The Night Voice

Chapter Fourteen

The following evening, past dusk, Wynn noticed the others gathering in between the tents, and she knew it was time. The full creation of a plan was about to be discussed openly. Though she suspected some of them had been ready to begin earlier that day, everyone waited for Chane to rise.

Whether they accepted him or not, hated him or not, they all knew he would be needed for what was to come. And he and Chap had traveled up an entire continent to retrieve the missing three orbs. Chane had earned his place here as much as any of them.

Magiere and Leesil settled next to each other with Chap to Leesil’s left. Brot’an crouched on Magiere’s other side. Chane and Ore-Locks stood slightly aside and both looked to Wynn, so she went to join them. A moment later Ghassan emerged from a tent.

He had been angry last night upon returning to find Chuillyon gone and, for some reason, he blamed her exclusively. She’d kept Leesil’s branch and also kept quiet about its use at Chap’s insistence.

Ghassan glanced around and raised one dark brow at her. “Has your elf returned?”

“He isn’t mine,” she corrected. “And no, he hasn’t. But everyone else is ready, so we should begin without him.”

As she, Chane, and Ore-Locks stepped closer into a circle with the others, Ghassan wouldn’t let up.

“Then we start with the truth, right now,” he insisted. “Why did you send Chuillyon back home? And you can skip any more nonsense about him checking on Wayfarer.”

His tone bordered on threatening.

Magiere fixed on him, her expression darkening, and Chap rumbled low in warning. Perhaps one or both were about to intervene, but Wynn needed no such protection.

“Chap feels some things should be on a need-to-know basis,” she countered, “and I agree whether you like it or not. This is not a matter of trust but for the protection of everyone should any one of us be captured instead of killed. We cannot be forced to tell what we don’t know.”

At that, Brot’an frowned but didn’t argue. He might agree with Chap in principle, but he would also see that if she were taken, it would not matter what the others didn’t know. And Brot’an was right about that.

Very little could be done to Chap to get anything from him. Not so for her. But Chap had been as careful as possible. Last night, he had merely asked Leesil and Magiere to trust him in sending Chuillyon back. He had not shared his plan even with them. However, he had told Wynn most of it, or so she believed.

Leesil glanced nervously at Magiere, and Wynn knew there were several reasons why.

“Can we get on with this?” he asked.

Ghassan studied him coldly. “By all means.”

Leesil opened his mouth, closed it, and took a deep breath before he began. “Chap believes the only way we might succeed is to break into two teams. One team to distract and draw off the forces below while the other team finds a way into the mountain ... with the orbs.”

Magiere straightened upright, turning on him where he sat. “What?”

Leesil ignored her. “The first group must do anything to keep as many of the Enemy’s forces from seeing and following those infiltrating the peak. Without that, we fail before we even start.”

Ore-Locks and Chane had been silent so far, but Chane asked quietly, “How do we decide who goes with which group?”

Chap’s head swiveled, and Wynn found his sky blue eyes locked on her.

—Help Leesil—

“By ability or usefulness,” she answered. “Five heavy orbs have to be carried in, and that means Chane, Ore-Locks, and Brot’an, with Leesil leading.”

The skin over Magiere’s cheekbones drew back. Before she could fire off an argument, Ghassan spoke up.

“I may not be as strong as they are, but I have skills they do not, such as shielding infiltrators from nearby detection for short periods or moving an orb by means other than strength ... and there are five orbs.”

“Your inclusion had already been decided,” Wynn said to him, “if you had let Leesil finish. There are other things for which you will also be needed.”

Wynn tried not to look around at everyone present, for she knew that by the end of tomorrow night, she might never see some of them again.

Watching Magiere grow angrier by the moment, Chap readied himself to stop her before a verbal onslaught started. He was too late.

“I am going for the Enemy!” she stated, rising to her feet. “No one else before me!”

Chap also rose as he snarled.

—Success ... is all ... that matters— ... —There is more ... to be ... said ... in private— ... —Sit down ... now—

While he called up those words out of Magiere’s memories, Leesil had lurched to his feet and stepped in on Magiere.

“Sit down,” he ordered as well, “and hear the rest of this out.”

