A Wind in the Night

by Barb Hendee

  The captain looked out into the trees but farther inland than where Chane had gone. Wynn wasn’t certain what Martelle saw. His features hardened, and his breaths grew heavy, sharp, and audible. He took off into the trees at a rush, and Wynn hurried after him.

  It was so dark that she wasn’t certain what he was doing. When he stopped ahead of her by one tree and stood there looking down, she reached into her robe, pulled out a cold-lamp crystal, and swiped it along her robe.

  Wynn stepped wide around the captain as the crystal ignited in a soft glow. The captain didn’t even look up.

  Beyond his feet lay the body of another keep guard.

  The man’s hair was so grayed that it looked nearly white under the crystal’s dim light. He had shriveled and aged beyond recognition of who he was . . . had been.

  Wynn knew what this meant. Her breaths quickened until she began to shake as she looked everywhere through the trees.

  Sau’ilahk was here somewhere.

  “Did you see what happened to him?” Martelle asked.

  Wynn spun on him. “Give me the staff now!”

  The anger in Martelle’s face increased, as if bits and pieces of all that had happened to him came back. He faced her and didn’t even glance at the staff.

  “Where’s the archer, the Lhoin’na?” he asked.

  “Give me that staff, or we’re all dead! It’s the only thing that can stop who did this.”

  The captain leaned the staff farther out of reach and raised the point of his sword into her way. Then she heard footsteps behind her and looked back. Another guard stepped around the wagon’s front and the dead horse as he looked from her to his captain.

  Wynn turned and bolted out of either’s reach for the nearest open way between the trees. A loud thud from somewhere on the road carried in the night.

  “Not move! Stay!” someone shouted.

  Wynn knew that broken Numanese before she even halted and turned.

  Osha stood some twenty paces inland, in the middle of the road. He had one arrow drawn back as he aimed at the guard and the captain near Wynn. Another arrow was gripped in his hand holding the bow.

  And at his feet was the orb’s trunk.

  Wynn didn’t have time for relief. Osha suddenly swung the bow and pointed it up the road past the overturned wagon.

  “Stay! Quiet!” he shouted, likely at the other guards still out there.

  Wynn barely heard the captain shift a slow step behind her. She didn’t turn as fast as Osha did, and she followed the line of his aim back to Martelle watching her and him. And then she flinched back another step.

  A sword’s tip appeared from behind the captain and dropped lightly on his left shoulder.

  “Do not move!” a voice rasped. “I do not wish to harm you.”

  Chane stepped out of the shadows behind Captain Martelle; the tip of his long dwarven sword still rested on the captain’s shoulder. Wynn sagged in relief for an instant and then hurried in to jerk her staff out of the captain’s grip. Up close, she stalled at the sight of Chane.

  He wasn’t wearing his cloak, and his hair was wet. A dark smear showed on one side of his jaw, as if something had been wiped away in careless haste.

  And a thôrhk—an orb key—of ruddy metal hung around his neck.

  About to ask, Wynn looked him straight in the eyes. Chane shook his head once and quickly looked away, leaving her at a loss. Obviously he didn’t want her saying anything as yet, but where was Shade?

  Chane looked over her head toward the wagon’s front. His eyes narrowed as his features hardened, and his gaze remained fixed as his head jerked once toward the wagon. Wynn backed away from the captain before she turned to see the one guard near the wagon’s front retreating slowly.

  “Osha?” Chane shouted, though it was only a strained rasp.

  “Have them all!” Osha shouted back.

  He swung the bow slightly as he tracked the retreating guard, and Wynn quickly threw the lit cold-lamp crystal out to give him more light. It bounced to a stop a few yards from the trunk.

  “Please join your men,” Chane said as he nudged the captain to follow the one guard. “We have no intention of harming any of you. You need only listen to what I will tell you.”

  Wynn glanced at the orb key still around Chane’s neck, though he kept his eyes on the captain.

  Wynn and her companions had not only recovered an orb but its key as well this time. They had all survived, but . . .

