Between Their Worlds

by Barb; J. C. Hendee

  The room’s window bucked open. Osha swung inside in a panic, dropping too loudly on the floor. He looked straight at Brot’an and rattled off something in Elvish. Then Leesil heard distant shouts through the open window.

  Brot’an sighed audibly. “We have a problem.”

  One voice carried from afar, and Leesil ran to the window, leaning out. Only a few words were clear above the clamor.

  “Wolf! Get back inside!”

  “Oh, seven hells!” Leesil groaned through clenched teeth. “What has the mutt done this time?”

  Én’nish had been taken aback when panicked humans chased after Chap. Part of her wanted to end their pursuit of a sacred majay-hì. But he was not one of the guardians she knew.

  He was an aberration that Most Aged Father had warned against.

  She could do little but leap from one rooftop to the next in pursuit as Chap dashed through one street or alley after another, dragging a cord with one end looped about his neck. No matter his twists and turns, the crowd kept on growing and caught up again and again.

  Én’nish wondered if this might be to her advantage.

  All of the majay-hì’s efforts were focused on escape. He would never see an attack from above. If she gained just an instant, should he evade his pursuers again and then pause, she could drop and knock him out, safely capturing him for Fréthfâre.

  There was the problem of trying to drag off a large animal by herself. But in this she could finally express her gratitude to Fréthfâre—to the Covârleasa—for giving her a second chance. The capture of the deviant would go far in proving her worth in the purpose given by Most Aged Father.

  Én’nish crouched low, watching as the majay-hì swerved into a cutway, and then she took a running leap across to the next rooftop. When Chap halted, looking both ways along the street before lunging out, she hurried along the roof toward the forward eaves at its far end.

  Then she froze, losing track of Chap at a sudden movement below.

  An overly tall, cloaked form was rushing down the cutway toward its street-side end, with a smaller form following behind. Én’nish kept still and quiet. There was only one of such size who could appear so suddenly, run so silently.

  Brot’ân’duivé neared the cutway’s end and peered into the street as the smaller follower caught up.

  Sudden shouts drew Én’nish’s focus away. The crowd rounded the last street corner, and Chap bolted ahead of them. When she looked down again, Brot’ân’duivé was gone. Only the smaller figure remained, lurking in the cutway’s end near the street.

  Chap couldn’t believe how quickly the crowd had caught up this time. His pursuers were once again only a block behind him. He peered about, trying to identify anything as he ran, but it was all a blur. Nothing looked familiar.

  “Cut it off!” someone shouted, and ahead of him, people turned to look.

  A large man in a hide jerkin pulled a sword. More shouts, seeming to grow in volume, followed behind Chap. He slid to a stop, the pads of his paws burning as they scraped across cobblestones, and he looked wildly about. A young boy tried to run out of a shabby little building, all too excited at the sight of the “wolf.” A bystander snatched the boy back.

  For one foolish instant, Chap looked behind.

  The original pair of men with their staves came trotting, huffing, and puffing after him. Behind them waddled a huge woman with a bosom like a shelf that bounced up and down as she waved a wooden rolling pin in the air. A grimy old man wielding a dung fork like a pole arm passed the woman, his gray, stubbled face set in grim determination as he gained ground on the men with staves.

  Chap almost whimpered. How had his decision to track Shade come to all this? A soft triple whistle barely reached his ears, and he grew more frantic. Was someone now calling out dogs?

  A scream of horror carried from somewhere behind the mob. “Another! Another one! Here!”

  Chap took only one glance in utter confusion, for how could there be another like him? Had Shade now followed him? It did not matter that most of the pursuers stalled or turned to look the other way. Chap’s head whipped back around, and ahead the man with the sword was coming straight at him.

  That triple, shrill whistle came again, but from above, as if it were some bird. It was too precise, and what would a bird of prey be doing flying over a city?

  Chap looked up.

  A figure rose on the next rooftop down and to the left. Tall and lean of form, its cloak was tied up around its waist. It waved both arms and pointed to the building’s far end.

  Chap suddenly realized the building was the inn where he and his companions were staying. He had not recognized it amid the chaos in the street, for he had never seen it from the front.

  A large, open-slatted crate came flying out of the cutway at the inn’s near-front corner.

  Feathers trailed behind it in the air amid the ruckus of squeaking pigeons. One man ducked aside with a shout of warning. The one with the sword had time only to turn his head.

  Chap charged just as the crate crashed into the swordsman’s face.

  Feathers, squeaks, and wood rained around Chap. A pigeon bounced off the cobbles and hit him in the jaw, its thrashing wings blinding him for an instant. Amid curses and shouts, kicks and wild swings, Chap swerved and scampered through.

  And there was Leesil, glowering at him from out of the cutway on the inn’s far end.

  Chap swerved into the cutway, claws scrabbling on the cobble, as Leesil turned ahead of him and ran toward the inn’s rear. Leanâlhâm came running down the back alley’s other way, catching them both at the rear door. It must have been the girl who had screamed out about “another one” to distract his pursuers.

