Sister of the Dead

Chapter 12

T he wagon rolled up to the gates of Keonsk at midday. Leesil dug through his pack and pulled out an orange paisley scarf. He pulled his hair back behind his ears and tied the cloth around his head. It was so large that the ends hung down to his shoulders.

Magiere wrinkled her nose as if she'd bitten into a rancid pear. "Where did you get that?"

"I traded with one of the Mondyalitko for some apples."

"You paid for that with our apples?" she asked. "Where's your gray scarf?"

"I lost it in the forest the night we fought Vordana."

"The color doesn't work."

"Of course it does. My shirt is brown."

"You look like someone lit your head on fire. You'll stand out like a fever blister. Take it off, and find something else."

"I don't have anything else."

"I think it's rather striking," Wynn put in.

"You would," Magiere muttered.

Port and Imp pulled to a stop as a guard at the gate stepped out and held up his hand. His expression was serious. Nine others stood inside the entrance in varied armor and red surcoats.

"Your business?" the guard asked.

'To the market… for supplies," Magiere said. "And one of our horses injured his leg. We need someone who knows horses to have a look at it."

The guard lost some of his harsh manner. "The township of Nesmelorash is a half-day south. It would be best if you could make it there."

Leesil saw genuine concern in the guard's wary expression, but he knew Magiere wasn't going to turn aside.

"We're heading east," he explained. "Is something wrong?"

"Pardon," the guard said. "Your business is welcome at market. But the grand prince is not in residence, and there is contention over who should take charge until he returns."

Leesil's nerves began to tingle. This guard wore good quality mail, and the scabbard of his sword bore a family crest. He was at least a captain, if not a minor noble, and likely educated, as most guards didn't use phrases like "in residence. " Why was he on guard duty at the city gate?

"What contention?" Leesil asked. "Why isn't someone in charge while the grand prince is away?"

The guard looked each of them over. Though he gave Leesil a serious inspection, he paused longest upon Wynn huddled in the wagon's back with Chap. The sight of her seemed to further soften the guard's manner.

"Baron Buscan, the city's protector, was assassinated last night," he answered. "Prince Rodek left an illegal contingent of his soldiers in the city, and other houses are using this and the lack of authority here to raise charges against the Antes. It's not safe."

The mention of assassination brought Leesil immediate thoughts of Sgaile, the elven anmaglahk sent after him in Bela. He was about to ask if any elves had been sighted in the city and then thought better of it. It was unlikely anyone would see a member of this caste of assassins, as silent and undetected as Sgaile had been.

"Thank you, but we can take care of ourselves," Magiere replied.

With a troubled nod, the guard stepped back and let them in.

On impulse, Leesil called out, "Sir, what is your name?"

"Captain Marjus of the Varanj."

Port and Imp pulled the wagon into the market area. Most booths were closed, but a few people were visible among those tables and carts conducting business. There were also soldiers in red surcoats, like the captain's, patrolling the fringe of the area. Leesil spotted men in light yellow surcoats, as well, who kept their distance from Marjus's cohorts.

"Now what?" he asked. "This is bad luck. An audience at the castle is next to impossible, since mere's no one there to hold one."

Magiere watched the soldiers and didn't answer.

"We are most likely going to be here a day or two," Wynn said. "We should find a respectable inn, a stable for the horses, and something warm to eat while we consider what to do."

Leesil smiled. "A capital plan. Magiere?"

"Yes. I see a stable ahead on south side of the market."

It took little time to find a nearby inn, a place called Jendu Stezhar, the "Acorn Oak," which looked clean and respectable. They soon settled to spooning in mouthfuls of milky potato soup in its common room. The innkeeper was a good-natured gray-haired man who wasn't offended when Leesil requested an extra bowl for Chap.

Since the vision of his dead mother, each time Leesil ate warm food or succumbed to the smallest comfort, he wondered if she had suffered… was suffering. Then he looked at Magiere's pale face. He couldn't force her to turn away until she knew what she was and how she had come to exist, or she had exhausted all hope of finding these answers.

He spooned another mouthful of soup, ready to discuss matters at hand, when he gave more notice to a tall middle-aged soldier in a yellow surcoat sitting near them. The soldier had short-cropped brown hair and a thick scar down his left cheekbone, and he was on his third tankard of ale since their arrival.

Leesil was uncertain how much should be said in close proximity to any of the Keonsk soldiers… of any house. He saw Magiere glance in the man's direction.

Innocent Wynn blurted out the first question before Leesil could stop her. "So how do we acquire permission to search records at the castle?"

The scarred soldier looked up from his ale. "Girl, the grounds have been locked down tighter than a cask of autumn wine."

He answered her in Belaskian, and his voice was sad rather than angry. Wynn turned sideways in her chair to see him better.

"What do you mean 'locked down'?"

Leesil tensed. "Wynn, let's not bother the-"

"I mean the house of Varanj has locked the gates. Until my prince returns, no one but a redcoat gets anywhere near the castle. That swine Buscan is dead, may his spirit rot in the earth along with his corpse."

Wynn had spilled their intentions, and there was little they could do to wash their presence from this captain's awareness. It appeared factions within the houses were at odds, as well as the contentions between houses Marjus had mentioned at the city gate. This Antes captain gulping his ale didn't care for the grand prince's own counselor.

Leesil held out his hand to the man. "I'm Leesil. These are my companions Magiere and Wynn. We've come looking for the names of nobles who held fiefs in west Droevinka long ago. Surely, the Varanj guards will not object to such a simple request."

The soldier laughed but without humor. When he saw Leesil's outstretched hand, he gripped it in greeting. "Apologies. I am Captain Simu of the Antes cavalry. I don't mean to interrupt your supper, but you may as well go home when you're done."

"We're not leaving," Magiere said.

Simu looked at her and sighed. "Do you understand that Baron Cezar Buscan was assassinated last night? The city's protector-curse him-is dead! Those Varanj mongrel watchdogs haven't the wit to see we're better off."

Magiere leaned closer. "A captain from a nearby fief told us that Buscan has been replacing Antes nobles as fief holders without giving any reason. Is this true?"

Simu's ale-weary eyes cleared, and he pushed his tankard away.

