In Shade and Shadow

Chapter 17

The following night, Wynn crouched in the side street near the Upright Quill, the one that led to the same alley where Elias and Jeremy had died. She was waiting for a signal from Domin il'Sänke.

"We should not have agreed to this," Chane whispered.

Shade whined as if seconding that opinion.

"I don't like it either," Wynn answered, "but I can't think of anything better. Can you?"

The light of street lanterns didn't quite reach them, but Wynn still saw Chane frown. More disturbing, the burns on his hands and face had nearly faded. She didn't want to think about how. Even if the salve she'd applied had worked on him, it couldn't have worked so quickly.

"We have to follow the plan," she stated flatly, "and keep our wits."

"Can the Suman do what he claims?"

Wynn hesitated, watching the empty street. "I can't believe he would risk our lives, or the guild, by exaggerating. We may be its only hope for real protection."

This answer didn't sound convincing, even to her.

"But if the Premin Council learns what we did here, I'll certainly be dismissed. And Domin il'Sänke will be sent back to his branch in disgrace, at the very least. He's risking more than his life, so we must trust each other, or we'll fail."

The day's preparations for il'Sänke's trap had been exhausting. The Upright Quill was the only scriptorium to which the wraith had come more than once. After too much speculation concerning how it was tracking folios, this one scriptorium seemed the only choice.

Wynn had gone over and over the details with il'Sänke and spent half the day in further tutelage with the sun crystal. She was more than thankful for the spectacles he'd made. But throughout the preparations her thoughts kept turning over those brief cryptic phrases she'd read in the scroll. More than once il'Sänke had snapped at her, sensing that her attention wandered.

"I do not like him using you—or the scroll—as bait!" Chane rasped.

Wynn didn't care for that either. "It's the best chance for this to work."

For Chane to be effective, he had to keep his ring on. With it, he could mask Shade's presence as well, though it had taken great fuss to get Shade to let him touch her. The dog disliked contact with anyone but Wynn. Il'Sänke assured Wynn that he had his own way to «befuddle» the wraith's awareness of him—whatever that meant.

Wynn was the only one left without protection. And she was the only one who could carry the scroll and be recognized by the wraith. She slipped a hand inside her cloak, checking on the scroll case tucked into her tunic's belt.

"I won't be hurt, or lose the scroll, if you wait long enough," she said. "Stay focused. You and Shade have to come at the right moment."

The plan was straightforward but depended on dangerously close timing.

For now, il'Sänke carried the sun crystal staff. Once he was in place across the street, he would whistle softly from whatever vantage point he found. Then Wynn would head up the street past the Upright Quill. With everyone else's presence masked, she would appear to be alone and defenseless. They still didn't know if this shadow creature was after her or the scroll, but it wouldn't matter if she was carrying it. If the wraith sought both, so much the better to attract its attention.

The main catch in their plan was Shade.

For the last part of the day, Wynn had tried to teach the young majay-hì the most basic words in Numanese. She passed memory after memory of Chap waiting on command during any fight when Leesil had shouted, "Hold!" Chap had known not to close on an opponent if either Leesil or Magiere was engaged with a weapon that required room to wield.

Each time Wynn passed a memory, she'd held out her palm and spoke words like «hold» or «come» or "attack." She had cautiously passed Shade a memory of Chane fighting the wraith the night before, keeping her thoughts locked only on that moment. Hopefully Shade would understand when the time came. By dusk Shade simply lay down and ignored her, either bored or annoyed with all Wynn's nonsense. But Wynn believed—hoped—that Shade understood.

"Don't close too quickly," Wynn whispered to Chane, "or il'Sänke won't have time to pull the wraith's—"

"Yes, you said this before," he rasped. "As has the Suman."

"Sorry."

"But if you are in trouble," he said flatly, "the Suman can fend for himself."

"Stop calling him that! He has a name."

"There is something wrong about him," Chane hissed. "I can nearly smell it!"

Wynn was too anxious to argue anymore.

When—if—the wraith took the bait, she was to run in the direction from which il'Sänke had whistled. Chane and Shade would wait as long as possible, until il'Sänke appeared to engage the wraith. Shade would charge out next, suddenly filling the wraith's awareness, as she slipped from the protection of Chane's ring. Then Chane, still shielded by the ring, could surprise the wraith. Hopefully this would give il'Sänke time to take advantage—and get the staff to Wynn as well.