Magiere blinked, still breathing hard, and Chap waited and watched. Leesil seldom spoke harshly to her or gave her orders. That he had done so as well left her hesitant.

“Please, Magiere,” Wynn added.

Magiere did not sit but stepped back, remaining silent, and Wynn continued as Chap had instructed her.

“The optimal time would be daylight, dawn,” Wynn continued, “when the undead fall dormant. But it is unlikely that all of those below are undead. Worse, it would be that much harder for the second group to sneak in, so we have to do this at night.” She paused. “And Chane won’t be able to help until then ... and we need him.”

Chane glowered at her, now as openly suspicious as Magiere had been before her outburst. His eyes turned nearly clear.

“And where will you be?” he asked Wynn, as if he didn’t know already.

“With Chuillyon, when he returns,” Wynn responded.

Chane’s brow furrowed as he shook his head, and Brot’an spoke for the first time.

“The vampire is the only one making sense. How are Wynn and Chuillyon to distract the horde, even assuming Chap and Magiere will join them?”

Chap wished there were a way to keep Brot’an even more in the dark.

Wynn was far less confident than she sounded. She’d known how difficult Chane would be once he realized he would not be with her. Chap looked up at her.

—Tell them it is possible to distract the horde because Magiere will be with you—

Wynn related this aloud, and Magiere turned on Chap.

“What do you mean?”

As Chap continued speaking into Wynn’s head, she explained to the others.

“If the infiltration team is spotted, Magiere may be able to hold the undead forces through her dhampir nature—either in controlling some, as was once hinted at long ago, or in simply being seen as a prime threat to them ... or both. I’ll have the sun crystal ready, if needed, to keep them at bay.”

Magiere shook her head. “What do you mean ... controlling some of them?”

Wynn didn’t like that part herself. “Chap will explain more in private.”

Chane hissed, and even Ore-Locks scowled, though he knew less about the others than anyone.

“Chap believes we have a good chance,” Wynn went on. “One group can distract the forces long enough for the other to find an entrance into the mountain.”

“How and where?” Ore-Locks demanded, speaking for the first time.

—Enough! Move on!—

Wynn winced at Chap’s sharpness in her head. She was growing tired of his harsh insistence while simultaneously dealing with the others on all sides.

Looking to Magiere, she said, “He wants to speak with you and me alone.”

“We have not finished here,” Ghassan challenged, eyeing Chap. “We have barely started, and why is he in charge?”

Chap turned away, padding out of camp, and without a moment’s hesitation, Magiere strode after him.

Wynn couldn’t guess which one would do the talking—shouting—first. And they were both leaving so fast that she had no time to speak with or even glance toward Chane before hurrying after them.

Magiere closed on Chap as he rounded a craggy knoll. He stopped near several large boulders and sat without turning or looking back. Wynn arrived and scurried past Magiere toward Chap.

“You could have handled that better!” Wynn scolded Chap. Then she straightened suddenly, eyes widening. “Oh, really? Well, I am tired of being your surrogate mouth and the first target for the others ... because of you!”

“You won’t be my target,” Magiere growled as she rounded them to face Chap. “I’m going inside the peak, you understand!”

She wasn’t letting anything—anyone—tell her otherwise.

—You cannot—

Magiere’s anger started to burn up her throat.

—Remember ... what I told you ... through Wynn ... on the night in the an’Cróan ... forest ... after ... your trial—

Startled, Magiere hesitated. “What does that have to do with anything?”

—Sit down— ... —I will speak ... through Wynn ... to recount— ... —You will ... listen ... to her—

Magiere didn’t need the sage to recount. She’d never forget that night, and she didn’t need reminding. Before she could tell this to Chap, he locked gazes with Wynn. After a moment’s hesitation, the sage began.

“No undead existed before the war at the end of the Forgotten History, not that we know of. No undead rose but from humans. No undead walks into elven lands ... except you.” Wynn paused and stared without blinking as Magiere thought of one exception ...

“Yes, Chane can enter elven lands,” Wynn confirmed, “but only because of the ring he stole from your half brother, Welstiel.”

