Kipling had been talking about soldiers putting down bandits, of course—but here, the soldiers were the bandits. Matt turned away downhill, trying to keep his good mood from evaporating completely.
"I say! Fell beast! Put me down!"
Matt looked up, jolted out of his reverie.
"I am innocent! I am a poor wayfarer, seeking survival! Release me this instant!"
A furious growling answered him.
Matt started running. He recognized that growl—it was Narlh.
And there the monster came, plodding toward him—with something big in his mouth. Big, and squirming. Matt peered through the gloaming, and could just make out a human form. Not very large, percentage-wise, but still human.
"This is completely outrageous! I meant no harm—therefore, neither should...Oh!" The stranger looked up and saw Matt. "Greetings, kind sir! Could you persuade this beast to let me go?"
Matt had a bit of a shock—the man had only one eye. Not that he'd lost one—he'd been born that way. It was right smack dab in the middle of his forehead.
Poise above all. Matt tried a half smile and said, "That depends on why he picked you up in the first place."
"Absolutely no justifiable reason! There was simply..."
Narlh drowned him out with a muffled roar.
"My friend seems to disagree," Matt pointed out. "How about a solemn promise not to run away, if he puts you down? Until we sort out exactly what you've done, at least."
"I've done nothing! I...Oh, very well. I give you my solemn promise."
"Ptooey!" Narlh put the little man down with an exhalation that sounded more like spitting. The cyclops rolled and came to his feet, while Narlh was still working his jaws and exclaiming, "Phew! What a flavor!"
"Well, no one asked you to have a bite," the cyclops said indignantly. "Always thought myself a man of good taste, actually."
"Yeah, with a taste for our foodstuffs!"
"You caught him stealing?" Matt asked.
"Not a bit! I haven't touched your food!"
"No, but he was sure trying!" Narlh said. "Had a big long stick, and he was gonna knock your food bag down!"
"That's not exactly friendly," Matt pointed out.
The cyclops sighed. "I know, and I'm quite sorry. But really, I haven't had a bite to eat for two days—the birds fly at the slightest sign of me, and the rabbits won't let me come near. I haven't even found any berries! I would have asked, of course, but there was no one by, and I was so very hungry..."
Actually, Matt didn't think the cyclops looked all that lean. Pretty bulky, in fact, though none of it was fat. It was easy to see, because all he wore was a sort of fur kilt. He was very muscular, particularly in the arms, shoulders, and chest—though his legs looked to be borrowed from a rhinoceros. In fact, he was a pretty good picture of what Matt had always thought a Neanderthal would look like, from the neck down.
From the neck up, of course, he was quite well formed, if you could overlook the ocular arrangement. Handsome, in fact—if Matt imagined him with two eyes. Also, of course, he wore a pretty heavy beard. That could hide a lot.
All in all, he looked pretty trustworthy.
"You're softening," Narlh pointed out.
"Why not?" Matt sighed. "I've been hungry enough to steal, myself—though I never had the opportunity. We'll stand you to a good meal, stranger. Or trade, rather." He smiled at a sudden idea. "Maybe you can tell me a bit about the countryside."
"Why, gladly, sir! By the by, whom have I the pleasure of addressing? As for myself, I'm called Fadecourt."
Matt caught the use of the phrase "I'm called." Apparently, the cyclops wasn't about to tell his real name. Wise, in a world where magic worked by words. "Pleased to meet you, Fadecourt. I'm Matthew Mantrell."
The cyclops' eyebrow rose. "The Lord Wizard of Merovence?"
"The same." This guy was a bit too quick for Matt's liking.
"Well! I am honored!"
"You don't say." Matt wasn't sure he wanted allies who were impressed with him—but a little kindness never hurt. "We were just about to start supper. Know anything about camping?"
"A smattering," the cyclops said, with a touch of irony. "I've done a great deal of it in the recent past."
"And not entirely willingly?" Matt led the way back to the campsite. "Any particular reason?"
"Oh, a few minor things taken from me, such as my station and my home." Fadecourt was trying to sound casual. "And a small matter of soldiers all over the kingdom apparently having been told to be on watch for me. I've only to step into a village before there's a hue and cry—and from some of the missiles coming my way, I gather I'm outside the protection of the law."
"Oh?" Matt looked up, interested. "There's law in Ibile?"
"To be sure—the king's will. Or whim, I should perhaps say. Still, Gordogrosso does seem to regard the taking of human life as his prerogative; it's forbidden to most other people. From the zeal with which I'm pursued, I gather he's decided to exercise that privilege, in my case—but at second hand."
Matt winced at hearing the king's name spoken aloud, and waited for an answering stir of the magical field—but none came. He relaxed. "I'm enough of a marked man as it is, Fadecourt. I'm not sure it's all that much in my interest to have a companion with a price on his head." Then another aspect of the issue hit him. He cocked his head to the side. "Just what did you do to get the king down on your case, anyway?"
"Oh, just the usual sorts of crimes—you know."
"Not in Ibile, I don't. Enlighten me."
"Well, the common run of things—saving virgins from evil lechers, slaying hideous giant snakes that were preying on villagers, protecting the weak from the strong—that sort of thing."
It made sense, Matt decided. Actions that were good deeds in Merovence would naturally be crimes here—especially if the lechers were in good with the king, and the snakes had been sent to punish the villages that had somehow offended him or his nobles. Matt made a decision and called back over his shoulder, "You might as well go hunt, Narlh. I think we'll be okay here."
The dracogriff mumbled something along the lines of sneaking back-stabbers, but he prowled off into the night.
Fadecourt looked after him in surprise, then turned back to Matt. "I appreciate your confidence."
"You've got the right enemies." They'd come into the campsite. Matt reached down the sack of provisions. "What's your preference—ham, or venison?"
"Anything!"
Matt pulled out the half haunch of game and handed it to him. The cyclops all but fell on it, slavering.
"Easy, easy!" Matt called, alarmed. "You'll give yourself a bellyache!"
Fadecourt froze. Then he said, "My apologies. Hunger is no excuse for bad manners. If you don't mind, though, I will have a few more bites."
"Sure, sure! Just don't overdo it, okay?" Matt turned away and began prowling around the clearing.
Fadecourt swallowed and called, "What do you seek?"
"Stones," Matt called back, "for the fire pit."
Fadecourt put the deer leg down—a major act of will—and came to join Matt. "This much, at least, I can do! There's one that would be good." He bent down and picked up a two-foot boulder. Then he saw another one, a little larger, so he shifted the first one into the crook of his elbow and scooped up the second boulder with his other hand. "Where did you want them?"
"In—in the center of the clearing." Matt pointed.
"Right-o." Fadecourt stepped lithely over to center and set the first stone down gently, then the second. "Leave this to me, old chap. You scout up the kindling, eh?"