P. N. Elrod - Myhr 01 - The Adventures of Myhr.pdf - P. N. Elrod - widez2

The Adventures of Myhr

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

The Adventures of Myhr

P.N. Elrod

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any

resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

A Baen Books Original

Baen Publishing Enterprises

P.O. Box 1403

Riverdale, NY 10471

www.baen.com

ISBN: 0-7434-3532-X

Page 1

Cover art by Jamie Murray

First printing, June 2003

Distributed by Simon & Schuster

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, NY 10020

Production by Windhaven Press, Auburn, NH

Printed in the United States of America

To the real Myhr and Terrin,

Jamie Murray and Troy Rhodes.

This is a work of fiction,

Except for those bits that really happened.

SHUTTERS AND SHUDDERS

Our room in the inn had a little square of a window covered with a wood shutter. I pulled it open for a

look outside and to get some air. Down below I heard a soft sound like whispering. Something was

definitely on the move. I saw a rippling along the cobbles, growing more substantial the longer I stared. It

covered the width of the street, flowing like a river. The only sound was that weird whispering, like

thousands of ghosts.

The fur on my nape went straight up.

Just as I began to wonder if it was intelligent or powered by intelligence, a tendril of the dark stuff oozed

out from the main body and came creeping up the side of the building toward me.

I slammed the shutter into place and locked it, for all the good it would do. Time to call the cavalry.

"Uh . . . Terrin? You might wanna see this. Terrin?" I shook his shoulder. "Come on, wake up."

Eyes fast shut, his face was a sickly gray and slick with sweat. That wasn't right.

I half knelt and shook him again. "Terrin? Hey, buddy, don't do this. I'm scared enough."

Something audibly brushed against the window opening. I jumped, my heart trying to swim upstream to

my throat.

I shook Terrin a lot harder now. No response. He was absolutely rigid. Like a corpse.

Not right. Not right. Red alert. Battle stations.

The whispering grew more pronounced, stronger. Whatever was behind it wanted in and began

bumping against the shutter.

Time to exit, stage left . . .

Page 2

BAEN BOOKS by P.N. Elrod

Keeper of the King (with Nigel Bennett)

His Father's Son (with Nigel Bennett)

Quincey Morris, Vampire

The Adventures of Myhr

CHAPTER ONE

Some place like Kansas, only not as hilly.

"I wish," I said, puffing hard because we were running flat out. "I really, really wish. You would. Develop

your. People skills."

"Bite me," said Terrin, also puffing hard.

I'd have rolled my eyes, but needed to watch where we were going. It was midnight, with a

lightning-shot sky dumping rain on us like daggers. Despite this, there were a number of very angry locals

hot behind us, either a lynch mob or an auto-da-fé , which I think is Latin for barbeque. The crowd

supplied themselves for either possibility, having brought along both torches and ropes.

No shoddy workmanship for Terrin, who is a wizard. When he decided to piss a person off he always

put a two hundred percent effort into it. On this occasion, for reasons best known to himself, he caused a

bouquet of purple daisies to sprout out of the bald head of the town's mayor. Bad enough, but they'd

been infested with some kind of bugs that gave the man an attack of amazingly ugly hives.

Unfortunately for us, the mayor was popular and had an army of very large relatives all intent on

avenging the family honor.

The thunder cracking overhead and the hiss of falling water kept me from hearing how close pursuit

might be. As I had the better eyesight after dark, I led the way, hoping to find some spot where Terrin

and I could go to ground for a minute so he could get us out. His traveling crystals had been charged up

for weeks, but times had been pretty good on this stopover, so we'd put off leaving.

I had only a sketchy idea of the lay of the land here. We'd left the town in a random direction, striking off

over ice rink-flat farm country. No matter where we went, we'd be seen.

"House," I said, pointing to a humped building with a thatched roof, the only thing in running range that

might provide a temporary refuge.

"Okay." Terrin was shorter, but more than able to keep up as I tore over the ground, my boots making

muddy salad of whatever crop the field held.

No lights showed ahead. At this hour any sensible farmer would be tucked away in bed having a good

snooze through the storm, which is what I'd be doing now if Terrin hadn't wanted to make a spectacular

magical point. Couldn't he have just given the mayor a little tummy ache instead? I hate those.

Page 3

The house turned out to be a barn. Good. Then we wouldn't have to deal with yet another irate local

trying to kill us. One mob was more than enough. We ripped around and found a door, dragging it open.

Inside, I curled my lip at the sudden stink of damp livestock, then violently shook water from my soaked

mane. My rust-colored fur would either droop or be sticking out in clumpy spikes all over my head, but

corrective grooming would have to wait. "How soon?"

Terrin was wheezing hard, but already shrugging off his oversize backpack. "Gimme a minute."

