Riding the same animals on which they had set out from Trimandilam over three months before, Jorian and Karadur trotted briskly across the steppe. They were coated with mud to their middles, for every plop of their animals' hooves sent up a little black fountain of liquid mud.
Arriving at Halgir, at the strait that divided the Inner Sea from the smaller Sea of Sikhon, they had been compelled to waste a month until the weather moderated enough for them to cross the water. The enforced rest, however, had been welcome, for Karadur had been near to death from exhaustion. Even Jorian, whose strength was beyond that of most men, had been badly fatigued, as much from the ape-men's diet as from physical effort.
During this pause, Jorian's injured hand had healed, and they had outfitted themselves for the journey around the northern shores of the Inner Sea. Jorian's boots, which had been falling apart from the dampness of Komilakh, had been repaired. Karadur had obtained a pair of felt boots in place of his sandals. Both had procured knee-length sheepskin coats and fur caps.
Leaving Gilgir, across the strait from Halgir, they had followed the coast, except where they could save distance by cutting across the base of a cape or peninsula. They counted themselves lucky to have seen scarcely another human being for nearly a month.
Once they had passed the burnt-out ruins of a village in a dell. One of the peasants who had dwelt there lived long enough to tell his tale. The village had supposedly been under the protection of Hnidmar, the cham of the Eylings. But they had prospered too obviously, so Hnidmar ordered them destroyed, lest their success draw more settlers to the steppe, which would thus be fenced and plowed and ruined as a grazing ground.
They slept near streams, where they could cut enough brushwood to make beds that at least kept them up out of the mud. Twice, Jorian had supplemented the food they had brought with them by shooting a steppe antelope with his crossbow. Once they sighted a small herd of mammoths, beginning their northward spring migration to the distant forests of Hroth, but they prudently let these animals alone. They also gave a wide berth to the unicorn, a huge, hairy, short-legged, barrel-bodied beast not unlike the nose-horn of the tropics, save that its single horn arose from the middle of its skull, over the eyes.
Few towns arose along the north shore of the Inner Sea. There was Gilgir, at the end of a long, tapering peninsula—one of the "Fangs of Halgir"—facing Halgir across the Strait of Halgir. Gilgir and Halgir were muddy shipping and fishing villages, whose people were mainly of the flat-faced, slant-eyed type found in Ijo and Salimor. Through these settlements passed a small trickle of trade, and ships plying between Salimor and the ports of the Inner Sea often stopped there. But Halgir's trade with the hinterland was scanty, since the ape-men of Komilakh were hardly profitable customers.
The largest port of the north shore of the Inner Sea was Istheun, at the head of the Bay of Norli. It was the only Shvenic city to boast a wall and a fair degree of self-government. This was possible because of the protection of the cham of the Gendings, the strongest of the Shvenic hordes. Jorian and Karadur trotted along the coast towards Istheun in hope of finding a ship for Tarxia there.
They were riding through a depression in the steppe, when Jorian remarked, "This damned jade's canter is fairly smooth on the nigh foot but rough on the off. On the latter, every time the saddle goes up I feel as if I were on my way to heaven. I'm trying to train the idiot to run only on the nigh…"
The wind moaned and fluttered the dry grass. Jorian said: "There is nothing like travel to teach one of the beauties of home.
"You have omitted the mountains and deserts," said Karadur.
"If I ever climb the High Lograms or travel to Fedirun, I'll add some stanzas…" Jorian paused, reined in, and held up a hand. "Man ahead," he said in a low voice. "Hold Oser for a moment."
Slipping off the roan, Jorian handed the reins to Karadur. Then he took off his cap and ran up the next rise, bending double lest his head show against the skyline. Soon he was back.
"Just a couple of herders, watching horses. We must be getting close to one of the hordes. We'd best double back to the last stream and camp, whilst I ask Tvasha whether to ride in boldly or to slink around their flanks. Dip me in dung, but by all my reckoning we ought to have reached Istheun long since!"
"As Cidam the philosopher said: 'A journey and a sickness always last longer than expected, a purse and a jug of wine shorter,'" said Karadur. "At this pace, we may yet get to Metouro in time for the Conclave. We shall need to stop in Tarxia to draw breath. One of my faction dwells there."
"Who's he?"
"An old magician, hight Valdonius."
"Can he be trusted?"
"Certes; Valdonius is known as a man of strictest integrity."
"Well, let's hope he prove of more probity than Rhithos and Porrex, of whom you were equally confident!"
Karadur was silent for a while, then said: "O Jorian!"
"Yes?"
"Would the magical profession beguile you? I need an apprentice, for that my last one died years ago."
"What did he die of?"
"The poor ninny left a gap in his pentacle when invoking a hostile demon. I am sure you would have better sense. How say you?"
"By Thio's horns, me, a magician? I know not. I've harbored ambitions to be a clockmaster, merchant, farmer, soldier, and poet, but never a spooker."
"Well, you will have a chance to judge my colleagues at the Conclave."
Looking less cheerful than was his wont, the green god Tvasha asked Jorian: "Where are my flowers?"
"Oh lord," said Jorian, "How canst thou expect me to find flowers at this season on this cold prairie? If thou wilt but wait a fiftnight, I will give thee enough flowers to make up for all arrears."
"I still want my posies," said the god pettishly. "In Tirao there was never any difficulty about offerings of flowers the year round."
"This is not Tirao," said Jorian, trying to stifle his impatience with this childish deity. "Here flowers bloom at certain seasons only."
"Then I hate this place! Take me back to my dear, familiar jungle!"
"Look here, O god," said Jorian, "I dug thee out of the dirt of Culbagarh, and faithfully have I worshiped thee daily ever since. If thou wilt not act thy divine age, I'll tell thee what I shall do. The next time we pass an arm of the Inner Sea, I will fling thee as far out into the waters as I can. Belike thou wilt find the sturgeon and the herring more congenial worshipers."