by Barb Hendee
Garrogh's brush with near-insubordination had roused Rodian. Along with other matters, he'd forgotten how sensible and aware his lieutenant truly was. And it felt better to do anything but sit and stew. Perhaps Wynn had discovered something that would help him prove the truth, so long as she spoke no more of her deluded beliefs. This murderer was not some undead of folk superstition. Then he might gain legitimate means to get a grip on il'Sänke. Not even the royal family would be able to deny him.
Soon Rodian and Garrogh approached the guild's half-open bailey gate. It was never bolted and barred, but it still bothered him that it stood ajar. He looked up the path to the gatehouse's closed portcullis.
There was no one out front on post.
"Where's Lúcan?" Rodian growled. "And who is on watch with him?" Garrogh looked about. "I don't know… Ulwald was paired with him. I've got two other pairs walking circuit around the place. Two more are off duty in the gatehouse above, waiting to rotate with others throughout the night."
Rodian urged Snowbird into a trot all the way to the portcullis.
"Open it up!" he shouted.
One of his men shouted acknowledgment from above, and the portcullis began to rise. Rodian ducked, prepared to ride under before it was fully raised.
"Captain?"
He sat back up, reining in Snowbird. Lúcan and Ulwald came at a trot through the inner bailey.
"What are you doing off post?" Garrogh barked.
Lúcan halted, eyes shifting between the lieutenant and Rodian.
"We heard something in the trees, around the west tower," Ulwald answered.
"You heard something?" Rodian mimicked. "What?"
"Not sure, sir," Lúcan answered. "Something large breaking through the brush and branches."
At Rodian's shifted glance, Ulwald nodded agreement.
"Then one of you goes alone!" Rodian shouted. "Or you get whoever's off duty above to watch while you both check."
"You had to have heard it, Captain," Lúcan exclaimed. "Others have. Gael heard something the other night and—"
"No post is left unwatched!"
Both men stiffened, whether in resentment or fear at the rebuke, it wasn't clear.
"Yes, Captain," they answered, but Lúcan glanced toward Garrogh.
"I'll handle this," Garrogh said. "You go on… find that nosy little sage."
Rodian took a slow breath. He wasn't the only one under pressure—or had he passed on his own duress to his men? They wouldn't have left their post together without some real concern. He dismounted, handed Snowbird off to Garrogh, and walked the rest of the way in.
When he reached the main doors, he knocked and waited this time, though his patience had worn paper-thin. The young apprentice who'd led him to the hospice yesterday peered out.
"Ah, sir, it's you." The young man opened the door wide. "Should I announce you? Do you need to see Domin High-Tower?"
"No, I'm here to see Journeyor Hygeorht," Rodian said, and stepped inside. As yet, he wasn't certain where they might talk, but she would probably have an idea.
The apprentice blinked in brief uncertainty. "A moment, sir. I'll see if she is available."
The boy was well-spoken, with a slight accent. Rodian wondered which province he came from, perhaps as far south as Witeny. He nodded, and the apprentice stepped out, hurrying off toward the dormitory on the courtyard's southeastern side.
Rodian paced the entryway for what felt like too long. A few young sages passed on their way elsewhere, but none were anyone he knew. The apprentice came running back in.
"She's not in her room," the boy said. "I'll see if she's at the common hall… or if anyone knows her whereabouts."
Rodian nodded and waited again. More time passed, and his patience was all but gone. Finally the apprentice came trotting back down the passage.
"I am sorry, sir, but Journeyor Hygeorht cannot be found. Domin High-Tower was just informed, but—"
"Not again!" Rodian hissed.
He brushed past the boy, striding toward the common hall, and as he rounded through the main archway, he nearly collided with High-Tower. The hall was filled with sages eating, talking, or just milling about.
"Where is she?" Rodian demanded.
High-Tower's red hair and beard looked huge, strands rising in the hall's warmth, but his features seemed even redder, and his dark pellet eyes were wild.
