He was not completely drunk, not drunk at all, he told himself He knew quite well the incongruity of a village singsong girl owning a wolf-dog and a stallion but in his rosy, reckless mood he didn't pause to wonder or care.
The interior of the hut was a squalid cubicle that wavered out of darkness when the girl lit a candle. As she straightened, Nelson took her into his arms.
For just a moment, Nsharra struggled, then relaxed. But her lips remained cool and unmoved under his.
"I have wine," she murmured, a little breathlessly. "Let me—"
The rice wine was a pungent fire in his throat and Nelson knew he should drink no more of it. But it was too easy to sit here on the soft mat and watch Nsharra's delicate, grave face as her slim hands refilled his cup.
"You will come again to see me, tomorrow or the next night, white lord?" she murmured, as she handed him the cup.
"The name is Eric Nelson and I won't be back tomorrow night for I won't be in Yen Shi," he laughed. "So tonight is all there is."
Her dark eyes fixed on his face, suddenly intent. "Then you and your comrades leave at once with Shan Kar?"
"Shan Kar?" The name brought a flash of memory to Nelson. "Now I remember who you remind me of! You've got the same olive complexion, the same features and the same accent—"
He broke off, staring at her. "What do you know of Shan Kar anyway?"