His long, reddish hair hung past his shoulders. He’d removed the burnt orange vestment and wore only breeches and a loose shirt. There was a shadow of beard stubble on his face.
“We’re being watched,” she told him. “Pack up. We’re moving to an inn until we’re ready to leave.”
She turned away.
“So you intend to continue, as before?”
The question stopped her. Had there been any doubt? Why would he, of all people, even ask, since this search was all he wanted? Wynn glanced back at him, saying nothing.
“You will still travel . . . with him?” Ore-Locks asked. “Accept protection from him, even after last night?”
Wynn had hidden herself away for so long in a place of denial regarding Chane. Now Ore-Locks was determined to force the truth before her eyes. He might not know Chane’s true situation, but Wynn did. Chane had killed countless people so that he might survive. He’d changed himself for her sake, but nothing could be forgotten.
“Don’t be so pious,” she answered. “You want him protecting me.”
“I can protect you.”
Wynn had no idea how to respond to this. Instead, she stepped slowly down the passage until she heard his door close. She stopped and slumped against the wall, and Shade pressed up against her.
—not . . . go . . . Wynn . . . stay—
Shade’s growl sharpened in emphasis.
—not . . . go . . . Wynn . . . stay safe—
“Stop it,” Wynn whispered. “Not now.”
All three of her companions were shoving her over the edge of reason. Everything was coming apart from the inside. The pressure of it all pushed tears from Wynn’s clenched eyes.
Chuillyon’s day had not been easy.
Gyâr was furious at being unable to uncover who had given Wynn the pass. During the morning’s council meeting, when the premin of Conamology questioned Gyâr’s judgment in closing the archives, Gyâr had turned on her, nearly accusing her of collusion. The meeting did not end well.
Chuillyon had no desire for further discord among the council; rather, the opposite. He needed them pacified, so he could remain intimately aware of all activities at the highest levels. Like young Wynn, he, too, believed the Ancient Enemy would return. It was essential that he knew at all times exactly who was doing what, when, and where.
Should the worst come, he would require a powerful voice in the outcome of political and military decisions for the entire Numan lands. In this, he served the royals of Malourné as counselor and quietly influenced his own branch of the guild. He might in time become high premin himself, working closely with both his own government and that of Malourné. It would put him in the best position for whatever would happen.
But until recently, Chiullyon had never bargained for the antics of one headstrong human journeyor.
Wynn Hygeorht was like a wild boar crashing through a crystal shop. She distracted everyone from his careful misdirection. She drew too much attention, and yet she always seemed to get through to her goal. He had to know exactly what she was up to before anything else was broken.
“Master?” Hannâschi called from above.
“Yes, come.”
He was not surprised to see Shâodh enter first. These two were most often found together. Chuillyon could not quite fathom what Hannâschi found appealing in the company of stoic Shâodh, but he never gave it much thought. Hannâschi entered next, lovely and composed as always, but a few strands of her hair appeared tangled.
“Journeyor Hygeorht has left the guild,” she said immediately. “She is preparing to seek out this Bäalâle Seatt. I apologize for having learned so little, but I was behind a tree in the courtyard and only able to pick up a few words as she and her companions headed for the gate. I could not follow farther for fear of being seen.”
Chuillyon stared at her, barely hearing anything after “Bäalâle Seatt.”
Hannâschi smoothed her hair and waited for some response. Chuillyon sat numb, until she and Shâodh exchanged a concerned glance.
“Domin?” Shâodh asked.
“Yes . . . yes, I am listening.”
“Again, I only picked up bits and pieces,” Hannâschi went on. “It appears the journeyor did go looking for Vreuvillä. I can only assume that lone Foirfeahkan told her something of use.”
Chuillyon let out a weary breath and looked away. Wynn’s antics had frequently piqued his curiosity, and death often followed in her wake. But this was the first time her conscious choices had made him deeply nervous.
