The First Book of Lankhmar

skald," he answered. "They use that voice and are the true skalds, not the roaring ones who use deep tones."
           "What reward do you expect for rescuing me?" she asked boldly.
           "None," Fafhrd replied.
           From the two girls came further giggles, quickly cut off at Vlana's glance.
           Fafhrd added, "It was my personal obligation to rescue you, since the leader of the Snow Women was my mother. I must respect my mother's wishes, but I must also prevent her from performing wrong actions."
           "Oh. Why do you act like a priest or healer?" Vlana continued. "Is that one of your mother's wishes?" She had not bothered to cover her breasts, but Fafhrd was not looking at them now, only at the actress's lips and eyes.
           "Healing is part of the singing skald's art," he answered. "As for my mother, I do my duty toward her, nor less, nor more."
           "Vlana, it is not politic that you talk thus with this youth," Essedinex interposed, now in a nervous voice. "He must — "
           "Shut up!" Vlana snapped. Then, back to Fafhrd, "Why do you wear white?"
           "It is proper garb for all Snow Folk. I do not follow the new custom of dark and dyed furs for males. My father always wore white."
           "He is dead?"
           "Yes. While climbing a tabooed mountain called White Fang."
           "And your mother wishes you to wear white, as if you were your father returned?"
           Fafhrd neither answered nor frowned at that shrewd question. Instead he asked, "How many languages can you speak — besides this pidgin-Lankhmarese?"
           She smiled at last. "What a question! Why, I speak — though not too well — Mingol, Kvarchish, High and Low Lankhmarese, Quarmallian, Old Ghoulish, Desert-talk, and three Eastern tongues."
           Fafhrd nodded. "That's good."
           "Forever why?"
           "Because it means you are very civilized," he answered.
           "What's so great about that?" she demanded with a sour laugh.
           "You should know, you're a culture dancer. In any case, I am interested in civilization."
           "One comes," Essedinex hissed from the entry. "Vlana, the youth must — "
           "He must not!"
           "As it happens, I must indeed leave now," Fafhrd said, rising. "Keep up the snow-bandages," he instructed Vlana. "Rest until sundown. Then more brandy, with hot soup."
           "Why must you leave?" Vlana demanded, rising on an elbow.
           "I made a promise to my mother," Fafhrd said without looking back.
           "Your mother!"
           Stooping at the entry, Fafhrd finally did stop to look back. "I owe my mother many duties," he said. "I owe you none, as yet."
           "Vlana, he must leave. It's the one ," Essedinex stage-whispered hoarsely. Meanwhile he was shoving at Fafhrd, but for all the youth's slenderness, he might as well have been trying to push a tree off of its roots.
           "Are you afraid of him who comes?" Vlana was buttoning up her dress now.
           Fafhrd looked at her thoughtfully. Then, without replying in any way whatever to her question, he ducked through the entry and stood up, waiting the approach through the persistent mist of a man in whose face anger was gathering.
           This man was as tall as Fafhrd, half again as thick and wide, and about twice as old. He was dressed in brown sealskin and amethyst-studded silver except for the two massive gold bracelets on his wrists and the gold chain about his neck, marks of a pirate chief.
           Fafhrd felt a touch of fear, not at the approaching man, but at the crystals which were now thicker on the tents than he recalled them being when he had carried Vlana in. The element over which Mor and her sister witches had most power was cold —  whether in a man's soup or loins, or in his sword or climbing rope, making them shatter. He often wondered whether it was Mor's magic that had made his own heart so cold. Now the cold would close in on the dancer. He should warn her, except she was civilized and would laugh at him.
           The big man came up.
           "Honorable Hringorl," Fafhrd greeted softly.
           For reply, the big man aimed a backhanded uppercut at Fafhrd with his near arm.
           Fafhrd leaned sharply away, slithering under the blow, and then simply walked off the way he had first