by Barb Hendee
“She’ll miss them when we have to leave,” Magiere countered.
“Perhaps.”
A deep growl pulled Magiere’s attention. Behind the tall shadow-gripper stood a large silver-gray wolf, almost bluish in the bright day.
Chap was taller than any wolf, for he wasn’t one. His body was that of a majay-hì, but he was different from even them and his mate, Lily, as was his daughter, Shade, though in a different way. He was a Fay spirit born years ago by his own choice into a majay-hì pup—a new Fay-born in the body of a Fay-descended being. And his daughter, Shade, shared half of that strangely mixed heritage.
Chap was also Magiere and Leesil’s guardian and guide—and an overbearing know-it-all. He also hated Brot’an, and he had a long list of reasons for this, which resulted in his penchant for watching the old assassin nearly all the time.
The dog rounded the old assassin and came closer to Magiere.
—Paolo is . . . good . . . for Wayfarer— . . . —He . . . lets her . . . be a girl—
Those words rose in Magiere’s mind as Chap called them up in pieces from various memories he had seen in her over time. This was his new method of “speaking” to her, Leesil, or Wayfarer, though he never did so with Brot’an, as far as Magiere knew. Chap found he could never get inside the old assassin’s thoughts.
“I know,” she answered. “But once we reach Soráno, we’ll have to find a new ship.”
Brot’an was accustomed to her speaking aloud to Chap and to hearing only her half of the conversation. He looked ahead, out over the waves, and added in Belaskian, “How long to Soráno?”
“About two days. That’s what one of the sailors told me.”
“Is there no way to change Captain Bassett’s mind? We were fortunate to have found this ship traveling all the way to il’Dha’ab Najuum. It may be difficult to find another in a smaller port.”
Magiere agreed with the latter part, and it worried her, but she shook her head. “Bassett won’t change his mind.”
Brot’an had to know this, so asking was pointless and not at all like him. Magiere had learned well that Brot’an rarely did anything without a purpose.
They all had to reach il’Dha’ab Najuum, the westernmost kingdom of the Suman Empire, as quickly as they could. That was the first place where they might begin trying to locate the orb of Air. Magiere, along with Leesil and Chap, had already secured two of the five orbs—Water and Fire—while Wynn had secured a third, that of Earth. Chap had hidden the first two, and no one else knew where. Wynn had sent the orb of Earth to a place of safety in the dwarven underworld.
Only Air and Spirit remained to be found, but it wasn’t even that simple.
Most Aged Father, the insane leader of Brot’an’s forsaken caste, had learned of the existence of the orb of Water. The decrepit patriarch had sent a team of anmaglâhk after Magiere to take the orb or learn its location. Back in the small port town of Drist, the team had caught up and murdered half the crew of the Cloud Queen. Even after the ship and remaining crew had been freed, the captain “requested” that Magiere and her companions disembark at the next port.
She couldn’t blame him. Death seemed to follow her, Leesil, and Chap wherever they went. However, at that thought, she eyed Brot’an again. Then Leesil rose from his crouch and came striding over, leaving the young trio hard at work.
Magiere half smiled at her husband. “Crisis averted?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know how much of that fish will be usable. The cook must have been drinking again last night. Can’t see how else he would let those three clean and fillet the catch for him.”
She looked into his amber eyes and knew what he was thinking. For the first time, Wayfarer was gaining some sense of comfort . . . of belonging. In two days’ time, at the most, they would rip her away from people—humans—she’d come to know without fear, and she would again be forced among unknown humans.
“It’ll be all right,” Leesil said quietly.
Magiere doubted that, though their mission would continue just the same. They had to keep any orbs from falling into the wrong hands. She watched Leesil for a moment, as he was ever her anchor, and then she glanced over at Wayfarer.
Poor girl . . . only two more days.
