Between Their Worlds

by Barb; J. C. Hendee

  That seemed the only way.

  Hurrying with care, Chane made his way back but paused short of the entryway with its overhanging cold lamp mounted above the main doors. Peering in all directions, he neither heard nor saw anyone. And then he turned right, slipping down the central passage.

  There ahead of him was another high-mounted cold lamp, its crystal glimmering dimly above the library’s central double doors.

  When the window’s latch slipped up on the tip of Leesil’s blade, he pushed it open and crawled through into a narrow path. He landed on the floor beside a wall of bookcases facing the window.

  Brot’an immediately climbed up and followed him in.

  “A library,” Brot’an whispered, looking over the shelves and then up.

  Leesil gazed along the wall of books and bound sheaves and saw that the casements didn’t reach the ceiling. He froze when he looked to their tops. He saw what had pulled Brot’an’s attention.

  Light from somewhere beyond the shelves shone upon the ceiling beams. Though it was very late, someone else was in here.

  Leesil had hoped to find himself in an upper storage area or even an empty room. He hadn’t thought of a library on the third floor of a building. He’d never imagined they would enter a place frequented by someone too obsessed with scholarly notions to just go to bed . . . like a normal person.

  Then again, he should’ve anticipated this. The whole small castle was filled with sages. How many times on the road had he and Magiere gone to sleep while Wynn sat up by a campfire, scribbling in one of her journals? Here he was, creeping in on some unsuspecting sage like a thief in the night, and, worse, with an oversized assassin behind him.

  Leesil took a long breath and motioned to Brot’an as he crept along the shelves toward the left end wall.

  Chap and Leanâlhâm had explained exactly where they’d seen Wynn, and once Leesil reached the center courtyard, he’d know where to go. But first he had to search for a way through to that courtyard, and he only knew the general direction in which it lay.

  Exactly what was he supposed to do, amid trying to find the stairs out of here, if he ran into some old bookworm hunched over an even older tome?

  Leesil reached the end of the casements, where a path led along the library’s southward wall. He peeked around the end, and halfway along the sidewall he spotted a set of downward stairs beyond more rows of shelves. A pot-metal lamp was mounted right above the stairwell.

  A sage’s cold-lamp crystal glowed softly within the lamp’s glass.

  Leesil couldn’t help but curse under his breath as his anxiety broke. Some addle-brained sage had simply left a light on. With a sigh, he waved Brot’an onward and led the way, checking each row of shelves or open spaces as he headed for the stairs.

  Rodian waited impatiently as the last of the wagon’s cargo was unloaded. He wondered again why these supplies arrived in the night. Food stores might be delivered so late if the sages were preparing some special meal for the next day. The notion struck him as eccentric, but it was a possible explanation, if not for the contents of this wagon.

  Lashed-up piles of canvas, clinking casks of metal, and coils of rope would make no decent meal. None of this had anything to do with stocking a populated keep no longer used for military purposes. Except for a few closed crates, most of it looked like gear for a large expedition afield—without any perceivable armaments.

  How was all this being paid for, and to what purpose?

  Rodian knew nothing of the sages’ finances, but they had to be operating on limited accounts. Yes, they had their services among the people, running public schools in some districts and working with local trade and craft guilds. Most of that was likely financed by stipends from the kingdom’s treasury. What little profit they were allowed to take in wouldn’t be enough to cover all that he’d seen in a few nights. And how long had these wagons been coming in before that?

  Either the Premin Council had built up funding beyond expectation, or someone outside these walls had a vested interest in whatever the sages were up to. Once again, Rodian saw the hand of Malourné’s royal family at work when no one was watching. But to what purpose?

  Once unloading was finished, the four metaologers disappeared inside as the fifth pulled the upper bay doors closed. The driver, who, like his companion, had not stepped off, turned the wagon, clucked to his horses, and headed back toward the gatehouse tunnel.

  The driver was certainly tall, even sitting down. Rodian hadn’t noticed how tall until now. Something about the short one on the bench—something familiar—bothered him, but he couldn’t quite place it. He took a step as the wagon entered the tunnel.

  Intuition told him to get a better look at these two silent wagon handlers. Then he glanced toward the dormitory barracks. It was even later now, and he still wanted a word with Wynn while all the other sages remained out of the way. That task was more pressing.

  Turning, Rodian headed straight for the barracks door.

  Peeking through the cracked barracks door, Wynn sucked a breath that actually squeaked in her throat, and she pulled the door shut.

  “What?” Ore-Locks whispered in alarm. “What did you—”

  Wynn clamped her hand over his mouth.

  “Rodian!” she whispered. “He’s coming straight toward us!”

  Ore-Locks’s eyes widened until the whites showed all around his black-pellet irises. He grabbed Wynn’s hand, turned about, and then faltered. He appeared caught in indecision, looking at the stairs leading back up and the dark passage beside them.

  “Not the stairs,” Wynn whispered. “We’ll get trapped up there.”

