Sam apologized again and then looked at Mosley, but on this occasion, he chose his words carefully. "Is it my imagination, or does every glorious creature on this world understand how to speak English? How can any of this be possible?"

Mosley laughed. "Not all of us 'glorious creatures' have the ability to speak your language. Most speak their own. Only those of us who live in service to the G.o.ds can speak every language of the worlds."

Sam nodded. His mind took a turn as he looked at Shalee's watch. It's a good thing this works off kinetic energy, he thought. Sam determined by the position of the sun, combined with the griffin's explanation of when they would land, that the Peaks seemed to be similar to the days on Earth.

Mosley took note of the peaceful look on Shalee's face. "She will sleep through the night and most of the next Peak. There are many landing platforms scattered across the lands of Southern Grayham where we can spend the night. I'm sure she'll be happy about that."

From the way it sounded as Mosley continued, the hippogriffs flew during the day, unless ordered by the kings of Southern Grayham. It was only possible to fly to one landing platform each day because of the distance between them.

"I'll make the arrangements necessary for the night once we arrive," Mosley said.

Sam looked at Shalee and wondered how he was going to explain everything. He still had a hard time believing what he had learned, let alone trying to make sense of it to someone else. Animals talked, griffins and hippogriffs acted as airborne transportation, and that was just the start of it. Magic, G.o.ds, swords, kingdoms, and everything he thought to be myth were true. He knew nothing of the culture, or even how to speak with the people to make the transition. For the first time in my life, I am truly out of my element, he thought.

Sam wandered as he thought about Earth. He had so many questions for Ba.s.sorine, and yet, this "so-called" G.o.d was not around. "How convenient," he mumbled. He looked forward to their next meeting. He could not wait to ask the question that bothered him most. Why do I know Ba.s.sorine's face?

Sam moved his hand through Shalee's hair. She was his definition of sublime, and she had been leaning against him during the entire flight. He concluded much of his attraction to her was because she was his only anchor to anything normal. He pulled her close as he tried to stop staring at her face.

After flying over the Blood River, a name Sam remembered from his mental snapshot of the map inside the temple, he knew it would not be long before they landed. When he saw the platform standing high in the distance, he knew they were about to set down. He looked forward to a belly full of food and hoped he would be able to clear his mind to get some rest.

Sam smiled as they made their approach. The little village below looked like it had been plucked out of the heather on the hills of old Scotland.

Now, fellow soul ... if you're not one of the beings who lived on planet Earth, you might not know what I'm talking about or have any clue as to where Scotland was. I would have to say, you truly missed seeing a place of wondrous beauty.

The homes of the people who lived outside the king's cities were made from stones stacked on top of each other. The roofs were made of large bundles of straw that had been tied together and angled to allow the rain to run off. The structures were bunched together, and Sam could not wait to see how big the towns and cities were, especially if the people on this world called this a village.

Not far from the landing platform, Sam saw an arena that was out of place. Instead of Scotland, it reminded him of ancient Rome. If Shalee was awake, she'd probably critique the arena's architecture. It's nothing like the rest of the village, he thought.

The arena was not large, but it was big enough for hundreds of people to gather. He wondered what kind of sport or theatre was performed there. Maybe I'll check it out if I have the time.

Mosley was right, Grayham did remind Sam of Earth in some ways, but the setting sun splitting two colored worlds was hard to accept.

As they landed, Sam took note of the watch and stopped its timer. The flight had lasted eight hours and 10 minutes. He grabbed their gear and jumped from the griffin. Sam tied the bags together, hung them across Mosley's back, pulled Shalee off of Soresym, and then draped her over his left shoulder. He was careful not to strike her head against his bow as he adjusted the sword on his hip.

Preparing to walk down to the village, Sam saw that the sun was about to fall below the horizon. "Thanks for the ride, Soresym. It was an honor," Sam said as he walked toward the front of the griffin. He looked into the beast's eyes. "Again, I'm sorry for my ignorance. It's easy to see how your kind is superior to humans. I'll make sure I speak your name with respect whenever I say it from now on."

The beast looked down. "Perhaps you're not so bad after all. I may yet decide to honor you by calling you Sam. It's clear your remorse is genuine. Your apology is accepted. On occasion, I run into one of you two-legs that I take a liking to. I sense you may be one of those men. May the G.o.d you serve be with you as you travel."

Sam laid his free hand on the beast's feather-covered neck. "I hope we meet again. Fly safe, and may the G.o.d you serve be with you as well."

Sam turned to look toward the horizon. He reset the timer as the sun disappeared. He found what was left of the purple colored world that Mosley called Luvelles and watched it fall below the horizon.

