Free The Elder Gods by David Eddings, Leigh Eddings

smoke coming from some of the houses.”
    “You see, Ox,” Sorgan said. “You worry too much.” He looked up at the topmast. “How far off is that place, Tree-Top?” he shouted.
    “Just on t’other side of that sand spit on ahead,” Tree-Top called back. “I kin see some skiffs hauled up on the beach, but nobody’s anyplace near them.”
    “We must have scared them off,” Hook-Beak said. “I think we might want to go in sort of slow and easy. We don’t want to stir anybody up.” He turned. “Ho, Rabbit!” he called.
    “Aye, Cap’n?” the little man replied.
    “Go get that horn of yours and blow it a few times. There’s a village just ahead, and I’d like for the people there to know that we’re coming and that we’re peaceable.”
    “Aye, Cap’n,” Rabbit said. He went below for a moment and emerged with a large, curled cow horn. He put it to his lips and blew a long, mournful-sounding bleat that echoed back into the dark forest.
    Hook-Beak and the others listened intently, but there was no immediate reply.
    “Try again, Rabbit,” Sorgan said. “See if you can make it sound a little more cheerful this time.”
    Rabbit blew a high-pitched note that ended with an off-key squeak.
    “I think maybe Rabbit should practice some,” Ox said critically. “That one sounded a lot like a cat who just got her tail stepped on.”
    Then from somewhere back in the forest there came an answering note that was quite a bit mellower than Rabbit’s squeak.
    “Now we’re getting somewhere,” Hook-Beak said. “Keep blowing, Rabbit,” he instructed. “Try to make it sound a little friendly, if you can.”
    “I’m doing my best, Cap’n,” Rabbit whined. “Nobody on board likes it when I practice tooting, so I’m sort of rusty.”
    The
Seagull
rounded the tip of the sand spit, and the crew gathered near the bow to look at the village crouched at the head of a shallow inlet.
    “Not too fancy,” Ox observed. “Mostly sticks chinked with grass.”
    “You weren’t expecting palaces, were you, Ox?” Sorgan asked. “I’m just as happy not to see stone walls and such. We’re only one ship, so we don’t really
want
to find folks with all kinds of civilization to back them up. It looks to me like we might have found this place before the Trogites did. Tell the crew not to start waving swords and spears. We don’t want to make these folks nervous. Those woods are pretty close to the edge of that village, and I’d rather not sprout a dozen or so arrows while I’m trying to talk to the head man. Take the
Seagull
on into the bay, Ox, but we’ll drop anchor a little ways out from the beach. I’ll take the skiff on in a little bit closer and then stop. I expect the villagers’ll get my point. I want to talk, not pick a fight.”
    Ox grunted and eased the
Seagull
on into the inlet. When she was about a hundred yards from the beach, he ordered the crew to drop anchor, and several crewmen lowered Hook-Beak’s skiff.
    “I’ll stay within bowshot,” the captain said to Ox, “but tell the crew to keep their weapons out of sight—unless things start getting sticky.” Then he climbed over the side and lowered himself into his skiff. He set his oars in place and rowed on in a ways. Then he stopped and waited.
    Several people from the village came down to the beach, and they seemed to be holding some kind of discussion. Then a tall, lean man with long blond braids and wearing leather clothing got into a kind of canoe, and the other villagers pushed the canoe into deeper water. Then the blond man paddled out to where Hook-Beak waited. He seemed to be very skilled at it. As he came closer and the men on the
Seagull
could see him more clearly, Sorgan felt a brief chill. This was quite obviously a man to be taken very seriously. He was quite lean, and his face was hard. It was his eyes, however, that had so chilled the captain of the
Seagull.
There was a sort of determination there that Sorgan had seldom seen