Shauku gestured with a ghostly hand, and from the desert sands seemed to spring the sketchy outlines of a massive palace that just as quickly blew away on the breeze.
She trilled, 'My abode is not far for one who can shift body and essence through the planes.'
Johan didn't answer, for he could not. To shift, to conjure a spell that whisked one's self immeasurable distances in an eye blink, was a power denied him. Shifting was the first step toward true planeswalking, a feat of true sorcerers who'd grasped the most fundamental secrets of the cosmos. Johan had striven for years to shift but had always failed. So had every other mage in Jamuraa, he knew, even the hated Hazezon Tamar. Perhaps no one in Dominaria could shift. In ancient times drenched in magic, wizards had snapped their fingers and flown to the stars, but it seemed the Ice Ages had first frozen and then diluted all magics. A curse on the current generation, Johan feared.
Lacking an answer, Johan lied. 'I'd need an entourage to pay proper respect at your court. It's too much bother to shift weaklings, a strain upon them. I'll come over land.'
A smile creased the woman's ghostly cheeks. 'I understand. We shall prepare for your visit. It's been too long since so distinguished a guest graced our halls. Until then.'
Shauku tipped her chin or perhaps blew an imaginary kiss. Johan wasn't sure, because her visage had already faded. He was left squinting at a chipped rock framed by molten sun.
'Shauku,' he muttered. 'The ageless librarian, guardian of all the wisdom accumulated by men. Yes, there I must go! And see? I embarked westward before even knowing my journey! No one is more clever than Johan except Johan!'
Pausing, Johan noted his surroundings for the first time. The sun dropped below the western horizon. A cool breeze blew against his right ear, a wind from the north, as always. Already he spoke in imperious tones.
'Very well. We must send word to Tirras for lackeys. Make ready to journey. We strike west! Toward knowledge and greater conquest!'
The far-roaming scouts limped into the town hall just after dawn. Jedit flopped on the floor like an overfed housecat and instantly nodded off.
For a while, people stared at the tiger-man, plainly awed. He sprawled on the floor like a colorful rug, more than seven feet long from toes to nose, with an armspan a fathom wide and a chest like a hogshead barrel. The striped tail, big as a king cobra, stirred and squirmed, never resting. The cat bore scars and scabs from combat that would have killed a man. Ferocious bites marred his muzzle, neck, and shoulder. Some wept fluid, some were swollen and infected and already in danger of breeding maggots. The gruesome burn down his back continued down one leg, and to scorched skin had been added sunburn and rash. All four paws bore bloody scabs from sharp desert shale. He was ticked and dinged and scratched in a dozen other places. Yet despite the homey purring noises, Jedit Ojanen looked deadly as a dozing dragon, and people lowered their voices rather than wake him.
Nursing wounds, yawns, and tankards of beer lounged Adira's Circle of Seven. The governor of Bryce, Hazezon Tamar, was not present, for he roomed in other quarters when forced to visit Palmyra.
Adira sent Virgil to fetch him, adding, 'Insist that Haz come right away, for he's been bred to luxury. If he's hurried at his toilet and denied his morning figs and wine, he'll be grumpy, and that's always a treat. On your way back, fetch a leech to heal our cat friend here. Or a horse doctor. Your choice.'
Exhausted and parched, Sister Wilemina accepted a mug of beer and drained it, then another, before she could talk. Laying her cloak and bow on the table, she shucked her boots. Murdoch massaged her blistered feet. The druid Jasmine Boreal flung off a poncho, slugged half a jug of wine, laid her head on a table, and slept.
Rasping, the archer explained, 'We tracked Johan into the Western Wastes. Feet of the efreet, but that tiger sets a fierce pace! We jogged leagues with him, dropping and sniffing every long bowshot. Johan's spoor went straight west. Cursed queer, that. We kept expecting he'd veer north, but he never did. Where he's bound we can't imagine, nor how he survives without water and sunshade. Those rocks would bake a basilisk! After a while, Master Stripes and his hot temper cooled some, and those wounds of his must have ached! They'd cripple a war-horse! Jasmine and I pleaded to turn back. Finally he did, though I'll not deny his courage. He left blood in every footprint. Paw-print. Oh, I hope never again to see such a blighted land! May I eat? Please?'