"Why else do you think he'd be judged a traitor by those. of us in the ranks? It is difficult enough to gain note in a noble house. What good does it do when rewards are handed off to the undeserving, simply because they hold favor with the prime counselor?"

The captain hung his head then glanced about the common room before continuing in a lowered voice.

"I'd swear by my ancestors, that temptress with the red curls he took as consort bewitched him. Maybe she's the one who knifed him in the back. Either way, he's dead. Soon as Prince Rodek returns, I'm taking my men onto the royal grounds until a new protector is selected-and the Varanj be hanged!" Simu stood up and delivered them a curt bow of parting. "Perhaps then I can help you, but for now, no one but a redcoat gets inside the castle wall. Good night and safe passage to you."

As Simu walked out the inn's door, Leesil pondered his words, rubbing his chin with one hand.

"What's in that head of yours?" Magiere asked.

"It'll take a little while to prepare. You and Wynn stay here. Chap, come with me. " He dumped his pack out and slung its empty bulk over his shoulder. "Can you put my things in the chest for now?"

"Stop right there," Magiere said. "What are you up to?"

'Trust me," he answered, and started to get up.

"Oh, no," she said, and grabbed the bottom of his empty pack, jerking it hard. "Every time you say that, things end up in a mess."

Leesil pulled on his pack, but Magiere's grip held firm.

"No, they don't-not every time," he shot back. "Magiere, let go!"

"We've enough people-and other things-coming at us in the dark. You're not going anywhere until you tell me."

"What you don't know, you can't get blamed for… if it doesn't work. Will you just let me handle this?"

Leesil pulled on the pack again. Magiere held on, and they jerked back and forth, until empty soup bowls jostled precariously across the table. Wynn leaned forward and threw her arms over the empty pack, pinning it to the tabletop.

"Could you two attract any more attention?" she whispered. "Leesil, tell us what-"

A cavernous belch filled the common room.

It drowned out even the murmur and chatter among the patrons of the Acorn Oak. Leesil and Magiere ceased tugging on the pack. Splayed across the table, Wynn looked to Leesil's left, and he followed her gaze.

Several elderly men, pipes clenched between their teeth, sat around a table. The nearest one still had his hand in the air, fingers poised downward as if he'd held something in them but a moment ago. No one watched the battle over the empty pack, for all eyes were on the creature squatting below the old pipe-biter's fingers.

Chap yawned, smacked his jowls, and let out a second burp. He looked up at Leesil, Magiere, and Wynn, and licked his nose at them.

Leesil could have sworn Chap's expression mimicked his own feigned innocence whenever he was caught in something unseemly.

Magiere shook her head in disbelief, and Wynn wrinkled her nose in disgust. The distraction was enough, and Leesil jerked the pack free before either could stop him.

He rushed for the inn's door, and Chap slipped out behind him.

[

br] Magiere sat with Wynn in a room upstairs at the Acorn Oak, fuming inwardly at Leesil. Of all the stupid things he'd ever done, she had a feeling this one was going to be near the top of the list. Darkness had come, and still he hadn't returned.

Where would they even begin looking for him?

Most likely in a cell at the local constabulary, if he didn't run afoul of the Varanj. And imprisonment seemed the best of outcomes, compared with what could happen to him now that tensions ran high in the capital over the assassin in their midst.

The room was sparse, with only a bed and no table. Wynn had set up a cold lamp atop their travel chest, and it lit the room in a dim white light.

"He will be all right," she offered. "Leesil and Chap can take care of themselves."

"Yes, but what are they doing?"

Wynn pursed her lips. "I might guess, though I doubt you will approve of Leesil's ethics."

Ethics were rarely a concern with Leesil. He did whatever he thought would be the quickest solution to a problem.

"What then?" Magiere asked. "What do you think he's up to?"

The room's door swung open, and Leesil fell inside before spinning to shut it, almost catching Chap's tail as the dog lunged in behind him.

He leaned against the closed door, panting and hugging his pack, which was far bulkier than when he had escaped Magiere's grasp. He was filthy from head to toe, like he'd been rolling around in the street. Chap dropped to his haunches and sat with his tongue dangling. He looked no better. His entire body was wet, and his legs, belly, and tail were splashed with mud.

Magiere's wave of relief passed instantly.

"Where did you go?" she shouted.

Leesil, still catching his breath, closed his eyes in resignation.

"And you!" Wynn cut in. "Now you decide to help, and this is how you start?"

Magiere's ire faltered, uncertain what the sage meant. Then she noticed Wynn was glaring at Chap and not Leesil.

"You did that on purpose," Wynn continued. "That little scene downstairs… that was so Leesil could get away, yes?"

Chap glanced up at Leesil, wrinkled his jowls, and turned away with a low growl.

"Duplicity is not enough for you," Wynn said. "Do you have to be so… so disgusting?"

"You're the one who said we were drawing too much attention," Leesil replied between breaths. "Better they look at him than you sprawling across our table."

"Don't try to toss this off on her," Magiere answered. "You're the reckless idiot here. What have you done?"

Chap stood, dripping, and rolled his shoulders, prepared to shake himself. Wynn cut in before Magiere could turn on the dog.

"Don't you dare do that in here!" she said, and Chap froze. "You want to go off and get dirty with Leesil, fine, but you will not share it with us."

Leesil and Chap groaned as the dog squatted on the floor again.

"Magiere… just get your sword," Leesil said. "Both of you get your cloaks."

He shoved off from the door and went to kneel at their travel chest. Setting the cold lamp and his pack on the floor, he opened the chest, dug through to the bottom, and pulled out the long, thin box that Magiere hadn't seen since Bela.

His assassin's tools. She felt a hollow grow in the pit of her stomach.

"What do you need that for?"

"Any records to be had," he said, "aren't going to be lying about. I may have to get us around some restrictions once we're inside the castle grounds."

"Inside?" Wynn sat up, worry growing on her round face. "How are we going to get past the gates?"

Leesil smiled. "I'm going to walk right through them."

A chill settled in the hollow in Magiere's stomach.

She snatched up Leesil's pack, digging inside, and withdrew a large wad of red cloth. She dropped the pack on the bed so she could shake out the fabric. It was Varanj surcoat, the emblem of a rearing stallion plain to see. For a moment, she couldn't speak and then drew a long breath.

