The stableman's face was yellow with dread.
"My pleasure. The very best the sta-
“My friend Brutha is a humble man before Om,” said Vorbis. “He will ask for no more than a mule, I have no doubt. Brutha?”
“I-I do not know how to ride, my lord,” said Brutha.
“Any man can get on a mule,” said Vorbis. “Often many times in a short distance. And now, it would appear, we are all here?”
He raised an eyebrow at the sergeant of the guard, who saluted.
“We are awaiting General Fri'it, lord,” he said.
“Ah. Sergeant Simony, isn't it?”
Vorbis had a terrible memory for names. He knew every one. The sergeant paled a little, and then saluted crisply.
“Yes! Sir!”
“We will proceed without General Fri'it,” said Vorbis.
The B of the word “But” framed itself on the sergeant's lips, and faded there.
“General Fri'it has other business,” said Vorbis. “Most pressing and urgent business. Which only he can attend to.”
Fri'it opened his eyes in grayness.
He could see the room around him, but only faintly, as a series of edges in the air.
The sword . . .
He'd dropped the sword, but maybe he could find it again. He stepped forward, feeling a tenuous resistance around his ankles, and looked down.
There was the sword. But his fingers passed through it. It was like being drunk, but he knew he wasn't drunk. He wasn't even sober. He was . . . suddenly clear in his mind.
He turned and looked at the thing that had briefly impeded his progress.
“Oh,” he said.
GOOD MORNING.
“Oh.”
"THERE IS A LITTLE CONFUSION AT FIRST. IT IS ONLY TO BE EXPECTED.
To his horror, Fri'it saw the tall black figure stride away through the gray wall.
“Wait!”
A skull draped in a black hood poked out of the wall.
YES?
“You're Death, aren't you?”
INDEED.
Fri'it gathered what remained of his dignity.