All the visitors who had pa.s.sed through carried with them, at most, walking sticks, or small daggers tucked in their belts that could just as easily be used for carving up food as for anything offensive. These hors.e.m.e.n, however, all had swords with them. None of them, strangely enough, had scabbards dangling from belts. Instead they had very wide cloth belts around their waists, and the swords were shoved through the belts and held in place against their bodies.

Even though the swords were sheathed, I could tell they were very different from my own b.a.s.t.a.r.d sword. They were very slender, for one thing. It seemed to me that made their swords vulnerable to breaking should they come into contact with my own. On the other hand, if they were smaller and lighter, the wielders might be able to deftly maneuver past my own larger and slower blade, cutting me to pieces while I was still trying to bring my weapon around for a blow.

Not that I was either expecting or antic.i.p.ating a battle. True, I had developed a most uncharacteristicaffection for these people, but I had not lost sight of the fact that I was still Apropos. My safety came above concern for the safety of others, and I had no intention of laying my life upon the line for anyone. If a fight erupted, I would be more than happy to take refuge in my hut and wait until the screaming died down. I only fought when cornered, and preferred to try and prevent such a cornering from taking place.

Still, occasionally I did indeed find myself in do-or-die situations. In such instances, I always elected to do. The problem was, my actual blade--not the practice sword I was using in jousting with the lads--lay in my hut, out of reach. My staff was at hand as always, and was a ubiquitous weapon, but still not quite as devastating as my sword.

And I had the sai in my belt. My conversations with Double Chin came back to me at that moment, and I was d.a.m.ned glad that I had conceived of ways to use the implement as a weapon if need be.

Because if these sword-bearing new arrivals sought to make trouble quickly, and I couldn't avoid it, I wanted as many means as possible of defending myself right at hand.

Others of the village were emerging from their huts as the beats of the horses' hooves grew ever louder. They started calling to one another, and in short order the entirety of the village was gathering in its small dirt streets. They were speaking rapidly to one another. My problem was that my comprehension of their lingo depended upon slow, careful enunciation. If they were addressing one another with any sort of genuine speed, I was hopelessly lost. I could pick out words here and there, perhaps even pa.r.s.e a sentence or two. Nothing beyond that, however. I knew in time I would comprehend more. Unfortunately, I had the uneasy feeling that these hors.e.m.e.n were bound and determined to provide us as little time as possible.

They reined up, looking upon the gathering throng with unveiled contempt. By that point I was wearing one of their own hats, those very wide-brimmed bamboo head coverings that served to obscure much of my face if I had it angled forward.

Their clothing bore no resemblance to that of the farmers. They sported robes with large, flowing sleeves, and intricate woven designs of red and gold. Their breeches were likewise loose and flowing, gathered in at the waist through that huge belt, and tapering down into black boots. Dragons seemed to be the predominant visual image upon their clothes, st.i.tched in a variety of manners.

They had stylized haircuts, their hair pulled back tightly into topknots, leaving them with very high foreheads that glistened in the sun.

The centermost one bellowed in a strident voice, "Attention, people of--"

Then he stopped. And stared at me.

I lowered my head a bit, hoping to divert his scrutiny. It didn't work. "What," he demanded finally, "is wrong with your face?"

I said nothing. I didn't see where responding was going to be of much benefit. Instead I just shrugged in a vague manner.

Unfortunately, Kit Chinette chose that exact time to wander past, and she had apparently been taught always to respond when asked a question by one's elders. "That's Po. He's not from around here," she said. I fired her my fiercest look. She smiled back innocently. What a sweet child. Would that she had been within range so that I could have hugged her, or even better, staved in her head with my staff. "Oh really." The horseman swung his leg over his mount and dropped to the ground. He swaggered toward me, his thumbs hooked into his sash. It gave me a chance to inspect his sword closer up. The hilt was white, ivory unless I missed my guess. It was ornately carved with images of dragons upon it. "And whereabouts might you be from?"

"Here and there," I said, still keeping my gaze fixed firmly upon the ground.

