The First Book of Lankhmar by Fritz Leiber Read Free Book Online

of the skirts of Vlana's racked garments, loosely replaced the pegs, stood up, shook himself, took four steps and lay down on the pallet. A little heat radiated from a banked brazier. After a while he reached to the table and poured himself a cup of brandy.
           At last he heard voices. They grew louder. As the lacings of the door were being unknotted and loosened, he felt for his knife and also prepared to draw a large fur rug over him.
           Saying with laughter but also decision, "No, no, no," Vlana swiftly stepped in backward over the slack lashings, held the door closed with one hand while she gave the lashings a tightening pull with the other, and glanced over her shoulder.
           Her look of stark surprise was gone almost before Fafhrd marked it, to be replaced by a quick welcoming grin that wrinkled her nose comically. She turned away from him, carefully drew the lacings tight, and spent some time tying a knot on the inside. Then she came over and knelt beside him where he lay, her body erect from her knees. There was no grin now as she looked down at him, only a composed, enigmatic thoughtfulness, which he sought to match. She was wearing the hooded robe of her Mingol costume.
           "So you changed your mind about a reward," she said quietly but matter-of-factly. "How do you know that I too may not have changed mine since?"
           Fafhrd shook his head, replying to her first statement. Then, after a pause, he said, "Nevertheless, I have discovered that I desire you."
           Vlana said, "I saw you watching the show from the gallery. You almost stole it, you know — I mean the show — Who was the girl with you? Or was it a youth? I couldn't be quite sure."
           Fafhrd did not answer her inquiries. Instead he said, "I also wish to ask you questions about your supremely skillful dancing and ... and acting in loneliness."
           "Miming." She supplied the word.
           "Miming, yes. And I want to talk to you about civilization."
           "That's right, this morning you asked me how many languages I knew," she said, looking straight across him at the wall of the tent. It was clear that she too was a thinker. She took the cup of brandy out of his hand, swallowed half of what was left, and returned it to him.
           "Very well," she said, at last looking down at him, but with unchanged expression. "I will give you your desire, my dear boy. But now is not the time. First, I must rest and gather strength. Go away and return when the star Shadah sets. Wake me if I slumber."
           "That's an hour before dawn," he said, looking up at her. "It will be a chilly wait for me in the snow."
           "Don't do that," she said quickly. "I don't want you three-quarters frozen. Go where it's warm. To stay awake, think of me. Don't drink too much wine. Now go."
           He got up and made to embrace her. She drew back a step, saying, "Later. Later — everything." He started toward the door. She shook her head, saying, "You might be seen. As you came."
           Passing her again, his head brushed something hard. Between the hoops supporting the tent's middle, the supple hide of the tent bulged down, while the hoops themselves were bowed out and somewhat flattened bearing the weight. He cringed down for an instant, ready to grab Vlana and jump any way, then began methodically to punch and sweep at the bulges, always striking outward. There was a crashing and a loud tinkling as the massed crystals, which outside had reminded him of a giant flatworm — must be a giant snow serpent by now! — broke up and showered off.
           Meanwhile he said, "The Snow Women do not love you. Nor is Mor my mother your friend."
           "Do they think to frighten me with ice crystals?" Vlana demanded contemptuously. "Why, I know of Eastern fire sorceries compared to which their feeble magickings — "
           "But you are in their