Free Farslayer's Story by Fred Saberhagen

craft upstream again with a rope. But I really doubt that the two I met could have had anything to do with this Biondo fellow.”
    “Perhaps not. Headed upstream or down?”
    “They said that they were going down.”
    “What were they like?”
    Gelimer, seeing no reason not to do so, described yesterday morning’s pair of visitors in some detail. But he thoughtfully omitted to mention the conversation he had had with them on the subject of Swords.
    When today’s visitor had finished his refreshment, and stretched, and looked about the house, he expressed a wish to be on his way while the light and the weather remained good.
    Doing his best to pretend a certain reluctance to lose a temporary companion, the hermit at last bade his guest goodbye. “And good luck in your search—I would like sometime to hear the rest of this Biondo’s story.”
    Chilperic, already mounted, looked down at Gelimer and shook his head. “It might not be safe for you to know that story, good hermit—as for me, I already know the dangerous parts of the tale, and so am free to indulge my further curiosity.”
    And in a moment, with a final wave, this latest visitor too was gone, having said not a word during his visit on the subject of his own goals and business. He rode downslope, in the direction of the suspension bridge that would take him across the Tungri. Would he be reporting to the Senones, then? Or perhaps seeking to question them? But it would be as easy for this traveler as for the other one to change directions once he was out of sight, and Gelimer was not minded to follow him to be sure which way he went.
     
     

 
    Chapter Five
     
    O n the morning after their arrival at the fishing village, Zoltan and Yambu were treated to a fine breakfast, an expression of the villagers’ gratitude for Zoltan’s part in last night’s modest victory. Having done justice to this homely feast of fish, beans, and the eggs of waterfowl, the travelers thanked their hosts, bade them farewell, and pressed forward on foot toward the hilltop stronghold or manor where dwelt the Malolo overlords.
    Patches of forest engulfed the path, between areas of cultivated land. As they walked, Zoltan told his companion the story of his encounter with Black Pearl during the night. She listened in silence and made no comment. He also warned Lady Yambu that when they reached the manor he was determined to raise the mermaid question with the authorities there, in one way or another, with whatever degree of diplomacy he could manage. Now that he knew the name of Black Pearl, and was certain that she was still alive, and here, somewhere close—well, whatever happened, he was not going to let her get away from him again.
    “Well, of course you must make every effort to find out more, since now you have actually seen her.” Yambu sighed. She believed what the lad had told her about last night—and she had really believed him about the mermaid all along—but still there were things about the business she did not like.
    Zoltan persisted. “Not only to find out more. If this mermaid curse was put upon her by some magician, then there must exist some magic that can take it off. I mean to restore her to true womanhood.”
    Yambu sighed again, this time silently, at the young man’s obvious determination. “When the time comes, then, to speak to the Malolo leaders on the subject, will you let me try my hand at the diplomacy? I do have somewhat more experience in the field than you.”
    “Would you, my lady?” Zoltan cried with sincere relief. “I would be immensely grateful.”
    Having reached that agreement, the two trudged on in silence for a time, proceeding through the woods along a well-trodden path at the moment empty of all other traffic. Presently Zoltan spoke again. “I wonder what the leaders of this Malolo clan are like.”
    “It is impossible to tell until we meet them. Something like other minor lordlings elsewhere, I suppose,” Yambu added with