The Archimage Wars: Wizard of Abal

By Philip Blood

Nicolas is a wizard... and he is kind of an ass. Yes, you heard me! Worse, he is so angry he forgets to use the brains the Silent Mother gave him, back when she created this crazy universe. But, as you will eventually discover, there is a reason for Nick’s bad temper and lack of manners. Join this once powerful wizard as he begins a journey of discovery, redemption, and growth that will take him to the craziest places in the universe. However, to begin with, Nick has a problem; a mage stole his memories. Now, as just a regular guy, with wizards and monsters out to do him in, Nick has to relearn how to use his magic, his brains, and get control of his anger, or die. Most importantly, he needs to regain his humanity. To do so, he will go on an epic adventure uncovering deep plots created by the conspirators who ruined his life, all the while becoming a better person.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves! To start with, Nick needs to find out who screwed him over, why they did it, what they are planning, and how to stop them from finishing their evil plot. The issue is that this involves the Archimages who control the ten worlds where magic is real. And if he is going to have a chance, Nick needs relearn how to use magic. The problem is, he does not believe in magic, and Nick is one stubborn bastard. So, will Nick become a better person and, therefore, regain his powers before the people out to kill him finish the job? To find out, join Nick’s adventure in book one, Wizard of Abal which will reach the final conclusion in the tenth book of this strange and amusing series, The Archimage Wars.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Philip Blood
• Release date: May 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311329455

Philip Blood

Philip Blood is a published author currently living in the Los Angeles suburbs. He is an avid scuba diver, a voracious reader of sci-fi and fantasy, a tabletop gamer (from way back), and a computer game junkie with MMOs being the top of his list.Mr. Blood recently finished the third and final novel in his Zone series, this one called Brethren of the Ark and will soon publish book 9 in his urban fantasy series, The Archimage Wars: Warlok of Sheol. Book 1 through 8 are all available now with just one more to come to finish the series. Book 10 will be finished by the end of 2020. In addition, he works on creating Audio Plays for his novels, with five already available and more to come!He also recently went back to his very first fantasy epic series, Cathexis, and did a deep re-write, fixing may of the writing issues of a young author (he wrote it 30 years ago) while leaving the story intact. All four books have been re-written and are now available in ebooks or print versions.Finally, Mr. Blood has begun outlining a new, more traditional, fantasy epic, which he will start writing in 2021. The series is called, Kingdoms of Magic.

Book preview

The Archimage Wars:

Diabolical Book 1

Wizard of Abal

by

Philip Blood

EDITION

Version 3.00

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PUBLISHED BY:

Philip Blood

The Archimage Wars: Wizard of Abal

Copyright © 2016 by Philip Blood

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any short quotes of other Authors, Movies, Writers or Composers works are within the bounds of the Fair Use Act.

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License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, please go to a book seller, and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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Dedication:

I would like to dedicate this book to a special group who are my cousins and/or good friends. They have supported my writing habit, spent countless hours listening to me read parts of the books, or let me talk about my stories incessantly. I am obsessed and they tolerate me. So, this one is for Todd, Cathy, Melissa, Alicia, Lauren, Libby, and Luke. I love you guys!

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Other novels by Philip Blood

SINGLE NOVELS

Dragon Slayer’s Incorporated

SERIES:

NexLord (3) zONE (3)

Dark Prophecies The End and the Beginning

Black Chains Pirate Code

Grim Realities Brethren of the Ark

The Archimage Wars (10) Cathexis (4)

Wizard of Abal Necromancer’s Dagger

Sorceress of Atlantis Conspirator’s Coin

Demon of Annwn Sorcerer’s Ring

Seeress of Yaochi Desecrator’s Sword

Necromancer of Irkalla

Huntress of Tartarus Kingdoms of magic (Forthcoming)

Divinity of Elysium Weapon of Destiny (Forthcoming 2021)

Magus of Nibiru Black Wizardry (Forthcoming 2021)

Warlock of Sheol Doomed Crusade (Forthcoming 2022)

Sibyl of Terra Witch’s Curse (Forthcoming 2022)

Chapter One

All the old paintings on the tombs

They do the sand dance don't you know

-The Bangles

If there is one thing I hate, it is being woken up early, particularly by a wrinkly skinned little bastard with a bad case of body odor. The rancid runt is currently rocking me back and forth by the upper arm for all he is worth. Now let me tell you, being shaken awake is not a good thing when your head is pounding so badly you already feel as if someone is driving a railroad spike into your forehead.

