* * *
AT JUST AFTER MIDNIGHT, NEARLY A THOUSAND MILES TO THE SOUTH, A LONE RIDER ARRIVED AT A RUN-DOWN, BUT POPULAR INN OUTSIDE OF THE TOWN OF SWAIN ON THE DELTA. The inn, which was called the Talbot, was popular because of its location—at the crossroads of four well-maintained roads leading southwest to Rundlun, northwest to Hamwick, northeast to Three Rivers, and southeast to The Steading. The Talbot was run down because its proprietor, a man named Lawe, knew that the inn would do a brisk business no matter what its condition—as long as there was a roof overhead and ale in the casks.
A breeze blew in from the river, balmy and damp, and a full moon lit the yard near the stables where the rider tied his horse. Sounds of laughter and revelry spilled from the Talbot. Sure enough, as the rider entered the inn, he saw that it was packed with customers. He hefted his satchel, pulled his hood forward to cover his face, and made his way to the long bar which ran along the entire north wall of the common room. It took a several minutes to catch the attention of the barkeep, a loud young man who seemed to enjoy gabbing with the patrons more than serving ale.
“I seek Daras Mirth,” the rider said.
The barkeep’s demeanor quickly shifted. “He’s in the office.” The man nodded to a door in the corner of the room. “First door to your right as you enter… sir.”
The rider pushed his way through the crowd, careful to keep his hood up over his face. He slipped through the door and found himself in a short dark corridor with three doors and stairs leading up to the second floor. He entered the first door on the right without knocking and found himself in an office. A lanky man dressed in suede had his boots up on the desk like he owned the place. Beside him on the desk was a wide-brimmed hat, a coiled whip, a half-empty bottle of very expensive Iorlian wine, and two goblets.
“You’re late,” the lanky man said.
“But you’re still here.”
“Had to convey the news myself. The deed is done.”
“Congratulations, Mirth. You’re now a rich man.” The rider unslung his satchel and dropped it on the desk with a heavy thunk.
“I’m already a rich man.”
“Well, now you are richer.”
“In that case let us celebrate.” Daras Mirth filled both goblets and toasted his companion. “To Chaos!”
The rider’s hood shifted as he took a drink, revealing the face of Bryn Eresthar, Lord Governor of Laketon. “To Chaos!”
THROUGH THE PORTAL
BANDER WAS FALLING. He saw the ground flying at him as he tried to tuck his body into a roll. And then it was like the entire world stretched out and snapped back in an instant. He felt his stomach flop and then blackness.