by Barb Hendee
A guard lowered a prong pike across his path. "What's your business here, master treeborn?"
The man was tall for a human, almost as tall as Sgaile, with a close-cropped beard spiking from his chin and small eyes beneath the ridge of his plumed helmet. Human facial hair had always been somewhat repugnant to Sgaile.
"I am delivering a letter to kin," he answered.
After a moment's appraisal, the guard held out his gloved hand. "Let's have a look."
Sgaile withdrew a folded paper from his vestment. The guard took it and roughly snapped it open with one hand, squinting as he stared at the inked scrawling upon it.
It was merely a letter from Sgaile's brother on a journey down the coast. As it was scripted in Sgaile's own tongue, it was doubtful this simple guard would know the difference.
"There has been a death in our clan," Sgaile lied. "I am here as the bearer of sad tidings for a kinsman."
The guard shook his head, trying to read the letter, and then handed it back.
"Move along," he ordered.
Sgaile gave a curt nod and passed through the gatehouse archway.
In this lower district, few people moved about the filthy streets. The denizens of the city called this place Chatruche Zastup—Hovel Row—and its packed stench confirmed its name. Little was given attention in such a place, which was why the one he came to see would be found here.
Upon arrival he ignored the dwelling's shabby appearance and directly approached the front door. His knock was light and sharp, and he hoped the occupant was at home.
The door cracked ajar, and it was dark inside. A figure appeared back in the shadows through the opening.
Thin, with sharply peaked ears and long, sand-blond tangled hair, the man hid his attire beneath a faded dun-colored cloak. His large amber eyes widened, and there was the barest hint of joy in his soft smile for the visitor upon his porch.
"Kinsman," he whispered.
The door opened fully, and Sgaile quickly stepped inside.
Something tugged Leesil's bare foot. He opened sleepy eyes to see Vatz hanging on the bunk's edge, glowering at him.
"You all right?" Leesil mumbled.
"I got to find my uncle," Vatz answered. "And tell him about the inn."
"The whole district knows by now," Leesil said, coming fully awake. "I'll get you back. He's probably worried, wondering where you are."
Vatz slowly blinked hazel eyes too large for his face.
"Naw, but he'll be mad about the inn, and I got to tell him what happened. And you shouldn't be there when I do."
Leesil heard Magiere stir, and she rolled out of the bunk below him.
"Of course we should," she said. "You don't have to deal with this. None of it is your fault."
"No, he'll take it better from me," Vatz said, shaking his head adamantly. "Just stay and help that Wynn girl track down the vampires from all that stuff she's reading. I'll be back soon to help fight. I've a notion what you might be getting paid, so I ain't working cheap."
"Now you hold on," Leesil growled.
The boy's ardor for his fancied new trade was getting out of hand. Before Leesil could tell Vatz to put such ideas out of his head, Magiere turned the subject aside.
"Tell your uncle I'll request that the council pay to rebuild the Burdock, and if they refuse, we'll take care of it somehow."
"Good enough." Vatz nodded in satisfaction. "You're okay… though I still should have charged you more on the pier." He strode out of the room on his short legs.
Leesil's yawn ended in a sigh. "Have we inherited a child?"
"He won't take no for an answer," Magiere replied. "So we make sure he gets no opportunity for trouble."
"Ratboy." Leesil leaned back again. "He knows quite a bit about us. That may change the way we handle this."
The sight of Ratboy had been unsettling, to say the least. Of all possible places across this land, it seemed nearly impossible that Ratboy should reside in two places that he and Magiere were called to for different reasons. But the pieces slid together in his mind last night while he'd been ministering to Magiere. It bothered him that they'd been played so easily into this blood-soaked mess. Taking Ratboy's head would end that problem, much to his pleasure.
Magiere leaned down to check on Chap. At her hesitant touch, the dog yawned deeply, and then rolled off the bunk, limping but surprisingly able to hobble about. She roughed up the fur on his head.
