Sister of the Dead

Chapter 1

Magiere sensed the instant of dawn, though the inn's small room was dark and shuttered. It called her from sleep. This first night with Leesil in her arms lingered in her memory, his shoulder beneath her cheek and her outstretched palm on his chest beneath the blankets. She still feared for him, but perhaps if she kept him always this close, she could keep him safe even from herself.

A more troublesome thought wormed into her awareness. She fought it down, recalling the scent and taste and touch of Leesil in the night, until they'd settled into warm slumber. But the thought wouldn't leave, and perhaps in part it was Leesil's closeness that fed it strength.

Magelia-and Nein'a.

Two mothers waited. One dead, but the second still lived, or so she hoped-for Leesil's sake.

Magiere opened her eyes to see her fingertips peeking from beneath the blanket's edge across Leesil's chest. When she lifted her gaze past his shoulder, still bandaged from their battles, she found his amber eyes looking down at her.

"You're awake," she said.

"I like watching you sleep. It's the only time you're peaceful."

Did he always have to make jokes? Magiere tried to sit up, but his arms closed around her.

"Not yet," he said. "It's early. I don't think the sun is even up."

"It will be soon," she lied, and relaxed back against him.

Her dhampir nature had grown more pronounced in recent days. She felt the sun's presence even when indoors. In the night, the heat Leesil stirred in her made her heightened senses open wide. With only a sliver of moonlight through the window's shutter crack, she'd clearly seen his white-blond hair, narrow face, and lithe body. His amber eyes, almond shaped from his half-elven heritage, were locked upon her. At most times, her unnatural senses frightened or sickened her for what they revealed, but in that night, she hadn't cared so long as all she sensed was him. She was in Leesil's arms, and little else mattered.

Except for two mothers, who'd each left her child with a dark and bloody heritage.

"Did you sleep all right?" she asked.

"A little," he answered.

She knew he might be lying. He often had trouble sleeping, now that he'd stopped drinking. This, as well, was linked to a mother he'd thought dead for years. Magiere peered about the room.

"Where's Chap? Did he stay out all night?"

Leesil smiled. "For once, he showed some manners."

Magiere scowled. She rolled over to reach for the sulfur stick on the bedside table and lit the one candle resting there. The night before, they'd taken this room at the first inn outside Bela, the capital city of Belaski. The three of them had often slept outdoors in past years. Their dog, Chap, would be well enough on his own, but it bothered Magiere that she hadn't thought of him all night.

She rolled back to find Leesil leaning up on one elbow above her. He slid his fingers between hers, a striped pattern of flesh in the mingling. Half-elf and half-undead, they were a strange contrast with his golden-brown skin and white-blond hair and her blood-tinted black tresses and pale flesh. A mischievous smile crossed Leesil's lips, and Magiere lost all concern for the moment. Chap could wait a little longer.

The candlelight revealed their surroundings more clearly.

It was all simple, neat, and pleasant, but it wasn't home- wasn't the Sea Lion tavern in Miiska. Her falchion leaned against the bedside table, close within reach beside the bed on which they lay. Their travel chest and belongings sat under the window, reminding her that soon they would be on the move again.

"What?" he asked.

"Another journey," she answered.

Leesil settled back on the bed, comfortably close as he brushed stands of hair off her face.

"The sages gave me some supplies, but as we get farther north and into the Warlands, restocking could get difficult. More so as we move on to the northern mountains and the Crown Range between there and the elven lands. We'll need more before we leave."

Magiere hesitated. How could she make him face her new choice?

In youth, he'd fled from slavery as a warlord's assassin, knowing his escape would cause his own parents' execution. For years afterward, he drank himself to sleep each night to smother guilt-spawned nightmares. Even Magiere hadn't known, until he'd confessed but a few nights ago. Then an assassin named Sgaile-one of the elven anmaglahk-had come to take Leesil's life. Leesil's mother had betrayed her own caste by teaching him and his father the anmaglahk's cold-blooded ways. The assassin changed his mind and let Leesil go. From this encounter, Leesil suspected his mother still lived, imprisoned all these years by her own people.

Now that he had hope, Magiere had to make him wait even longer.

"Before we seek your mother, if she still lives," she said, "we need to go to my home village in Droevinka."

She'd fled from there nine years ago at the age of sixteen, and the thought of returning made bile rise in her throat. Her discomfort vanished when Leesil's smile faded.

He rose up in the bed. "If she lives? What does that?"

Magiere quickly covered his lips with her fingers as she sat up.