'Of course. Do.' Adira had ordered a sturdy repast because the day promised to be busy. Gracing the table were bacon, cold cock, flat bread, dates, honeyed yogurt, goat cheese, and more. Wilemina wolfed while Adira summed up her crew's state.
'We found Badger in an alley, kicking like a beached grouper and half-blind, but he'll live. The Keepers tend his burns. Heath, our favorite fifth wheel, arrived by packet boat late yesterday, just in time to miss the fun. The marketplace is a shambles. The dead we buried. I attended their gravesides since I'm mayor of this illustrious rat hole. Jasmine and Whistledove and Murdoch have proved official Seveners, so I suppose they'll want higher pay.'
Adira Strongheart sipped beer and wiped foam off her upper lip. Staring at the wall, she dandled one booted foot, and finally said, 'West? Why would Johan run west and not north toward Tirras? I should think he'd head home to flay his subjects and eat babies. But west? A hundred leagues or more of nothing…'
'That's our biggest setback in brawling with Johan,' said the sensible Simone. 'You can't outguess a madman.'
'Johan's not mad.'
Everyone startled as Jedit Ojanen uncoiled from the floor, evidently refreshed by his nap. Scabs on bums and wounds cracked and wept anew, but he scarcely noticed. 'That shaman's canny as a wounded fox, but he's not mad.'
The Circle of Seven craned their necks. The tiger-man's rounded ears brushed the ceiling beams. Except for a painted green loincloth supported by a thin shoulder strap, he went naked, his body a riot of orange, black, and white stripes, with an astonishing expanse of white chest. Scarred, burned, and wounded, he was still a magnificent creature.
'But you're not Jaeger.' Adira thought aloud. 'Jaeger was older, steadier. Quick into combat but a thinker. Even a brooder. You're just a cub, albeit a mighty big one. You think with your fists. Claws.'
'Tell me of my father,' said the tiger. 'Please. We know nothing from the time he left Efrava.'
'Efrava?' asked Adira.
'Our homeland. An oasis in the eastern desert. The heat and sand wurms prevent our people from journeying west, but my father braved it to gain knowledge. Tell me first, please.'
'Very well.' Adira tapped another cask to wet her throat. 'Though it was Hazezon who found him almost dead north of Bryce…'
Listening, but licking his fangs with a raspy pink tongue, the tiger-man strode to a bench and plunked down, making sturdy pine creak in protest. Without asking, he hooked a roast hen with one hand and bit off half, bones and all. He devoured three more hens, half a ham, a wheel of cheese, a slab of smoked bacon, four loaves of flat bread-everything on the table, including licking clean a pot of honey.
The while, Adira talked about Jaeger, the first cat warrior ever seen in the central desert of Jamuraa, the first tiger-man ever heard of. She spoke of their comradeship and Jaeger's valiant skills, both at fighting and diplomacy, and recounted without emotion the months-long battles and uncounted skirmishes to stop Johan's invasion of the southlands.
The story ran long in the telling, for Simone chimed in with other accounts of Jaeger's valor. 'He saved Heath's life once by ripping a fire drake out of the sky. Badger's too, and mine a few times. Everyone loved him. Even those crotchety merfolk liked Jaeger.'
Virgil returned with word that Hazezon Tamar was on the way. Coming too was a witch who knew herbs. After those announcements, a long pause hung in the air. All the Circle of Seven watched their leader.
Suddenly weary, Adira Strongheart rushed the story's end. 'When we dug out after the sandstorm, Johan's army was dead and buried, though most of Palmyra was too. Yet first thing, Jaeger announced he must quest south. He sensed Johan had survived-how I can't say. His duty and destiny to kill Johan, he said, was cast by prophecy.'
'The prophecy of None, One, and Two?' asked Jedit, amber-green eyes glowing.
'Aye.' Adira scratched her head vigorously. 'It made my brain ache to hear Haz and Jaeger blither about it. They'd spend hours arguing about which was None and which One, and so on, round and round, but Jaeger believed
