A Wind in the Night

by Barb Hendee

  It was also possible that the thief had nothing to do with Jausiff and had acted on his or her own and not returned here. If so, then Wynn and the rest of them had wasted time in coming here.

  “Messenger first,” Osha said, pushing himself back into the discussion. “Maybe-thief we find next, unless same.”

  Wynn nodded. “Yes, that still seems our only path forward.” She placed a hand gently on Shade’s head, and the dog’s ears pricked up. “And we have a few extra methods to use in searching.”

  “Anything?” Chane asked. “Anything at all, even seemingly unconnected?”

  “Shade said no already.” But then Wynn twitched slightly, her eyes appearing to lose focus.

  “What?” Chane asked a bit too sharply.

  Wynn blinked, frowned, and looked down at Shade. “Just a flash . . . an image of two of those Suman guards standing in front of a door in a dim, windowless passage. Maybe . . . maybe underground.”

  “Whose memory?”

  Shade rolled her eyes up at Wynn.

  “The duke . . . Karl,” Wynn whispered, still looking at Shade. “But that’s all she saw. I think everyone was so focused on the moment at hand that Shade couldn’t catch anything else.” She stroked the dog’s soft, charcoal-colored head. “It’s all right. You keep trying.”

  The door suddenly swung inward without a knock.

  Chane dropped his hand to his longer sword’s hilt as he turned.

  In the opening stood the tall and dark-skinned female servant, who looked only at Wynn.

  “Master Jausiff wishes to see the texts you brought for him,” she said, her accent smooth and rolling.

  • • •

  Wynn studied the woman in the doorway. She looked so out of place here, regardless of the common wool tunic and long, heavy skirt for a cold, dank climate. And she hadn’t dropped her eyes, as had the two serving girls making up the rooms.

  “Now . . . please,” the woman said, her full lips exposing starkly white teeth.

  “Of course,” Wynn answered, and she dug in her satchel containing the books.

  “I will come as well,” Chane stated.

  “No,” Aupsha answered flatly, though she never looked away from Wynn.

  “It’s all right,” Wynn told Chane. She needed to speak to Master Columsarn—Jausiff—as soon as possible. Perhaps she might gain some further clues by a few tricks, and she looked back to Aupsha. “May I bring my dog? She gets restless if I leave her alone too long.”

  After a brief hesitation, Aupsha nodded once, making her hair shift stiffly on her shoulders. Chane was still watching Wynn with concern as she slipped out behind the tall woman. As Wynn did so, she heard another door open, and looked up the passage.

  Nikolas stepped out of his room and paused at the sight of Wynn with his father’s tall, foreign servant. And, now that Wynn paid attention, she realized that Nikolas had obviously never seen Aupsha before.

  “I’m going to see your father,” Wynn said, holding up the texts.

  “So am I,” Nikolas responded.

  “He has not sent for you,” Aupsha said coldly, taking one step up the passage and halting between Wynn and the young sage. In truth Wynn hoped Aupsha might prevail here, as she needed to speak with Jausiff alone.

  Nikolas stood his ground. “He is my father, and I am going to see him.”

  When he took his first step, Wynn turned her eyes on Aupsha’s back . . . and dug her fingers into Shade’s scruff. She wasn’t even sure whom she should send Shade to block off, but Nikolas stepped past the tall woman unchallenged. Surprisingly, he didn’t appear frightened.

  Aupsha turned slowly, keeping her eyes on Nikolas until he stood beside Wynn. Only then did Wynn see the twitch of Nikolas’s eye, like the old Nervous Nikolas. The tall woman silently stepped around all of them to lead the way to the stairs and past the keep guard waiting there.

  The passage was wide enough that Wynn, Shade, and Nikolas walked side by side past the guard’s watchful eyes. At the stairwell they had to fall into single file, with Shade in the lead and Nikolas behind Wynn.

  Aupsha took them one floor down, to the keep’s second floor, and stepped off down another passage almost all the way to its end. One large door there was already open.

