First and Last Sorcerer

Chapter Four

At dusk that evening, Dänvârfij crouched with Rhysís on a rooftop in sight of the main gates to the imperial grounds. They had been there since dawn.

“I do not believe any guards will leave the palace after dark,” Rhysís whispered.

Dänvârfij did not answer. They had held their vigil together rather than in shifts and rarely moved about alone, for Brot’ân’duivé was in the capital somewhere. Only she and Rhysís together stood a chance against a greimasg’äh who had eliminated more than half of their team across half a world. And their task for today—tonight—had been to capture an imperial guard for interrogation.

Should one such emerge alone, Dänvârfij thought it best to have two to track and silently steal away their target. But not a single guard wearing a gold sash had gone farther than the main gates all day. She now second-guessed her strategy, wondering whether she had ever seen a member of the imperial forces alone outside the palace grounds.

Of course they would accompany the emperor or the prince should either have reason to leave, but how often did that happen? Not once since she had arrived in this stinking human city. The emperor was bedridden, and the prince was reputed to love his garden and books and seldom ventured out. What had seemed a plan with some potential had become an exercise in futile waiting ... like so many other plans of late.

Far too many days and nights had passed since she arranged for the “arrest” of Magiere and Léshil by Most Aged Father’s instructions. As of yet, she had not found a way to learn even where her quarry was being held. Failure after failure began to take its toll.

Looking at her hands, Dänvârfij found both unconsciously clenched into fists.

“Remaining after dark will not profit us,” Rhysís pressed. “There was little food or water in our room when we left. We need to purchase provisions before the last of the shops close.”

Dänvârfij shifted only her eyes toward him. He still watched the gate, his expression flat and emotionless with his uncombed white-blond hair hanging loose around his face. Loyal, composed, and highly skilled, his less than subtle challenge was another sign of failing discipline.

They had been away from home and Most Aged Father’s guidance for too long.

Anmaglâhk thought nothing of going without food or water for days. Their task, their mission, their given purpose was all that mattered. Rhysís now suggested leaving their chosen watch because one day had passed without success.

He thought of Én’nish.

Not of Fréthfâre, the spiteful and crippled ex-consul to Most Aged Father, waiting to hear of at least one task fulfilled. No, Rhysís thought only of Én’nish, the still wounded member of their team. His growing need to care for her had become a problem, which had started even before she had been so badly wounded.

Dänvârfij’s lips parted as anger sparked. She stopped before uttering a word.

Of what remained of her team, Rhysís was the last able member besides herself. She needed him. Half a world away from home, the four of them had no one but one another. Perhaps he understood that better than she did.

“Do you have coin?” she asked him.

He nodded once, though he still watched the gate and walls. He had been resupplying their money by robbing people in alleys and leaving no witnesses.

Dänvârfij looked to the gate and wondered whether Rhysís was correct. There seemed little chance any imperial guards, let alone one, would emerge after dark. Yet simply leaving felt like another defeat after so many others.

“As you say,” she whispered. “We will purchase supplies before the shops close. Once we see to the needs of Én’nish and Fréthfâre, we return to our purpose here.”

Dänvârfij did not need to look at him again. She heard the soft shift of his cloak’s hood from one nod. In this way, she consented to his indirect request without abandoning their task completely. Taking the lead, she slipped off the roof’s edge and dropped soundlessly to the back alley’s floor.

Brot’ân’duivé lay flat atop a roof three structures behind his quarry. He watched as Dänvârfij and Rhysís dropped into an alley below. He did not move at losing sight of them.

They would not try to gain entrance to the imperial grounds, so they would have only one other destination in abandoning their chosen post. But other details remained a mystery.

Dänvârfij had changed tactics.

She had spent the entire day on a rooftop with Rhysís. Both had watched the main gates, waiting for something. For what, and why? And was she no longer allowed inside?

