CHAPTER VIII
THE DEATH-HOUNDS
It may have been ten o'clock on the following morning, or a little past it, when the Shaman Simbri came into my room and asked me how I had slept.
Like a log,
I answered, like a log. A drugged man could not have rested more soundly.
Indeed, friend Holly, and yet you look fatigued.
My dreams troubled me somewhat,
I answered. I suffer from such things. But surely by your face, friend Simbri, you cannot have slept at all, for never yet have I seen you with so weary an air.
I am weary,
he said, with a sigh. Last night I spent up on my business—watching at the Gates.
What gates?
I asked. Those by which we entered this kingdom, for, if so, I would rather watch than travel them.
The Gates of the Past and of the Future. Yes, those by which you entered, if you will; for did you not travel out of a wondrous Past towards a Future that you cannot guess?
But both of which interest you,
I suggested.
Perhaps,
he answered, then added, I come to tell you that within an hour you are to start for the city, whither the Khania has but now gone on to make ready for you.
Yes; only you told me that she had gone some days ago. Well, I am sound again and prepared to march, but say, how is my foster-son?
He mends, he mends. But you shall see him for your-
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