Stop it, I croaked. I am fairly sure I am not a frog, but my voice sure sounds like one at this point, all dry, deep, and raspy. I attempted to pull my arm away from the persistent pygmy, but he has a firm grip and used it to shake me again.

The growl which issued from my cracked lips is truly something out of legend, but the gamy gnome only increased his insistent tugging.

Much to my stomach’s dismay, he leaned his loathsome face in close and spoke. Master, awake! One of the others has sensed your hiding place! We have little time to escape!

Though his body odor is unbelievably foul, it is fine perfume compared to his breath. Where his shaking had not roused me fully, one whiff of that fetid odor caused me to roll away from the awful stench. Unfortunately, this maneuver took me off the four feet high, hard stone slab upon which I had awoken and onto the stone floor in an undignified tumble.

I scrambled to my feet and faced him across the rough stone slab. You hold on right there! I called, holding up a warding hand like a cross against an approaching vampire. The gears of my brain are beginning to turn so I finally looked around at my surroundings. I am in some sort of beige stone chamber, with no obvious exits or furnishings besides the wide stone table.

Now fully awake, my eyes focused and I got a better look at the short sniveling sneak who had shaken me awake. He has a protruding nose which would make Cyrano proud. His large proboscis sticks out like a pickle from smack dab in the middle of a face which has wrinkles crisscrossing wrinkles. He has somewhat yellowed and overly long teeth. He hunches over, further reducing his height, but even standing upright I doubt he tops five feet, yet his arms and shoulders are thick with muscle.

I held up three fingers to make my next points. I want to know three things: Who are you? Who are these 'others' who have discovered me? And where did you get that horrible breath?

He simpered at me, bowing his head a few times without taking his beady black eyes from mine, then he spoke in a deep gravelly voice, I am Pox, master. Don’t you remember your most esteemed servant, Pox? I’m not sure who has discovered you, a Hentan or a Bakemono, perhaps, but I promise you, I am not mistaken; they come for you even now.

Being upright did nothing to halt the man with the hammer and spike who is still pounding on my forehead, if anything he is getting more persistent; it is the headache of all headaches. I am having a hell of a time trying to think around the pounding waves of pain. They come for me, to do what?

To end you, Master, don’t you remember? Pox asked with an inquisitive tilt of his disgusting head.

This is when I realized the truth is, I do not know the truth. Now that I think about it, I know very little. I rubbed at my temples with the pads of my thumbs, perhaps trying to physically push some memory back into place. It did not work. After taking a deep breath I answered him. No, I don’t remember anything. For starters, do you know my name?

He grinned a toothy smile, which I suppose he meant to be friendly, but it looks a little too feral for my tastes. Of course, Master, and soon the Worlds will know your name again! However, we dare not utter it now... not with the others so close! We don’t want them to feel your shadow; already they are closing swiftly enough, and you do not have your protections back yet.

This puzzling newest statement, coupled with my headache and confusion, brought me to one conclusion; I really want to smack the little grinning bastard. Since the stone table is still between us, I settled for yelling at him, Listen, Pox, I better start getting some answers, quickly, or... I paused in my ranting, since I really did not know what to threaten him with, ...or you’ll regret it! I finished, rather lamely.

He nodded, bobbing his long nose up and down as if my threat counts for something. As you will, Master, but first, can we leave this place, before they come? I promise the answers will be forthcoming when you have reached a safer hideaway.

Just tell me this, when you say they come to end me, do you mean they are out to kill me? Now you would think this is a straightforward question answered with either yes, or no; it just goes to prove you should never think.