Brot’ân’duivé hated being in ignorance of even whether or not Léshil and Magiere still lived. He had sacrificed too much to fail and would accept no outcome other than their eventual rescue.

He froze in stillness, clearing his mind ... until it was as still and quiet as a shadow.

The last year had taken something from him. Before, he would not have allowed himself to be “rattled,” as humans would say. In slow, deep breaths, he shifted across the roof toward the street below, recounting the few facts available to him.

Most Aged Father was aware of the existence of only one orb, or “anchor”—that of Water—but did not know to even call it by its proper reference. He knew it only as an artifact of unknown purpose created and wielded by the Ancient Enemy. He was willing to do anything to acquire it or, short of that, remove it from human hands.

Most Aged Father did not know of the other four orbs.

Brot’ân’duivé did, though he had yet to see one.

He knew the one of Earth had been hidden in the dwarven underworld of Dhredze Seatt. Chap had hidden Water and Fire somewhere along the coast of the northern wastes of this central continent. And even now, Wynn Hygeorht was likely somewhere in Malourné seeking the orb of Spirit.

These ancient “anchors of creation” must have unmeasured power if they had served the Ancient Enemy. How much power and to what purpose, Brot’ân’duivé did not yet know. If they had a use in whatever was coming, he would learn it and, if possible, place that use in the hands of one person.

A name had been placed on that individual by one of his people’s sacred ancestral spirits, by Léshiâra—“Sorrow-Tear.”

Leesil ... Léshil ... Léshiârelaohk—“Sorrow-Tear’s Champion.”

Léshil had been named as the champion of the ancestors.

For this, Brot’ân’duivé had refused to be shaken off, even when Léshil—or especially Chap—had made it clear they wanted him gone or worse. He had protected them all from anmaglâhk, spilled the blood of his own caste, and would not be severed from his agenda.

If such devices would not serve Léshil’s purpose, they might still serve Brot’ân’duivé in removing Most Aged Father forever.

In either case, he had to first locate and free Léshil, as well as Magiere and Wayfarer, and even Chap.

Movement in the street below stilled his thoughts and fixed his attention.

Dänvârfij and Rhysís walked rapidly away into the city. Such haste marked a strange desperation that puzzled and restrained Brot’ân’duivé. That Dänvârfij kept returning to her vigil before the palace gates meant that she at least believed Magiere and the others still lived. Brot’ân’duivé’s reason and instinct told him that she knew little more of use.

Perhaps she was now embarking on a new strategy, one that might even serve him, and that was all that kept her alive for now.

He could have broken into their inn earlier that evening, tortured Én’nish and Fréthfâre for information, and made them tell him what they knew. But they might know little more than what he had already uncovered, and such drastic action would have ended their use to him.

Brot’ân’duivé remained upon the rooftop until Dänvârfij was well down the way, and then he scaled down the building to follow.

Shortly before dusk, Ghassan again slipped away from his sect’s ensorcelled sanctuary. Heavily cloaked, he walked softly through the darkening streets, somewhat relieved by a few moments to himself. The afternoon had been straining.

Once he and Wynn had put away newly purchased food stores, she immediately began pressing him about his plans to free Magiere and the others. Sharing news of his alliance with Prince Ounyal’am—over half the prince’s lifetime—should not be done until necessary. Ghassan had managed to put her off.

In addition, among the most unwanted complications, he had also noticed something unspoken between her and the quiet an’Cróan archer. Wynn seemed almost manically determined to fill every moment with some sort of activity. It had taken Ghassan only a little while to realize she did so in order to avoid speaking to Osha. In the end, she’d asked Ghassan to tutor her in colloquial Sumanese. He had readily agreed, if only to keep her from badgering him further.

And then ... there was the chest in the second room on the floor beside one of the beds.

He longed to study the orb of Spirit, but it was always watched, and he knew it was too soon to safely ask Wynn for permission. Trust had to be gained first, and if it was not, there were other ways. More bizarre was the guardian of that chest.