  And there was Brot’an, holding the door open.

  Leesil nearly shoved Leanâlhâm through, and Chap rushed in after them. He did not quite reach a full stop, his paws sliding on the floor’s planks, and he slammed sideways against the narrow passage’s wall as Brot’an pulled the door shut.

  Chap stood there wobbling on tired legs, too exhausted to feel even relief as yet.

  Leesil crouched down and whispered harshly into his face, “What was all that about?”

  Chap’s panting broke as he glared back. After what he had just been through, did Leesil really have the audacity to be indignant?

  “Quiet—all of you!” Brot’an whispered.

  Leesil rose with Leanâlhâm, who peered wide-eyed around him toward the door. Chap turned to find Brot’an poised there, listening. Shouting grew louder outside, as if the crowd had followed into the alley.

  “Where’d it go?” someone called.

  “I don’t see it. Maybe—”

  “Who chucked that pigeon crate?”

  “Never mind! Some of you get back to the street. Block the alley ends and check the cutways. That beast can’t have gotten out of here.”

  The voices continued longer amid grumbles and arguments. In the momentary respite, Chap’s numb relief at being rescued faded. All he had gained was of little use. Wynn was a prisoner. There was an undead in this city. And Shade had been very close to it.

  As the shouting outside began to fade, Leesil headed for the stairs, urging Leanâlhâm along and up to their room.

  “What did you do to cause all that?” he whispered.

  Chap snarled at him this time. Leesil was no one to talk when it came to causing complications. And what good had his filthy excuse for a disguise accomplished?

  A pigeon feather suddenly fell off Chap’s head and down the bridge of his muzzle. He wanted to bite Leesil—bite him hard!

  Én’nish landed silently on the inn’s roof, and heard voices coming from an open window. She moved as close to the roof’s edge as possible and flattened her body to listen. She spoke fluent Belaskian. Her first master had been an excellent teacher.

  “All right, you. What went wrong?”

  Én’nish stiffened, but not at the anger in those words. She knew that voice.

  Hatred fo
r Léshil took all of Én’nish’s reason. Grief for her lost Groyt’ashia filled her with cold shudders. She breathed slowly through the pain and the maddened sickness it brought.

  If only Léshil were alone . . . if only she could kill him, here and now.

  She willed herself to focus only on her purpose. While she may have missed a chance to take the majay-hì to Fréthfâre, she had gained something far more important. She had found where their quarry was hiding.

  A moment of silence followed Leesil’s question.

  “Did you learn anything about Wynn?”

  That voice returned the rest of Én’nish’s clarity. It was the monster, the one called Magiere. Three low barks answered her.

  “You don’t know?” Magiere returned sharply. “Leanâlhâm told me you saw her up in a window.”

  “She did?” Leesil asked.

  Én’nish lost the next few sentences, for their voices grew too faint, but her body twitched slightly at that name: Leanâlhâm. Gleann’s mixed-blood descendant was here. But how? Was she the one who had accompanied the other majay-hì into the guild’s castle?

  “Is Wynn a prisoner?” Leesil asked.

  Én’nish focused on that question. She knew of the female sage only too well, had once even been forced to help guard the deceitful human through her people’s forest. She had hated the little human even more upon learning that the sage knew their language. No human should be able to speak the language of her people.

  Another silence followed, and then Chap uttered one low bark. So far, Brot’ân’duivé had not said a word, and neither had Leanâlhâm, if she was in there.

  “All right, that’s it,” Leesil said. “No more skulking about. We’re getting Wynn out of there.”

  “Finally,” Magiere put in.

  “Agreed,” came a deeper voice.

  Én’nish flinched at the sound of Brot’ân’duivé. Her hatred of him, traitor that he was, almost matched her bloodlust toward Léshil, but she also feared him.

  “We need more information,” Brot’ân’duivé went on. “Anything about the interior of the grounds and layout of the keep, and a sense of guard positions and movements.”

  A new voice broke in, male, lowly murmuring something in Elvish. Én’nish was tempted to hang over the eaves to hear more. She strained to listen, but the words were too soft.

  Brot’ân’duivé had someone else with him.

  Én’nish could not place the voice, but there had been an archer aiding the traitorous greimasg’äh in the skirmish last night. Who among the Anmaglâhk would serve Brot’ân’duivé? Another dissident, likely. Before she even completed that thought, someone closed the window, and all the voices became too muffled to hear.

  Én’nish lay there a little longer, pondering. Magiere and Leesil had returned to get the sage after wherever they had been gone for so long. Wynn Hygeorht was now a prisoner among her own kind, and this small group’s next purpose was to free her. As long as they followed this course, they—including Magiere—could be taken in the open at night, either before or after retrieving the sage.

  It would not be a happenstance encounter this time. Én’nish and her comrades would be able to watch and wait, prepared. And Magiere would not be the only one out in the open. Léshil would never let his love go anywhere without him. If not for Most Aged Father’s wishes for that monster . . .

