The Starfollowers of Coramonde Read Online Free Page A

even larger than Hightower’s.
    Gil goggled,
then composed himself. “Oh, hey, Kisst-Haa. Hi.”
    The
reptile-man’s fearsome head dipped once in reply; he had no speech but his own
sibilant tongue. Gil had forgotten that Kisst-Haa was in Earthfast, having come
along on the raid on the throne room. That must be one of the reasons Reacher
had come, the American concluded—to take his faithful bodyguard home with him.
    Reacher’s
keen ears had picked out Kisst-Haa’s hiss. The King appeared, Van Duyn and the
Snow Leopardess with him. It occurred to Gil, eyeing the reptile-man more
closely, that the thing that made him more human than animal was his eyes. They
were manlike, expressive, with whites, yellow irises and tiny dots of pupil.
But it was weird to see the diminutive Lord of the Just and Sudden Reach trade
glad hugs with the monster, who rumbled happily.
    Gil shook
hands perfunctorily with Van Duyn, clasped forearms with Katya, then with her
brother. Reacher became grave. “Duskwind was given every honor,” he assured
Gil, “and her ashes lie with her family’s. Her kinsmen wished you to know
that—”
    The American
broke away, shaking his head. “No, Reacher. It’s fine, I’m sure, whatever, but
no more, please.” He brushed past Kisst-Haa. “I have to go. Got an early date
on the drill field.”
     
    The next
morning, he put on soft, close-fitting blouse and pants and his Browning. He
also strapped on the sword left behind by his friend Dunstan the Berserker,
who’d been abducted by Yardiff Bey. Just like the Froggy goin’ courtin’, he thought, settling the weapons. Reacher had inadvertently evoked a ghost, and
Gil had only salvaged a few hours’ sleep.
    Knights and
other fighting men sweated and strained in rigorous rehearsal. They’d left
their finery at home, using older armor and accouterments for practice.
    They swung
swords at pells, tilted at quintains, hurled javelins, launched arrows, hefted
axes. They feinted slyly with knives and toppled each other with dented
shields. Dust rose, feet shuffled; man-nets were cast, like sinews of clouds,
to bag or miss their quarry. There were wounds and other injuries, mostly among
overzealous younger men.
    Gil spotted
Ferrian to one side, a distant look in his eyes. Gil had seen the rugged
Horseblooded fight like a devil during the raid on the throne room. Now he
stood apart, longing to be among the warriors again.
    Ferrian
noticed him, eyeing the Browning in its shoulder holster, and the sword of
Dunstan. “Why bear a blade, when you have that, ah, gun?”
    Gil resettled
the holster. “See, there aren’t many rounds left for it, or the Mauser either.
High-speed nine-millimeter ammo doesn’t grow on trees; I’d better be ready when
the last shot goes.”
    Ferrian, not
much older than the American but a veteran of uncounted duels, agreed wryly,
“Wisdom indeed.”
    “Where’s
Brodur?”
    “I was just
watching him. See there, yes, where men are come together to fence with light
blades in the new fashion? Brodur is there, in gray hose.”
    “Got him now.
Who’s he talking to there, Gale-whatshisname?”
    “Gale-Baiter,
the Mariner envoy, yes. The seaman has been dueling, with lesser opponents for
the most part, and wagering heavily. Brodur’s decided to try his luck. He is
quite the betting man himself, you know; he insists no respectable gentleman
can live on his pay alone.”
    Gale-Baiter
was bigger, burlier than a fencer should be, whipping a heavy cavalry rapier
through the air, expounding swordcraft. Brodur, long hair braided and fastened
out of his way, paid close heed. He was compact, had a short-cropped beard and
was smooth in movement.
    The two
observers couldn’t hear what was being said—some difference of opinion over a
fine point. With swords at hand, the theoretical discussion didn’t last long.
Gil could picture it, some lofty remark like, “Sir, if you are so very
accomplished, you would perhaps vouchsafe a