by Barb Hendee
“Wynn cares for him,” she whispered, obviously referring to Chane.
It had not been a question but a statement, and Osha rocked back on one heel as if kicked in the stomach. Those words could have had any number of meanings, but she had clearly said them to cut him. And worse, he felt he deserved it.
Yes, Wynn cared for Chane. There was nothing Osha could do about that, though he had his hopes concerning her and their past together. But something more stunned him.
Leanâlhâm had never before said anything to hurt him. She had changed in more than name since they’d last parted.
* * *
Wynn couldn’t help a convulsive shudder, as if shaking off ants crawling all over her, as she left that sorcery-hidden place. Even so, she grew anxious at the thought of leaving.
Ghassan was up and about, Chane was dormant, and hopefully Magiere wouldn’t leave the bedroom anytime soon. If so, Wynn hoped Chap would be sensible and keep Magiere in check. Lack of trust would’ve been a blessing, as opposed to hate. There was so much bad—and spilled—blood between Chane and the others, especially Magiere.
Scavenging the little market took longer than Wynn had expected.
First she purchased a large urn with a tight lid of hardened leather and then found an eatery near the market’s back end. The proprietor filled the urn with some kind of stew. Judging by the savory smell, it at least had meat in it, probably goat, but she could not be certain. After she paid the man, she went looking for clean clothing, as she didn’t know whether the others had spare clothes in the baggage Brot’an had been able to save.
She took care not to buy anything with a colorful pattern—the plainer the better.
In the end, she purchased three sets of simple muslin pantaloons—what passed for pants in this land—and three lightweight sleeveless tunics, which nearly everyone wore here. The smallest one was ruddy red in color. The other two were larger, one of midnight blue and one of sandy orange. At least her friends would be able to bathe properly and dress in clean clothing. And for that, she found and purchased two bars of sandalwood soap.
Though satisfied with her purchases, Wynn found herself a little overburdened as she headed back for the tenement. She tried to focus on the tasks at hand and not Ghassan’s betrayal—that he’d risked himself only because he wanted help in hunting down an undead. And maybe there was more than that. If he’d been honest from the start, she might have understood, even if Chane wouldn’t.
She didn’t know what would come next, as nothing had been settled the night before. Like Leesil, all she wanted for now was to help Wayfarer and Magiere recover. Magiere was the strongest person she’d ever known, and yet now she looked almost broken.
Wynn couldn’t imagine what that had taken—and taken from Magiere.
As she approached the tenement, she slipped into a cutway between a few dwellings nearby and turned down the alley for the back door. When she reached it, she shifted her burdens to free up one hand and tried grasping for the door latch. As she did so, something seemed to wink into her awareness on the left.
Wynn’s breath caught in her chest at the sight of Ghassan.
He stepped in on her before she could retreat, and everything around her but him appeared to waver and warp. When she blinked in reflex, everything was as before, as if it hadn’t happened.
“What are you doing out here?” she demanded. “How did you get past the others?”
“I have not left the chamber. I am not really here.”
“What?”
“This was necessary,” Ghassan said, and it sounded like his real voice. “We need to speak alone, and I made you see me so it would be less . . . disconcerting.”
Wynn looked all around. If what he said was true, how was he doing this? By what Chane had said and done last night, the domin needed a line of sight to use sorcery.
“You already made your agenda quite clear,” she said.
His expression tightened. “Obviously I did not.”
She inched back a step, and he huffed in disgust. Then she remembered the pebble.
That was the only answer. It did more than just allow her to find the sanctuary’s door. It marked the location of whoever held it—it had to.
“Get out of my head!”
She dropped the clothing, bobbled the urn, wrapped her other arm around it, and rammed her free hand into her pocket. Then she dug for the pebble to throw it away.
“Stop acting like a child!” he admonished. “If I wished to control you, I would not have let you dig for the pebble, would I? And pay attention . . . I cannot grab that urn if you drop it!”
Wynn froze with her hand in her pocket, now wrapped around the pebble.
“You are not even speaking with me,” he added, rolling his eyes. “You only think so because I put all this in your head. And yes, it is because of the pebble. Do you think I would give anyone such an item without always knowing where to retrieve it?”
He had once used the staff he had made for her to track her into that lost dwarven city. Yes, Ghassan thought ahead, and she had better start doing so as well.
She looked up at his narrow features and prominent nose, at the white flecks in his dark hair. She should probably never trust him again, but they had been through a good deal together. He’d once stood by her, believed in her, when no one else in her guild branch would lift a finger to help her.
“What do you want?” she asked, still uncertain. “Is that why you let me go to the market? So you could catch me alone out here?”
“Yes, in part,” he admitted. “Your companions must accept hunting the specter before continuing in their search for the last orb. I need you to accomplish that.”
Wynn’s suspicions sharpened again. Though the filled urn was getting heavier in one arm, she wasn’t about to let go of the pebble.
“You think I can talk them into doing something they don’t want to do?”