  Én’nish sank into grief again, where lost love bred only hate and bloodshed. It would be a far greater vengeance if Léshil had to watch his love die before she killed him. She ached to give him even one instant of the torment that he had given her for a lifetime . . . before he died.

  The inn’s back door opened again.

  Én’nish slid back up the roof’s slope until only her eyes breached the edge and looked down.

  Brot’ân’duivé and Léshil exited into the alley, and she silently crawled along the roof to watch them head out along the cutway into the street. Brot’ân’duivé stopped cold, looking around, and Én’nish quickly pulled back and lost sight of them.

  Had he heard or somehow sensed her? She did not look over the edge again, and instead crawled across the roof. She rose to a crouch and listened, but amid the sounds of the street, she could not tell which way they had gone. Rising, she ran. Her steps made no more sound than autumn leaves falling upon the shingles. As she leaped to the next rooftop, she never faltered in her flight to return to her own and report all that she had learned.

  Though her hatred of Leesil and Brot’ân’duivé still poisoned her heart and mind, Én’nish was loyal to the Anmaglâhk first—and always.

  Dänvârfij and Fréthfâre sat at the small table, discussing the watch schedule now that Magiere, Léshil, and the majay-hì had been spotted. But their numbers had dwindled, and their people needed sleep at some point.

  Rhysís and Eywodan lay on the floor, resting for a quarter day, but both had been up all last night and through the morning. Tavithê and Owain were doing separate sweeps of the city, hoping to spot something. Én’nish was watching the guild’s castle.

  All of this had left the port unobserved, which made Dänvârfij uncomfortable.

  “We could omit shifts at the port,” Fréthfâre suggested. “We no longer need to spot arrivals now that our quarry is here.”

  “But if they decide to flee, a ship would be an option,” Dänvârfij countered. “Sea travel is the most difficult to follow, and the easiest way to move a group. The greimasg’äh knows this. We must know if and when they make a move toward port to cut them off.”

  “If they are spotted there,” Fréthfâre replied, “what good would it do? We would not be able to gather quickly enough to cut them off, especially if they do so in daylight. And Brot’ân’duivé will try to take the monster away in daylight, to throw us off.”

  “That would be risky.”

  “Which is why he would do it,” Fréthfâre shot back. “It is the least likely option for the best way out. Unless we can find them in the city, we will never know when or how they move.”

  Dänvârfij fell silent at this. She still did not agree, though the reasoning made sense on the surface. And they were already stretched too thin.

  “I will take watch on the guild tonight,” she said. “Once Rhysís has rested, he can watch the port, at least at night. He needs less sleep than the rest of us.”

  Fréthfâre shifted in her chair. “It may be time that I take a hand in matters.”

  Dänvârfij looked away, fearing her companion might volunteer for watch duty. Then Én’nish crawled in the window, saving Dänvârfij from another uncomfortable argument.

  “Covârleasa!” Én’nish breathed, looking to Fréthfâre as she rose from her crouch. “I have found them!”

  A moment of chaos followed as Rhysís and Eywodan sat up and Dänvârfij leaped to her feet. Everyone began asking too many questions at once.

  “Silence!” Fréthfâre ordered. “Let her speak.”

  Dänvârfij waited as Én’nish recounted a tale about the majay-hì, a wild chase through the streets, and a rescue by Brot’ân’duivé. In spite of Én’nish abandoning her post, the more she talked, the more Dänvârfij believed she had done right.

  Magiere had been found.

  But at mention of another name, Fréthfâre sat upright and whispered, “Leanâlhâm . . . here?”

  Dänvârfij did not recognize this name at first. Then she remembered hearing of a mixed-blood girl as kin to Sgäilsheilleache. What would such a girl be doing here?

  “Their words all surrounded the sage,” Én’nish rushed on. “That is why the deviant majay-hì returned to the guild. The sage is a prisoner, and they plan to free her.”

  “We should assault their inn tonight,” Rhysís said, “and take them all.”

  Silence fell for the span of a few breaths. Rhysís had not spoken much since the previous night when Owain had returned without Wy’lanvi’s body. Apparently, Owain had gone back to the spot in the alley where Wy’lanvi had been assigned an
d found nothing. They all believed Brot’ân’duivé had taken the body.

  Dänvârfij hoped only that the aging greimasg’äh still held enough respect for his people’s burial customs. And if not, she could only pray that Wy’lanvi found his own way to their ancestors.

  “Why do they want the sage?” she asked of Én’nish.

  “I do not know,” Én’nish answered. “But they are determined. Brot’ân’duivé is helping them.”

  Another pause followed, and though Dänvârfij’s purpose, given by Most Aged Father, was to capture Magiere or Léshil, she began to wonder. The artifact had been removed from the ice-bound castle by those two, but Most Aged Father had also warned that the pair often relied on the sage for information. If those two now needed the sage so badly that Brot’ân’duivé assisted them, then the sage must know something essential.