Chap spun with a huff and bolted around Leesil and Magiere. He ducked in against the bailey wall’s base and dropped to his belly. As Magiere and Leesil crouched behind him, he heard the rapid footfalls on cobble drawing nearer.
To Chap’s relief, the sage did not even glance their way and kept running, soon vanishing southward into the city. In spite of not being spotted, he realized their position was still far too open. Leesil must have been thinking the same thing, for he pointed to an alley across the street.
“We can watch the gate from there,” he whispered.
Magiere did not move. “Why would the guild send two sages running off into the night?”
Chap had no idea.
Leesil shook his head, hefted the chest over one shoulder as he rose, and then reached down for Magiere.
“I don’t know. Now come on.”
To Chap’s further relief, Magiere relented, took Leesil’s hand, and stood up. At least they could all get out of sight for the moment. But, in truth, Chap had no idea what would happen after that.
Chapter 4
CHANE STOOD NEAR THE door of Wynn’s room, listening to the sound of fading footsteps as he waited for the metaologer to follow Shade out into the courtyard. He glanced back to find Wynn still watching out the window, her back to the room and half bent over, with her elbows braced on the deep stone sill.
Moonlight or torch braziers on the gatehouse glinted off the top of her soft brown hair. Anyone’s eyes but Chane’s might not have caught this. Her locks shimmered as her head tilted to one side, perhaps in trying to look down to the barracks’ outer door. And not a word had passed between them concerning her three visitors to the keep.
Did she even know he had seen them?
“Not yet,” Wynn whispered.
Confused, Chane quickly realized she was referring to Shade leading off the guardian sage. Then he heard a muted, rhythmic clanking from somewhere outside, beyond the window.
Wynn stiffened upright. She leaned into the window’s deep recess and craned her head, looking all ways through the panes.
“Is that the portcullis?” Chane asked. The clanking ceased. “What’s happening?”
She shook her head, peering toward the gatehouse. In only a moment, the heavy clanking rhythm began again.
“I think it’s closing now,” she said. “They must have opened it briefly, though I wonder why.” Her focus suddenly pivoted down and to the right. “Finally! Shade is trotting for the main doors, and Dorian is rushing to keep up. They’ll be out of sight in a moment.”
Wynn began to turn.
Chane stalled again at the thought of leaving her. Of course, he was concerned about the safety of the scroll, but once he was outside these walls, the prospect of reentry was doubtful. He was reluctant to leave before the council had finished with Wynn. How could he even check on her to know what had happened?
“What?” Wynn asked, staring at him.
Perhaps too many thoughts showed on his face, so he quickly redirected her attention. “Do you remember the inn I stayed at before? Nattie’s, in what people here call the Grayland’s Empire?”
“Yes ... though I avoid such labels for the poor districts.”
“You can find me there. Send word when ... as soon as you can.”
Chane kept his expression passive, but he could not help rejoicing inwardly at the relief on Wynn’s face. She did not want to lose contact with him, either.
“Good,” she said, nodding.
And yet she had still not said a word about ...
Chane turned, about to slip out with nothing left to say—not until she did. Then he felt her small hand grab the back of his cloak, and he half turned to look down at her, but she did not release him.
“Chane ...” she began, faltering. “How much did you see?”
There it was.
She watched him carefully. Perhaps she had seen him glance at the window.
“You mean Magiere,” he whispered—or tried to—but he could hear the malice in his own voice.
Instead of being startled, she took a quick breath, held it for an instant, and then said, “Stay away from her—away from all of them.”
Anger made the beast within Chane stir. The scar that ringed his entire neck and throat began to itch and then burn. It was the only mark he bore from any kind of wound since he had first risen from death. Magiere had done this to him with her strange falchion.
“You were there,” he hissed, “when she took my head!”
“Because you tried to kill her first,” Wynn countered.
“And whom did you protect?”
She winced, but he did not take back his words, uttered so sharply in his nearly voiceless rasp. They both knew how his voice had been forever maimed. Wynn had thrown herself in front of him, begging him to stop when he had the upper hand and was about to kill Magiere. At Wynn’s plea, he had faltered, but Magiere had not even hesitated.
Chane still did not know why he had risen again. There was only the following night, when he awoke in a shallow open grave. He was covered in bodies and blood, and Welstiel Massing looked down upon him, as if waiting for him to rise.
Wynn closed her eyes, perhaps reliving that terrible moment between him and Magiere, but her silence did not last long.
“Leave her alone, Chane.”
This was not an answer to his question. “And did you give her the same warning? To leave me alone?”
Her eyes opened, and she blinked several times without a word. He understood.
“She does not know. None of them do,” he accused. “You did not even tell them ... that I have been here, while they abandoned you.”
“And I’m keeping it that way,” she shot back, “as long as possible. I don’t want you and Magiere going at each other again—not now, not ever. And, like me, they had something critical to accomplish.”
“Such as?” he asked angrily. “What happened to the first orb? What did they do with it?”
“There’s no time. Put any thought of vengeance out of your head. Promise me you’ll stay away from her—them. Swear it, Chane! Please.”
He had no intention of going after Magiere—at present. Even if he had, he was all the more angry, even hurt, that Wynn would put this on him. He had promised her that he would never feed upon a sentient being again; he had kept that promise, by the word of it, at least.
He gazed into Wynn’s face more deeply and saw only worry and fear. When she looked into his eyes, it was clear that her worry was focused upon him. But what of the fear? Whom did she fear for the most—him or Magiere?
“I swear,” he whispered.
Wynn sagged slightly, loosening her hold on his cloak. “Then you’d better go. Keep the scroll safe.”
Chane needed no reminder. He hoisted his two packs and turned, grasping the door’s handle. Wynn grabbed the side of his cloak again.
“You’ll hear from me as soon as I can—I promise,” she said softly.
Her grip lingered an instant longer, and then finally released.
With one last wave of regret—the feeling that leaving her was wrong—Chane slipped out the door and down the passage.
Siweard Rodian, captain of the Shyldfälches—the “People’s Shield”—worked long past supper in his office within Calm Seatt’s second castle. This castle had once housed the royal family more than a century past. After construction of a newer, larger third castle nearer the sea, the nation’s military had taken over the second, leaving the first castle of Malourné to be turned over to the Guild of Sagecraft.
The city guard was officially a contingent of the military, but it served autonomously for domestic defense in conjunction with civilian constabularies. It was complicated, but the system worked, for the most part.