The Second Book of Lankhmar

amorous goings-on, wary and courteous in all such doings, entering upon any new relationships, including these, with a minimum of commitment and a maximum of reservations. Ever since the tragic deaths of their first loves, Fafhrd's and the Mouser's erotic solacing had mostly come from a very odd lot of hard-bitten if beauteous slave-girls, vagabond hoydens, and demonic princesses, folk easily come by if at all and even more easily lost, accidents rather than goals of their weird adventurings; both sensed that anything with the Rime Isle ladies would have to be a little more serious at least. While Afreyt's and Cif's love-adventures had been equally transient, either with unromantic and hard-headed Rime Islanders, who are atheistical realists even in youth, or with sea-wanderers of one sort or another, come like the rain — or thunder-squall, and as swiftly gone.
           All this being considered, things did seem to be working out quite well for the two couples in the bed area.
           And, truth to tell, this was a greater satisfaction and relief to the Mouser and Fafhrd than either would admit even to himself. For each was indeed beginning to find extended questing a mite tiring, especially ones like this last which, rather than being one of their usual lone-wolf forays, involved the recruitment and command of other men and the taking on of larger and divided responsibilities. It was natural for them, after such exertions, to feel that a little rest and quiet enjoyment was now owed them, a little surcease from the batterings of fate and chance and new desire. And, truth to tell, the ladies Cif and Afreyt were on the verge of admitting in their secretest hearts something of the same feelings.
           So all four of them found it pleasant during this particular Rime Isle twilight to take a little bitter ale together and chat of this day's doings and tomorrow's plans and reminisce about their turning of the Mingols and ask each other gentle questions about the times before they'd all four met — and each flirt privily and cautiously with the notion that each now had two or three persons on whom they might always rely fully, rather than one like-sexed comrade only.
           During the course of this gossiping Fafhrd mentioned again his and the Mouser's fantasy that they were halves — or perhaps lesser fractions, fragments only — of some noted or notorious past being, explaining why their thoughts so often chimed together.
           "That's odd," Cif interjected, "for Afreyt and I have had like notion and for like reason: that she and I were spirit-halves of the great Rimish witch-queen Skeldir, who held off the Simorgyans again and again in ancient times when that island boasted an empire and was above the waves instead of under them. What was your hero's name — or mighty rogue's? — if that likes you better."
           "I know not, lady, perhaps he lived in times too primitive for names, when man and beast were closer. He was identified by his battle growling — a leonine cough deep in the throat whene'er he entered an encounter."
           "Another like point!" Cif noted. "Queen Skeldir announced her presence by a short dry laugh — her invariable utterance when facing dangers, especially those of a sort to astound and confound the bravest."
           "Gusorio's my name for our beastish forebear," the Mouser threw in. "I know not what Fafhrd thinks. Great Gusorio. Gusorio the Growler."
           "Now he begins to sound like an animal," Afreyt broke in. "Tell me, have you ever been granted vision or dream of this Gusorio, or heard perhaps in darkest night his battle growl?"
           But the Mouser was studying the dinted table top. He bent his head as his gaze traveled across it.
           "No, milady," Fafhrd answered for his abstracted comrade. "At least not I. It's something we heard of a witch or fortune-teller, figment, not fact. Have you ever heard Queen Skeldir's short dry laugh, or had sight of that fabled warrior sorceress?"
           "Neither I nor Cif," Afreyt admitted, "though she is in the Isle's history parchments."
           But even as she answered him, Fafhrd's questioning gaze strayed past her. She looked behind and saw the Sea Wrack's open doorway and the gathering night.
           Cif stood up. "So it's agreed we dine at Afreyt's in a half hour's time?"
           The two men nodded somewhat abstractedly. Fafhrd leaned his