The Steward and the Sorcerer by James Peart (books suggested by elon musk .TXT) 📕

tunic and passed it to his friend.  Simon took a large draught from the bottle and handed it back.

“Do you think Daaynan was happy that we contacted the Brightsphere?” he asked.

“I don’t know.  It’s hard to fathom what he thinks at the best of times.  He’s like a Laevsky, or some other character from The Duel.”

“He’s been more distant since he woke from his encounter with that Iridis King.”

“His power is mixing with Iridis’s.  You didn’t ask him about that.  Or what the Brightsphere told us about the Northern Earth being a mirror world of our own.”

“I thought he’d tell us in his own good time.  He agreed with what the Sphere told us about Iridis having to be stopped.”

Christopher thought about this for a moment.  “He might have a plan for that.  Maybe he’s thinking of letting Iridis kill the Steward.  It would solve his problems.”

“True, but Iridis loose on the Northern Earth is a far bigger problem than the Steward ever was.  Longfellow may not be such a great fan of democracy but Iridis makes him positively look like a Kennedy.”

“Or a Tony Benn,” Christopher agreed, his features suddenly sad.

“You miss England, don’t you?”

“You asked me that before.  I told you I didn’t.”

“You were in culture shock.  We both were.  I think we’re just getting past it now.”

Ahead of them, Daaynan had slowed.  He drew alongside them and brought their attention to a section of the countryside that lay off to the right.  They were close to the edge of a valley that swooped down to a wooded area fronting a large, prosperous looking town.  A path, starting from the valley edge, wandered down through the copse and emerged the far side on the outskirts of the town.

“This is Carasan,” the Druid said.  “We shall pick up what we need here and leave before evening.  Come.”  He began the descent, motioning the others to follow suit. As they neared Carasan, the travellers witnessed a maelstrom of activity composed of people bustling to and fro in and out of the town.  Visible only as specks from a distance, when viewed up close they could see it was composed of traders, merchants, and locals of one sort or another.  The town had an old, used look about it, giving the impression that it had seen much, some of it possibly not pleasant, and had withstood the test of time.  Yet the building storefronts were clean, as were the residence facades and high streets and the place thrummed with a lively, vibrant energy that lifted the travellers’ spirits as they negotiated their way past the shops, markets and houses.  On passing a market, the smell of cured meat and freshly cut fruit wafted tantalisingly past the noses of the small company, causing the Englishmen’s mouths to water.  Daaynan, apparently unaffected, walked a pace or two ahead of his companions, turning frequently right or left, slowing at several points to inspect the awning of a particular dwelling, then moving on.  To his right, Simon could briefly see a small park ringed by a metal fence and an assembly of homes that looked a grade above those they had passed so far.  There was a garden in the park with a pagoda in its centre, partially circled by a breath-taking array of plants and flowers.  He did not have much time to admire it, but he made a note to ask the Druid who lived in the residences around the park.

Daaynan finally came to a halt outside one of the buildings.  It had an unprepossessing exterior, just a simple storefront awning with a table and a number of chairs littered around its edge.  The door to the shop, Simon could see, had once been bright red but the paint had been worn to a darker undercoat and the handle was tinged faintly with rust. It seemed abandoned or closed for business.  Daaynan rapped on one of the door’s panels, stepped back and waited.  After a moment, it opened, yet only slightly, secured from within on a sliding chain.  The shop’s occupant peered through the gap, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at each of the journeymen in turn, before his gaze swung back to the Druid.  “Who goes there at this time of day?” he snapped.

In answer, the sorcerer drew back the hood concealing his face.

“Daaynan!” he exclaimed.

21.

The Magus of Fein Mor smiled properly for the first time since he had been made Druid of an order which now consisted solely of one.  “Let us in, Mereka, you old jester.  My friends and I are weary and footsore and are in need of your renowned hospitality.”

“Are they indeed,” Mereka said, eyeing them once again.  “If they’ve been hiking around Ara Fein with you, then they are also possibly in need of their marbles.”  He took the chain off its run and swung the door open, ushering the trio inside.  The Englishmen walked in behind the Druid, glancing around the room they had entered.  Inside, there was no sign of a store.  They were standing in a small vestibule with elaborately decorated oak panelled walls bearing prints, framed portraits and paintings of one kind or another.  It looked to the Englishmen as if it were a private residence of some kind, the exterior of the dwelling misleading, perhaps to draw attention away from whoever lived inside, Simon thought.  He glanced at the building’s occupant, taking in the other’s loose, garish robes and limp posture, exchanging a look with Christopher.  Daaynan, however, seemed unaware of it and they were taking their cue from him so he said nothing.

“I won’t ask you how urgent your business is,” Mereka said, “one look at you and I know it is serious; in fact, that you’re here at all underlines the exigency of your presence.  You’ll need a room to sleep in, and some food.”

“Thank you, old friend,” Daaynan said.  “We could do with the food and some drink, but the situation is indeed urgent, so much so that