P. N. Elrod - Adventures Of Myhr

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

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 thereal 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 wantedin and began bumping

against the shutter.

Time to exit, stage left . . .

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 anauto-da-fé , which I think is Latin for barbeque. The crowd

supplied themselves for either possibility, having brought along both torchesand 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.

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 onthat door. Until it burst open. A bunch of really big guys

flooded in, wearing even bigger grins. And I thoughtI 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

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 wasfun !"

"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."

I gave it over. He put it in a small net bag along with his own quartz, safety-pinned it to the top of his hat,

then pulled the hat down low over his brow. The crystals could start charging up with sun energy right

away while we walked, an ingenious idea. Mine, as a matter of fact. He was a brilliant wizard, but I have

my moments, too.

"So what happened?" I asked as he repacked all the junk he'd tossed around in his searches.

"What d'ya mean?" He pulled on a long-sleeved shirt and wrapped a bandana around his exposed neck

to keep from burning. I never had to worry much about such things; my body-fur was better than

sunblock-50.

"The mayor, the irate citizens, the mob, the chase scene. I just want to know why. We had a nice spot

there."

"Mayor pissed me off."

"Obviously. How?"

"His attitude. Trying to act like he knew everything. Frigging amateurs. They do a little weather charm

and think they've got the whole Multiverse in their hand when it's the other way around. I wastrying to

make him see what he was screwing around with; you can't just poke sticks at elementals for the fun of it.

Unless you know what you're doing—and he didn't—all kinds of shit can happen."

"Weather? That storm . . . ?"

"Was his fault, not mine. Seemed to think he was helping out the farmers. I was trying to tell him he was

sucking rain away from another area where it wassupposed to be, upsetting balances, but he didn't want

to hear that. Nothing pisses me off more than people who insist on being stupid. He wanted things to be

growing in hismicroscopic piece of the planet—so I made some stuff grow to restore the balance."

"The purple daisies."

Terrin snickered. "Yeah. You should have heard everyone screaming when those sprouted out."

"I did. That's why I came downstairs with our packs." For the sake of survival I was forever prepared

and alert to the signs that a hasty exit was at hand. Screaming people was one of them. At the little inn

where we'd been staying the common room had overflowed with vocalized panic. "You spent good

magic on that? It'd have been better to punch him in the nose; the same mob would have come after us."

"I didn't usemy magic, I transferred some local energy in a different direction. There was more than

enough off that storm for me to turn him into a Triffid if I wanted."

"Or maybe that giant carrot guy fromThe Thing ?"

"Yeah, but the Howard Hawks version, not the other film—thoughthat would have been fun."

Terrin had some really warped ideas of what constituted fun. Most did not bear thinking about.

"I had to transfer energy anyway, use up the surplus," he added. "That wannabe Oz dufus with his

grandstanding was too busy floating his ego with all the applause to pay attention to his storm. He'd left

things running, so it was building up to a good hail fall. Would have ruined all the crops. I took the edge

off with that daisy gag."

"The bugs, too?" It hadn't been a pretty sight watching the mayor dancing around getting all bit up by the

things. And it got downright revolting when he frantically started ripping his clothes off, the better to

scratch at the hives.

"Those drained off the tornado that was coming."

"Really?"

"Yup. Nothing like spontaneous generation of life for using up excess power."

"Sure you didn't use some of yours? You look a little gaunt."

"I just played traffic cop, and it's this damn daylight that's messing with my looks."

He was touchy about his appearance, so I let it drop. "Will he ever get rid of the daisies and bugs?"

"Not anytime soon. He'll have to find another wizard to fix it back, and that will cost him. Maybe he'll

learn a lesson or the other wizard can talk some sense into him. There's nothing worse than Talents who

think they know everything about the Art. They're way more dangerous than those of us who do."

Terrin was an expert, and he did know a lot, but for the moment not enough to get us back home again.

I kept quiet on that sensitive point and nodded toward a hill. "I think there's a road over there."

"What makes you think that?"

I shrugged. "It just seems the right way to go. You got your magic, I got my instinct."

"Okay. Let's go find out where we are. I'm starving."