I knew the drill; it would take longer than that for him to set up. We needed something to block the door

in case the mayor's relatives turned out to be marathon runners. Some bales of hay were stacked neatly

against one wall. I grabbed one in each hand and hauled them over. A few mice got dislodged. My ears

swiveled to track their scattered retreat, and I had to repress an urge to lunge. Not that I'm into chasing

mice, much less eating them. The reaction was some deep instinct thing, nothing to get wound up about,

put it down to my weird DNA mix.

I slammed the bales behind the door and went back for another two, then two more. But that wasn't the

only entrance to the place. Another, larger door was at the far end. I didn't think there'd be time to take

care of that one, too.

"Terrin?"

He was still rummaging in the backpack.

"What's the holdup?" I asked. "You didn't lose them? Tell me you didn't lose them."

He muttered something impolite as he dug. "Flashlight!" he snapped.

I took that to be a request, not an explicative, and shrugged my own pack from my shoulders. It was

nearly pitch dark, for him, anyway, something I don't always remember. I prefer order over chaos and

found my flashlight exactly where it was supposed to be. One click and its beam shone into Terrin's

search area.

"Don't you throw anything out?" The inside of his bag looked like a Dumpster.

He snarled sudden triumph, having snagged up two perfectly formed clear quartz crystals. They were

about an inch in diameter and as long as my hand. Terrin gave me one.

"Get ready," he said, dragging one heel along the floor to make a rough circle around us.

I was ready ages ago. Outside, the first of the mob had arrived and were pushing against the door.

You'd have thought the deluge would have put them off. The bales would hold them for

maybe . . . ahhh . . . no. The bales weren't holding at all. The top one tumbled down in a squashy crash

as people on the other side applied muscle against wood. Yells of unholy glee ensued as they inched the

door open against the rest of the barrier.

At the far end came energetic hammering on that door. Until it burst open. A bunch of really big guys

flooded in, wearing even bigger grins. And I thought I had teeth.

"Get 'em!" several of them roared. They charged forward. Just then the group at the first door

succeeded in their assault, sending the last bales tumbling over into the path of their friends. It was a

Page 4

wonderful pile-up, but not enough to stop them.

"Now," said Terrin, in a strangely calm voice. His eyes were shut as he held his crystal.

Against all sense, I shut my eyes as well, clutching my crystal, and hoping my backpack was within the

circle.

The yelling mob, the disturbed livestock, the splat of rain on thatch, abruptly faded. I thought I felt the

brush of a hand grabbing my collar, but it seemed to pass right through me before fading, too.

Then came the tough part. Well, it's not that tough, and I should be used to it by now. It's the mental

image that gets to me. I don't know what Terrin felt during the process, but to me it was always like being

flushed down a toilet. A rushing noise, a swirling, that sudden twist, and the awful feeling that my guts

were never going to catch up with the rest of me, then the worse feeling when they did.

Whoosh . Slam.

I held still, waiting for the next shoe to fall, but it never does. Once my consciousness figured it out I

relaxed, sighing with relief.

Terrin said, "Why do you always groan like that? That was fun !"

"If you're an astronaut riding the vomit comet." I opened my eyes, squinting at a bright day. The barn and

storm and riot were gone, left behind on yet another world. "Where are we? Is it home yet?"

"I don't think so. There wasn't time to pick a direction. Random chance again."

"Damn." The air didn't smell like home, though it was nice and soft. It had that fresh after-dawn tinge and

felt like a late spring or early summer month. Grass, lots of brilliantly green, lush grass covered gentle hills,

a living invitation to roll around and act silly.

Grass is coo-ool.

"Argh!" said Terrin, clapping a hand over his eyes against the daylight. He dropped and began hurriedly

rooting in his pack again. "Sunglasses! Where are my shades?"

Mine were zipped in my jacket pocket. I put them on, then stowed away the flashlight in its designated

pouch. My bag had been within Terrin's circle, thankfully. Some of the debris from the barn floor had

traveled with us. I found my grooming comb with the wide teeth and started working on my still-wet

mane. A quick run-through, another good head-shake and it would dry just fine in the open air.

The rest of me was still pretty damp, though. In silent common accord, Terrin and I put on dry clothes.

He found his sunglasses and a purple fishing hat. "I don't like this place," he grumbled. "Something's not

right here. Too damn much light." Under his short red hair he had naturally pale skin, so he had a right to

complain. More than once I'd seen him lobster out after just an hour. Not a happy experience for either

of us.

"You always say that, unless it's a night landing."

A grouchy snarl as he continued digging. "Gimme your crystal."

Page 5

P. N. Elrod - Myhr 01 - The Adventures of Myhr.pdf

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