JIMMY GRIMACED.
He had one good night’s sleep, in Owen Greylock’s camp, then had spent the next five days in the saddle, tiring out a string of relay horses. He and the Knight-Marshal of Krondor rode as quickly as possible to Darkmoor, where Prince Patrick’s court was established.
Now he stood outside Patrick’s quarters, having ridden in just before dawn. He waited along with other courtiers, while the Prince was dressing for the day’s court, and thanked all the gods he could think of that at least here an ample supply of Keshian coffee was still to be found. Tsurani chocha was a reasonable substitute, but nothing kept him going like a hot mug of coffee, cut with a tiny bit of honey.
“James!” said a familiar feminine voice from behind, and Jimmy was suddenly wide awake. He turned to see a young woman approaching.
“Francie?” he asked in astonishment.
In a serious breach of court protocol, the girl threw her arms around Jimmy’s neck, and said, “It’s been years!”
Jimmy hugged the girl back. He then stepped back and regarded her. “You’re all grown up,” he said, admiring that fact. She was a tall girl, slender yet muscular in his embrace, as if she had spent a great deal of time outdoors in vigorous physical activity. Her face was lacking the usual cosmetics of the women of court; sun freckles lightly brushed her cheeks and nose. Her hair, usually a light brown, was lavishly streaked with blond highlights. She wore a very mannish vest and trousers, white shirt, and riding boots.
“I was just coming back from an early morning ride with Father and saw you standing here. Let me go change and put on something more appropriate. Where can I find you?”
As the Prince’s door opened, Jimmy said, “Wherever His Highness puts me, but most likely in the officers’ mess.”
She nodded. “I’ll find you.” Kissing him lightly on the cheek, she dashed off, and Jimmy was forced to admire the way she moved.
Owen, who had stood silently next to Jimmy throughout the exchange, said, “And that would be …?”
“The Duke of Silden’s daughter, Francine. She used to play with Dash and me when we lived in Rillanon and business would bring Lord Brian to court. She’s Dash’s age, and last time I saw her she was just a skinny kid. She had a terrible crush on me for the longest time.”
“Ah,” was all Owen said, as the Prince’s page appeared.
The page saw Greylock, and said, “Marshal Greylock, His Highness will see you first.”
Owen motioned for Jimmy to follow him, and they entered Patrick’s quarters.
The Prince remained seated behind his desk, cluttered with papers and a small silver tray with hot rolls and a pot of coffee. Duke Arutha sat quietly at the left end of the desk. He looked at his son and smiled. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you. Dash?”
Jimmy shook his head. “He’s out there somewhere.” Arutha’s smile faded.
Patrick finished a mouthful of roll and said, “What news of Krondor?”
Owen said, “Jimmy brings a message from General Duko.”
Patrick asked, “From General Duko?”
Jimmy said, “The invaders are having a falling-out, it seems.” He outlined what Duko had told him of his suspicions regarding Fadawah and Nordan, and finished up with, “So the General has a proposal to keep himself and his men from being sacrificed and return Krondor to Your Highness without bloodshed.”
Patrick’s face was an unreadable mask. Jimmy could see the Prince already could sense where this was going. “Go on,” said the Prince of Krondor.
“Duko sees no point in returning to Novindus. The continent is a waste after ten years of warfare, and …” Jimmy paused.
“Go on,” repeated Patrick.
“He sees something special in our idea of a nation, Highness. He wishes to belong to something larger than himself. He proposes to return Krondor to Your Highness, and to swear fealty to the crown. He will turn his army northward, and march against Nordan up in Sarth.”
Patrick’s color started to rise. “Swear fealty!” He leaned forward. “And perhaps he wishes to be named Duke of Krondor in place of your father, as well?”
Jimmy attempted to keep it light. “Nothing so grand, Highness. A Barony, perhaps.”
“Barony!” Patrick exploded, slamming his hand on the table, upsetting the coffeepot and spilling the hot liquid over the rolls and across a dozen parchments. The page standing nearby sprang to clean up the mess while the Prince stood up. “The murdering dog has the effrontery to seize my city then hold me up for a Barony to give it back! The thief has no lack of gall.” He looked at Owen and Arutha. “Is there any reason I shouldn’t order the army into the field and simply hang the bastard after we retake Krondor?”
Arutha said, “There are several reasons, Highness.”