Pox shook his head vehemently, Oh no, Master, they intend far worse than just your simple death, I’m sure.

My headache pounded with renewed effort.

Pox pulled out a bundle of clothes and pushed them across the stone table to me; there is a set of dark sunglasses and a digital camera on top.

Quickly Master, put on this disguise and we will try to slip out of here before they find you.

I hesitated a moment, but then decided it would not hurt to assume he is telling the truth, at least until such time as I do not have some unknown assailants about to... well, assail me. I pulled off my tan hooded robe and began to put on the clothes before me, while shaking my head slightly in bewilderment. No matter how hard I search the musty corners of my brain I have no memory of how I got here, or who I am, or who is out to... what is worse than killing you? Well, whatever it is I have a feeling I do not want it happening to me.

I buckled the thin black belt noting that I am dressed as the quintessential tourist. Anyone looking at me will see a six-foot-one white male in decent looking shape, about 200 lb., black hair, wearing a flowery button up short sleeve shirt, plaid Bermuda shorts, white socks, Reebok athletic shoes, a pair of black sunglasses and a camera hanging down from my neck. All I need is a droopy little hat to look completely ridiculous.

Here is your hat, Master, the reeking runt added, pushing a hideous circular hat, of the tourist persuasion, my way. I could not help but check for embedded fishing lures in the brim, surprisingly it is unadorned.

Oh joy, I answered dryly, but reluctantly put on the dumpy hat. One of Pox's statements is still bothering me. OK, several, but one thing has my attention, my continued health. I decided asking for clarification is important enough to risk another confusing answer from Pox.

What is worse than death? I asked, speaking to his back.

This is because he is currently facing away from me. His big pointed left ear is pressed up against one of the beige stones which serves as the walls of the chamber.

They will end your line and bring your soul back as a puppet to do their will, he answered, then pushed a small stone in the wall which moved in a fraction of an inch. Almost instantly, I felt a vibration in the stone floor and saw light stream into the chamber as a large stone cranked upwards making an opening in one of the walls. Just outside, another stone passage runs to the left and right.

End my line, I muttered and then added, what line?

No time, Master, we can discuss your line when you are safe.

Pox scampered over to the gas lantern, which had been illuminating our chamber, and shut it off. In the passage outside, I can see glowing lights mounted along the walls.

Quickly, Master, you must go before someone comes and senses you!

I sighed and thought, Didn’t he mean ‘see me’? But I went ahead and walked out of the chamber into the hall.

Your bus ticket and room reservation are in your pocket. Summon me when you reach the Novotel Luxor Hotel. Your room is under the name written on the reservation. Take the north passage.

I reached into my front pockets and found a piece of paper in the right one. I pulled it out and finally found my first name, Nick. It rang no bells in my head.

Right then, I heard the heavy grating sound of the stone lowering back into place. I looked up and found myself alone in the hallway; Pox is gone. I ducked under the slowly lowering stone, back into the original chamber, but it is now empty and there is no sign of Pox anywhere. I ducked back out, under the half-closed stone, into the hallway.

I cannot say I am unhappy to be rid of the noxious midget, but then again now I am completely alone. Just my empty skull and me and a fine pair we make. Well, there is only one thing to do... find out what should be up there and put it back! First order of business, where am I?

My sense of direction tells me the hallway runs north and south. Do not ask me how I know, but I do. So, I chose north, then immediately went south, just to be unpredictable. Besides, I do not want to do everything the dinky dork told me; how do I really know I can trust him? I mean, would you trust anyone with a nose that long? For all I know he is a very ugly version of Pinocchio and, if so, based on the size of his nose, he told me some big lies.

South seems to be a good choice as I soon heard voices ahead. I eventually came to an outside courtyard, where there are many large pillars, and I found I am in some ruins. It is nighttime, though the area is well lit with lights to show off the various features. There are twenty, or so, people gathered around and listening to a thin, brown-skinned man. He is gesturing around the large area, here and there, at various old markings on the pillars. I recognize the markings as Egyptian hieroglyphics.

