“So you're a dancer, huh? You're a rare breed around here.”

Garin jumped, peered around carefully before he settled down in a crouch. The sphere was very annoying for it's ability to so render Garin's innate advantages useless. The man who'd spoken manifested from in front of him, appearing almost as if out of the air.

Garin frowned. Something was different about this man compared to all the other prisoners, and not only that he was comparatively thriving. He did not look so stick thin, and his robe was only dirty because it couldn't be washed. It wasn't tattered and barely functional like the other prisoners he'd seen. His smile showed that most of his teeth were present, and somehow cleaner than the other's. Garin did not lower his guard for even one second.

“Come now, there is no need to be so tense. I'm sure we can be very useful to one another.”

Yeah, Garin did not like that smile, or that voice, or that noble posture. He did not like this man one bit.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Garin asked, all the while making sure to keep his eyes on the surroundings.

The man sighed, finally letting his smile drop from his face. “I'm something of…a recruiter, you'd say. I happened to catch your fight, and I'm interested in bringing you back to my camp.”

Garin didn't say anything, he just kept studying the man suspiciously. This man gave off a feeling even more fearsome than some of the arch masters from Garin's old home.

“You're supposed to say something to that, kid.”

“I'm not interested,” Garin replied, “I came here looking for someone, and I'm not interested in doing anything but search for them.”

“You're looking for someone? How recently were they brought in here? Perhaps we could help you find them.”

“And we is?”

“Oh, silly me. My name is Leanard, first advisor to the thrice dead king.”

Garin snorted. What a ridiculous title. Still, this man had made one good point. Garin could vaguely feel Fedrahn's direction, but he would only be certain when he was much closer. It might be a good idea to get information, maybe even learn how these people managed to move through the sphere like they were dancing. Some of them might not have noticed, or maybe it was because they didn't have enough theoretical knowledge, but it seemed long term exposure to the sphere gave them some innate understanding of it.

“Fine then, Leanard, servant to the three dead kings, the man I'm looking for should have arrived within the last three months. He is a scribe, very knowledgeable about spheres. His name is Fedrahn.”

The man's face had started twitching after Garin had finished addressing him, but now it was creased in a frown. There was something calculating about the way he considered Garin now. Then he sighed.

“There was a man like you speak of in our camp, it's true.”

There…was?

“You've seen Fedrahn?!”

He took a step back and lifted his arms in a placating gesture.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“He was there, I'm sure of it. Unfortunately I can't tell you much, personally. He spoke directly with the king.”

“But you just said you're the first advisor?!”

“If only my liege ever listened to his servants words. Come, I'll take you to him. Then we'll find out what happened to this scribe friend of yours.”

The ‘camp’ wasn't what Garin would have expected from his knowledge of the word. It was just a vast land scape covered in bodies. The only thing that looked real was the fire these wild men and women used to roast their meat. Garin would not take a bite of it even if it was offered.

He tried to ignore the more graphic scenes in this veritable horde. They behaved like monsters, and somehow looked it too with the way the light at the horizon cast their faces, and the way the whole domain of the sphere was unsettling.

At least the king or whatever had some kind of tent. It was made of hide, perhaps the hides of monsters native to this sphere. Garin stood outside and tried to pretend he couldn't hear what was being said inside. He frowned when the man, Leanard growled as he threatened someone who whimpered like a dog. A seed of suspicion was planted in his heart, but he would not pursue it just then. There was information to be had here.

Still, the curious gazes of the army, their unwanted attention, was not pleasing. He might have waited for hours for all he knew. Time and space worked differently in different spheres, especially in the time sphere, but that's not where he was today.

“The king will see you now,” Leanard announced as he held up the tent.

Garin hid his smirk. Inwardly he wondered what kind of game Leanard was playing and what he hoped to achieve from tricking him.

The thrice dead king looked like a corpse, and Garin thought his title made sense, although it was a little uninspired. They could have named him the mummy king, or the zombie king or something. Oh well, what's done is done. Garin idly wondered if the scar on his neck was from one of the times he ‘died’.

The man opened his mouth, showing yellowed teeth sharpened to look like a predator's. Then he produced a sound like stone scratching glass.

“The king wants to know your business in his palace,” Leanard announced.

“How do you know?” Garin asked with genuine curiosity even as he studied the interior of the tent.

It looked small from the outside, but it seemed like they'd placed it over a depression in what passed for ground in this place, so it was quite spacious. There was a whole half dedicated to a sleeping section, and Garin could see lots of bodies covered in furs. He did not like the smell of it, even discounting the smell of accumulated sweat in the camp.

“How do I…? Of course I do!” Leanard said incredulously, “I told you I'm his most trusted advisor.”

“Where are his other advisors though? Don't tell me they are under those furs?”

Leanard sputtered for a few moments, then his face regained his cool after studying Garin. Garin kept his face curious and innocent. He was just a precocious child asking relevant questions, no need to be alarmed. Or at least that’s what Garin hoped Leanard was thinking.

“Well, all that is useless at the moment. Tell the king why you came here.”

Garin tilted his head to the side. “Didn't you tell him though? You were here a long time I figured there was no way he wouldn't know by now.”

Now the man was visibly gritting his surprisingly healthy, albeit still yellow teeth.

“Just tell him,” he said with a growl.

Shrugging, Garin went ahead and spoke to the grey man with rotting flesh in front of him. The man's eyes never left his, even as Garin was sure nothing he said quite reached the man's ears. The man said nothing after he had finished, but after a very long pause, he looked toward Leanard. Garin noted it with an inward frown, but he said nothing. He saw Leanard nod once from the corner of his eye.

Then the king opened his mouth and Garin's hearing threatened to become as bad as his sight in short order. Then Leanard was speaking, in a hesitant manner.

“Ah, I see. Well that is unfortunate…”

“What is it?” Garin asked, even as his heart went on a gallop in his chest.

This was it. These people might be trying to trick him, but there was no doubt in his mind Fedrahn had come by here.

“Well, my king doesn't have control of the whole sphere, much as we'd like it to be otherwise. There are some rogue elements, here and there. Recently we've been able to squash most of these barbarians, hence why our camp has grown so much. Unfortunately, our expansion became a reality right around the time your scribe was with us. As he stayed in the king's tent, they thought he was very important, which might be true…”

“Wha-what are you saying?”

“He was kidnapped. By one of our rivals. Luckily for you, we are planning an assault on their camp in two weeks, and by then our numbers will have doubled. With you on our side, we are sure to clinch victory…”

Leanard might have continued speaking, but Garin had enough information for now. His connection to Fedrahn had been indistinct since he came to this world, and he'd hoped coming to this camp would lead him in the right direction. But somehow he could feel the connection growing more distant. He frowned. Was the connection even real, or was it something he'd subconsciously thought up. It seemed real, and it somehow told him he did not have two weeks to wait.

“How long ago was he taken?” he interrupted Leanard’s tirade.

“Oh, well… about… does it matter? Come I'll show you to where you'll be sleeping. You need to prepare for the battles to come.”

“Where is this camp we will be attacking?” Garin asked as the man held his shoulder firmly and led him from the tent.

“It's just over there, over that…hill. Man this place, you can never get used to a swaying hill, am I right? Anyway you can see the smoke from cook fires even from here.”

And he could. And when he looked in that direction, he could sense it was the right direction. And he could see a vast black mountain he was sure was days past the camp. The broken sun with it's black nucleus was to the left and the distant horizon when he looked in that direction.