The warmth of the fire reflecting off four solid, secure walls, a firm ceiling, and a dry floor massaged Delaney into a semi-stupor of contentment. Freshly bathed, she nestled deeply into the compliant cushions of her chair, breathing in the delicious aroma of applewood smoke that burned in the fireplace. Windglow and Shaska balanced stiffly on the edges of their chairs. Hummer avoided the furniture altogether, and instead stretched full length along a braided rug in front of the fireplace. Beneath Windglow’s chair, Puddles lay curled up in a ball, appearing more cherubic the longer his caustic tongue kept silent.

The Tishaarans had emerged from Morp remarkably subdued. Their ill-fated wanderings had deposited them on the doorstep of Mohenga Dhayelle, not as concerned allies but as half-starved beggars. Like acquaintances who wake up after a drunken orgy to the shame of their public exhibition of depravity, each bore the disgrace of the stupidity that had been exposed in that gray land. The shared humiliation dampened their confidence and enthusiasm.

Delaney, however was spared that particular embarrassment. The conspicuous clumsiness and bumbling behavior she had shown in Morp seemed little more than business as usual for her in these unfamiliar realms. In fact, the Tishaarans’ descent into ineptitude had actually been a welcome equalizer. Although she would acknowledge, if pressed, some culpability for the fit of temper that had led them into Morp in the first place, that burden felt light in comparison to the weight of her general sense of inadequacy during their treks in the wilderness.

On that score, at least, the tables had turned the instant they passed through the gates of civilization into Orduna. Her companions now walked with unsure footsteps in this strange land, she felt more at home.

As an elderly black-skinned woman carried a tray of steaming mugs into the room, Hummer made an awkward attempt to recapture his former confidence.

“Ah, Madame Dhayelle, what do you think you are doing, carrying all that weight on our account?” Leaping to his feet, he grabbed the tray from her, shoved it into Delaney’s hands and, with a sweeping gesture, invited the hostess to assume one of two vacant chairs near the wall.

“See now!” the woman scolded. “I brought you tea. There’s no call to get grabby.” Mohenga Dhayelle had been living in Orduna every since she and her husband, Runifoso, had signed on as curator for the Mbongor section of the University’s library and museum nearly five years ago. In his previous trip to the Second Realm, Windglow had learned that the Dhayelles had been Ehiloru’s host during his frequent visits to the city in recent months. That made them the logical people to approach in the Tishaarans’ search for the prophet. Mohenga had graciously, yet with a mixture of reserve and hesitancy, accepted the starving troupe as guests.

Hummer bowed low. “You deserve a king’s ransom whether you bring tea or a list of impossible demands. Please do not make us swallow our gratitude.” He gently took her elbow. “We are overwhelmed by the generosity of such a beautiful woman who would take in total strangers off the streets. Allow me to serve these for you,” he said, snatching the tray back from Delaney.

“I was going to say,’help yourself,’” she said, brushing off his hand. Contrary to Hummer’s remarks, the woman was not striking, at least not this late in her life, and the stern expression on her ebony face showed she was neither ignorant of that fact, nor in any way bothered by it. Nor had she any patience for flattery or fawning. With no further word or gesture, she left the room.

“There is something odd about her,” said Hummer, conspiratorially. “I can scarcely imagine her as a friend and hostess to the famous Ehiloru.”

“It is not just her. There is something odd about the entire city,” said Shaska. During their weeks of wandering in Morp, her sight had returned to normal for the most part, although her eyes still teared up frequently and stung when dried out by a dry wind.

“That is the truth,” agreed Hummer. “Such cold fish! City of Learning, hah! The Ordunese are unschooled in the treatment of strangers. How many lip-biting sourpusses did we have to ask before one would give us directions to the dwelling of the Dhayelles? And such rudeness, especially among children!”

“There is that aspect,” said Shaska. “But did not something else strike you even more? Windglow, you have visited here before. Was this city always so, I don’t know-- edgy?”

“The aura seems somewhat more negative than it was,” agreed Windglow. “That is, as far as memory serves me. I am glad we found Dhayelle’s place so that we could get off the streets. before dark.”

“Maybe we just got caught in some bad neighborhoods,” said Delaney. “All cities have them.” She was so enjoying her reunion with “civilization” that she was in no mood to examine anything critically.

“Perhaps I should not say anything yet,” admitted Shaska. “First impressions can be misleading.”

“One seldom finds experience in harmony with imagination,” hedged Windglow. “Excuse me, but I would like to make certain we have not offended our hostess.” He hurried out of the room in his gangly gait.