Patrick looked at him. “They are?”
“By making a bargain with Duko, we take the enemy’s forces and reduce them by a third. We increase our forces by that much. We save the lives of countless men. We then have an advance unit to throw at Sarth, and we free up men needed to reinforce the southern marches, holding Kesh at bay.” Arutha seemed reluctant to continue, but finished by saying, “If Duko is being forthright and this isn’t some sort of elaborate ruse, it’s too good an opportunity to pass up.”
“Invade my realm, steal my city, destroy my citizens’ lives and property, then turn around and extort a patent of office from my father, and it’s ‘too good an opportunity to pass up'?” Patrick looked at Arutha, and shouted, “Are you bereft of all reason, my lord?”
Jimmy stiffened in anger at his father being addressed in such a way, but said nothing. Arutha, showing the patience of a parent faced with a child throwing a tantrum, said, “I am reasoning very well, Highness.” Then, in the tone a schoolmaster used with a student, he calmly said, “Sit down, Patrick.”
Prince of the Western Realm or not, Arutha had been one of Patrick’s tutors, and old habits were hard to break. He sat behind his desk, looking daggers at Arutha, but remaining silent.
“You must think like a Prince. No matter what else you do with the invaders, you must also deal with Kesh. They are only restraining themselves because the magicians at Stardock are as likely to destroy their forces as they are ours should either side not abide by the present truce. The only way you can deal with Great Kesh is from a position of strength.
“You must reclaim Yabon. To do that you must clear the Western Realm west of the Calastius Mountains, and to do that you have to take Sarth. If you are forced to fight for Krondor, you will not be able to launch a campaign against Sarth until the middle of summer, at the soonest!” Arutha’s temper was also rising, but he did a masterful job of keeping his tone under control. “If you have any sort of protracted campaign against Sarth, that means a winter campaign against Ylith or holding off until the following year. By then LaMut will have fallen. If you give Fadawah another winter to consolidate his holdings, we may never regain the North!” He lowered his voice. “Fadawah has already bribed key officials in the Free Cities. They’re trading with him from all reports. In three months, his army will be better provisioned than our own. He’s also making overtures to the Quegans, who are likely to listen, given how badly they were treated during the invasion.” He glanced at Owen.
Greylock said, “Taking Ylith is going to require naval support, Highness. If Fadawah is as clever as he seems, he’ll have Quegan ships anchored in the harbor by the time we get there, and that would mean another war with Queg.”
Patrick looked as if he was frustrated to the point of tears. But he kept his voice and anger under control as he said, “So you’re telling me unless I make a bargain with this murderous scum I may be fighting a three-front war I can’t win?”
Arutha sighed loudly. “That’s exactly what we’re telling you. Highness.”
Patrick’s fury was barely held in check. He was intelligent enough to know that Arutha was right, but angry enough to be unwilling to admit it. “There must be another way.”
“Yes,” said Owen. “You can march to the walls of Krondor, through the assembled mercenaries camped outside, swarm the city and fight house to house for a week, then spend another month licking your wounds and getting ready to march north.”
Patrick seemed to lose his anger. “Damn,” was all he said. For a long moment, he was silent, then one more time he said, “Damn.”
Arutha said, “Patrick, you can’t reject this offer. An invading general is seeking to make a separate peace with us, and only the King can reject that offer. Do you want to guess that your father will say no? He’ll ratify any deal you and I strike with Duko, that much I know. All we need are some assurances that this isn’t a trick of Fadawah’s.”
Jimmy said, “Highness, I only spent a few days with the man, but I think him sincere. There’s a …” He paused, searching for the right words to describe what he saw in Duko.
“Say on,” prompted Patrick.
“There’s something in the man, a hope. He’s tired of the killing, the endless conquest. He told me of the time when he discovered the evil that possessed the Emerald Queen, when she created her Immortals, her Death Guard, the men who surrounded her and who willingly died for her, one each night, so that she might keep intact her death magic. By then any man who showed the slightest hesitation was destroyed, common soldier or general, it didn’t matter. That was demonstrated early in the campaign when some captains tried a revolt, and all were impaled, with the bulk of her army forced to march by the men while they still twitched as they died. After the fall of Maharta, General Gapi was staked out over an anthill for letting Captain Calis and his men escape. That showed no one, no matter what rank, was safe from her wrath. Companies were instructed to watch other companies, so no one knew who could be trusted not to report if even a hint of defiance was suspected.
