A Wind in the Night

by Barb Hendee

  Nikolas tried clumsily to embrace him back, but Wynn could see he was troubled. Pulling a step away, he looked up at his old friend’s face. Though concerned, Nikolas also appeared somewhat relieved, and she could hardly blame him.

  Karl’s welcome—forced or not—was far warmer than Sherie’s.

  “My father sent for me, and I . . . I had protection,” Nikolas said, briefly gesturing to Chane and Osha. “The guild felt it best.”

  Karl straightened, turning to inspect Nikolas’s companions one by one and finishing with Shade. His expression darkened.

  “I had no idea the guild would employ hired swords and archers,” he said with an edge.

  “They are with me as well,” Wynn added before Chane took offense. “I travel extensively and require guards. Master Jausiff Columsarn requested some rare texts. I was charged with delivering them.”

  Karl looked her midnight blue robe up and down before turning to his sister. “So, Nikolas relates that his father ‘sent’ for him? How did that come about?”

  His tone held such a coldly implied threat that Wynn half expected the duchess to falter, but Sherie was once more the commanding noble who had first appeared in the courtyard.

  “I sent for him,” she replied. “Jausiff has not been well . . . as you would know, if you were more aware of your staff.”

  The first statement was a lie; Wynn knew firsthand that Nikolas’s father had written both letters.

  “And how?” Karl wavered. “The keep is on lockdown due to the plague . . . by my order. Who would deliver such a message?”

  Wynn waited anxiously for the answer. Would she learn the messenger’s identity this easily?

  Sherie showed no reaction at all. “I am duchess here, at least until—if—you marry. I communicate with whom I like and how I like. Or will you take it upon yourself now to read my private letters?” She paused, waiting, and though her brother became agitated, he didn’t answer. “An ailing father has a right to see his son. And you . . . have been unavailable of late.”

  At the last of that, the duke’s mouth dropped partly open. He quickly closed it again.

  Wynn pondered this odd situation. Young noblemen who inherited titles normally took wives as the titled lady of the household. Young noblewomen were married off elsewhere, often for land, wealth, political influence, and more. Here brother and sister both remained unmarried and possibly vied for control of a little-known duchy far from anywhere of note.

  “If you hadn’t locked down the keep,” Sherie continued, “I would not have been forced to circumvent you.”

  “I had no choice,” Karl returned. “Not after that fool of a counselor went into the local villages along with his outlander servant, once the plague was—”

  “There is no plague, as neither Jausiff nor Aupsha has come down with it . . . even after secluding themselves for a quarter moon as a precaution.”

  Wynn turned her head as little as possible in watching the exchange. Whatever was wrong with Jausiff, the counselor here, it was not this “plague” the duke continued to mention. And who was this “outlander” servant, considering the oddity of Suman guards under the duke’s command?

  If possible, Karl’s expression darkened further. “Neither you, sister, nor the counselor are a trained physician, let alone a healer—”

  “And how is any physician to come here when you let no one in?” Sherie challenged.

  “Father?” Nikolas called out.

  The unseemly argument between brother and sister halted as all eyes turned to Nikolas. An instant later Wynn followed the young sage’s gaze.

  An aging man entered the hall with the assistance of the dark-skinned woman whom the duchess had sent off. He was in his late sixties at least, and leaning on a cane, though when he moved the cane, it struck the hall’s floor with solid certainty each time. Dressed in the gray robe of a cathologer, as he had once been in the guild, Master Columsarn’s shoulders were broad, his face was nearly unlined, and his silver-white hair was cropped evenly at his collar. His eyes were light blue, and they panned slowly through the hall and took in everything before stopping upon his adopted son.

  “Nikolas!” he said with a smile.

  In contrast, the woman at his side . . .