  The passage led through the keep wall to the initiates’ barracks built long ago in the bailey. Ore-Locks immediately took off that way. They’d nearly reached the dim light of a cold lamp at the far end when Wynn’s panic cleared in a realization.

  If Rodian went to her room and found her gone, with the guard unconscious, things would quickly get much worse. He’d sound the alarm, and Chane would be in even more danger. But if she got to her room and blocked the captain from entering so late at night, she could play dumb about the missing guard. While Rodian left to find that irresponsible guard, she could try to get out again.

  Wynn pulled back hard, but Ore-Locks dragged her along like a stubborn puppy.

  “Ore-Locks, stop!”

  He wouldn’t, so she had to smack him across the back. He turned on her with a glower.

  She whispered harshly, “I need to get back to—”

  The latch on the courtyard door clicked, echoing down the passage. They both froze in the dark as the door began to crack open.

  Wynn shoved Ore-Locks, though it didn’t budge him a bit. Backing up, she flattened against the passage’s wall and frantically waved him off, pointing at the other wall. He appeared to understand, though he hesitated, looking at her and then the door.

  Hinges creaked as the door began to swing inward.

  Ore-Locks grimaced as he turned and fled through—into—the passage wall’s stone.

  Wynn had no idea how to explain being found outside her room, but the repercussions would be worse if Ore-Locks was found with her. She crouched, out of the line of sight, and lay down to roll in against the passage wall’s base.

  It was a desperate, silly notion for hiding.

  Rodian had begun pushing open the barracks door when a loud bang startled him. He turned, his hand reflexively dropping to his sword hilt. What he saw left him in more than mild surprise.

  Premin Hawes burst from the center door of the northwest building, where only moments before the other sages had entered after unloading the wagon. She bolted for the keep’s main doors, not even glancing Rodian’s way.

  For a moment, he was so stunned that he didn’t move. The premin of metaology crossed the courtyard in full flight, the skirt of her midnight blue robe flapping around her narrow, booted feet. He couldn’t remember ever seeing Hawes in such a state, and perhaps no one ever had.


  He was just about to follow her when the dark-haired metaologer who’d hauled Wynn off a few nights ago came flying out the same door. The door banged recklessly against the wall and, at the noise, Hawes skidded to a stop, turned, and held out her hand.

  “No, Dorian!” she commanded. “Go back and watch every area that we have covered.”

  Dorian gave a quick nod and went running back to wherever he’d come from. Hawes took two backward steps and then turned to race to the keep’s main doors and disappeared inside.

  Rodian was at a complete loss as to what all of this meant. What could Dorian possibly be watching from inside the northwest building? And what had Hawes meant by “covered”? He wanted to question Wynn, but something more immediate was happening.

  Rodian took off at a jog after Hawes.

  * * *

  Dänvârfij crouched low on the rooftop as the wagon rolled out through the bailey gate. Én’nish was crouched beside her, and they both drew in a sharp breath at the same time.

  Beside the tall driver on the bench sat a smaller, slender form in a full cloak, pants, and jerkin. Perhaps it was the driver’s son or apprentice. But there had been only the driver onboard when the wagon had first entered the bailey gate and tunnel.

  Dänvârfij tensed in indecision. First the pale human and dwarf had melted through the outer wall. Then the black majay-hì had raised a wild commotion at the gate, drawing out the guards before it had run off. Now a small, cloaked figure came out who had not gone in.

  “Is it the sage in disguise?” Én’nish whispered.

  Dänvârfij closed her eyes. Everything that had happened in this city since Magiere’s return seemed to surround Wynn Hygeorht. There was no certainty here, but there was no letting the possibility slip through her hands. If it was the sage on the wagon, somehow she had slipped out of the castle with no help from Magiere or Léshil.

  “Who is driving?” Én’nish asked.

  Dänvârfij squinted but could not make out the driver’s face, though he was quite tall. Too tall to be Léshil, yet not broad-shouldered enough for Brot’ân’duivé. She looked straight into Én’nish’s too-eager eyes.

  “Get Rhysís and go after them. Secure the sage at any cost.”

  Chane hurried toward the library’s center doors caught in a pool of light from a cold lamp mounted to one side. Each of the frame stones at the arch’s top held an engraved Begaine symbol for the guild’s creed. He knew what they meant without struggling to read them.

  Truth through Knowledge . . . Knowledge through Understanding . . . Understanding through Truth . . . Wisdom’s Eternal Cycle.

  It was a bitter notion after all that the Premin Council had put Wynn through.

  He grabbed the right door’s handle, twisted it, and found it locked. Gripping the handle harder, he threw his weight against it, knowing the effort wouldn’t matter. For the first time since beginning this undertaking, real anxiety flooded through him.

  It was not enough that they had locked Wynn away. Was the council now locking up any and all knowledge? How could he get Wynn out if he could not quickly and safely breach the library to clear her a path? He wondered if he should rush to the main doors and toss a glove out into the courtyard. Ore-Locks might yet get Wynn out another way.