“Duko spent the winter talking to Kingdom prisoners, soldiers and commoners, some officers from the garrisons down at Land’s End and up at Sarth. He’s fascinated by our way of living, our government, our Great Freedom, and he thinks it a wondrous thing, our idea of nation. He was trapped, a prisoner, and jailer of every other prisoner in the army.” Jimmy took a deep breath, and said, “I think he wants to be part of something bigger, something that will live on after his death and something about which he can feel giving his life might be worthwhile.”
Arutha said, “And he’s been betrayed by his own commander. He may be exactly what he says he is.”
“I want reassurances,” said Patrick sharply. “I want whatever guarantees you can dream up to convince me I should bring this murdering butcher into our nobility.”
Owen laughed.
“Is there something funny in this, Lord Greylock?” asked the Prince.
“Only that I imagine an ancestor of yours may have said exactly the same thing about the first Baron to live in this castle,” said Greylock, smiling.
Patrick paused, then sighed. After a moment, he chuckled. “One of my teachers told me the King of Rillanon had drunk himself into near insensibility over the need to accept Bas-Tyra into his service, rather than hang him from the walls of his city.”
“Many of our most noble lords had ancestors who were nothing more than enemies we chose not to hang, Highness,” said Arutha.
“Well,” said Patrick, “we have no shortage of openings for nobles in the West. Where shall we place ‘Lord’ Duko?”
Arutha said, “There are several Earldoms, a score of Baronies, and one Duchy in need of new nobles.”
Owen said, “We need a Duke of the Southern Marches.”
Patrick looked at James. “What do you think of throwing that rabble in Krondor at the Keshians?”
Jimmy said, “Highness, I hesitate to advise …”
Patrick looked sharply at Jimmy. “Don’t get modest on me at this late date, James. You’d be the first in your family in three generations and I wouldn’t believe it anyway.”
James smiled. “If you move Duko and his men down into the Sutherlands, between Shandon Bay and Land’s End, you could move those soldiers up into Krondor and still keep a presence along the border to the southwest. We can assume there are Keshian agents all over who are keeping the Emperor’s generals up on our dispositions by the minute. You could then turn at Krondor and move straight up to take Sarth, before Nordan gets dug in.”
Patrick looked at Owen. “Greylock, you’re Knight-Marshal of Krondor. What do you think of young James’s thesis?”
Owen knew exactly what he thought of it; he had been discussing this plan with Jimmy the entire journey from his headquarters camp to Darkmoor. “It’s risky, Highness, but far less risky than trapping Duko between our army and Nordan’s and making his men fight for their lives. And if we move them down to face Kesh, we don’t have to worry about Duko’s men facing their former comrades, or any spies Fadawah might have in their ranks. Besides, half the men living in the Vale of Dreams are mercenaries, fighting for us or against us at whim; Duko may be exactly the man to rule such as those.” He paused, as if thinking about his next statement, which had been rehearsed in his mind many times already. “If we continue to dredge the harbor, and get the city back into a semblance of order in the next month, we can drive on to Sarth in six weeks. That would put us six weeks ahead of schedule. We could be at the gates of Ylith before the fall rains come.”
Patrick said, “I’ll prepare messages for my father. If I can’t give the murderous bastard to the hangman, I’ll give him to the Keshians. We’ll need to send a message to welcome our newest Duke into the ‘family’, and let him know to prepare for a mobilization of his men.”
James rose, and said, “If Your Highness will excuse me?”
Patrick waved him away, and Arutha rose. “If I may be excused for a few minutes to speak with my son?”
Patrick nodded and turned to his page. “Have a scribe come here at once.”
Arutha led his son out to the waiting room and moved away from the others gathered to await the Prince’s pleasure. Softly, so as not to be overhead, he said, “What of Dash?”
“We were separated. Malar and I—”
“Who’s Malar?” interrupted Arutha.
“A servant from the Vale of Dreams we encountered. His caravan was attacked and he survived in the wilderness for a month or more.”
“Malar,” said Arutha. “That name’s familiar.”
“Malar Enares,” Jimmy supplied. “That’s his full name.”
“Yes, it’s familiar, but I can’t place it.”
“I don’t know why you’d know it, Father. His master was an important merchant, perhaps that’s where you know it from.”
