Turonus stepped behind his bar and brought up two oval wooden frames on which had been stretched a netting of rawhide thongs.
"What are those?" asked Jorian.
"Snowshoes. I can rent you a pair for ten pence a day. On the trail up Aravia, ye'll need them for certain."
Jorian chaffered the man down to five pence a day. He did not altogether believe the story of the tiger, suspecting his host of making it up in order to profit from boarding the horse Fimbri. On the other hand, he could not be sure; so, lacking time to investigate the matter, he acceded to Turonus's recommendation. When Turonus also tried to sell him firewood, Jorian declined, saying: "I brought an ax and a saw to cut my own."
"Well then, belike you'd like a guide. With snow on the ground, the trail's easily lost, and ye could wander for days amongst the peaks ere finding it again. My nephew Kynoc's to be had, for he knows the lay of the land."
Further bargaining enlisted the services of Turonus's nephew, a slender, smooth-faced, small-featured youth. "How long to reach Shenderu?" asked Jorian.
"Ye must needs camp out one night, at least going up. Methinks ye'd better camp below the snow line."
When time came to go, Kynoc saw the crossbow that Jorian had strapped to the back of the pack mule. The youth asked: "Plan ye to hunt on the way, Master Nikko?"
"Maybe," said Jorian. "You'd better bring one, too."
Actually, Jorian was not interested in hunting. He wanted to get to Shenderu, resolve his problems, and hurry back to Othomae. But, having been pursued before by Xylarians intent upon dragging him back to complete their ceremony of royal succession, he thought it well to be prepared. He wore sword and dagger and a vest of light mesh mail beneath his jacket.
"Ho!" said Jorian sharply, halting. He was towing the pack mule Filoman, while Kynoc trudged ahead up the slope. The forest had begun to thin out with altitude. A light snow covered the ground between the black boles of the leafless trees. Here and there rose stands of evergreens, dark green in the light and black in the shadow.
"Eh?" said Kynoc, turning.
"Look at that!" Jorian pointed to a large paw print in the snow. "Is that the tiger your uncle spoke of?"
The youth bent down. "Aye, that's old Ardyman the Terrible. Hold the mule straitly lest it bolt. We think Ardyman has been chased from his former range by a younger cat, and that with age he's like to turn man-eater. We've tried to hunt him down in parties with hounds, but the crafty villain gives us the sup."
The mule seemed to have caught a whiff of tiger, for it jerked its head and rolled its eyes.
Since dark was falling, Jorian decided to camp here. He tethered Filoman securely, put a nosebag over its head, and got the ax and saw from his gear. He chopped down and trimmed four small dead trees, while Kynoc sawed them into billets. Jorian kept raising his head to peer into the gathering darkness for signs of the tiger.
"Best we make a goodly fire," said Kynoc.
"No doubt; but let's not burn up all the wood we've cut. We shall need some for Shenderu."
Jorian passed an uneasy night, alternately dozing and waking to listen for the grunt of a hunting tiger. Once he awoke to find Kynoc, whose turn it was to watch, asleep with his back against a tree. He angrily shook the youth awake.
"Be not so much atwitter, lowlander," drawled the youth. "The tiger won't come nigh whilst the fire burns bright; at least, not unless he starves."
"Well, for aught we know he may be starving," grumbled Jorian. "Come along; it's nearly dawn."
"Best do on your snowshoes," said Kynoc, strapping on his own. "Deep snow begins soon."
Jorian found that walking with snowshoes took practice. If one tried to walk in the normal manner, one stepped on one's own feet. Jorian did this once and sat down in the snow. He got up cursing, to see Kynoc's face agrin.
"Ye must learn to waddle, like this," said the youth, demonstrating a spraddle-legged gait.
When Jorian had mastered snowshoes, he found that the mule had turned balky, either because of the weight of the firewood, or the increasing steepness of the trail. The rest of the journey was made with Jorian hauling on the lead rope, while Kynoc beat Filoman's rump with a switch that Jorian had cut from a branch.
"Master Nikko," said Kynoc, "ye come from the lowlands and have seen more of the world than I. Tell me, is it true that down there any woman will lie down for you an ye but ask her?"
Jorian stared. His breath was becoming labored with the climb, but the spindly mountaineer youth seemed to mind the grade no more than a stroll on level ground. When he had taken a couple of deep breaths, Jorian answered: "Some. Not all by any means."
'Tell me more about it, pray. I have never done it or seen it done. I do but hear tales from other lads, of their adventures with women and sheep and other things. Many stories I am sure are lies. So tell me: how do ye do it? How long does it take?"
When Jorian paused for a breather, he gave Kynoc a lecture on elementary sex. The youth hung on his words with an intentness that Jorian found embarrassing.
"I thank you, sir," said Kynoc, with more respect than he had hitherto shown. "My parents are dead, and my uncle and his goodwife think it a subject not to be talked on by decent folk."
The sun was well up when the two men and the mule plodded up the path to Shenderu's cave. Below, the foothills of the Lograms spread out, the taller peaks covered with snow on which the bright morning sun guttered.
They found Shenderu, bundled in shapeless brown woolens, sweeping snow from the terrace before his cave. He proved a burly, dark-skinned man of middle age, with a gray-streaked beard. Jorian said:
"Hail, reverend sir! I am Nikko of Kortoli, here on the recommendation of your friend Karadur."
"Ah, yes, dear old Karadur!" said Shenderu, in Novarian with a strong Mulvani accent. "Is that load on the mule for me?"
"Aye, save for our blankets and other personals. I seek advice."
Shenderu sat down on the rocky surface of the space he had cleared of snow. "Say on, my son."
Jorian said: "Kynoc, unload and feed Filoman. Now, Father Shenderu, my problem is this…"
The sun was halfway to noon when Jorian finished his tale. He had let his bent for storytelling run away with him; but the wise man seemed amused. Jorian finished:
"… so you see, I have tried direct assault on the palace to rescue my darling, and that failed. I tried sorcery, to no avail. What recourse remains?"
Shenderu remained sunk in thought with his eyes closed. At last he looked up, saying: "Have you tried simple bribery?"
Jorian clapped a hand to his forehead. "Good gods! I never thought of that."
Shenderu smiled. "Every large enterprise, be it a merchant company, an army, a ship, or a government, requires a multiplicity of people, organized with lines of command and a hierarchy of ranks. Wherever such a multiplicity exists, there is at least one wight open to bribes."
"How can I find a suitable bribee?"
"You have a brother who visits the palace, have you not?"
Jorian started. "Aye, but how knew you? You must know who I really am."
"I have heard much about you, Jo—What said you your nonce name was?"
"Nikko of Kortoli. For obvious reasons, neither my brother nor I wishes to disclose his kinship to me."
"I understand, Master Nikko. I know somewhat more of you than you would think. Never fear, I wag not an indiscreet tongue, as you have been known to do. My livelihood depends upon my name for reticence. Is your brother discreet?"
"Reasonably so."
"Very well. Set him to learning who is corruptible amongst the clerks and flunkeys that infest the palace. Inveterate gamblers make the best prospects, since they are usually up to their eyebrows in debt. And now perchance you'll join me in a light repast ere returning to the mundane world."