He thought of his home planet, whose original colonists had contained an extremely high proportion of latent telepaths and other kinds of latent espers, though nobody had realized it at the time. Because of that, their descendants had more operant psi talents than all the rest of the Terran Sphere combined.
Magnus was proof of that himself. “Nature has strange ways of achieving remarkable surprises, and you can’t always foresee every problem. I’m voting for no malice intended by the original colonists, just inbreeding reinforcing genetic drift. After all, it makes sense that if a few giants were born, they’d want to marry other giants.”
“And dwarves would wish to marry other dwarves,” Herkimer agreed. “But why would they seek out separate territories?”
“That, I leave to normal human cussedness,” Magnus said. Now, Gar reflected that he had guessed more rightly than he knew, in using the word “cussedness.” Maybe “perversity” would be more fitting—but either way, if he really wanted to bring peace to this world, he needed a local ally, and Gar thought he might be able to forge an alliance with the woman he’d rescued—if he could win her confidence enough to talk with her. She would be a valuable information source and a possible peacemaker—but even if she weren’t, she was a person who needed help. He didn’t usually make a practice of adopting waifs and strays, but he had a notion this one needed a friend more than most.
Besides, he needed a friend, too—preferably one whose brain wasn’t made of silicon.
From her tracks, their direction, and the rate at which she’d been going plus the panic that had impelled her, Gar estimated where she would have gone to ground. He strolled along the road for another fifteen minutes, then stopped and looked around as though judging the place’s fitness for a campsite.
In reality, of course, he was listening with his mind.
5
There. He could hear her thoughts, quite loudly and clearly—but only surface thoughts. Monster’s looking for me hurt me have to freeze so he won’t see me be ready to run if he does. Then a sudden undercurrent of doubt: Why’d he help me? But suspicion overwhelmed it in an instant: Wants me for himself.
She was watching from somewhere, absolutely still and watching him, trying not to breathe, ready to run at the slightest hint of pursuit—but under her tension, Magnus could feel an utter bone-weariness and a massive dejection, an impulse to just sit down and die.
He couldn’t let that happen, of course, and was absolutely determined not to give it a chance. He started walking again, went on another hundred feet, then stepped off the road. He could feel the sharpness of her burst of panic, but also the caution that went with it and held her frozen in place, terrified at the thought of making a sound or a movement that might attract his attention. Deliberately not looking in her direction, Magnus stopped in the center of a small clearing and surveyed it. Fifty feet of leaves and underbrush hid him from the road, but the open space was wide enough to light a fire safely. He nodded and started searching for rocks, picking up one in each hand and carrying them to the center of the clearing to build a fire ring.
When the ring was made and the plants and dead leaves cleared from it, he found the driest sticks he could and kindled a fire. All the while he was aware of the woman’s thoughts, wary and watchful, wondering what he was doing, testing his every movement for menace, trying to puzzle out whatever trap he was laying for her. She hadn’t yet thought of the trap called friendship, which could hold her more surely than any snare.
Magnus made a frame of green branches, notched one to make a pothook, took the little kettle out of his pack, filled it with water from his skin canteen, and hung it over the fire. Then he took out two tin mugs with wooden handles, crumbled tea leaves into each, and waited for the water to boil.
While he waited, he took out bread and cheese and slowly, carefully cut his slices and laid a thick slab of cheese on the bread. He ate slowly, too, savoring each morsel, and feeling the answering pang of hunger in the watching woman. He guessed she’d had very little to eat in the last few days.
The water boiled, and Gar poured some into each mug, then took out salt beef and dried vegetables to add to the water. He stirred it and waited, sipping first from the one mug, then the other. The fragrance of the tea rose into the morning, strange to the woman, but to judge by her thoughts, very enticing. Soon the aroma of the stew reached her, too, and the pang of hunger became a stab.
Now Gar caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye. She was crouching behind a bush, peering through a gap in the leaves. Giving no sign that he’d seen her, Gar cut a thick slice of cheese and broke off some bread, then rose and went around the fire, put the wooden platter on a rock with a mug of sweetened tea beside it, and went back to his own place some ten feet away.
Alea had run as fast as she could, too frightened to consider whether the stranger was a friend or an enemy. She had nearly panicked again when she saw him coming her way, but the childhood fables of the wisdom of the rabbit had made her freeze where she hid. She had watched him, ready to bolt in an instant, and had felt great relief when he settled down to his campfire. But the sight of the bread and cheese had started hunger gnawing at her belly, reminding her that she’d eaten only handfuls of berries and a few raw roots since she’d finished the bread she’d taken when she ran away, three days before. Then the delicious scent of whatever it was in those cups had almost undone her, almost pushed her to go to him and beg a morsel—but fear held her in place. After all, it was a strange smell, and who knew what he had put in those cups? But she had watched him drink out of first the one, then the other, and had decided that whatever it was, it wouldn’t hurt her.
Also, the message was clear—Come share a cup with me, my fair!—and when she realized it meant he knew she was watching, she had almost run away. But her fear had begun to slacken, for she had never seen a slave-hunter who tried to entice rather than pursue. Curiosity roused as strongly as her hunger, and held her watching until the aroma of the stew made her weak at the knees. Now, though, the invitation was undeniable indeed—a plate of food and a mug of drink for her, far enough away to give her a head start, and with a fire between to slow him down. She didn’t trust him for a second, of course, but oh! How she needed a friend! Besides, he had chased away the hunters—and he was as tall as she, taller. Like her, he needed to fear the Midgarders, but wouldn’t be welcome among the giants.
Then, too, he was wearing slave clothes.
She made up her mind; food and companionship were worth the gamble. Clutching her staff, she moved slowly around the bush, rising a bit but still crouched, and prowled around his campsite toward the bread and cheese. He gave no sign of seeing her, didn’t look her way, even kept his eyes on his own plate, but somehow she knew he was aware of her every movement. Slowly, ready to bolt at the slightest threat, she came closer, then snatched the plate and retreated back among the leaves, eating while she watched him.
Even out of the corner of his eye, Gar saw her clearly, and was amazed at her tallness—well over six feet, when most of the women he had met in his life had been a foot shorter. He was also struck by the voluptuousness of her figure—she was perfectly proportioned, but on a larger scale than most women, and looking under the dirt and lines of fatigue on her face, Gar saw that her features, too, were perfectly proportioned, almost classical, like those of a Greek statue—but the haunted look, the shadows of fear and bitterness, kept her from being beautiful. Still, she made him catch his breath.