We flicked in and out of the
salty air of Shainsa, glimpsed flowers on a Daillon street, moonlight,
noon, red twilight flickered and went, shot through with the terrible
giddiness of hyperspace.
Then suddenly I caught a second glimpse of the bridge and the pylon; a
moment's oversight had landed us for an instant in Charin. The blackness
started to reel down, but my reflexes are fast and I made one swift,
scrabbling step forward. We lurched, sprawled, locked together, on the
stones of the Bridge of Summer Snows. Battered, and bruised, and
bloody, we were still alive, and where we wanted to be.
I lifted Miellyn to her feet. Her eyes were dazed with pain. The ground
swayed and rocked under our feet as we fled along the bridge. At the far
end, I looked up at the pylon. Judging from its angle, we couldn't be
more than a hundred feet from the window through which I'd seen that
landmark in the scanner. In this street there was a wineshop, a silk
market, and a small private house. I walked up and banged on the door.
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