"I didn't mean it that way. I want to believe as much as you… but I had a mother, as well, and a past neither of us knows. I need answers, too."

Twice they'd been manipulated into battles with the undead. The last time they fought, in the king's city of Bela, had left them both with more questions than answers. Magiere learned more of her nature-dhampir, hunter of the dead- in being coerced into ridding Bela of its undead predators. In the end, Welstiel Massing, whom she'd once thought an ally, revealed himself as a Noble Dead akin to the ones he'd pitted her against. He'd staged the encounters to train her for his own purpose in acquiring an unknown artifact supposedly guarded by ancient Noble Dead.

Welstiel had been less than forthcoming or even knowledgeable about her origin, but his actions stirred Magiere's desire to know.

Leesil's eyes betrayed a twinge of dismay as he looked at her. "No… no. " He shook his head. "It's been too many years-"

"Please, listen," Magiere cut in. "This isn't just for me, but for both of us. There's so much we don't know about my past compared to yours."

"And we'll get answers," he said, "but the living come first."

"I wasn't made by the living!" she snapped. "An undead used my mother to make me-to kill its own kind. I need to know why."

Leesil fell silent. Guilt over lashing out at him made Magiere calm herself before continuing.

"Before we can head north through the Warlands and beyond to the elven territory, we must travel eastward and inland, around the Gulf of Belaski. That's halfway to Droevinka and my past, so close to my answers and less than a third the distance we will travel north."

She put her hands upon Leesil's cheeks and leaned in close until her forehead touched his. When she lifted her head again, he stared downward, not looking at her. His expression softened as his hand slid down her cheek, her long neck, and across her breastbone, and finally gripped her hand.

"All right, it makes sense. If my mother is alive after all this time, likely she's in no danger. It makes no odds if we take a little longer to reach her."

Magiere scooted forward and wrapped herself around him, flesh to flesh, and held him. He understood, but it made her feel no better for having forced it upon him.

"And I swear," she whispered in his ear, "once we learn what we can for me, we'll hurry north for your mother."

She pulled back enough to look into his sad but resolved eyes. Although she spoke calmly, the scope of their impending journey left her feeling small and lost. He was about to answer when the thud of a door and running feet echoed from somewhere out front in the inn, and footsteps grew louder.

"The innkeeper is up and about," Magiere said, wanting to push away the outside world a bit longer.

Leesil shifted her out of his lap and reached for his breeches as he swung his legs over the bed's side.

"No," he said. "It's probably-"

The little room's door burst open and slammed against the wall.

"Magiere… Leesil! I'm coming with you!" Wynn cried out, and she twisted the latch and shoved the door open with both hands. "Domin Tilswith gave me leave!"

The instant the door struck the wall, Wynn Hygeorht, apprentice for the Belaskian branch of the Guild of Sagecraft, stopped cold.

All her excitement drained away.

Leesil clutched a blanket as he grabbed for his breeches, his wiry torso dark gold in the candlelight. Startled, Magiere jerked the blanket back over her own specterlike body. The blanket snapped from Leesil's hand, and he lost his grip on the trousers, as well. His amber eyes widened, and Wynn's cheeks flushed as all thought scurried from her mind.

Leesil stood before her, stark naked.

"Oh…" Wynn stammered. "Oh…"

The door recoiled from the wall and struck her shoulder, and Wynn stumbled back into the opening. A low grunt made her glance down long enough to see Chap standing beside her. A few burrs and twigs stuck in the dog's long silver-gray fur, and his crystalline eyes widened as he looked into the room.

Wynn lifted her head again, and embarrassment overwhelmed all good sense.

"Forgetful gods, Wynn!" Magiere snapped, still clutching the blanket as she stood up. "With all that learning, didn't those sages teach you to knock?"

With a sudden inhalation, Wynn slapped her hands over her eyes at the sight of an exposed Leesil and an incensed Magiere heading straight for her. In less time than it took to announce her presence, she had lost the good graces of everyone she intended to join on the coming journey. How much worse could this possibly become?

"Get out!" Magiere snarled.

Wynn fumbled for the doorframe, too mortified to open her eyes. Two large paws thumped against her rear, and she stumbled into hallway. She heard the door slam shut behind her as she caught herself on the passage's far wall.

When she turned about to peek between her fingers, Chap sat before the closed door. His translucent blue eyes were filled with something akin to an elder's disappointment. Wynn slid down the wall to slump upon the floor.

"You should have warned me," she said.

Chap cocked his head, unblinking. His expression was too much like that of an old master sage waiting for a slow pupil to see the obvious answer to a stupid question.

