by Barb Hendee
Wynn hooked her boot under the headless corpse of a small woman. The body was so heavy that she struggled to roll it over. A crude, half-flattened fold of canvas was strapped to the corpse's back with lengths of rope. She set aside her crystal as she knelt and pulled Magiere's old dagger.
She cut the canvas free, preserving as much rope as possible. Black fluids oozed from the stump of the woman's neck when she jostled the body. Wynn turned her eyes away, but her gaze fixed upon the dark robe and blue tabard. She tried not to imagine what had happened to these people when Welstiel and Chane first found them.
Wynn pulled cut rope from under the corpse, and oily black fluids smeared over her fingers. Her stomach rolled.
Finish up!
Bile and dried fish welled in Wynn's throat.
"Be quiet!" she gasped and then gagged. "This is bad enough without you in my head, making it worse!"
Chap grumbled and traipsed to another body, clawing it over onto its chest. He tore at its rope harness, trying to pull more canvas free. Wynn closed her eyes but still shuddered as she wiped off her hands on the body's robe.
When her eyes opened again, Chap stood before her with a mouthful of canvas. He turned away for the far passage in the chamber's corner. Wynn grabbed the crystal, rope, and canvas, and scurried after him. As they stepped out into the library, the crystal's light spilled over the ends of the tall stone casements.
Chap dropped his canvas by the corridor's arch, as did Wynn. But when she stepped between the nearest shelves, she could not help a shiver of thrilled anticipation. She and Chap were alone and unobserved in a place that would have taken years-or decades-for her guild to catalogue. But her awe passed quickly when she remembered how all this knowledge had come to be here.
She was surrounded by decaying texts penned by ancient undeads, like Li'kan.
Chap lifted his muzzle, turning as he scanned the upper shelves.
Wynn felt overwhelmed by the task she faced. There was so much here, and this was only one row among many, so how could she choose what was most important to take? Her stomach rolled again.
Look first for languages you can read. Second for those you at least recognize. Focus mainly on the books. Bound texts will be older, made with materials that later grew scarce.
"Yes," she said, nodding. "But books will be the weakest, worn down with time. Pages might fall apart if touched-unlike the scrolls that have been protected by their cases."
This thought raised uncertainty. All this should have been done by her betters-the most skilled of cathologers among her guild. She was barely a journeyer, let alone a master or domin among that order of sages. But she was the only one here.
And if you spot any mention of "night voice" in any language, take that text over any others… and those of tongues that appear to predate our current era, even if you cannot read them. Translation might be possible when-
"Could you make this any more daunting?" Wynn asked.
Chap glanced up at her. Sorry.
She followed him deeper into the row as they both peered among scroll cases, books, sheaves, and even small boxes by the light of her crystal.
And so, while Magiere, Leesil, Sgaile, and Osha rested unaware, Wynn hurried in her search, scanning for anything that hinted at secrets of a lost past.
Anything that might unlock the mystery of events that had shattered the world so long ago.
Magiere stood on the castle's front steps at dawn with large snowflakes drifting down from a white sky.
They had fashioned a makeshift hammock for the orb with cut-up canvas and rope, and scavenged leather as well from the baggage of a robed undead. With the latter, they rolled up two heated crystals from the floor brazier. Though the leather smoldered and smoked a bit, at least they needn't worry about dried dung for fires.
Wynn looked bleary-eyed and exhausted as she dragged out two canvas-wrapped bulks too heavy for her to lift.
Magiere turned a suspicious glance toward Chap, and the dog quickly looked away. It wasn't hard to guess what the two had been up to while the rest of them slept. Still, what else could she expect?
The library contained so much more than Wynn's selected burden. Who else might ever find this castle again, anytime soon? Perhaps what the sage had gathered would uncover something worthwhile.
Magiere looked out across the white courtyard to the iron gates. One still stood ajar where she'd left it. The prospect of another journey weighed her down, but it was better than staying here even one more day.
