The Spaces Between (A Drunkard's Journey) by Martin Gibbs Page B

time with honesty. Qainur coughed and then chuckled briefly. They each sat and contemplated the silence for a few moments before Zhy re-opened the conversation they had been having. I guess there’s little sleep for tonight in any case. He thought he saw Qainur nod.
    “What if the demon you killed was one of millions that are loose?”
    “I hope the Temple still stands, Zhy. The pillars...if they have fallen—”
    “I’m sure they haven’t.”
    “We had better hope they haven’t. Can you handle more of those beasts?”
    “Not a million! But surely a few hundred, I would think.”
    “Good,” Qainur said flatly. He still clung to an innocent hope that an entire planet could be saved by protecting a single temple.
    Torplug yawned hugely. “It is very late, or very early. I’m sorry to have disrupted your night.”
    Qainur grunted.
    Zhy forced himself out of bed and started to rekindle a small fire. No sense in trying to sleep any more. As he stirred the ashes, looking for an ember, his mind was working slowly. Then he suddenly thought he understood everything and wheeled on Torplug.
    “Well, if we aren’t too late, maybe you are going to this temple. Maybe it is really you these Knights and demons are after.” But even as he said this, his mind faltered and he realized how absurd that sounded. He started to apologize but turned to the fire, not wanting to say anything else that was childish and stupid.
    Torplug looked at him in wonder. Then he chuckled. “I wish I were that kind of hero—I mean, someone so dangerous as to be hunted by the Black Dawn.” He said the last sadly, as if being hunted by an elite band would be honorable! “No, my reasons for going home are far more mundane.”
    The mage took a deep breath. It seemed a good time to get their thoughts back from the dangerous precipice of despair. There was not much holding them back from collectively drowning their sorrows for the rest of the winter. “I have to return home, for—work. People are looking for me, but they will stay on the main road and will not cause violence to you. But they have certain talismans which negate my magic. The temple is far beyond my home, and I am in no way prepared to travel that kind of distance. No, my employers want me home. Soon. I then get to spend the remainder of winter in taverns, as much as I hate to.” He looked at Zhy.
    Qainur’s stare was blank “Why would a mage…?”
    Zhy caught on, having spent the majority of his adult life in a tavern. But he would let Torplug explain himself.
    “Teaching at University would pay, but not good enough. Service to the kingdom would be just as poor. There isn’t much for a mage to do, really, unless I wanted to hunt for small villages, which would also pay next to nothing. No, this earns me far more.” He looked at Zhy and nodded.
    “What are you both on about?” Qainur asked.
    Zhy turned. “Remember when he told us what males do for a living…?”
    The warrior shook his head dumbly. “No…”
    “Males. In Welcfer. For work. Do I need to say it?”
    Qainur thought and then reddened. He leaped from his bed. “You? No! And I shared a room with you, you aberration! How can you even sit in a saddle? You, a prostitute!” The word flew off his lips in a spray of spittle.
    “You back-woods imbecile! I don’t take men on as clients, Qainur, though some do. I believe you have a saying in Belden that goes something like ‘Men are men and women are women. In Welcfer, women are women and so are the men.’ But I’m not one of those who enjoys that sort of thing. So stop looking at me like that!” the mage snapped.
    With that Qainur calmed, but was still red in the face. “I didn’t ...”
    “The cultures are different. Much different.”
    Suddenly, Qainur’s hand flashed up and his sword was out. The room fell silent.
    Zhy and Torplug each gave him a questioning glance.
    He pointed at the window then his ear. Then at the door. He motioned everyone to the