by Barb Hendee
“He created that for me,” she said. “The crystal emits light akin to the sun. We know what that can do to Noble Dead, vampires, and others.”
Leesil stared at the staff, both of his white-blond eyebrows arched. “Truly, it can— Wait. What others?”
Wynn didn’t want to get sidetracked into explaining about Sau’ilahk, the wraith.
“I’ve seen other kinds of Noble Dead,” she answered. “We’ll deal with that later. Domin il’Sanke also believes the Ancient Enemy, so-called, may . . . will return. Premin Hawes believes that if anyone can decipher more of the cryptic clues we’ve extracted concerning the orb of Air, it might be him.”
Wynn briefly explained about the limited details hidden in the poem versus all the centuries that had passed since it had been written. It was daunting that time itself may have rendered useless what little geographic hints were hidden in the scroll.
“So what’s the risk?” Leesil asked. “It’s not hard to see you’re less than thrilled with bringing this Suman in on what we’re after. Why? Whose side is he on?”
Wynn took a slow breath. How could she explain about il’Sänke?
“From what I’ve seen—learned—he’s as determined as my guild branch’s Premin Council to keep any portents secret from the masses. The difference is that he’s not in denial, at least to me. He knows as much as I do, though perhaps about different details.”
“So your Premin Hawes thinks this il’Sänke may know more?” Magiere asked. “Maybe something specific about where to look for another orb?”
“She does . . . and neither of us has a better idea. But we share with him only the clues related to the orb of Air . . . and nothing more.”
“Then we go south,” Magiere said. “But what about the last orb, the one of Spirit?”
Wynn looked at Magiere and then Leesil, feeling bleak. Leesil had fallen silent, and stared down at the map. She felt Chap watching her, but beyond his previous brief comment, he had said nothing at all. Wynn had to wonder about the changes in all three of them.
Magiere had always been the one who wanted to be done with all this and just go home. Yet now she was the only one openly pushing forward, while the other two remained silent.
“We’ve learned nothing yet of the last orb, which means . . .” Wynn faltered, her voice quavering as she continued. “We’re going to have to separate into two groups.”
She had no idea how they’d take this, and braced for the outrage.
Leesil’s amber eyes only flickered, and he sat up, leaning toward her.
“We already knew that,” he said quietly, “and planned for it. Two groups will be necessary for at least one to escape this city without the Anmaglâhk being able to follow quickly enough.”
Both his manner and close proximity brought Wynn some relief.
“There are loose ends,” Magiere grumbled, and she looked to Chap.
Chap sat rigid beside Magiere. Again Wynn didn’t hear one word from him in her head. She wanted to know what he thought about all this, that he still believed they shared the same goals. Chap liked to be in control, and events were pressing forward right over the top of him.
“There are still preparations to make,” Leesil said. “We’ll need help with some of it, since we don’t know anyone here besides you.”
Confused, Wynn answered, “Yes, of course. But I need to speak with Chap . . . alone.”
Leesil scowled in suspicion, but Wynn cut him off before he could speak.
“Talk with Ore-Locks about what you need,” she said, and then got up. “If he can’t come up with something, we’ll figure it out.”
“Wynn . . .” Magiere began. “What is this about?”
Wynn headed for the door, for there was one thing she’d learned that no one else should know just yet—no one except Chap. For it to be made clear, she would need to force Shade to face her father.
“Shade, come on,” she called. “And Chap?”
Magiere visibly calmed, looking at Chap and then Shade, as if she’d suddenly understood something. Leesil sighed, rolling his eyes.
“Get going,” he told Chap, “and get this settled before we have to set things in motion.”
Wynn said nothing to correct Leesil and Magiere’s misguided assumptions. She let them believe what they wanted to. What she needed in privacy with Chap had nothing to do with healing the rift between a father and a daughter.
Chap rose and headed toward Wynn, but as he passed too close, Shade sidled away from him. Wynn couldn’t tell if Chap reacted or not; he simply stalked out the door to wait on the landing. Still, Shade wouldn’t budge.