Arutha said, “Most of my records are still in boxes from when we evacuated Krondor. Normally, I’d have my clerk look for that name. If I still had a clerk.”
Jimmy said, “Well, if you recognize the name, he’s more than he seems to be. I’ll keep an eye on him if he’s still around when I get back to Krondor.”
Arutha put his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “Do that. Rest now and be ready to leave in a day or two. Patrick should have something to send to Duko in two days at the outside. We’ll need some sort of ceremony and pomp, a formal surrender and an investiture of office. I wish old Jerome was still alive.”
Jimmy grinned. “Grandfather never got along with him.”
“No, but he was as good a Master of Ceremony as I’ve ever known. If you needed the proper welcoming ceremony for a creature from the lower hells, he could find it for you and have it ready on short notice.”
Jimmy said, “I think a meal and a nap will do for me right now.”
“By the way,” said Arutha, “Lord Silden is here. He brought Francine with him.”
“I saw her, just before I went in to see you and the Prince. She was coming in from a morning ride. She’s grown up.”
“I remember you used to think her a pest when you were children in Rillanon. Does she still want to marry you?”
Jimmy laughed. “Only if I’m lucky. I’m having the midday meal with her if I can stay awake.”
Arutha smiled. “You’ll manage.” Then his manner turned somber. “I just wish we had some word about your brother.”
Jimmy nodded. “Me too.”
Arutha squeezed his elder son’s shoulder briefly, then returned to the Prince’s office. Jimmy thought about lunch with Francie and decided he wasn’t as tired as he had been before. He decided he might wander down to the guard captain’s office to see if any reports from the West had come in since the night before. He might be lucky and hear something of Dash.
Pug moved through the door of the “temple,” finding it empty. From behind the converted warehouse he could hear the sounds of shouts and children laughing. He hurried through the empty building, past a makeshift altar, through a kitchen area, and into the work yard attached to the old warehouse.
Nakor squatted near a child who was blowing bubbles with soapy water. Other children chased and grabbed at the bubbles, but the former gambler stared intently at a bubble being formed on the end of the little boy’s pipe. It expanded, as Nakor said, “Slowly, slowly.”
Then, as it reached the size of a melon, the little boy gave in to the impulse to blow hard, and it popped as a stream of tiny bubbles surged from the tip of the pipe. The other children in the yard erupted in laughter, shrieking with delight as the bubbles sailed away on the afternoon breeze.
Pug laughed and Nakor turned. At seeing the magician, Nakor’s face split into a wide grin. “Pug, what wondrous timing!”
Pug approached and they shook hands. “Why?”
“The bubble. A thought came to me while watching these children and I needed to ask you something.”
“What?”
“That story you told me, of when you, Tomas, and Macros went back to the dawn of time, remember?”
“I could hardly forget that,” replied Pug.
“You said there was this gigantic explosion that launched the universe outward, didn’t you?”
“I don’t know if I put it exactly like that, but yes, that’s basically what happened.”
Nakor laughed and did a tiny dance for a minute. “I have it!”
“Have what?”
“I have been wrestling with a thought since you told me that story, years ago. Now I think I understand something. Watch the boy as he blows a bubble.” He turned to the boy. “Charles, again, please.”
The boy obliged by blowing a single large bubble. “Watch it expand!” insisted Nakor. “See how it grows larger!”
“Yes,” said Pug. “What is the point?”
“It’s a drop of soapy water, but you force air inside, and it grows! It gets bigger, but the content of the water droplet is the same. Don’t you see?”
“What?” asked Pug, genuinely perplexed at Nakor’s latest revelation.
“The universe! It’s a bubble!”
Pug said, “Oh …” He paused. “I don’t see.”
Using his hand, Nakor made a curving motion, as if describing a sphere in the air. “The stuff of the universe, it was blown outward, like the soap bubble! Everything in the universe, is on the surface of the bubble!”
Pug stopped a moment, considered what he heard, then said, “That’s amazing.”
“Everything is moving away from everything else at the same speed! That’s the only way it’s possible.”
Pug was genuinely impressed with the insight. “Now, what does it mean?”
“What it means is we now have a clue as to how things in the universe work. And that might give us a better understanding of what it is we do in the middle of this universe.”
“On the surface, you mean.”
“On the surface,” conceded Nakor.