"He heals even faster than I do."
Leesil watched, unnoticed, as Magiere lifted the side of her shirt enough to inspect her ribs. The yellowed mottling was still visible, but no black and blue remained beneath.
"Chap can't track yet," Magiere added. "So we might as well look in on Wynn. I don't read well, but you do, and perhaps we can narrow down what she's looking for."
Leesil looked down at himself. "We need to find me some clothes. Boots and a shirt, at least."
Her expression seemed troubled, as if in looking at him she was now uncertain of something. Did it bother her that much to look at him?
"Stay here," she said, "and I'll see what I can find."
The only clothing Magiere found was a shabby gray hand-me-down sage's robe and a guard's old, faded surcoat. Leesil chose the surcoat, which he sliced off just below the belt and sashed around his waist with the remaining strips. It didn't cover the stilettos strapped to his smooth brown arms. The soldier's boots were too large, so he wore a pair of sage's sandals instead.
Once he was decent, of course, Leesil gave little thought to his attire. Magiere found the effect worse than his previous shabby shirt, as he would stick out wherever they went. There would be no more arguments about new clothes. She was reoutfitting him at the first opportunity, including some additional raiment she had in mind.
Magiere led them back to the old sergeant's chamber now used as the sages' study. She liked it, with its glowing cold lamps, shelves and tables, parchments and books. A peaceful place of thought, even if she couldn't read most of what was stored here. To her mild surprise, the place had changed. Casks, crates, and stacks of parchment were piled around the far table, and Wynn was shuffling through documents. She smiled widely at Magiere.
"It would appear both the city guard and the local constabulary consider me part of this investigation. I've received almost everything I asked for in the way of records."
Magiere sat down on a stool. "They're finally listening to us. Hopefully, this will all be over soon, but we're still uncertain how many undeads we're tracking. The number keeps growing."
Leesil followed more slowly with Chap, looking over the room with mild surprise, taking in the sight of rolled parchments and a few leather- or wood-bound sheaves and books. He glanced out one of the small windows in the room with concern.
"I hope Vatz gets himself back here before nightfall or stays in with his uncle. Ratboy and his little horde have seen him. It's not going to be safe out there, especially near the inn."
"How many are you hunting?" Wynn asked.
"At least four," Magiere said thoughtfully. "Assuming Sapphire wasn't destroyed. There were two in Leesil's room, and one of them we know. He escaped us in Miiska. I took down the second one entering my room, but not the first. He is a more serious problem."
Wynn set down a handful of parchments, attentive as Magiere shifted upon the stool and continued.
"He's a mage, or some such, and ignited his dead companion's body from across the room. The place burned down and left me with no proof—no head—to show the council."
Wynn's nose wrinkled. Magiere had related some of this the previous night, but without mention of a headless corpse.
"That last one was dressed as a noble," Magiere went on. "With a cloak and black gloves. I've never seen him before, but he could be the one we are after… who murdered Chesna, and possibly Au'shiyn."
Wynn lifted a teapot from a side table and poured two steaming mugs, dropping a tiny green leaf into each. She handed one to Magiere. It smelled sli
ghtly of mint.
"I will arrange food shortly," Wynn said. "Tell me what this nobleman looked like. I've seen many of the council and their staff on royal grounds."
"Tall, well built, not much older than me," Magiere said. "Handsome, I suppose, with hair to about the chin and tucked behind his ears. Good with a sword but…"
Magiere hung on the thought for a moment, but still could not understand what had happened in the room with the nobleman.
"When I fight one of their kind, at times I pick up impressions—feelings, intentions, or occasionally a name or identity. There were strange flashes from him, as if he wanted to bleed me slowly, toy with me rather than kill me. And then everything wiped away, and I felt nothing from him."
Wynn's head tilted; then she shook it. "Your description does not match anyone I have seen on the council or at their hall."
Magiere shook her head as well. "I'm not certain of his voice, as I didn't hear much of it."