Bäalâle had fallen long ago, burying its dark secrets of how and why. Was she purposefully trying to rush events forward in seeking that place, if she could find it? What did she know that he did not?
“Where is she now?” he demanded, his voice sounding hard to his own ears.
“They are relocating to an inn somewhere in the city,” Hannâschi answered, sounding distressed that she could not tell him more.
As of yet, Shâodh had said little, but he stepped forward. “Do not be concerned. We will locate her.”
Chuillyon’s thoughts turned inward. “Yes, you do that.”
“And I will be ready, when it is time, to follow her,” Shâodh added firmly.
Chuillyon looked up at his subordinate, slightly surprised by Shâodh’s certainty of what would come next. Hannâschi eyed her companion with an almost dumbfounded expression on her lovely face.
Shâodh nodded in respect to Chuillyon as he turned away. But as Hannâschi followed, she jerked on Shâodh’s sleeve and whispered something in his ear.
Chuillyon called after them. “Both of you be ready . . . for a long journey.”
CHAPTER 17
Before the first bell of full night, Wynn stood in the entry room of a ground-level inn. Her tears were used up, but she felt no better at leaving the guild. Now she waited silently with Shade for the inn’s proprietor to return. Chane and Ore-Locks had both remained outside.
Chane still looked a mess, his pale face battered, although not as bad as earlier. He’d claimed he shouldn’t be seen in good light, causing anyone at the inn to wonder what trouble had walked through the door. Ore-Locks said nothing to this and backstepped three paces behind Chane to wait. Wynn had ignored them both.
Now she reached down to stroke Shade’s head as the elderly, sleepy-eyed innkeeper reappeared through one of the room’s two tall wooden doors.
“All three rooms are ready, miss,” he said in Elvish.
Stooped by age, he was still much taller than she, and his thin, silvery hair was pulled back in a frizzy tail. His shock upon first seeing Shade remained, but overall he was so kindly that a majay-hì’s presence couldn’t be the only reason.
“Thank you,” Wynn replied, and counted two silver pennies into his hand.
“If you need anything, there is a small bell outside of each room. Ring it sharply, and I will be along.”
“Thank you,” Wynn said again.
She stepped out to find Ore-Locks and Chane exactly as she’d left them.
“Around back,” she said, and they headed off.
Being on their own again brought no relief to Wynn; it only seemed to make things worse. Chane and Ore-Locks weren’t speaking to each other, and Wynn fought against her rising sense of guilt in denying the price of Chane’s companionship.
She knew—had known—what he was, but kept seeing the other Chane, until he’d utterly lost himself in First Glade. That undead monster of his hidden nature was all that had remained. And it had been caused by more than just the forest’s influence.
It was also because of her.
Someone could’ve been needlessly hurt, or even died, for nothing. He would sacrifice anyone, anything, for her.
Shade kept to Wynn’s side as both men followed them to the back of the inn. Wynn unlatched the door to the first room and peered inside. Only then did it dawn on her that she hadn’t needed a key.
It was strange to be in a place where concern over security or
privacy wasn’t given any thought. The place looked simple, comfortable, and perfectly clean, but what would they all do now? Sit in their separate rooms until morning, when Chane fell dormant and she would go out seeking supplies?
“I need a new shirt,” Chane said, breaking the silence.
He stood before the next door, watching her quizzically. Perhaps her affected calm wasn’t as convincing as she’d thought. But his suggestion that they go out to buy supplies tonight was not unwelcome. Dinner was long past, though some shops might still be open. At least it gave them something to do rather than talk—or think.
“Let’s stow our things first,” she agreed quietly.
Stepping just inside, she unloaded her pack around the door’s edge and then faltered, the sun crystal staff still in hand. She didn’t like going anywhere without it, but carrying it might become troublesome if they found enough supplies tonight. She tucked the staff in the corner behind the door and stepped out.
Ore-Locks stood before the third door, the chest on his shoulder.