"I see." His voice was deep and guttural and had the familiar aspect of the bully that I had encountered on any number of occasions. "And where... precisely... is there?"

When I didn't respond, he swung his arm in a wide arc and knocked the hat from my head. Then he gripped my chin and turned my face this way and that, inspecting me as he would a horse. His face clouded with increasing suspicion. "I have never seen anything like you," he said.

Unfortunately, I had seen his type all too many times in my life. I refrained from saying so, however.

It was interesting. I felt as if part of me was stepping outside of myself. Once upon a time, my fundamental cravenness and weakness of spirit would have filled me with fear over what was going to happen next. But something was different this time. Perhaps it was all the time that I'd spent as the "peacelord" of Wuin, seeing people bowing and sc.r.a.ping before me. Instead of fear, I was feeling mounting anger.

And I quickly realized why. It was because, all this time, I had been wondering and dreading when something would go terribly wrong with the bucolic turn my life had taken. And now that it was here, now that the possible destruction of my newfound existence was upon me, all I could feel was slowly building fury that I had been right. The cynic in me rejoiced, but a budding, optimistic side hadn't wanted me to be right.

"What do you want?" It was Take on Chin who had spoken, with Cleft Chin right next to him, and Double Chin nearby. Cleft Chin was no more a fighter than anyone else in the village, but he was burlier than the others, and cut an imposing figure when he simply stood still and glowered. He had exceptional glowering skills. Unfortunately, his fighting skills were almost nonexistent. I'd watched him spar with the boys on a couple of occasions, and felt confident in saying that Kit Chinette could have disposed of him with alacrity.

I had to admit, though, Take On Chin--for all that he annoyed me with his perpetual scowls--wasn't backing down in the face of the newcomer's swaggering att.i.tude.

The newcomer looked him up and down. "Do you know who I am?" he demanded.

"Should I?" asked Take On Chin mildly.

He thumped his chest and said, "I am Kaybi, of the Skang Kei family." He paused for dramatic effect.

"You know the Skang Kei, I take it?"

"I knowof them," replied Take on Chin. "They are reputed to be a business concern, are they not?"

"Do not toy with me," said Kaybi. "You know the power and influence wielded by Skang Kei."

"They are criminals," blurted out Cleft Chin. "You all are." "An honest man," Kaybi said with mock approval.

"We are all honest men here, you will find," Double Chin told him. "We live in peace. If you come in peace, you will be received as such."

"I come in earnest, is what I come in," said Kaybi. He began to walk in a wide circle, hands behind his back, a distinct swagger to his stride that was typical of the thuggish mind-set such creatures possessed. "Thus far, the Skang Kei family has limited its influence to the major cities. We have decided, however, to branch out. For the solidarity and good of all, it seems the reasonable thing to do. And it will be to your benefit as well."

"Our benefit?" Take On Chin looked skeptical. "How is the interest of the Skang Kei to our benefit?

We are simple farmers here," and there was a silent chorus of nodding heads. "We have no involvement in the activities of the Skang Kei, or their influence in cities, major or minor."

"That will change." He paused to let that sink in, and then continued, "Your village will offer up tribute to the Skang Kei family. Half of what you harvest will become property of the Skang Kei, to do with as we wish."

There arose an immediate babble of confused and astonished responses from the villagers, so much and so simultaneously that I was unable to make out what anyone was saying. In response, Kaybi spread wide his arms and repeatedly shouted,"Silence! Silence!" When absolute quiet had been achieved, he permitted a small smile as he went back to his swaggering. "Obviously you believe that you will be getting nothing for your contribution to the Skang Kei. That is not at all the case. You will be receiving protection."

"Protection?" Take On Chin looked bewildered. "From what?"

"From them," I said, unable to contain myself. "If you do what they say, you won't wake up one morning to discover the burning of your crops, or your homes, or yourselves."

"You have a firm understanding of business," Kaybi said mockingly.

"We won't stand for it!" Cleft Chin cried out.

