The Ship Who Won by Anne McCaffrey, Jody Lynn Nye Page B

were not
    puzzled: they had no thoughts of their own to puzzle them
    or so Brannel opined. So he took as close a look at this puzzling overlord as possible.
    The male appeared to be of the pure blood of the Magi,
    showing all three signs: clear skin, whole hand, and bright
    eyes. His clothing did not resemble that which overlords
    wore. Then Brannel arrived at a strange conclusion: this
    male was not an overlord. He could not speak either
    language, he did not wear garments like an overlord, he
    did not act like an overlord, and he had clearly not come
    from the high places of the East. The worker males
    curiosity welled up until he could no longer contain the
    question.
    "Who are you?" he asked.
    Alteis grabbed him by the ruff and yanked him back
    into the midst of the crowd of shocked workers.
    "How dare you speak to an overlord like that, you young
    puppy?" he said, almost growling. "Keep your eyes down
    and your mouth shut!"
    "He is not an overlord, Alteis," Brannel said, growing
    more certain of this every passing moment.
    "Nonsense," Fralim said, closing his hand painfully on
    Brannels upper arm. Alteis s son was bigger and stronger
    than he was, but Fralim couldn't see the fur on his own
    skin. He loomed over Brannel, showing his teeth, but
    Brannel knew half the ferocity was from fear. "He's got all
    his fingers, hasn't he? The finger of authority has not been
    amputated. He can use the objects of power. I ask forgive-ness, honored lord," Fralim said, speaking in an abject tone
    to the stranger.
    "He does not speak our language, Fralim," Brannel said
    clearly. "Nor does he understand the speech of the Magi.
    All the Magi speak the linga esoterka, which I understand.
    I will prove it. Master," he said, addressing Keff in mage-talk, "what is thy will?"
    The stranger smiled in a friendly fashion and spoke
    again, holding the box out to him.
    The experiment didn't impress Brannels fellow workers. They continued to glance up at the newcomer with
    awe and mindless adoration in their eyes, like the herd
    beasts they so resembled.
    "Keff," the stranger said, nodding several times and
    pointing to himself. He shifted his hand toward Brannel.
    "An dew?"
    The others ducked. When the finger of authority was
    pointed at one of them, it sometimes meant that divine
    discipline was forthcoming. Brannel tried to hide that he,
    too, had flinched, but the gesture seemed merely a request
    for information.
    "Brannel," he said, hand over pounding heart. The reply
    delighted the stranger, who picked up a rock.
    "An dwattis zis?" he asked.
    "Rock," Brannel said. He approached until he was
    merely a pace from the overlord. "What is this?" he asked,
    very daringly, reaching out to touch the mages tunic
    sleeve.
    "Brannel, no!" Alteis wailed. "You'll die for laying hands
    on one of them!"
    Anything was better than living out his life among
    morons, Brannel thought in disgust. No bolt of punishment came. Instead, Keffsaid, "Sliv."
    "Sliv," Brannel repeated, considering. It sounded almost
    like the real word. Ozran was great! he thought in gratitude. Perhaps Keff was a mage, but from a distant part of
    the world.
    They began to exchange the words for objects. Keffled
    Brannel to different parts of the holding, pointing and
    making his query. Brannel, becoming more interested by
    the minute, gave him the words and listened carefully to
    the stranger-words with which Keff identified the same
    things. Keff was freely offering Brannel a chance to
    exchange information, to know his words in trade for his
    own. Language was power, Brannel knew, and power held
    the key to self-determination.
    Behind them, the villagers followed in a huddled group,
    never daring to come close, but unable to stay away as
    Brannel claimed the entire, and apparently friendly,
    attention of a mage. Fralim was muttering to himself. It
    might have meant trouble, since Fralim saw himself as the
    heir to village leadership after Alteis, but he was too much
    in awe of the