Free Gemworld by Jeremy Bullard Page B

‘Bruce’!” With the punch line went the last of the restraint. Howls of mirth rose up through the trees, startling night birds from their roosts. Even Nisa lost it.
    They continued that way for a few more moments. Then memory drew a dark cloud over Sal’s jollity, and his eyes began to fill. “He was a good man, good to his Momma and Daddy. He deserved better than what he got.”
    The others agreed—though more for Sal’s sake than for any kinship they might have felt for Boob—and raised their cups in salute to Sal’s fallen brother-in-arms.
    “May the Crafter shelter him, and the seed of his memory continue to bear fruit,” Tavin said, his blessing almost sounding like a prayer.
    “Let it be so,” the others said as one.
    They passed a moment in silence, then Tavin asked, “So how did he die, he and your friends? How did you come to be the only survivor of your fellowship?”
    Sal scrubbed a would-be tear from his eye and coughed hard, clearing his throat. “Well, on the night that I came to this world, my team—or ‘fellowship’ or whatever—was sent in to Laos to raid this nut job’s laboratory. He’d been running experiments, dangerous ones that were killing people, and it was our mission to stop him. Among other things...”
    “And in this ‘lab-ruh-torrie’, there was a portal to our world?” Nisa asked, roughing her way through the unfamiliar word.
    “No, not exactly. See, my team was set up... umm, betrayed... and our target, a guy named Merrick, had men waiting on us. That’s how Boob, Tillman, and Gunter died. Hood too, probably, but if he bought it, I wasn’t there when it happened.”
    “Bought what?” Jaren asked, confused.
    “Bought the farm,” Sal replied, then caught himself. “Figure of speech, meaning that he died.” Jaren nodded his understanding, though he retained his quizzical expression, eliciting a grin from Sal. In a way, it amused him that no one understood what he was saying. But on the other hand, it was frustrating. Slang was so much a part of Sal’s normal speech that he had difficulty remembering what he needed to translate, and what he did not. Sighing, he moved on.
    “Anyway, I’m taking out Merrick’s men from behind this desk. There’s bullets—errr, metal projectiles—whizzing past me right and left, chewing the desk to bits. I figure I’m dead if I don’t do something quick. That’s when I see this scientist guy in a white robe ducking into an office. Well, he looks like a decent bargaining chip—or meat shield, whatever—so I go after him. When he sees me, he pulls this rock thing outta thin air and hits me in the shoulder with it, and… I… what?” He trailed off self-consciously as all eyes sharply fastened on him.
    “What did you say hit you in the shoulder?” Jaren asked, intent on Sal’s every word.
    “A ball of rock,” he answered with a shrug. Granted it was impossible, but the impossible was quickly becoming commonplace, so he didn’t see how this one detail was very important.
    “Formed out of thin air?” Retzu led him. Sal nodded.
    “Did you get a look at his eyes?” This from Tavin, his face neutral, belying the dread in his voice.
    They know something , Sal thought excitedly. By God, they know something . “Yeah. They were like your mage eyes, only different. Kind of brown or grey-brown with—”
    “—black specks,” Reit finished. All were stunned silent for a moment.
    “Who was he?” Sal blurted. All this time wasted, and he had the answers right here. Or at least, some of the answers.
    Reit nodded to Jaren, who took the reins of the conversation. “We may never know who he was, but we can tell you what he was. If what you’re telling us is true, you’re very lucky to be alive. The man who attacked you was a granite.”
    “A mage? So he was like you, then?”
    “Nothing like me,” Jaren answered firmly. “True, he can wield mana, but comparing a granite to an emerald is like comparing a bear to an