• • •
As evening fell, Wynn Hygeorht knew it was time to leave the solitude of her little room at the Calm Seatt branch of the Guild of Sagecraft. She had an errand she could no longer put off.
Glancing down, she grimaced slightly at the sight of the still-unfamiliar robe of midnight blue that she now wore in place of her gray one. Her wispy, light brown hair hung loose, but she decided not to bother braiding it back.
“Come, Shade,” she said, and opened the door to step out.
A long-legged, charcoal-colored dog resembling an oversized wolf hopped off her narrow bed and padded out after her, and in the passage’s dim light, Shade’s fur turned pure black. It only made her glittering, crystalline blue eyes stand out even more as she twitched her long, pointed ears. Wynn reached down to stroke her companion’s large head.
The past half-moon had felt very, very long.
Though the guild had been Wynn’s home all of her life, events of recent days—and nights—had left her feeling trapped here as she struggled to find buried answers when too often she wasn’t even sure of the questions.
Leaving the old castle’s barracks, now a dormitory housing apprentice and journeyor sages, she trudged across the cobbled central courtyard with Shade as they headed for the large building on the northwest side. This entire four-towered castle had once housed the royals of the nation of Malourné, but many, many years ago it had become the residence for the founding branch of the Guild of Sagecraft.
Wynn stopped in the middle of the courtyard as she tried to find any reason to put off the errand a little longer.
“Do you need to . . . do your evening business?” she asked, looking down at Shade. “Should we take a little side trip into the trees in the inner bailey?”
Shade understood, for she was no ordinary dog—or wolf. She was one of the majay-hì. Her kind was descended from wolves of ancient times inhabited by the Fay during the war at the end of the world’s Forgotten History. The descendants of those first Fay-born became the guardians of the an’Cróan elves, barring all but their people from the vast Elven Territories on the eastern continent.
Due to a plan hatched by Chap, Shade’s father, she had traveled across the sea to the central continent to protect Wynn. She rarely left Wynn’s side . . . willingly.
Shade huffed twice for no in answering.
Wynn sighed heavily. “All right, then.”
Her steps were much slower and shorter as they moved on, and all of the problems Wynn had been avoiding too long came boiling up in her head.
Just over a half-moon ago, several of her closest companions had sailed south in search of the orb of Air. Wynn had opted to remain behind in order to search the guild’s vast archives for any clue to the location of the last and fifth orb, the one for the element of Spirit.
So here she was, by her own choice, and so far making pathetically little progress.
To complicate matters, her superiors, with one exception, were bitterly opposed to her taking any action at all. Only Premin Hawes, the head of Metaology, had offered willing assistance. As a result Wynn had been forced to leave the order of Cathology, whose members wore gray robes, and put on a robe of midnight blue in pretending to have joined the order of Metaology.
It was all wearying, and, worse, she hadn’t remained behind entirely alone.
Two members of the original group, aside from Shade, had remained as well. One she’d planned for and one she hadn’t, and both were now guests of the guild.
Wynn shuffled another step and then another across the courtyard until she stood before the side door of the large northwest s
torage building, which housed laboratory chambers below it and guests’ quarters upstairs.
Shade huffed and let out a grumbling whine.
“All right, I’m going!” Wynn whispered sharply. “Stop pestering me.”
With no more reason to delay, she opened the door and, letting Shade slip past her, stepped inside. As they reached the passage’s far end and the switchback stairs up to the guest quarters, Wynn slowed to a stop on the midpoint landing in the turn up the next short flight of steps.
She could not stop thinking of the two men—housed in separate quarters above—who had both been waiting to hear from her for the past several nights. She wasn’t sure she felt up to talking to either of them, not when she was so aware of the hostility that always crackled between them. Wynn found she couldn’t take another step, and, unbidden, her thoughts stretched back to the overwhelming night when Osha had appeared in the courtyard—and Chane had tried to stop him from entering.