We had traveling food in the packs, along with water, but those were for emergency only during

stopovers in truly barren worlds. Whenever possible, we tried to live off the land. That usually meant

taking odd jobs to earn our way. I'd do street-singing and story-telling, and when he had the energy,

Terrin would trade minor magics for cash, but only in places where magic was accepted. Otherwise, he

bartended.

Once upon a time, oh, a few dozen worlds ago, we lived on Earth—our Earth, the one you're on, not

any of these other spots that called themselves by the same name. Terrin had a nice little metaphysical

bookstore and coffee shop that afforded him the freedom to do what he liked. What he liked most after

magic was getting laid—one of my favorites, too—and hardcore partying. The techno club raves he

frequented in Deep Ellum in Dallas provided outlets for both. I'm more of a rock and roller. Techno is

okay, just not for me. The rocker girls are just as cute.

I should really introduce myself, though. I'm Myhr—rhymes withpurr —just Myhr, no other name that I

can remember. What makes me more obviously different from most people are my cat features on a

man's body. Just the face, I don't have a tail, though a lot of girls have enthusiastically assured me the

tushy I do possess is very appealing.

And no, I amnot related to the tunnel guy on that TV series. If that was true I'd have hit him up for an

introduction to Linda Hamilton.

Where I came from is a mystery to me. Terrin thinks it was a magical experiment; I've speculated on

genetics. Ido have plenty of feline DNA making whoopee in my human-shaped bod—found that out

when I saved enough cash working in Terrin's store to have a test made. So far no black-suited

government types came banging on the door to make an issue of it. Terrin said he'd put up a protection

spell around me to prevent that. Mighty altruistic of him, but I'm sure he did it for himself just to avoid

dealing with the annoyance. Anything that keeps him away from parties and/or getting laid is an

annoyance.

My lack of memory of where I was born and what I did before turning up on Terrin's doorstep never

bothered me much. Not that I wouldn't like to know, but I don't stay up nights worrying about my

origins. Lots of people might get bent out of shape over the big "Who am I?" question, but include me

out. It's better to enjoy the moment and leave that angsty stuff to the heavy-duty thinkers. Bet if they got

laid more often they wouldn't put so much time in on the topic.

How Terrin and I got bounced off our Earth and ended up ping-ponging from world to world is another

story, which I'll get around to when I'm ready to tell it. In the meantime, we trudged up one green hill and

down another and, sure enough, my instinct came through again, taking us to a thin dusty ribbon of a

road.

"Which way?" asked Terrin. He stretched his back, making popping sounds. "Left, right, up, down,

inside-out?"

"Left." I didn't know why, but that was the way. To what, I also did not know, though it usually meant

people and food. That's how I found Terrin's shop after all. He'd fed me, so I stayed on.

"My left or yours?"

Mine, of course. He could have probably figured it out himself using his own internal compass, but the

one in my subconscious worked faster and didn't cost any magical effort. Traveling spells and transferring

weather energy around was exhausting, though he'd never admit it; better for him to conserve himself until

we had a handle on this particular stop. He looked pretty pooped.

A couple of hours later we saw the signs of civilization, a slow and easy one, represented by a simple

farmhouse, low tech again, with a penchant for thatched roofing. I'd have thought we were still back on

the previous world but for the subtle differences in building design. Also, this house was washed in a dull

brown color. The other place went in for bright primaries.

A waist-high wall marked the perimeter of the immediate yard and its vegetable gardens; the gate was

unlocked, so we went in.

"Hello!" I called toward the house. Someone was home; smoke rose from the chimney.

We paused a short, respectful distance from the front porch so as not to make the owner nervous about

our intentions. It was usually safer to assume people everywhere were paranoid. After a minute, a

farmer-type in homespun, earth-colored clothes emerged from the dark interior to stare at us. Well,

mostly at me.

"Hello," I said politely. "We're just passing through. Could you tell us how far it is to the next town?"

He stared some more. "Ikghop patuuny mafork?" he asked.

"I said, could you tell us how far to the next town?"

"Skidwhip humdish?"

"I almost got that," I said to Terrin.

"Keep him talking," he told me, his voice tight with strain.

"Hello, Mr. Farmer, the weather here is great, isn't it?"

"Red salad fork," said the farmer.

"Really? I can fix my alarm clock myself." I took off my sunglasses. My eyes made a hit with him,

judging by how wide his own went in reaction. Vertical pupils are one of my best features.