“I think you can be sensible,” he answered, and if possible, his expression tightened further. “I know Magiere wishes to find the orb of Air. At least the half-blood and gray majay-hì will follow her, however unwillingly. That is not possible or safe while the specter remains . . . especially if it has access to the palace.”
That was only a guess, but before she said so . . .
“Think!” Ghassan commanded. “Khalidah clearly inhabited whoever interrogated Magiere. I do not know who that was—is—but with his power, he could have addled the minds of anyone nearby. No one will know the host he inhabits, for he would not be foolish enough to endanger a useful body until finished with it. And if he takes someone of great authority, what would he do with that much more earthly power?”
Wynn didn’t like that he was making more sense by the moment.
“As of now,” he continued, “there are some on the imperial grounds who can limit or interfere with the search for escaped prisoners. That will not last if Khalidah takes a more influential host. Your friends will never escape this city until he is eliminated, and if they are recaptured . . .”
He never finished, and he didn’t have to.
Wynn saw that conditions would worsen the longer that Magiere and Chane were in close proximity. There seemed no way to avoid that if she was to help Magiere through helping Ghassan.
“You have no idea who is the host?” she asked. “Not even a guess?”
He slowly shook his head. “All of my own died in that thing’s escape, but not all of his hosts may have died or even remembered his presence. That is why I needed your friend . . . and the second majay-hì as well.”
“What of your prince? It wasn’t hard to guess that he was the one who helped you. He’s the one who sentenced Magiere and all with her, supposedly to forestall their execution. What if he is now the specter?”
“He is not.”
“How would you know?”
“I know,” he answered too firmly. “Regardless, Khalidah will not rest until Magiere and those close to her have been recaptured. I
do not exaggerate about the influence he could have. All city exits are likely guarded by now, and the search for your friends will grow. How quickly and by how much depends on actions taken. Only when Khalidah is removed can I hope to prove so to those who risked much to help me . . . and thereby free your friends to leave on their search.”
Wynn knew Ghassan was exploiting everything to use Magiere and Leesil and Chap and Shade, and maybe even Chane. She also couldn’t fault his arguments given how little she knew of how he’d arranged the escape.
She again pondered the secret that she had so far held back from him: the device she’d gained in her search for the orb of Spirit. Once the device—fashioned from a piece of a key used to open an orb—was activated, its wielder could track another orb.
She’d failed in trying to do so on her own with words from a dead language she didn’t understand. It was a language from this region in ancient times, and Ghassan was the only one she thought might help with that. It might take more than just a scholar of dead tongues. Soon enough, if she were to assist Magiere, she would require the domin’s help.
“You see the truth the others would reject,” Ghassan added calmly. “Will you convince them?”
Wynn hated being placed in this position, but she nodded.
“Good,” he said.
In another waver of everything, Ghassan vanished before Wynn’s eyes . . . or it appeared so. She still looked all around, just to be certain.
* * *
Upstairs and inside the sanctuary, Ghassan slowly opened his eyes as if merely resting in one of the tall-backed chairs. He waited quietly until Wynn arrived, entering by using the ensorcelled pebble as instructed. She eyed him once but then turned her attention to tending the others, starting by settling the half-blood and the strangely dark-haired elven girl at the table. The gray majay-hì sat on the floor next to the girl.
Wynn dished up and passed out bowls of stew.
“Eat slowly,” she advised, “and stop if your stomach cramps.” At the rattle of a bowl on the floor, she turned to the enormous majay-hì. “I mean it, Chap—small bites only!” An instant later, she made an indignant face. “I am not a pest, now . . . Oh . . . just do as I say!”
Ghassan frowned. He wished he knew a bit more about how she communicated with these unusual creatures. It appeared to be slightly different between the black and the gray. The black one was still off in the room’s dim corner near the blanket over the undead. Ghassan was poised to launch into a more pointed discussion, as it might be best to push things along before the “dhampir” was well enough to be part of any plan.
Convincing the others might be easier without her, and then she would be more easily swayed.
Ghassan was well aware that Wynn sided with him only under duress, but she was intelligent enough to understand the situation. Her pressing him about the prince had come too close to the truths he was not yet ready to share.
Years before, his sect had noted the doctrinal differences between the emperor and his son, to the point where all of the sect knew they would need to intervene. The empire had to be steered toward a path of reason and not a theocracy rooted in a dead, dark religion that few even knew had once existed. The prince’s lean toward the former made him a target for those who found his way of thinking—and his future potential rule—dangerous.
Ghassan had cunningly befriended the heir to the imperial throne during the prince’s youth and found him trustworthy to a fault. By introducing the young man to a few of the sect, one at a time, he began Ounyal’am’s awakening to his father’s destructive beliefs.
It had not been pleasant for the young prince. It had also not been much of a surprise, considering all that the young prince would have seen in the imperial court under his father’s rule.
To protect the prince, the sect agreed on something that had been unthinkable before. They created one of their own medallions for Ounyal’am.
Ghassan taught him how to use it, and the prince’s quick acceptance was startling. In another life, he could have been a worthy “sage” if not specifically a metaologer.