"You have no jurisdiction here!" the domin snarled back. "I thought that much was clear by now!"
But the dwarf looked around nervously, as if Rodian's arrival were an unwanted interruption of something else.
"Where is she?" Rodian repeated more calmly. "And where is il'Sänke?"
High-Tower huffed loudly, but indignation faded from his face. "I do not know… nor do I see your point."
Rodian forced himself to calm again and called out loudly, "Has anyone here seen Journeyor Hygeorht or Domin il'Sänke since this afternoon?"
The buzz in the hall diminished, and someone "d, ilwith a nasally voice called out, "I have."
A young woman in a brown stood up. She was thin to the point of being bony, and even from a distance her nose was too long for her face.
High-Tower grumbled through gritted teeth and hurried toward her. His wide girth and vibrating steps sent apprentices and initiates shuffling out of his way. Rodian followed on the domin's heels.
"Regina," High-Tower puffed. "Who did you see?"
"All three of them," she answered, her lip curling into a sneer. "Wynn, the domin… and that supposed majay-hì. I was helping in the kitchen when they came through from the storage building. They went straight to the other side, to the rear hallway leading to the north tower. But when I peeked out…"
High-Tower rumbled as he glared at the girl.
"When I peeked out," Regina repeated, "they weren't there. They were gone, and too quickly to be heading into the keep or even the tower… for whatever reason."
Rodian knew of only one destination in the tower—High-Tower's study.
"Where were you about that time?" he asked the dwarf.
"In my study, of course," High-Tower replied. "The door was open, since I was available to students and apprentices. I saw or heard no one."
"There's always the back door," Regina piped up. "It opens on the back of the keep… right across from the kitchen."
This spiteful pole of a girl glanced up at Rodian, adding, "None of us are supposed to go out at night."
Rodian ignored this thinly veiled accusation, and turned on High-Tower. "If they're here, I want them found. Either you do it, or my men will, and I'm not waiting for permission from your premin."
What followed, after the seething dwarf headed off, were long moments of Rodian pacing before the hall's main arch. Too many curious glances turned his way, not to mention a pack of whispering young sages who gathered around Regina as she smugly returned to her table. And when High-Tower reappeared dourly at the hall's narrow side arch, Rodian knew the domin had found nothing.
Right then he thought of putting Lúcan and Ulwald on night patrol, walking the Graylands Empire for the next moon.
High-Tower waded through the hall, his hands folded behind his back. But Rodian wasn't thinking of Wynn at that moment. There was only one possible way the errant trio had gotten out: Someone had somehow tricked Lúcan and Ulwald.
Ghassan il'Sänke.
Rodian almost demanded whether High-Tower knew how the Suman had done this. But if il'Sänke had such tricks, whatever they were, it seemed unlikely that a murderer would share such with anyone.
"Where would they have gone?" he asked instead.
The dwarf appeared lost for what to say. "I do not know why they would leave, let alone to where. Il'Sänke isn't fool enough to do this without telling someone what he was up to."
Once again, High-Tower provided a less than worthless answer.
"Thank you for your help," Rodian said coldly.
He strode out of the keep and ran down the gatehouse tun
nel. Garrogh was waiting there with the horses.
"She's gone again!" Rodian spit, losing hold of his anger. "And so is that Suman sage! No one knows how or why, but they are out in the city somewhere."
He swung up on Snowbird and urged her out, but where could he even begin looking?
"She's alone with the killer," he said, wiping a hand across his face. "Where would she go?"
He wasn't really speaking to Garrogh, but his lieutenant replied, "Both times she's disappeared, she ended up at a'Seatt's shop."
Rodian's eyes flew to Garrogh's face. The first night, when he'd caught Wynn inside the shop, she'd been quite friendly with Imaret. And Rodian still believed that Pawl a'Seatt was hiding something.
"Yes," he agreed, for at least it was somewhere to start.
But what would il'Sänke do if Rodian found them and tried to take Wynn away? The mage had some motive for taking her off alone—and so recently after she'd gained access to the translations.
