by Barb Hendee
Wynn had hoped to convince the premin to let her use mantic sight, and together they might extract and translate another few lines from the scroll’s poem. Chane had already consented to the scroll’s being locked away in Hawes’s office, so at the moment it was within easy reach.
But Wynn hesitated, for the premin seemed so unlike herself tonight.
“Are you . . . ?” Wynn began. “Is everything all right?”
“Hmmmm?”
Only then did Hawes’s cold hazel eyes fully focus, and the elder woman’s mouth pursed.
As one of the five members of the branch’s premin council, she was the only person in authority here willing to give Wynn any assistance. Of late, by default, the two of them had begun to trust each other—to a point—in searching out the remaining orbs.
With a soft sigh through her narrow nose, Hawes pointed to the desk chair.
Wynn settled there, now a little more alarmed. “What is it?”
“I received a letter from a master sage in Witeny . . . a Jausiff Columsarn.”
“Columsarn?” Wynn repeated. “A relative of Nikolas Columsarn?”
Nikolas was an apprentice sage here in Wynn’s own order of Cathology, and one of the few she could call a friend.
Hawes nodded once. “His adopted father. Master Columsarn has been the prime counselor for a southern duchy on the coast of Witeny for many years. I once knew him . . . briefly, though he left the guild for private work shortly after achieving master’s status in Cathology.”
The premin paused so long that Wynn was about to ask for more.
“Nikolas has been called home for a visit,” Hawes added. “Master Columsarn sent him a letter, which included a sealed one addressed to me.”
Wynn’s gaze shifted briefly to the paper clutched in the premin’s hand.
“It is for my eyes only,” Hawes continued, “but he requested that I send him certain texts to study.”
Wynn blinked. She knew Nikolas was adopted and came from Witeny, but she hadn’t known his father was the counselor to a duke, let alone that he was a sage. Then again, she’d never asked Nikolas anything about his past and knew only what little he’d mentioned in passing.
“That isn’t so strange,” Wynn said. “If this Master Columsarn is in such a remote place, likely he has few resources. But why not send such a request to the annex in Chathburh? It is much closer and right in Witeny.”
Hawes pursed her mouth again. “The texts are specific in nature and wouldn’t be part of an annex’s holdings. He has requested that I seal—package—them. Nikolas is not to know what they are . . . only deliver them.”
Wynn fell silent. She wanted to ask about the texts in question but feared that if she pushed too hard, Hawes might say nothing about this strange private matter.
Instead she asked, “Why is Nikolas being called home?”
Hawes shook her head slightly once. “I do not know. He sent a young initiate to bring me this.” She rolled her hand upward, displaying the folded paper. “I’ve not spoken to him myself, though I have asked among the initiates and apprentices on duty at the gate. Apparently a package for Nikolas was delivered last night, given to an attendant at the gate, and from what Master Columsarn tells me here, inside the package was a letter for Nikolas and this sealed letter for me.”
“So you don’t know anything about what Nikolas’s letter contained or why he’s being called home?”
Hawes didn’t answer, and her cold eyes locked on Wynn. “You are his friend?”
That wasn’t an easy question to answer. Given Nikolas’s withdrawn nature—earning him the nickname “Nervous Nikolas”—he didn’t have any close friends, except two who had died less than a year ago. But he’d shown her kindness and even loyalty on a few occasions when she’d desperately needed both.
“I know him . . . a little,” Wynn answered, though she heard the hesitation in her own voice.
And again Hawes was silent for too long a moment.
“Were I to question Nikolas, he might interpret it as an interrogation,” the premin continued. “If you told him that you learned he’d been called home and expressed friendly concern, he might be more open.”
Wynn straightened up in her chair. Was Hawes asking her to use her friendship with Nikolas to gain information?
“I am concerned,” the premin added, “and possibly more than concerned about the nature of the texts requested . . . as you might be.”
That hint of implied collusion on Wynn’s part, before she’d even agreed, was very unsettling. “Why?”
