"I could take her though she sat in the fire."
"I won't pay that price."
"Learn wisdom," she said. "Knowledge is more than gold."
I shook my head. "Knowledge is soon changed, then lost in the mist, an echo half-heard."
She rose at that, brushing the dust from her hips and thighs like any other woman. "And I sought to teach you wisdom. You mocked me when you said you were a fool."
"If I mocked you, I've forgotten it."
"Yes, that is best. To forget. But remember me when you meet my mistress in any guise. Remember that I helped you and would have helped you more, if you had been as generous to me as I to you."
"I'll try," I said.
"And I will warn you, as I promised. The child fled down this hill, and fled safely; but soon one who walks this hill will die. Listen well!"
"I am," I said.
"Then wait for the death. Afterward you may go in safety." She paused, licking her lips as she cocked her head to listen.
I listened too, and heard far off the noise a stone made falling upon a stone.
"Someone comes," she said. "I would ask you for him, but that would be your death. Notice that I am your friend, merciful and just, more than fair in every dealing."
"As you say."
"Do not forget my warning and my teaching. There is one thing more." Swiftly she went to the boulder behind which she had been waiting when I first saw her. For an instant she disappeared as she crouched to take something from the ground. Then she stood beside me again and dropped it at my feet. It clinked as coins do, tossed in the hand.
"The women here put knives beneath their children's cradles," she told me. "They tell one another they will keep us away; and though they do not-not always-it is true we do not like iron." She crouched again, this time to wipe her hands on the ground. "The reason we do not is to come."
I picked up what she had dropped. It was a chain, with a shackle at one end.
"Don't let your brat dump her rubbish into my house again," the woman said.
A man's voice, rough and deep, called, "Latro!" I glanced in the direction of his call, and when I looked again the woman was gone. The stone rested on the boulder as before. I went to it and picked it up. It was a common stone, not otherwise than any other; I tossed it away.
"Latro!" The man's voice sounded a second time.
"Over here," I called.
A tall foxskin cap came into view. "I am glad you waited," the bowman told me. "You are indeed my friend."
I said, "Yes. Soon we will walk back to the fire together, Oior." For I trusted neither the woman nor her warning, and I feared for the child.
"But not before we have spoken." The bowman paused, rubbing his chin. "A friend believes his friend."
"That's true."
"I told you I do not know the gods of this land."
I nodded; we could see each other almost as well in the bright moonlight as we might by day.
"And you do not know mine. You must believe what I say of them. A friend speaks only the truth to his friend."
I said, "I'll believe whatever you tell me, Oior. I've already seen something tonight stranger than anything you're liable to say."
He sat on the ground almost where the woman had. "Eat your food, Latro."
I sat too, on the other side of the trencher. "I've had all I want."
"As have I, Latro; but friends share food in my land." He broke a piece of bread and gave half to me.
"Here also." I ate my bread as he ate his.
"Once our land was ruled by the Sons of Cimmer," Oior began. "They were a mighty people. Their right ran from the Ister to the Island Sea. Most of all were they men mighty in magic, sacrificing the sons of the Sons of Cimmer to the threefold Artimpasa. At last their sorcerers slew even their king's son, the acolyte of Apia. She is Mother of Men and Monsters, but the boy's blood burned on Artimpasa's altar.
"But the king came to know of the sacrifice of his son, and with hands held to heaven he declared death, that no sorcerer should sacrifice again among the Sons of Cimmer. He sent forth his soldiers, saying, 'Slay every sorcerer! Leave none alive!'
"Seven sorcerers sped to the sunrise beyond the Island Sea. Death-daunted they dwelt in the desert, cutting its cliffs for their cottages and at last counting a numerous nation, the Neuri."
To show I was listening, I nodded again.
"Sorcery they sent against the Sons of Cimmer, stealing the strength from their swords. Silver they sold to the Sons of Scoloti, paid in moon-pale ponies and brides bought for their proud priests. So they learned from our lips, copied our clothes and our customs.
"Soon they said, 'Strong are the Sons of Scoloti! Why do they dwell in the desert? Strike the Sons of Cimmer, a puling people languishing in a lordly land.' Then bent we our bows and waged war.
"Scattered were the Sons of Cimmer, wider with each wind. We pastured our ponies in their palaces and tented in their temples, princes of their plains.
"Long ago, low we laid them. Careful chroniclers count the kings since we came to the country of the Sons of Cimmer, but count them I cannot." He sighed, his recitation ended.
I felt I knew why he had given it, and I asked, "But what of the Neuri, Oior?"
"How can a simple bowman speak of the sorcerers? They live in their ancient land, east of the Island Sea. But they live among us too, and no one can say who they are. They have our speech and our clothing. As well as we they draw the bow, and with a touch, tame horses. No one knows them, unless he sees the sign."
"And you have seen it," I prompted him.
He bowed his head in acknowledgment. "Apia burned her brand on the Neuri, price of the boy's blood. Once in each year, and sometimes more than once, each changes. 'Sorcerer' is your word, Latro. Neurian, say the Sons of Scoloti. Apia is earth, Artimpasa the moon."
"I understand," I said. "How does a Neurian change?"
"His eyes dim. His ears sharpen. Swift then are his feet across the plain-"
A dog howled in the distance. Oior gripped me by the arm. "Listen!"
"It's a dog," I said, "singing to the moon. Nothing more. There's a town-Teuthrone, the kybernetes called it-not far from here. Where there's a town, there are always dogs."
"When the Neuri change, they drink the blood of men and eat their flesh, pawing the dead to wake them."
"And you believe there is one here?"
Oior nodded. "On our ship. You have seen our ship. Have you stood in the lowest place, where the water laps the wooden walls?"
I shook my head.
"There is sand there, and water and wine, bread, dried meat, and other good things. Often I watch the man, the woman, and the child. You understand?"
I nodded again.
"Once they thirsted, and when the rest had eaten, no one had fed them. The man spoke to Hypereides. Hypereides is a kindly man, for he has not even put out their eyes. He told me to go to the lowest place and bring water, wine, bread, olives, and cheese. I got them, and I thought it might be I would never go there again, and it might be good to see all that was there. I was where the oarmen stand, and do not sit."
"In the stern?" I asked. "Where the steersmen are?"
"Beneath them. A step I took with back bent. Then two, then three. It was very dark. The food is where the oarmen stand because the evil water runs away when the ship is pulled onto the shore. If I had turned and gone back then, I would not have known. I took one step more, and eyes opened, far before mine. Not a man's eyes."
"So you believe one of the other bowmen is a Neurian?"
"I have seen such eyes before," Oior said, "when my sister died. Eyes that were like two white stones, cold and bright. But now when I look into the eyes of the others, I cannot see the stones. I heard the man and the woman, and even the child, when they talked. You are blessed by your gods and see unseen things. You must look into the eyes of all three."