Chane Andraso lay on his back, fully clothed and not breathing, appearing dead for all practical purposes on the bed beside the chest. Ghassan had spent other afternoons of his life in stranger settings—but not many. Once dusk was pending, he donned his cloak while assuring Wynn that he would not be gone long.

The streets were still busy in the early evening, now that the day’s heat had subsided. Numerous people conducted business and errands to get out of their homes and into the relatively cooler air. As he began looking for a side street, cutway, or alley with fewer passersby, he was suddenly startled—and then troubled.

The medallion inside Ghassan’s shirt grew suddenly warm.

He had not expected the prince to be the one to establish their agreed contact. Caught unprepared, he looked around carefully, and then hurried into a narrow space between an eatery and a tea vendor’s shop. He went all the way to the back corners of the buildings and, with one quick look for any nearby watchers, hooked the chain around his neck with one finger. He barely drew out the medallion and gripped it before ...

Ghassan, are you there?

At the soft voice in his thoughts, he fixed his will upon the medallion before answering.

Yes, my prince.

I do not have much time. I am dressing for dinner and found a reason to send my personal attendant on an errand.

Ghassan knew the prince’s duties sometimes made privacy difficult. As they were both pressed for time, he went straight to the point.

An unexpected change of circumstances has arisen. If we both act quickly, I might gain needed ... unique ... assistance to locate and destroy Khalidah.

This would stun his prince at first, and so he waited. Once the prince understood or accepted this, explanations might be easier.

Assistance? I thought all in your sect were dead.

Yes, in all likelihood. When Ghassan had returned from Bäalâle Seatt and rushed to the deep underground chambers of his sect, he had found only bodies ... but one was missing.

Tuthâna had been the last to whom he had spoken while away, for all wore a medallion tuned specifically to each. He had not found her among the dead, and there could be only one reason for her absence.

Khalidah, amid his escape, had taken flesh again—Tuthâna’s flesh.

She was by far the most trusted and most loved among the Suman metaologers, whether part of the sect or not. Her calm and kindness to others were widely admired, for most knew her as one of the few Suman metaologers who had studied thaumaturgy instead of conjury. She was an extraordinary healer favored by the elite of the imperial court.

Khalidah would have known this. All members of the sect had long been part of extracting the lost secrets of sorcery from him, including Tuthâna. And with her body, that monster could go nearly anywhere.

Ghassan feared she had not lived more than a few days after the escape. She would have been a vessel of transport until that ancient thing shifted to someone far more prominent. And who knew what had even happened to her body.

Ghassan? Answer me!

He gathered himself, for he could not think upon her now. He needed the prince to take a great risk.

There is another—an outsider. A onetime Numan pupil of mine has sought me out. She has the absolute loyalty of the black-haired woman you locked away on the day of my arrest. That woman may be immune to Khalidah ... immune to possession.

Ghassan paused, waiting for confusion and curiosity—and perhaps hope—to overtake his prince. The silence went on so long that he feared he had lost contact when ...

And what does this matter? She is locked away with the others beneath the palace grounds, as I had no choice before the imperial court.

Yes, there were complications, and what Ghassan would ask next would be worse.

Find a way to free them ... to get them out of the palace compound. I will take over from there.

The next thoughts he heard pierced him.

Free them? I have no authority over the prison!

Ghassan had known this response would come, but it needed to be provoked before he could ask for the obvious and worse option. He waited until the prince continued ...

I can only condemn, and not even my father would undo this for fear of ... how it would look before the court. His counselor would thereby advise against it ... or in my father’s seclusion, claim the emperor had denied such a request.

There was the trap in which the prince was caught.

Then you must arrange for an escape ... and in secret, at least long enough for me to reach them.

Silence was much longer this time, and Ghassan pressed further.