He scowled. "Who are clipwiddles, anycrab?"

"Sorry, I didn't catch that."

He turned back toward the house. "Hey, Verna, I think there's a circus plading to fardibt."

"Got it!" said Terrin.

I glanced at him. He'd relaxed, but his face was still red from the effort. Language spells were also hard

on him, but he only had to cast one once per world.

"I need a drink," he added, positively sagging.

"The well's over there," said the farmer affably, pointing. "Help yourself, the water's sweet. What was all

that gobble-gobble? Your friend from another country?"

"He's from Barcelona." Terrin went to the well, lowering the bucket by means of a wooden crank.

"Oh." The farmer nodded, as though that explained everything. Maybe this world had such a place.

"That where the circus come from?"

"There's no circus," I said. "We're just travelers."

"So youcan speak English. Should have said so. Then why the get-up?"

"What get-up?" I asked, very innocently.

"The mask."

"Mask?"

He peered closer at me. I flared my lip whiskers and twitched my ears around so he could see it was all

real. I'd been through this kind of interview a thousand times, but still found it amusing. "Well, I never

seen the like! What kind of eyes are those? Gold as our old tabby's. Verna! You gotta come out here!"

"Yeah, Zack, what is it?"

Verna came out, did her turn at staring and asking the usual questions, and I did my turn at being

charming. Unless they're allergic, most people like cats, so I played on it, enjoying myself. It eventually

led to an invitation to lunch, and I traded stories of the road for food. The food was good, too, very close

to that of the Earth I knew, so I didn't have to worry about its digestibility. Trust me, Terrin and I have

been to places that really do have green eggs and ham. They taste about the way you'd expect from their

looks, too, no offense to Dr. Seuss.

I helped with the post-lunch clean-up, which pleased Verna to no end, while Terrin got specific

directions to the next town from Zack, along with some useful local information. As a first contact

situation went, Captain Picard would have been proud of us.

We had about two hours of walking ahead, but with a full stomach I was in the mood for a little light

exercise. Terrin wasn't pleased, but only because it was day. His pale skin was more suited for night

rambles.

"Too damn bitching bright," he complained. "I don't like this place."

"Better than others we've been to."

"Something's not right here,'' he went on, sniffing the air suspiciously. "Too dry. Too . . . something."

I thought the weather was just fine. Terrin enjoyed complaining; he was good at it, but I wasn't in the

mood to help him indulge. Verna's cooking was first-rate and its proper digestion deserved my undivided

attention.

The walk in was easy, with a gradual traffic increase the farther we went. Much of it tended to be

farmers with things to sell, but they'd give the way over to an occasional cart or passenger wagon, and a

few times guys in uniforms would march or ride past. I checked these dudes out for weapons, since you

can tell a lot about the level of a place's tech development by what kinds of things people used to kill

each other. It's a sad comment on the human condition, but we're kind of stuck with it.

There were lots of swords—the skinny kind—bows, knives, lances, and a crossbow-type contraption.

No firearms yet that I noticed, but maybe an ordinary soldier or town guard couldn't afford a pistol. I'd

rather no one had to carry weapons at all, but people are people, and not everyone is as easy to get

along with as I am. Not that I was above protecting myself, but I'm more of a lover than a fighter.

The town proved to be fairly large, sprawling beyond the confines of a high defense wall. That was good

and bad. We could blend in better with a crowd, but unless they had a covered sewer system, things

tended to get smelly in walled cities. I'd never fully appreciated the joys of modern sanitation until my first

encounter with a genuine medieval-type settlement. True civilization—as I broadly defined it now—was

any society with working indoor plumbing and real toilet paper.

More soldier types trooped past, not quick-marching, but not wasting time. Several of them stared at

me, either puzzled or amused, and I heard speculations about circuses. That was good. No one was

drawing back in abject terror, muttering about two-legged cat demons, or making signs against the evil

eye. I'd experienced all of those in our travels, and being taken for a side-show exhibit is preferable.

Joining in with a knot of locals, we passed unchallenged through one of the many wide-open gates,

which seemed a favorable sign of peaceful times. There were all different types of skin shades, costumes,

P. N. Elrod - Adventures Of Myhr

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