"Leesil, are you mad? You'll never pass as a castle guard. Your hair-"

"That is likely what this helmet is for," Wynn said, and she pulled it out of the pack's bottom, looking it over before she gazed at Leesil with sudden concern. "Did you hurt someone for this?"

"Nothing lasting," he answered. "A bit of pressure to the throat, and I left him resting in a doorway. He'll have a headache in the morning, that's all."

"How does this get the rest of us inside?" Wynn asked.

"It doesn't," Leesil replied. "Once I'm inside, I'll let the rest of you in through the bolt-hole."

"I'm afraid to even ask," Magiere said, and she dropped down on the bed beside Wynn. "A bolt-hole?"

"A hidden exit on the river side of the castle wall," Leesil said. "Most fortifications have at least one, in case the place falls to a siege, and they can be opened only from the inside. Tonight, I'll walk in with the guards or even on my own, slip away, and let you in."

"What if you're caught?" Magiere insisted. "You won't end up in some Belaskian or Stravinan jail. You might not make it there alive."

"No one is going to catch me," Leesil said with a hint of resentment. "Just get your cloak."

Magiere crouched down beside him, still angry.

"Listen to yourself! If the need were dire-if one of us had been captured-I might agree to this. But I won't risk your life on a thin chance of finding my father's name. There are other ways. I came here for answers, not for your funeral."

Leesil's brow furrowed. Magiere's frustration made her almost weary, trying to get him to understand that she couldn't risk losing him for anything.

"If you still want those answers," he said quietly, "this is the only way-and don't think of suggesting we find you a surcoat, too. We've seen no women among the guards."

"Leesil, it's not worth-"

"When we head north to look for my mother, I don't want to watch you suffer, wondering what might have been found that we left behind. Now we need to go, before someone discovers that Varanj unconscious… or this will all be for nothing."

Magiere looked into his amber eyes and realized what drove him.

She didn't have his cunning and stealth, and she hated his recklessness in trying to acquire what she wanted. But in turn, when their positions reversed, she knew she would cut down anything in his path that tried stopped him from finding his mother.

Welstiel sat in a velvet cushioned chair by a warm hearth. He did not feel cold, so its heat brought no pleasure or relief, but he appreciated sensual trappings as remnants of a mortal life long lost.

Chane relaxed at a small mahogany table, scrawling on paper with a feather quill. They had procured individual rooms in a fine inn, but took their leisure together in Welstiel's room.

For twenty-six years, Welstiel had traveled alone, shunning his own kind. Chane had more in common with him than any Noble Dead he'd ever encountered. A scholar who both understood and practiced the arcane, Chane had also been a noble in life and spoke only when it was worthwhile. In spite of Chane's baser nature, Welstiel was developing an appreciation for companionship.

He felt fatigue creep in upon him. He needed to go off privately and seek sustenance.

"What are you writing?" he asked.

Chane looked up. "Notes on Droevinka and its current political structure. Once I secure relations with the guild, I may continue documenting this region."

Chane's current demeanor made it too easy to forget how savage and brutal he could be. Welstiel felt strangely at peace in spite of the distasteful act he was about to commit.

"I must go out," he said. "Please stay… carry on with your journaling. The city is in an uncertain state, and we should avoid too much activity that might draw Magiere's attention."

"She's here in the city? You are sure?"

"Yes, but the visit will do her no good," Welstiel answered.

"You knew this would happen when you killed Buscan," Chane said. "You knew the Varanj would lock down the castle, and the dhampir would not be allowed in."

"I suspected."

Chane swiveled, sitting sideways with one arm across the chair's high back. "But you weren't sure? My maker, Toret, could feed on prey and leave it alive, clouding its memory. Can you not do the same?"

"I have similar abilities, which I once used on your little sage," he replied, and ignored Chane's darkening expression. "But I find the individual must be relaxed, perhaps trust in me somewhat, before it is effective. Such powers grow with practice, and I do not practice often."

Welstiel rose, donning his cloak. "Stay and write. I will not be long."

"You go to feed?" Chane asked.

Welstiel picked up his smaller pack and slipped out of the room.

The common room downstairs was nearly empty, but the inn was located in a wealthy district. Late in the evening, most patrons would retire to their rooms or be out seeking entertainment. The street outside was equally quiet but for a small group of guards in their red surcoats. Only once along his way did he spot two others in their pale yellow, lingering under the eaves of a public house.

Welstiel slipped along the streets until he saw no one in any direction, then turned into the alleys and unlit sideways as he headed for the poor district on the city's outskirts.

Killing did not trouble him. He'd committed several brutal acts back in Bela to lure Magiere. Even as a mortal, ordering executions and using violent means to suppress peasant uprisings had been simply part of his duties. What was necessary was sometimes repugnant, just the same.

Food for a mortal was a matter of absorbing life, in one fashion or another. The body consumed materials it could break down and use. Relishing cheese and bread and bits of roasted mutton served on elegant plates had never caused Welstiel to stop in his life and contemplate the nature of sustenance.

The method of nurturing his new existence was far less pleasant.

A drunken bargeman staggered from a tavern door. Welstiel remained in the shadows of the narrow walkway between the tavern and next building. When the bargeman passed by, he grabbed the back of the man's coat and pulled him in.

Welstiel struck the base of the man's skull with his fist, and his prey slumped to the ground unconscious. Though he hated even touching such a lowborn creature, much less needing it, feeding on the better half of society was unacceptable unless there was no other choice. Kneeling down, Welstiel removed an ornately carved walnut box from his pack and opened it.

Resting in fabric padding were three hand-length iron rods, a teacup-size brass bowl, and a stout bottle of white ceramic with an obsidian stopper.

Welstiel took out the rods, each with a loop in its midsection, and intertwined them into a tripod stand. The brass bowl's inner surface was etched with a pattern of concentric rings all the way to its Up, and between these lines were the characters of his conjury. It had taken half a year to fashion it from what little he remembered of working upon Ubad's vat, a task of years in itself. He had not understood all that he had seen; not all, but enough. Though the cup had not the power of that vessel, it served Welstiel's limited needs. He placed it carefully on the tripod.

The white bottle contained thrice-purified water, boiled in a prepared copper vessel whenever he had time to replenish the fluid. He pulled the stopper and poured just enough to fill half the cup.