Another life was not to be had. An imperial prince was a tool to wield against the emperor’s ways. And the medallion had other properties that manifested over time as Ghassan continued teaching the prince. If he focused, Ghassan could nearly always sense Ounyal’am’s whereabouts, or at least direction.
In the past, this had seemed another way to watch over the prince.
Ghassan could not help dwelling on how much time Magiere had spent under Khalidah’s influence . . . inside her mind. What if that thing had established a like connection to her? That very possibility had also pushed Ghassan into cornering Wynn.
He needed her to make his case to the others and through them to Magiere. There could be no hint that such influence came directly from him where the dhampir was concerned.
Ghassan reassessed all present, starting with Wayfarer, and Leesil, and then Chap. Osha was no threat, as he was so obviously enamored with Wynn and would follow wherever she led.
At the last, he glanced into the chamber’s back corner.
Fortunately, Chane lay dormant. The night before, the undead was the one who had been intellectually, and physically, the most challenging. Ghassan had held back from dealing with that one for fear of alienating Wynn.
Shade sat guarding Chane, but she would also follow Wynn in all things.
Then there was the scarred elder, Brot’an, more dangerous and unpredictable than the undead. Chane’s impulsive side was linked to protecting Wynn, while Brot’an’s personal motivations were a mystery. For now, he simply bore watching.
Wynn half turned where she crouched beside Chap. “Osha . . . Brot’an, Shade . . . there is plenty of stew if you’d like some. I will bring Magiere a bowl and see if she is awake.”
Before she could take further action, Ghassan interceded. “Events are unfolding around us, and we need to make some decisions.”
Osha stood off toward the front door, and Brot’an still sat cross-legged on the floor in the chamber’s front right corner.
Leesil put down his spoon. “What decisions?”
In turn, Ghassan looked to Wynn, though she looked away.
“The domin believes we have to hunt down this specter,” she said, “before we can search for the last orb . . . and I think he may be right.”
“Like I said last night,” Leesil retorted, “Magiere isn’t hunting anything. Not now.”
Chap sat up, ears rising. No one reacted, so apparently he was only listening. Brot’an rose from sitting without bracing a hand on the floor and stepped toward Ghassan.
“I agree with Léshil,” the elder elf added. “This specter is your problem, not ours.”
Ghassan said nothing to this and glanced at Wynn.
“It is our problem,” she countered, “if this specter inhabited whoever interrogated Magiere. According to the domin, Khalidah—in life—served the Ancient Enemy. If he’s been inside Magiere’s mind, he might know about the orbs . . . at least that some have been found. Now that she has escaped, he will not stop hunting for her. If he has a host with enough authority, he could have imperial guards or even the military at his disposal.”
Leesil dropped his spoon and was already arguing with her as it clattered.
Several times Wynn turned on Chap as well for whatever passed silently between them. In the end, she accomplished what Ghassan had needed and without his involvement or being the source of more ardent resistance.
Leesil dropped both elbows on the table, though his breaths were labored by anger. Chap became still, his large blue eyes shifting about the room, but since Wynn made no reaction, the dog said nothing.
In the long silence, Ghassan wondered whether it was time to reveal his connection to the prince. There were things even Wynn did not know and could not have reasoned out. So, as simply as possible, he began to explain how he had come to know Ounyal’am.
When all remained silent, neither resistin
g further nor consenting, he was forced to take one more risk. He pulled the copper medallion from inside his shirt.
“My sect created one of these for Prince Ounyal’am, so he could communicate with us and we could protect him.”
He shared in short some of what he had told Wynn, including his sense of the prince’s direction within a limited range.
Wynn’s eyes locked on him without blinking. “What are you saying?”
“Khalidah may have a similar awareness of Magiere. If any of you escape this city and take her with you, you may lead him wherever you go . . . including to another orb.”
Wynn pushed up, trying to gain her feet, but her heavy chair did not slide away, and she toppled back into it. “Why didn’t you make that clear? There’s already an orb here . . . with her . . . in the other room!”
Ghassan remained calm at her foolish panic. “No one can find us here by any means. The sanctuary is secure, even from me while outside of it. That was its ultimate purpose. Why else would I have brought and kept all of you here? But we must destroy Khalidah before you can attempt to leave this city.”
“He’s right.”
Even Ghassan was caught off guard by a new voice. Leesil roughly shoved back his chair to gain his feet as Chap wheeled and lunged off across the room toward . . .
Magiere stood watching from the bedchamber’s entrance. She was wrapped in a thin blanket and gripped the doorframe for support.
When the gray majay-hì neared her, he slowed as if hesitating. He dropped his head, with perhaps only his eyes looking up at her as his ears lowered.
Magiere looked down at Chap as if startled, though that came too late to have been caused by his rush at her. A low whine filled the room, and the canine utterance was pained and pitiful, like a howl caught in Chap’s throat.
Magiere’s eyes widened in something akin to fright. She dropped to her knees and put a hand against the side of his face.
