Into the Thinking Kingdoms by Alan Dean Foster Read Free Book Online Page B

the building. Its terrible roars and bellows resounded across the waterfront, sending hitherto placid pedestrians running for their lives or plunging into the harbor to escape. Surviving Khorog scattered in all directions, throwing down their cumbersome weapons in their haste to flee. The tyrannosaur’s spirit pursued them, snapping at would-be assassins and blameless citizens alike.
    Simna had just avoided being stepped on and smashed to a pulp. Only his familiarity with his friend’s unexpected stratagems had enabled him to react with a minimum of shock and flee before it was too late. Now he let himself be led, following the herdsman as they stumbled out into the alley behind the shop and hurried back toward the harborfront.
    “Wait a minute!” he yelled breathlessly. “Why are we going this way? The monster you let loose is out there!”
    “I know.” Ehomba’s tone was as equable as ever, but the swordsman thought he might have detected just a hint of suppressed passion. “But I am hoping there may also be a smaller one slinking about.”
    Sure enough, they found Moleshohn lying in a small pinnace tied to the main quay, cowering beneath loose canvas as he sought to hide from both the raging prehistoric spirit and the surviving angry Khorog. When the canvas was pulled back to expose his startled face, the All-Knowing appeared something less than omnipotent.
    Simna shoved the point of his sword against the seer’s throat until he was forced to lean back over the side of the small sailing craft. Eyes wide, their erstwhile host found himself hanging inches from the dark water. Both hands clung to the rail to keep him from tumbling over into the depths, the fingers tapping out a panicked ostinato on the smooth wood.
    Teeth clenched, Simna ibn Sind pushed harder with the sword. “I’ll give you a choice, oracle. That’s more than you gave us. Tell us where to find Haramos bin Grue, and I’ll only cut your face instead of your throat!”
    “I don’t—” the failed prophet began, but Ehomba, looming behind the tense swordsman, silenced the incipient protest with his eyes.
    “You betrayed us to him. I should have at least suspected, but I am used to dealings among the people of my country, where souls and manhood are not bartered for gold. Being the All-Knowing, you knew where he was, and what he would pay to be rid of us. Being the All-Knowing, you know that I speak the truth when I tell you that if you do not reveal his whereabouts to us within your next heart’s breath, it will be your last.”
    Simna’s sword drew blood from the slim, wrinkled throat.
    “Yes, yes, I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you!” So loudly and hard were the smaller man’s fingertips rapping nervously on the gunwale of the pinnace that they had begun to bleed. “He—he has a place of business on Zintois Street. The house is behind. Are you going to kill me?”
    Simna grinned wolfishly. “You mean you’re the All-Knowing and you don’t have the answer to that? Maybe you should change your title to the Maybe-Guessing.”
    Leaning forward, Ehomba put a hand on the swordsman’s shoulder. “Let it go, Simna. If we are going to make the effort to free Ahlitah, we should hurry.”
    Breathing hard, his friend hesitated. “There is the small matter of the money we paid. In good faith for information, not betrayal.” Palm up, he extended a demanding hand.
    A trembling Moleshohn fumbled with a hidden pocket. Straightening, he passed the swordsman a fistful of coin. Counting it while Ehomba waited impatiently, Simna had a few choice final words for their betrayer. “If you’re lying to us, or have given us the wrong address, we’ll find you. My friend is a great sorcerer, a
true
sorcerer. Not a cheap storefront fake like yourself!”
    Moleshohn managed to summon a sufficient reserve of inner strength to protest feebly, “I am not cheap!” before the swordsman fetched him a solid blow to the forehead with the hilt of his sword. The