  As if he had heard them coming, Master Jausiff Columsarn stepped out as the tall servant arrived. In contrast to Aupsha, he looked perfectly at ease in his clothing—a gray sage’s robe—and he didn’t have his cane in hand. He did have a rather intense, serious expression even before he turned his eyes on Wynn. That quickly changed when he looked beyond her.

  At the sight of Nikolas, Jausiff appeared slightly startled, though he recovered quickly with a warm smile.

  “Settled already, my son? You weren’t always so efficient.”

  “I just wanted to see how you were,” Nikolas responded.

  Whatever he’d expected from his father, it wasn’t a playful jibe about his past youth in this keep.

  “Of course,” Jausiff answered with a chuckle. “We’ll have a good long talk, you and I. But first I must see what the journeyor has brought me from the guild. If you wouldn’t mind, son.”

  Wynn was taken aback by this, though it was the way she preferred things. As she glanced at Nikolas, he appeared a bit stunned as well.

  “Um, that’s fine,” Nikolas tried to answer. “I’ll . . . wait.”

  Jausiff’s smile broadened, and he looked to Aupsha. “Is their dinner prepared?”

  “I will check,” she said, and she turned and left.

  Jausiff, still smiling, studied Wynn for a breath before waving her in. She’d barely entered with Shade when he solidly closed the door.

  “My private study,” he said, stepping slowly around her.

  The chamber had all the fixtures and messy qualities of a longtime office, with shelves covering every available wall. Ink bottles, quills in old cups, open ledgers, and stacks of papers were half-organized across a solid, dark wood table serving as a workspace.

  However, something about it struck her as sad.

  Perhaps because of an overabundance of shelves, the master sage had tried to make them look filled by placing scrolls lengthwise and spreading out various books and volumes in small sets, as if he could not stand the sight of too much empty space. There was a good bit of dust on most of the collection, as if little had been taken off the shelves in a long while. In one back corner stood a small unmade bed, suggesting that this room served as his living quarters as well: one room for his library, office, and bedchamber.

  What had kept him here all these years?

  Sages by nature were curious people who loved to be either lost in their research or off on a journey of discovery. Something had anchored him here. But as Wynn’s attention turned from the chamber to its occupant, now standing behind the messy table, any personal questions vanished from her thoughts.

  Master Columsarn’s warm good humor was gone as his gaze locked on Shade.

  “Unusual for a sage to travel in the company of a pet, especially a wild . . . animal of such size. How did you acquire her?”

  Wynn tensed. She could be standing before someone in league with a minion of the Ancient Enemy. Also, he’d hesitated at mentioning an “animal” as a companion, as if he might have used another word.

  As a master sage, Jausiff would be well educated and possibly even know about the majay-hì. But unless he had traveled in the lands of the Lhoin’na, it was unlikely he had ever seen one. She had no intention of offering any information about Shade unless he commented more specifically.

  “She found me, after finding herself wandering Calm Seatt,” Wynn answered lightly. “She’s proven an able companion I wouldn’t be without.” This last was added with some emphasis, and Jausiff crossed his arms.

  “Indeed,” he said, and then pointed at the bundle in W
ynn’s arms. “I assume those are for me?”

  “Yes.” Glad for the shift of focus, she approached to place the satchel on the table. “Premin Hawes sent everything you requested.”

  “And a few things more,” he said dryly while opening the delivery. “I did not expect an emissary from the guild, and certainly not some hired sword and a Lhoin’na archer. Did Premin Hawes have a reason for not sending the texts with my son?”

  Wynn had faced down her own superiors more than once and had lost any tolerance for intimidation, subtle or not. This master sage exuded an unusually strong presence, and, in truth, he was not wrong. Premin Hawes had exceeded his precise request.

  Searching for an answer, Wynn fell to a half-truth. “Nikolas seemed . . . hesitant to return home, perhaps distraught. Given the rarity of some of these texts, the premin thought it best if one of her order transported them, and with proper protection for the remote destination.”