"I see." Quiet menace radiated from Kaybi. "And do you speak for all in this village? All the men? The women?" His gaze settled on Kit Chinette, who was watching him with rapt fascination. He smiled. "The children?"

In a flash, his sword was from its scabbard, and I could see instantly that the edge was lean and razor sharp. So sharp, in fact, that it would likely make short work of my staff.

Even as he brought the sword whipping around toward Kit Chinette, even as the people cried out as one, even as my mind screamedWhat the h.e.l.l do you think you're doing?!, I stepped into the path of the blade with the sai yanked from my belt. I brought it up as I would a dagger, thrusting outward in desperation as much as anything else. But sheer, dumb luck was on my side, fortune favoring the foolish, and I intercepted the blade between the middle p.r.o.ng and one of the upraised sides with a resounding clang. I stepped forward, bringing me chest-to-chest with Kaybi, twisting my wrist so the sword was angled to one side, away from us, locked into the hold of the simple farming implement.

"Sometimes," I grated, "a sai isn't just a sai." And I twisted my wrist as hard as I could. The blade was remarkably flexible, I'll give it that. But the pressure was unexpected and at an extremely odd angle, and the sword simply wasn't built to endure it. There was a satisfyingly loud snap and the stunned Kaybi was abruptly standing there holding a hilt with about half an inch of steel extending from it. The rest was lying on the ground, looking like a severed head lonesome for its body.

He spat out a word the meaning of which I did not know, probably because the residents of Hosbiyu were far too polite to have taught it to me. I had no time to rejoice in my minor victory, however, because Kaybi shoved me square in the chest, catching me off balance, and I tumbled to the ground. I came up quickly, though, still gripping my staff as he advanced on me, discarding the hilt and whipping out a dagger from hiding. More of what I presumed to be invective tumbled from his mouth, but I didn't wait for him to draw near. Instead I thrust the base of my staff forward, catching him squarely in the pit of his stomach. Would that I'd had the other end in position, because I could have popped out my blade and disemboweled the b.a.s.t.a.r.d. As it was he staggered back, holding his gut and looking distinctly pale.

But matters were rapidly spiraling out of control, for the other two men had vaulted from their horses, and they had their own swords out.Idiot. This is what you get for taking chances on the behalf of others, my inner voice informed me with obvious contempt.I'm quit of you. You're on your own, for the few seconds of life you have left.

I had the sai still poised in one hand, the staff ready in the other as I hauled myself to my feet. Would that I'd had my sword. It probably wouldn't have done me much good. My lame leg severely limited my maneuverability, and anyway, it would have been far too c.u.mbersome in comparison with the swords they were using. They'd have carved me up while I was still trying to get into a guard position. And I had a very strong feeling I wasn't going to get lucky with the sai once again so quickly.

That was when a strong voice abruptly called out,"Stop!"

You'd have thought that a single voice wouldn't have any impact on such as those outlaws, but something about it absolutely commanded attention.

Chinpan Ali had emerged from his hut. He was eyeing them thoughtfully, and he wore his calm like a comfortable cloak. He gestured toward his hut and said, "Come. Let us talk."

"This one must die!"said an angry Kaybi, pointing a quivering finger at me.

"And he will, as all men must," Ali a.s.sured him. "There is no need for you to hasten it."

"Oh, but there's very much a need," said Kaybi, wiping sweat from his brow.

"Then kill him later," suggested Ali, which hardly served to mollify my concerns. "He is not going anywhere. Share the hospitality of my hut. We will discuss matters and come to an understanding."

"Are you in charge of this rat trap?" Kaybi demanded. He wasn't taking his eye off me, but he did take a sidelong glance in Ali's direction.

Take On Chin looked as if he was about to respond, but then thought better of it. Instead he simply folded his arms across his body, into the sleeves of his garment, and remained silent.

"I am the village elder," said Ali. "That has always been sufficient. Now come. Please. Humor an old man." Kaybi hesitated, then smiled evilly. "Very well. Let this one," and he stabbed a finger at me, "dwell for a time on the fate that awaits him. Fitting punishment." He turned on his heel and headed for the hut. His companions fell into step behind him.

