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Authors: Jonathan Moeller
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distance.”
Robert reached up and pulled a yellow wire running along the windows. A bell rang, and the bus pulled up to the curb. “I've got to go. You take care, Mr. Belphon. I hope you find the people you’re looking for. What did you say their names were?”
“Lithon Scepteris and Alastarius.”
“If I see them, I’ll let them know you’re looking for them,” said Robert.
“Thank you.”
Robert grinned and patted in his pocket. “No, thank you for the fifty dollars.” He turned, trotted down the aisle, and disappeared out the bus doors.
Arran watched him go. It would have been useful to stay with Robert, but the risks to the boy would have been too great. Marugon and his agents were on this world. Sooner or later Arran would find them, or they would find Arran.
Anyone around him would suffer when that happened.
He rode the bus until it came to the corner. He reached up and pulled the yellow cord. The bus stopped, and Arran walked to the doors.
“Hey, mister.” The bus driver, a burly man with dark skin, leaned forward. “You take care, you hear? A lot of crazies out there tonight.”
Arran nodded. “But no crazier than I.”
The bus driver gave him a look.
A quarter hour’s walk brought him back to the white house and its sunken woods.
Lights burned in the house’s windows, and a blue jeep sat in the driveway. It appeared the house was not abandoned after all. He crept to one of the windows and peered inside. He caught a glimpse of an old woman with a thick iron-gray braid sitting in a chair, a stack of books on a low table besides her. He watched the woman for a moment, and then crept away through the darkness, making for the sunken woods. The old woman looked like a scholar - hardly the sort of woman to go hunting through the woods at night.
He slipped through the trees and found a comfortable-looking spot not far from the invisible door to the Tower. A few insects chirped, but the woods lay quiet otherwise. Arran wrapped himself in his cloak and lay down, trying to get comfortable. He closed his eyes, thoughts and plans whirling through his tired mind. Should he try to find Alastarius first? Or should he seek out Marugon’s agents? Perhaps finding one would lead to finding the other.
Arran contemplated hunting Marugon himself, but rejected the idea. The last of the Warlocks would crush him like a gnat. Siduri had been right. He had to find Alastarius…
Arran fell asleep.
###
The next day he explored in a different direction. He had developed a sense for the buses, and used them to speed his explorations. His clothing and swords elicited many strange glances, but Arran ignored them, taking in more of Chicago. His path took him to a vast indoor marketplace with a glass roof and multiple balconies, its walls lined with dozens of shops, each one equipped with a garish sign of glowing glass over its entrance. One shop sold metal boxes with glass eyes that showed moving images. Another shop sold countless shoes and boots, and still another held more books than Arran had ever seen in his life.
He stood on a balcony and took in the sight while the crowds flowed around him. Neither Sir Liam nor Siduri would have believed such wonders. The people of Chicago had such bounty. No wonder so many of them were fat and slow and timid. A courtyard attached to the indoor marketplace boasted dozens of food merchants, and Arran used some of his dollars to buy food.
He ate, caught a bus, and continued on his way.
A few hours later he walked down a desolate-looking street. Large brick buildings lined both sides of the street, ringed in fences of barbed wire and metal. Arran guessed they were warehouses of some sort. Tired-looking laborers sometimes walked past, their clothing and faces stained with sweat and soot. Arran disliked this part of the city. It had a grim aspect…
His Sacred Blade jolted.
Arran’s hand clamped around the weapon’s hilt. He looked around, his eyes
Robert reached up and pulled a yellow wire running along the windows. A bell rang, and the bus pulled up to the curb. “I've got to go. You take care, Mr. Belphon. I hope you find the people you’re looking for. What did you say their names were?”
“Lithon Scepteris and Alastarius.”
“If I see them, I’ll let them know you’re looking for them,” said Robert.
“Thank you.”
Robert grinned and patted in his pocket. “No, thank you for the fifty dollars.” He turned, trotted down the aisle, and disappeared out the bus doors.
Arran watched him go. It would have been useful to stay with Robert, but the risks to the boy would have been too great. Marugon and his agents were on this world. Sooner or later Arran would find them, or they would find Arran.
Anyone around him would suffer when that happened.
He rode the bus until it came to the corner. He reached up and pulled the yellow cord. The bus stopped, and Arran walked to the doors.
“Hey, mister.” The bus driver, a burly man with dark skin, leaned forward. “You take care, you hear? A lot of crazies out there tonight.”
Arran nodded. “But no crazier than I.”
The bus driver gave him a look.
A quarter hour’s walk brought him back to the white house and its sunken woods.
Lights burned in the house’s windows, and a blue jeep sat in the driveway. It appeared the house was not abandoned after all. He crept to one of the windows and peered inside. He caught a glimpse of an old woman with a thick iron-gray braid sitting in a chair, a stack of books on a low table besides her. He watched the woman for a moment, and then crept away through the darkness, making for the sunken woods. The old woman looked like a scholar - hardly the sort of woman to go hunting through the woods at night.
He slipped through the trees and found a comfortable-looking spot not far from the invisible door to the Tower. A few insects chirped, but the woods lay quiet otherwise. Arran wrapped himself in his cloak and lay down, trying to get comfortable. He closed his eyes, thoughts and plans whirling through his tired mind. Should he try to find Alastarius first? Or should he seek out Marugon’s agents? Perhaps finding one would lead to finding the other.
Arran contemplated hunting Marugon himself, but rejected the idea. The last of the Warlocks would crush him like a gnat. Siduri had been right. He had to find Alastarius…
Arran fell asleep.
###
The next day he explored in a different direction. He had developed a sense for the buses, and used them to speed his explorations. His clothing and swords elicited many strange glances, but Arran ignored them, taking in more of Chicago. His path took him to a vast indoor marketplace with a glass roof and multiple balconies, its walls lined with dozens of shops, each one equipped with a garish sign of glowing glass over its entrance. One shop sold metal boxes with glass eyes that showed moving images. Another shop sold countless shoes and boots, and still another held more books than Arran had ever seen in his life.
He stood on a balcony and took in the sight while the crowds flowed around him. Neither Sir Liam nor Siduri would have believed such wonders. The people of Chicago had such bounty. No wonder so many of them were fat and slow and timid. A courtyard attached to the indoor marketplace boasted dozens of food merchants, and Arran used some of his dollars to buy food.
He ate, caught a bus, and continued on his way.
A few hours later he walked down a desolate-looking street. Large brick buildings lined both sides of the street, ringed in fences of barbed wire and metal. Arran guessed they were warehouses of some sort. Tired-looking laborers sometimes walked past, their clothing and faces stained with sweat and soot. Arran disliked this part of the city. It had a grim aspect…
His Sacred Blade jolted.
Arran’s hand clamped around the weapon’s hilt. He looked around, his eyes
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