I immediately noticed my clothing will act as excellent camouflage in these surroundings; I am hip deep in tourists.

The guide pointed to one row of markings and explained them to the surrounding tourists, speaking in heavily accented English. "And here, above the depictions of the Pharaohs and the god Amun-Ra, we see hieroglyphic writing which states, ‘To you I have given millions of jubilees and years of eternity.’

I scanned the ancient writing and wonder what the hell the Tour Guide is feeding these folks. The symbols clearly say, By my blood you are given immortality.

More interesting than the guide's misinterpretation of the hieroglyphics is my ability to read them, easily! I scanned the surrounding pillars quickly and found I can read everything in the chamber. Now, what does this mean?

Let’s see; I am some 3,000-year-old Pharaoh risen from the dead? Fat chance, since I understand what the guide is saying to the group of tourists, it is obvious I speak English, fluently. OK, so I am some professor of ancient Egypt who was knocked on the head and lost his marbles while working in some newly discovered tomb? Of course, that does not explain Pox. Come to think of it, Pox and I had not been speaking English together; we had been speaking in Yosin. Now where does that language come from? I have no clue.

Now this is interesting... one of the tourists, a tall heavy-set man in a cloak which is obviously too warm for this hot evening, has a strange tattoo on his left cheek in the shape of a dagger through a heart. Now tattoos are not all that strange, though one on the face is rare, but this one is remarkable because it seems more vibrant than a tattoo and it is slightly etched into the skin rather than inked; it is very striking. So, not a tattoo; then I had a name for it, a Glyph. I noticed the man with the Glyph is watching me as well.

Visions of assassins out to get me came to mind. I can hear Pox’s raspy voice in my head, They come for you.

I considered making a break for it, but I can see the Glyph marked man watching me. If I leave now, I will enter one of the empty areas where he can do whatever he means to do to me. I decided to stay with the main group of tourists and wait for a better opportunity to lose the Glyph marked gorilla.

The guide finished his misinformed spiel and moved the group off through an opening to the East; I followed, keeping my distance from my watcher. We passed down a hall as the guide pointed out things of interest to the camera snapping tourist pack. I tried to blend in, even taking my camera and snapping a few shots of various doodles on the walls.

Eventually, he turned us into one of the open archways and we entered an enclosed area. Just before we went in, we passed a stoic-faced statue of the Egyptian god, Amun-Ra, somewhat worse for wear.

My mind was off the cloaked man briefly as I entered the chamber, so I did not notice when he suddenly stepped behind the big statue and pushed.

He did not aim it at me, mind you; I was well past it and into the chamber, already, when he started his vandalism.

Now, given his size, compared to the massive statue, it should never have moved, but he seemed to have little trouble pushing over the solid stone statue. I would have really been impressed with his strength, if I had not been busy being shocked by the crash, as the large statue smashed itself to pieces on the ground. One large piece, the upper shoulders and head of old Amun-Ra, came tumbling in through the wide opening into the chamber, crushing one unlucky man and knocking over three more. The rest of the fallen statue now effectively blocks easy exit from the chamber.

The man who had done the vandalism vaulted up onto the fallen statue and then dropped down into the chamber.

Women are screaming and a few people are rushing to the scene of the crushed tourist. In utter shock, the little Egyptian guide is attempting to pop his eyes out of his face and nearly succeeding. Forgetting his English, he yelled in Egyptian, You fool! What have you done! That was an irreplaceable artifact! I’ll...

I will never know what the guide was about to do because the cloaked man acted first, his arm swept up holding a compact UZI machine gun.

I did what any hero would do; I dove for cover behind the four-foot-high section of stone statue and covered my head.

The gun went off in a burst of noise which shattered nerves and bullets which shattered bodies. People started screaming.

I risked a peek around the end of Amun’s big stone head, which is currently concealing me, and saw the cloaked man calmly mowing down the tourists.