Wynn stared back at the closed door. "Oh, my," she groaned.

Chap grunted and licked his nose.

"Oh, be quiet," Wynn snapped.

Leesil belted on his breeches and pulled his shirt over his head. "Well, now neither of us has any secrets from Wynn."

"You knew she was coming," Magiere said in the same biting tone she'd used on Wynn.

Leesil saw the accusing wrinkle of Magiere's brow as her own white shirt dropped around her neck. It was difficult to decide which response would spare him the worst of her coming assault. An uncovered lie would be dangerous later, but so was the truth in the moment.

Looking at Magiere's uncanny beauty, at her black hair loose over her shoulders, and her pale face and dark eyes, such a choice was exasperating. Only the day before, he'd thought their previous night together could never have happened.

As much as Leesil adored her challenging nature, and even goaded it at times to watch her smolder, this wasn't the time for another clash with Magiere. And worse, with the lingering memory of her pressed against him, he couldn't think of a convincing lie.

"Yes, I knew," he admitted. "I gave Wynn a necklace to sell, and she's brought us the coins from it."

"Necklace? What necklace? Leesil, what did you?"

"I took it from Sapphire's body before we burned her corpse in Bela. We've a long way to go, and we're not going to get there on your bad temper and my charm."

He jerked the door open before she could come at him again.

Chap sat before the open door, his tail thumping. Wynn slumped against the far wall, her face buried in her hands. Barely twenty years old Wynn had a round face and brown braid hanging over one shoulder, and the sage's traditional long gray robe had been replaced with a shorter one that hung to the thighs of her new breeches.

Her little hands slid down from her eyes and she peeked up at Leesil, her olive cheeks flushed, and she covered her face again.

"You two get in here," Leesil ordered.

Chap trotted in, and, at the sight of Magiere's stern expression, he slipped past the travel chest and out of the way. Wynn entered more slowly.

"I am so truly sorry," she whispered.

Magiere crossed her arms. Leesil tensed as he shut the door, waiting to see if she would continue with him or turn her ire elsewhere.

"What's this nonsense about coming with us?" she snapped at Wynn. "You're supposed to be on your way to Miiska with our payment from Bela's city council."

Leesil and Magiere had been well paid for their services. Wynn had promised to take a bank draft to Miiska with a letter to their friend Karlin explaining their plans and other matters.

"Domin Tilswith will go in my place," Wynn blurted, plainly relieved that her poor manners seemed forgotten. "Your town council can begin building the community warehouse. He asked me to travel with you to the elven territory and serve as your translator. The elves here are different from those of my continent, so reclusive and secretive, and-"

"You're not coming with us," Leesil cut in, astonished. Wynn was little more than a sparrow barely out of its mother's nest-too innocent and naive to get involved in what he and Magiere didn't fully understand. "Now, did you sell the necklace I gave you?"

The young sage stood silent. With only a brief hesitation, she frowned, pulled a pouch from her robe's pocket, and handed it to him.

Leesil looked into it and found a fistful of coins, half gold and half silver, and mostly sovereigns. It was more than enough to see them through the coming seasons, or so he hoped.

"I received a good price for it-and I am coming with you," Wynn said. "Domin Tilswith assisted you both more than once and gave you shelter in Bela. He wishes me to-"

"I doubt it was his idea," Magiere scoffed.

"We have other more immediate plans," Leesil said. "And when we do turn toward the elven territory, it may well be winter. Wynn, you aren't fit for such a journey, and we don't have time to coddle a scholar on the road."

Wynn straightened her back, head up, embarrassment replaced by stubborn indignation. Leesil had seen this more than once during their time in Bela.

"And how will you get your answers?" she asked. "Do you speak the elven language? Does Magiere?" Wynn pointed at Chap. "Ah, he does. Perhaps Chap can translate for you."

Leesil's annoyance was getting the better of him. "This is going to be dangerous. We're walking blind and don't even know who or what is toying with us, let alone why."

"And still," Wynn said, "how many languages do you read and speak? Not that of your mother's people. Magiere can barely read at all. I can translate for you and speak with and for Chap, as well. In return, I will bring back new knowledge for my guild. I traveled nearly a year across land and ocean to reach this country with my domin and the other sages. I do not need you to-"

"Aren't you listening?" Magiere asked. "We're not heading north. First, we go inland to my old home in Droevinka, which means a longer journey than you thought. There are places in my homeland where they don't speak Belaskian, and you'll be the ignorant one. So much for your services."