But Wynn was still worried about what harm that thing might inflict on Chane or Shade in a prolonged fight. They would have to end this encounter quickly. Il'Sänke claimed he could hold the wraith in place, keeping it from escaping. Chane would dive for cover, and Wynn would ignite the staff's sun crystal.

Step by step, the plan was straightforward... in theory.

"It will work," she repeated.

Chane sighed.

"How did you and Shade and this domin leave the guild after dark?"

"Out the front gates," she said. "The city guards weren't there... or maybe they were late."

A long, low whistle pierced the air, cutting off any more questions. It took Wynn by surprise, and she couldn't tell where it came from.

"He is ready," Chane whispered, and pointed toward a small shop half a block beyond the Upright Quill and on the street's far side.

Wynn crept around Chane. Holding her palm before Shade's nose and pointing to Chane, she whispered, "Hold... Attack with him."

Shade merely rumbled and pushed Wynn's hand away with her nose. Wynn pushed on Shade's snout, and the dog held her place.

Chane gazed across the night street over Wynn's shoulder. "No matter what happens, do not trust everything il'Sänke says. I do not think... feel... that he speaks the full truth."

Wynn glanced back. "What do you mean?"

Chane's expression appeared to change, though it was hard to be certain in the dark. Whatever faint color remained in his eyes suddenly drained away. Only the crystalline irises of an undead stared out into the night... toward the place from which il'Sänke had whistled.

Wynn shivered, but not from the chill air.

In that instant Chane looked like the mad feral monks who had come with him and Welstiel to Li'kän's ice-bound castle.

"Omission can hide the truth... or a lie," Chane added.

Rodian took supper alone in his office, not caring for even Garrogh's company. He wanted solitude and time to think.

The pieces of this tangled intrigue were disintegrating, and he saw no way to keep them whole. Il'Sänke was the murderer—of that much he felt certain. The domin was the only one who fit all the criteria of ability and inside knowledge. But Rodian had no proof.

What was that man after in the translated pages? What was his motive?

Suddenly Rodian regretted his poor treatment of Wynn, regardless of her naïve outburst. Clearly that had been brought on by Nikolas's delusional account of events.

Rodian looked down at his half-eaten beef, potatoes, onions, and carrots, then lifted his gaze to the growing pile of reports on his desk. Petty thefts, one other yet-to-be-solved murder, and a handful of social disputes required his attention. He'd let everything sit while trying to solve these guild murders and thefts. And with royals and sages standing in his way at every turn, all he had left were his other poorly attended duties—and his failure. Still, he couldn't let it go.

He knew exactly who the killer was, but where could he find proof?

There was only one answer—Wynn Hygeorht.

She'd been studying the translations for two days. She must have learned something, at least a hint of what had been stolen. If so, how could he get her to tell him even that little?

He wouldn't pretend to understand this odd and troublesome little journeyor, but she seemed genuinely driven to protect her guild. Perhaps, like her superiors, she was taking matters too secretly into her own hands. Would she still do so if she uncovered something concerning il'Sänke?

Would she give up her juvenile notions of ghosts and the undead?

Rodian got up and strode for the door. Pulling it open, he lifted his sword hanging upon a coat peg.

"Lúcan!" he shouted into the passageway.

But it was Garrogh who finally ducked around the door.

"Sorry, sir, I've got Lúcan watching the guild's gatehouse tonight."

Rodian nodded. So far the only report was of Wynn's strange wolf coming back after dark—after escorting one of Pawl a'Seatt's scribes who'd worked too late. Otherwise none of his men had seen anyone come or go past dusk.

He grasped his cloak. "Have these dishes removed and get Snowbird saddled."

"Where are you off to?" Garrogh asked bluntly.

"The guild," he answered.

"I'm coming with you."

Rodian stiffened. "Pardon?"

"You're not yourself," Garrogh said, crossing his arms. "This sage nonsense has you turned around like a dog that won't stop biting its tail. The men want their captain back, so I'm coming with you, before you bite your tail straight off... sir."

Rodian was struck mute. He heated up, ready to put Garrogh in his place. Then he remembered the stacks of reports lying upon his desk and suddenly felt weary. Duty wasn't the only thing he'd ignored, if his second now openly faced him down.

"All right," he agreed. "But when we get there, wait for me in the courtyard. I need to talk to that journeyor again. She's... odd, and might speak only to me."