A woman, in a bright sundress, ran for the blocked door. The man with the gun stitched a line of red holes up her back. Her dying body fell forward onto the broken rubble of the fallen statue.

A brave man tried to dive at the killer, but the UZI wielding man grabbed him by the shirt front, with his left hand, stopping the hero dead in his tracks. With a contemptuous sneer, he swiveled the gun around and shot the brave man in the head, before dropping the now limp body.

It was over in seconds.

Two other people, a man and a woman, are hiding behind the big section of the statue with me. When the shooting stopped, I looked at the other survivors. The man is older; around sixty I would guess. His wife is sobbing and looking hysterical. He looked at me and signaled for me to go around one end while he took the other. I nodded, it is a plan, and any plan is better than being shot down like trapped animals.

We waited until we heard the killer’s footsteps. Depending on which way he came, either the man with gray hair, or I, will have to face him while the other tries to come around from behind, using the statue as cover. I lost the bet, and the bastard came my way. I nodded to the other man and prepared to be the diversion. When the crying woman’s husband slipped around his end, I made my move, standing and charging the gunman who is approaching.

I tried to reach him in a dive, meant to take me under the lethal fire from his gun, and tackle him around the knees. It would have been nice, if it worked, but with a quick leap to the side, he managed to make me miss. I rolled to my feet, in a crouch, expecting to feel the pounding force of bullets hitting my chest. Instead, the killer turned slightly and shot the older man, before he could complete his attack from behind. The force of the bullets jerked his body and he crumbled to the ground near the end of the statue, landing in a still heap.

The woman screamed as her husband's body came to rest nearby. She crawled out toward him and the killer, dispassionately, shot her with a short burst from the Uzi. When his attention returned to me, I saw the first sign of emotion on his face, he smiled and spoke with a satisfied grin, Now we are alone, at last.

There I stand, not knowing where to run... exposed, defenseless. Maybe I should have tried to charge him again and gone down like a man but truth-be-told, I froze in my tracks. I stared at the dark opening at the end of the gun barrel; it looks like some vicious snake ready to strike. Strewn around me are twisted bodies which had been living breathing people seconds before, but are now just slaughtered corpses, soaking the old stones with new blood.

Anger at the wasted lives gave me sudden courage and I snarled, Well, asshole?

Surprisingly, he just smiled again and tossed the UZI into a corner of the room, next to the bodies of the elderly couple. Then he spoke conversationally, My name is Stewart Hentan, Second. Whom do I have the pleasure of ending today?

I played for time. Why should I tell you? I asked.

He frowned at my question. Fine, Sivaeral, if you wish to go to your end, nameless, that is your affair, but it won’t stop me from severing your line. I do prefer my trophies to have a full name... so if you don’t mind? After all, I have been polite enough to tell you my name and lineage.

So, is Sivaeral my last name? I have no time to ponder that, so I replied, You call this murder polite! I gestured to the poor dead tourists around us.

Mundanes… they mean nothing, and you know it. Now, for the last time, do you wish to end with some honor and dignity or just be slaughtered like these sheep?

Screw you and the horse you rode in on, Jack, I answered. I am eyeing the UZI with my peripheral vision; it is nearly as close to me as it is to this Stewart Hentan.

The killer scowled but pulled out a knife with a nasty curved blade, of about twelve inches, the gleaming blade is polished to a bright gleam. So be it, die nameless. I will mount your head on a placard, at my estate, to show until one of us recognizes you. Then I’ll make your House the laughingstock of the Ten Worlds.

I feinted left then dove right... toward the UZI. I figure he will race me for it, but he just shifted his footing and swiveled to face me as I came up with the wicked machine gun leveled at his chest.

Now who’s laughing, you ugly bastard, I said with a wicked grin.

You would dare insult me? he said, thunderclouds brewing as his eyebrows came down until they nearly met in the middle of his face.

You think that was an insult, you sniveling excuse for chicken droppings? I’ve met roadkill which looked better than your face, you rat nosed, murdering coward!