The villagers started to crowd toward me, obviously to thank me for my bravery and daring in the face of adversity. I quickly shook them off, saying, "It was nothing. Nothing," as I headed for my hut as fast as I could.

Why? To get the h.e.l.l out of town was why.

I had no intention of hanging about and waiting for those brutes to saunter out of Ali's hut so they could continue where they had left off and lay waste to me. It was one thing to foolishly defend myself or even, G.o.ds help me, Kit Chinette, in the heat of the moment. But the moment had cooled, and so had my enthusiasm for remaining in Hosbiyu. The faster I could get out of there, the better.

What was problematic, of course, was determining how best to avoid my would-be killers. I couldn't just hit the road. They'd catch up with me in short order. I contemplated stealing their horses, but I couldn't be sure that would work. The animals might be too well trained to allow a stranger to ride them, and I certainly didn't need to have them hear a bucking and whinnying horse tossing me off its back so they could run out and dispatch me quickly.

My mind racing, I decided the best thing to do would be to head for the wheat fields. The stalks were tall and concealing, the fields fairly vast, and the odds of them managing to locate me if I didn't crash around in them too much were relatively slim. At least that's what I told myself.

Granted, there was every possibility that--upon finding me gone--the brigands would take out their hostility upon the villagers. I felt badly about that, which was something of an accomplishment for me. It wasn't all that long ago that I wouldn't have given a flying d.a.m.n. In this case, I took a moment to mourn the likely unpleasant fate of these peaceful farmers. It slowed down my packing for about a second, and then I doubled my efforts to make up for the lost time.

There were footsteps at my door and my shoulders tensed in antic.i.p.ation of a sword blade winging toward me, but before I could yank my blade from its scabbard in a last-ditch attempt to save my life, I heard Double Chin say, "That was very brave of you."

"Thanks," I said.

He studied my actions coolly. "What are you doing?"

"Reorganizing."

"Odd. To the dispa.s.sionate observer, it would appear that you are preparing to make a hasty departure." He c.o.c.ked his head slightly.

"Is that so?"

"I'm thinking a change of scenery might be in order."

"That is not necessary, Po. All will be well." "With all respect," I told him, shoving the last of my clothes into a burlap sack, "you're not the one those butchers will be coming after."

"If you were to depart, I very likely would be, yes," he said mildly. I said nothing in response to that, since he was correct. "Do you see me looking concerned?"

"No," I replied. "Then again, that could simply be because you don't realize the gravity of the situation."

"Or perhaps you do not realize the situation is under control."

"Look," I said, slinging the sack over my shoulder, "three criminal henchmen are out there who would just as soon kill me as look at me, and they'll probably do both in short order. The only thing standing between me and a very imminent death is one fairly small old man, and somehow I'm seriously doubting--"

That was when I heard the scream.

I'd heard people scream before. I'd been present at some truly ghastly dealings of death. I'd heard and seen people go to their graves consumed by soul-sucking depression as they realized--instants before their demise--that no beatific afterlife awaited them, but rather only blackness and oblivion. That can be a most disheartening experience when you've been living your life in self-delusion as to what occurred at the end of it.

But those screams were nothing like this.

It was three voices I heard, and for an instant I thought the brigands had stormed out of Chinpan Ali's hut and begun slaughtering random villagers just to show they were not to be trifled with. Just as quickly, I realized that it was in fact the voices of those selfsame brutes, filled with screeching horror such as I'd never encountered. And considering I'd seen people die at the hands of everything from male Harpies to evil shadow representations of myself, I had a fairly wide range of experience to choose from.

And Double Chin's expression remained cool and inscrutable. The only change was the slightest twinge from the edges of his mouth. Otherwise... nothing.

Then the screams tapered off, and I could have sworn I heard a slight gurgling noise. Then... silence.

"What the h.e.l.l was that?" I asked, and was surprised to realize my voice was barely above a hush.

Double Chin said nothing.