The night sky was odd. No stars, no moons, nothing on which to focus for navigation. It was an eerie feeling. As the pitch black of a new kind of night surrounded them, they would need to wait until the torches attached to the landing platform were lit before they could make their descent.

Using Shalee's staff for balance, Sam motioned for Mosley to lead the way. They headed down the long flight of stairs resting high above the ground. The large, but still quaint village below was beginning to fill with the flickering torch lights of a new reality.

Ba.s.sORINE is still looking for Lasidious. The G.o.d of War's anger is increasing. Ba.s.sorine has spoken with nearly everyone on Ancients Sovereign. No one has any idea where Lasidious is. The G.o.d of War can be heard throughout the hidden G.o.d world as he keeps calling for the Mischievous One to show himself.

SAM followed Mosley to an inn where he laid Shalee on a mattress filled with vestle chick feathers. He left with the wolf to find dinner and have a mug or two of ale to calm his nerves.

LASIDIOUS is inside his home beneath the Peaks of Angels. Although he can hear the screams of Ba.s.sorine echoing throughout the world, he is ignoring them. The protection he and his beautiful G.o.ddess put on their home has kept the G.o.d of War from popping in. The Mischievous One is laughing with disdain.

Thank you for reading the first edition of the Grayham Inquirer Left to right Athena, Susanne and Mary

CHAPTER 7.

Breaking and Entering The Town of Lethwitch On Southern Grayham AS SAM WAS FINISHING his flight, George was rushing through the field toward the town of Lethwitch. Dusk was approaching. George stopped, looked back in the direction where he landed on Jason and wondered if the schmuck's friends had ever picked him up.

George turned to run through the last part of the field and enter the village, but before he could, two men appeared out of thin air in front of him. They seemed foreboding and were blocking his path. One had a bird perched on his shoulder while the other had a serpent wrapped around his neck.

"What the h.e.l.l?" George blurted. "Where did you cats come from?" He studied their appearance.

To his left, this man was tall and lanky. He had dark hair and wore a brown shirt with black pants. The raven on his shoulder glared at George as he looked at his companion. "I think this is him," the man surmised. "I love it when they're confused. That's typical for humans."

"You guys have got the wrong guy," George barked before the other man could respond. "I just got here. There's no way in h.e.l.l you're looking for me."

Both men ignored George's question. Unlike his companion, the second man was dressed in dark-blue robes, and gold chains adorned his waist. His hair was also dark and long, and the serpent around his neck had yellow and green scales. Its eyes were pitch black, and they gave George an uneasy feeling as the man spoke to his companion. "I bet he's hiding it."

The man with the raven on his shoulder responded. "I think he swallowed it."

"Swallowed what?" George snapped. "You guys are clearly looking for someone else."

The second man removed the serpent from his neck and allowed it to wrap itself around his right arm as he scanned George from head to toe. "Perhaps we should open him up and see if it's inside."

Rather than listen to another word, George reached into his pocket and pulled out his pistol. "Cut me open?" he jeered. "You must be out of your d.a.m.n mind." He pointed the barrel of the gun at the head of the man with the raven and c.o.c.ked the hammer. "You guys picked the wrong man to screw with."

The man with the gun in his face laughed. "It thinks it has power. It thinks we fear it."

George stepped forward and placed the barrel of the gun on the man's forehead. "You're not too bright, are you? You're asking for a hole in your head."

Before another word could be said, the man on George's right extended his arm without the snake around it and clenched his fist. Instantly, pain surged through George's arm that was holding the gun.

Frightened, George tried to pull the trigger, but he was unable to. The harder he fought to squeeze the trigger, the more intense the pain became.

The man with the gun in his face reached up and placed his finger against the end of the pistol. He invoked his magic and grinned as frost traveled up the barrel and onto the handle.

George could feel his skin burn as the frost turned to ice and bit the inside of his hand. Instinctively, he released his grip and the pistol fell to the ground. "d.a.m.n it!" he shouted as he pulled his hand close to his body to warm it against his shirt. "What the h.e.l.l do you guys want?"

The taller of the two men responded, the raven on his shoulder squawking as he did. "What did Jason tell you? Did he tell you about the map?"

George feigned his surprise. "What map? I don't have any idea what you're talking about. Who in the h.e.l.l's Jason?"

The man held up his palm in front of George's face. A ball of energy appeared inside it. The heat cast from the sphere warmed George's face and the sound it made as it crackled in the stranger's hand frightened him. "I would not lie to me if I were you, boy," the man threatened.

Trembling, George stumbled over his words. "I ... I ... ummm, Jason's over there. He's on the far side of the field. He was talking gibberish. He's drunk. I swear, I don't know anything about a map."

A wave of force erupted from the man's palm and knocked George to the ground. "If you're lying to us, we'll find you. I suggest you stay away from the Pool of Sorrow. The treasure is ours."

