Between Their Worlds

by Barb; J. C. Hendee

  He did not spend that last night with Lily trying to forget that he would leave his mate. He tried to remember for her to see all that must be done. Someone else had to be sent to watch over Wynn, for he knew eventually she might be left behind. He gave Lily every memory he held, and in his faltering memory-speak, he begged her for something far worse.

  One of their children would be condemned to banishment, or at least that was how a child would think of it.

  Only someone akin to himself would have a chance to stand between Wynn and the Fay. A child of his would have to cross a world alone to protect a human. Once Chap had finished making his request, he and Lily lay there through the night. When he left her before dawn, her eyes were still closed, but she could not have been asleep.

  But it wasn’t until tonight, when Chap came to find Wynn in this place, this old castle somehow given over to the guild, that he truly knew his request had come true.

  Any brief relief drowned instantly in the deepest depths of guilt. The charcoal black majay-hì stood before the far stairwell leading out of the catacombs, watching him. And then his daughter turned away without a sound.

  “Everyone wait here,” Wynn whispered. “When I signal, stay low and hurry across to the stairs.”

  As she stepped out, passing in front of Chap, he lost sight of Shade. When his sightline cleared, all he saw was the tip of a black tail disappearing into the dark up those darkened, rising steps. Chap stood numbed by pain and regret, barely hearing Wynn’s voice coming from somewhere out of sight.

  “Um, Domin, I had to leave some stuff on the table in the seventh alcove, so—”

  “Yes, yes, I will see to it. Now run along,” an aged, cracking voice answered. “But leave the key I gave you. When I retire, I will be certain the archives are properly closed . . . this time.”

  Chap inched forward, and he peeked around the corner.

  Wynn stood off to the right, directly in front of a small archway, with her back to the open chamber. In her left hand she held the staff with its leather-sheathed top tilted slightly out. Her other hand was braced on the opening’s right, and the spread of her robe and sleeves somewhat blocked the entrance—so that whoever was inside might not see out.

  Her free hand suddenly dropped and swung behind her, repeatedly waving off toward the far stairs.

  “I’m sorry,” she said to the person in the chamber. “I thought I locked the door behind me when I came down.”

  A humph rose sharply from beyond Wynn as Chap padded softly across the chamber between its four long tables. He heard Magiere and Leesil creeping along behind him.

  “Do you know what the premin wanted to see me about?” Wynn asked.

  Chap reached the stairwell and ducked in, but he did not climb up. He waited as Magiere and Leesil slipped past him and up the stairs.

  “No,” the other voice answered. “I would imagine it has something to do with your latest excursion.”

  “All right,” Wynn answered. “And again, I’m sorry about Shade . . . and the mess.”

  It was only a breath or two before Wynn appeared around the corner to the upward-curving stairwell. Chap waited for her to lead onward, but she paused, looking up the stairs.

  The barest flash of two images passed through Wynn’s thoughts. Just as quickly, those surfacing memories vanished. This time Chap caught the second, as well. The first was again that of a tall figure in a black robe and cowl, its cloak appearing to waft under the pull of a night breeze. The second was even more bizarre.

  A man in a long cloak with a full hood, wielding a longsword of mottled steel in one hand and a shorter, true sword blade in the other, turned his head. Within his hood, where there should have been a face, Chap saw only a leather mask and black-lensed spectacles with heavy pewter frames where there should have been eyes.

  That was all Chap caught before Wynn’s memory vanished, and she hurried up the stairs, brushing one hand over his head as she passed. He hesitated a little longer, watching her disappear around the turn in the steps. All notions of memories slipped away as he thought of a young charcoal majay-hì, someone he should have known before yet had only met but moments ago.

  That someone would be waiting at the door above when the others arrived.

  Chap slunk up the stairs, his head down, thinking of the daughter who had turned away from him. He could not raise his eyes, even when he reached the top and the others were waiting for him in the keep’s back passage.

  Wynn crept around another corner, always peeking ahead before she led the others onward. Shade remained silent at her side the whole way. Wynn looked back once or twice, checking that everyone was still with her. Now Chap remained at the rear.

  Shade never looked back once.

  Much as Wynn wished there was something she could do for Chap concerning Shade, a much bigger problem clouded her thoughts and filled her with fear.

  It wasn’t that she was worried about running into other sages along the way. True enough: visitors shouldn’t be found wandering the halls at this time of night. And she, of all people, being their escort, wouldn’t count for much. No, even encountering Domin High-Tower or High Premin Sykion didn’t worry her.

  The only place Wynn could take Chap, Magiere, and Leesil at this time of night might be the last place they should go: her room. And that would also be the first place Chane would wait if he found she and Shade weren’t there.

  Wynn fervently hoped that Chane hadn’t returned yet. Or perhaps had come back early and after waiting all this time, he might have gone on to his own guest quarters.

  She led her companions all the way to the keep’s front and stopped in the main entryway, holding everyone back again. Her eyes lowered to an unexpected object sitting to one side of the entryway: a small travel chest. Leesil hefted it up and over his left shoulder.

