Nightsword by Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman

Author:Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman [Weis, Margaret & Hickman, Tracy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780307558626
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2012-08-09T04:00:00+00:00

24

Star Cross Tavern

“A tale! A tale! A tanon for a tale!”

The yarnspinner was old beyond his years, obviously human by his general physique. His every appearance was a chorus of contrasts. His eyes were bright and young, yet set in a craggy, ancient face weathered by hard work and a harder sky. That he had been a spacer was beyond anyone’s doubt who knew the type: the very look of his ravaged, tough flesh brought to mind the tall rigging of the core-ship masts and the years of exposure to the stray radiation that passed through the shifting sails, wings, and crystals as they strained to keep up with the unexpected fronts through which they so often passed. He was missing his left arm just below the shoulder, the story of whose passing he was most willing to impart for a few titanium tanons or, at least, the price of a drink. Coarse, iron-gray hair gave a bare acknowledgment to gravity as its knotted, twisting mass struck out on its own from the top of his head. It made his beard, stroked constantly by his remaining good hand, appear soft and inviting. Indeed, his beard was so different from the rest of the hoary mass that one was tempted to think it was fake, a cheap affectation by a wild-eyed sailor of the stars now shipwrecked in this dull and dingy inn.

“A tanon for a tale!” he squawked again.

The tavern keeper looked up a moment and considered whether to say something to keep the old man quiet or just run over and throw him out. Sense slowly returned to him, however. The yarnspinner didn’t bother people much with his ranting and—he had to admit—was probably the closest thing to a floor-entertainment as he was likely to get in these parts. Still, he wondered what had set the old man off and looked quickly about the large and mostly deserted room.

Humans, he thought, nodding agreeably at the sight of the pair entering the room. Well, thank the Masters for that. He could deal with a few more bipeds these days, that was sure. Of course, one expected that sort of thing coreward—there were far more nonhumans on the inner frontier than anywhere else in the disk. The tavern keeper didn’t know why that was so and, frankly, didn’t care. It wasn’t up to him why the universe was the way it was—that was just the natural order of things, he thought. Humans ruled; that, plus the fact that he was one of them, was enough for him.

The tavern keeper straightened up, cleaning a glass absently with the dirty rag that usually adorned his shoulder. You run into all kinds at a starport, he mused absently. He’d heard tales of the great starports further toward the rim—seen many of them on the rare netcasts from IGNM that happened his way through transcriptions or hauntings—but he only really knew the sprawling, vacant complex here on his own world firsthand.

The couple both wore cloaks with hoods to ward off the chill air outside.

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