I shall erase your line from history! he snarled.

I shrugged, Whatever, Barf Breath, now, back away, or I’ll stitch you a new seam with this UZI.

He shook his head sadly. I do not know who you are, but your education has been lax. Your brethren should have taught you better than to threaten a Second, especially after insulting them.

He took a step toward me, lifting his shining blade a little higher.

I had a moment of fear as I realized the UZI must be empty! He must have known this when he tossed it aside, what a fool I have been! I pulled the trigger, anyway, just to make sure.

The report of the automatic firing shocked the hell out of me. It climbed to the left with the natural pull of the gun firing on fully automatic, but I compensated, sending the stream of bullets into his chest. I realize, somewhere in the past, I have learned to use automatics.

I stopped firing, knowing short, controlled bursts are more accurate.

Damn it to hell, Stewart is still approaching, without so much as a scratch on his big chest. A bullet proof vest? But no, his clothes are also untouched by the bullets. I must have missed.

I aimed more carefully and stepped back, then I fired another burst. This time, I know I did not miss, yet he is unperturbed, maybe these are blanks? But this makes no sense; I had seen him mow down a lot of tourists with this gun.

He kept coming and his knife looks very wide and lethal.

I considered panicking as my next option.

I looked past his shoulder for an avenue of escape and saw the blocked opening, the way is open above the fallen statue, but you will have to scramble over first.

Unfortunately, it is too far to jump. I considered launching off the head of Amun-Ra, but it looks like an impossible distance to leap. On the other hand, I reasoned, what do I have to lose?

I shifted my aim to his face and let fly with the UZI, aiming for his eyes. I figure if it works, he will be dead. However, if he still does not get hit by the bullets, maybe it will mess up his vision somehow. I fired and ran past him. At the last second, he seemed to see me and lunged with the knife. As I flew by, I felt a ripping of cloth go in along my side and then slice down across my ribs.

I took a running bound to the top of the statue’s head, then a second step up onto his shoulder, and then I leaped for the high top of the arched opening of the exit from the chamber. Incredibly, my leap took me all the way up to the opening and I managed to land, and then drop down on the other side.

I heard a bellow from the room behind me. Coward, you run from a fight! I will hunt you down no matter where you hide.

I dropped to the floor and ran for the outer courtyard full of pillars; I figure my assailant may try the same leap and come after me.

I heard someone scrambling over the stones back in the chamber, so I tried for even more speed out of my legs.

There is blood soaking into the material of my flowery shirt from the long, but thankfully, shallow cut running across my ribs. I ran through hall after hall and finally found the exit. Outside I spotted a tourist bus waiting nearby. I am oblivious to my surroundings, I just want out of here, so I ran onto the bus and found the driver lounging in one of the seats.

Quickly, there are terrorists killing everyone inside! We must get to the police. They’re coming to take the bus next! I yelled in Egyptian.

The man saw the blood soaking the side of my tourist clothes and after gaping for a moment he leaped to his feet. The driver looked out the window toward the ruins just in time to see Stewart Hentan come running out, still clutching the large wicked looking knife in his hand.

The bus driver cursed something about some deity’s hairy balls then leaped into the driver’s seat and dropped the bus into gear. We lurched away leaving a billowing cloud of dust trailing behind.

I looked back as Stewart stopped and watched us depart and then I finally noticed the great Egyptian Temple of Karnak, lit up against the dark sky behind him.

Chapter Two

Little old lady got mutilated late last night.

Werewolves of London again.

-Warren Zevon

Now that I have time to contemplate the impossibilities and madness, which I have just witnessed, I started seriously considering my sanity. To put it plainly, it is quite possible I am bonkers. After a few more minutes to think, which is not easy when your head is pounding like a pile driver, I decided to withhold judgment of my sanity until later. Why? Easy, no one wants to think they are one sandwich short of a full picnic.

