The Eyes of Tokorel

Yorel scraped some crumbs from his plate with a spoon and pushed his chair back from the table. “Please, help yourself to more. No? Well, let’s adjourn to a more comfortable room. Although this room is one of my favorites, I find it less than conducive to friendly conversation. You must tell me all about what you’re working on, Permac. And, Linsora, I’m fascinated with your archaeological skills.”

The Director opened the main doors. A nod to one of the soldiers and a deep clearing of his throat sent the man scurrying across the hall to open another door. Linsora noted that not only the Director, but also everything in this house was large and garish. The sitting room had an oversized fireplace, bigger than average upholstered chairs covered in more yellow and red fabric and numerous large windows opening onto a flowered garden. The doors closed behind them with an ominous double click.

“I have another guest, someone I would like to include in our discussions,” Yorel said.

From one of the many substantial sized chairs facing toward the window, arose a man with dark hair salted with light streaks of gray. Linsora had not opened her mind, had expected the other guest to be Harda Raptin. She was too stunned to reach for a weapon.

“You look shocked. Surely you didn’t think you’d seen the last of me?” Gordek said.