Khalidah could even now “be” someone within the palace or the guild. I do not know his plans, but possibly he intends to reach you or your father. Imagine that thing sitting upon the imperial throne, sustaining whatever flesh in a reign you do not want to imagine. I must destroy him quickly, and I do not even know if I can. I need the black-haired woman.

Still more silence, and still Ghassan waited.

I assume you have a plan for how I am to arrange this?

Ghassan blinked slowly in relief. Yes, my prince.

Chane awoke at dusk, first checked that the orb’s trunk was secure, and then left the hideaway’s back room. When he reached the open archway, the first person he encountered was Shade.

The dog sat staring toward that “other” window in the rear wall between the cushioned sitting area and the sleeping chamber’s outer wall.

Chane simply watched her, though she did not look over at him. Her scintillating blue eyes remained fixed on that disturbing window. Though she was silent, her ears were flattened. He quietly stepped past Shade and then spotted Wynn.

She sat in one of the high-backed chairs and, with one hand, slowly turned and turned a tinted handleless glass cup on the table. Osha stood nearby, and when he looked up at Chane’s approach, he appeared dourer than his usual brooding self.

“What is wrong?” Chane rasped. “And where is il’Sänke?”

Wynn did not even start from her silent nervousness. She related that the domin was having difficulty procuring the help he’d promised and had gone out yet again.

“We’ve been stuck in here all day,” she added with an edge in her voice. “I know we’ve endured long journeys on ships, but this feels more like being trapped. I can’t focus on anything until I know we can get to the others.”

The others, of course, were Magiere and those with her.

Chane suppressed any reaction; it would have only burdened Wynn even more. But he had questions of his own, and the domin was not here to answer them. As he blew air sharply out of his nose, a habit left over from his living days, Wynn looked up at him.

“Do you need to slip out?” she asked quietly. “You haven’t ... I mean, I don’t think you’ve had ... any sustenance since we boarded the ship at Oléron.”

Osha’s horselike face wrinkled in disgust. So much the better, since he stalked off toward Shade, and Chane remained fixed on Wynn.

No, he had not had “sustenance” since before Oléron. He had once promised Wynn that, so long as he remained in her company, he would never again feed on a sentient being, and only upon animals—normally livestock. Now he wondered how much he should say or keep to himself, for that too had changed.

It had started on the night they had procured the orb of Spirit.

In their search for it, they had traveled to the keep of an isolated duchy with no way of knowing what they would find. In the span of a single night, they learned not only of an orb hidden in the keep’s lower levels but that an old threat to Wynn—a wraith called Sau’ilahk—had used that orb to transmogrify a young’s duke body.

After a thousand years as an undead spirit, Sau’ilahk regained flesh through that body, but only for one night.

Chane’s only companion had been Shade when the two of them caught the wraith in the guise of a young duke. Sau’ilahk struck down Shade so hard that Chane thought she’d died in that instant, and he had lost control. Pinning the duke’s body to the ground, he bit through the man’s neck and bled him to death.

He had not told Wynn of this last part, and Shade had not been conscious to see it happen, so she did not know either.

Would Wynn even understand, considering why he had lost himself in that moment and become that monster she expected him to deny? But since that night, he had not experienced a hint of hunger.

Chane had not felt the need to feed, not even once.

This had been an advantage while on the ship, but if he had been affected by feeding on ... by draining the duke—the wraith in flesh—unto death, then what else had changed for him? Yes, he was still undead, though the feral beast inside him had grown calm, perhaps watchful in waiting for him to slip again.

Once or twice he’d nearly told Wynn to see if she had any conjecture on this.

But the way she saw him now, and her continued company, mattered more than another secret he kept from her. In time, perhaps the changes in him would fade. Even if that meant struggling again and forever with the beast inside himself, it would be better than telling her. He could not stand the thought—the chance—of her sending him away.

“Shade ... will you get away from that window!” Wynn snapped, and then more quietly, “I’m sorry. That window is unnerving ... This whole place is unnerving.”