My consuming curiosity overwhelmed my normal sense of caution, and I hurried out of my hut. The villagers were standing about, and they bore that same, distant, faintly amused expression that Double Chin had. Even the children looked that way, and on Kit Chinette I can a.s.sure you it was a truly spooky sight. Whatever had just happened, it clearly came as no surprise to these people.

All eyes were upon Ali's hut. Perhaps they were content to simply stand there, but I was not. I hurried toward the hut as fast as my weak leg would allow me. I got to the beaded curtain entrance and pushed it aside, not caring about the clatter it made. Honestly, I didn't have the faintest idea what to expect.

The bodies of all three of the bravos who'd attempted to blackmail the village were strewn about thedirt floor. Their blood was seeping into the ground. Their torsos were in several neatly sliced sections. A butcher slaughtering oxen could not have done a more thorough job. Their heads were situated in various parts of the hut.

Chinpan Ali was squarely in the middle of the hut. He seemed to have more possessions than anyone else in the village, including a couple of trunks, some wicker furniture, some wall hangings. Nothing elaborate, but just an indicator that he'd been around long enough to accrue a few items. At that moment, he was sheathing a sword. I had never seen a sword quite like it. It was somewhat straighter than the swords wielded by the other men, back when they were in a condition to be a threat. But the handle was unique. Tinted light red, it was a carved representation of a bird, its head and beak forming the pommel while its wings and feathered body insinuated itself through the rest of the handle.

Eerily, it reminded me of the phoenix. I had once encountered one of those gloriously mythic creatures, and been subjected to a rather wild ride and the beginning of another unwanted adventure.

Here it was again, looking at me like a silent, carved reminder of achievement--or sins--long past.

The sword clacked into the scabbard with the finality of a lid being slammed on a coffin. Ali didn't appear to notice I was there at first. Instead he gently stroked the hilt, which I had to admit was a disturbing enough image in and of itself. Then, slowly, he turned and stared in my direction. He said nothing, merely tilted his head slightly.

I backed out of the hut, turned, and saw the villagers slowly moving toward the hut. Only the men.

The women and children were hanging back. In the uncanny silence, it was like watching ghosts of people moving through the real world without realization that they were dead. Except they were very much alive, and they were carrying burlap bags in a.s.sorted sizes. A handful smiled at me, as if we were having a chance encounter at the local market.

"Do not dawdle," Take On Chin told his people, and they hastened to do his bidding. One by one, the men filed into the hut, and when each emerged he would be carrying a sack that was bulging with what was obviously some body part of the former representatives of the Skang Kei crime family. On several of them, I saw large red patches forming from the pooling blood.

They carried the sections off in the direction of the wheat fields, which I quickly surmised would serve as their burial place. These were resourceful people, accustomed to making the most use of whatever they happened to have on hand. And decaying body parts would certainly provide as many nutrients to the soil as anything else they might choose to put down there.

I don't remember going back to my hut. All I knew is that eventually I found myself there, seated on the ground, staring off into s.p.a.ce. I could not believe what I had seen. It was like some bizarre horror tale.

There was a noise at the entrance and I looked up. Chinpan Ali was standing there, looking very una.s.suming and frail and not at all capable of carving three men into fertilizer. He nodded to me in greeting. I said nothing. What was there to say?

"You were brave," he said. "Defending that girl. She might have died if not for you."

I shrugged.

"What do you seek?" he asked. I couldn't believe he was asking this again. What did I seek? I sought normality in a world that had no stomach for it. I had thought I'd found a nice, simple village filled with nice, simple people. People who were incapable of inflicting harm upon anyone. People whom I had believed to be so innocent, so naive, that they were in deadly danger simply because I was among them.

And yet here was a village elder who was quite possibly the most deadly fighter I had ever encountered. Here was a populace who did not fear intruders, because they knew they'd wind up burying potential enemies out in the fields to make their crops grow. How many body parts were already there that I had trod upon without knowing? What else was there about these villagers, with whom I had lived all these many months, that I didn't know?