The Seagull continued south along the empty coast, but an hour or so later Tree-Top called down from the topmast. “Ho, Cap’n!” he shouted. “There’s a village on up ahead. I don’t see no people about, but there’s smoke coming from some of the houses.”

“You see, Ox,” Sorgan said. “You worry too much.” He looked up at the topmast. “How far off is that place, Tree-Top?” he shouted.

“Just on t’other side of that sand spit on ahead,” Tree-Top called back. “I kin see some skiffs hauled up on the beach, but nobody’s anyplace near them.”

“We must have scared them off,” Hook-Beak said. “I think we might want to go in sort of slow and easy. We don’t want to stir anybody up.” He turned. “Ho, Rabbit!” he called.

“Aye, Cap’n?” the little man replied.

“Go get that horn of yours and blow it a few times. There’s a village just ahead, and I’d like for the people there to know that we’re coming and that we’re peaceable.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” Rabbit said. He went below for a moment and emerged with a large, curled cow horn. He put it to his lips and blew a long, mournful-sounding bleat that echoed back into the dark forest.

Hook-Beak and the others listened intently, but there was no immediate reply.

“Try again, Rabbit,” Sorgan said. “See if you can make it sound a little more cheerful this time.”

Rabbit blew a high-pitched note that ended with an off-key squeak.

“I think maybe Rabbit should practice some,” Ox said critically. “That one sounded a lot like a cat who just got her tail stepped on.”

Then from somewhere back in the forest there came an answering note that was quite a bit mellower than Rabbit’s squeak.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Hook-Beak said. “Keep blowing, Rabbit,” he instructed. “Try to make it sound a little friendly, if you can.”

“I’m doing my best, Cap’n,” Rabbit whined. “Nobody on board likes it when I practice tooting, so I’m sort of rusty.”

The Seagull rounded the tip of the sand spit, and the crew gathered near the bow to look at the village crouched at the head of a shallow inlet.

“Not too fancy,” Ox observed. “Mostly sticks chinked with grass.”

“You weren’t expecting palaces, were you, Ox?” Sorgan asked. “I’m just as happy not to see stone walls and such. We’re only one ship, so we don’t really want to find folks with all kinds of civilization to back them up. It looks to me like we might have found this place before the Trogites did. Tell the crew not to start waving swords and spears. We don’t want to make these folks nervous. Those woods are pretty close to the edge of that village, and I’d rather not sprout a dozen or so arrows while I’m trying to talk to the head man. Take the Seagull on into the bay, Ox, but we’ll drop anchor a little ways out from the beach. I’ll take the skiff on in a little bit closer and then stop. I expect the villagers’ll get my point. I want to talk, not pick a fight.”

Ox grunted and eased the Seagull on into the inlet. When she was about a hundred yards from the beach, he ordered the crew to drop anchor, and several crewmen lowered Hook-Beak’s skiff.

“I’ll stay within bowshot,” the captain said to Ox, “but tell the crew to keep their weapons out of sight—unless things start getting sticky.” Then he climbed over the side and lowered himself into his skiff. He set his oars in place and rowed on in a ways. Then he stopped and waited.

Several people from the village came down to the beach, and they seemed to be holding some kind of discussion. Then a tall, lean man with long blond braids and wearing leather clothing got into a kind of canoe, and the other villagers pushed the canoe into deeper water. Then the blond man paddled out to where Hook-Beak waited. He seemed to be very skilled at it. As he came closer and the men on the Seagull could see him more clearly, Sorgan felt a brief chill. This was quite obviously a man to be taken very seriously. He was quite lean, and his face was hard. It was his eyes, however, that had so chilled the captain of the Seagull. There was a sort of determination there that Sorgan had seldom seen before. When this particular native wanted something, he would almost certainly go to any lengths to obtain it. Sorgan was fairly certain that it was time to walk very carefully.

“What do you want?” the stranger asked. He didn’t sound particularly belligerent, and Hook-Beak took that to be a good sign. He was just a bit surprised that the other man spoke the language of the Maags. That should make things a lot easier. “We aren’t here to cause any trouble, friend,” he said. “We’re strangers in these parts, and we don’t know exactly where we are.”

“This is the Land of Dhrall,” the other man replied, “and this is the Domain of Zelana of the West. Does that answer your question?”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of Dhrall before,” Sorgan said. “Of course, we’re a long way from home, and that might explain why. Is this Zelana your king, or something along those lines?”

“Not exactly. You’ll be meeting her before long, I expect. You’re Sorgan Hook-Beak, aren’t you?”

“How did you know that?” Sorgan was startled.

“Zelana of the West told us that you were coming. She said you wouldn’t really know much about Dhrall, so I’m supposed to answer any questions you might have.”

“How could she have possibly known that we were coming?” Sorgan demanded. “We certainly didn’t intend to wander off this far from the Land of Maag.”

“But a sea current caught you and brought you here. Wasn’t that what happened?”

“You seem to know a great deal about us, stranger, and I don’t even know your name yet.”

“I was just getting to that, Sorgan Hook-Beak,” the tall man said. “I am Longbow of the tribe of Old-Bear, and Zelana of the West instructed me to direct you to White-Braid, chief of the village and the tribe of Lattash. There are three tribes between here and Lattash, and they’ll build fires on the beach to guide you. You can count as far as three, can’t you?”

“Of course I can.” Sorgan was more than a little offended. “How is it that you came by the name ‘Longbow’?”

“I’m somewhat taller than the other men of Old-Bear’s tribe, so my bow’s longer.” He held up his bow to let Sorgan see it. He didn’t move it very fast; there was no arrow anywhere in sight, and he was not holding it as if he intended to use it. Both Longbow and Sorgan were being careful not to make any quick moves, since there were probably several dozen arrows pointed at them right now.