Sexton Sand (Sexton Chronicles IV)

By David J. Steele

Balfour has fallen. Andy is a prisoner. Druids are playing their hand. John, Tom, and their renegade friends are charged with rescuing Andy and stopping the war--which might not be as easy as it sounds.

This is the fourth book in the Sexton Chronicles series.

Book 1: Sexton
Book 2: Sexton Spice
Book 3: Storm Clouds Over Sexton

• Language: English
• Publisher: David J. Steele
• Release date: Aug 3, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465978776

David J. Steele

Born and raised in Kalamazoo, MI. David attended Eureka College as a Ronald Reagan Fellow. He served as a professional with a major not-for-profit from 1988-2005. Dave and his wife reside in Michigan.

Book preview

Chapter One

Tom had no idea how it was supposed to work. Fighting enemies, whether they were members of Sexton's Protectors Guild, shape-changing druids, or hordes of Crescen soldiers was easy compared to what he was about to do. If he screwed up fighting the only penalty was death. This time the odds were different, the stakes higher. He was more nervous than he would have been if he was about to go into battle.

He was on a bench outside the living quarters of Benecala, the Mage of Sexton. If he was in America, he might have a better idea of how to proceed. He would walk in, disregarding the man's position—or the deadly destructive power of his magic, of which there would be none—and talk to him man to man. He would tell him of his love for his daughter and announce they were going to get married. Quaiva was no help, but that was probably his fault. He hadn't asked her how to proceed, and she couldn't or wouldn't read his mind.

How long had she been in there? He wished he still had his watch. At least then he would know how long he'd been waiting. He was trying not to think about Andy—in captivity somewhere in Crescens. On the other hand, thinking about Andy's troubles made his nervousness seem trivial. Benecala probably wouldn't turn him into anything that slithered or oozed. On the other hand... He cut the thought short. The other hand was that he had no idea what was going to happen when the door behind him finally opened. It had been nine days since Andy was captured. Nine long days and he was no closer to rescuing his friend, and no closer to marrying the woman he loved.

The door opened and he all but jumped to his feet. Quaiva smiled at him without saying a word, turned her back, and walked back into the room. He walked in and closed the door behind. Benecala was sitting in a chair with a high, padded back. His black and gray beard appeared to have been combed recently, and his long black hair wasn't as greasy as usual. Must've been time for his annual bath, Tom thought. Quaiva was on a padded bench on his right. He couldn't help but smile when he looked at her. This was a rare occasion—seeing her as a daughter—and she looked much younger than she was. Her brown hair was tied back in a long braid with a red ribbon on the end that matched the color of her dress. Her ankles were together on the floor and her back was straight. She smiled back at him, but only with her eyes.

Sit next to my daughter, Benecala said. He steepled his fingers. I want to see how the two of you look together.

Tom's nerves got the best of him. He blurted, Sir, there's something I have to discuss...

Sit.

Tom did. It didn't lessen his nervousness when he realized he followed the order without thinking about it. To sit, he had to take three steps and turn. The old fart must've used magic, he realized, or I would still be on my feet. His fingers wanted to twitch. To hide the nervousness that would show, he crossed his legs and clasped his hands over his knees. He wanted to speak but knew better. Benecala's tone made it clear who would speak next, and he wasn't going to do that until he was good and ready.

My daughter has asked for permission to wed you.

Tom's eyebrows went up. He glanced at Quaiva and saw her blush. Excuse me?

Benecala chuckled. She did not discuss this with you?

Of course! Sir, I'm just...surprised...she asked your permission.

A father has some say in these matters. It is a tradition I do not wish to see broken. Is that not how it is done in your world?

Tom laughed. Where I come from, the man asks permission from the father of the woman he wants to marry. ...Sometimes.

Silliness. The man needs no one's permission save that of the woman.

That was my thought, but I'm willing to bow to tradition. he wanted to look away from the wizard and look at her, but didn't quite dare. He had the sense she was wildly amused by the whole thing.