“Then what is in the middle?” asked Pug.
Nakor grinned. “The void. That grey stuff you talk about.”
Pug paused. “That would … make sense.”
“And when you create a rift, you bend the surface of the bubble!”
Pug shook his head. “You just lost me.”
“I’ll explain it all to you some other time. Now, if I could just figure out how the Hall of Worlds figures into all this …”
Pug said, “You’ll think of something, I am certain.”
Nakor said, “You had a reason to visit with me?”
“Yes, I need your help.”
Nakor said, “Children, continue playing.”
“Who are these children?” asked Pug as Nakor led him back into the temple.
“The sons and daughters of people who live nearby, people who are attempting to rebuild their ruined homes and businesses, but who have no place for their children while they do. We give them a safe place to leave the children rather than let them run the streets.”
“And when the businesses are rebuilt, the children will return to help their parents.”
“Correct,” said Nakor. “In the meantime, we build some nice credits with people who will be inclined to help us out along the way. Skilled tradesmen, for the most part.”
“You’re really committed to this Temple of Arch-Indar, aren’t you?”
“I’m committed to getting it built,” said Nakor.
“After that?”
Nakor shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll leave this to someone better able to run it than myself. It’s not really my calling. If it were the Temple of the Lost God of Knowledge, maybe, though I think I’ve had enough of Wodar-Hospur’s handiwork for a lifetime.” He referred to the magic codex which he had possessed for many years, an artifact which had given him incredible knowledge and power, but which had also threatened his sanity.
“What then?”
“I don’t know. I think I’ll move on.”
They reached Nakor’s office and Pug closed the door behind them. “Are you thinking of leaving Sho Pi in charge?”
“I don’t think so. He’s … heading for a different path, though I’m not sure what that might be.”
“Someone else?” asked Pug as he sat.
Nakor nodded. “I’m not sure, but I think I may know who.”
“Care to enlighten me?”
“No,” said Nakor with a grin as he sat down. “I might be wrong, then I would look foolish.”
“Heaven forfend,” Pug said dryly.
“Now what sort of help do you need from me?”
Pug explained the situation with the Saaur to the north, then finished by saying, “Patrick wants me to deliver an ultimatum, and if they refuse to depart from the Kingdom, he’s ordered me to destroy them.”
Nakor frowned. “Tales of your powers have been circulating for some years, my friend. I thought it but a matter of time before someone in authority attempted to bend you to their cause.”
“I’ve served the Kingdom without orders before.”
“True, but you’ve never been under the authority of an impetuous boy before.”
Pug sat back in his chair, and said, “I’ve never considered myself under anyone’s authority since coming to my power. As a Great One of the Tsurani Empire, I was outside the law, subject to no authority save my own conscience and a mandate to do what was best for the Empire.
“Since returning to Midkemia, the crown was content to leave me alone, to let me conduct my business down in Stardock as I saw fit. King Borric, and King Lyam before him, were satisfied knowing I would do nothing to cause harm to their realms. Now, about this ‘go destroy our enemies’ order of Patrick’s, I’m not sure what’s best to do.”
Nakor pointed at Pug. “You’ve lived on another world, Pug. That boy up in the castle has barely spent more than a couple of years of his life off the island of Rillanon. You’ve been a slave and a man beyond the law of the land, you’ve labored in a kitchen and you are afforded the rank of Duke. You’ve traveled in time.” Nakor smiled. “You’ve seen a lot of things.” He lost the smile. “Patrick’s a scared boy, but he’s a scared boy with a bad temper and an army who will obey him. That’s a dangerous combination.”
“Maybe I should go to the King.”
Nakor said, “Perhaps, but I’d save that option until you’ve talked to the Saaur and seen if you can convince them to leave.”
“Would you consider coming with me? You have a wonderful knack for knowing what to do in unusual situations.”
Nakor was silent a moment, then said, “Preventing the death of many would be a good act. Yes, I’ll come with you. But you could do me a favor, first.”
“What?”
“Come with me.”
Pug stood and followed Nakor out of the office. In the far corner of the large hall Sho Pi and a pair of acolytes were in discussion. Nakor shouted, “Sho Pi, you keep an eye on the children. I’ll be back.”