Welstiel rolled the bargeman over on his back. So much life energy was lost in bloodletting that little was actually absorbed by an undead who drank it. His method was far more efficient and less debasing. He slipped out his dagger, made a shallow puncture in the man's wrist, and let blood collect on the blade's tip. Tilting the blade, he let one red drop strike the water in the cup.

As it thinned and diffused, he began to chant.

The air around him shimmered as in a desert heat, yet he felt it grow humid, more so than even Droevinka's climate could produce. The bargeman's skin started to shrivel and dry from the outside, collapsing into desiccation. When his heart stopped, so did Welstiel's chant. The bargeman was a brittle shell. Even his eyes were dried sockets.

The water in the cup brimmed to the Up and was so dark red, it would have appeared black to a mortal's limited eyes. Welstiel lifted it carefully from the tripod. He tilted his head back and poured the liquid down his throat.

So much life force taken in this pure form was not pleasant. It tasted of ground metal and strong salt if allowed to linger on the tongue. And then it burst inside him to rush through his body.

Welstiel set the cup back in place with a wavering hand, then flattened both palms upon the ground to brace himself into stillness. As a youth, he'd gone out with the captain of his father's guard to the local tavern and drank his first tall ale. It felt good, until he stood up too fast. What he had just swallowed was far stronger, and he had not yet climbed to his feet.

He waited for the worst to pass.

When he picked up the cup to put it away, it was clean and dry, with no sign that anything had been in it. He packed away the iron rods and white bottle along with it.

T he corpse weighed far less than it had in life. He rolled it in his cloak. The river shore was but a short walk, where he stopped long enough to load the body's clothing with heavy stones. When he was certain the dock was deserted, he carried the body to the end planks and let it slip into the depths of the Vudrask.

Welstiel walked back to shore and stood there alone, tainted with familiar disgust and self-loathing. However, capturing every last dram of the mortal's life would sustain him for over half a moon, perhaps longer. It would be a while before he needed to feed again, and this was some comfort.

He closed his eyes and reluctantly gave thanks to the black-scaled patron in his dreams for guidance and assistance. Soon, Magiere would reach the end of her fruitless search and move on, leading him to an artifact that made his own creations mere toys by comparison.

And he would never need to feed again.

He did not put his cloak back on as he walked to the inn. He would have it laundered first. Returning to his room, he found Chane still at the small table, quill in hand, red-brown hair tucked behind one ear.

Across the room was a tall oval mirror on a stand, and Welstiel studied his reflection. His eyes were clear and alert. No sign of fatigue remained in his bearing.

"You seem much improved," Chane said. "I was becoming concerned."

Welstiel suppressed a grimace. Chane believed he had been out feeding at the throat of some peasant. Let him believe what he liked.

He sat again in his chair by the fire. "What have you recorded so far? I spent many years in this country. Perhaps I can provide more detail."

Chane raised one eyebrow. 'Truly? What can you tell me of how the noble houses collectively select a new grand prince?"

An unsettling wave of satisfaction passed through Welstiel, from both the pleasure and the scholarly interest on Chane's face. He turned his chair from the hearth to face his companion, and they spent the remainder of the night immersed in Droevinka's political history.

Crouching behind a stable near the castle grounds, Leesil felt his discomfort grow. But this had been his idea. Han-tucked under a helmet, and dirt smeared on his face, he wore the bright red surcoat over his hauberk.

"You look fine," Wynn assured him. "The helmet shadows your eyes, and most of the Varanj soldiers will be tired from longer duty, now that more of them are needed. It is doubtful they all know each other."

Leesil found Wynn's confidence almost as unsettling as Magiere's reluctance. Chap sat next to the sage, and she carried the pack he'd prepared for when they were all inside. Among its contents were his box of tools and a slender rope. His punching blades would draw attention, so he'd left them at the inn, arming himself with wrist-sheath stilettos and a stout dagger in each boot.

Magiere assessed him and unstrapped her falchion. "Put this on. All the guards are armed."

"I'm armed," he said.

"With visible weapons," she growled at him.

"Oh." He strapped the sword around his waist. "I'll show you where the hatch is, but you can't sit by it and wait for me. Someone will see you."

He crept into the street along the castle's side wall and led them to where it met the edge of a corner tower near the river.

"This is where nobles are supposed to escape?" Magiere asked.

"Yes, it's a good choice," Leesil replied, and flattened one hand against the stone wall where he knew the hidden opening would be. "The river is close, which would be the first option. If that is blocked, there's a chance to slip into the city through the nearby buildings. Do you see where my hand is?"

"Yes," Magiere answered, "but I don't see any hatch."

Leesil patted the stones. "Keep your eyes on this spot, and you will. Go back and stay low behind this row of shops on the riverside. I shouldn't be too long."

Chap headed for their hiding spot with Wynn close behind him. Magiere grabbed Leesil's arm, and a tense silence passed between them. She wouldn't let go.

Leesil touched her fingers. "I'll be peeking out that bolt-hole before you know it."

She released him and slipped off to follow Chap and Wynn.

Leesil crept along the river's edge the other way, passing by the castle and farther down to reenter the city. He cut inward to a main road and back toward the castle gates as if he'd come from the heart of Keonsk. Four Varanj soldiers out front were deep in conversation as he strolled up. The two walking the ramparts to either side of the gatehouse did not even pause.

"Hallo," he said. "Long night?"

One soldier smoking a short-stemmed clay pipe offered it to Leesil. "We been here since nightfall. You heard word about relief squads?"

Leesil took a pull on the pipe. The leaf the man smoked burned too hot. It tasted old and stale.

"No, I was sent with a message for Captain Marjus. My sergeant hasn't been able to find him, so he told me to head for the barracks."

Another solider frowned. "Marjus? That snooty straight-back who talks like he's a lord?" He suddenly cleared his throat as he eyed Leesil. "Pardon if you count him a friend, but he's no such among us."

"Yeah, that's him," the first soldier said, taking his pipe back from Leesil. "Haven't seen him tonight, but that don't mean nothing. " He tilted his head to look up to the wall walkways. "Positions! Messenger coming through!"

A creaking sound came from within the gatehouse. As the large gate slid upward and opened, the soldier's companions on the ground fanned out, spears ready. Though they'd appeared relaxed upon Leesil's arrival, he could see these men were veterans.