  “You left your chest up here?” Wynn asked softly.

  He shrugged. “Why not? It was getting heavy. I figured it would be safe among sages. Now, you’ll be finding us rooms here, I’d guess.”

  “Well . . .” Wynn began to answer. “Yes, of course.”

  Normally, the sages welcomed visitors, especially ones from far off that might offer useful information about the world at large. But how could she explain to Leesil, standing here in the entryway, that she was practically a renegade among her own kind, and anyone with her would be treated with equal suspicion by her superiors. The mood of the whole guild had changed over the past six moons, partly because of her.

  There wasn’t time to explain it all, let alone all the other questions everyone had.

  Wynn glanced left and then right down the long passage running along the front of the keep. Then she stepped forward and cracked open one of the great double doors and peeked out into the courtyard.

  It was empty, but this didn’t reassure her. She looked left toward the barracks and up to its last window slit at the far end of the top floor. No light shone there, but that didn’t mean anything; Chane never minded the dark. At that thought, Wynn grew frantic, looking about the courtyard for anywhere else to go.

  There simply wasn’t any place to take strangers at this time of night. She couldn’t possibly just tell them to leave and come back tomorrow. Could she? The high premin was already waiting for her, and who knew what trouble she was in now. If it was as bad as the last time, she might not get to speak with her long-lost friends for days, and there was far too much catching up to do.

  “What’s the problem?” Magiere whispered.

  Wynn turned her head quickly, straining her tense neck. Magiere was flattened against the passage’s nearer side, with Leesil just behind. Chap lingered farther back beyond them. Magiere scowled and settled a hand on the hilt of her falchion. That certainly didn’t help Wynn’s state of mind.

  “It’s . . . nothing. Nothing’s wrong,” she whispered.

  Before Wynn could say more, Shade thrust her head through the cracked door and forced it open as she wriggled out. There was nothing Wynn
could do but wave the others on as she stepped out, as well. She only hoped she could make them all wait downstairs from the barracks, on whatever pretense, until she checked her room. And if Chane was there . . . then what?

  Wynn hurried onward, waving her companions along, though Shade led the way.

  “Journeyor Hygeorht.”

  Wynn was barely halfway to the barracks door when she spun about at the sharp call of her name.

  CHAPTER 2

  If Wynn thought her panic couldn’t get any worse, she was wrong. From out of the northwest building that housed storage, guest quarters, and sublevels of laboratories came five sages, and High Premin Sykion was in the lead. Right behind the tall, willowy, and stern elder of Wynn’s order of cathologers came Premin Hawes of Metaology in her midnight blue robe, and Domin High-Tower, Wynn’s most direct superior, in gray. Last came two other metaologers that she couldn’t place at the moment. The entire group walked straight at her with tense determination on their faces.

  Wynn briefly wondered what Sykion had been doing in the northwest building, since she’d been told to go to the high premin’s office in the main keep’s upper floors.

  Shade wheeled and rounded in front of Wynn as Magiere and Chap halted at the approaching entourage of sages. Leesil watched them, as well, as he stepped closer to Wynn.

  “What’s going on?” he asked in a hushed voice.

  “Shush!” she answered, glancing anxiously at Magiere. “Let me do the talking.”

  High Premin Sykion stopped four paces off, not even looking at the night visitors with Wynn.

  “What were these people doing in the catacombs?” she demanded. “And why did you violate another rule by letting outsiders into our archives?”

  Wynn blinked, thrown by the sudden question, and a hollow formed in the pit of her stomach. How had the premin learned so quickly about trespassers? Even Domin Tärpodious hadn’t known and only chastised her for leaving the archive unlocked—which she hadn’t. That was Leesil’s doing. Wynn almost blurted out that she hadn’t let them in, but the truth would do no good for her friends.

  Lady Tärtgyth Sykion, once a minor noble of nearby Faunier, was aging and slender but tall and straight. A single braid of her long, silver-gray hair hung out the side of her cowl and down the front of her pristine gray cathologer’s robe. She always maintained a temperate and motherly veneer to obscure whatever she truly thought, but she’d long since given up that maternal pretense in dealing with Wynn.

  “And you can skip your usual denials,” Domin High-Tower added to Sykion’s demand.

  As the only dwarf in any branch of the guild, he stood out. Tall enough to look Wynn in the eyes, he was an intimidating hulk, stout and double-wide under his gray cathologer’s robe. Coarse, gray-laced reddish hair hung barely past his shoulders, the color matching his thick beard with its small end braid. His broad, rough features made his people’s black-pupiled eyes look like iron pellets embedded in pale, flesh-colored granite.

  Considering how good-natured dwarves generally tended to be, an angry or resentful one was something to worry about. High-Tower’s warning troubled Wynn even more. How much did her superiors know about what was happening here? And how did they know?

  Shade backed toward Wynn but remained between her and Sykion. That, too, wasn’t a good sign. Worse again, Wynn heard Magiere’s slow, hissing breath and took a furtive glance.