After that tense, tangled moment, too many things had happened that were all a fuzzy blur in her head. She’d managed to arrange a room for Osha, which had not been too difficult. The sages of her branch had strong connections to the elves of this continent, the Lhoin’na, for there was another guild branch among them. Some of Wynn’s peers, having never met any an’Cróan from the far eastern continent, found Osha an alluring curiosity.
Chane made no secret of his feelings: Osha’s presence had not been part of the plan and was not desirable. The following days and nights hadn’t been easy.
Neither Chane nor Osha had much to occupy him, and both had too much time to dwell on the other’s close, unwanted presence. It hadn’t helped that both had to be lodged in the same building, on the same floor, almost right across the passage from each other.
Wynn was desperate to discover the slightest hint to the location of the orb of Spirit. In part, throwing herself fully into that task, spending days in research or working with Premin Hawes to decipher very few clues, was an excuse to avoid facing either Chane or Osha.
Something pushed the back of Wynn’s leg, and she spun to look down at Shade.
“Don’t start again!” she whispered. “This is hard enough without you butting in.”
So far she had learned nothing for all her efforts. At first, every dusk she’d quickly checked on both Chane and Osha to give them some report of what she’d been doing. Mostly that was to make them think she was too busy for anything more. Those visits had become less frequent, for she had nothing to tell them . . . and the less she had to tell them, the more they might start raising other, more personal matters.
This could not go on.
With a labored sigh, Wynn took the last steps to the upper passage lined with narrow doors, three on each side. She looked to the first on the right and then to the second on the left a little farther down. When Shade whined, Wynn looked down, but the dog wasn’t beside her. She found that Shade was still standing on the stairs behind her.
Shade glanced left and right, likely at those same doors, and then looked up at Wynn.
—Maybe . . . not . . . talk . . . Chane . . . Osha . . . tonight—
In addition to other unique abilities, Shade could call up words out of Wynn’s memories to communicate with only her. Wynn nearly choked in frustration, for only a moment ago the dog had been pushing her onward.
“Will you make up your mind?” she whispered. “It is hard enough for me to do so.”
—Wynn come . . . have dinner . . . instead—
Reaching down, Wynn stroked Shade’s head. “Not yet,” she answered, but she stood there at a loss about whom to see first. At the rattle of a door’s lever, she turned her head.
The first door—Chane’s door—pulled sharply inward, banging against the chamber’s inner wall, but it wasn’t Chane who stepped out.
A girl in tan robes, a mere initiate, stormed out with a loud, exasperated exhale and an overloaded pile of books in her arms.
She was only about twelve years old, and her little nose and ivory cheeks were smattered with faint freckles. Two equal braids held back her dark blond hair and framed a too-haggard, grumpy pout for such a young one. She wrestled with keeping the books balanced while pulling the door closed with a petulant slam.
“Kyne?” Wynn said. “What are you doing so late in Ch . . . Master Andraso’s quarters?”
Kyne peered over her stack of books. Brief surprise at the sight of Wynn quickly returned to her irritable pout at the mention of Chane. But all of that irritation suddenly vanished again in a wide-eyed smile.
“Shade!” the girl cried out gleefully.
Wynn heard what sounded like a groan from the dog.
Kyne looked up at Wynn, and her little frown returned. “I’m supposed to be teaching him . . . or at least that’s what he asked.”
Wynn’s mouth tightened. “Yes, I am aware of that.”
Some time ago Chane had asked Kyne of all people for help in learning to read the Begaine Syllabary, the complex symbols used by sages for recording anything in any language. At first Wynn had been stunned by this, though she knew Chane had a growing interest in all things related to guild methods. Full command of the syllabary was first on his list, and Kyne had learned it more swiftly than any initiate Wynn had ever encountered. Obviously Chane had deduced something similar.