She, Benecala continued as if Tom hadn't said a word, belongs to the father until he decides otherwise.

He met Benecala's gaze; he wanted to see every nuance. There was something there, and although he'd known him a long time, he couldn't tell what it was. What have you decided?

It seemed like a long time before the reply came. The wizard stood. He turned his back on the couple on the bench and looked at the sun and clear sky through the open window behind him. Somewhere nearby, a bird sang. When he turned to face them again, he was smiling. I have decided to welcome you as my son-in-law, Thomas. Quaiva, dearest girl, he is an excellent choice.

She clasped Tom's hand and squeezed. He didn't look at her. He was afraid he'd join her if she was crying.

If you wouldn't mind waiting in the hall again, Thomas, I would like a few words with her.

Tom didn't try to hide his surprise. He looked at Quaiva and nodded when she smiled at him and glanced at the door. She wasn't crying. That helped. Okay. I'll wait outside.

Her palms were sweating, but she wouldn't wipe them on her dress like a cook's assistant. This wasn't part of her plan. There should be nothing further for the two of them to discuss on this matter until after he had a chance to become accustomed to the idea and was prepared to plan the ceremony. She knew him better than anyone else living or dead, and she could see there was something on his mind.

He crossed to her and caressed her cheek. When he released her, he took a step back and looked at her. How proud your mother would be, he said in a whisper. And I am proud as well.

Thank you, father.

He looked at the door, then at her with a scrutiny she didn't know how to interpret. Does he know you carry his child?

Her heart all but stopped. She had no spittle in her mouth, and her tongue felt swollen. A hard swallow made it easier. How could he know such a thing, when she wasn't sure herself? How would he feel about it? That he knew was beyond question. She chastised herself for not being forthright about her suspicion.

He seemed to read her every thought and allowed her to play them through her mind. There was a pitcher of water on a table next to his chair. He poured some for her and handed her the cup. With a laugh he said, You are not thinking clearly, my dear. If you were, you would have known I would see it in you. These things warm my heart. He smiled with as much warmth and happiness as she had ever seen from him. We return to my question. Does he know?

She stood. I only suspected it myself...and apologize for not thinking you would see it as clearly as you see light. Her apology was waved away. She swallowed and glanced at the door. No. He does not know. He must focus his attention on the rescue of Andy from the Crescens. To ask otherwise of him would tear him apart. He will not know about my...

Daughter.

Don't try to stop me! Please.

I was not stopping you. He chuckled. I was but finishing your thought.

I was going to say 'pregnancy.'

I am telling you that you will have a daughter.

Father!

The devilish twinkle in his eyes was much closer to the look they normally carried, but she didn’t like that it was aimed at her. You were saying...?

She aimed a finger at him. "You will tell no one I’m pregnant. And I will not tell him until he comes back safely with Andy. Then and only then, if he will still have me, will we marry. Agreed?"

He embraced her. I will do as you ask.

Chapter Two

John was waiting at the door when Tom finally got to his room. He was leaning against the wall with his arms folded over his chest and a big grin on his face. There was a sack on the floor next to him. How did it go? he asked. I see you’re not a toad yet.

Tom rubbed his chin. It had been a long day, and he was tired. Not yet anyway. He glanced at the sack in John’s hand. Did I lose a bet with you?

No. Why would you ask that?

That looks like a sack of laundry, and you’re waiting outside my door. Is it a welshing if I don’t do your laundry because I don’t remember the bet?

It would be. John laughed. He picked up the sack and nodded at the door. Benecala said I had to bunk with you. These are my clothes.

Tom was too tired to ask, and too tired to argue with any response asking might have brought. He shrugged and reached for the door handle. You get the couch. There’s only one bed.

You have a couch? How do you rate?

Academy grad. There aren’t a lot of perks that go with that, but this is one. He smiled. Rent is due daily...a silver. I get the bed and the first shower in the morning. He opened the door.