"You've heard the killer's voice?" Wynn asked in surprise.
"A few words… in a vision. Which means we may be looking for five."
The mention of visions gave Wynn pause, though she did not seem surprised, which in turn made Magiere wonder.
"I will return in a moment with food," Wynn said quietly, and left the room.
She returned shortly with a wooden tray carrying three bowls of steaming soup made from yellow beans, potatoes, and assorted vegetables. She passed one each to Magiere and Leesil, set the third upon the floor before Chap, and gestured to the crates around them.
"Perhaps these will help us," she said. "They contain records, some of which are for dwellings purchased in the half year. It is further back than you asked for, and not all are deeds and bills of sale, but I wanted to be thorough. The one you call Sapphire, or some of the others, could have existed in the city before the death of Lanjov's daughter."
"Where do we start?" Magiere asked.
Wynn looked at her. "You wish to sift through records?"
Leesil pulled off the top of a crate, fingering through its contents.
"Chap needs more rest, so there's little else to do," Magiere explained.
At these words, Chap growled and loped toward the door, but he stumbled three times, halting in frustration.
"Get back here. You can't hunt like that," Leesil said without looking up. He piled parchments and a few scroll cases onto a table. "We're looking for a three-story dwelling; that's what Sapphire told me. Knowing Rashed's past arrangements, if Sapphire is with Ratboy, the little butcher will want underground access. Sing out if you find any cellars in the descriptions."
Magiere knew he was speculating, but it made sense.
"Oh," Wynn added, "And if Magiere's theory of a connection to Lanjov is correct, be sure to check any deed you find against the names of the council members."
Chap growled again.
"What's wrong with him?" Magiere asked.
"He'd rather be hunting." Leesil scowled, and then his expression became troubled at some thought. His voice became hesitant. "I lost my shirt."
Magiere shook her head. Since he now resembled a refugee soldier, his lost shirt was rather obvious. "We'll get you another one."
"No, I mean, I lost my shirt. The shreds of cloth from Chesna and Au'shiyn and Sapphire's dress were inside it. Chap may not be able to track without them."
"Oh, Leesil…" Magiere sighed, and sank back down on a crate. Another setback wasn't what they needed. "There's nothing you could've done. We barely got out of the fire with most of our belongings."
Wynn shuffled and organized parchments into new stacks, separating what appeared to be recent deeds from older ones and other papers they didn't need.
"It does not matter," she offered. "You told me Chap can smell the presence of an undead. All we need do is find the right dwelling and bring him near it."
The young sage was right, and Magiere opened another crate.
"Start with the properties purchased in richer districts about three months ago," she instructed. "Or at least what sold for a substantial sum."
Wynn nodded and continued sorting, while Leesil stopped to stir his soup with a spoon.
Chap limped back, ignoring the bowl on the floor, and, without warning, reared up to place both paws on Wynn's table. He sniffed at the parchment stacks, and then suddenly began clawing sheets off the table as he pushed his nose deeper in the piles.
"What is wrong with him?" Wynn asked, voice rising above its normal calm.
She grabbed at papers as they flew or were knocked from the table. Magiere dropped the stack she held, about to go after the hound and the parchments spilling everywhere around the table. Leesil reached out first, setting his bowl aside.
"Get down. Stop that."
Chap turned his head and snarled at Leesil, partially baring his teeth. His growl faded to a low, continuous rumble. Instead of dropping down, he shoved his muzzle into another stack, knocking half of it across the table. Wynn made a quick grab for the teapot before it toppled.
"Chap, please!" she said in frustration.
Just once the hound glanced at Wynn with an extra rumble.
"All right, that's enough," Magiere snapped.
Wynn sat back in fright, but watched as Chap continued digging through the parchments. "Wait," she whispered. She hesitated a moment longer, and then she whispered again, this time to the hound. "a'Creohk, mathajme."
Chap froze, almost appearing startled, and looked up at her.
Magiere stepped closer. "What did you say to him?"
