I went inside my apartment and shut the door behind me. Leaning against the wall, I stared at my worn sofa with Han curled into an indistinguishable gray ball atop one of the cushions. Closing my eyes, I wished I could stay here forever and never be bothered with Faythander again. As long as I was on Earth, there was no chance I could destroy Faythander and no chance I could hurt Kull. But now, with the elves attempting to harness the power of ancient weapons of mass destruction, I had no choice. I had to return.
After hastily grabbing my backpack, I started stuffing things inside. Hairbrush, toothpaste, some clothes, and the journal Fan’twar had given me. Maybe if I had a chance to learn more about the brothers of Tremulac, I’d be more capable of stopping the elven queen.
I crossed to the kitchen and opened the bottom cabinet, intending to scoop out some cat food and leave it for Han, when I found myself sitting on my butt and staring blankly at the bag of dry kitty kibbles. I wanted to see Kull again, didn’t I? If so, then why did I have that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach? I hugged my arms around my knees. Because I’m afraid of the future, I admitted to myself.
Brushing the thought aside, I filled Han’s bowl, gave him a scratch on his head as he rushed to the food, and opened my mirror box. Blue magic sparkled around the laptop’s casing and silver screen. I ran my fingers over the five figurines, feeling the details in the pewter. Keeping my pack close, I placed my palm against the mirror’s surface.
Ready or not, Faythander, here I come.
Chapter 3
I walked through the Wult village as I fought a growing headache. Crossing worlds had taken its toll on me, and although the portals were functioning properly again, my magic was not. It had taken a great deal of energy just to open the portal, and now I had a blooming headache and sour stomach as a result.
The village hadn’t changed much since I’d been here a week ago. The Dragon Spine’s mountain range loomed along the horizon, its peaks tinted purple in the rising sun. Two- and three-story houses with thatched roofs sat crowded around a town square, where a cobbled path and large water fountain took up the center of the space.
The smell of wood smoke filled the air as tendrils of gray and white rose from chimneys. From a distance came the sounds of laughter and shouting, though there were no people on the streets. I paced cautiously through the village. Where was everyone? And more importantly, where was the inn Fan’twar had spoken of?
My boots echoed through the empty lanes as I focused on voices coming from up ahead. I followed the sounds, passing through the town square and onto a narrow path, and finally, I found the town’s only inn—a large stone building, sitting at the end of the lane. People were gathered on the wide front porch, and children dressed in bright woolen sweaters darted through the crowd.
I stopped walking to stare at the building. Fan’twar’s sense of humor got me into trouble sometimes, and I had a feeling that something was going on at the inn—something his clairvoyance had led me toward. I wasn’t sure I was going to like it. Whatever the case, I knew I had to go to the inn to find the thief, but I just hoped I didn’t find anything else in the process. Like too much drama. Fan’twar knew how much I hated drama.
I wandered through the crowd and up the front steps, making my way through the open double doors and into a large room. The room’s walls, floor, and ceiling were crafted of deep-stained wooden timbers that smelled of rich resin. Tables and chairs took up most of the floor. Bodies were packed inside, all focused on a man standing atop a table at the back of the room. He stood in front of an enormous stone fireplace. Firelight flickered off his tanned face and dark hair, and his voice carried through the room, booming with a deep resonance that commanded attention. His clothing, made of animal hides and a fur cloak, suggested a wild appearance, yet something about his stance and the intelligence in his dark eyes gave me pause.
“Now is the time to act!” he shouted. “We’ve no more need of a king. Ours is an age of freedom and prosperity. How are we to live as long as our taxes go to a king we’ve never seen—a man who lives on the other side of the continent?
“He is a man who has never taken interest in our villages or helped us in any way at all. He fights wars that happen so far away they’ll never have any effect on our lives! But that is not the only reason. It is rumored that he has lost the sword of his ancestors—the very sword that is a symbol of our kingdom, of our heritage, and of our nobility. We are a fierce, proud people. This is a new age. I say it is time we elect our leaders. We should choose people from our own villages who know our struggles. The time has come to overthrow the king!”
Shouts and cheers filled the room. As I studied those gathered, I noticed that not all of them looked thrilled with the idea of overthrowing the king, yet the majority cheered.
“I’ve heard the king is not fit to rule!” someone shouted.
“He’s gone mad!” came another shout.
“He doesn’t care about us!” more voices chimed in.
“But what do we do about it, Euric? Do you have a solution?”
“Yes,” the man on the table—Euric, I assumed—yelled. “Which is why we must act now.” He pulled a rolled