Another group of soldiers met him inside.

"Message for Captain Marjus," Leesil said.

'Try the officers' quarters in the barracks… east side."

"Thank you."

After this exchange, Leesil was just another Varanj patrolling the courtyard. He walked casually toward the inner keep's east corner, in case anyone was watching. Once he passed out of sight, he hurried around the barracks to the back.

There were no guards patrolling the back courtyard for the moment. All he need worry about were those upon the ramparts, but the night shadows near the wall made it easy to slide along the courtyard's outer edge. He stopped when he'd reached the correct place.

Testing stone and mortar with fingertips, Leesil found no sign of an opening or its catch.

For a moment, he feared he'd misjudged the bolt-hole's location. He had felt it on the outside, but his bearings were disoriented. He forced himself to grow calm. He knew it was here. He just had to find it.

The best escape routes were often exits from tunnels beneath a keep, but the lay wouldn't work for that. The grounds were too close to the river, and tunneling toward the water's edge would create a problem with seepage over the years. Not impossible to deal with, but this place was not large or complex in construction. So the obvious choice would be a simple hidden portal through the wall itself.

Of course, standing there flattened against cold stone in the shadows wasn't exactly the best moment to consider all this.

And he heard footsteps up on the rampart moving toward his position.

Leesil looked both ways, along the wall to his left and to the tower's base on his right. There was a ground-level door into the tower. He slid along the wall, stopping to listen at the door and then slowly cracking it open.

Inside, a ladder led up to a wooden half-platform above. To either side were archways leading out onto the walls. He could hear the soldiers strolling above, but what he sought wouldn't be there. Leesil felt along the tower's inner surface nearest the wall that he knew held the bolt-hole, and low to the ground he found a small cubby in the stone, and within it was a wooden lever. He stuck the toe of his boot into the hole and stepped down on it.

A section of stone around his foot shifted, and he went down on all fours to shove it inward.

The hatch was barely large enough to crawl through on hands and knees, but once through it, he slowly stood up in a hollow space inside the wall itself. He pulled out a cold lamp crystal Wynn had given him and rubbed it once with his thumb. It gave off a dim glow, enough for his elven eyes to make out his surroundings.

There was no need here for the engineers to hide the mechanism for opening the bolt-hole. Counterweights hung from chains that passed through steel wheels mounted in the narrow chamber's ceiling. Short steel rails in the floor led up to where the bolt-hole was. All he need do was trip the lever and tug on the counterweights, and he did so. A small section of the outer stone of the wall rolled inward along the rails, and the bolt-hole was open.

Leesil closed his fist around the crystal and peered around the opening's edge with one eye, first one way then the other. There was no one in sight on the street. He leaned out and raised his hand, loosening his grip on the crystal to let its glow leak between his fingers. He waved it back and forth.

At first, no one came, and he worried that something had happened to the others. Then he saw Magiere creep out of the shadows across the way, leaning down with her eyes toward the city. Wynn and Chap followed behind her.

He put his finger to his lips and helped them into the wall. Then he put his shoulder to the section on the rails, waving for Magiere to do the same. They pushed it back in place, and Leesil set the lever to lock it in position.

"Now what?" Magiere whispered.

"We get out of this wall space and find a rear entrance to the keep."

"What if there isn't one?"

"Then we'll have to find a disguise of some sort for you and Wynn… and hope for the best."

Magiere stared at him as if he'd sprouted horns. "You're insane."

She was right, but in the past he'd had only himself to get inside a place such as this.

"Just follow me," he said.

Leesil was first to crawl through the low hatch into the tower's bottom. When he was certain the soldiers atop the walls were far enough off, he signaled the others to follow.

He spotted no entrance along the keep's back. The only other possibilities were the closer side facing the bolt-hole wall or the far side by the barracks. He kept to the bolt-hole wall as they scurried in its shadow. When they were nearer to the keep's comer, he ran across the courtyard to it, and the others followed to crouch beside him.

It was a horrible position. Any soldier upon the rear wall might spot them. Leesil looked around the comer to the keep's near side, but he saw no entrance.

"Well?" Magiere whispered from behind.

He shook his head and led them along the keep's back. Around the comer on the barracks side, he spotted what they sought.

"Good and bad," he whispered. "There's an entrance with two soldiers in front of it."

"Can we take them by surprise?"

Leesil scowled at her. That prospect wasn't appealing, but it was only thing he could think of himself. As long as no one else came along in the middle of it, they might not get killed on the spot.

"Wynn and Chap, wait here," he said, pulling a dagger from his boot and handing it to Magiere, blade first. "When I move, ram this handle into the other guard, dead-center between belly and ribs. It'll take his breath so he can't call out before you put him down."

Leesil sauntered out of the shadows as if he had all night, and Magiere followed his lead.

He smiled lazily as they approached the soldiers, but both men tensed at the sight of Magiere. She wasn't armed, as Leesil still wore her falchion, but the castle grounds were sealed. Anyone not wearing a Varanj surcoat called immediate attention.

"Captain Marjus requested a delivery of stores for the prince's return," Leesil said with an edge of boredom in his voice. "She's to see about space in the cold room and larder. Got the orders right here."

He gestured with his thumb at Magiere, and he stepped across to the Varanj on the far side. Magiere stepped up to the nearer soldier. Leesil's target glanced toward Magiere.

Leesil grabbed the man's arm and neck, simultaneously turning him about and closing off his windpipe.

Magiere instantly rammed the dagger's hilt into the other guard's stomach. Her target buckled over, and she grabbed the back of his helmet, pulling forward and down. She flipped the dagger in her grip, and smashed the hilt against the base of his skull. The soldier toppled to the ground, still and silent with his face in the dirt.

Leesil's soldier struggled for a moment before going slack. He let the man slide to the ground beside his companion.

"Behind the barracks with them," Magiere whispered, and Leesil followed her lead as they dragged the soldiers away to where Wynn and Chap crouched in hiding.

"Wynn, get the rope out of my pack," Leesil said.

"Why?" the sage asked, already doing as instructed.

He cut two sections of rope, and he and Magiere bound the soldiers's arms and legs.

"Where's that ridiculous scarf of yours?" Magiere asked him.

