a few minutes, then he said, “Difficult. These are subtle manifestations to detect if you’re talking about a single life taken, or a single body animated.”
“Can it be done?”
Sinboya was contemplative. At last he said, “Of course it can, but it will take time and I will need help.”
Pug stood. “I will have someone contact you within a day, and he will provide you with everything you need. Set your price for the work, and you will be rewarded, as well.
“The man I seek may be the herald of the gravest danger the Empire has encountered in its long history.”
The old man chuckled. “No disrespect, my old friend, but there have been many grave dangers in our history.”
Pug leaned closer. “This I know, for we of the Greater Path study the Empire’s history as part of our training. I do not exaggerate this, Sinboya. This may be the unleashing of the Eater of Souls.”
The old man sat silently as his guest left. The Eater of Souls was a being of extraordinary power, one of the foundation myths of Tsurani religion. It was written in the temples that in the last days, before the destruction of the world of Kelewan, a being known as the Eater of Souls would appear and begin to harvest the unworthy before the gods unleashed their final war in the heavens.
As the door closed behind Pug, Sinboya felt an unexpected need to visit the temple of Chochocan, the Good God, to say a prayer and make a votive offering, an impulse he had not experienced in fifty years.
As Pug left Sinboya’s modest home, he felt a strange sense of familiarity, a sort of déjà vu. He hesitated, looked quickly about, and after seeing nothing amiss in the darkness, hurried along.
He had cast a rift from a deserted spot on Sorcerer’s Island to a place he knew near the City of the Plains, where the original Tsurani rift into Midkemia had existed, almost a century past. He had then employed a trick he had mastered in reaching the Eldar under the polar ice cap of Kelewan years before: simply transporting himself by line of sight, a method which was occasionally tedious, but ultimately effective.
He needed no such trick to return to the world of Midkemia, only a deserted place where he might depart undetected. He moved quickly along the dark street, looking for an alley into which to disappear.
From around the corner, a figure emerged from deep shadow, watching as Pug vanished from sight. The stocky man in the black robe waited for a minute, then sighed. “What were you doing in that little house, Pug?” he muttered under his breath. “Well, best go find out, hadn’t I?” The man walked purposefully, using a large staff to bear a little of his weight when he stepped forward with his right leg. He had hurt his knee a while back, and found the walking staff a comfort.
Without knocking, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.
SIX
H ONEST J OHN'S
P ug retreated.
He could see the caravan wending its way along the Hall of Worlds and knew from experience that anything was possible here. The Hall was the great thoroughfare between worlds, a place where a mortal man could walk between planets if he knew the way and possessed the necessary skills, or power, to survive. He glanced at the doors nearest his position, but none offered a convenient place into which he could vanish. Two led into worlds he knew were inimical to human existence, with poisonous atmospheres and crushing gravity, and the other two led to very public places of disembarkation. Unfortunately he lacked the means to anticipate local time for places where appearing in the public square at noon was a bad idea.
He had no choice but to stand his ground, for advance guards had already espied him and were hurrying forward, weapons drawn, in case he was some sort of threat—which he would be should they give him cause.
The guards were human, or at least appeared to be from a distance, and they came to a position about halfway between Pug and the lead wagon—pulled by
“Can it be done?”
Sinboya was contemplative. At last he said, “Of course it can, but it will take time and I will need help.”
Pug stood. “I will have someone contact you within a day, and he will provide you with everything you need. Set your price for the work, and you will be rewarded, as well.
“The man I seek may be the herald of the gravest danger the Empire has encountered in its long history.”
The old man chuckled. “No disrespect, my old friend, but there have been many grave dangers in our history.”
Pug leaned closer. “This I know, for we of the Greater Path study the Empire’s history as part of our training. I do not exaggerate this, Sinboya. This may be the unleashing of the Eater of Souls.”
The old man sat silently as his guest left. The Eater of Souls was a being of extraordinary power, one of the foundation myths of Tsurani religion. It was written in the temples that in the last days, before the destruction of the world of Kelewan, a being known as the Eater of Souls would appear and begin to harvest the unworthy before the gods unleashed their final war in the heavens.
As the door closed behind Pug, Sinboya felt an unexpected need to visit the temple of Chochocan, the Good God, to say a prayer and make a votive offering, an impulse he had not experienced in fifty years.
As Pug left Sinboya’s modest home, he felt a strange sense of familiarity, a sort of déjà vu. He hesitated, looked quickly about, and after seeing nothing amiss in the darkness, hurried along.
He had cast a rift from a deserted spot on Sorcerer’s Island to a place he knew near the City of the Plains, where the original Tsurani rift into Midkemia had existed, almost a century past. He had then employed a trick he had mastered in reaching the Eldar under the polar ice cap of Kelewan years before: simply transporting himself by line of sight, a method which was occasionally tedious, but ultimately effective.
He needed no such trick to return to the world of Midkemia, only a deserted place where he might depart undetected. He moved quickly along the dark street, looking for an alley into which to disappear.
From around the corner, a figure emerged from deep shadow, watching as Pug vanished from sight. The stocky man in the black robe waited for a minute, then sighed. “What were you doing in that little house, Pug?” he muttered under his breath. “Well, best go find out, hadn’t I?” The man walked purposefully, using a large staff to bear a little of his weight when he stepped forward with his right leg. He had hurt his knee a while back, and found the walking staff a comfort.
Without knocking, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.
SIX
H ONEST J OHN'S
P ug retreated.
He could see the caravan wending its way along the Hall of Worlds and knew from experience that anything was possible here. The Hall was the great thoroughfare between worlds, a place where a mortal man could walk between planets if he knew the way and possessed the necessary skills, or power, to survive. He glanced at the doors nearest his position, but none offered a convenient place into which he could vanish. Two led into worlds he knew were inimical to human existence, with poisonous atmospheres and crushing gravity, and the other two led to very public places of disembarkation. Unfortunately he lacked the means to anticipate local time for places where appearing in the public square at noon was a bad idea.
He had no choice but to stand his ground, for advance guards had already espied him and were hurrying forward, weapons drawn, in case he was some sort of threat—which he would be should they give him cause.
The guards were human, or at least appeared to be from a distance, and they came to a position about halfway between Pug and the lead wagon—pulled by
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