  Wynn grabbed Chane’s arm as he passed, but he wouldn’t look down at her.

  “Back the way I came,” he whispered. “A short way into the trees. She is . . . injured. Hurry . . . and I will come for both of you.”

  Wynn swallowed so hard that it hurt. She didn’t even question her safety in knowing Sau’ilahk could be near, and she took off into the dark forest.

  “Shade!” she shouted, trying to get out her spare cold-lamp crystal as she ran.

  She heard nothing but her own clumsy footfalls and her own fast breaths. She didn’t get the other crystal out until she spotted a dark heap in the open between three tall trees.

  Wynn recklessly dropped the staff and fell to her knees as she swiped the crystal twice across her thigh. All but Shade’s head was covered with Chane’s damp cloak, and the tip of her tongue hung from between her front teeth.

  “Shade?” Wynn whispered, leaning close.

  The dog didn’t even twitch, though her eyes appeared open in the barest slits.

  Wynn carefully peeled away the cloak. A careful touch revealed that blood was still wet in Shade’s neck fur and along one foreleg, but there wasn’t much, not enough to leave her in this state. Wynn carefully felt everywhere, though she feared causing more injury. Her fingers lightly passed over the back of Shade’s head.

  Her fingers stained red, and her breath caught.

  “Please open your eyes. . . . Look at me. . . . Say something.”

  Not one memory-word came to Wynn.

  Her bloodstained fingers trembled in hovering less than a finger’s length above Shade’s body. Her sight warped and blurred as the tears began to fall.

  “Don’t you leave me, sister,” she whispered. “Not like this.”

  Almost holding her breath as she watched Shade, Wynn still sat there in the dark. Even when Chane and Osha came, she couldn’t move.

  Chane quickly rounded her and crouched on Shade’s far side, and still Wynn watched only Shade.

  “We must leave,” he whispered. “I have given the keep guards the treasury chest and as much of a story as I could concerning the duke taking flight. We need to go before they question anything and turn back.”

  Chane lifted Shade, and Osha had to pull Wynn to her feet.

  • • •

  In a forest clearing, a corpse lying facedown in the wet dirt twitched in the predawn.

  Sau’ilahk opened his eyes but saw—heard—nothing at first. Everything was so quiet—too quiet—now that all of the wind had died. He lay still, not even blinking, as he tried to understand where he was. Then he remembered Chane Andraso and the black majay-hì. At that he panicked and tried to lift his head, but it barely rolled over the wet earth.

  The sound of that movement was all he heard. Not a footfall, a paw’s claws upon the ground, or even a breath.

  Sau’ilahk grew frantic. Why could he not even hear his own breaths?

  And he remembered . . . dying . . . after Chane tore out half his throat and then suffocated him with one hand.

  Sau’ilahk sucked in air and choked on blood congealed in his throat. He struggled to push himself up and put a hand to his neck. He felt the mess of his own flesh, and his hand came away coated in a sticky black-red mess.

  Shock numbed his mind, and when he could actually think again, there was something missing . . . something he had not felt in tha
t one touch to himself.

  The thôrhk—the orb key—was gone.

  And he could feel no heartbeat within his chest.

  Sau’ilahk.

  At the hissing whisper from Beloved, his god, Sau’ilahk tried to scream and only choked.

  You have what you always desired . . . a body immortal and immune to death. Does this not please you?

  And the only way he could answer was within his own thoughts. No! Not flesh like I was . . . not undead still. What have you done—allowed to happen?

  You blame me?

  Sau’ilahk faltered. Beloved had not led Chane Andraso here, had not instigated the fight that led to this. Still, had his god somehow known? Once again Beloved had deceived him, tricked him with a half-truth as fulfillment of a promise from a thousand years ago.

  Something more occurred to him. . . .

  He had lost both the orb and the key to which Beloved had guided him.

  It is of no matter. That orb . . . that anchor of Existence . . . served its first purpose and will serve again where it now travels. It shall serve, as you will, until I am free at last.

  Sau’ilahk went colder inside than the chill of his dead flesh.