Rodian pulled up outside the bailey gate. Garrogh's horse skidded to a stop beside him. There was no time to send for more men, regardless that he was about to countermand his own snarling outburst. He needed at least one more of his guards.
"Lúcan! Where's your horse?"
The guardsman looked confused and pointed off along the bailey. "We tied ours off in there, sir."
"Get yours! And come with us."
Chapter 18
Wynn strolled up the street past the Upright Quill as if engaged in some halfhearted errand. She kept a lethargic pace, fearing to get too far, too fast. If she traveled more than a block past the scriptorium, then Chane and Shade might grow anxious and try to shadow her through the alley behind the shops. She would be out of their sight line for too long.
The street was still empty as she passed the silversmith's fine establishment and then the perfumery. When she finally reached the far intersection, she stopped near the candle maker's shop.
"Bother!" she whispered loudly, feigning forgetfulness, and turned to head back the other way.
In spite of an outward semblance of being put upon in her late task, Wynn was tense inside. Domin il'Sänke had her sun crystal, and she was completely defenseless. In her mind's eye she couldn't stop picturing the wraith as it had appeared in her room last night. Wraps of black shroud cloth—its burial raiment—covered its shriveled form beneath the robe and cloak.
An undead, but far different from those she'd come to think of as the Noble Dead. It could kill with a touch—could feed upon her with great speed—and nothing seemed able to harm it but another undead or a majay-hì. In comparison, a vampire seemed far less of a threat.
Some of them had unique abilities, aside from knowledge and skills carried over from life. But Leesil, Chap, and Magiere had destroyed such, and Wynn had even helped a few times. Decapitation and incineration were effective in finishing them off, but these were worthless upon a creature with no true physical form. What powers did it possess aside from mimicking physical presence at need? Worse, what if it was still a mage as well?
Forcing calm, Wynn hummed a low tune she'd learned from Leesil on the voyage from the Farlands. A terrifying truth had been forming in the back of her mind.
The wraith seemed to know too many things about the guild's project and the comings and goings of the folios. Tonight's ploy to lure it out depended upon its somehow learning where she was. And no one at the guild knew of this plan.
The wraith had entered the guild last night. Had it done so in the past, perhaps tracking those involved in the project? Obviously literate, since it sought folios, if it had once been Suman, then it could read its native language. Even il'Sänke could read some of the ancient dialects of his own tongue, but only if given enough time.
So why had the wraith been stealing translated passages, instead of going after the original texts?
It could walk through walls, and since Wynn's return surely it could have searched every corner of the guild's keep and catacombs.
Wynn slowed a little too much in her walk.
Any search of guild grounds, for a creature that could go anywhere, would have succeeded… unless the texts were stored somewhere else.
Wynn picked up her pace again. This wasn't the time to get distracted by more puzzles.
As she passed the perfumery once more, she slowed to glance at its front windows. The inner shutters were closed and barred, hiding displays of hand-blown glass and porcelain bottles filled with heady fragrances. With nothing to look at she moved on—and then stopped completely.
A column of night stood ahead in the middle of the street.
Wynn flinched, even though she was prepared for this.
Appearing solid and real, its cloak corners began to lift on their own around the black robe. Unlike what she'd seen with mantic sight, the hollow of its hood held only darkness. So alien—like spotting a black spider running up her arm. Wynn began to shudder.
It just waited, not even coming for her. Was it playing with her? Did it want her to smother in her own fear and run?
"What are you after?" she said, and her voice turned shrill. "What is worth murder?"
Not even an echoing hiss rose around her in response.
Where was il'Sänke? He had to see it. It was standing right there in the open.
The night's chill deepened around Wynn, biting at her exposed face and hands.
The wraith slid forward across the cobblestones, its speed increasing. Wynn turned and ran.
Chane tensed to keep from charging out, his left hand with the ring still resting on Shade's back.