Before he answered that he'd left it behind, Wynn pulled it from the pack.

"I thought you might need it," she said. "In case you had to abandon your disguise."

Magiere took the scarf and split it in half with her dagger.

"What are you doing?" Leesil asked.

"Gag that Varanj," she answered, handing him half the scarf. "Better he swallow it than you wear it again."

There was no time for a nasty retort. With the soldiers hidden among the barrels and crates behind the barracks, Leesil was about to lead them back to the door. He turned back to dig inside the surcoats of their unconscious prisoners, and pulled out an iron key.

"Much quicker than picking the lock," he said, and led the others back to the door.

Once it was open, Leesil slipped in first to make sure there were no servants about. The room was wide and empty, little more than an entryway with another solid door in the right wall. He checked it, found it wasn't locked, and cracked it to peer through at a large kitchen on the other side. He returned to his companions and motioned them into the entry room.

Leesil put a finger to his lips, signaling the others to be silent. He warmed up his crystal and closed it tightly in his fist to hide most of its light, indicating for Wynn to do the same with the one she carried. Leading them into the kitchen, he checked the far end entrance and the one to its left side to be sure no one lingered in the passageways. Then he returned once more to the others.

"There isn't any food here," Wynn whispered.

It was a large kitchen like the few Leesil had seen in keeps and manors of his homeland. Iron pots and pans hung on the wall above a wide and deep cooking hearth. The butcher block looked as if it hadn't been used in a while.

"Over here," Magiere said.

Leesil and Wynn went to her and found a small open pantry with a few supplies, mainly dried foods, but also onions and turnips.

"Someone has been eating," Magiere pointed out, "but I don't see signs that servants have been here in a while."

While this was baffling, Leesil thought they should move on. "Wynn, you said you'd know where to look?"

"Yes," the sage answered, "if this is similar to places I have helped my domin search in the past. Records are usually kept in a large study or office on one of the upper floors or in the cellars or lower storage-or both. Any place requiring effort to reach and with limited direct access."

Magiere nodded. "All right, let's get upstairs."

She seemed tense to Leesil, now that the answers they sought might be so near. Again, he led the way, checking each room and its next exit before bringing the others forward. When they reached the main hall, he wasn't surprised to find it deserted but took a deep breath in relief.

"Is it possible Buscan was the only one living here?" Magiere asked. "There should at least be guards inside near the main entry points."

Wynn looked down the side corridors. Chap nosed along the edge of a stairway leading up.

"Perhaps the soldiers cleared the castle," Wynn suggested, "after the baron was assassinated. Perhaps there is no one left here to protect."

Leesil turned up the stairs with Chap at his side. When he was satisfied that the upper corridor was clear, they began searching the rooms. Most were sleeping chambers that were either kept in fastidious cleanliness or had not been used in a long while. Wardrobes and chests were empty, and almost none of the rooms had chamber pots or water pitchers and basins. One room appeared to serve as a central parlor, but other than a few hand-tooled books and the usual fixtures, it held nothing of interest. When they'd reached the keep's opposite end, Leesil opened a door across from a narrow stairway leading down.

He stood upon a thick carpet in a wood-paneled room, a surprising sight after the stone walls throughout the keep. The place had a warm feel, though the fire was dead. A small desk sat to the right of the hearth, and on the right wall hung a large painting of armored cavalry in the wilderness. The feature that attracted Leesil's attention the most was a spot below the painting where wooden panels had been broken loose. A dark recess showed behind the wall.

"Wynn," he called softly.

His companions came to join him. Wynn hurried to the small desk and was about to open a drawer when she froze.

"What is it?" Leesil asked.

She pointed at a large dark stain covering the back of one chair and backed away from it.

"I think… this is where the baron was killed," she said.

Chap circled the chair, sniffing, and he growled. Leesil hadn't given much thought to the murder of Buscan during their illicit entry into the castle. The baron obviously wasn't liked among some factions of his own house, let alone the other noble families. There were plenty of possibilities for responsible parties in this land, but the stain gave Leesil a moment's reflection.

A trained assassin didn't leave evidence in plain view if it could be helped-unless there was something to be gained by early discovery of the target's death. By the size of the stain, the killer's method had been direct and crude. And there was still the strange opening in the wall to be considered.

Leesil wondered exactly what had happened in this room.

"Start searching," Magiere said.

Wynn helped her, and the two nearly took the desk and bookshelves apart. They found nothing of interest beyond a draft of a very old letter that Prince Rodek had written to his mother. All the while, Leesil studied the opening in the wall.

He reached in and held up his crystal so its light filled the space beyond. A passage of stairs led downward from the small landing.

"There's nothing in here," Magiere said angrily.

"We're done with the upper floor," Leesil said. "We need to head down anyway, and I want to know where this leads."

"I do not understand this," Wynn said, looking about as if to spot something she had missed. "There should be some immediate papers about… For the day-to-day matters, at least. Yet we have nothing. It makes no sense."

Magiere took a deep breath. She tossed aside the books in her hand and nodded to Leesil.

Leesil stepped through the wall first. Chap stayed close behind him, then Wynn, and Magiere followed last. Leesil took his time, studying the walls and steps along the way in the crystal's light. There was little chance of surprises, as this was only a simple hidden passage and not a concealed main avenue to be protected. They reached the bottom without incident, and Leesil judged they'd gone deeper than the main floor. They were underneath the keep itself.

The stairs ended at a plain door, and they emerged into a prison. A row of iron cell doors lined both sides of the passage, and its end connected to another corridor running left and right.

"I don't think we'll find any records here," Leesil whispered.

Wynn hurried ahead before Leesil could stop her, and he had to follow more quickly than he liked in unfamiliar territory. When she reached the cross-passage, looking both ways, she paused to glance back before disappearing to the left.

"Come on," she called. "I think there is a main room ahead. Perhaps guard quarters or an officer's room… or a way out of here."

"Wynn, slow down!" Magiere called.

"Wait and let me check first," Leesil added.

He was about to go after Wynn when Chap's growl made him freeze.

A woman's voice drifted from down the row of cells to their right, away from Wynn's discovered door.

"Dhampir?"

Magiere stepped close behind Leesil, and he felt her hand settle on the falchion's hilt still strapped around his waist.