“Now!” Wynn commanded.
Shade rumbled and finally headed out.
Wynn could feel Osha watching her, but she didn’t dare look back at him. She was about to follow Shade and Chap when she heard the first part of a conversation in the room behind her.
“What do you need?” Ore-Locks asked.
“Well, to begin,” Leesil replied, “two wagons, some good-sized trunks, as we’ve a lot to haul with us that will have to be loaded early. And especially a ship to take our cargo and three passengers . . . departing at night.”
After a long pause, Ore-Locks answered, “It is possible . . . what more?”
Wynn left them to their plans and closed the door, wishing Brot’an had said something—just so she’d know he was occupied. She found Chap waiting at her feet with his head down, and Shade sat two steps down the stairs with her back turned.
She cared for them both so much, but there was no time to deal with issues between them. What she wanted Chap to know she couldn’t risk saying aloud, and that was why she needed Shade.
“Shade, show him,” Wynn whispered. “Everything that happened . . . everything that was said with Premin Hawes.”
Chap looked up at her. What is this about?
Wynn put a finger over her lips, for she wouldn’t speak any of it out loud. Only Chap could know what she’d learned. Most especially, it had to be kept from Brot’an, but also from Osha and Leanâlhâm, who were too much under the greimasg’äh’s influence.
“Shade,” Wynn whispered.
Shade swiveled only her head and eyed Wynn, long and hard.
“Please,” Wynn added.
Shade finally turned about, eyeing her father much like she would’ve an enemy or threat. She put her forepaws up one step and stretched her head out.
When Chap looked up at Wynn in uncertainty, she waved him toward Shade. He hesitantly slipped his head against his daughter’s. Wynn wished that touch, the sharing in memory-speak, could’ve been just for them. They needed that, no matter how much Shade resisted, but that wasn’t the reason.
The secret was still only a guess, but even that could be dangerous for what it might mean. Wynn knew the instant Chap learned it from Shade.
He lurched back, spinning on the landing, and his head nearly hit Wynn’s leg. All Wynn did when he looked up was slowly nod. Even before she glanced toward the door and those muted voices beyond it, Chap did so, and his hackles rose.
She wanted more time to talk with him, but that couldn’t be here and now. Even trying to use memory-speak with Shade and have her pass it along to Chap would take too long. The others were waiting, and the longer she remained outside, the less likely they would believe this private moment was about Chap and Shade.
The secret was not about the five orbs, but of five parts to one weapon, or so it had been guessed. The last who should ever know of this, even for all he had done for those Wynn cared about, was the master assassin.
Brot’an was here for a reason: to keep his own kind and Most Aged Father from getting to Magiere and what she’d recovered. What could—would—Brot’an do for such a weapon himself if he learned of it?
It was bad enough that Wynn had sent that journal with Osha to be given to Brot’an. It was the worst outcome of how naive she’d once been. When she looked down again, Chap stood glaring at the door. He began to shake with h
issing breaths between bared and clenched teeth. He understood the implications of what Shade had relayed to him and exactly why Wynn had dragged them out into the hallway. Upon reaching for the door, she faltered at Shade’s memory-words in her head.
—I . . . understand . . . too—
Shade ignored her father, watching only Wynn.
“I know you do,” Wynn whispered.
At that, Chap looked between them, and his ears stiffened. Know what? Was . . . is she. . . . talking to you?
Wynn hung there, still gripping the door’s handle. Shade was talking to her—in a way. It was only by having learned to isolate certain sounds—spoken words—from memories seen inside of Wynn, and also by Shade’s learning what they meant. On the other hand, Wynn could only hear Chap, as a true Fay, in her head because of the taint left in her from a failed thaumaturgical ritual.
Wynn’s eyes widened at a notion. Aside from being a Fay, Chap had been born into a majay-hì body the same as his mate Lily . . . and his daughter, Shade.
“Oh . . . have I got a useful trick for you,” Wynn whispered, and then smiled.