Chane frowned in worry as he looked over his shoulder. Osha now crouched beside Shade, and if they had been staring at the window, they both now stared at Wynn. Shade got up and padded over beside her. Much as Chane expected Wynn to succumb to more guilt for her outburst, she simply put her hand on Shade’s back and scratched between the dog’s shoulders.

“Have you learned anything more about this hideaway?” he asked.

Wynn closed her other hand around the small glass cup. It appeared to contain water. “No ... no. I don’t suppose you have anything new on that?”

Chane’s suspicions remained unchanged. Mere illusion could not accomplish what he had experienced in the passage. Hiding something from sight was possible by manipulating the light playing upon it; hiding it from touch was not and would require physically transforming affected objects. Then there was great effort to permanently emplace such a work of thaumaturgy to respond only to specific individuals ... or possession of a linked pebble.

This place was beyond anything in his limited arcane experience.

“Nothing as yet,” he finally answered.

Wynn released the cup and slumped back in her chair. Chane settled in the one to her left.

“Well,” she said. “Ghassan tutored me for a while today on useful phrases in commonly spoken Sumanese. I could teach some to you?”

“Of course.”

Chane was always interested in languages, though he wanted to speak of more important matters. Then there was the other little change that he’d noted.

Wynn now often used the domin’s first name, though in the past, she had generally referred to him as Domin il’Sänke. Then again, Chane wondered whether il’Sänke was still a domin at all. Even if he was not, Wynn would probably always see him as such, regardless of what she called him.

She turned her head toward the sitting area. “Osha, we’re going to practice a bit of spoken Sumanese. Do you want to join us?”

Chane scowled. Why did she always feel the need to include that elf?

Osha appeared from out of the sleeping quarters, though Chane had not noticed him leave the main room. The gangly elf’s eyes shifted once from Wynn to Chane.

“Come sit,” Wynn added as she leaned over to dig through her pack by the chair. “The domin wrote a few phrases down to help us if we need to shop at the market.”

Osha did not move and, for the first time, Chane wondered what had been going on as he lay dormant. Then he barely heard footfalls on the stairs outside and down the passage.

“Someone is coming,” he said, though Shade’s ears had already pricked up.

Everyone looked toward the door as it opened, and Ghassan il’Sänke stepped in and shut it again.

Wynn rose too quickly, jostling the cup on the table. “How did it go? Can we get them out?”

Il’Sänke studied her for a moment. “I have gained assistance from someone inside the imperial grounds.”

“Who?” Chane demanded.

This domin, now responsible for Wynn’s safety as well as being the reason for that need, kept far too many secrets.

“Someone highly placed ... someone I trust.” Il’Sänke’s gaze shifted briefly to Chane and then back to Wynn. “Tomorrow night, Magiere and the others will be secretly freed and taken to the front gate. After that, we are on our own. We must be in place and ready for anything ... including pursuit.”

Shade rumbled, lifting her jowls and exposing her teeth. Wynn reached out and touched the dog’s shoulder.

“What is it?” Chane asked.

“She wants to know more,” Wynn whispered, glancing at him. “I think ... she thinks this is happening too quickly—too easily.”

“I agree,” he whispered back.

Wynn turned to il’Sänke. “If our friends have been imprisoned for a moon, we cannot get them out quickly enough.”

“I want ... to ... see entrance,” Osha said from the other doorway. “Plan ... tonight.”

Again, Chane could not help but agree. “So do I. Regardless of risk, we must study the surrounding area if we are to have any chance of success.”

His next impulse was to insist that Wynn stay there, but that would only cause a fuss. Also, on second thought, keeping her close would make it easier to protect her, no matter how well hidden this place was.

Il’Sänke inhaled through his nose as if considering options, but then he nodded. “Everyone get your cloaks, pull your hoods low, and follow me—and do exactly as I say. I will show you what we are facing, and then we return and remain here until tomorrow night.”