Leesil saw a strange concentration, or perhaps eagerness, fill Wynn's expression at the mention of Magiere's homeland. The sage's gaze fixed upon Magiere's face for a moment before she spoke.

"All the more to learn of… this continent's people and cultures. Language is my strength as a cathologer, a sage skilled in the nature of knowledge itself. One more to learn is one more benefit of the journey. There is no choice in the matter. Leave without me, and I will only follow you."

Chap groaned, and his furry face wrinkled like Magiere's scowl.

Leesil exchanged glances with Magiere, but neither of them said a word.

Though half-elven, he'd never known his mother's people or learned their language. Wynn might prove useful, once they turned north out of Droevinka. But by the way the stubborn little sage reacted to Magiere's homeward purpose, there was more to Wynn's interests than fabled lands and foreign tongues.

"Let's pack up the wagon and pay the innkeeper," he said. "Save the rest of the talk, as we have to go back into Bela for more supplies."

The barest smile settled on Wynn's lips as she turned toward the door. "Come, Chap. I brought something for you."

As she stepped out, Chap glanced up, but Leesil shrugged. The dog whined and loped after the young sage as Magiere shook her head in disbelief.

Leesil gathered their few belongings, carrying their chest with Magiere's help. Outside by the road, he shivered in the chill autumn air and spotted Wynn's pile of belongings stacked beside the inn's front door. He led the way around the side to the stable, a rickety shake roof on poles that leaned against the inn's weathered wall for support. Crude railings divided its weed-strewn space into stalls, and therein were the two horses for their nearby wagon.

Wynn crouched upon the ground with a large piece of tanned hide rolled out before her. Its edges were cut square, and its length and breadth matched the reach of one arm. On it were rows of elegant and curved markings and symbols, either singular or in groups, and all drawn with ink. Some were organized into columns, and a few groups of symbols like scrawled words or phrases were set off to either side within small circles and squares.

The markings were strangely familiar to Leesil, though for a moment he couldn't remember when or where he'd seen them. Then he remembered Wynn scribbling with chalk upon the floor of the sages' barracks. They'd stumbled upon Chap's little secret, a hint to his true nature as a majay-hi, a Fay in a dog's body. Wynn marked words and letters upon the floor so he could paw out answers to her questions, though the process had proved less than efficient.

Leesil stepped closer, as did Magiere. The hide Wynn had made was more compact and orderly but still as unreadable to Leesil as the chalk all over the barracks floor.

Chap cocked his head and began pawing at the hide.

"Not bad," Leesil commented. "But we need to get on with the day."

"I only wanted to show it to him," Wynn said with puzzlement.

She watched Chap's awkward pawing, and as she tried to catch up, she spoke in the odd lilting and chopped tongue of the elves.

"A 'bithva, Chap? A 'bithva jeannis?"

Chap pawed more symbols, and Wynn followed with her eyes, lips moving silently. The dog stopped, poised on haunches, and looked up at Leesil and then Magiere.

Wynn stood up with her small hands clenched.

"You left him outside… all night?" The words caught in her throat as if she couldn't quite get them out. "How could you? With no food, no water!"

Magiere stiffened and spoke so quietly that Leesil was immediately on his guard.

"Is this what we can look forward to? That mutt gets to use her for his endless whining and begging?"

Chap wrinkled his muzzle; then he licked his nose at Magiere. Leesil hoped it wasn't some kind of gesture, or at least that Magiere wouldn't think so.

"I'm sure it will prove more useful than that," he said.

Despite her outward anger, Magiere rummaged in the back of their wagon until she procured some dried meat and a water flask.

"At least we can question him more easily," she said, and set out strips of jerky and a tin mug of water for Chap.

Leesil wasn't so confident, as Chap hadn't been forthcoming so far. He kept this to himself as he helped Wynn haul her belongings to the wagon. The sage dug in her leather pack to bring out a waxed parchment. When she unfolded it, Leesil smelled the mint before he saw the wad of tiny leaves within.

"I thought we were leaving, not setting up house," he chided.

"I left in a hurry to catch you this morning," she said. "I assume none of us have had breakfast."

Magiere shook her head. "We'll get something in the city while we gather supplies."

"No," Wynn argued, digging out yet another parchment pouch. "I need my tea. We can ask the innkeeper to send hot water to your room. A proper start for the day."

Leesil rolled his eyes and headed back to the inn to see if the old proprietress was about.

"Please ask for three clean mugs," Wynn called out, "so we need not unpack any of yours."

Leesil bit on his lower lip as he shoved the inn's front door open. So much for Wynn needing no coddling-and she'd been with them barely since dawn.