Wynn had helped in the arrangements, as initiates weren’t allowed to do such things, especially for an outsider. Plus the girl had the time to tutor him, since often her own lessons seemed too simple for her. The guild had some public schools, though those weren’t for adults and had nothing to do with the workings of the guild. And Wynn had also been able to offer a special enticement that had quickly gained Kyne’s agreement.
Wynn cringed slightly, not daring to glance back at Shade.
This wasn’t the appointed time for Chane’s lessons. Kyne had agreed to rise well before dawn and teach “Master Andraso” before her own day began.
“He wanted extra time,” Kyne grumbled, rolling her bright brown eyes. “He says we are going too slow, but all the questions . . . and questions! He should be quiet, listen, and practice like I tell him. Begaine is not so hard. . . . I can read it!”
“I see,” Wynn said, but she wondered why Chane was in such a hurry.
Kyne’s expression suddenly changed again as she scurried right past Wynn—right at Shade—with that wide smile breaking free once more.
“Could I take her outside now?” she called, and leaned so close that Shade began shifting away. “Does she need to . . . do her business?”
This was the enticement Wynn had used to get Kyne to help Chane.
It had seemed the safest way at the time, rather than involving an actual apprentice, let alone a full sage, in one of the orders. From almost the first time the girl had seen a real majay-hì, right here on the guild grounds, she had been utterly smitten with Shade.
Shade had been somewhat unwilling to participate at first. Kyne would bring her water in the large common hall or take her outside to . . . do her business. Eventually Shade had relented—to a point.
If nothing else, Kyne was the only other person Shade tolerated for long at close proximity or as something that took her from Wynn’s side. The dog didn’t like interacting with anyone but Wynn—or Chane as necessary. And as much as Kyne knew that majay-hì were far more intelligent than mere animals, she was only a girl a bit too caught up with glee in tending a supposedly magical “pet.”
Kyne was barely as tall as the peaks of the dog’s high ears.
“Do you need to out go now?” Kyne asked Shade this time.
Shade let out a rumble that almost worried Wynn, and then the majay-hì spun to lope off down the stairs. Kyne rushed to follow, pausing once on the landing.
“Wait for me!” she called after Shade, and quickly looked up at Wynn. “And tell him not to ask so many ques
tions. He needs to listen!” The girl rushed around the corner out of sight. “Shade! Please!”
Wynn groaned in knowing she’d probably hear about this later from Shade. Then she found herself alone, staring at Chane’s door. Any amusing images of the poor child trying to tutor him vanished. Once again she was back to her original dilemma about whom to go see first.
No doubt Chane had heard everything that had just happened outside his room. That made the choice for Wynn.
• • •
Chane Andraso watched the door of his quarters and grew impatient until a knock came. He had heard Kyne complaining in the corridor, and, at the girl’s gleeful squeal concerning Shade, he knew there could be only one other person outside.
Striding over, he opened the door, and Wynn stood on the other side . . . but there was no sign of Shade. He glanced down the passage toward the stairs.
“Kyne took her out,” Wynn said.
Though Kyne’s tutoring him in the syllabary had been Chane’s idea, he was still uncertain about the “compensation” Wynn had offered the young sage-to-be. Foremost, Shade was a fully sentient being, useful in her ability to protect Wynn . . . and other things. She was not a child’s playtime companion.
And, second, on several occasions he’d gone out into the courtyard and noticed that when Shade was alone with Kyne, the dog lost all semblance of good sense or manners and ran as she pleased and ignored any instructions. The child was forced to run after her, calling out her name.
It was all very . . . undignified.
In addition, he had wanted Shade present tonight to help him press Wynn on several matters. But as he backed up to let Wynn follow him inside, all thoughts but her fled from his mind. He still hadn’t become accustomed to the sight of her in that midnight blue robe, but the dark color suited her well. She hadn’t bothered braiding her wispy light brown hair tonight, and it hung loose around her pretty olive-toned face to hang past her shoulders. Her eyes were bright and warm and intelligent all at the same time.
She was so short that she could stand under his chin.