"You have a shower?" He wasn’t sure if Tom was kidding or not. The last thing he expected was Tom stopping in the middle of the doorway. He walked right into him. His eyes bugged when he saw the room was lit. Candles on the table in the middle of the room gave enough light for him to see the bed, the couch, the doors on the balcony, and what made Tom stop in his tracks.

His royal majesty, King Rolof of Sexton, was sitting in the chair. The candles were burned half down, and there were little puddles of white wax on the table. He’d been there a while. They hadn't seen him since they got back. Not that they expected to see him. Kings had better things to do than wait for a couple of guys to come back from a failed mission. John smiled at him. He liked the king... They liked the king. He looked healthy and vibrant. His red hair shined in the candlelight and his teeth looked white under his beard when he finally smiled.

No, Tom said.

"No?" Rolof repeated. I haven’t said a word, and you start with a no?

Tom sat on the bed. I’m very tired, and John probably is too. No offense intended, your highness, but every time we see you, you want us to go on a mission that could get us killed. I figured I’d save some time and just say no.

Rolof stood. He crossed to the bed and clapped Tom on the shoulder. His grin was infectious and both men joined him. I came to ask no favors, nor to send you on a mission. He shrugged. I reserve the right for that at a later time, of course. The smile faded from his face. Let us not forget that I’m the king.

It’s good to be the king, John said. He was thinking of a Mel Brooks movie and almost laughed. His brain pictured Rolof telling all the pawns—living people in lawn chess—to jump the queen. It almost made him giggle. Sleep. He needed sleep, and soon.

Tom yawned. What brings you to my room in person in the middle of the night?

Rolof let go of his shoulder and extended his hand to shake hands with Tom. Congratulations are in order. I understand you and Quaiva are engaged to be wed!

Tom’s eyebrows rose. How did you know?

Why do I have to keep saying it? I’m the king.

John said, "And people tell you everything? The only people that know are the folks that were on the boat, and the sailors on Quarick’s ship, and Quaiva, and me, and Benecala. Who told you?"

Know you nothing about rumors? He glanced at the expression on John’s face and let loose a booming laugh. Yes, I suppose you do. What you don’t know is that my people have a habit of assuming I neither listen nor care to listen to comments not directly addressed to me. If I sit long enough in one place, with a royal and ponderous expression on my face, the people around me assume I’m thinking royal thoughts...governing from the limits of my skull, or some other nonsense. His next laugh was almost a giggle. You should hear what the chambermaids prattle about when they give me baths.

John shot Tom a look and saw laughter in his eyes. Do they give you baths too?

Do I look like a king?

A little...around the eyes.

Tom shook his head. You came to congratulate me? Thank you, your majesty.

Rolof’s expression turned serious. I will stay out of your wedding plans, of course. Still, you must know this: I have no wife and no daughter. The closest persons in this castle to royalty other than myself are Benecala and Quaiva. She is not now, nor can she ever be a princess but when she weds, no one by appearances will know the difference.

A royal wedding? Tom asked. His expression was almost comic. You’re kidding. Please tell me you’re kidding.

Do I look like I’m kidding?

John leaned forward and put his face close to Rolof’s. He turned to Tom and smiled. He doesn’t look like he’s kidding.

I see that.

Rolof turned to leave. He stopped next to the door. One more thing, gentlemen. I know your friend Andrew was captured. I count him as one of my personal friends. Nothing will stop you from affecting a rescue, I know. You probably plan to leave soon, correct?

John looked at Tom. He couldn’t read anything in his face, but he knew his friend would want to leave at first light and ride hard for Crescens. He was all for it if that was the plan. They were already nine days behind him and it would take several more for them to reach Crescens and start looking.

Soon, Tom answered.

You need to rest for a couple of days before you go. I can see the exhaustion in both of you and I am—according to most—not an observant man. Three days will not make a difference in your mission. Stay and rest.