  Chane steeled himself. There was still one more library door to try, and he had to reach it quickly. But as he turned, one of the keep’s main double doors swung open.

  He backed up, not even looking to see who it was, and snatched the glass off the wall-mounted cold lamp. Pulling the lamp’s crystal, he clenched it tightly in his fist to squelch its light and then flattened against the sidewall as he peered up the central passage.

  Premin Hawes stepped into the entryway and quickly shut the main doors. She stood there for a moment in the entryway’s dim pool of light. She was facing down the central passage.

  Chane feared she had already seen him, but he kept still in waiting. Even if she had not, if she came straight on, she would soon enough.

  One of the main doors opened again, and Hawes spun toward them, facing away from Chane.

  Captain Rodian stepped inside, frowning at the premin.

  Rodian was surprised to find Hawes still in the entryway. How strange, considering her panicked rush of a moment before.

  “Is something amiss, Premin?” he asked, abandoning any pretense. “I saw you running and was concerned.”

  If she was equally surprised to see him, her expression didn’t betray it. Hawes was as composed as Rodian had ever seen her, once again the coldly observant premin of metaology.

  “I was told someone was wandering about,” she returned evenly. “Considering the curfew you set and your order to keep the library locked at night, I did not want some initiate’s forgetfulness to cause trouble.”

  He stared at her, letting silence linger for three breaths. “How did you receive this word?”

  “We have our ways of communication here,” she answered. “Nothing that would hamper your security. I apologize for not having notified your men before acting on my own.”

  Rodian didn’t move. “Such hurry . . . out of concern for an initiate?”

  “All of our charges should be long abed. As you are here, perhaps you would assist me in checking the main building.”

  What Rodian wanted was to put her in a room until she gave him a real answer. He didn’t believe her in the slightest, and had long since grown suspicious of anything said by any member of the Premin Council. She knew someone was in here, but Rodian seriously doubted it was a mischievous initiate up past bedtime.

  Locking Hawes up might be a pleasure unto itself, but it would only gain Rodian more trouble from the royals, unless he could prove exceptional reasons.

  “Should I call more men?” he asked.

  “I think you and I can handle this.” The premin turned halfway, glancing northward along the main passage. “Perhaps you could check up there while I head the other way. With the towers and library locked up, whoever is wandering about couldn’t have gone far. We will meet back here shortly.”

  He was about to suggest they switch sides in the search, for Hawes had too quickly stated her preference. But he couldn’t think of an adequate justification for the change and so he had to play along. Nodding, he turned northward at a slow pace along the keep front’s main passage.

  Rodian listened for the sound of Hawes’s footsteps heading the other way.

  Chane did not move a muscle as he watched the pair in the entryway. He gained no relief when Rodian disappeared from sight, heading north, for Hawes lingered. The premin stood there a moment and then suddenly, sharply, she turned and vanished in the other direction. Chane remained still, though it appeared neither the premin nor the captain had spotted him.

  That was something at least, but too little. All of his plans were now ruined.

  With those two wandering about the keep, it would not matter if he managed to force his way into the library. He had to stop Wynn and Ore-Locks before they entered this building and ran straight into the premin or the captain. But could he reach the main doors himself without being spotted?

  He crept along the central passage’s left wall toward the entryway. At a half dozen paces away, he slowed, watching the mouth of the main passage’s northward half. Of the two now in the keep, if the captain spotted him first, Chane would have no chance to talk his way out. Then again, though Hawes knew him a little, she might be far more dangerous if she did not believe his excuses.

  There was only one course left to Chane.

  He pressed forward along the left wall, nearing where the central passage met the main one at the entryway. The main doors were so close, but he feared stepping into view. He lingered, listening, and then glanced the way Rodian had gone. Finally, he began slipping forward to peer around the corner after Hawes.

  A hand shot out from Chane’s left, in front of his chin. He was so startled he did not see where it came from, until its narrow fingers clenched
the front of his cloak and shirt.

  The forearm below that slender hand protruded from out of the passage wall’s stone.

  In shocked instinct, Chane pulled back, but he could not break free. Even before he could grab his sword hilt, the hand dragged him face-first into—through—the passage’s left wall. Only one thought remained as he was swallowed into cold, dark stone.

  That narrow hand could not have belonged to Ore-Locks.

  Wynn tried to come up with some plausible excuse for being out of her room once Rodian spotted her. Maybe it would be better for Chane—and Shade—if she faced down the captain and took all consequences on herself. After all, what could Rodian do without formal charges? What more could the Premin Council do?

  They still wanted her under their watchful eye, so they wouldn’t make any legal claim against her. That would put her permanently in Rodian’s hands and off guild grounds. Of course, there was still an unconscious guardsman in her room. That was something the captain would pin on her, though she doubted he’d believe she’d done it herself. But he’d still arrest her, thinking she might eventually give up who had.