“Several are related to folklore and elemental mysticism,” Hawes answered, “including extracts from findings dating back to just after the Forgotten History . . . by guild estimations.”
Wynn, too, found that strange for an old cathologer handling the affairs of a duchy.
“One text requested cannot even be borrowed without permission from the premin of Metaology—likely why he wrote directly to me.”
Wynn stared into those gray hazel eyes when the premin asked again, “Will you speak to Nikolas?”
A cold knot formed in the pit of Wynn’s stomach.
This was all a distraction from the work she was supposed be doing . . . finding the location of an orb. But she owed the premin quite a bit in that, and this was about Nikolas. There was also the question of how oddly Hawes acted now. It was the closest thing to uncertainty or worry that Wynn had ever glimpsed in the dark-robed premin.
Wynn finally nodded and rose. “I’ll go now. By this time, all the initiates and apprentices should be in the common hall for supper.”
Still sitting and gripping the letter, Hawes nodded once with a slow blink. “Come report what he tells you as soon as possible.”
“Yes . . . yes, of course.”
As Wynn left, she never heard the premin move. After she shut the iron door and scurried away, it wasn’t until she reached the courtyard that she took a deep breath. The night air was already growing chilly, and so were her thoughts. She was caught by one mention by the premin concerning texts sought by a remote master sage. . . .
...including extracts from findings dating back to just after the Forgotten History . . .
What would a private sage working in a far-off duchy want with such?
Perhaps it was nothing, and Nikolas’s adopted father was a bored old man, away from the guild, who’d developed eclectic interests. Here and now, though, with all that she was trying to accomplish, it seemed like something more, though she didn’t know what.
Her task for the moment was to learn anything she could from Nikolas, and so she started for the main keep doors. But she’d made it only halfway when a young voice echoed into the courtyard.
“Shade! Come back here . . . right now!”
Wynn turned in time to see the sparks of blue eyes in the gatehouse tunnel . . . just before Shade bolted out into the courtyard. The dog ran straight up to her, and then Shade plopped down on her haunches. Kyne came running out of the tunnel; her cowl had fallen back off her head, and her tan robe’s skirt was flopping around her little legs.
“That wasn’t nice!” Wynn whispered sharply.
Shade curled a jowl and looked away.
The girl must have taken the dog out into the bailey and only now returned. Wynn was appalled at the way Shade was completely ignoring Kyne’s shouts. Before Wynn said anything more to the dog or Kyne could even catch up, Chane strode out of the gatehouse tunnel with Kyne’s earlier stack of books under one arm.
“Shade!” he rasped so loudly that Kyne flinched where she stood while trying to catch her breath. Wynn frowned as the girl came trotting closer, still panting.
“It’s all right, Journeyor Hygeorht,” Kyne got out. “Master Andraso took us out to the bailey’s southern grove, and Shade just got excited in coming back.”
Wynn
’s frown deepened. Perhaps Chane had been right about the dog running the girl ragged. Wynn would have more to say to Shade on that later.
“You should go have your supper,” she told Kyne, and she looked up as Chane approached. “I’ll take Shade inside in a moment. And Master Andraso will hold on to your books until you see him in the morning before breakfast. You won’t need them before then.”
The girl looked longingly at Shade. “I could take her into supper with me. I don’t mind.”
“No,” Wynn said firmly. “You go on.”
Clearly disappointed, Kyne headed off toward the keep’s main doors.
Chane stopped a few paces off and looked around. “Going to supper . . . alone?”
Wynn clenched her jaw at such an obvious snipe about Osha.
“No,” she returned. “I have an errand for Premin Hawes.”
Chane raised one eyebrow.
Fearing he’d want to come along, she quickly added, “I’ll tell you about it when I’m done.”
He glanced away, as if she was shutting him out, but she couldn’t take him along even if she’d wanted to. Nikolas would never speak of anything personal in front of someone he didn’t know. Yet Wynn had to do something to pacify Chane.