We’ll take that under advisement, sir. Tom smiled. His yawn was real.

The king nodded. He looked at John and smiled. Benecala asked me to give you this. He reached under his belt and pulled out a small pouch. It rested in his palm.

What is it? John asked.

Rolof closed his hand over the pouch and squeezed. He threw it to the floor. A cloud of orange flew into the air and he backed out the door covered in haze. In the hall, he continued to hold his breath until he could hold it no longer. That damn wizard could pack a lot in a small package, but he didn’t say how fast the dust would work. He felt sleepy himself, but knew he didn’t breathe much of it in. If he had, he would sleep for a long time.

There was no noise from within the room. John and Tom would sleep for three days. Resting would arm them better for their mission than anything else he could give them. For his part, Rolof decided a hunting trip to his forest in the north would be in order. He would return to the palace in five days...two days after the Americans woke up and left for Crescens.

Chapter Three

Andy opened his eyes. Bright light. Hurts. He closed them again, but stayed awake. Groggy. He was, but could feel himself growing alert. The last thing he remembered was getting the crap kicked out of him by a mob of Crescens in the tunnels under the Fortress Balfour. After that things were a blur: captivity, chains, getting carried—probably drugged, but maybe under that damn druid’s spell—on a land route to somewhere. How long ago was that? He had no idea.

He opened his eyes to slits and tried to get used to the light. Prisoner of war. The term rattled around in his head for a while. But why? They didn’t hesitate to kill everyone that got in their way. What’s special about me? Other than coming from a world they couldn’t imagine existed, he couldn’t think of anything. It wasn’t like he was a great warrior, or a prince, or a general in the Army of Sexton. As a hostage he wasn’t worth much. He had no rank, so they wouldn’t think he could give them enemy plans.

He moved his hands, which were untied, over the mattress under him. It was odd they put a mattress in a prison. The place didn’t smell bad either. No stench of sweat, no reek of urine, no odor of moldy straw. What the hell was he lying on? He wriggled his hips and didn’t hear the crunch of straw. If he didn’t know better, he would think he was on a feather bed. His eyebrows went up when he opened his eyes. The light was sunlight filtered through sheer curtains. There was a pillow under his head. A nice, soft pillow. Nice digs. Too nice. He wondered if he should be alarmed. Could he move? His ribs hurt when he sat up, but it was an aching pain rather than the stab of broken bones. His lips felt funny. Swollen? He moved his jaw around with his hand, remembering a few punches to his face while they were in the tunnel. He was dressed in something that looked and felt like silk pajamas. He ran his hands over his thighs, enjoying the feel of the fabric, and grinned when he realized he wasn’t tied up in any way.

The room was small and clean. Very clean. The floor was some kind of tile: green with flecks of gold. The walls were white, and the window did indeed have sheer curtains over it. A warm dry breeze blew into the room and fluttered the curtains. To his right was a door with a peaked arch at the top. There was no handle on the inside and he figured it was locked. It was a prison of some sort, but what kind of prison? If he was in Crescens, and he had no reason to think he was anywhere else, why was he in a nice place? There was plenty of poverty in the country. He was sure they didn’t have money to treat all prisoners this well.

He looked to the right and saw a table against the wall. On it was a pitcher and a plate with some kind of bread on it. His stomach rumbled at the sight. His legs wobbled when he stood, probably from lack of use. He couldn’t remember the last time he stood up or walked after the beating in the tunnel. Five or six steps took him to the table. He spilled a little of the water when he gulped it. Rather than waste the spilled water, he smeared more on his face. There didn’t’ seem to be any bruising, but there were a few tender spots that were probably pretty banged up for the first few days after the beatings. There was a lot of stubble on his face. Maybe he’d grow it into a beard.

A knock at the door brought a chill to his spine. He put the cup down and looked at it without saying a word. It opened, and a woman entered. She glanced at the bed, then looked deeper into the room and smiled when she saw him. A word whispered over her shoulder, and the door closed behind her.