That night, as the sun dropped below the horizon, Chane opened his eyes. His internal awareness was unusually precise, even for a Noble Dead. He fell dormant at sunrise and woke at sunset, but for the first time in memory, he felt a moment's uncertainty of his surroundings. Then he remembered.

He was in a country barn that his new companion, Welstiel Massing, had led them to the previous night. An iron pitchfork, shovel, and hoe leaned against the weathered wall near the double doors, and the place smelled of stale hay, rust, and dried dung. In place of livestock, all he sensed were small lives, perhaps mice, and his own rat curled inside his cloak pocket. Sitting up in the loose pile of old hay, he watched a fat spider above him crawl across a web glistening with evening dew. The egg sac it approached seemed ready to burst with a hundred new lives.

Chane had never awoken in such a place or such a state. He had plotted the death of his own master and creator to achieve freedom. Now he grew nostalgic for his clean cellar room in the lavish home back in Bela, regardless of the servitude and enslavement that had come with it. He pulled his cloak tighter about himself, though he felt no cold. Freedom had its price, so it seemed.

"Welstiel?" he said, voice cracking the silence of the decaying barn.

"Here," a cultured voice answered.

Chane started at the movement in the stall across from him. A figure stirred, arose, and stepped from those deeper shadows and into the open space between the stalls.

As always, Chane sensed nothing of his new companion. Both of them were Noble Dead, both adept in their arcane arts. Welstiel could be seen, heard, and touched, but even to Chane's heightened awareness, nothing of his life force, or rather its lack, could be sensed. Chane did not know how this was so, and that unnerved him further.

Welstiel brushed the straw from his black wool cloak. Of medium height and build, he appeared to be in his early to mid-forties by human standards. He wore his dark brown hair combed back, revealing his most distinguishing feature of two sliver-white patches at each temple. He wasn't wearing his gloves, and Chane's eyes strayed down to the man's one tiny oddity-the missing half of the little finger on Welstiel's left hand.

Chane was taller, in his mid-twenties by appearance, with pale skin and red-brown hair halfway to his shoulders, which he tucked behind his ears. They had spoken sparingly the night before upon their first direct encounter following all that had happened in Bela. Now Chane was uncertain what to say or what came next in their newfound association. He reached for his sword nearby, pulled his cloak back as he got up, and strapped on the blade.

"Where to now?" he asked.

'To the inn where Magiere and Leesil slept," Welstiel answered. "We will pick up her trail from there."

Chane hesitated before asking, "Why are we following her?"

Welstiel studied him closely, as he had done on the night before. He stepped closer.

"Why are you here? Why join me?"

His dispassionate tone betrayed only mild interest, but Chane knew his answer must be convincing. He had lived in Bela with his "master," Toret, a lowborn little vampire who had managed to turn a noble like Chane for protection and moderate wealth. Forced to obey this creature that had raised him from death, Chane's first goal had been to find a way to destroy Toret. When the dhampir and her half-blood arrived to hunt Bela's undead, Chane had finally arranged for Toret to lose his head. Yet nothing afterward had occurred as expected.

"I was imprudent," Chane answered. "I sought to be free of Toret, but I had not anticipated losing my home, my inheritance, and-"

"Your welcome at the Guild of Sagecraft?" Welstiel offered.

The halting conversation of the previous night had given Chane a handful of wary moments. Welstiel's awareness of all in Toret's household was unnerving, particularly how much he seemed to know of Chane.

Chane nodded.

"Is that where you sought to spend your time, once free of Toret?" Welstiel asked. "With the old domin… Tilswith, I believe, and bis little apprentice, Wynn?"

Chane repressed a flinch and remained stoic.

He had counted on retaining the house, retrieving his inheritance, and keeping his undead nature a secret through long years in calming company at the sages' guild. Magiere had exposed him, and though he had escaped slavery, all had been lost-including his welcome in Wynn's company.

He had nowhere else to go.

Welstiel had a purpose in seeking the dhampir, and all that Chane had left was the longing for revenge for what Magiere had cost him. He would bide his time with whatever reasons might satisfy Welstiel.

"I am here now," Chane said. "And you are tracking the dhampir. Why?"

"She is unique and critical to my objectives," Welstiel replied. "But you are young in this existence. Your mortal family must still be alive. Why not go home? If they wish to be rid of you, they could replace part of your inheritance."

Chane shook his head. "I cannot go crawling home for coins. If my father learned how I lost… I cannot."

