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Thum, murmured the Swick fighter. It would be pointless for me to argue with you about your true
natures. The People of the Sands do not care. What matters is that the Dunawake is done and the
dreadful, persistent threat of it has been removed. For this deed you will live forever in the hearts of the
Swick. One last time, I salute you.
He raised his lance as high as if he wished to pierce the sky itself. Behind him, his resplendent escort
echoed the gesture. Five times they did this, each time giving forth a piercing ululation that seemed to rise
up from the depths of the surrounding sand itself. Then they turned to go.
Strange the ways of coincidence, is it not? Ehomba watched the long tail feathers of the warriors
mounts bob up and down as they filed back behind the rocks from where they had emerged.
What? A bemused Simna turned to look up at his friend. What coincidence?
With a sigh, the herdsman started forward, formally resuming their trek northward and using his spear for
support, like a tall walking stick. The little people wanted us to fight the Dunawake for them. We
refused, and so after wining and dining us they graciously bid us on our way. They even told us the
easiest way to go to reach the lands to the north. Told us even though we did not ask directions from
them. Soon after leaving, we run right into the Dunawake. Glancing over at the swordsman, he did
something Simna had not seen him do very often. He laughed aloud: not only with his mouth, but with his
eyes.
Face it, my friend. We have been played the way a master musician plays his flute.
Simna s expression darkened. Are you telling me, bruther ... ?
That we have been the victims of a Swick trick. And the herdsman chortled afresh.
Realization landed on the swordsman like the news of an unwanted pregnancy. Why, those miserable
little, lying-lipped, arse-mouthed, flat-faced fuggers! Raising his voice, eyes wild, Simna drew his sword
and rushed toward the pile of rocks where the diminutive warriors had disappeared. I ll kill you all! I ll
cut off your hairy ears and feed them to the scorpions!
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With an indifferent snuffle, Ahlitah changed direction until he was pacing the long-striding Ehomba. He
doesn t get it, does he?
The herdsman shrugged diffidently. Simna s a good man. He is just a little impulsive.
A little too human, you mean. The big cat sniffed derisively. The penetrating yellow eyes of a great
feline predator peered into Ehomba s face from only a foot away. Hunting, searching. And you?
The herdsman pursed his lips. I do not follow you.
What are you, Etjole Ehomba? Are you all human? Or is this a mask you choose to wear to fool the
rest of us? I am thinking that the Swick are not the only ones who are good at tricks.
The rangy southerner smiled comfortingly as he poled the hard ground with the butt of his long spear the
way a sailor would dig his paddle into water. I am only a man, Ahlitah. I am only what you see here
walking beside you.
I will accept that for now. With that, the litah moved away, the hovering pond bobbing along behind
him as he put a little distance between them. Ehomba watched him with interest. For one who slept as
long and often as the litah, very little escaped the big cat s notice.
Simna ranted and raged among the rocks for only a moment or two before resigning himself to the fact
that his intended quarry had fled. More than fled, they had disappeared, utterly vanished from sight. Even
the footprints of their mounts had evaporated like mist in the desert air. Muttering to himself as he
resheathed his sword, he rejoined his companions.
The little buggers are fast, but I didn t think they were that fast. He shook an angry fist at the dunes
and wadi behind them. What I wouldn t give for one small gray neck under my fingers!
Yes, they are fast. Ahlitah s black lower lip curled upward. That d make it a quick slick Swick trick,
wouldn t it?
Oh, shut up, you imprecise venter of stinking bodily fluids!
Still grinning in its sly cat fashion, the litah did not respond.
They did what they felt was necessary for their survival. Ehomba tried to mollify his companion.
Their survival? The swordsman jabbed a thumb into his chest. They didn t give a sparrow s fart for
our survival!
The grand welcome they gave us, mere passing strangers. The escorts and the tours, the singing and the
feasts, giving freely, even extravagantly, of their food and drink. Did you think that was all done out of
impulsive friendship?
Simna s anger dissipated as he considered the herdsman s words. Eventually, he nodded agreement.
Yes, you re right, Etjole. I, of all people, should have known better. I suppose it was their size that
fooled me. Who would have guessed that their appetite for treachery was as great as their ability to build
structures out of sand? With that admission the last of his fury fled as effortlessly as it had originally
consumed him, and he was his old self again.
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Clever little dumplings, weren t they? I ll know better next time. From now on I, Simna ibn Sind, won t
accept hospitality from a mouse without first questioning its ulterior motives.
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