The Mists of Erantia (Realm of Arkon Book 7) by G. Akella

Author:G. Akella [Akella, G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-04-16T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Entrance to the Tomb of the Forgotten God. Zone level 200.

A wide, empty corridor with plain light brown walls, eight white lanterns hanging from the high ceiling, and a huge double-leaf gate. Yes, I had been here before. Back then, Bolo had stood by that wall over there, and I... Hart! I drove the foreign memories away, then sighed and turned to Mordred. I had so many questions. Why the hell did he help us? And what would that help cost?

"It's one of Bel's companions!" Donut said into the channel, as if reading my thoughts. "He lives for evil pranks and practical jokes. But we thought he was dead."

"Not quite." Mordred shook his finger at Donut. "And what, young man, do you think is the line between an evil prank and a good one?"

He made no move to wait for an answer, instead assuming an offended expression, crossing his arms, and leaning back against the wall.

Bel's companion. Why would the God of Thieves help us when we were square? I had seen him before, somewhere. Fair skin, multicolored eyes, a long straight nose, a top hat... The Joker! I realized then what the last words he'd said had meant.

"Wait, you can hear our conversations with one another?"

"Ha! If only you knew..." Mordred closed his eyes and placed the fingers of both hands against his forehead, paused, then spread his hands apart. "I can read the thoughts of most sentient beings located nearby. Why do you think they call me mad? Hearing the thoughts of other people is enough to drive anyone crazy." He clasped his hands together, rolled his eyes back, and then returned to his normal voice. "But I cannot read yours. No one can, at least not beyond reading whatever your face tells them." He twirled his index finger in the air musingly. "But your friend is happy today, for some reason. And neither his pregnant girlfriend nor the fantastic dagger he'd recently scored have anything to do with that. Nor is it his miraculous survival from earlier today. So, why is he happy? Is he sane? The insane are often insanely happy, after all."

"Mm-hmm." Realizing that this performance was going to continue, and that we could only ask questions after it was complete, I put my pipe in my mouth and looked at Donut.

He was just standing there with a serene smile. It was a familiar sight, that face of his that looked like a kid on Christmas, that timid expectation of the annual miraculous appearing of a new remote-controlled helicopter in red wrapping paper. Max and I had never gotten copters as kids, unless you counted the ones we bought when we were twenty five, and that had made us the envy of the whole block even at that age. Our wives thought we were mad, naturally, but what did they know? Women just didn't understand. Anyway, Donut could smile all he wanted. I knew he wasn't crazy. Not yet, anyway.

As I considered these things,

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