She and Leesil had whispered far into the night, turning from hopes for the future to planning their route home. They had no maps, but as long as they traveled due west, they should emerge somewhere over the Everfen, the vast swamplands south of Droevinka. From there, they could head northwest toward the coast, skirting the swampland's northern edge.
Leesil thought if they stayed along Droevinka's southern border, they could pass into southern Belaski without hindrance, but Magiere had her doubts. If Droevinka's noble houses were still warring over who would put their own on the throne of the Grand Prince, no corner of her homeland was safe. Outsiders might be cut down by any side as a potential threat-or just for convenience.
And though desperate for word of Aunt Bieja, Magiere knew her home village of Chemestuk was too far off any sure path.
Leesil had left Bieja money and a letter in the hope that she'd head for Miiska. Aunt Bieja was as stubborn as any woman in Magiere's line, but she was no fool.
Magiere sighed, tired of worrying. Once they reached Miiska, Wynn could send word to Domin Tilswith in Bela, and Magiere would find some way to track Bieja, if her aunt wasn't waiting there. Then they could all rest in peace while deciding how best to safely deliver the orb in the hands of the Guild of Sagecraft.
The wind picked up and snowflakes began to slant in their downward course.
"Another blizzard brewing," Leesil muttered.
"Yes," Sgaile agreed. "We must move quickly and reach camp."
The two crouched, and each pulled one of the orb's hammock loops over his shoulder. Leesil also grabbed the rope sling holding the leather-wrapped fire crystals.
"Wynn, put your hood up," Magiere said as she turned about to heave up one of the sage's bulky bundles.
Wynn scowled but did as she was told, then suddenly slipped back through the castle's cracked doors.
"What are you doing?" Magiere called.
Wynn emerged once again, stumbling awkwardly under the weight of a sheaf bound between mottled iron sheets. Magiere remembered it sitting on the study floor.
"Enough!" she said. "You can't bring every parchment in the place."
"This must come!" Wynn insisted. "It may be a journal… written by the others who were once here with Li'kan."
Magiere didn't care for that idea and wondered what had happened to those others. Why had they left Li'kan behind? And how had they managed to leave at all, when the white undead had remained leashed by her hidden master through the centuries?
"Oh, give it to me," Magiere grumbled, taking the iron sheaf.
She almost dropped the sudden weight, and Wynn gasped. Magiere managed to tuck it safely under one arm.
Osha heaved up Wynn's other bundle from the library. The young elf managed well for one who'd taken an iron bar to the head. He frowned and spoke softly in Elvish to Sgaile.
"I know," Sgaile answered.
"They have rites to perform," Wynn explained, "for the caste members that Li'kan killed."
Leesil frowned, glancing sidelong at her. "To camp first… then we'll see how bad the weather gets."
Sgaile looked beyond the gates to the open plateau. "Yes, our purpose comes first."
Magiere headed down the steps and through the crusted snow toward the iron gates.
Hkuan'duv could barely breathe by the time he heard voices. He and Danvarfij had sat vigils before in bad weather. But the thin air in temperatures well below freezing left him stiff, even with his training in controlling and conserving body heat
. Snow was falling again, and the wind had picked up. He had difficulty moving his arms and legs as he crawled away from the wall for a better view of the gates.
"Sgailsheilleache and Osha."
Hkuan'duv glanced back at Danvarfij's whisper. Her face and lips were so pale. When he turned forward, someone stepped through the gates, and he flattened in the snow.
Magiere led with a square bundle under one arm and a larger canvas bulk strapped to her back with rope. Behind her came Leshil and Sgailsheilleache, and something heavy swung in a canvas sling swinging between them. The majay-hi ranged nearby, and Osha came last with another canvas bundle like Magiere's. When he took a long step, the small human female became visible, trudging beside him.
Hkuan'duv's gaze shifted quickly over the procession, skipping between the two canvas bundles and whatever swung between Leshil and Sgailsheilleache. More complications-he could not be certain who carried the artifact.
"It appears she was successful," he whispered.
"Do we take it?" Danvarfij asked in a weak voice, though she gripped her bow firmly in hand.
