Wings Over Talera - Charles Allen Gramlich [4]
Four figures stood before me, hooded and cloaked against the cold. All were human, though one bore the yellow eyes and green skin of a Llurn, of that people who call themselves Nakscherii. One was bearded; one was tall; one was broad; one was a woman. It was the last that I watched.
Rannon Jystral came forward across the snow and put herself into my arms. I held her tightly for a moment before kissing her. Valyan Tiersal—the Llurn—joined us, coming up to place a firm hand on my shoulder. I smiled at him as I clasped Rannon’s slender form. The broad figure was Kreeg, once a gladiator, a rahnvin slave of the Klar. He nodded, shaved head bobbing once on a bull neck, but did not speak. His presence said enough.
The last of the four, with a face heavy and bearded, was a man named Tovaris. It was he who had opened the gate between Earth and Talera. From the stone wheel where I had stood he took up the toir’in-or, the milky jewel that held the power of the sphere gates inside it. He then turned and left the rest of us alone.
“Heril?” I asked, somewhat worried. I had expected the Koro warrior, perhaps my closest friend on Talera, to be here.
“His father,” Valyan replied, knowing my unspoken concerns.
“I am sorry,” I said.
“Heril swore he would return when matters were settled. That may not be soon, though. The Rolvfsherns are an important family among the Koro. His father was a leader among them.”
“If word can be sent then I would like to send it,” I said.
“I will see it done,” Rannon said. “Our ships trade with Korosphal regularly now.”
“And my brother?” I asked. “Bryce?”
“Nothing has been heard,” Rannon answered. “But the word is spread and many are searching. For your cousin, Eric, as well. Or any sign of others from your Earth.”
“Good,” I said.
“And now we drink, yes?” Kreeg asked.
“And now we drink,” I agreed.
It was only a short walk to the hunting lodge of Hurnan Jystral, father of Rannon and Emperor of Nyshphal. Other friends awaited us there, and for refreshments there were wines of Thresh and the Starkayan Islands, cheeses and meats from Pangala and northern Nyshphal, and—as always—rich verhlis tea by the flagon.
I drank and ate heartily. It seemed long that I had been away from decent food after the processed chicken and processed beef of the new Earth. It was good to bite into a terval steak and feel the juices bursting ripe into the mouth. It was good to have wine in brass goblets. And after the food there was good talk of many things, with Rannon always there beside me.
In the evening I forced my muscles to recall the sword while fencing with Valyan. After that I slept, as if that, too, I had been long without. I awoke refreshed in the very early morning, well before the dawn, and dressed myself in the clothes of two worlds. I pulled on the jeans I’d worn from Earth, and gray wool socks that were covered with soft boots of stugah hide. I slid on a shirt of green Starkayan silk that lay open at the throat, and tucked it into the jeans.
A heavy belt of Taleran make went around my waist, and stitched to it were the heavy steel hooks upon which I hung my scabbarded sword, the same sword I’d left behind on Talera so many days before. I drew the blade out and held it to the ceiling where the glassine light of the night lanterns burst along it. The glistening died when again the sword was sheathed.
It was early enough so that only the cook was awake, and he busy at laying a fire for the heating of the morning tea. I nodded to him and went out, striding through the chill and the low drifts of snow that lay on the ground.