"Who's there?" she called back.

From the shadows beyond the crystal's light, Leesil saw movement. Magiere tilted the falchion back and drew it from the sheath.

"Who's there?" she repeated.

A young woman emerged into the light's reach, one hand braced against an iron door, as if so frightened or exhausted, she needed the support. A brown silk gown cut like a robe clung to her figure, tied at the waist with a scarlet cord, and its top two brass clasps were undone. A mass of red curls hung down her back. A bloodstone pendant rested below her creamy throat.

She looked at the crystal in Leesil's hand, and its presence made her wary enough to pause. She appraised him carefully, and then she turned her attention upon Magiere.

"Dhampir," she said again, her tone a note of music this time.

Magiere stepped around Leesil with her falchion up.

"Stay where you are and keep your hands still, or I'll slice off anything that moves."

"I wish to help you," the woman said.

Wynn's footsteps approached behind Leesil. "Are you coming? I need help with a locked… Oh," she said as she saw the new arrival.

Leesil stepped away from Magiere to the passage's other side. It wasn't much separation, but it was as far as he could stretch this stranger's field of view. He'd learned enough hard lessons in recent days, and didn't care to have this woman able to hold all of them in her sight line at the same time. With Wynn present, her crystal in hand, there was enough light that he tucked his own crystal into his surcoat.

"Who are you?" he asked, sliding farther down the side of the passage.

"You want to help me?" Magiere asked with a bitter challenge in her voice. "How do you plan to do that?"

The woman tentatively lifted her hand from the iron door and then froze with apprehension in her eyes. Magiere nodded, and the woman lowered her hand to her side.

"Osceline," the woman answered. "That is my name. You have questions about the past and look for records-but you won't find anything here. I can help you. I serve the one who can provide your answers."

Leesil curled his hands at his sides until he could pull loose his wrist-sheath straps with two fingertips. A stiletto hilt dropped into each of his palms.

Magiere lifted the falchion's tip higher toward the woman. "You serve someone who claims to know me?"

"More than a claim," Osceline answered, and a smile surfaced briefly upon her quivering lips. "He was mere when you were born."

Chap lunged forward, snarling and snapping. Osceline shrank away from the dog, and Leesil took advantage to slip past her in the corridor. She was trapped between him and the others. Wynn grabbed Chap's haunches, but her gaze was on the woman. Magiere scooped downward with her free hand and shoved Chap back.

"You're lying," Leesil said. He wasn't about to let anyone toy with Magiere.

"No, I'm not," Osceline replied. "My master took great pains to recruit Buscan and then sent me to protect his plans. Likely you've heard what has happened here. When word reaches my master, I won't live out the day."

"Who killed Buscan?" Leesil asked.

Osceline's gaze shifted erratically between him and Magiere, as if uncertain how or who to answer to.

"I don't know who they were," she said at length. "They caught me off guard."

"So you were there when it happened," Leesil said. "In the room… you saw who did it?"

"I told you. I don't know them… who they were. Buscan was familiar with one of them."

"Them?" Leesil pressed. "More than one? And this old friend, did he have a name?"

Osceline glared at him. Her fear seemed to waver as if she knew something he'd missed-or had something he wanted. Leesil realized he'd gone too far. If she knew anything, she was considering what value her knowledge might have.

"I heard no name, and it doesn't matter anymore," she said, turning back to Magiere. "It is nothing compared to you. My master thought you dead long ago, or he would have found you-saved you from the life you've had to endure. Only in recent years did we hear the rumors and whispers… that a dhampir walked the wilderness. So, he began setting up his servants to watch for you, to find you. He needed Bus-can for this, to help properly place loyal watchers. Now, Bus-can is dead."

Leesil saw Magiere's grip tighten on the falchion's hilt.

"Do you know the name of my father?" she asked in low voice. "Is he your master?"

"No," Osceline answered. "My master will explain all himself. That is his wish. I can't tell you any more, except where to find him, but first you make me a promise."

"I'll promise you nothing!" Magiere said Her voice was a little too loud, and Leesil could see her pain. He wished he could offer comfort, but for the moment, he couldn't take his attention from Osceline.

"Then I tell you nothing," Osceline answered.

Leesil lifted his stilettos into view. Osceline's gaze shifted toward him, but she didn't move another muscle. She saw nothing she considered a threat, and Leesil's own wariness sharpened.

"What is it you want?" Magiere finally asked.

"Swear to tell my master that it was I who found you, I who sent you to him and no one else. Do this and I might regain his favor and my life."

Magiere glanced at Leesil, and he nodded agreement.

"All right," Magiere said. "You have my word, as I've no deity to swear by."

Osceline cocked her head toward Leesil. "Swear on his fife."

Magiere tilted her head forward, dark hair curtaining half her face. Her irises flooded black. She lifted the falchion with her elbow cocked back and took a step toward Osceline. The woman flattened herself against the cell door, but there was still no fear in her eyes.

"It's all right," Leesil said.

He saw Magiere hesitate, her attention split between him and the woman. She lowered her blade.

"I swear on his life," she said, the words grating out of her throat. "I will tell your master you sent me. Now spit it out! What is his name, and where do we find him?"

Relief filled Osceline's lovely face, followed by satisfaction. A silent tension passed through Leesil as he wondered if they'd just made some terrible mistake in bargaining with this skulker in the belly of the keep.

"Ubad," Osceline said, calm and collected. "His name is Master Ubad."

She stepped away from the door as if there were no longer any threat she need be concerned with. She even turned her back on Leesil, facing Magiere directly.

"You can find him in the wetlands beyond the village of Apudalsat," Osceline continued. "To the east, in the province of the Sclaven on the edge of the Everfen region. The keep is deserted, as is the village, but he is there. Go to the keep- he will know when you arrive. He is wise and will explain all to you. But do not forget your oath to me."

Osceline turned around and stepped past Leesil without looking back. She walked down into the passage's dark end. Magiere started after her, but Leesil grabbed her arm.

"Let her go. " When he glanced back, Osceline was gone. "I believe she was telling the truth… for what little she did tell us."

Chap rumbled softly in Wynn's arms as she crouched behind the dog.

"We have not finished looking," the sage suggested. "There might still be-"

"We've found nothing here," Leesil corrected, "and I don't think looking further will change that. We'd best leave while we can."