Welstiel scanned their surroundings until his gaze returned to the small brass urn hanging upon a chain around Chane's neck. He pointed first to Chane's sword, then to the urn.

"You are skilled and resourceful, so you may be useful to me. I offer you a bargain. I will pay you enough to travel west across the ocean, to Calm Seatt in Malourne or from there to the Suman Empire and the capital of Samau'a Gaulb. Both cities have longstanding branches of the Guild of Sagecraft. They are like nothing you can imagine compared with the meager offerings in Bela. I will prepare letters of introduction for you to certain connections I have. You have time on your side. In thirty years, few here will even remember your name, and you can return, if you wish. Time is the one true advantage that our… kind has."

The last words were spoken bitterly, and this gave Chane pause. Did Welstiel despise his own existence? He pushed the question aside.

"And in exchange?"

"Assist me and be rewarded," Welstiel replied, and then his voice lowered. "And put aside any foolish notion of revenge."

Welstiel's offer still smacked vaguely of servitude, but some of the fog clouding the future lifted from Chane's mind. He longed to speak with Wynn even once more, but this was impossible now that she knew what he was. The prospect of finding a place in another sage's guild was at least a second-best enticement. It filled him with anticipation akin to warm blood flowing from a fear-filled victim. And if Welstiel should forget this arrangement, there remained the smaller pleasure of revenge upon the dhampir, and thereby against Welstiel himself for any deceit.

Chane nodded his acceptance.

Welstiel pulled on his black leather gloves and started for the barn's doors. Chane picked up the sack and leather-strapped chest that held his remaining possessions and followed. They did not speak again while walking.

The woods were not dense between the farmland fields, but Welstiel kept to the trees and off the road until they were almost upon the small inn. It rested amid its scant neighboring buildings beside the main road out of Bela. Ill-kempt, weathered, and with a side stable that leaned severely into its eastern timber wall, the inn had the look of a place rarely visited. Few incoming travelers would stop here so close to a city where better options waited. And once leaving the capital, likely at daybreak, fewer still would pause for the night after traveling such a short distance.

Welstiel knocked at the front door. When no one answered, he knocked again. The door eventually cracked open, and a squat woman with graying hair peered out. She took in Welstiel's wool cloak and opened the entry a little farther.

"Didn't expect no one after dark tonight," she said in a muffled voice, and she frowned at the fine patrons upon her doorstep. "Got a room, but it ain't been cleaned."

Chane stepped closer. It was unlikely a room should remain uncleaned all day in an establishment this small. He caught the scent of cheap liquor beneath stale sweat on the woman's skin. Not expecting further business, she'd probably taken her payment from Magiere, purchased a jug for herself, and spent the afternoon drinking. He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"We are not seeking lodging," Welstiel said politely. "We arranged to meet friends here but were delayed and have become separated. She is a tall, young woman with black hair traveling with a blond-haired man and a dog. Did they stay here?"

The innkeeper's brow creased over bloodshot eyes, and Chane realized she wasn't as witless or drunk as she first appeared. Her faded brown dress was stained but not dirty, and while wisps of graying hair escaped her braid, it was still reasonably well bound. She glanced at Chane.

"You gentlemen are friends of that rough woman-and mat half-blood? He didn't fool me none with the scarf. I saw his eyes."

Welstiel's calm expression never faltered as he held out a silver shil, far more than a night's lodging would cost in a place like this.

"Could we see the room? Perhaps they left a hint as to where they were going."

The woman's eyes widened for an instant. She grunted, taking the coin, and reached back inside for a lantern. "This way."

She led them along a narrow side hall. Chane followed behind, wondering what Welstiel expected to learn from an unmade bed or a full chamber pot. The old woman opened a lone side door in the hall. The bed indeed was unmade, and the room was bare from what Chane could see as Welstiel and the old woman stepped in ahead of him. Chane heard the pulse beating beneath the innkeeper's flesh in the dim room.

In Bela, he'd often hunted in the poor sectors for concealment. If sustenance was all that time allowed, he was not choosy about slovenly or inebriated prey. He stepped through the doorway and closer, as the old woman followed Welstiel, and he reached for the sagging scruff of her neck.

Welstiel turned, surveying the room by the woman's lantern light, and his gaze stopped on Chane. He slowly shook his head once.

Chane willed his hand down to his side. A flash of anger passed through him, growing upon the smoldering hunger. The innkeeper, as if suddenly aware she was alone with two strange men, turned to look at him.

"Where were they going?" Welstiel asked.

"How should I know?" she retorted. "I ain't no eavesdropper or peeper!"

