He was turning all of this over in his mind for at least the third time, when a great, deep voice rang out, just down the street.
"That has to be him," it said. Perkar was startled to see the Giant—or another man much like him—striding toward him. With the Giant was a small, wizened man in dark blue robes. It seemed that he had seen those robes back at the Crab Woman, too, and so it stood to reason they had followed him here intentionally. He scrambled to his feet, hand on Harka's hilt.
The old man was bald, Perkar could now see, though he had tied a sort of cloth around his head. It was he, not the Giant, who spoke when the two stopped before him.
"Gray eyes, light hair, pale skin," the old man muttered. "Well, well."
The Giant shook his massive head, parted his lips to reveal what resembled a mouthful of knucklebones. "There are many strangers at the docks. It is just a coincidence."
"Hezhi can tell us," the old man said. "If he isn't the one, what have we lost?"
"Everything, perhaps. Foreigners are thieves and cutthroats."
Perkar felt that he had been spoken of in the third person for long enough. "What are you two talking about?" he demanded.
The old man looked mildly surprised. "You speak our language passing well, for one from so far away, from the Cattle-Lands."
That stopped Perkar's ready retort. "You know my people?"
"By reputation only. I have read one or two of your…" He frowned. "Higaral?" he said at last, a question.
Perkar blinked. "Ekaral," he corrected. "Songs."
"Yes. An officer of the Second Dynasty sailed up-River some time ago and lived with your folk for a while, wrote down a few of your Ekaral because he thought they might interest someone, I suppose."
The Giant growled and then looked abashed when the old man shot him a sharp look. The elder nodded, though, as if in agreement with whatever sentiment the Giant conveyed.
"We can talk about that later. Tsem reminds me that we have no time to discuss poetry. The other men in the Crab Woman told us we might find you here. I want to engage your services."
Perkar nodded. "So you are my destiny, caught up with me finally. Do you, by any chance, know a girl, perhaps twelve years old, with black eyes and a pointed chin?"
The Giant's jaw dropped, but the old man glanced furtively at the priest near the boat.
"Elsewhere," he hissed. "I wish to discuss this, but elsewhere." He gestured for Perkar to follow, and the Giant beckoned as well, with somewhat more insistence. Perkar pursed his lips, his only hesitation. This was what he was here for.
"There is much to explain," the old man said as they once again approached the docks. "Many questions I have for you, as well, but precious little time. So I must ask the most important ones first."
"My name is Perkar Kar Barku," Perkar informed him.
"Yes, yes." The old man nodded. "I am Ghan, and the half Giant is Tsem."
"Ghun, Tsem," he repeated.
"Ghan," the old man said sharply, "not Ghun."
Teacher, not priest. And the Giant's name meant Iron.
"Ghan," Perkar repeated apologetically. But he marked that— this old man seemed no friend of the priests.
"You mention a young girl," Ghan went on sharply. "What do you know of her?"
Perkar considered his answer, but settled on telling at least part of the truth. "Not much. I dream about her, that's all. I have dreamed about her for months."
"You have been in Nhol for that long?"
Perkar shook his head ruefully. "I only just arrived."
"Why did you come to Nhol, Perkar?"
"I didn't have much choice," he answered. "The River brought me. It is a long story, an Ekar, but you say we don't have much time. So, shortly, the River took hold of my boat and brought me here."
Ghan raised his hand. "Did this make you bitter? Do you resent this?"
He grinned a little sourly and lied, though it was a lie twisted closely to truth. "It did. I think this girl called me, the way a shaman calls a familiar or a man a dog, and I came. I have had a long time to think about this, however. She was able to call me—as opposed to some other person—only because of certain acts I committed on my own. Acts that, for me, demand … redressing. I have determined that finishing out this part of my destiny—answering this girl's summons—is the first step in my atonement."
"Perhaps the last, as well," Ghan warned him. "What I will ask you to do is very dangerous."
"I assumed as much," Perkar said. "You said you are familiar with our songs. Do you also know the meaning of the word Piraku?"
"I read those long ago, and memory betrays," Ghan said, shaking his head.
"It means many things. Wealth, honor, glory. It means doing what must be done, even if death is the only reward. It is what my people live and die by."
The Giant, Tsem, chewing his massive lip, suddenly erupted into speech. "This is ridiculous. We can't trust him, Master Ghan."
"If he is the man Hezhi dreamed of, we have no choice," Ghan muttered. "He may be of some help."
"I believe I am he," Perkar assured them. "Though I have no idea of what task I must perform."
"I will keep this story simple, too," Ghan promised. "I believe the girl you dream of is Hezhi Yehd Cha'dune, the daughter of the emperor of Nhol and its empire. As you say, I believe that she called you here to help her escape the city."
Perkar looked from one to the other of the two men. "Why must a princess escape her own city?" he asked.
Ghan shook his head. "It is complex, and not something Tsem or I may speak of. Hezhi can tell you, later, when all is well. But she must escape today. I'm afraid you must agree or disagree on what I've already told you."
Perkar nodded slowly. "I don't know anything about this city," he said. "I don't see what help I can be."
"Can you use that?" Ghan asked, pointing to Harka.
"Oh, yes," Perkar said. "I can use Harka."
"Harka?"
"The god who dwells in my sword."
Ghan lifted his eyebrows again, but did not dispute the existence of gods as the priest had.
"That may be your use. Frankly, I don't know, either. But Hezhi dreams of you, and I feel certain that there is a purpose to that." His face worked around some unspoken thought, and he let out a long, weary breath. "If only I could know,'" he groaned at last.
"I see her emerging from the River," Perkar whispered, closing his eyes. "The River is blood, and I am in it. The River is trying to swallow me, but it also offers me up, to her. She is weeping, and her tears are blood, too. She wants me to help her."
He opened his eyes again, so that sunlight could clean away the remembered vision. Ghan and Tsem were staring at him. The Giant's eyes were narrow. Ghan was nodding.
"I see no other choice," he said at last. "This is all moved by her blood, Tsem. If we do not trust her, we cannot save her."
Tsem almost snarled, but then his brutish face quieted. "You are wiser than I," he said at last.