He took Pug through the streets toward the castle, but short of where they would normally turn to approach the main drawbridge of the castle, they turned and followed another street down toward a burned-out section of the city. Reaching a checkpoint, they were halted by a pair of guardsmen, wearing tabards of the Baron of Darkmoor. “Halt,” said one in a bored tone of voice.
Nakor said, “This is Pug, Duke of Stardock, on a mission for the Prince of Krondor.”
“Sir!” said the guard, coming to attention. He might not have seen the magician before, but every soldier in the West knew of him by reputation and he looked the part.
“We need to commandeer a score of prisoners for a work detail,” said Nakor.
“I’ll fetch some guards to accompany you,” said the sentry.
“No need,” said Nakor, holding up his hand. “We can take care of ourselves.”
He motioned for Pug to follow and hurried by before the guard could object. Pug said, “We’ll be fine.”
They entered an area of a half-dozen city blocks, razed by fire and catapults, where the prisoners of war were being kept. Nakor found a large boulder and climbed atop it. He shouted in the language of Novindus, “I need some workers.”
A few men nearby looked over and one or two continued to pay attention, but no one came near. Nakor waited a moment, then climbed down. “This isn’t working. Come along.”
He hurried deeper into the milling camp of men. On all sides dirty and hungry-looking mercenaries sat in idle conversation. As he moved deeper into the press of men, he said, “I need some carpenters, cartwrights, wheelwrights, wagon makers!”
One man said, “I used to be a carpenter, before I was forced to fight.”
“Can you turn a wheel?”
The man nodded. “I can shave spokes, too.”
“Come with me!”
“Why should I?” said the man. He was in his fifties, grey-haired, and looked filthy and miserable.
“Because you’ve got nothing better to do, have you? And you’ll get better food and you’ll get paid.”
At that the man said, “Paid? I’m a prisoner.”
“Not anymore, if you want work. I’ll make you a priest of Arch-Indar.”
“Who?” asked the man in confusion.
“The Good Lady,” said Nakor impatiently. “Now, just come along and say nothing.”
The exchange was repeated a half-dozen more times, until Nakor had selected seven men with the required experience. Several others had come forth, but lacked the requisite skills. When they had returned to the pair of guards manning the exit, Pug said, “I’m taking these men with me. They have skills I need for a project.”
“Begging your pardon, my lord,” said the senior guard, “but this is highly irregular. We have no orders.”
“I’ll take full responsibility,” said Pug. “I’m on a mission for the Prince.”
The senior soldier exchanged glances with the junior, who shrugged. The first soldier said, “Well, then, I guess it’s all right.”
They led the prisoners back to the temple, and Nakor shouted as they entered, “Sho Pi!”
The first of his disciples hurried over. “Yes, master?”
“Get these men some food and some clean clothing.” He glanced back, and added, “After they take baths.”
Sho Pi nodded. “I will, master.”
“Then send a message to Rupert Avery and tell him his workers are waiting for him.”
Pug said, “Workers?”
Nakor nodded. “Roo’s going to start up a little wagonbuilding enterprise as soon as we return to the camp in the morning and get him some lumbermen.”
“Lumbermen?” asked Pug.
Nakor grinned. “I’ll explain it all as we travel.”
Pug returned the smile.
Nakor said, “One favor more.”
“What is that?”
Nakor lowered his voice. “I strongly urge you to require the Lady Miranda stay behind.”
Pug said, “Miranda can take care of herself.”
“I fear not for her competence, but rather that well-demonstrated temper of hers. You are going in harm’s way, even if the risks are minimal. She might not react well to a threat.”
Pug said, “I doubt she’d cause another war, but I see what you mean.” He was thoughtful for a moment, then said, “I think I’d like her to visit Tomas and see how things are to the north, anyway. We’re getting almost nothing from Crydee or Elvandar, and if we’re going to be moving quickly to retake Ylith, knowing how the struggle for Yabon goes is vital.”
“She has the means to travel there?”
“There are some ‘tricks’ my wife is capable of that you and I need to learn. She can transport herself without patterns or devices.”
“That would be very useful.”
Pug said, “You and I, I’m sorry to say, will be traveling by horse. I can fly, but not if I’m carrying you along.”
Nakor said, “It’s better than walking.”
Pug laughed. “You have a wonderful capacity to see the good in most situations.”
Nakor said, “It helps at times.”
“I’ll send word when I’m ready to leave. Two more days, I think.”
“I’ll be ready,” said Nakor as Pug left.