All the same, sometimes Beltan did worry. A few times, after they had made love, Travis’s skin had been so hot Beltan could hardly touch him, and he had seemed to shine in the dark with a gold radiance. While Beltan didn’t like to admit it, those times made him think of the Necromancer Dakarreth, whose naked body in the baths beneath Spardis had been sleek and beautiful, gold and steaming.
The blood of the south runs in his veins now, Beltan, just as it did in the Necromancer’s.
Beltan didn’t know what it meant–only that both he and Travis had been changed by blood. And maybe that was all right. Because, no matter what had been taken from them, if they could still love one another, then they had everything.
“I’ll get the dishes,” Beltan said.
“No,” Travis said with mock sternness, “you’re going to go watch TV while I clean up. Remember, I’m unemployed at the moment, and you’re the hard worker who’s bringing home the bacon.”
Beltan frowned. “Was I supposed to stop at the butcher and get salt pork on the way home?”
Travis laughed, and it was a good sight to see. The bookstore where he had worked for the last year had closed, and he hadn’t found a new job yet. That was probably why he had been reading Vani’s letter. He had been home by himself all day, and sadness usually waited until people were alone to creep in and touch them. However, the mirth in his eyes seemed genuine.
“Go,” he said, pushing Beltan into the living room.
Beltan did as commanded. He sat on the couch, listening to the cheerful clatter coming from the kitchen. Maybe they should call Mitchell and Davis Burke‑Favor. It had been over a year since the two ranchers had last journeyed from Colorado to London for a visit. It would be good to see them. Then again, their ranch kept them busy, and it was hard for them to get away. Beltan hoped Travis would find a job soon. Not that they needed the money; the Seekers had taken care of that.
It had been Travis’s idea to go to the Seekers as soon as they reached Earth. He reasoned the organization would find them sooner or later. Besides, it had been good to see Deirdre Falling Hawk, though there had been no sign of Hadrian Farr–nor had the last three years brought any news of him, at least as far as Beltan knew.
Travis and Beltan had cooperated with the Seekers, submitting to interviews and writing lengthy reports about Eldh–its geography, peoples, languages, cultures, history, politics, and magic. In exchange, the Seekers had given them new identities, along with the papers to make them legal. They were now, officially, Travis Redstone and Arthur Beltan. The Seekers also granted them an amount of money that had no meaning for Beltan, but which according to Travis meant they would never want for anything for the rest of their lives.
All the same, they had to do something. Beltan had wondered if Travis wanted to return to his hometown, to Castle City, to rebuild the tavern he had once owned there. However, when he mentioned this, Travis had asked how Beltan liked London.
Beltan liked it very much. London was like nothing on Eldh. The ancient city of Tarras seemed a simple village in comparison. They had bought the flat in Mayfair, and had found jobs. Since then, they had spoken little with the Seekers, and it had been over a year since they had last seen Deirdre. Evidently, as far as the Seekers were concerned, Travis and Beltan’s case was closed, and that suited both of them just fine.
Beltan picked up the remote and switched on the television: another one of those marvels he had begun to take for granted. There was an astonishing array of choices called channelson TV (many displaying sights as vulgar as they were fascinating), but of them all Beltan’s favorite was the Wonder Channel. He enjoyed learning about this world that was now his home. Over the last three years, he had read voraciously–now that he couldread, thanks to Grace’s tutelage in the Library of Tarras– though one day, after noticing the way he squinted at a page, Travis had taken him to a doctor to get him a pair of reading spectacles. The spectacles helped, but sometimes, like tonight, Beltan’s eyes were too tired for a book.
Television wasn’t as good as reading, but Beltan still liked it, and he pressed a button on the remote, changing to the Wonder Channel. A show called Archaeology Now!was just starting. He had seen this program before. It showed live footage of archaeologists working at various sites across the world, hoping to catch them at the very moment of a great discovery.
Archaeologists, Beltan knew, were learned men and women who dug up and studied the remains of ancient cultures and civilizations. It intrigued him to know that, in its past, Earth had been more like Eldh, but the problem with this show was that archaeology was, by any estimation, tedious work, and usually involved scraping away at dirt with tiny little picks and brushes. The pert young woman who hosted the show did her best to make every chipped bead or broken piece of pottery that came out of the ground seem like a breakthrough discovery, but often her smile seemed more than a little strained.
“Today, we’ll take you to the jungles of Belize,” her excited voice blared through the TV’s speakers, “where archaeologists are about to open the tomb of a Mayan princess that has remained hidden for over a thousand years. After that, we’re off to Australia, to uncover what could be the first signs of human habitation on that continent. And finally, we’ll venture into a cave to discover what incredible artifacts were revealed by a recent earthquake on the island of–”
A knock sounded at the door of the flat. Beltan muted the sound on the television and stood. The knock came again, hard and impatient.
“Coming,” Beltan grumbled, determined that this time he was not going to buy anything from whoever was on the other side of the door. He undid the lock and threw the door open.
So his instincts had been right after all. Their peaceful time in London–the waiting–was over.
She looked older than he remembered, her face honed by care, but she was still lithe and beautiful, wearing an aura of danger as well as sleek black leathers. In her arms she held a small girl with gray‑gold eyes. The girl laughed and reached a chubby hand toward Beltan.
“Please,” Vani said, her voice low and urgent. “Let us in.”
5.
Travis had always liked the simplest things best.
After the Second War of the Stones–much to his horror– Grace had wanted to make him a baron of Malachor. There was a ruined castle in the west of the Winter Wood, she said, only three days’ ride from Gravenfist Keep. He could take five hundred men and twenty Embarran engineers with him. In a year, the castle would be in good working order. His men could bring their families from the south; they could hunt the forests and clear land for farming, and Travis could be their lord.
“I’ll need smart and trustworthy barons if I’m going to have a chance of making this kingdom work again,” Grace had said with such characteristic matter‑of‑factness it made him laugh.
However, to be a baron–to have a great hall and vassal lords and servants–was the last thing Travis wanted. A two‑bedroom flat in London was more than enough castle for him, and he was content to share the duties of ruling it with Beltan. The sorts of things he had done today–watching ships pass beneath Tower Bridge, walking home through the energetic streets of the West End, cooking a dinner that Beltan wolfed down no matter how awful it was–those were all he desired. Maybe it was because of everything he had witnessed in his time on Eldh, but these days Travis didn’t need much to be happy.
Only if that was so, why had he felt so gloomy today? Yes, he had lost his job at the bookstore and hadn’t found another to replace it. But money wasn’t a worry, and another job would come along. That wasn’t what was troubling him, and that wasn’t what had made him read her letter.