Yet while his companions remained anxiously in the background, Ehomba took a step forward and calmly extended a hand. “We are strangers in this blasted country, and could do with some information.”
“Information you want, is it?” Grinning to reveal a maw packed with jumbled, broken, sharp-pointed teeth, the bare-armed fiend accepted the proffered fingers, shaking but leaving them attached to Ehomba’s hand. “I’ll help if I can. I have to say, your ignorance does you proud. Like now, for instance.” The clawed hand suddenly tightened around Ehomba’s.
Instantly, steam began to rise from the virulent grip. Simna started to shout a warning that was already too late, then caught his breath. As the herdsman continued to sustain the handshake, the slitted yellow eyes of the demon began to widen. Eventually it released its hold.
To the amazement of fiend and friends alike, Ehomba’s palm showed no evidence of damage from the searing handclasp. He smiled slightly. “It is also hot in my homeland. My skin is toughened from season after season of moving rocks that have lain in the sun for many years.”
The demon nodded understandingly. Turning to one side, it spat out a soggy blob of brimstone. The impious spittle sizzled where it struck the sand. The chaw that bulged one of the creature’s cheeks must have been composed of solid sulfur.
“I’d heard that some mortals could handle heat better than others. You must be one of them. What brings you to the Tortured Lands?”
Ehomba nodded in the direction of the demon’s enormous pack. “I might ask you the same question.”