Chap’s ears fell, flattening in apprehension.
Wynn only giggled. “And it’s going to drive Leesil to fits!”
Back inside the room, as Chap sat with Wynn before the sketched map on the floor, Leesil finally looked up from the map’s other side at everyone.
“Is that clear enough?” he asked. “Any last doubts?”
Chap knew there were—he had plenty himself. Yet no one, not even Brot’an, had offered anything better. Leesil looked at Wynn kneeling beside Chap.
“Can you and Ore-Locks take care of what we need?” he asked.
She, in turn, looked up at the dwarf standing behind her, but when Chap glanced back it was at his daughter.
Shade lay removed from everyone, especially him, lying in the far corner next to the pile of gear Osha had stored there.
“It can be done,” Ore-Locks said with a nod.
“Then it is time,” Brot’an cut in. “I will escort you back to your inn.”
As Wynn rose, Chap got up, as well, turning about for the door. Brot’an was already there.
“No,” he said, shaking his head once. “I alone will take them.”
Chap snarled, stalking straight at Brot’an, and Wynn’s hand dropped on his shoulders. He looked up at her, his jowls still curled back.
You are not to be alone with him.
Wynn frowned at him.
“Dawn will come soon,” Brot’an said, drawing Chap’s attention. “And . . . respectfully, you are the hardest to move through the streets without being spotted.”
Chap merely stared in Brot’an’s eyes until Wynn closed her little fingers in his scruff.
“Don’t you have something to say to them?” she asked, and glanced over her shoulder.
Chap knew Wynn was looking at Leesil and Magiere.
“What now?” Leesil grouched.
Chap was not looking forward to this. After the last additional thing that Wynn—and Shade—had shown him outside the room, he already felt shamed . . . and stupid. And Wynn had been right.
Once Chap showed—told—Leesil, he was going to throw a fit. Probably a big one.
The instant Brot’an opened the door, Shade hopped to her feet and scurried through. Wynn scratched her fingertips quickly on Chap’s scalp and whispered, “Get it over with.” She followed Ore-Locks out, and the last to leave was Brot’an.
“Chap?” Magiere called. “What’s going on?”
He slumped, hanging his head, and finally turned about. First, without looking at Magiere or Leesil, he snatched up the talking hide in his teeth and dropped it on top of the sketched map. He might need it to help clarify what he was about to do.
Leesil looked at the hide with a frown, but Chap did not start pawing the letters. Instead, he began messing about, as Leesil would say, with all of the memories he had ever dipped from within his lifetime companion. It was not easy to find all that he sought, and Leesil flinched more than once.
“Will you get to the point already!” Leesil snapped, and then suddenly he went flat-faced and held his breath.
Magiere was watching Leesil. As he stiffened all over, she grabbed him and shook him. Still, he just stared back at Chap. Before Magiere could speak, Leesil’s left eye twitched.
“What was that?” he whispered.
Chap did not know if Leesil asked if he had heard right or at all. It was one thing for Chap to call up a series of memory fragments inside Leesil or Magiere to make his intention clear as a communication. It was entirely another matter to call only the sound of voices from those long past moments—and, again, even harder to pick out and raise particular words or phrases arranged in the right order.
Chap was the one who had the headache this time. It went all the way into his eyes and ears. But it appeared he would not need the talking hide after all, and he repeated those fragmented spoken words gleaned from Leesil’s memories.
—not—remember—only hear—my—words—from the—past—voices— . . . —I—can . . . speak—and you—hear—me—now—
How Shade had figured out how to do this left Chap in dismay. Then again, she had grown up with her own kind, unlike him. She knew only memory-speak, as Wynn called it, from the very beginning. She never had to deal with spoken language until finding Wynn, while he was still not as skilled at memory-speak as other majay-hì.
This new trick with memory-words would be useful, but it was not easy to do.
Leesil’s expression began to darken.
“All of this time,” he whispered, “before we even knew what you were . . . could do. . . . You’ve been messing around in my head.”
