthy, and physically unimpressive - with the possible exception of Vepar. The rest ranged from skinny to scrawny. The body odour emanating from them could have choked a buzzard. There was no danger of them sneaking up on us - I could smell them from six feet away.
Their clothing, bits of armour, and weapons were all dirty, mismatched, and poorly maintained. Unless there were another dozen fighters outside, I began to feel more confident that our host would not dare to attack us.
But I had no intention of turning my back on any of them - not even for a moment.
There were three women inside as well, as filthy and under-nourished as the men. Sawtooth spoke to them, but in Uplands dialect. I heard 'brok', and 'niskadi'. The first might have been a corruption of our word for food, or meal. It took me a moment to figure out 'niskadi'. He meant low people, or lowlanders.
They served us drink in wooden cups. It was local moonshine, and it burned a fiery channel down my throat before settling in the pit of my stomach like bubbling acid. It tasted like raw alcohol with a hint of pine needles. When I breathed out, it singed the hairs in my nose.
Sawtooth then invited Borna to introduce our party. Borna was clever enough to give us second names, or titles, too. I was Ljudevit the Hand, of course, and Lovro was LongArm.
The Uplanders seemed reasonably impressed with Lovro - as well they should have been. Only Vepar looked he might have dared to challenge my friend.
- "What happened t'yer nose, LongArm?' asked Sawtooth.
Lovro grinned sheepishly. "I made a suggestion to Durra, over there. She wasn't nearly as flattered as I thought she'd be."
- "Durra NoseBreaker, then?" said Sawtooth.
- "That's it." agreed Borna. "The youngster is Red Aare, for obvious reasons. And this is Tsoline LongShot. She uses a bow."
- "I'll keep that in mind." replied Hanik Sawtooth. He grinned at her, showing his filed teeth. "So, Borna Vrej ... time to tell us how ye earned yer name?"
- "My Hand will tell the tale." said Borna. "I don't like to boast. Much."
Imants would have been worth his weight in silver, had he been there. I did the best I could, in his place. I gambled, and used the word 'niskadi' for lowlanders. By their reaction, I had guessed correctly.
They shook their heads at our stupidity, when I told of Maigon and Asrava's treachery against us. But they grinned openly at my description of our revenge on Asrava.
- "We know that name - Asrava. The Hospodar." said Sawtooth. "So if he's dead, then his son must rule, now. What's his name?"
- "Mushtal." said Borna, draining his cup. "But he can't rule in his father's stead. He's dead."
- "Oh?" said Sawtooth.
- "I killed him, too."
I picked up the story, skipping the hardships of the winter in the forest. These people would probably consider that a pleasant outing. I stuck to the fights, the ambush at Borna's Butt, and our second raid on Asrava's steading.
- "So there's no Hospodar, anymore?" said Sawtooth, running his fingers through his beard. "What happened to the daughters? Asrava's daughters?" asked Sawtooth. "You killed 'em? Tell me that ye fucked 'em before ye killed 'em."
I was glad that I could not see Durra's or Tsoline's faces, from where I sat. Borna glanced at me - very quickly - before he replied. "I gave them to my men." he said. "The eldest to Khoren, the youngest to Ljudevit."
All of Sawtooth's men - even Vepar, the Boar - nodded at that. It was a universal, in Hvad. Fighting men respected a leader who was successful, but generosity was even more appreciated. Especially if he gave them horses, and women.
- "Where is this Khoren? I'd like to meet him." said Sawtooth. "And what did ye do with Asrava's daughter, Hand?"
- "I kept her for a year. Then I gave her to a guslar." I said. It was close enough to the truth. "As for why Khoren is not here - there's more to my story."
- "Go on." said our host. "Ye could make a decent guslar, yerself, Hand. Can ye sing?"
- "He can fight." said Borna. "And he thinks. A chieftain can't have enough fighters and thinkers. Isn't that so, Hanik Sawtooth?"
The bright eyes twinkled again. "I can do the thinking." he said. "But good fighters? I agree with ye there, Borna Vrej. Go on, Hand."
I told of Vazrig, and the rape of Borna's mother. This was something Uplanders could understand. In that, they were indistinguishable from lowland Hvadi. The worst insults, in our language, are directed at a man's mother. Loose words like that can get you killed - and no one would call it murder.