  Wynn fixed on the woman she had first seen with the duchess, and studied this one more closely now. She had heard of people who lived south of the Suman Empire in the savannahs and jungles there. They were reported to be dark skinned, but Wynn had never imagined how dark, as she had never seen any of them. The woman’s hair was brown black and fell in tight, almost kinky curls to her shoulders. The long, heavy skirt and undyed wool tunic looked somehow awkward and improperly fit on her tall frame, as if they were borrowed and not entirely comfortable.

  Nikolas hurried to his father. “Are you all right? What is ailing you?”

  “I informed him that you were not well,” Sherie said quickly.

  Wynn took note of this strange comment as Jausiff blinked and then nodded.

  “Thank you, my lady,” he replied as he gripped Nikolas affectionately by the arm. “Nothing is wrong, my son, just old age catching up with me.” Then he lifted one eyebrow with a wry smile at the duchess. “She dotes on me too much. That is all.” Half turning, he handed his cane to the tall woman beside him. “Aupsha, take this for me, please. I have my son to lean on now.”

  With a respectful half bow, the woman did so, and it was obvious to Wynn to whom the duke referred as the “outlander” servant. Everything here was getting more tangled by the moment between Nikolas’s past and the present.

  “And were you expecting Nikolas to arrive in such . . . company?” Karl asked.

  For an instant Jausiff’s fatherly joviality slipped as he took in all the newcomers, finishing with Wynn . . . and his gaze lingered on her, dropping and rising at the sight of her midnight blue robe. Suddenly Master Columsarn did not appear pleased.

  “I brought the texts you requested from Premin Hawes,” Wynn explained.

  “Yes, yes,” he said, instantly regaining his good nature as he looked to the duke. “My lord, I was expecting an emissary from the guild with some texts.” He smiled at Osha. “I did not expect Lhoin’na archers but am glad the guild sees to my son’s well-being.”

  Wynn glanced up to her left. Osha nodded politely, and perhaps he followed the situation better than she realized—as she was barely following it herself.

  “So my sister requested these texts for you?” Karl asked.

  The number of interlaced lies and half-truths grew by the moment, and Wynn had trouble keeping up. But the young duke was being handled carefully in his sister’s efforts to protect the family’s counselor.

  “Of course,” Sherie answered, much calmer now. “At his request, and while he and Aupsha were quarantined. Master Jausiff so rarely asks for anything, so I was glad to assist him . . . as you would be, brother.”

  Karl’s mouth tightened at the barb. “Forgive all this fuss, my old friend,” he said to Nikolas. “The plague has caused such caution of late. But it is good to see you again.”

  “Well, then . . .” Jausiff said, taking his hand from Nikolas’s arm and pressing his palms together. “We shall need to find you all rooms and arrange for a late supper. I am sure you are tired and hungry.”

  “Rooms?” Karl repeated, glancing once at Chane and then at Osha. “For them all . . . in the keep?”

  “Of course,” Sherie repeated. “They cannot stay in the villages, and, as lord here, I know you would never refuse hospitality to an old friend, an emissary from the guild, or their assigned guardians.”

  Her tone was polite and matter-of-fact, as if no question was at stake and she simply spoke the obvious. Still, her brother eyed her for a moment.

  “No . . . no, of course not,” he agreed. “Please see to their rooms, as I have other . . . business to at
tend.”

  “Of course,” she answered, and that echoed phrase began to sound like mockery to Wynn.

  “Nikolas,” the duke called out in striding off the way he had come. “You and I must catch up soon.”

  “I fear I must rest a bit, son,” Jausiff said. “Perhaps you should go and get settled now.”

  The young duchess recovered, drawing herself up.

  “Come with me, please. Rooms were being prepared even as we were delayed.”

  She said this with such clear distaste that Wynn felt somewhat embarrassed. She’d never enjoyed being an unwanted guest, and she and hers were certainly that, it seemed. Osha especially looked uncomfortable, though Chane simply cocked his head after the duchess to signal Wynn to follow. He didn’t care what anyone thought of him; it was one of his greatest strengths and weaknesses.

  Wynn dropped her hand on Shade’s neck. “Come on.”