"Not here," he answered. "When they are farther from this place… and its guardian."
He did not see the white woman, but it was better to wait. He did not care to risk dealing with her again.
"We wait until they are out of sight," he said.
When the procession had passed halfway across the white plain, he crawled back to Danvarfij.
Her tan face was drawn and pale, and beneath the cloak's hood, strands of her hair had turned brittle with frost. Her pupils were small.
"Are you well?" he asked.
"Of course," she whispered.
He still opened his cloak and pulled her in against his body. She did not resist, and in truth he did not feel much better than she looked.
"Not long now," he said.
She leaned against him in silence. By the time the procession reached the distant rocky slope, the falling snow had thickened and the wind was blowing harder.
"They cannot travel far in this," he said. "They will remain at camp."
Danvarfij said nothing as he got up. When she tried to do the same, the bow slipped from her fingers. It sank in the fresh snow an instant before she fell.
Hkuan'duv quickly dropped, rolling her over, and brushed clinging snow from her face.
Danvarfij eyes were closed. Her breathing was shallow, barely leaking any vapor between her lips.
The wind sharpened as he disassembled her bow and stowed it behind his own back beneath his cloak. When he hoisted her over his shoulder and took his first step, his legs shook. The long night had taken more from him than he had realized. He stumbled across the white plain.
By the time he crested the rocky slope, he no longer heard Danvarfij's breaths over the harsh wind. He climbed down with one hand clawing for holds on the loose, cold stones.
With their purpose so close to an end, he should have left her behind and finished what they had started-but he could not. Perhaps he had grown too old in service, and his dedication now faltered. But she would never survive alone in the coming storm.
And Hkuan'duv could not survive the loss of Danvarfij.
He tilted his head down and pressed onward. Even when he passed through the chute, he barely glanced at Kurhkage's snow-dusted corpse. When he reached their campsite, the tent was half-buried. He laid Danvarfij down to knock off the caked snow, then quickly pulled her inside and found the bag of dung.
He built a smoldering fire at the tent's mouth, hoping it would keep going for a while, and then crawled beneath the layered cloaks beside Danvarfij. He pressed in against her, and between the smoky fire and her closeness, a hint of warmth grew between them.
Hkuan'duv closed his eyes for a moment, trying not to let exhaustion take him.
He opened them again and raised his head. He heard no wind, and it was dark inside the tent. Danvarfij shifted beside him.
"Where are we?" she murmured.
He crawled to the tent's opening. Snow pinned the tent's flap shut. He began digging to free it, and then emerged into a silent dark world covered in a fresh blanket of snow.
The blizzard had passed. In exhaustion and the welcome warmth of Danvarfij's body, he had fallen asleep. The day was gone.
Hkuan'duv crouched to find Danvarfij staring out of the tent. Her wide eyes mirrored his panic.
"Stay here!" he ordered, and he hurried out through the drifts.
When he reached a vantage point, and saw the canvas-covered depression, he knew he was too late. No light filtered out through the crusted fabric, and he closed quickly, not bothering with stealth. Why had they left the canvas behind?
He stepped forward, pulling the canvas back.
The bodies of Kurhkage and A'harhk'nis lay inside the stone depression. With their hands upon their chests, Hkuan'duv did not need to look further.
Sgailsheilleache had performed rites for their fallen brethren.
At least their spirits, if not their flesh, would return to their people and the ancestors. Without a way to bring home the bodies, the next choice would be to burn their remains and carry the ashes back. With no way to accomplish even that much, Sgailsheilleache had done the best he could for them.
Hkuan'duv crawled out of the depression to scan the craggy mountainside, but he found no hint of a trail in the pure unbroken snow. The storm must have weakened after he fell asleep. His quarry had moved on, their trail covered by the day's lighter snowfall. He hurried back to his own camp to find Danvarfij gathering their gear.
"I have lost their trail," he said flatly, crouching beside her.
She still looked pale and drawn. Her hood down, her thick hair fell around her shoulders. She leaned on her hands, close to his face.
