Trullion: Alastor 2262 by Jack Vance Read Free Book Online Page B

event: we are ready for departure.”
    Vang Drosset spat into the dirt. “It’s Fanscherade which is on him. He’s now too good for us.”
    “Too good for you as well,” muttered Harving.
    Fanscherade? The word meant nothing, but he would solicit no instruction from the Drossets. He spoke a word of farewell and turned away. As he crossed the field, six pairs of eyes stung his back. He was relieved to pass beyond the range of a thrown knife.
Forlostwenna: a word from the Trevanyi jargon-an urgent mood compelling departure; more immediate than the general term “wanderlust.”

Chapter 5

    Avness was the name of that pale hour immediately before sunset: a sad quiet time when all color seemed to have drained from the world, and the landscape revealed no dimensions other than those suggested by receding planes of ever paler haze. Avness, like dawn, was a time unsympathetic to the Trill temperament; the Trills had no taste for melancholy reverie.
    Glinnes found the house empty upon his return both Glay and Marucha had departed. Glinnes was plunged into a state of gloom. He went out on the verandah and looked toward the Drosset tents, half of a mind to call them over for a farewell feast-or more particularly Duissane, beyond dispute a fascinating creature, bad temper and all. Glinnes pictured her as she might look in a kindly mood … Duissane would enliven any occasion … An absurd idea. Vang Drosset would cut his heart out at the mere suspicion.
    Glinnes went back into the house and poured himself a draught of wine. He opened the larder and considered the sparse contents. How different from the open-hearted bounty he remembered from the happy old times! He heard the gurgle and hiss of a prow cutting water. Going out onto the verandah, Glinnes watched the approaching boat. It contained not Marucha, whom he expected, but a thin long-armed man with narrow shoulders and sharp elbows, in a suit of dark brown and blue velvet cut after that fashion favored by the aristocrats. Wispy brown hair hung almost to his shoulders; his face was mild and gentle, with a hint of impish mischief in the cast of his eyes and the quirk of his mouth. Glinnes recognized Janno Akadie the mentor, whom he remembered as voluble, facetious, at times mordant or even malicious, and never at a loss for an epigram, an allusion, a profundity, which impressed many but irked Jut Hulden.
    Glinnes walked down to the dock and, catching the mooring line, made the boat fast to the bollard. Jumping nimbly ashore, Akadie gave Glinnes an effusive greeting. “I heard you were home and couldn’t rest till I saw you. A pleasure having you back among us!”
    Glinnes gave polite acknowledgment to the compliments, and Akadie nodded more cordially than ever. “I fear we’ve had changes since your departure-perhaps not all of them to your liking.”
    “I really haven’t had time to make up my mind,” said Glinnes cautiously, but Akadie paid no attention and looked up at the dim house. “Your dear mother is away from home?”
    “I don’t know where she is, but come drink a pot or two of wine.” Akadie made an acquiescent gesture. The two walked up the dock toward the house. Akadie glanced toward Rabendary Forest, where the Drosset’s fire showed as a flickering orange spark.
    “The Trevanyi are still on hand, I notice.”
    “They leave tomorrow.”
    Akadie nodded sagely. “The girl is charming but fey — that is to say, burdened with a weight of destiny. I wonder for whom she carries her message.”
    Glinnes lofted his eyebrows; he had not thought of Duissane in so dire a connection, and Akadie’s remark struck reverberations within him. “As you say, she seems an extraordinary person.” Akadie settled into one of the old string chairs on the verandah. Glinnes brought out wine, cheese and nuts, and they sat back to watch the wan colors of the Trullion sunset.
    “I take it you are home on leave?”
    “No. I’ve left the Whelm. I now seem to be Squire of