  He—his desire, his anguish—had been nothing more than a tactic for some purpose known only to his god. He was left with a corpse, not as a body but as a prison.

  Be content . . . servant.

  This time the hiss carried a threat, like the scales of a great serpent grinding grains of sand in the dark place of dreams where it slept.

  Sau’ilahk felt a faint, uncomfortable tingle on his skin.

  Light grew over the forest to the east, and he waited for it to turn him to ash . . . and he waited. To see a dawn after a thousand years would have once been a joy. To face it now would at least be freedom from the cruelty of his Beloved.

  Sau’ilahk watched as the sun did rise, and he began to moan and sob. But the dead could not weep, for a corpse could not shed tears.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Magiere leaned over the rail of the Djinn and anxiously looked out at the enormous, seething port of il’Dha’ab Najuum. She didn’t care how large or daunting it was. All that mattered was getting herself and her companions off this floating coffin of a ship.

  The only other stop they’d made along the way was at a small place the name of which she couldn’t pronounce. It had been little more than a coastal trading post south of the desert’s southern reaches with no docks or piers. The ship had anchored well offshore, and only the captain and one of the crew took to a skiff that came out to retrieve them.

  That one crewman had eyed her a bit long as they left. Stranger than that, the captain came back alone. Magiere hadn’t cared and still didn’t. She could easily imagine that none of the crew would stick to this vessel longer than necessary.

  The air had grown continually warmer and then hotter during the journey south. Once they were on land again, they’d have to rethink their clothing and perhaps purchase lighter attire—and yet more coin would be used up. If not for that last part, she might have been relieved to think on simple things after the strain of a long, questionable voyage.

  Every day, she’d felt a constant threat aimed toward someone she loved or cared for as Leesil had struggled to keep them fed without being caught. She couldn’t help but feel a little grateful that Brot’an had a hand in that as well.

  Now it was over, and it wouldn’t be long until they disembarked. For once nobody had to coax Wayfarer into packing and coming out of hiding.

  The girl stood on Leesil’s other side at the rail, with Chap between her and Brot’an. They were all unwashed to the point of their hair looking dull, and everyone had lost weight, but they’d survived.

  Wayfarer and Chap seemed to have come to terms with the girl’s catching his rising memories at a touch. Brot’an still knew nothing about it, and Leesil thought it might even be useful instead of the dog’s jabbering in their heads with memory-words. Wayfarer might be able to take Wynn’s place in helping Chap clarify what he needed to say.

  Magiere wasn’t so certain about that. There had to be more to how a quarter-blood girl, cast out by her ancestors, could catch memories from a majay-hì. But there were too many other things to face as she studied the girl.

  As the ship neared another noisy city and seemingly endless port filled with humanity, Wayfarer’s expression blanched. Even to Magiere, the place looked so . . . foreign . . . compared to anything she’d seen in her travels.

  Some structures deeper into the city still peaked high above the waterfront buildings. Some had to be huge, at a guess, for they also appeared to be set farther—and farther—into the immense capital of the Suman Empire. Every structure within closer sight was for the most part golden tan sandstone, aside from heat-grayed timbers and planks.

  “What’s first?” Magiere asked.

  “I know exactly what,” Leesil provided. “Find a decent inn, a bath, and a meal!”

  Magiere eyed the tangled mix of vessels moored at the huge and long piers, and humans, mostly dark skinned, mingling in chaotic masses shifting along the waterfront.

  “Does anyone speak Sumanese?” Wayfarer asked very quietly.

  The answer was obvious: not one of them.

  Magiere knew from times in other ports that it was likely some people here would speak other languages—hopefully ones that she or her companions understood at least a little.

  “A place to stay first,” she confirmed. “We’ll take the day for ourselves. Tomorrow we search out this Domin il’Sänke that Wynn wanted us to find.”

  Leesil had earlier suggested they set out straight for the Suman branch of the Guild of Sagecraft, but after all that had happened at Wynn’s branch, Magiere thought otherwise.