It took him a second to realize who she was. The blond hair and blue eyes, the ready smile over white teeth, and the shape of her hips and breasts under the black dress did the trick. It took another second to get his lungs to work well enough to push breath and words out. Sarah?

Sarah was on of the wives of their friend Raj—an exile from Crescens who became their friend and got them into the spice trade, which was illegal in both countries, and who—Andy remembered with a gulp—went on to become King Rajahd’een of Crescens, the man responsible for starting the war. Is that you?

She smiled. I am quite happy to see you awake. Are you well?

He blinked and grinned. Am I well? Um...I guess. How long have I been here? Before she could answer, he held up a hand to stop her. "I mean. Where am I and how long have I been here?"

She shook her head and looked away. I came only to see that you are well. I am so sorry, my friend, but I am not authorized to answer any of your questions. Is there anything in the way of food or drink I can get for you? The bread and water are here only to break your fast. Other foods are available to you. Perhaps you would like fruit or wine?

Tacos.

She smiled. What, pray tell, are tacos?

Ground beef heated until brown, served in flat bread with tomatoes, and lettuce, and cheese on top. A little spice added to the meat would be great. His stomach rumbled loud enough for her to hear and make her giggle. Four or five of ‘em should do the trick.

Tacos.

Yes, please. Hot damn! I just invented tacos!"

I will see what I can do. In the meantime, you should rest. You have a meeting in a few hours. I will wake you when I bring the tacos. She knocked once on the door. It opened and she smiled at him as she backed out.

Wait! Who is the meeting with?

Her head poked back in. Why...with the king. King Rajahd’een. Who else?

The door closed. He heard a bolt click. Feeling tired again, he looked at the bed and sighed. Tacos on the way, brought by a hot chick in a tight dress, a feather bed, and a king coming to see me. Things could be worse, I suppose... The bed felt good. He was asleep in minutes.

Chapter Four

John waited with the horses, just outside a gate from the palace. The animals seemed as calm and rested as he felt. Neither he nor Tom liked being put to sleep by Benecala, aided and abetted by the king. He couldn’t argue with the result, however. The thing that knocked them out kept them knocked out until they woke in pre-dawn darkness an hour before. It was the dark hour between the time the moon set and the sun got the idea to start peeking around the planet. The sky was clear for a change, only a few wispy clouds floating around. His cloud of breath mingled with those of the horses. How much longer would Tom be? They were still in the stable—Tom and Quaiva—and he was glad he couldn’t hear what they were saying. It couldn’t be easy for either of them.

He heard boots crunch on the dirt and turned to see Tom. Light from a small lantern in the stable showed only his silhouette. Judging by his posture, which didn’t have the bent look of a sad man, Tom was in good spirits.

Ready to go? Tom asked.

John climbed into the saddle without answering. Someone lit a light in the stable and he didn’t have to guess who. What’s the plan?

I’ll tell you when we’re out of the palace.

The gate opened and they went through. John nodded at the young guy who opened the gate, but the kid seemed more interested in closing it again quickly. There was an air of nervousness around the palace that wasn’t there before the war. Everyone in the place had heard about druids doing their magic. Like most rumors, they grew as they spread. He had no doubt the kid thought there was a druid in every shadow, up to and including the ones mice made. There was good news in their fear: the palace had never been cleaner. Sometimes rumors had their uses.

They rode through the city without speaking to each other, and without seeing many people. Dressed and armed as they were, they looked like members of the protectors guild, and no one on the streets at that hour wanted anything to do with those guys. Finally the buildings got farther apart and the city was behind them.

What’s the plan? he finally asked. Tom didn’t answer immediately. John stopped his horse. Tell me you have a plan.

I have a plan. He made a clicking noise and grinned at John when his horse moved without command from its rider.

You gonna share it with me?

