by J. S. Volpe
* * *
After nearly freezing and starving to death, he finally chanced upon a small rustic village nestled in a sheltered mountain valley. Though no one spoke his language, he was fed, draped in a toasty yet moth-eaten bearskin, then given a ride in an ox-cart to a town ten miles distant, where he learned from a polyglot alderman that the town was Ropertino in the country of Latravia, nearly three thousand miles north-northeast of Colbon. What’s more, the year was now 3599, over two hundred years after he had entered the Cathedral.
“Well now,” he said once he had collected his wits enough to speak. “I guess my problem with Kay is pretty much taken care of.” Then he cackled in a way that made the alderman murmur something about having other business elsewhere and hurry away.
After a moment it struck Reynard that Solace had once again slipped from his grasp, and he let his head flop back with a groan.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered at the ceiling, then started laughing again, harder than ever.
5
Shandar
4904 A.C.