This left me with the decision of what to do next. I reached into my pocket for the piece of paper the puny pigmy had given me. Upon opening the paper, I discovered a hotel room key taped to the reservation slip. All right, since I do not have any other pressing dates, I decided to head for the hotel. I checked the other pockets of my ugly shorts and discovered a wad of cash, 350 Egyptian pounds.

First things first, though, I need to ditch this bus driver before I became mired up with the Egyptian police. They will ask me many questions, which I do not have any answers to, and then probably lock me up for a few months to see if that helps me remember.

I waited until we entered the busy portion of the city, then I suddenly pointed into a thick group of people at a marketplace. Stop the bus! There are the police!

He laid on the brakes as if there is a mother and baby carriage in front of the bus and I nearly pitched out the front windshield. Luckily, I managed to grab one of the seats and hold on, though it hurt my wounded side.

He popped open the door and started to get up, but I gestured for him to stay in his seat. I’ll get them; you mind the bus.

The panicky driver nodded with wide eyes and gripped his steering wheel tighter. I jumped out and moved back into the blind spot in his side mirrors, then quickly faded into the crowd. I wonder how long he will wait, but there is no telling.

I stopped in a shop and bought a new shirt and some soft cloth. They have a changing booth, so I went in and took off my old shirt and used it to wipe off some of the blood from around the wound. It is in better shape than I expected; the initial pain had made it seem worse. I used the cloth I just bought as a kind of blotter against my side and put the new shirt on over it to hold the cloth in place. This left a bit of a bulge on my side, but on the other hand, at least I am not walking around like a bloody mess anymore. I happily tossed the ugly tourist hat and camera into the garbage can along with the bloody shirt and went out to pay.

Outside the shop, I navigated through a couple alleyways to another street and hailed a Taxi. As a diversionary tactic, I asked the driver to take me to the bus station; this way if the police check with the cab drivers who had taken fares in the area, they will think I took a bus instead of going to a hotel. I paid the taxi driver from the dwindling cash in my pocket, then once he was out of sight, I took another cab and this time I asked for the Novotel Luxor Hotel.

I found my room on the 4th floor and entered cautiously, but I am alone. There is no sign of Pox. I checked the closet and found clothes which seem tailor-made for me. There are suits, casual ensembles, even a tuxedo. In the drawers I found other amenities. Some cautious side of me located the suitcase at the bottom of the closet and I found myself packing everything. In the drawer, next to the bed, I found a leather satchel with a shoulder strap. Inside I found a passport, American, a wallet with credit cards and cash, this time quite a sum. I found that all the documents are in the name of Nick Sivaeral. Interestingly, there are pictures of me on the driver’s license and on the passport. Both show me with a sly smile, dark eyes peering out with that look of someone who knows more than you do and revels in it. I wish I felt half as cocky as the guy looked in those photos. I must have known what the hell was going on in the world when those pictures were taken.

I went to the mirror and gasped. I have one of those colored Glyph tattoos on my left cheek, though mine is a type of shelled crustacean. I thought about it and came up with a word, it is like a nautilus shell. I looked back at the photos, but the glyph does not show on my cheek in the pictures. I figure I must have gotten the mark after these pictures were taken. The pictures are of me, and I do not seem to have aged any since these were taken, I still look around thirty or so. According to the passport, I am thirty-three.

I decided to take a quick shower and clean my wounded side. Before removing my shirt, I called the Bell Captain and had him send up a boy. I negotiated with him and he went off on his errand to buy some first aid supplies for me so I can bandage myself properly after my shower. I removed my shirt and under the dried blood I can see the long slice mark already healed to a puckered looking scar. I only have a scar two hours after being wounded? I know of no one who heals this quickly. Then I noticed the ring on my left hand, ring finger. It is mainly gold, but there are also some copper and silver colors. The shape is a simple circle, without a stone, but it has an intricately designed set of small rectangles going all the way around, each one silver, copper, or gold colored, like a little wall of metal bricks. I do not remember putting it on when Pox gave me my clothes, so I must assume it belongs to me. I left it on.

After my shower, I put on a pair of black slacks, a dark blue