Though she went on, Magiere already knew the rest.

In the dank forests of Pudúrlatsat, on the eastern continent, Chap had fallen prey to a phantasm cast by Vordana, an undead sorcerer. Magiere, herself—and Leesil—had suffered the same. Though they’d all experienced some portent of the future, each had seen it differently, based on their own worst fears. That, and perhaps something more hidden in each of them.

Chap’s had been the worst, and right now Magiere wished he’d never told her.

He had seen her leading an army—a horde—with ranks of creatures driven to slaughter. She’d stood at the head of those forces in black-scaled armor, fully feral with her dhampir nature unleashed. Among the horde were the shadowed and gleaming-eyed figures, as in some of Magiere’s own delusions and nightmares.

The undead followed her into a thriving forest.

Everything withered and died in her wake under their hunger.

Wynn went on.

Magiere had been imbued—infected, cursed—at birth with the nature of a Noble Dead. And yet, unlike them, she was alive. She had been created inside her mother’s womb by a ritual that used the blood of five sacrifices from the original races of the world ... the Úirishg.

The Ancient Enemy had arranged all of it, and by that and the life within her, Magiere could go anywhere she wished.

The undead could not, especially into those lands protected by Chârmun or its offspring—unless they followed her. And since that night in Pudúrlatsat, that had been Chap’s reasoning for why she had been made.

Magiere didn’t like it but couldn’t argue about it.

“And then there’s something not about you,” Wynn said. “Remember that Leesil was given a name by one of the an’Cróan’s spiritual ancestors called Léshiâra—‘Sorrow-Tear.’ She named him Léshiârelaohk—‘Sorrow-Tear’s Champion.’”

Magiere back-stepped once, trying to draw a breath.

“In that, he was also created ... or re-created,” Wynn added, “for a purpose, like you.”

Nothing Wynn said was anything Magiere didn’t already know. To think of Leesil as the other side for what Chap saw as her purpose was too twisted, too cruel.

“Don’t you see?” Wynn asked quietly. “Leesil has to be the one—and not you—if we believe anything about what we’ve encountered since we met. He has to go for the Enemy while you have to lead the horde away ... somehow ... from him.”

Magiere didn’t know if Wynn now spoke for Chap or herself or both.

“That is Leesil’s only chance to fulfill his fate and for you to escape yours,” Wynn added, “even if any living forces below turn another way and do not follow the undead after you.”

In another back step, Magiere’s heel struck a boulder. She dropped down onto that stone and sat looking from Wynn to Chap.

“You told him already, didn’t you?” she accused, fixing on Chap. “You already got to Leesil.”

Chap crept in to sit before her.

“We had to,” Wynn answered. “If we revealed too much too soon, you would have gone to him first. And he would have gone anywhere with you. It cannot happen that way.”

As the truth sank in, Magiere went numb. Wynn came to crouch beside her, but she couldn’t look at either of them anymore.

“I will be with you, and so will Chap,” Wynn said. “Together, we will make certain Leesil and the others have a chance.”

In Magiere’s own phantasm on that long-lost night in the forest, she had turned on Leesil with the horde and killed him. She’d thought that if she kept clear of the undead here and now, she could wipe away that nightmare and keep Leesil safe.

But even now they’d been doomed to different sides.

“I need to talk to Leesil,” Magiere said. She left without looking back.

Leesil sat in one tent, trying to shut out the sounds of the voices outside. When Magiere, Chap, and Wynn had left, he’d had to cut off anyone else from following. Ghassan had been the worst, and for an instant, Leesil had wondered what the fallen domin might do. When Ghassan slightly turned away, Leesil had done the same by retreating to the tent.

He already knew what Wynn and Chap were doing.

They’d spoken to him before tonight. It all made sense, and still he had instinctively argued. No matter that he couldn’t get around them and why things had to be this way.

Magiere could never go near the Enemy, for that was what it appeared to want.

The tent’s flap was pulled outward, and Leesil tensed all over. Whether it was Magiere coming at him, now that she knew, or Ghassan with more arguments, Leesil was in no mood for either.

To his surprise, neither of them crouched in the opening.

