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with strange people or strange animals. They were describing a continent.
    First confusion and then panic gripped him as his mind returned to questions of injury, hallucination, and insanity. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, the spit having dried up in his mouth. “That’s not Earth,” he muttered when he finally found his voice. “That’s not Earth.”
    “Well, granted it’s not all that accurate,” Reit said, a bit defensively. “But have you any idea how guarded ship captains are of their charts? It’s the Crafter’s own hand that I was able to glean even this much.”
    None of which Sal heard, of course. His mind was still racing with the implications of Reit’s drawing.
    In a valiant effort to focus on the problem at hand, Sal pushed his panic aside and attempted to sift through the information logically. If this was a different world, it would certainly account for how the seemingly impossible—magic, flying horses, rebuilt eyeballs, gemstone eyeballs—were so commonplace. Different worlds, different rules.
    And somehow, I wound up here, he concluded. The thought, so obvious as to be laughable, led to one more profound, sparking dimly at first, then growing into a beacon fire of hope.
    If there ’ s a way to this world, there has to be a way back .
    Before he could dwell on this further, Jaren took charge of his patient. “I think that’s enough conversation for one evening,” he said firmly. “You need your rest. No, no... there’s no point in protesting. I’d hate to have to risk the slop kettles just to put you to sleep, but I will if I have to.”
    Sal’s body chose that moment to agree. He hadn’t realized how late it had grown, or how tired he actually was. Sunlight outside the cage bars had evaporated, replaced with guttering torches. Looking around the cell, he saw very few figures silhouetted against bars. Nearly all of the inmates had gone to ground, preparing for another grueling day of survival-of-the-fittest. Sal decided there was wisdom in Jaren’s words. After all, it seemed that they had all the time in the world to talk. They weren’t exactly going anywhere.
    Sighing weakly, Sal obeyed, and fell asleep almost instantly amidst his companions’ hushed conversation.
    ***
    “I don’t know,” Reit said, glancing again at the stranger to make certain he was asleep. “Protecting the weak and injured is one thing. But I’m not prepared to risk spending the rest of my life, however short that might be, in prison by taking in a total stranger. Too much is at stake, Jaren, you know that!”
    Jaren sighed, shaking his head at his friend’s stubbornness. “How can you be so obstinate? Can’t you see he has nowhere else to go? If we don’t bring his with us, he’ll die in here,” he whispered vehemently.
    “He’ll have the same chance as the rest of them,” Reit waved his hand as if to take in the whole prison cell. “He seems a capable man, despite his injuries. I think he stands and excellent chance of finding his own way. And I won’t be saddled with questioning his intentions.”
    Jaren closed his eyes and took a calming breath, letting it out slowly, then continued as Reit waited patiently. “Look at him, el ’ Yatza ! His wounds were very real, and very life-threatening. I should know. There is no way I can believe that they could have been staged for our benefit. Even the most hardened soldier would not subject himself to such willingly, not on the bare hope that the Rank mages would care enough to heal him before sending him in here. However he received those wounds, Sal is no friend to the Highest. I dare say, quite the opposite.”
    Reit remained unconvinced. “Are you willing to stake your life on that? Are you willing to stake mine?” He spoke softly, but Jaren could hear the razor sharp edge in his voice.
    “In two days, my emeralds will be here.” Jaren pressed. “He should be plenty strong enough to go with us by then. Once we’re out of the