Shaska frowned at him and turned to Hummer. “Seriously, Hummer. Do you feel what I am feeling?”

“I sincerely hope so.” Hummer winked and mimed a kiss.

Shaska shot him a look of disgust.

“Oh, I do not know,” said Hummer. “Really, what is Orduna supposed to look like? It seems like a city in the usual sense of the word, located in a typically backward part of the world.”

Delaney could not help but laugh out loud. “You call this backward after living in Tishaara all your life?” she blurted.

She sensed immediately that her barb pierced Shaska as deeply as its intended victim. Hastily, she added, “Forget it. Whatever I just said, forget it. Erase. Delete. I’m just so pumped to be here right now I don’t know what I’m saying. It’s like my brain is still stuck in Morp. And I don’t care where it is as long as I’m here.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

The Tishaarans’ uneasy reaction to Orduna prompted her own evaluation of what she had seen. The famed City of Learning was what she had imagined Old Jerusalem to be, although she was relying strictly on poorly focused memories of pictures from old Sunday School story books. An immense wall, festooned with ivory and trimmed with evergreen hedges, surrounded the city. Tulips and crocuses sprouted up in garden plots carved out of stone and brick. Within a few weeks, flowers would decorate every street, sidewalk, bridge, terrace and archway clear to the river.

Orduna was, to her mind, the closest thing to real civilization she had seen yet--bustling with activity, sustained by a framework of solid, human-engineered structures. Normal people crowded the streets. Some of the men were dressed in tailored suits and long, leather coats, others in coarse cloth and baggy pants. Women exhibited at least a sense of style in the billowing skirts and high-collared blouses. Stores were open for business and engaged in commerce.

History! That's what I've been missing. For the first time since entering the realms, Delaney sensed time flowing in a reasonable order. She could see evidence of a past from which the present had sprung, and the promise of progress toward the future. Even the irritating side effects of urban life, such as the jostling of street rowdies, which especially rattled the Tishaarans, were things she understood.

Despite her attempt at apology, her tactless comment on Tishaaran sophistication raised Hummer’s hackles. “I do not care for the disrespect shown by either you or this churlish city. As if we must apologize to everyone for the shame of being Tishaaran! As if we are the doormats of the world, who must rub our faces in the dirt so all may wipe their feet on us.”

“Those who know the Tishaarans do not think of us in such terms,” said Shaska, soothingly.

“City of Learning! Hah! City of Ignorance is more like it,” snapped Hummer. “Did you not sense it in the streets when they saw our clothing? They do not have to declare out loud, ‘Look at those chicken livers.’ It is obvious what they think. And we give them every encouragement. Always meek and humble and accommodating. Well, I for one, have had enough.”

“Hummer, I hope you do not intend to stoop to their level,” said Shaska.

“Someone has their boot on my neck and I am supposed to be concerned about stooping to their level. Sometimes I think we have ceded the world to the bold. Look at the living they do in this city. Look what they build; what they accomplish. All we Tishaarans do is exist. We subsist on soup bones for fear of what would happen if we took a bite of the meat.”

“Speak for yourself, begging your pardon,” said Shaska, struggling to keep her composure.

Delaney found the tension perversely satisfying. Perhaps because her stay in Tishaara had made her so conscious of her own shortcomings, she felt uplifted at seeing the Tishaarans’ righteousness tweaked, and by one of their own, no less. She vaguely recalled Roland once making the same criticism of their insufferable empathy. Come to think of it, she had scolded him for it.

“Begging your pardon,” mocked Hummer in a falsetto voice.

“I believe I have had enough company for one evening,” said Shaska, tersely. “Good night to you all.” She walked lightly but quickly up the stairs toward the bedrooms that Dhayelle had provided.

In the silence that followed, Delaney realized she did not care to spend time alone with Hummer. While he was undeniably entertaining, often funny and generally harmless, she found him rather stifling, occasionally obnoxious, and not altogether trustworthy. Imagine being suspicious of a Tishaaran! But questioning her discomfort did not make it any less real, and she dragged herself out of the chair cushions, yawning cavernously.

“I am afraid it is getting late for me, too,” she said.

“It is getting late for all of us. Later than we imagined,” said Windglow, as he entered the room. His face was ashen, his darkened eyes locked onto some disquieting vision.

“What’s up with you?” asked Delaney.

Windglow stared at her as if surprised to find she was in the room. “I have been talking with Madame Dhayelle. She has told me some disturbing news. Two weeks ago, her husband disappeared without a trace.”

“Disappeared?” said Hummer.