  As they headed into a side archway, Wynn saw the three Suman guards fall in behind. Along the way, three Numan guards dressed like those outside joined the procession. For better or for worse, Wynn and her companions were now well-protected guests locked inside this keep.

  Chapter Eleven

  Chane could not help being alarmed by the number of guards “escorting” a small group of guests to their rooms. And what were Sumans doing in this remote place? All six guards remained a discreet distance behind, but he glanced back more than once, and noticed that Osha did the same. The elf, Nikolas, and Wynn each carried one of the three candle lanterns from the main hall.

  Duchess Beáumie, holding her velvet skirt in one hand as she began climbing a flight of stairs, led the way as if the guards did not exist.

  She stepped off the landing upon reaching the third floor.

  “I apologize that we have no true guest quarters,” she said, not sounding remotely apologetic. “The keep is small; however, we have three spare rooms in the upper servants’ area. Though they are sparsely furnished, you should find them comfortable.”

  Down the passage, Chane spotted three open doors. Two female servants in white aprons hurried out of the far one.

  “Is all prepared?” Sherie asked.

  The second girl halted, turned, and bowed her head. “Yes, my lady.”

  The duchess stopped at the first door and gestured inside as she turned to Wynn. “Mistress . . . ?”

  “Hygeorht,” Wynn supplied. “Journeyor Wynn Hygeorht.”

  “Of course, Journeyor, you may have this first room,” the duchess went on. “Your bodyguards can take the second, and young Master Columsarn the third and smallest . . . for his own.”

  Chane detected a note of spite in her designation of the last room, as if Nikolas was only a guest here and she meant to remind him. The young sage did not respond. Chane, however, fought against a sudden urge to balk at the arrangements as an unpleasant realization hit him.

  Wynn, as a female emissary of the guild, could certainly not share a room with one of her guards. As the counselor’s son, Nikolas also should have a private room. And it was unusual that two “bodyguards”—which was the ruse Chane and Osha played—would even be housed here instead of in the barracks. So the duchess probably thought she was offering a favor by housing them inside the keep. That meant he would have to share a room with the elf.

  The very thought pushed him to refuse, until Wynn caught his eye and shook her head once, very slightly.

  “That will be fine, my lady,” she said. “Thank you.”

  Appearing relieved, as if an unpleasant duty here was done, the duchess swept back down the passage for the stairs. “A meal will be ready soon,” she said over one shoulder.

  Chane glanced uncertainly at Wynn, but Nikolas spoke up first. “I think . . . I will get settled.”

  As the young sage headed for the last door up the passage, Wynn looked to each of her other companions. Once Nikolas entered his room, she tilted her head toward the nearest open door, her room.

  “Come, help me get settled,” she said loudly, and then slipped inside with Shade right behind her.

  Both Chane and the elf went for the door at the same time. Chane halted at one side, but Osha back-stepped and stood silently watching him. With a glare, Chane raised a hand, ushering the elf to go ahead. Osha did not move.

  Wynn’s harsh whisper carried from within the room. “Both of you, get in here . . . now!”

  Chane stepped in, immediately meeting Wynn’s irritated expression. Shade grumbled and hopped up on one of the narrow beds. Even when Wynn eyed Osha the same way as the elf entered and shut the door, it was not satisfying to Chane. He stood waiting for Wynn’s rebuke over the standoff in the passage, but she only looked away with a shake of her head.

  The room was simple but serviceable, with two plain single beds—one near the front wall by the door and one at the rear. A worn, short table stood by each, and a water pitcher and basin rested on the nearest one.

  The only light in the room was from the candle lantern that Wynn held, and she set that on the rear empty table as she dropped her pack and staff on the far bed.

  “What is going on in this place?” she asked suddenly.

  Chane held up a hand to halt any further comment. He stepped back and cracked the door. From what he could see—and hear and smell—the Suman guards had left, but a keep guard remained at each end of the passage, one near the stairs and another at the other end, where an archway led to somewhere else on this level.

