Tomas reached out and placed his hand upon Pug’s face, covering his eyes. A bone-wrenching chill passed through the magician, and he suddenly found his chest exploding in hot fire as he sucked in a lungful of air. His teeth chattered and he shook, a fierce, uncontrollable trembling as his body coiled and uncoiled in knots of pain. He moved and discovered he was lying on a cold marble floor. Tomas’s hand was gone from his eyes and he opened them. He lay upon the floor in the Temple of the Four Lost Gods, just before the entrance to the dark cavern. Tomas rose on wobbly legs a short distance away, also pulling in ragged gasps of air. Pug saw that his friend’s face was pale, his lips bluish. The magician regarded his own hands and saw the nails were blue to the quick. Standing, he felt warmth creep slowly back into his limbs, which ached and shook. He spoke, and his voice was a dry croak. “Was it real?”
Tomas looked about, his alien features showing little. “Of all mortal men on this world, Pug, you should know best how futile that question is. We saw what we saw. Whether it was a place or a vision in our mind, it doesn’t matter. We must act upon what we experienced, so to that end, yes, it was real.”
“Now?”
Tomas said, “I must summon Ryath, if she is not too deep in sleep. We must travel between the stars once again.”
Pug could only nod. His mind was numb, and dimly he wondered what possible marvels could await beyond that which was already behind.
EIGHT - Yabon
The inn was quiet.
It was fully two hours before sundown and the hectic quality of evening revelry was not yet unleashed. For this, Arutha was thankful. He sat as deep in shadows as he could, Roald, Laurie, and the two squires occupying the other chairs. His newly cropped hair, shorter than he had worn in years and his thickening beard lent him a sinister appearance, giving credence to their impersonation of mercenaries. Jimmy and Locklear had purchased more common travel clothing in Questor’s View, burning their squire’s tunics. In all, the five of them looked to be nothing more than a simple crew of unemployed fighting men. Even Locklear was convincing, for he was no younger than some of those who passed through, aspiring young bravos seeking their first tour of duty.
They had been waiting three days for Martin, and Arutha was growing apprehensive. Given the timing of the message, he had expected Martin to reach Ylith first. Also, each day in the city increased the chance of someone’s remembering them from their last encounter here. A tavern brawl ending in a killing, while not unique, was still something to cause a few to remember a face.
A shadow crossed the table and they looked up. Martin and Baru stood before them. Arutha rose slowly and Martin calmly extended his hand. They quietly shook, and Martin said, “Good seeing you well.”
Arutha smiled crookedly. “Good for me also.”
Martin’s answering smile was his brother’s twin. “You look different.” Arutha only nodded. Then he and the others greeted Baru, and Martin said, “How did he get here?” He pointed at Jimmy.
Laurie said, “How can you stop him?”
Martin looked at Locklear and raised an eyebrow. “This one’s face I recognize, though I don’t recall the name.”
“That’s Locky.”
“Jimmy’s protege,” Roald added with a chuckle.
Martin and Baru exchanged glances. The tall Duke said, “Two of them?”
Arutha said, “It’s a long tale. We should tarry here as little as possible.”
“Agreed,” answered Martin. “But we’ll need new horses. Ours are weary, and I expect we still have a long road before us.”
Arutha’s eyes narrowed and he said, “Yes. Very long.”
The clearing was little more than a widening in the road. To Arutha’s party the roadhouse was a welcoming beacon, every window on both floors showing a merry yellow light that knifed through the oppressive gloom of night. They had ridden without incident since leaving Ylith, passing beyond Zun and Yabon, and were now at the last outpost of Kingdom civilization, where the forest road turned northeast for Tyr-Sog. To travel directly north was to enter Hadati country, and the northern ranges beyond marked the boundary of the Kingdom. While there had been no trouble, all were relieved to be reaching this inn.
A sharp-eared stable boy heard them ride up and came down from his loft to open the barn - few travelled the forest roads after sundown and he had been about to turn in. They quickly cared for their animals, Jimmy and Martin occasionally watching the woods for signs of trouble.
When they were done, they gathered their bundles and headed for the roadhouse. As they crossed the clearing between barn and main building, Laurie said, “It will be nice to have a warm meal.”
“Maybe our last for a while,” commented Jimmy to Locklear.
As they reached the front of the building, they could make out the sign over the door, a man sleeping atop a wagon while his mule had broken its traces and was making its getaway. Laurie said, “Now for some hot food. The Sleeping Wagoneer is among the finest little country inns you’ll ever visit, though at times you may find it occupied by a rather strange assortment.”
Pushing open the door, they entered a bright and cheery common room. A large open hearth contained a roaring fire, and three long tables stood before it. Across the room, opposite the door, ran a long bar, behind which rested large hogsheads of ale. And making his way toward them, a smile upon his face, came the innkeeper, a man of middle years and portly appearance. “Ah, guests. Welcome.” When he reached them, his smile broadened. “Laurie! Roald! As I live! It’s been years! Glad I am to see you.”