"Of course, sir."

Together they headed for the stables, saddled their horses themselves, and rode out.

As always, Garrogh's big bay protested at being forced out into the cold. The horse clomped angrily, throwing his head and grinding his bit.

"Next time you requisition a horse, I'll pick it for you," Rodian chided.

"Just 'cause you like them dain" lia hty doesn't mean I do," Garrogh returned.

"She could run yours into the ground."

Garrogh's brush with near-insubordination had roused Rodian. Along with other matters, he'd forgotten how sensible and aware his lieutenant truly was. And it felt better to do anything but sit and stew. Perhaps Wynn had discovered something that would help him prove the truth, so long as she spoke no more of her deluded beliefs. This murderer was not some undead of folk superstition. Then he might gain legitimate means to get a grip on il'Sänke. Not even the royal family would be able to deny him.

Soon Rodian and Garrogh approached the guild's half-open bailey gate. It was never bolted and barred, but it still bothered him that it stood ajar. He looked up the path to the gatehouse's closed portcullis.

There was no one out front on post.

"Where's Lúcan?" Rodian growled. "And who is on watch with him?" Garrogh looked about. "I don't know... Ulwald was paired with him. I've got two other pairs walking circuit around the place. Two more are off duty in the gatehouse above, waiting to rotate with others throughout the night."

Rodian urged Snowbird into a trot all the way to the portcullis.

"Open it up!" he shouted.

One of his men shouted acknowledgment from above, and the portcullis began to rise. Rodian ducked, prepared to ride under before it was fully raised.

"Captain?"

He sat back up, reining in Snowbird. Lúcan and Ulwald came at a trot through the inner bailey.

"What are you doing off post?" Garrogh barked.

Lúcan halted, eyes shifting between the lieutenant and Rodian.

"We heard something in the trees, around the west tower," Ulwald answered.

"You heard something?" Rodian mimicked. "What?"

"Not sure, sir," Lúcan answered. "Something large breaking through the brush and branches."

At Rodian's shifted glance, Ulwald nodded agreement.

"Then one of you goes alone!" Rodian shouted. "Or you get whoever's off duty above to watch while you both check."

"You had to have heard it, Captain," Lúcan exclaimed. "Others have. Gael heard something the other night and—"

"No post is left unwatched!"

Both men stiffened, whether in resentment or fear at the rebuke, it wasn't clear.

"Yes, Captain," they answered, but Lúcan glanced toward Garrogh.

"I'll handle this," Garrogh said. "You go on... find that nosy little sage."

Rodian took a slow breath. He wasn't the only one under pressure—or had he passed on his own duress to his men? They wouldn't have left their post together without some real concern. He dismounted, handed Snowbird off to Garrogh, and walked the rest of the way in.

When he reached the main doors, he knocked and waited this time, though his patience had worn paper-thin. The young apprentice who'd led him to the hospice yesterday peered out.

"Ah, sir, it's you." The young man opened the door wide. "Should I announce you? Do you need to see Domin High-Tower?"

"No, I'm here to see Journeyor Hygeorht," Rodian said, and stepped inside. As yet, he wasn't certain where they might talk, but she would probably have an idea.

The apprentice blinked in brief uncertainty. "A moment, sir. I'll see if she is available."

The boy was well-spoken, with a slight accent. Rodian wondered which province he came from, perhaps as far south as Witeny. He nodded, and the apprentice stepped out, hurrying off toward the dormitory on the courtyard's southeastern side.

Rodian paced the entryway for what felt like too long. A few young sages passed on their way elsewhere, but none were anyone he knew. The apprentice came running back in.

"She's not in her room," the boy said. "I'll see if she's at the common hall... or if anyone knows her whereabouts."

Rodian nodded and waited again. More time passed, and his patience was all but gone. Finally the apprentice came trotting back down the passage.

"I am sorry, sir, but Journeyor Hygeorht cannot be found. Domin High-Tower was just informed, but—"

"Not again!" Rodian hissed.

He brushed past the boy, striding toward the common hall, and as he rounded through the main archway, he nearly collided with High-Tower. The hall was filled with sages eating, talking, or just milling about.

"Where is she?" Rodian demanded.

High-Tower's red hair and beard looked huge, strands rising in the hall's warmth, but his features seemed even redder, and his dark pellet eyes were wild.