“It shouldn’t take long,” she said, though it might. “I’ll find you later, at your room.”
Chane turned away toward the northwest building.
Suppressing a sigh, Wynn glanced down at Shade. “And you . . .”
Shade raised her tall ears and looked up with eyes narrowed, an expression Wynn had learned to interpret as, “Yes . . . what now?”
Wynn got the feeling this query had nothing to do with Shade’s behavior toward Kyne. She groaned and looked away. Was it not enough that she felt caught in some tawdry triangle out of a romance ballad? Did she now have to put up with a four-footed, fur-faced adolescent nagging her to do something about it? And she already knew what Shade expected.
Though the majay-hì and the undead were natural enemies, Shade and Chane had at least worked around that in serving a common cause for Wynn’s sake. Wynn would have never expected Shade to side with Chane on anything else, but they both viewed Osha as an unwanted outsider . . . though for differing reasons.
“Come on,” Wynn said tiredly and walked off toward the main doors; the braziers above them had recently been replaced with two mounted cold lamps.
Wynn pulled one door, and Shade pushed past before she stepped into the entryway. Inside, a passage led straight ahead to the main library’s central entrance, but Shade had already turned left down the wider front corridor. Wynn followed to the main archway on the right, which opened into the common hall. She stood there looking about as Shade snuffled, nose in the air.
Supper was well under way. The large hall was filled with sages of all the orders’ colors and even some initiates who lodged on the grounds. Numerous long tables, benches, and stools were haphazardly placed all about, but for the most part meals were an organized affair. Sages—from initiates to masters—took shifts in the kitchens cooking or washing up or serving the meals. The scent of mutton stew was strong tonight.
Shade whined, and a drop of drool fell from her smacking jowls.
—Supper—
Wynn ignored this and looked about for Nikolas, though she didn’t spot him at any of the tables. Her gaze came to a chair near the enormous hearth: there he was, though he wasn’t eating. He sat staring into the flames.
A young, high-pitched voice rose over the buzz. “Shade! I can get your supper!”
Kyne stood on a bench among a small bunch of gobbling, gossiping initiates, all in tan robes like hers. Wynn heard Shade’s low, grumbling growl, and she stumbled slightly when the dog backed up and hit her leg.
“Oh, stop it!” she whispered.
—Wynn . . . Shade . . . sisters . . . pack— . . . —Wynn . . . not . . . my . . . parent—
Wynn looked down, and, on spotting Shade’s ears flattening in silence, she called out, “Oh, thank you, Kyne. That would be most helpful.”
As Kyne tried to bound over one companion, she nearly stepped in another’s plate.
Shade’s head whipped up, and her wide crystal-blue eyes locked on Wynn. Before the dog could even wrinkle a jowl, Kyne barreled into her. Wynn stumbled again as the bulk of the two backed farther into her legs.
“Come on, Shade,” Kyne nearly shouted, her arms wrapped around the dog’s neck. “And afterward, time for a good brushing.”
Shade’s eyes narrowed, this time to barely glittering slits, up at Wynn.
All Wynn did was mouth, Mind your manners, as she lifted her head and broke eye contact.
Shade stalked off, her head low, with a rumble and the girl now gripping the scruff of her neck. But Wynn already had her eyes on Nikolas again. When she headed across the hall and was only halfway to the hearth, Nikolas looked up and saw her. His eyes followed her the rest of the way as if she were some startling sight that had shaken him from a deep thought.
He wore the gray robes of a cathologer, just as she had until recently. She guessed him to be about nineteen years of age. When standing, he was of medium height with a slender build, but his shoulders often slumped, causing him to look shorter. His straight brown hair always seemed to be half hiding his face. Worse, his hair was no longer fully brown.
The previous year, Nikolas had survived an attack by a wraith named Sau’ilahk and, as a result, his locks were shot with white streaks.
Wynn wondered what in his past had rooted his perpetual state of anxiety. Picking up a stool at the last table she passed, she tried to smile at him.