"Of course not," Welstiel said apologetically and opened his purse again. "Perhaps you heard something in passing that might be helpful?"

Again she grunted. "The half-blood said something about resupplying in Bela, and the woman talked of the inland road around the gulf. That's all I remember."

Welstiel gave her another silver shil and put his hand on her shoulder. He steered her toward the door as Chane stepped out of her way.

"You have been most helpful, madam," Welstiel said. "If you could leave us, we will be on our way momentarily."

Two coins in hand, the innkeeper glanced at him once and did not argue. "Good night, sir," she said, as if remembering her manners.

"Good night," Welstiel answered, and closed the door behind her.

When the woman's footsteps faded down the hall, Chane turned on Welstiel.

"There is no one else here to sound an alarm. Who knows when we'll have a chance to feed again?"

Welstiel leaned threateningly toward Chane. "You will not leave a trail of torn bodies like some rabid animal. Control your urges or be gone."

Chane did not relish servitude to a new master now that he was free of Toret, but he remained silent. Hunger's heat faded too slowly for comfort, leaving his senses fully open to cast about the small room. The scent of life thinned in the old woman's absence, and something more subtle took its place.

Sweet, almost refreshing, it brought him the memory of quiet moments, ancient texts and scrolls, and a cold lamp gleaming brightly from a tabletop. He pictured Wynn sitting beside him and could almost smell the herbal aroma that followed her everywhere. But the fragrance was not hers.

"So, what now?" he asked, looking about the room at the disarrayed bed, the small stool, the bedside table with its half-melted candle and three mugs.

"We go into Bela and purchase horses," Welstiel replied. "Magiere is beginning a journey. I suspected but was uncertain until now. Purchasing supplies in a large city likely took until noon. They cannot be more than half a day ahead of us, and we might close the distance before sunrise. We must hurry to find a stable still open now that night has come."

Chane barely heard Welstiel's words as he fixated upon the three pottery mugs. He stepped closer to the bedside table, and the strange scent of memory surrounded him. Dread crept into him as he picked up one mug.

At its bottom was a single mint leaf among scant tea grounds.

It had been an evening at the guild barracks, filled with quiet company and the curiosity of a scroll from The Forgotten, the lost history, when Wynn had last offered him such a cup. Sage and scholar, she did not waste her precious existence in the drudgery of the masses, the cattle of the humanity. She was unique, a living treasure.

Wynn had come to Magiere and Leesil.

Had she joined them? It would be a delicate matter to play along until he could decide to take revenge upon Magiere or continue to serve Welstiel's vague agenda. What if Wynn were there, caught amidst all of it and unable to fend for herself?

His hand shook as he set down the mug, and he felt Welstiel's attention upon him.

"What is it?" Welstiel asked.

"Nothing."

The number of mugs was not lost on his companion, and Welstiel stepped closer to pick up the same one Chane had examined. Welstiel turned it slowly, studying the remains in its bottom.

"I doubt they shared tea with the dog. Who was the third person?"

Chane held up his open hands as if he had nothing to offer.

Welstiel returned the mug to its companions upon the table. "Shall we go?"

Chane's attention hung one moment longer upon the mug, with the scent of mint still filling his head.

The city of Bela had faded from sight, and Chap darted through the roadside brush in the dark chill air. Nightfall had passed, but Magiere still pressed them onward, as if half a day in the city had delayed their journey too long, and they needed to make up ground. Chap heard the wagon rolling along the road behind him.

His companions had purchased heavy winter cloaks, a few extra shirts, and ample supplies, though perhaps not enough of the smoked mutton that Chap had found in an open market. They were well stocked and back on the open road once again. It should have been a joyful change. He could not stop this journey, nor would he wish to if it would lead them to the answers they sought. But seeking Magiere's past was another matter.

Chap ran, feeling his body's strength and speed as wild grass pulled at his silver fur. He slowed to circle into a sparse grove, paws treading across the mulch floor of the small clearing therein.

A breeze lashed his coat, striking downward from the sky instead of through the trees. The answering hushed chatter of branches did not follow immediately. He heard the forest's whisper all around him.

Chap spun about with a low rumble in his throat.

The clearing was loosely walled with scattered spruce and beech trees grown tall from roots sunk deep into the earth. Branches reached out to one another, like interlacing a circle of sentinels holding hands. He peered between them into the dark woods beyond, searching, but there was nothing out of place. Yet the wall of trees thickened in places where he had looked away too long and back again. Movement within their branches made the limbs sway ever so slightly.

Fool… miscreant… betrayer!