He saw the ridged clench of Magiere's jaw, and he'd seen how close she'd come to cutting into Osceline when the woman had made her swear on his life. Magiere turned away, heading for the hidden staircase, but her hand slid gently down his arm as she did so. Leesil waved Wynn and Chap on behind her.

He looked back down the passage Osceline had taken as he sheathed one stiletto and pulled out his crystal. There was something wrong here. He stepped farther down the row of cell doors shut tight on both sides.

In three steps, the crystal's light revealed an empty deadend, and he'd heard no cell doors open.

Leesil backed carefully to the intersection of the corridors, watching every shadow.

He followed the others up to the study, looking back over his shoulder more than once. From the wood-paneled room, he led the way out into the hall and then down the narrow stairs facing the door. This emptied into a corridor on the main floor, and it did not take long to reach the kitchen and step out behind the courtyard barracks once again. Leesil locked the door behind them and refastened the key to the belt of the unconscious guard. Magiere handed him her falchion, and he slipped it into the sheath.

When they returned to the bolt-hole inside the castle wall, the others crawled through. As he stepped back and prepared to slide the wall section on its rails back into place, Magiere grabbed his arm.

"What are you doing?" she asked. "It's time to get away from here."

"I can't secure this from the outside. If we leave it open, the castle could be breached. If something happened, the Varanj soldiers would be blamed."

She was about to argue, and he knew what she would say. Why should they be concerned about the Varanj? But Leesil leaned into the opening and kissed her quickly on the nose to silence her.

"I'll meet you at the inn… or beat you there. Now go."

He shoved the stones along the rail and pulled the lock lever into place.

For the second time that night, Magiere waited with Wynn in the room at the Acorn Oak. Dawn approached, none of them had slept, and Chap paced worriedly, glancing repeatedly at Wynn. No matter how the sage tried, she couldn't get the dog to touch the talking hide, much less answer questions concerning the woman in the corridor or this Master Ubad.

Magiere tried to remain calm, but her thoughts tangled with questions over and over. What if she delayed Leesil's search for his mother only to be led down another dead end? What if Osceline was lying? All Magiere wanted from this journey was the truth, and now that it might be within her reach, she was no longer certain she could accept it.

Wynn watched her from the bed, and Magiere read apprehension in the sage's eyes. Curious Wynn, the little scholar, also feared what they might discover next.

"No matter what happens, Magiere," Wynn said. "You are still just you, and we are with you."

The words were trite but welcome.

Leesil opened the door and walked in. Magiere breathed in relief.

"So you bluffed your way back out again," she said.

"Of course. " He wasted no time packing his toolbox and blades in the chest. "I know we're all tired, but we should leave straightaway. We'll take turns at the reins while the others sleep."

"Just like that?" Magiere asked. "We hunt down this Ubad on the word of a mysterious woman hiding in a castle prison?"

"Aren't you ready?" he returned.

"It depends on whether she was telling the truth or not,"

Wynn said. "We were looking for records of Magiere's father, and this is… a convenient coincidence."

"Osceline told us truths and lies, I'm sure," Leesil replied. "As to her 'master, her fear of him seemed real enough. He'll be dangerous if he commands that kind of submission at a distance."

"We know Vordana was watching for me," Magiere said. "And we know something arcane was required for my birth. If this Ubad was there, he was involved. If such as Vordana serve him, he'll be dangerous indeed."

Magiere studied Leesil for a moment, and then dropped her gaze, no longer able to meet his eyes. The moment Osceline demanded an oath on Leesil's life, Magiere had wanted to make the woman suffer for it. Leesil obviously thought nothing of such an oath if it got Magiere what she needed. Another added leg to their journey would cause him to wait longer before seeing to his own need.

"I didn't expect to go this far… this long," she said. "I'm so sorry."

"Sorry?" Leesil returned. "It may have taken longer than expected, but we might be less than six days from the answers to your questions. Don't be sorry when there's nothing to be sorry for."

Chap growled at him, but no one paid attention, least of all Magiere. There were so many thoughts whirling inside her mind that she could grasp hold of only one and cling to it.

"Wynn, see about the wagon and horses," she said. "Take Chap. Get us something hot to eat for the road, if you can."

"Some hot water for tea, as well," Wynn answered, and she got up to leave, Chap ambling along behind her.

Leesil closed the chest up tight. He started to pull it toward the open door, but Magiere shut it in his way, and he stood there staring at her. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Magiere put her hands to his face, and leaned her forehead against his in silence. Why was it so hard to say a few simple words?

"What?" he whispered.

She couldn't open her eyes as she spoke. "I love you… you know that?"

Leesil remained still in her hands. She felt his fingers slide up along her temples, lacing into her hair.

"Of course," he whispered. "I'm the one who came after you… dragon."

"No, I have to say it," she said, "when and while I can. And you have to remember… no matter what else there is of me to come, that's what you have to remember."

Magiere pulled his face to hers, pressing her mouth deep against his.

Chap watched the city walls fall behind as the wagon rolled out of Keonsk at dawn, well before anyone could discover the unconscious guards at the castle. The horses were well rested and kept a steady pace, and both Leesil and Magiere sat in front on the wagon's bench.

Wynn was already asleep under her blanket in the wagon's back, and Chap curled up against her. Even sleeping, the little sage's presence brought some comfort, though he felt uncertain what her place was in all this. It would have been far easier to keep his secrets without her constant curiosity about him. He no longer had complete faith in his own actions, but he had come to one decision of which his kin might not approve.

Although he could simply force Magiere from this path, he would not. And it was clear that he was unable to dissuade her. In spite of nightmare visions while under the undead sorcerer's spell, or perhaps because of them, he would help Magiere complete this journey.

At the very least it was the quickest way to remove her from this land and give them all a little more time before events started moving forward too quickly. And if they found Cuirin'nen'a-Leesil's mother, Nein'a as he called her- this might help to balance things as well.

The enemy was aware and watching. This was one of the few certainties left to Chap.

He would go with Magiere, face whatever came of her discoveries, and do what was possible in the aftermath. He would finish what he had started when he had connected Magiere's path to Leesil's.

Chap would have to trust Magiere, and trust Leesil… or at least trust in what he had created between them.