  Magiere eyed only High-Tower. Chap let out a brief rumble, but his gaze wandered over the entire entourage, one by one. Suddenly, Leesil stepped out with a lighthearted smile.

  Wynn tried to grab him, but she stumbled over Shade’s rump before she could get a grip. Leesil, balancing the travel chest on his shoulder with his left hand, held out his right hand to Sykion and spoke in Belaskian.

  “Forgive our rudeness. I don’t think we’ve met.”

  He probably assumed most sages would understand him, which they wouldn’t. That language was almost unknown on this side of the world, and only those sages traveling to the Farlands would work to learn it.

  Wynn’s stomach knotted, for she knew what Leesil was doing. More than likely, he didn’t care about the actual words. He was just using disarming charm in playing the ignorant foreigner.

  It wasn’t going to work, and Sykion ignored his extended hand.

  Wynn knew something was very wrong here. Outsiders weren’t allowed in the archives without special prior arrangements, but visitors were never treated with this kind of open hostility.

  All five sages looked Leesil up and down, from his slightly slanted amber eyes, white-blond hair, and tan face, to his battered leather hauberk with some of its rings badly scarred, the strange winged punching blades strapped to his thighs, and his cracked and worn calf-high boots.

  Wynn could only guess what he looked like to them—some outcast elven mercenary, if they didn’t catch that he was only half-elven. As the sages assessed him, Wynn took stock of the two others flanking Premin Hawes.

  Both were metaologers, and both men in their early twenties, so likely journeyors. Positioning and demeanor made them look more like bodyguards. Wynn knew firsthand that the premin of metaology didn’t need protection, but then she recognized one of the journeyors.

  The one on the left . . . what was his name? Dorian?

  He was wide shouldered, with dark, straight hair, and Wynn hadn’t seen him around the keep since before she’d first left for the Farlands with Domin Tilswith. He’d been a third-year apprentice back then, and likely he’d been off on his first journeyor’s assignment while she was away. But when journeyors returned, it was either for a new assignment or to attempt the arduous petition process to achieve master status. Later, should an official position open up, one might achieve the official rank of domin.

  Here were two journeyor metaologers at the same time, neither one tucked away preparing for petition and examinations or a new assignment. It didn’t make sense, and Wynn turned her eyes on Premin Hawes.

  Frideswida Hawes was late middle–aged, judging by her short-cropped hair, which was as fully grayed as dull silver. But her narrow features were smooth, from her cold hazel eyes down to the clean, tapered jaw that ended in a slightly pointed chin. Her expression rarely betrayed mood or thought, only calculating awareness.

  Right now, Wynn definitely thought Premin Hawes looked . . . tense.

  She pushed all of this aside. She needed to get her friends out of the courtyard to someplace where they could speak alone. And then she’d have to face whatever Sykion wanted from her.

  “Premin,” Wynn began, as deferentially as she could. “These are friends of mine from the Farlands. They don’t know our ways or—”

  “Go to your room immediately,” Sykion cut in, and she turned to Leesil, though her words were still for Wynn. “Tell them to leave. Now.”

  Wynn’s mouth fell open.

  “Then Wynn leaves with us,” Magiere said, her voice barely shy of a growl.

  At that, Leesil’s head swiveled toward Magiere with worry plain on his face.

  Magiere’s foreign accent was heavy, but her Numanese was good enough to catch all five sages’ attention.

  “Out!” High-Tower barked at her, taking a pounding step and pointing toward the gatehouse tunnel. “You do not tell us how things will be!”

  And the realization hit Wynn that Sykion and High-Tower must know exactly who these visitors were. Wynn had written extensively of Magiere, Leesil, and Chap in her journals, which Sykion and High-Tower had once taken from her. This was all escalating too quickly, and by Magiere’s reaction, it was going to turn ugly.

  Sykion dropped a slender hand to her side and snapped her narrow fingers, and Dorian quick-stepped straight toward Wynn.

  Shade growled at him, but he ignored the dog. The instant the journeyor raised a hand toward Wynn’s shoulder, Shade clacked her teeth at him. Still, Dorian’s hand came down on Wynn’s shoulder.

  Chap lunged three quick steps, baring his teeth.

  Ma
giere gripped her falchion’s hilt. “Get your hand off her!”

  Leesil rushed into Magiere’s way, but she pressed forward against him, almost driving him off his feet as he struggled with the chest.

  “No!” Wynn shouted, and shifted in front of Dorian to block Shade. “It’s all right.”

  Even with her friends in such trouble, Wynn couldn’t risk being thrown out of the guild. The archives were her only resource for information regarding the remaining two orbs. If her friends were driven out, at least they would be nearby somewhere.

  Wynn looked to Chap and slowly shook her head.

  He was silent, as opposed to Shade’s continued growls, but his voice didn’t rise in Wynn’s head. He kept eyeing Dorian, his jowls quivering, but his gaze flicked more than once toward Sykion . . . and then fixed on Hawes.