Spell of Catastrophe | Page 2

sight, that is.
The bartender had reemerged from his hiding-place. "So what about the ruins?" Max called down.
"Ruins?" the man said, looking out at the room. "Whaddaya need more ruins, what you did here isn't enough for you?"
FOR A CHANGE, Max was not actually on the run, which is to say that he didn't think anyone in particular was after him. Of course, his perception (which happened to be wrong) did not materially change the situation. He did indeed have a pursuer, and later that night the pursuer caught up.
The large moon was up, too, along with some of the small fast ones. Max dangled his legs over the tailboard of the rear wagon, watching ground pass in the pale light. A large shaggy form loped around the wagon and hoisted itself next to him. "I still say you should have hacked him into little pieces," the shaggy hulk said. "If you could have waited for me, I would have hacked him into little pieces."
"All the time with you, Svin, it's fight, fight, fight, hack, hack, hack," Max said. "I'm not going to say your philosophy may not be superior, and it certainly has the virtue of simplicity, but by the same token -"
"It is the course of honor, the only true path for a warrior born," Svin said with a note of finality.
"That's fine as far as it goes," Max said, "but not all of us are warriors born. Some of us subscribe to the possibility of old age instead."
Svin thought that over. Shadows passed over the large moon - three circling dwarf buzzards, moonlight shimmering on their feathers. The smallest one swooped down to have a look at them, its ten-foot wingspan draping a darker black over the rocks. "Look at that thing," Max said, waving his hand at it. "It's got a body to feed, but it manages fine without a lot of hacking and slashing. I don't know how much of a goal in life those things have, but they seem to get by pretty well on a more passive lifestyle."
"Where do you think it finds enough to eat?" Svin, perhaps because of a Northern metabolism honed in the icy wastes, was perpetually hungry.
"There's always carrion around somewhere, if you know where to look for it and you're willing to do what you've got to do."
Svin shook his head. "Carrion, Max, is for lesser beings. We will die in battle, as a man should, and go triumphant to meet the gods."
Max, who had met some of the gods, had not been impressed. "Watch out for remarks like that, Svin, you never know who's listening."
"Fah!" Svin said. "What does it matter if -" Max heard a muffled 'clunk' next to him. Svin began to raise one hand to his head, then fell over backward into the cart. A heavily thatched arrow with a flat blunt head dropped into his lap. Max pushed off the tailgate and landed silently behind a rock. The wagons began to clatter and jangle away down the path.
A low voice buried in a reedy gargle came from the same direction as the arrow. "Honor have addressing I Maximillian, Vaguely Disreputable?"
Max raised himself slightly and squinted over the rock.
Back there in the gloom, he thought he could make out two glowing orange sparks, spaced at the right separation for eyes. "... You're Haddo," he said.
"Haddo am I. Serve I Great Karlini. You come?"
Karlini? "Yes, I'll come," Max said. "Of course I'll come. Just let me get my stuff." He got up and sprinted after the wagons.
Svin was breathing, and a large lump was forming on his forehead not far above his nose. Max shook him, without noticeable effect, then rolled him into a more secure position deeper inside the wagon. Shaking his own head, Max found his two packs, slipped the larger one onto his back, and jumped to the ground. The caravan moved away behind him. The pair of orange eyes approached.
"You were a little rough on poor Svin back there," Max said, handing Haddo his arrow.
"Situation's nature was unsure I."
"Yes, well, I suppose they don't make barbarians like they used to, either."
"Considerate you are," Haddo said, indicating the arrow, which then disappeared inside a sleeve. The glowing orange spots (which Max assumed were eyes, for want of a better explanation) floated in the opening of a hooded black cloak. The moonlight failed to penetrate the opening, and in fact seemed to make little impression on the surface of the cloak either. "Thanks give I."
Haddo glided off into the desert to the west. Max followed. "Nice bit of shooting, though, Haddo."
"In practice, I."
" ... So how is everything, Haddo?"
"Problems. Always are problems."
" ... Are you going to tell me what's up, or do I have to wiggle your tongue myself?"
"To wiggle, first must find,"