Wynn raced down the street, toward his hiding place.
There was no sign of il'Sänke, and Chane forced himself to wait. But the wraith was closing too fast. He held back until Wynn blurred past him—and still no sign of il'Sänke.
"Now!" he rasped, and lifted his hand from Shade's back.
The dog cut loose a wail as she lunged into the street, and the sound made Chane quiver. He pulled his longsword, counted off two forced breaths, and bolted out after Wynn.
The blade would not affect the wraith, but his task was to do anything to divert it once it faltered amid too many adversaries appearing. He had to focus on that one purpose alone.
But it did not falter—not even as Shade charged after it, snapping and snarling. It reached out with its cloth-wrapped hand, until its fingers stretched to within a hand's length of Wynn's back.
And Chane was still too far off. But Shade closed the distance.
She leaped, arcing straight at the black figure—and it vanished. Shade landed with a frustrated growl and whirled about.
Chane did the same, quickly searching the street. Like some mockery of light, a black flash caught in the left side of his vision, and he saw Wynn stumble to a halt.
The wraith stood ahead of her, down the street.
Chane veered as Wynn backpedaled and began digging into her robe's outer pocket.
One thing was clear: This creature didn't want the majay-hì to touch it. That gave Chane an advantage. As he rushed at it, he shouted, "Shade!"
The wraith slid sharply to the right, trying to get out of his way as Shade's howl erupted again.
Chane thrust out with his empty hand, driving it toward the black figure. Part of him suddenly hoped the wraith would vanish to escape.
For an instant he thought he saw a darkened shop wall through its form. Momentum speared his hand through the black robe's chest.
A shock of cold stiffened his fingers. It shot up his arm as a brief screech surrounded him. Both the sound and the black figure vanished—but not the pain in his arm. Chane slammed into the shop wall beyond.
His numbed fingers rammed wood planking. He thought he heard one finger crack as his shoulder hit the planks. He rolled along the wall, looking frantically about as a thousand icy needles seemed to slide through his hand, arm, and shoulder.
Shade raced by, snarling like a rabid dog.
He never had a chance to look fo
r Wynn. Coiling wisps like soot-laced smoke gathered into a column in the majay-hì's path.
But it was slower this time, not like the last. For an instant, the thin transparency Chane had glimpsed remained. Then it grew solid black as a screeching hiss exploded, filling the street along with its returning form.
The wraith's ability to vanish and reappear wasn't as quick as Chane had thought, and now it seemed to struggle even more to become real. And he had hurt it as well. But his fingers barely moved and his arm was nearly limp at his side. He would have to throw aside his sword to try again with his other hand.
Before Shade could leap, the wraith rushed forward and swiped down with its hand.
Shade ducked away, but one forepaw slipped. She fell sideways, quickly rolled over, and her rump hit a shop porch before she could scramble up. Chane lurched off the shop wall as the wraith circled wide around Shade.
Then it jerked to a dead stop.
The hiss grew again in the street, like water pattering upon a hot stove. It whipped about, facing toward Chane.
"Throw it… now!"
Chane glanced back.
There was Wynn, fumbling to pull the arms of the spectacles over her ears.
The instant the wraith appeared, Ghassan dropped to the street with the staff in hand—but not from where he had whistled to the others.
While waiting, he had wondered how this thing had learned so much about the folios. If it had skills as a mage of any kind, he did not want it locating him. And when it appeared, he would not have time to obscure his presence from its awareness. If it learned of Chane and Shade's location, that simply served as a further distraction.
In the last instant Ghassan slowed his descent and settled silently behind the robed undead. It seemed utterly unaware of him, remaining still and silent, watching Wynn.
Ghassan fixed upon its exposed back.
Before he even wiped away the spell's remains to call another, the wraith rushed forward down the street, and Wynn took off running.
Ghassan did not know how long Chane and Shade could keep this thing distracted, and Wynn was defenseless. He could not allow it to touch her, or this would all end too quickly with nothing gained.