  Jausiff’s eyes narrowed. The explanation was plausible, and since he knew everything of Nikolas’s past, he would believe in his son’s reluctance to return. The aging sage’s intense gaze drifted downward over Wynn’s midnight blue robe.

  “You must be a very trusted student,” he said. “Perhaps one of the premin’s most favored, to be given such a task.”

  “Of course.”

  “You could have no better teacher, then. And you’ve studied under her for years in the order of Metaology?”

  Wynn swallowed. “Yes.”

  Where was the old sage going with all of these questions that weren’t really questions? Something was wrong, and she needed to turn her own questions on him instead.

  And then Jausiff slipped the first text out of the satchel. For one blink, lines of age softened on his face as he looked at it. It brought Wynn a stab of pity. How lonely he must be here, so far from the guild’s archives and library to fulfill his needs and wants. Here there would be few if any scholarly chats with peers.

  When he opened the text in his hands, Wynn again saw the title on the cover:

  The Processes and Essence of Transmogrification.

  “It has been many years since I’ve perused this,” he said. “Of course under Hawes, you must have read it at least once. Can you refresh my memory on the sections relating to the mutation of flora?”

  In spite of his conversational tone, Wynn knew she was in danger. He was not some lonely scholar seeking discussion. He was testing her, and she had no way to answer. Until recently she had been in the order of Cathology, devoted to the preservation of knowledge—and she had never read the text he held.

  “I read it once a long time ago,” she replied.

  Jausiff’s gaze rose slowly from the opened book. “Yes, some sages have better memories than others.” He laid the text down, picked up another, and opened it, and again Wynn caught the title.

  The Three Aspects of Existence.

  “Now, this one Hawes has students turn to regularly,” he continued. “Even apprentices of other orders study it. Do you agree that it is the three Aspects, and not the five Elements, in which we find the strongest grounding for the magical ideologies? And what about the processes—spell, ritual, and artifice—used across all three arts? Do those hold a stronger connection than the ideologies to the Aspects . . . at least for you? Of course, there’s the whole misnomer about cantrips being simple spells. Certainly you’ve come to that realization, for as far as you have progressed . . . Journeyor?”

  Wynn kept her eyes on the text. Except for the most basic practices of thaumaturgy, and one botched ritual that still plagued her with mantic sight, she knew next to nothing about magic. And certainly she didn’t know enough for a passing philosophical debate under the master sage’s sudden barrage.

  That hesitation ruined Wynn. Jausiff snapped the book shut and rounded the cluttered table more quickly than he should have as he closed on her.

  “You are no student of Frideswida Hawes, and perhaps not even a sage. What are you doing here in your little masquerade? And how did you come by these texts and my son’s company?”

  “I assure you, I am a sage,” she stated flatly, meeting his eyes and trying not to waver. “You can ask your son, if you—”

  “I am not blind—yet—girl! My son obviously knows you, accepts that you claim to be a sage, but that does not explain the robe you wear. Nor is it enough for me!”

  “Nikolas and I . . . we’ve become friends . . . at the guild,” she stumbled on. “Until recently I was a journeyor of Cathology. I applied to change orders less than a moon ago and was very recently approved . . . by Premin Hawes herself.”

  “That is the extent of your story?”

  “Not a story but the truth.”

  He pointed to the texts on the table. “And Premin Hawes entrusted you to bring me those, particularly the first volume? I do not think so. At least one is only for the eyes of masters, domins, and above! Which is partly why I asked that they be sealed from my son’s eyes.”

  For a sick old man he stepped much too swiftly past her, though she barely had time to note this before he jerked the door open. And there was his missing cane, leaning against a casement’s end behind the door.

  “Nikolas, come,” he called, and then glanced back at Wynn. “Thank you for your service. Since your duty is complete, there’s no need to linger. You can return to . . . your new order in the guild.”