Instead, Chane peered in. “May I enter for a moment?”

Leesil didn’t know what to say. Chane was the last one he’d expected.

“What do you want?” Leesil asked.

Chane dropped to his right knee and pivoted in to close the flap. He then turned about and hesitated. Did he actually take a deep breath and let it out slowly?

“We all know the Enemy can reach for and call its own anywhere,” Chane said quietly. “It can control them, though with differing influence. You saw as much with two of its Children that you faced. And I—and Wynn—saw hints of the same with Sau’ilahk, the wraith.”

Leesil didn’t respond, though he already suspected where Chane was going with this. It was something that had terrified him for too long.

“What if the Enemy seizes control of Magiere?” Chane asked.

Leesil’s first instinct was to snarl denial, but he couldn’t. This time, there was no doubt that Chane took a labored breath and let it out before raising a hand, its back side toward Leesil, and spreading his fingers.

“This could protect Magiere ... while out there facing the horde,” Chane said.

Leesil’s confusion passed in a blink, for on the middle finger of the undead’s hand was a brass ring. Once or twice, he’d heard it called the “ring of nothing.”

What was Chane really up to?

“We both have a woman we wish to protect,” Chane continued, “but neither of us can do so in what is coming. This ring might keep Magiere from being used, though that has another risk.”

It didn’t take long for Leesil to work that out. If that ring hid Chane’s undead nature and also hid him from the Enemy, would it affect Magiere’s chance at controlling or at least calling out the undead? Would it hide too much of her nature?

Of course this wasn’t really about Magiere but about Wynn. If Magiere couldn’t influence the undead among the horde, both Magiere and Wynn stood even less chance of surviving.

“You see the catch,” Chane said, “so I came to you before her. This is not just my decision, though I would have preferred it so.”

Leesil eyed Chane and then the ring. There was even more to it. If Magiere failed to draw off even part of the forces below, there would be little chance of gaining the mountain without being seen. And as important ...

“Yes, I would be detectable without the ring,” Chane finished in response to Leesil’s thought.

He was weary of choices like this, and it was so strange that this monster even asked. Then again, was there a difference for how much blood Chane had spilled in his youth versus what Leesil had spilled? Yes, for he hadn’t killed for pleasure. Still, strangely, Chane had asked only him.

“No,” Leesil finally answered.

Chane’s eyes widened slightly.

“Magiere’s not the only one who might be controlled,” Leesil added. That was the true catch for when—if—they got close to the Enemy. For that, it wouldn’t matter if Magiere succumbed or not. They would be ruined if Chane and not Magiere fell under the Enemy’s influence.

Chane lowered his eyes and nodded. Pivoting on that one knee, he pulled aside the tent’s flap.

“Chane,” Leesil whispered.

And Chane froze, turning his head but not fully looking back.

“If something does happen to us in there,” Leesil began, “and you’re the only one who can’t be influenced ...”

Chane turned more and looked directly at Leesil. Nothing more needed to be said, and Chane nodded once. He was gone faster than he’d entered, leaving Leesil alone with his doubts and fears.

He knew Magiere would be coming to him soon.

“I don’t like lying to our friends,” Wynn whispered after Magiere was gone.

Chap looked up.

—We have not—

“Don’t,” Wynn cut in. “I do not need lies to comfort me.”

—We simply told each only what they need to know. Some things cannot be shared with the others, for the safety of all—

Wynn got up and headed off. “That’s a lie as well. And how much have you not told me?”

Chap followed at her side but didn’t answer.

When they returned to camp, neither Magiere nor Leesil was in sight. Wynn looked to one tent and knew they were both in there. She couldn’t imagine what they might say to each other, but more than likely Magiere was going at Leesil for his part in what she hadn’t been told until too late.

Chap stared off between the tents at the chests now covered by a tarp. And when Wynn looked away, she caught Chane watching her.

He stood as if he were in quiet talk with Ore-Locks, though the young stonewalker appeared to be doing all of the talking. At a sharp word from Ore-Locks, perhaps for being ignored, Chane started slightly.

As to Ghassan and Brot’an, both were off to either side on their own, one pacing and the other settled cross-legged on the ground as if this were any other night.