A moment later, the two men vanished.

Stunned, George looked around to see if anyone had witnessed the confrontation. He was alone. Holy h.e.l.l, he thought as he looked down at his hand. His skin was still red. Could this magic c.r.a.p be real after all?

The longer he sat in silence replaying the altercation in his head, the angrier he became. He shook his head. h.e.l.l no. Screw those chumps and their d.a.m.n parlor tricks. They're no better than my father. With the sun approaching the horizon, he mumbled his next statement. "I'll be d.a.m.ned if I let a couple punks push me around. We'll see how tough they are next time we run into each other."

George stood, dusted himself off and headed into town.

A moment later, Lasidious appeared with the two attackers at his side. He handed each a pouch full of coin. "You can return to Luvelles now. Thank you for your help, gentlemen."

Both men bowed. "You're welcome, My Lord."

Lasidious pa.s.sed his hand over the tops of their heads, and then they vanished.

It was not long before George realized that he stood out like a sore thumb. Anyone he tried to speak with would have nothing to do with him because of his appearance. The people just stared and walked away when he approached.

The men of the town were rugged and wore leather clothing for the most part. Some wore softer-looking clothes and were made of a material that George had never seen. The women had better taste. They wore long dresses that had the essence of an old-world style.

He smiled. At least the women feel it's important to accent their curves. This place is like some kind of renaissance Beverly Hillbillies' town. How funny is that? This place would be great for a TV pilot.

George looked down at his hand. It was still red. A moment later, he lifted his arm and sniffed. Holy b.a.l.l.s, I smell! I freaking reek. I must look like a b.u.m to these people. He noticed a tear on the right leg of his pants. Must have happened when I landed on Jason. Poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

His shirt, pants, belt, wallet and cuff links (all Gucci) were out of step with the town's fashion. His shoes, not meant for sprinting through fields, looked like garesh, and they were scuffed from his rugged run.

George pulled the rip on his pant leg apart and uncovered a good-sized bruise on his thigh. He figured his adrenaline had been the reason he had not noticed the pain until now.

Releasing the fabric, he whispered, "If I don't figure out a way to blend in, no one will speak to me."

George studied his surroundings as he walked through the town. After another hour or so, he found a solution to his problem. From an alleyway, he watched as one of the town merchants locked the front doors of his store for the night. The older man shook the lock to double-check it and then made his way down the street.

George looked at the sign above the door. Hmmm, I can read the writing. Maybe I'm not so far from home after all. The Old Mercantile, eh? Let's let things get a little darker around here, and I'll pay the joint a visit.

George knew dusk was not the best series of moments in which to perform a robbery. He would need to wait until it was dark before he circled to the back of the store.

He had noticed some stables down the road. While pa.s.sing, he had seen a piece of iron laying on the ground with a sharp point on one end. He hurried to retrieve it, wanting to make it back to this spot to keep scouting for the right moment to make his move.

This would not be the first robbery in George's life. His high school had been his mark on four occasions, his foster dad's home twice, and the recreational center near his mother's home had been his target on a dozen different occasions when he was 15. He loved to go swimming at midnight, and he was only 16 when he was caught robbing a local bar to steal beer for his friends.

This place is ripe for the picking. There's no security in any of these buildings, and with my experience, I can rip this joint off without breaking a sweat. Maybe I won't need to sell my watch after all.

The buildings of the town were built with a combination of shaped stones and wood. The windows were not made of gla.s.s and if the store had been open, he could have jumped through them. Large, heavy wooden doors had been lowered over the top of the openings to cover the holes, and iron hasps were used to hold them closed. The roofs were covered with a unique style of wooden shingles which appeared to lock together, but without climbing up, he would not be able to tell how. There were no streetlights or electricity, and many of the town's children were lighting torches placed in various locations since the sun and the freaky-looking purple and orange moons were about to set. The roads were made of cobblestone and had been well-maintained to keep vegetation from growing between them.

This standard of living was far beneath George's personal requirements. How could these people live like this? It doesn't look like there's electricity, and I doubt there's hot water. He grinned. I wonder where they take a dump.

Chimneys ... hmpf. I bet there's not a heater inside any of these places. George chuckled. It's like I've gone back in time. This place is kind of barbaric. Maybe I'll even run into a few genuine barbarians one of these days.

When the right moment arrived, George circled to the back of the mercantile within the shadows cast by torchlight and prepared to enter. As it turned out, he did not have to use the iron bar. The door was not secured. When he tugged at the lock, it popped open. He slipped inside with a smirk and shut the door behind him. You've got to be kidding me. These people are idiots. Holy freaking h.e.l.l, it's dark in here.