  Wynn went numb at being so quickly undone and dismissed. With little choice, she collected herself and left, passing Nikolas just outside the door. Poor Nikolas still appeared lost, confused, and likely worried about his father. The last of those concerns was unnecessary, from what Wynn had seen.

  Jausiff was no sick, frail old man, so why had Nikolas been called home?

  Shade’s tail was barely out the door when it shut.

  Wynn flushed for a moment before she could even ask, “Did you catch anything useful?”

  —No . . . memories— . . . —from old one . . . Not . . . slip . . . once—

  Wynn ran her hands over her face. The old sage had even outdone Shade. Now they were both suspected by one of the few here who might have some answers. This had become a terrible blunder.

  —I try . . . when . . . he . . . not know . . . see . . . me—

  Wynn dropped her hands and looked down into Shade’s crystal-blue eyes. Those broken and halting memory-words, and Shade’s reluctance for language, often distracted from how much Chap’s daughter had begun to comprehend human ways strange to her. Wynn ran both hands over Shade’s large head and down her neck, and then looked to the door shut tight against her. She heard muted voices inside the master sage’s chamber, but she couldn’t make out what was said. Perhaps Jausiff might tell Nikolas things he would tell no one else.

  She and Shade were still alone in the passage, and, after brief reluctance, Wynn crept closer and crouched before the door. Hoping to hear what transpired inside, she leaned close to the keyhole.

  “Father, you . . . you tricked me into returning?” Nikolas stuttered. “You are not ill at all, are you?”

  “I had my reason for deception, out of concern about the duke. You saw the changes in him, yes?”

  After a long pause, “I saw . . . something.”

  “He has locked down the keep,” Jausiff continued, “and some sense of normalcy must be reestablished. The duchess and I thought a guest—a reason to force him to play host—might help bring him back to himself. We could think of no one but you for whom he would open the gates.”

  “Me?”

  Another pause followed, and Wynn imagined the aging counselor nodding.

  “I know I promised that you would never have to return here,” Jausiff went on, “but will you, to assist us? The duchess needs you. . . . I need you. Nothing else that we have tried has reached the duke, and now he might be shaken enough to respond to his childhood friend. He a
lways trusted you.”

  It was hard to be certain from outside the door, but Wynn thought she heard Nikolas expel a shuddering breath. She clenched her fists at the old sage’s cruelty in reminding Nikolas of trust, especially given what Shade had shown her of the night Nikolas tried to flee with Sherie. Wynn wondered what story had been provided to explain the old duke’s death; certainly it had not been the truth.

  Whatever Sherie and Karl had decided to say, perhaps Jausiff had been given the same lies as everyone else regarding that night. But Nikolas blamed himself for the elder duke’s death, accident or not.

  “Will you stay and help?” Jausiff asked again.

  Again a long pause, and then a quiet, “Yes.”

  The sound of footsteps came toward the door.

  Wynn scrambled away, pulling Shade a short distance down the passage before the door opened and Jausiff looked out.

  “Journeyer?” he asked. “Is there something else?”

  “I thought to wait for Nikolas. With guards placed near our rooms, it seemed better not to walk about without someone known here.”

  The wrinkles of Jausiff’s brow deepened. “Guards?”

  Nikolas came out, breaking the moment, but he was almost as ashen gray as his robe.

  “And you two are friends at the guild?” Jausiff asked, suddenly good-humored again. “For some time now?”

  Wynn kept silent.

  “Yes,” Nikolas answered absently.

  “Splendid,” Jausiff said. “Go find some supper, as a meal should be ready by now down in the kitchen.”

  Eager to be far from this study, Wynn took Nikolas’s arm. “He’s right. Let’s go find something to eat.”

  She hurried him away without looking back until she heard the door close. The old sage was nowhere in sight, and only Shade trotted after them. Halfway down the passage, Nikolas exhaled, and Wynn slowed.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  He came to a complete stop and closed his eyes, and a little of his color returned. “My father wants me to help him and Sherie with Karl. I said I would . . . but . . . I can tell she’s sick at the sight of me. I don’t know how long I can stay here.”