Wynn looked down and found Chap still studying the tarped chests—the orbs. She had no idea what he was thinking, and she knew he’d never tell even if she asked.

“I’m going for a rest in another tent. Call me when Magiere finishes with Leesil ... or the other way. And then we will all finish any more talking and planning.”

She headed off for Chane and Ore-Locks’s tent to be alone, wondering if she even had the strength for more planning after facing down Magiere. Then she heard footsteps come closer outside the tent.

“Wynn?”

She closed her eyes. She wasn’t up to a fight with Chane either.

“What is it?” she asked tiredly.

Without invitation, he entered, crawling in to sit beside her. She didn’t look over until she heard him fiddling with a pack. It was the second one, the one he never let anyone touch. Whatever he was checking for, he didn’t pull it out.

“Please don’t start,” she said.

“What did you and Chap say to Magiere?”

“We convinced her that she can hold back the horde.”

“Can she?”

Wynn didn’t have an answer for that.

“And you still wish me to go with the team infiltrating the peak?” he asked.

Wynn’s thoughts turned back to the first time she’d ever seen him at the guild’s annex in Bela, now on the other side of the world. She hadn’t known then what he was and had seen only a handsome, somewhat dour young nobleman hungry for scholarly pursuits. Had she started to fall in love with him even then? Or had it been just a naive infatuation with his attention in a faraway land?

“I know you would die for me,” she whispered, “but your dying, again, won’t help anything, not even me. So you know the answer, after all the time we’ve been together. We cannot fail now, or nothing else comes after ... for any of us.”

Chane remained silent.

Wynn had a strange feeling his question was only half earnest. Yes, he wanted to stay at her side, but somehow he must have known the answer before he’d asked.

“Leesil needs your strength,” she added, “and Magiere needs my skills and my staff.” She hung her head, exhausted and drained and desperate.

Chane still said nothing.

“I love you,” she whispered.

When she finally raised her head again, he was staring at her without blinking. Then he suddenly twisted away, jerked open that same pack, and wrenched something out.

In his hand was a widemouthed bottle with a wax-sealed stopper.

Wynn could smell something familiar, and before she could ask ...

“This is a healing elixir,” he said. “I made it from the white Anamgiah petals. Take it with you for whatever you need, for ... anyone whose life is in immediate danger.” He hesitated. “But do not try it with Magiere. Because of her nature, the part like me, it would be harmful.”

Wynn shook her head in puzzlement and looked up at Chane. Those going with him might need this as much as she or those with her did.

“If I cannot protect you myself,” he whispered, “then I will do so in any other way possible.”

Not knowing what to say, she reached out for the bottle. Instead, she wrapped her small hand across his larger one holding the vessel. And after a moment ...

“We need to go out and finish planning.”

The following midafternoon, Chuillyon planned a brief trip back to the desert. He had traveled with Wynn’s group long enough to know that they would sleep during the day’s worst heat. Still, he had no idea where he might arrive and was relieved to reappear inside a tent.

Magiere, Leesil, Chap, and Wynn were all sound asleep at his feet where he crouched with his hand touching the branch of Roise Chârmune. Wynn had earlier agreed to leave the branch out all day and into the night, just in case.

Chuillyon gently touched her shoulder. Her eyes fluttered sleepily and then widened at the sight of him. He quickly put one finger over his lips and then pointed to the tent flap. Slow and silent, they both crawled out of the tent, leaving the others asleep.

“Is everything arranged as Chap instructed?” Wynn whispered in a half panic.

He smiled and nodded once. “Either I have not lost my persuasive way, or mention of your name holds more sway than I realized.”

She did not smile back. “So it’s all set?”

“Almost.” Reaching into his robe’s pocket, he drew out the new sprout cut from Chârmun. “This is a little something extra.”

“That’s ... is that ... ?”

“Oh, stop stammering. I will go into the hills between the range and peak and hide it somewhere. From there I can use it to return home—and then back later. But you will not see me again until you and yours act. The timing of this is the real reason I came to you.”

Her eyes were still on the sprout as she answered, “Tonight at dusk.”