Whispers lashed into his thoughts from all around, and Chap snarled, kicking up needles and leaves from the forest floor as he spun about.

Eyes glittered at him from dark shadows beneath the branches, like stars pulled from the sky and held captive amid the foliage. A flutter of wings passed overhead, and Chap ducked instinctively. Claws skittered on bark as some small creature raced up the trunk of the largest of the trees now ringing him in.

Chap turned toward the ancient sentinel with its gnarled bark and full spread of crooked limbs, not yet cowering under the shame rising inside him. The movement of unseen living creatures made the dark spaces between its branches open and close like mouths taking in breath to denounce him with every exhalation.

Fallen is our kin in his flesh. So distracted from purpose.

Chap shrank back with his eyes upon his accuser. He felt its sentiment echoed by unseen others all around him.

His kin gathered here.

All around in the forms of the forest they came. Within leaf and needle, branch and trunk, and small bright eyes peering out at him from the dark spaces. Even within the air and earth was the growing presence of them-of the Fay-until he felt them in the tingle of his skin beneath his thick fur.

The ring of woods about him thickened with their presence, and all attention was upon Chap alone.

He answered back. I have not failed yet.

The crackle of wood filled up the clearing. But you permit the child of the dead to wander the path you were sent to turn her from? Turn her aside!

Chap flinched, standing rigid before the old tree, and he dropped his head. How… What more could I do?

A flight of birds darker than the night broke from the tree limbs to dive at him. Chap leaped aside, and their screeching echoed well after they dispersed back into the woods.

Force her…, came the answer.

Chap backed away one step-No.

Charm her…

A low rumble escaped his throat as outrage washed away shame. He had been sent to keep Magiere from the past, from the truth of her origins, but his kin asked too much. He would not force Magiere's decision. He would not influence her mind.

Never.

The clearing's air began to churn. Chap darted to one side, but the whipping breeze followed. Leaves and twigs, dirt and pebbles ripped from the forest floor to lash at him. He crouched down upon the ground with closed eyes as sorrow coursed through him. He would not force Magiere, not dominate her like a slave, but neither would he leave her.

I am with her always to guide her. I have not failed yet.

The churning air quieted, and the pelting of his body ceased.

Silence lingered until Chap thought he was once again alone, but he still felt his kin all around, quiet and contemplative until the acknowledgment came. We cling to hope.

Chap heard his own labored breathing, felt the pounding of his heart and the cool earth beneath his belly. All else in the woods was quiet. Even the tingle on his own skin had faded.

A light breeze made the branches sway and rustle. No longer a wall of limbs and shadows, they were as widely scattered as when he'd first entered the clearing. When Chap lifted his head, his kin were gone, and all that remained was the living world around him.

"Chap!" Leesil's voice called out. "Where in the seven hells are you?"

He turned and loped toward the road but stopped short to look back, then sat down to wait halfway between road and clearing. When the wagon rolled up, Magiere pulled the horses to a halt.

"No more running off," Magiere grumbled at him.

Wynn clambered out of the wagon's back, wobbling slightly as she rubbed her stiff legs. Outfitted in breeches, stout little boots, and a white shirt, her hooded short-robe did not quite reach her knees. She looked strange, perhaps less solemn, without her long gray robe.

"I do not care how far you want to get from the city," she said on an exhale, and glared up at Magiere on the wagon's bench. "This is far enough for one day, let alone part of a night."

Before Magiere could answer, Leesil hopped down from his place beside her.

"I have to agree," he said. "And Chap's already found a decent clearing to camp for the night."

"We could have booked passage on a schooner," Magiere said, and tied off the reins. "That would have taken us straight across the gulf to the Vudran Bay and the mouth of the Vudrask River. Then we needn't bother with this wagon-or camping at night."

"I told you," Leesil responded, "I have no intention of ever voluntarily climbing back onto some floating casket. Watching my food come up over and over again is not my idea of entertainment."

An old argument, but its familiarity brought Chap no comfort. And yet, he had made his point to his kin. He would not fall from his way, and he would not dominate or enslave Magiere's will. Persuasion was another matter, and there was time left to change her path.

As Wynn unpacked and Magiere tended the horses, Leesil walked toward Chap with his waterskin in hand. He patted Chap on the head as he passed, then stopped with a wrinkle of his nose.

"What have you been rolling in?" Leesil muttered, and wiped the dirt off his hand from touching Chap's head. "You… a Fay? My splinter-ridden backside! Less than a day out, and already you need a bath."

Chap lay down in that very spot and watched over his companions until late into the night.