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gestured expansively.  No need here for estates or castles. Our homes we decorate with humble wood,
enhanced and beautified by our own hands. All of this Tragg tells us.
 Does he also tell you that animals are filthy creatures? Ehomba asked the question before Simna could
catch the gist of it and stop him.
The swordsman was needlessly concerned. Another of the villagers answered freely and without
hesitation.  Of course! Whenever we are unsure about anything, we put our faith in the teachings of
Tragg and they tell us what to do.
 And these teachings, Ehomba inquired,  they are never wrong?
 Never, declared several of the men and two of the women in concert.
 But I thought you said that Netherbrae was as one with the Thinking Kingdoms. If you rely on the
teachings of Tragg to tell you what to do, then that means you are not thinking about what to do. You are
substituting belief for thought.
Leaning close to his friend, Simna whispered urgently,  I ve been around a lot, bruther, and based on my
experience and travels, I m telling you it d be best to drop this line of conversation right now.
 Why? Ehomba countered innocently.  These are thinking people, inhabitants of one of the Thinking
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Kingdoms. People who think are not bothered by questions. Raising his voice, he inquired loudly,  Are
you?
 Not at all, friend, not at all! declared the villager seated across the table from the herdsman.  Belief
does not replace thought. It complements it. Grinning broadly, he added,  We think about what we
believe in.
 And we believe what we think. Having had a good deal to drink, the woman who concluded the tenet
broke out giggling. Her friend quickly joined in, and once again merriment was general around the table.
Ehomba started to say something else, but this time Simna was in his face before the words had time to
emerge.  Hoy, bruther, if you ve no concern for your own well-being, then have a care for mine, would
you? No more of this. A change of subject to something innocuous is in order.
 I oh, very well. Observing the strain in the swordsman s expression, Ehomba decided to forgo the
questions that were piling up inside him for now. He replaced his intended words with the contents of
the ceramic tumbler that had been set out before him.
Someone was speaking from atop a chair near the rear entrance. Ehomba recognized him as the general
manager of the inn. Not the owner that was a title reserved for the husband of the woman they had first
met. The speaker had a prominent belly and cleverly coifed mustache that wrapped around much of his
jowly face. A logger he was not.
 Friends, visitors! You ve seen it before, watched it and wondered, and now tonight, we once more
bring it before you to embellish your enjoyment of the evening and the solidarity of our precious
community. Pivoting carefully on the slightly shaky chair, he gestured grandly toward the back door. It
was particularly wide and tall, with an interesting arched lintel. A sense of anticipation blanketed the
crowd. By mutual silent agreement all conversation was muted.
 I give you, the general manager proclaimed,  the nightmare!
Cheers and whoops of expectation rose from the crowd, an atavistic howl that rattled the walls of the
tavern. By dint of their early arrival and fortuitous seating, Ehomba and his companions had an
unobstructed view of the arched doorway. Now they looked on in silence as the doors were flung wide.
Though the cage rolled easily on four thick wheels, it still took the combined exertions of four strong men
to pull and push it into the tavern. The spokes of the wheels, the hubs, and the cage itself were decorated
with etchings of mystic signs and mysterious figures. Even the bars and the massive padlock were made
of wood, lovingly polished to reveal a fine, dark grain. Despite the height of the arched double doorway,
the top of the cage barely cleared the twenty-foot-high opening.
Standing inside the cage and gripping two of the bars was a ten-foot-tall something.
It was as massive as it was tall, and Ehomba estimated its weight as equal to that of any three large men.
It was hard to tell for sure because the creature was covered entirely in long, thick strands of dark gray
hair streaked with black. The skull was more human than simian, and the black eyes that glared out from
beneath massive, bony brows were full of rage. The nose was not as flat as an ape s, but not as
forwardly pronounced as a human s. Through the waving, gesticulating arms of the crowd the herdsman
thought he could make out five fingers on each hand and as many toes on each foot.
Not an ape, then, but not a member of the family of man, either. Something in between, or an offshoot
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unknown to the people of Naumkib. The more it roared and rattled the tree-sized wooden bars of its
rolling cage, the more the crowd jeered and hooted.
Yelling an unimaginative and slightly obscene insult, someone in the throng stood up and threw the
remnants of a warm meat pie at the cage. Passing through the bars, it struck the nightmare just above its
right eye. Wincing, it turned to roar at its assailant. The laughter this induced caused food to come flying
from all directions: pies, half-finished legs of meat, vegetables, gnawed rolls greasy with butter. At first the
creature withstood the barrage and continued to bellow defiance at its captors. But gradually its roars
and howls died down. Assaulted by food and taunts from every direction, it eventually retreated to the
middle of its cage. There it sat, hunched over and no longer trying to deflect the edible missiles, doing its
best to ignore the onslaught.
 Make it get up and bellow again! someone yelled laughingly.
 Somebody get a long stick and poke it! suggested another.
Ultimately the mob grew bored. Evidently this was not the first time they had amused themselves at the
pitiful creature s expense. Ignoring the cage and its lone occupant in their midst, they returned to their
banqueting, trading jokes and gossip and casual conversation as if nothing out of the ordinary had
transpired. Simna and Knucker slipped back into the easy camaraderie tendered by the citizens of
Netherbrae more comfortably than did Ehomba.
 That s a beast and a half. The swordsman tore into a hunk of fresh, heavily seeded bread.  Where d
you capture it?
A woman seated across and slightly down the table from him replied. Not because it was her place, but
because all the men within range of the swordsman s question had their mouths full of food.
 It was taken in the forest far from here, where the Hrugar Mountains begin to climb toward the sky.
She sipped daintily at her tumbler.  Not far from the lowest slopes of Mount Scathe. It took two parties
of men to bring it down with ropes, and three to haul it back to Netherbrae on a makeshift sled.
 An impressive feat. Ehomba spoke quietly, as always.  What was it doing?
She blinked at him, her eyes still lively but her tone momentarily confused.  Doing?
 When it was captured. Who was it attacking, or threatening?
The husky man seated next to her cleared his throat and replied before she could respond.  It wasn t
attacking or threatening anyone, friend. I know I was there. He grinned proudly.  I was one of the
woodcutters who brought it down. Such strength! It fought us like a mad thing, which of course is what it [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]