“May I sit?”
He nodded but still appeared surprised. They had shown each other kindness or assistance in the past, but she had rarely sought him out—and certainly never to socialize. His gaze dropped briefly to her new midnight blue robe, but, like Hawes, he appeared distracted.
Wynn decided to go straight to the point. “Premin Hawes told me you’ve been called home.”
Nikolas winced and looked away toward the fire. She simply waited rather than startle him again, and, when he looked back, barely turning his head enough to do so, his eyes struck her as bleak and pained. If he wanted to talk, he might do so with her, as he didn’t have anyone else anymore.
“My father is ill,” Nikolas said quietly.
“Nothing serious, I hope.”
“No . . . I don’t know. He’s getting old . . . and he needs my help.”
Nikolas’s voice was so low that Wynn had to lean in to hear him.
“I don’t want to go,” he continued, looking away again. “Father says things at home are not good. The young duke was my friend in our childhood, and . . . and I owe him . . . much.”
There was something more missing in this last statement.
“Father says the duke is behaving strangely, that he is not well, either, and I must come and stay for a while.”
Confused, Wynn wasn’t certain what to ask next. She shouldn’t mention anything Premin Hawes had said about the second letter’s contents; perhaps she shouldn’t mention the second letter at all. Nikolas’s aging father said he was not well, yet he had asked for strange texts, at least one of which only Hawes could provide. He had asked his son to come home, but the request wasn’t just about an ailment of his own.
There were too many hinted, incomplete pieces, but more in Nikolas’s own words struck Wynn as odd.
“You don’t wish to go?” she asked. “Even for just the visit?”
“No,” he answered, his voice as hollow as his eyes. “When I came here, it was to stay. Father got me accepted, though I was a bit old for a start. And he promised that I could stay forever, if I wished. Now he’s broken his word by calling me home . . . but I can’t refuse.”
For as little as Wynn understood, she had many more questions, includi
ng why Nikolas apparently never wanted to go home again. She was also afraid he might close off even more if she pressed the wrong way in ignorance.
“When will you leave?”
Nikolas shook his head at first, as if he didn’t know. “Not for several days at least. I need Domin High-Tower’s formal permission to take leave of the guild, and he will first have to make High Premin Sykion aware—though that is a formality. Then there’s funding and transportation and . . .”
He trailed off with a shaky sigh. It was obvious to Wynn that the journey’s logistics weren’t his true worry.
“I don’t want to go,” he whispered. “I . . . just can’t.”
Wynn didn’t know what to say except, “I’m so sorry.” She knew he wouldn’t tell her what it was about his home that made him so agitated. He couldn’t have had a happy childhood if he dreaded a return this much.
“I need to think,” Nikolas said, still staring into the flames. “Would you mind?”
“Of course not.” She stood up. “Come find me anytime. You’ve been a friend to me when others wouldn’t, and I am your friend.”
Those words made his expression twist briefly, but Wynn couldn’t place any emotion she saw there.
“I know,” he whispered.
That ended that, and Wynn headed back for the archway. “Shade,” she called out. “Come.”
Startling a couple of initiates, the dog wormed out from between the tables in a hurry. Kyne rose instantly up on her bench with wide, blinking eyes of sudden shock.
Wynn was in no mood to lecture Shade again about her behavior or to try to make an excuse to the girl. There were too many questions fighting for the forefront of her thoughts.
Nikolas’s aging father had called him home for murky reasons involving a young duke. The package Master Columsarn sent included a sealed letter for Premin Hawes with a request for guild texts. Some of those texts were of no worth to a master of Cathology who likely spent his days managing the documents necessary for running a duchy.
Another question struck Wynn as she left the common hall with Shade.
Who had Master Columsarn trusted to carry such nested and hidden communications all the way to the main guild branch in Calm Seatt? Premin Hawes had simply said that “a messenger” had left the package with the attendant at the gate.
