AT LAST HE rode to a halt. The hot living scent of the lathered mount permeated the rough traveler's clothes Bryck wore. He uncoiled from the saddle, climbing off, and stretched his softening middle-yeared body. The late evening was mild, with a hint of sultriness to the air. Above, stars and a crescent of moon stamped the sky. There were clouds, probably harboring late summer rain, to the distant north.

Bryck was sore to his bones. He was keenly aware of his every muscle and sinew, because each part of himself seemed to ache individually. Three days and two nights he had driven the fast borrowed steed, sleeping only during the darkest watches—and then only on a less than luxurious bedroll. It was all so very primitive, so brutally physical. Not at all the sort of activity in which he routinely engaged. Yet, this unaccustomed discomfort was pleasing. It was tangible evidence of the righteousness of his actions and of his personal sacrifice in undertaking this venture.

He surveyed the courtyard of the Chancellery to which the city guards had directed him. The building was a mean affair of grey stone—squat, functional, and unassuming, save for the high vaulted doors he now faced. The peaked panels were of glossy wood and etched with ornate images depicting the history of the city-state of Sook. It was not an awe-inspiring chronicle. Neither was Sook itself, which from what he'd seen was much less cosmopolitan than Bryck's home city of U'delph. He had wended its streets to this court, passing ramshackle structures and shabbier citizens.

Still, he had made this arduous journey to seek military aid from these people, so it wouldn't do to flaunt his disdain. And regardless, the humbleness of these surroundings only added to the marvelously crude reality of this adventure. Doubtlessly he had accumulated a wealth of creative material for his next several theatricals.