Everyone's attention was now fixed on Chap, ignoring even the disarray he'd created. The hound lowered his head as if aware he was the center of attention. Muzzle on the table, he glared at the young sage with a low grumble in his throat.
Wynn's breaths were quick and shallow as she stared back at the dog. "a'Creohk, mathajme," she repeated.
Chap dropped down, rumbling still in his throat, and belly-crawled under a nearby table.
As suddenly as Chap had attacked the parchments on the desk, Wynn bolted across the room and began rummaging though the contents of other tables. She didn't seem to find what she was after and turned instead to the room's rear shelves.
"What are you doing?" Leesil insisted. "Just what is going on here?"
"He understood me." Wynn gasped. Shoving books roughly aside, she dumped small boxes out on the table and sifted quickly through their contents.
"So he understands Elvish," Leesil said in confusion. "My mother gave him to me and likely got him from her own people. He's heard it before."
"No," Wynn said. "I requested that he halt what he was doing."
"So you told him to stop," Magiere added. "He's smart enough to know that, though I don't know why he listens to you now instead of us." But she still stepped to the side, trying to see where Chap had gone.
"No!" Wynn shouted this time, and both Magiere and Leesil were taken back by her tone.
Wynn tried to compose herself and panted as if out of breath.
"It was not an order," she continued more calmly, "and he could not have… should not have known, even if raised hearing your mother speak some of the language."
"Make sense," Magiere snapped at her.
Wynn took several more deep breaths. "I requested—not ordered—that he end what he was doing… formally." She paused, then held up a hand before anyone could interrupt. "I formed it in the Elvish that I speak. Any one root word in Elvish can be transformed into an action, thing, or rather verb, noun, and so on. The little Elvish I've heard or read since arriving in Bela is not formed the same way as from my region, though I'm not certain why."
Magiere was utterly confused now and only barely followed what the young sage was saying. Wynn gasped in exasperation.
"I formed the request in the Elvish I know, not what Chap would have heard. And even so, a dog would not have understood without interpreting the differences of dialect, let alone the formality of phrasing."
Finished,
she waited for the words to sink in.
An unsettling chill crept over Magiere as she began to comprehend the explanation, though it didn't quite explain much. Leesil crouched down to peer through the legs of the room's furniture.
"Chap?" he said, half-voiced.
Magiere crouched down as well.
The dog hunkered in the shadows beneath the table in the farthest rear corner of the room. His glittering eyes sparked, shifting between her and Leesil. He looked in Wynn's direction with a slight show of teeth, as if she were a threat he wouldn't even come out to face.
Wynn returned to her frantic search and then suddenly stopped, snatching up an item from a box of quills, styluses, and charcoals. She scurried to the middle of the room between the dog's hiding place and Leesil and dropped to the floor.
"Please stay behind me," she instructed. "I think he knows what we are saying… and is very upset."
Chap twisted about beneath the table, eyes fixed on the young sage. He snarled at her with exposed teeth.
"Chap, stop it," Leesil ordered, but the dog barely glanced at him.
"That is ridiculous," Magiere muttered, but readied to jerk Wynn back if Chap lunged at her.
Wynn held a lump of white chalk, and she poised it on the floor.
"Call to him," she said to Leesil.
Leesil looked at her suspiciously, and with a sigh of resignation, did as she asked. "Come on, boy."
Chap growled at him, and dropped his head low to the floor.
"Come out," Leesil insisted.
The hound inched forward, gaze shifting between the three of them, but mostly still glaring at Wynn. When he'd crossed half the distance, Wynn began drawing on the floor with the chalk. She scripted two sets of symbols a hand breadth apart, but Magiere couldn't read either of them. Wynn pointed to the first and then the second.
"Bithd… na-bitha," she said, looking to Chap.
She scrawled a second set of words below the first, this time in Belaskian.
"Yes… no."
Chap immediately backed away with a pathetic whine.
"Come here," Magiere ordered him.