The Currents of Magic

Chapter Eleven

"Wake up," said the voice of Sarn.

Meyer opened his eyes, and at once wished he was still asleep. If possible, he felt even worse than after Burron had slammed the door on him, the morning sunlight doing nothing to lift his beleaguered spirits. He had been so foolish for ever putting hope in a random stranger. He should have been smart enough to know the only person he could trust was himself—and he did know that—he had just let his emotions get the better of him..."

"Come on, up!" repeated Sarn.

Meyer forced himself into a sitting position. There was a groan to his right, and he turned to see Gibb in bed with the covers pulled up to his eyes.

"Boss, can't we rest a bit more," he said. "Maybe your tough soul prevents you from appreciating things like a soft bed, but for us regular folk... Meyer, don't you agree?"

Meyer shrugged and swung his legs from the bed. He had no energy for Gibb's antics.

"Guess, I'm alone on this one," said Gibb, pulling the cover over his head and burying his face in his pillow.

Sarn took the room key from the table and walked to the door. "I'm going to take care of resupplying our packs," he said. "When I get back we leave to pick up the horses. Be ready."

"Yes, boss," came the muffled voice of Gibb.

Sarn had hardly passed through the doorway when at once he turned around. "Gibb. Outside. Now."

Without a word Gibb got out of bed and followed Sarn into the hallway. For a moment Meyer was confused, but as he watched Gibb disappear through the doorway, his stomach lurched. The enchantment on the door—Sarn would have noticed that there no ringing—how could he have been so stupid... Meyer stared at the floor, preparing for the worse. When Sarn reentered the room, he seemed more relaxed, but there was still a tenseness in his eyes. Gibb strolled in behind him.

"Change of plans," said Sarn. "You're coming with me."

Meyer pulled on his shoes under Sarn's unwavering glare, and then followed his captor out of the room. Downstairs in the dining hall, the long table was half filled with guests eating breakfast. Meyer followed Sarn to the buffet at the back of the room, and a minute later he was dashing after his captor, a cheese sandwich in one hand, an apple in the other.

Again Sarn walked swiftly through the streets of Urbana. He seemed to know exactly where he was going, but unlike the day before, he frequently glanced sideways at Meyer. The city wasn't half as captivating as yesterday, Meyer thought to himself as he passed a short man with greenish skin playing an eight-string lute.

After fifteen minutes of walking, they arrived at their destination, a sagging wooden building wedged between two proud stone structures. Meyer followed Sarn inside, and was at once struck by a musky, dried out smell that hung in the air. He looked around the room, his eyes acclimating to the dim light. At first he saw only vague outlines of boxes and shelves, but soon the finer details came into view: waterskins, ropes, packs, chisels, and canvas; other shelves were stocked with grains and oats, and smoked meats―dried fruits, nuts, and wheels of cheese. And everywhere there were crates, overflowing with excess inventory, and stacked to the ceiling.

Meyer gazed over the multitude of items. He had never seen such a massive store. The aisles of goods extended back indefinitely, with numerous variations of the same product.

"Over here," said Sarn.

Meyer followed his captor to a section filled with ropes and chains, some coiled into loops as thick as his torso, others so fine that they could pass a bracelets. As Sarn picked out a medium sized chain, Meyer tried to refocus on the novelty of the store, but Sarn's watchful eyes restricted his thoughts as much as his movement.