Osha finally spoke up. “Why Léshil be angry to Chap?”
Even Leanâlhâm was staring in worry.
Leesil lunged from where he sat, shouting, “Come here, you mangy mutt!”
Chap tried to retreat, but his back paws did not catch. He ended up on his rump as Leesil dived for him with one outstretched hand. Magiere jumped on top of Leesil’s back, pinning him to the floor, as Leanâlhâm scrambled on hands and knees to shield Chap.
“Do not touch him . . . speak to him that way!” the girl shouted at Leesil. “You will treat majay-hì with respect!”
“Respect?” Leesil echoed amid frantic breaths. “That deceitful, conniving—”
Leanâlhâm swatted him across the top of his head. “I not warn you again,” she added emphatically.
“Leesil, what’s this about?” Magiere demanded, still holding him down.
Leesil glared at Chap beyond a surprisingly angry Leanâlhâm, and he whispered, “It’s him . . . talking at me . . . in my head.”
“Well, what did he show you?” Magiere asked.
“Not memories . . . words!” Leesil barked, and tried again, unsuccessfully, to get out from under her. “He’s putting words in my head.”
Chap cowered behind Leanâlhâm, even as the girl looked back at him over her shoulder. Puzzled astonishment spread over her face. Osha, too, looked completely dumbstruck.
“Chap talk now?” he asked.
Magiere was watching Leesil, but she glanced sidelong at Chap in suspicion. So far, only Leesil truly understood what was going on, and Chap swallowed hard, waiting for Magiere to catch up.
“Why didn’t you figure this out years ago . . . oh, great and wise Fay?” Leesil asked.
That brought back Chap’s spite. He called up Leesil’s own memory of a Chap covered in soot, scratching himself raw, and then added in broken memory words.
—You—not—think of it—either—
Leesil just glared at him.
“Wait,” Magiere said too quietly. “He can talk . . . in our heads?”
“Yes,” Leesil hissed.
And Magiere leaned forward atop Leesil, peering down at him. “So he can yammer at us, order us about, anytime he wants?”
Leesil let out a groan, or maybe it was a deep whine. H
e dropped his forehead against the floor. Magiere let out a sigh as she dropped on her butt beside him.
Chap rumbled and flicked his tongue up over his nose at both of them.
Just before dawn, Brot’ân’duivé took Wynn and her two companions, Shade and Ore-Locks, back to their inn. It was a long, slow process of moving the sage, the majay-hì, and the dwarf from one hiding point to the next as the city began to awaken for the day. But when he left them at their inn, he did not return to where Magiere and the others hid.
There was a task he needed to complete, and best done without the others knowing. He slipped through the shadowed alleys and cutways toward the guild’s small castle.
Although Brot’ân’duivé would not say so, he thought Léshil’s escape plan was as sound as any he could have formulated himself. The half-blood’s mind worked well, likely from his mother’s training, when he was not distracted. He possessed an innate ability to see what others might do and build upon those possible reactions. In spite of this, there was one long-term risk that Brot’ân’duivé wanted removed.
Any contact the anmaglâhk in this city had with Most Aged Father could easily lead to other teams being sent out into the world. In addition, the ones already here might split up if they had the means to remain in contact and coordinate with each other.
At least one of those options had to be removed—especially the second one. And there was a step to add to the plan that the others could not know about.
He wanted all of his enemies following Magiere and Léshil . . . and himself. Undead or not, Wynn’s vampire would be a poor match for even a few trained members of Brot’ân’duivé’s cast, though this was not his only reason.
Dawn and dusk were the most common times for agents abroad to check in with Most Aged Father or with others out scouting or on watch. With their numbers dwindling, Dänvârfij would be the one to do both.
A few streets from the guild, Brot’ân’duivé scaled the back of a small shop and slipped from roof to roof, out of sight of those below. He paralleled Old Procession Road from two blocks south, pausing often to watch the city’s skyline. Something moved on a rooftop two blocks north, where Old Procession Road met Old Bailey Road, right across from the castle’s bailey gate.