"If they wish to deliver the artifact in Belaski, they will head straight across this range, trying to reach the western coast. Even if we cannot find them in these mountains, we can track them once they leave the snowy heights. They must come out above the Everfen, and I know that region well."
Hkuan'duv calmed at her words.
"Of course," he answered. "It is only a delay."
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Magiere lost track of the days and nights as their supplies rapidly dwindled. By the time they reached the range's western side, Chap spent nearly half of each day hunting with Sgaile or Osha for anything to eat. Roasting mice and squirrels ferreted from hibernation became the low point in their scant and meager meals. But as the air grew warmer and any snowfall became rain in the foothills, they fared a little better each following day.
One day, spouts of light green wild grass appeared along a muddy path. And then spring greeted them as they stood upon a high crest looking down over the Everfen.
The marshlands stretched west beyond sight. Magiere began descending quickly, until Wynn took a step, and her boot was sucked off in the deep mud. Leesil helped retrieve it, as Wynn teetered on the other foot, and then everyone trod more carefully.
Even when the rain broke for a short spell, the constant drip from the trees soaked them. But the air was no longer frigid.
"If it was not so wet, I would leave my coat behind," Wynn joked.
Magiere was glad to see her in better spirits. The journey down through sharp foothills had been grueling for little Wynn. At one point, her limp was so severe that Sgaile suggested carrying her on his back. Wynn adamantly refused, though Osha took away her pack, slinging her heavy bundle of books over his shoulder.
Sgaile had changed since the night he and Osha had placed the dead anmaglahk in the cave. He would have preferred to cremate the bodies and carry their ashes home. But Magiere felt that something else was troubling him. He'd become cautious in covering their trail whenever possible, and often looked anxiously back along their way.
She asked him about his strange behavior, but he only said she read too much into his vigilance. Perhaps this was true, and in any case Magiere had other concerns.
Her dreams had c
eased completely-a relief on one hand, and yet disturbing on the other.
She never wanted to hear that hissing voice again, but felt this was only a reprieve-it might come again. And having reached the Everfen, they would soon have to find a way to cross it.
So far, they'd found adequate solid ground, but Magiere had heard accounts of this region. As they crossed its eastern end toward Droevinka, the dry islands and ridges would grow sparse, and then vanish for leagues beneath the swamps.
Sgaile led with Leesil, Chap trotting beside them, until the day grew late. Magiere wasn't sure why, but Sgaile had become even more laconic than before, had been withdrawn and preoccupied since they'd come out of the foothills. She knew she'd never get an answer out of him and didn't try.
Chap pulled up and barked once.
Leesil stumbled under the orb's swinging weight as Sgaile halted. "There is a dwelling up ahead."
"Who would live out here?" Leesil asked.
Wading through the last few yards of mucky water, they stepped up a dry knoll to a small, thatched shack. Its hint of a garden had long gone fallow and an empty chicken coop rotted away along its side. One soggy, aging willow tree stretched up over the roof.
Chap sniffed about the chicken coop as Leesil knocked on the door.
"Hallo?" he called halfheartedly.
Barely waiting for an answer, he shoved the door open, dragging Sgaile along as he entered. Magiere followed and quickly covered her nose and mouth. A fetid stench filled the shack's one room.
"What is that smell?" Wynn said.
Leesil pointed. "Over there."
An old man lay in a ramshackle bed beneath burlap blankets pulled to his chin. He was clearly dead, and his sallow skin had shriveled upon his face beneath thinned, straggly hair.
"He must have died here alone, in his sleep," Wynn said, gasping for air. "A sad thing."
Magiere guessed the man had been dead less than a moon, and she agreed-it would be sad to die alone.
"Oh, thank goodness!" Wynn exclaimed.
Magiere spun about. The little sage looked upward in exhausted relief.
Burlap sacks hung from the rafters and down the walls to keep them free of excess moisture and scavengers. One high shelf above the hearth held tin canisters and an unglazed clay jar. Wynn went straight for the hearth and began digging through the odds and ends. Her brow wrinkled as she inspected a blackened iron pot.