“He has not been seen since. Nor has Dhayelle been able to gain access to any public official regarding the disappearance. The Citadel is sealed tightly. No one is allowed in or out. The Senate listens to no one, sees no one, reports to no one. Dhayelle is certain they will not give us an audaience.”

“What!” cried Hummer. “Then to whom are we to deliver our warning? What does Ehiloru say about this?”

Windglow shook his head, woodenly. He moved listlessly, as if his heart were faltering and kept alive only by a thin current of blood trickling in his veins. Delaney had seen this posture once before, after the affair with the wolf on the August plain. “It gets worse,” Windglow went on. “Ehiloru is missing as well. He left this house yesterday on a brief errand. He did not return.”

“Come on, he’s been been missing for only a day,” said Delaney. “How can we jump to-”

“Dhayelle says Ehiloru has never, ever failed to appear when promised without sending word to her. He holds such things as a matter of highest honor. There are whisperings of assassination.”

The fire spat and crackled during the silence. The significance of the time frame left Delaney stunned. No wonder Windglow was so shaken! Had they not wasted those weeks in Morp, they would have arrived in time to see both Ehiloru and Runifoso Dhayelle. They could at least have had a chance of an audience with the Senate. Whether or not they could have prevented trouble, she had no way of knowing. Probably not. But at least the expedition would have accomplished the purpose for which they had traveled all this way. Now what were they going to do?

“So we are too late, then,” said Hummer.

“I fear so. It seems the conspiracy of the Cold Flames has already come to Orduna. It has swept through the Second Realm, taking Rushbrook, the Raxxars, and now Orduna. It has taken the Raxxars and the Lumberjacks in our realm. I fear it has cast as wide a net in the higher realms as well. If that is so, who can stand against it?”

Delaney had never immersed herself into the culture of the realms as Roland had. She understood little of this business about the Cold Flames or this whole conspiracy theory, other than that bad guys were out to get them and needed to be stopped. She felt sympathy for anyone in torment or anguish at the hands of these creeps. But hers was a monogamous compassion--easily claimed by individuals, one at at time, but rarely squandered on groups. Try as she might, she could feel no more than a clinical concern for the threatened realmlands.

It was the crestfallen Windglow for whom she felt pity, and the missing Ehiloru for whom she feared. Worse yet, the weight of guilt that she had so easily borne suddenly overwhelmed her. She had failed them both. Since the August Mountains, Windglow had been dwelling in purgatory for his leadership lapse that had resulted in a trusted ally’s death. Now on his one chance for redemption, history had repeated itself. He had failed catastrophically, because of her. Although he had argued against the delay at the falls and had gone into Morp only on Delaney’s behalf, the Chamber would hold him responsible. I’m the one who screwed up his mission. but he'll never admit that. Neither will the Chamber.

And Ehiloru the Prophet. The big blond gentleman with the drooping mustache and charismatic presence who had rescued her from the horrors of the dungeon. Missing and the worst suspected. The thought of this good man being butchered as part of a cold-blooded conspiracy, perhaps at the very hands of this Devil-throat character, sent a vengeful fury through her heart. With her rash flight into Morp, she had failed not only Windglow and Ehiloru but also the people of Tishaara and perhaps all the realmlands, as well.

There seemed nothing more to say at this point. Apology was pointless. Rather than lingering with the men to stir the ashes of her dereliction, she trudged up the stairs in and entered the darkness of her shared bedroom in silence.

Shaska lay on her bed, face buried deep in her pillow. Delaney stood beside her bed for a moment, trying to decide if Shaska could possibly have gotten to sleep so quickly. A heart-rending sob escaped from the pillow.

“I heard,” said Shaska, in a muffled voice.

She said nothing more and Delaney could find no response.

Far into the night, she lay on her back, staring up at the low-angled ceiling. She barely noticed the luxury of feathers supporting her rest as she listened to the occasional pillow-stifled sobs from across the room.

Delaney was tired of being batted around the realmlands like some beachball. She could accept responsibility for her temper; she had done so before on more occasions than she could count, although fewer occasions than she should have. But out in the realmlands all she had been trying to do was survive. With no experience or understanding of her surroundings, with all of her instincts calibrated to another another world, she was reduced to running a gauntlet of hours each day, followed by another gauntlet of hours each night.

She was supposed to take responsibility for every time she failed to dodge a blow, for every gash or bruise inflicted on her? I don’t think so!

She had survived the best she could. What was done was done. Seeing and hearing the Tishaarans’ discomfort with Orduna reminded her that she was on her own turf now; in her own comfort zone as far as the laws of reality. She could do something in the Second Realm, once she figured out a few things. And she would.

The Tishaarans don’t know how lucky they are to have me with them.