“A man who knows what he wants,” Arkadi murmured.
He made eye contact frequently, which tended to put off most people, but the Northman, Quorthon, met his gaze readily enough. Somehow Arkadi got the feeling that the man’s curiosity was not idle.
“And I am Arkadi.”
Arkadi studied Quorthon for a few moments, gaze frank and appraising.
“You have the feel of the sea to you, Quarthon the War-Tongue. Your mind is ever-moving, flowing from one thing to the next, absorbing all, consuming it, making it yours.” He paused, cocking his head. “Somewhere, there’s a very deep undercurrent in there.”
Arkadi shrugged, then. His earlier scrutiny seemed to dissolve into a mild and pleasant expression.
“Perhaps you’d like some wine.” He indicated the bottle. “I’m sure Katrina would be happy to provide a glass. Then you can drink with us.”
He glanced at his companion, cocking an amused brow, then looked back at Quarthon.
“But to answer your question, we don’t belong to the Society here. We’re just passing through, and this seemed like a good place to rest. And meet interesting people,” he added, after a moment.