  Chane quietly closed the door. “It appears we are not to go walking around on our own.”

  Osha frowned. “Many guards are not . . . normal?” he asked in Belaskian.

  Chane realized the elf would have little experience with human castles or keeps or the ways of human nobility.

  “No, the number is normal,” Wynn answered, “but they aren’t usually used to keep guests locked inside their rooms.” She sank down beside Shade on the far bed. “At least we can speak freely in here.”

  That was true. Without Nikolas, they could speak as they pleased.

  “I have not been long in this land,” Chane said. “Are Suman guards often hired for local forces?”

  “Not that I know of,” Wynn answered. “And what did you make of Jausiff’s servant, Aupsha? She’s not Suman, though I’ve heard of other peoples farther south described like her.”

  “I cannot place her, either,” he answered. “But she, as connected to the duchess and the master sage, might be the likely messenger that we seek.”

  Wynn shook her head. “Not if she was sequestered for fear of plague after she and Nikolas’s father went into the villages.”

  “One of . . . Suman guards could be . . . messenger,” Osha put in. “They move free in keep.”

  “Maybe,” Wynn said. “But they appear to be more the duke’s men than the duchess’s. Still, it is possible.” She turned to Shade. “Did you pick up anything from any of them, some memory as a hint?”

  Shade did not even lift her head from her paws as she huffed twice for no.

  “Well, this is where we start,” Wynn went on. “We need to establish the identity of the messenger, if it was someone inside the keep.” She looked at Chane. “I don’t need to consult your sense of deception to know that everyone in that hall was lying about something.”

  Yes, Chane had slowly developed his “talent,” though such differed for each Noble Dead. At a guess, some abilities depended upon who the person had been in life.

  He had lived on the fringe of Belaski’s gentry and nobility, where truth was to be guarded, an asset not shared except for advantage and gain. What had only recently manifested was his ability to sense deceptions and lies in spoken words, if he focused and let the beast of his inner nature sound its warnings to him. Many lies had passed in the main hall, though there was one that had made his inner self rattle its chains.

  “Good pl
ace . . . start,” Osha said, still struggling with his Belaskian. “Who lie to who . . . and why?”

  “Well, the duchess seemed to be taking a good deal upon herself,” Wynn said, “if she sent the message while Jausiff and Aupsha were in quarantine. Both letters that arrived at the guild were written in the same hand, and since Nikolas never mentioned anything odd in that, we can assume Jausiff wrote both of those. So either the duchess is covering for Jausiff or she somehow got the letters and sent them without the duke’s knowledge.”

  “She did not send the letters herself,” Chane put in.

  Wynn glanced up. “You’re certain?”

  That was the moment the beast had stirred inside of Chane.

  “When she told Karl that she sent them for Jausiff, she lied. Yes, I am certain.”

  Wynn eyed him a moment longer and then nodded.

  “That leaves Jausiff as the one who arranged for the delivery,” she said. “Somehow he found a way to send the letters through someone, but there’s another problem in that. We don’t know if that person was the one who went all the way to Calm Seatt . . . or if the letters were handed off to another messenger. Anyone here traveling that far would be missing for so long as to be noticed. The duke would know that much by now, and he was certainly surprised by all of this.”

  “And we do not know if a messenger has even returned,” Chane added, “be it one from the keep or a second one confirming the delivery. There is also the need to confirm if the messenger and infiltrator at Dhredze Seatt are one and the same.”

  Wynn’s expression fell.

  Chane was uncertain whether her sudden frown was for the whole tangled problem, or his merely stating it, or both.

  He understood and shared her fears, for the messenger and/or would-be thief was the key to all this. Someone had breached the dwarven underworld, the realm of the Stonewalkers, even though the infiltrator had not reached the orb of Earth. There was the fear that an agent of the Ancient Enemy had learned where they had hidden an orb. If Jausiff was connected to such an agent, then he could not be trusted, and the master sage’s agenda had to be rooted out.