Dunno. Can I trust you?

"Are you kidding?"

Yeah. He lifted a flask from his saddlebag and took a sip. The sky was getting lighter and John saw him wince with the sip. He stuck the flask out toward him. Have some.

It’s a little early for me.

Tom chuckled. It’s not booze. It’s coffee. Cold, but it’ll wake you up.

John took the flask and a few swallows. It was bitter and gritted against his tongue. He almost spit it out. "What...? Gak! Anyone ever tell you there’s supposed to be water in there?" he coughed.

Tom took the flask. He screwed the lid on and stuck it in his bag. There is water in there, ya big baby.

What’d you do? Just spit in it?

Didn’t think of that.

What’s the plan?

Tom sobered. Ride into Crescens, get an audience with Raj, play on his loyalty to us as good friends, and ask him to let Andy come home.

Maybe we should stop somewhere and get t-shirts that say, ‘please kick my ass because I’m a moron.’

Too long for a t-shirt, but I like the way you’re thinking.

John looked at the sunrise. Orange light was starting to brighten the fields on either side of the road The wheat was still low, too low to blow in the breeze that was coming up with the sun. Maybe they should stop and see Clio and Aemilia. They hadn’t seen either of them since they left for Crescens. Tom was still pretty sick from the spell that gave him the language. He wondered if his friend remembered any of it.

The house was still there. They were awake, if the smoke rising from the chimney at the back of it was any indication. There was another stream of smoke coming from the woods behind the house, which meant the men—he chose to consider them fugitives rather than deserters—were still there. A light came on in his brain. He suspected he knew what Tom’s plan was...or at least part of it. We’re not going after Andy by ourselves, are we?

Tom grinned. Yes, and no. I hope to persuade Clio to lead them into Crescens and wreak a little havoc on the streets while we use the diversion to find Andy.

That sounds dumber than the first plan you came up with. And you were joking about that one. Still playing me?

He sounded both amused and wounded. Why John, I thought you trusted me! I’m serious about the Bandit Brigade Diversionary Force.

Bandit Brigade Diversionary Force?

It’ll fit on a t-shirt.

John shook his head and grumbled, Fine. If you don’t want to tell me the plan, don’t tell me the plan. I just want to see Clio and Aemilia.

†

They got to the gate without incident, and Tom watched John’s eyes. He wanted to see if John was alert enough to know why they were being watched, and see if he was able to spot how many watchers there were and what kind of protection their friends in the farmhouse had. John dismounted and reached for the latch on the gate. He heard Tom clear his throat and looked at him before pulling it open. What?

See anyone watching us?

John didn’t look away from the gate. Guy on the porch in a chair. One on the right side of the house, probably with a bow, and an arrow knocked if not already drawn. No conversation from inside the house, so I’m assuming they know about us. Did I miss anyone?

Tom’s eyebrows went up and a smirk warmed his face. Nicely done.

They rode through the gate and tied their horses to the rail on the porch. The man in the chair didn’t rise, and didn’t do anything to stop them. Tom nodded to him as he walked by and knocked on the door. It opened. Clio stood in the doorway with no expression on his face at first, then his eyes met Tom’s and his face lit up. He smiled wide enough to show every one of his teeth and looked over Tom’s shoulder at John. The grin widened. Aemilia! he bellowed. Cook something! Our old friends are here!

Cook it yourself, damnit! I’m feedin’ the babies! And last I looked, you don’t have the teats for it!

Did we come at a bad time? Tom asked. He didn’t wince when John jabbed him in the back with his thumb.

There is never a bad time for you to visit. Where’s Andrew? Too busy to pay us a call?

That’s part of why we’re here. Are you going to let us in?

"Aemilia! I kid thee not! Tom and John are here!"

Why in the name of all that is holy and all that ought to be, did you not say so?