“You don’t have to come,” she told him.
Ore-Locks opened the third room, slid in the chest, and then shut the door and stood waiting.
Chane had not expected mention of a new shirt to result in a group excursion. He had wanted to go off by himself. Yet here they all were, walking a manicured lane and looking for open shops.
Tension between him and the others was too thick. Worse, he still could not remember what he had done in First Glade. Wynn avoided any mention of the subject, and Ore-Locks watched his every move.
Chane did not care what Ore-Locks—or even Shade—thought of him, but Wynn was another matter. She appeared strained and was more distant than ever. He wanted to pull her aside and demand she tell him what was wrong.
Part of him knew better than to try that; another part was afraid of her answer. So he did nothing.
Ore-Locks pointed toward a shop ahead with pale green melons in a wooden bin out front. The sight took Chane back to his living days. Melons, though bulky and heavy, would be a good food source while they had a wagon to carry such. They kept well and provided fluid as well as nourishment.
Ore-Locks stepped up to engage the shopkeeper sweeping the front porch.
“How much?” he asked in Numanese, gesturing at the melons.
The rather stocky woman, or stocky for an elf, eyed him before returning, “In coin or barter?”
She obviously knew dwarven customs.
As the bartering began, Chane whispered to Wynn, “I have other errands. I will meet you later at the inn.”
She looked up, and the veneer of calm on her face did not hide the sadness in her eyes. He wavered again, longing to pull her aside, but she nodded and turned back to watching Ore-Locks.
“I pity that shopkeeper,” she said quietly. And then said softly, “Go.”
Chane flinched.
Fear of losing her, even before this journey ended, tortured him. He had one chance to procure something rare and important—a slim hope of finding another way to keep her alive, should the worst come. That was all that mattered. He silently backed away and ducked off the road between the widely spaced buildings.
Chane began running as soon as he slipped from Wynn’s sight.
Wynn sighed, tired of waiting on Ore-Locks’s stubborn bartering. The poor shopkeeper looked worn and exasperated. Wynn turned about, looking down the road at the few people still out for the evening. Chane was nowhere in sight, but she guessed where he’d gone.
He needed to mend himself—to feed. The thought only made her more aware that she’d chosen to keep company with an undead. She closed her eyes tightly, opening them again as a sudden worry struck her.
Hopefully, Chane had gone after wild game. He knew better than to touch anyone here after her warning—didn’t he? How he’d managed to feed on livestock so far without being seen, after moons of travel, was another question she’d pushed aside. He never talked about it, never would, but this populated place wouldn’t offer him many options for privacy.
Would he go after the local livestock? What if he was discovered?
Wynn took a step, peering between the buildings and great trees. She touched Shade’s head and a memory of Chane’s face passed between them.
“Find him—now!” she whispered.
Shade loped off, sniffing the ground, as Wynn hurried after.
Chane pushed himself too hard, and the pain in his side returned. Stolen life gathered by the brass cup had not mended him enough. He ignored the discomfort, but at least his fluids had stopped leaking from his side. Soon he passed through a grove, emerging near the stables where they had first arrived.
Wynn might keep at her preparations all day tomorrow while he was dormant, and then suddenly announce that they were leaving at dusk. She had sprung such things upon him before. These lands offered something he might never find elsewhere. He had to finish one task and return before she began wondering where he was.
He ignored the stables and jogged out of the city. Even as he passed settlements along the way, where a few elves stopped in the night to watch in puzzlement, he kept to the road as the fastest route.
Wynn was gasping when she broke out of the trees behind Shade and spotted the stable across the way. Had Chane gone there?
She couldn’t believe he’d be so foolish as to feed in the stable. They had to come here to get their horses and wagon. What if someone spotted him or found a wounded animal in the morning, let alone a dead one?
Wynn stumbled across the road, looking about in panic, and hoping no one appeared until she could retrieve Chane. Shade huffed sharply, and Wynn almost jumped as she spun around.