Chuillyon stalled in a frown; that was sooner than expected.

“All will be ready,” he replied. “And Leesil has agreed to lead those heading for the peak?”

“Yes.”

He leaned down closer to Wynn. “Tell him to keep the branch on him at all times, no matter what else happens. Only in that will I be able to reach him and the others, should escape or assistance be needed.”

Wynn nodded, though the notion brought no relief to her expression.

Chuillyon smiled wryly one last time, and turning away, he added, “Until tonight, young Wynn.”

That evening, Wynn helped with final preparations. After the orbs in their chests were rigged on tent poles, so that two at least could be carried efficiently by pairs of those going with Leesil, Wynn distributed the orb keys—or thôrhks. Though there were five orbs, only three keys had been recovered whole.

Wynn gave one each to Ore-Locks, Ghassan, and Chane. Each man hung the thôrhk around his neck. Brot’an received none and did not argue or appear to expect one. Chane had hidden both his packs and his cloak, though who knew if he had stashed anything from those somewhere on himself. He wore only a dark shirt, pants, boots, both his swords, and a coil of rope over one shoulder. Ore-Locks had stripped down to pants, boots, and shirt as well, but he wore his stonewalker daggers in his belt and the sword with a width nearly twice that of Chane’s longer one. Ghassan appeared much the same as always, though he too wore a coil of rope.

And there was yet one more orb key unlike all the others.

Leesil was to be given Magiere’s more singular one.

Back on the eastern continent, Magiere and Leesil had been taken down to the fiery home of the Chein’âs before even finding the first orb. That subterranean race that lived in a realm of Fire made all the weapons and tools for the Anmaglâhk. They gifted Magiere a dagger of white metal and a thôrhk to match, the only other thôrhk in the world that would open an orb.

Magiere now stood before her husband, wearing her studded leather hauberk. With her falchion belted on her hip, the white metal dagger was once again strapped inverted beneath the back flap of her hauberk. She had pulled her hair into a single thong-lashed tail.

Carefully, she fit her thôrhk around Leesil’s neck.

“Bring it back to me,” she said.

He nodded. He wore his ringed hauberk. His muslin cloth was gone, and his hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck. He had a long rope in a coil loosely over one shoulder and across his chest. Both winged blades were strapped to his thighs, and Wynn knew he had at least one white metal stiletto up his left sleeve.

Finally, Leesil took the last step that he had prepared for himself and those with him. Soot from the dead campfire had been mixed with a bit of oil and water. This he smeared over his face and neck, having all others going with him do the same, especially Chane with his extra-pale skin.

When Leesil rose again, Wynn stepped toward him with the branch from Roise Chârmune. She didn’t even ask and grabbed his right wrist, placing the branch on his forearm and lashing it there with bits of leather thongs.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“This way you will not lose it and always have it ready.”

He scowled at her. “So what are you not telling me this time?”

“Just keep it there.” She dipped some muck by the dead fire to spread over the branch.

Leesil sighed, probably tired of so many secrets, but what he did not know could not be taken from him. That branch might be the last way to get to him and the others ... if anyone else was left alive and the worst came about.

More than likely, such an option might not matter by then.

Chap came up beside her.

Earlier, she had let him know about Chuillyon’s brief return and about the new sprout from Chârmun to be hidden somewhere between the foothills and the peak. This was the only way he would have let Leesil keep the branch.

—All else is ready?—

“Yes,” she answered, hoping she was right.

Leesil and Chane hefted the first two chests on two poles, Ghassan and Brot’an the next pair, and Ore-Locks picked up the final chest.

Ghassan looked to Wynn. “We depend on the rest of you to distract the horde.”

Though she nodded, she looked to Chane and found him watching her. They said nothing, for any words at all might be too much like their last.

Going to Leesil, who gripped two pole ends, Magiere grabbed his neck and pressed her forehead to his. When she let go, that was all, and Leesil led the others out into the growing darkness.

—And now we hurry—

After giving this command, Chap stalked off another way. Wynn gripped her staff and followed with Magiere at her side, both of them watching the sparking of campfires below at the peak’s base ... where the undead were already rising.