George activated the light on his watch to get an idea of his surroundings. He crept through the darkness and stood in front of what he thought to be the store owner's cash drawer. The thief popped it open, triggered the light on his Rolex again and then looked inside. He saw nothing. Nothing, that is, except a small piece of twine that most anyone else would have ignored. Taking a closer look, he reached in and tugged. The false bottom of the drawer lifted. Beneath was a stash of coins. Bingo! My lucky day.

It was dark, but from what he could see, the coins looked as if they were made of various metals. On further inspection, he noticed there were words engraved on each. They had unique shapes and sizes, and they varied in weight.

Their size and shape must have something to do with their value. Oh, well, looks like I'm gonna have to take them all. What a bunch of suckers. Who would leave something like this unsecured? Good for me, I think. You're the man, George. You're the man.

Cleaning the store owner out, he took one Jervaise, seven Owain and over 50 Helmep, and then put them into a small, leather pouch that he grabbed off one of the shelves. He removed his old clothes and put on some tan leathers. After fumbling around, he found a pair of wool socks. Boots were next. He found a pair that looked to be his size and tried them on. A perfect fit. How can people wear this c.r.a.p? I hate leather. I'm going to need to find something better when I can.

Seeing the backpacks near the rear door, he headed for them and dumped the contents of Jason's pack inside one. Next, he balled up his old clothes and shoved them in. Before throwing it across his shoulder, he stuffed one of his old socks inside the smaller pouch he had filled with the coins and then placed it inside the wadded-up clothes. That should keep them from rattling.

George reached for a belt that was hanging from a row of nails on the back wall. He was about to put it on when he heard two voices. His heart raced as he tiptoed to the far side of the door and put his back against the wall. He could smell smoke. The men were nearby, and their tobacco carried with it a powerful aroma and an even better high as it made its way to his nose through the cracks in the door.

His thoughts ran wild. Not again. My luck sucks c.r.a.p lately.

He reached in his pocket to retrieve his pistol. Come on, George, think! The gun would make too much noise, and it would give you away. Putting the gun back in his pocket, he looked down at the strap in his other hand. The belt. Yeah, the belt.

He stretched it out. This thing's useless. He frowned. Why didn't I take karate when I had the chance? Because I was lazy, that's why. They're gonna kick the trash out of me when they find me.

He leaned over and peeked through one of the cracks in the door. Oh h.e.l.l ... what if they find the money? They're gonna rip me in half.

"Jonathan Walker Smith!" a lady's voice called out.

"What?" the man shouted back and then muttered to his friend. "That woman will never leave me alone."

"They're all the same," the other voice responded. "My old heel is always yelling at me to do something as well."

"Jonathan Smith, get in here and beat these kids! They won't listen!" the lady yelled again.

"Be right there!" he shouted back in his most charming voice and then added so only his friend could hear, "You old bat ... can you blame them for ignoring you?" He nudged his friend. "If only there was an elixir to shut them up."

"We could always pray to Ba.s.sorine to take our hearing," the other man replied. "We should pray tonight."

Both men laughed before they headed their separate ways.

George stood still against the wall and waited for his heart to slow down. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he made sure everything inside the store was in order. He managed a weak smile as he secured the lock. A good thief always covers his tracks. I still need to take karate, though. He headed into the night.

George made his way through town to an inn he had seen earlier in the day. He took the backpack and rubbed it in the dirt so it didn't look so new. He also added a little character to his shirt and pants before he entered. Once inside, he watched the people move about, but now, no one turned a head to take notice. He sighed with relief.

The ale that people were ordering cost one Helmep. He listened as a man ordered a room and handed the registrar behind the desk one Owain. It was not long before he figured out that one Owain coin was worth four Helmep. Once he felt he understood the finances of the transactions, he walked to the desk and waited for the woman to acknowledge him.

"What do you want?" the lady snapped, not looking up from her logbook. "I'm not going to take anymore lip from you Cottle boys. I've had enough of your comments about how my dress fits my bosom. That whole city is full of undesirables. Don't any of you know how to treat a lady?"

George took a step back from the verbal a.s.sault and thought a moment before he reapproached. "Miss, I'm not from Cottle, and although you're beautiful, I would not have the nerve to say something that wasn't a welcomed advance. I'm sorry you've been mistreated. Some men just don't realize that if it wasn't for good women, there wouldn't be any good men. But I do."

The lady stopped writing and looked up. She took note of George's deep-blue eyes, brown hair, and unblemished skin. They captured her fancy. The registrar's face beamed with satisfaction as she pushed her long, blonde hair behind her ears and looked him over from head to toe with her blue eyes. His thin, athletic build was pleasing, and she liked everything she saw.

"Well now ... a man who understands how to treat a lady. How can I help you, honey?" she asked while adjusting her bosom to a more ample and visible position-the same bosom she had just complained about other men noticing.