"You have no jurisdiction here!" the domin snarled back. "I thought that much was clear by now!"

But the dwarf looked around nervously, as if Rodian's arrival were an unwanted interruption of something else.

"Where is she?" Rodian repeated more calmly. "And where is il'Sänke?"

High-Tower huffed loudly, but indignation faded from his face. "I do not know... nor do I see your point."

Rodian forced himself to calm again and called out loudly, "Has anyone here seen Journeyor Hygeorht or Domin il'Sänke since this afternoon?"

The buzz in the hall diminished, and someone "d, ilwith a nasally voice called out, "I have."

A young woman in a brown stood up. She was thin to the point of being bony, and even from a distance her nose was too long for her face.

High-Tower grumbled through gritted teeth and hurried toward her. His wide girth and vibrating steps sent apprentices and initiates shuffling out of his way. Rodian followed on the domin's heels.

"Regina," High-Tower puffed. "Who did you see?"

"All three of them," she answered, her lip curling into a sneer. "Wynn, the domin... and that supposed majay-hì. I was helping in the kitchen when they came through from the storage building. They went straight to the other side, to the rear hallway leading to the north tower. But when I peeked out..."

High-Tower rumbled as he glared at the girl.

"When I peeked out," Regina repeated, "they weren't there. They were gone, and too quickly to be heading into the keep or even the tower... for whatever reason."

Rodian knew of only one destination in the tower—High-Tower's study.

"Where were you about that time?" he asked the dwarf.

"In my study, of course," High-Tower replied. "The door was open, since I was available to students and apprentices. I saw or heard no one."

"There's always the back door," Regina piped up. "It opens on the back of the keep... right across from the kitchen."

This spiteful pole of a girl glanced up at Rodian, adding, "None of us are supposed to go out at night."

Rodian ignored this thinly veiled accusation, and turned on High-Tower. "If they're here, I want them found. Either you do it, or my men will, and I'm not waiting for permission from your premin."

What followed, after the seething dwarf headed off, were long moments of Rodian pacing before the hall's main arch. Too many curious glances turned his way, not to mention a pack of whispering young sages who gathered around Regina as she smugly returned to her table. And when High-Tower reappeared dourly at the hall's narrow side arch, Rodian knew the domin had found nothing.

Right then he thought of putting Lúcan and Ulwald on night patrol, walking the Graylands Empire for the next moon.

High-Tower waded through the hall, his hands folded behind his back. But Rodian wasn't thinking of Wynn at that moment. There was only one possible way the errant trio had gotten out: Someone had somehow tricked Lúcan and Ulwald.

Ghassan il'Sänke.

Rodian almost demanded whether High-Tower knew how the Suman had done this. But if il'Sänke had such tricks, whatever they were, it seemed unlikely that a murderer would share such with anyone.

"Where would they have gone?" he asked instead.

The dwarf appeared lost for what to say. "I do not know why they would leave, let alone to where. Il'Sänke isn't fool enough to do this without telling someone what he was up to."

Once again, High-Tower provided a less than worthless answer.

"Thank you for your help," Rodian said coldly.

He strode out of the keep and ran down the gatehouse tunnel. Garrogh was waiting there with the horses.

"She's gone again!" Rodian spit, losing hold of his anger. "And so is that Suman sage! No one knows how or why, but they are out in the city somewhere."

He swung up on Snowbird and urged her out, but where could he even begin looking?

"She's alone with the killer," he said, wiping a hand across his face. "Where would she go?"

He wasn't really speaking to Garrogh, but his lieutenant replied, "Both times she's disappeared, she ended up at a'Seatt's shop."

Rodian's eyes flew to Garrogh's face. The first night, when he'd caught Wynn inside the shop, she'd been quite friendly with Imaret. And Rodian still believed that Pawl a'Seatt was hiding something.

"Yes," he agreed, for at least it was somewhere to start.

But what would il'Sänke do if Rodian found them and tried to take Wynn away? The mage had some motive for taking her off alone—and so recently after she'd gained access to the translations.

Rodian pulled up outside the bailey gate. Garrogh's horse skidded to a stop beside him. There was no time to send for more men, regardless that he was about to countermand his own snarling outburst. He needed at least one more of his guards.

"Lúcan! Where's your horse?"

The guardsman looked confused and pointed off along the bailey. "We tied ours off in there, sir."

"Get yours! And come with us."