It was plain to see that even as they conversed amiably, the demon was sizing them up and paying particular attention to Ehomba. Either there was something about the herdsman’s soul that rendered it unattractive, or else it was shielded by means and methods beyond the ken of a wandering swordsman. Whatever it was, Simna was exceedingly grateful for its existence, because it appeared to be protecting not only its owner, but his friends as well.
“I’m Hoarowb.” The creature did not extend its hand again. “What do you want with the Blasted Lands? You don’t look like soul miners to me.”
“We are not,” Ehomba admitted quietly as he leaned slightly on his spear for support.
“That’s good. I don’t much care for competition in my territory. Rich pockets of lost souls are few and far between, and it’s the smart fiend who keeps their location a secret.”
“Our business does not lie in this country.” Raising his spear, the herdsman pointed to the distant, glistening crags of the Curridgians. “We travel through to the mountains, and beyond.”
Sniffing like a pig snuffling for offal, the demon extended its head forward in the direction of the spearpoint. “Interesting poker you’ve got there. Positively rank with dead millennia.” Again the hideous grin. “I don’t suppose you’d consider trading for it? I have a couple of really quality souls, prime stuff. Fetch a good price on the nethermarket.”
“Thank you, no.” Ehomba smiled to show that he was not offended by the offer. “I need all my weapons, and I already have a soul.”