  Dealing with the Numan sages hadn’t been anything like what she’d expected when they had returned to their old friend the little sage. Magiere didn’t care for even the chance of the same in a culture they knew nothing about. Better to have a place of their own, perhaps not even mentioned, when they went seeking “hospitality” from an unknown Suman sage, and a domin at that. The upper ranks of Wynn’s branch had been the least friendly of all.

  Leesil had eventually relented on all this, and Brot’an had agreed, though the old assassin likely had his own reasons to keep their chosen place unknown unless necessary.

  Now Brot’an turned from the rail to look about the deck, and Magiere already knew whom he sought.

  “Saeed,” he called out.

  The young man was helping to ready the ship for docking. He was the only one on board whom Magiere trusted a little. He left his pile of rope to come closer.

  “What is it?” Saeed asked.

  “We need an inn with someone who speaks Numanese,” Brot’an said.

  Saeed nodded once. “There is a place close to port called . . . well, perhaps you might say ‘The Whistling Wasp.’ In my tongue it is al’D’abbú Asuvära.” He spoke the last words slowly, but Magiere wasn’t sure she could ever repeat them as he went on. “The owner is at least as honest as I.” He smiled a little more. “And he speaks Numanese as well as myself.”

  Saeed stepped in at the rail beside Brot’an and pointed into the nearing port as he gave directions.

  While grateful, Magiere wondered again what someone like Saeed was doing on this ship with a captain and crew slightly above pirates, slavers, and slaves alike. When the Djinn finally docked and the ramp was lowered, the head of all rodents aboard appeared near the prow.

  Captain Amjad glowered at his passengers, but Magiere could swear she saw something of a smile before he turned away. Was he simply looking forward to selling his cargo?

  “Oh, dead deities, finally!” Leesil said, not really noticing the captain.

  He hefted his pack and hoisted their travel chest as he headed toward the ramp.

 
; Wayfarer stalled, casting a final look at Saeed. As with previous good-byes, she didn’t say a word. Perhaps she didn’t know what to say, though, as Magiere watched, the girl nodded slowly to Saeed, and he returned the same with another smile.

  Chap nosed Wayfarer along, and when they all reached the ramp’s bottom and the pier, Magiere ushered the girl directly in front of herself. Chap trotted up to join Wayfarer, who slipped the makeshift leash around his neck for their usual deception. Brot’an stepped in at Magiere’s side as his large amber eyes shifted in looking everywhere. And Leesil led the way.

  The hot, dry air was soon laced with spice, mixing with the odors of sea brine and sweaty people. It was as if one mass of smells was being used to mask the other, and Magiere wondered how strong the scents might become inside the city’s narrow ways.

  Most of the dusky-skinned and dark-haired people in the crowds wore light, loose-fitting cloth shifts or equally loose leggings or pants. Wraps upon their heads were done up in all sorts of short or tall, thick or thin mounds. Some herded goats or carried square baskets of chickens and other birds she couldn’t name. Many people spoke to one another, but Magiere couldn’t follow a word being said, though at a guess it sounded as though not all of them spoke the same tongue.

  She began perspiring into the shirt beneath her hauberk. Out ahead, Leesil tugged at his collar with his free hand.

  “We’re going to need some other clothes,” he muttered.

  Magiere saw no trees or plant life anywhere, only an endless stretch of light-toned buildings. The travelers stepped off the pier’s landward end and onto the walkway along the shore.

  “Do you know where to go?” she asked Brot’an.

  “Yes, Saeed was clear. For now, we walk a few streets inland.”

  Their small group had gone only a few steps when Leesil halted. Even from behind, Magiere saw him tense and look slowly around. She grew instantly wary, following his gaze. What she saw she didn’t like.

  Beneath a wind-scarred sandstone arch, like some gate into the city between two buildings, about a dozen men stood watching her and the others intently. Each of them was dressed the same, in tan pants tucked inside tall boots, dark brown tabards over cream shirts, and red scarves tied around their heads. All wore curved swords in ornate sheaths tucked into heavy fabric waist wraps and peaked steel helmets polished to perfection.