Tom was never entirely comfortable with Aemilia’s brash way of doing things. This time was no different. She had one baby on each breast when she barreled down the hall like her hair was on fire, and didn’t hesitate to thrust the babies away from her chest and into her husband’s surprised arms. Naked breasts were the last thing on her mind—and the only things Tom could see—when she threw her arms around his neck and squeezed like she was trying to pop his head off his neck. John was laughing too hard to be any assistance at all.

Chapter Five

When Andy woke up, the light from the windows was brighter and coming from a different angle. He had the impression it was afternoon, but how much after noon he couldn’t tell. His stomach grumbled and he eyed the bread, wondering whether he should risk spoiling his appetite for the tacos he hoped were coming by munching more of the loaf. His spirits were curiously high.

He knew the man named Raj, who helped them fight the sorceress-queens. They would be dead if it wasn’t for his magic. They wouldn’t have been able to get the spices they used on their fried chicken, and wouldn’t have had the restaurant as a cover for their mildly illegal operation: stealing from the guild and giving money to the poor. It was a ripoff of the old Robin Hood story, but the Sextons didn’t know that. He would have been very happy...if he believed for one second that the king who was going to come see him was still their old friend Raj.

He knew different. Raj—good old Raj—was in the throes of some kind of demonic possession, to hear Ketra tell of it. As if he wouldn’t have changed enough or their positions changed enough, that Raj was now Rajahd’een, King of Crescens and ruler of the country that attacked Sexton. His thoughts led him to wonder again why they kept him alive. That Rajahd’een was going to be the first to see him outside of Sarah and the soldiers who captured him was a sign of some kind, but what kind of sign? A knock at the door startled him from his thoughts. He heard the lock rattle before he could draw the breath to make a smartass answer. He got to his feet, feeling silly in silk pajamas, and waited for whoever was coming through the door. If it’s Raj, he thought, he’ll come in alone. If it’s Rajahd’een the King, he won’t. Could it be that simple?

It was. The first man through was dressed in crisp white pants under a long, white-on-white brocaded jacket with a wide red belt around his narrow waist. His teeth looked very white against his dark skin when he smiled. Two shorter men—both, Andy noted, were several inches taller than him—entered behind Raj. They had long curved swords strapped to their waists and wore black vests over their muscled chests with nothing underneath. They took positions on either side of the doorway and stood at attention.

Swell. It’s Rajahd’een the Possessed.

A look passed between them. It only lasted for a second. Their eyes met over the length of the room and neither showed expression on their faces. Andy studied the other man’s eyes and saw nothing in them...including the telltale red glow of a druid at strength. The moment passed. Rajahd’een broke the glance.

Andrew! he said. He threw his arms open and crossed the room. Welcome to Crescens...again! The guards’ eyes were on both men but neither moved. He caught Andy and pulled him close, kissed both cheeks, and held him at arm’s length. Please accept my apologies for the manner in which you were brought here. Had I thought you would come if asked, I would have done so.

Andy took half a step back and made himself smile. Thanks for the feather bed and for sending Ketra. She's a nice lady.

The king laughed. Of course she is! He seemed to think of something. She sent a dish for us to share, one you requested. I think it is a strange way to eat food, but I remember your origins. We will eat together and talk. He clapped his hands twice. The door opened and a man came in pushing a cart covered in white cloth. There were several bowls on the cart, fine ceramic bowls of white with an inlaid design in emerald green. A covered plate sat in the center and two smaller plates were on the side. The man pushing the cart folded his hands together at the waist and bowed to the king. When he received a nod of approval, he left. The guards resumed their position. Shall we dine on these, as you requested? His eyes twinkled. I have eaten each of these foods separately or with other things, but never in this way.

That was all the invitation Andy needed. He scooped the meat and other items onto a piece of bread that looked more like pizza crust than a tortilla, but getting picky wouldn’t stop his stomach rumbles. Rajahd’een watched him and did as he did. They sat next to each other on the bed like a couple of men in a prison cell and ate. It was almost like old times.

Andy