Shade stood midroad but no longer sniffed the earth; she sniffed the air instead. She lunged past the stable and a few paces up the road toward the city’s huge tree archway. Before Shade breached the arch, she stopped to look back.
Wynn looked down the road beyond the city to its first hard turn among the trees.
She didn’t doubt Shade, but what was Chane doing? Where was he going to hunt? Or was he just leaving? Had his memory of the night before come back, horrifying him? No, that wasn’t like Chane. He’d followed her across half the world. Even if she chose to be rid of him, it would take effort to shake him loose.
Shade lunged another three steps and barked. A memory of the open plain beyond the forest surfaced in Wynn’s mind. She stared into the dog’s eyes.
How could Shade know this? She couldn’t dip into Chane’s rising memories while he wore the ring. Had he headed beyond the forest? That was at least some relief. Out there he might be alone, unseen as he fed.
Relief vanished quickly—there were Shé’ith patrols out there.
The instant Wynn started running, Shade dashed ahead, leading the way.
Chane reached the forest’s edge in agony. The pain in his side would’ve taken his breath away—if he’d had to breathe. He leaned against a broad tree trunk and didn’t even care that the contact made his skin crawl. As he fully widened his senses, he peered out across the open plain.
He heard no hoofbeats nor smelled anything made of flesh in the low breeze. There was only the grass shifting softly in the dark, and hidden within it was what he sought. He crouched, looking again in all directions.
As he crept beyond the tree line, that sensation of a thousand insects crawling over him faded. His eyes half closed as he stalled. He had become so accustomed to the forest’s fear-laced prodding, trying to seek out what he was. Its absence was bliss.
He moved on, spreading the tall grass with his hands.
Sau’ilahk instantly sank halfway into the earth. The shock of Chane’s lone appearance blotted every thought from his mind. He had not felt Chane’s presence before the pale undead appeared, so Chane still wore the ring.... And he was alone. What was he doing out here?
Perhaps he simply foraged for a kill, trying to find some wild animal to feed on? That did not make sense; the forest or enclaves of the
Lhoin’na were better places to hunt.
Sau’ilahk refrained from rushing forward. He had no physical possessions, as such required continued use of energy to carry. He would have to leave them behind each dawn as he slipped into dormancy. But that ring offered so many possibilities.
Chane had gone into a place Sau’ilahk could not. Chane’s true nature was hidden from any unnatural awareness, even Shade’s. With that ring, neither Wynn nor her majay-hì would know when Sau’ilahk finally came for her.
It was too much to let pass.
Sau’ilahk slid through the dark, and not a single stalk of grass caught as they flowed through his black robe and cloak.
Chane flinched and squinted at a sudden glare of white before his eyes. It was almost too bright to look at where it caught the moonlight.
A dome of white flowers sprouted between the tan stalks of wild grass. Tiny pearl-colored petals—or leaves, by their shape—looked as soft as velvet, as delicate as silk. They appeared to glow, though the stems and leaves beneath them were so dark green, they were nearly black where moonlight could not reach them.
Their true use, hinted at in The Seven Leaves of Life, was still a mystery. Chane knew only that their name meant everything concerning Wynn.
Anasgiah . . . Anamgiah . . . the Life Shield.
He had to learn the secret of that thin text, one more step toward preserving her, if he ever failed in protecting her.
Chane slid his hand along the earth. He reached under with his fingers for the stems, not wishing to even bruise those precious petals. Like his need, they filled his awareness, until he neither smelled grass nor felt the hushed breeze, nor even heard a footfall.
Wynn stumbled into a broad tree trunk at the plain’s edge as she caught up to Shade. Dizzy and exhausted, even in the cool air she’d sweated through her undergarments. She tried to swallow away dryness in her mouth as she looked beyond Shade standing at the plain’s edge.
Of Truth and Beasts (Noble of Dead Saga Series 2 Book 3) Page 31
