“Among the oldest fragments that the guild has recovered concerning the war, there is no record of these ‘anchors,’ let alone such a use for them. If this was their intended purpose, and they were not put to that unknown use, then the question remains: what was the intended target?”
Wynn’s burdens, ones she would now heap upon all others in the search, grew tenfold.
“The target does not matter,” Chane rasped.
Wynn took a quick glance and found him watching Hawes.
“All that matters is that they are never used,” he added.
Hawes didn’t respond, and Wynn felt more trapped than ever in having asked for the premin’s assistance.
“Do you have any idea what the other two stanzas mean?” Wynn asked. “Any notion about locations or areas to look? Or if I call up mantic sight and try to copy more from the scroll, can you help decipher it?”
Hawes tightened her mouth. “I should do so myself. You have no training for this, regardless that you’ve toyed with some ability you should not have.”
“No,” Wynn said. “This isn’t the only way the sight has served me.”
“Wynn!” Chane whispered in warning.
“I don’t care what the sight costs me,” she continued. “I’m not giving it up! I need to see those words for myself.”
Hawes pierced her with those hazel eyes. “You do not trust me?”
Wynn bit her tongue as she heard Ore-Locks inhale and hold it. There was no safe answer to that question. She wasn’t certain she trusted Hawes at all—not now—and there was nothing to do about it.
“Will you help me?” Wynn asked, and a moment of silence followed.
“These anchors ... these orbs you’ve found,” Hawes finally said. “Are they well hidden, so that nothing of the Enemy might find them?”
“Yes,” Wynn answered.
Chap had hidden Water and Fire himself, and Ore-Locks had hidden Earth with the Stonewalkers. The orbs were as far beyond the reach of the Enemy’s minions—and the reach of anyone else—as they could be.
“Oh, troublesome girl!” Hawes breathed in resignation. “Yes, I will help you.”
A day passed, night came again, and not one of Rodian’s men had caught a glimpse of the tall and black wolfish dog, let alone one missing sage. Wynn and Shade were nowhere to be found. Now at his desk, having turned over guild security to Branwell, Rodian stared at a map of the city’s districts.
He had only three more days.
In all honesty, he wasn’t certain Prince Leäfrich could make good on his threat, but even an attempt would prove beyond embarrassing. Rodian didn’t know what he would do if he actually found Wynn. But he had to find her at any cost now that the prince had blindsided him with this ridiculous abduction story.
The abrupt change was likely Sykion’s doing, incited by his insistence that she either make a formal charge or drop all notions of incarcerating the young sage. No doubt Sykion would spread word that he’d allowed a young female sage to be “stolen from her bed.”
The whole situation made Rodian’s stomach ache.
But still, for more than one reason, he had to locate Wynn. If he had a chance to speak with her, no doubt she could at least refute the premin’s story. There was no knowing what would happen after that, for it all depended on what, and how much, Wynn was willing to say.
An expected knock sounded on his office door, and he immediately called out, “Come.”
The door cracked and Lúcan stuck his head in, steel gray hair dangling into his eyes.
“Anything?” Rodian asked.
“No, sir,” Lúcan answered too quietly, perhaps wishing he had better news. “I’ve placed a man up the block from the Upright Quill, and two are sweeping all ways near the guild. A score are out searching the streets, but it’s as if the sage is gone ... perhaps already fled the city.”
“No.” Rodian shook his head. “She put up with a lot to remain on guild grounds for as long as she did. Whatever she needs is in there, and she’s not the kind to walk away.”
Lúcan swallowed hard. “So far, we’ve had no cause to enter any buildings.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Well ... perhaps a general search order from the High Advocate. We could start knocking on doors and going through inns tomorrow.”
Rodian stood up. Permission for invasive searches without evidential cause was rare. It had been granted only twice in his memory: once for a missing foreign dignitary, and the second time for the assassin who had later killed the same. But if his men could search every inn in Calm Seatt, they might find something to help. Or, at least, when rumors spread, it might flush Wynn out. She had to be holed up somewhere.
And since Rodian had been ordered by a prince of the realm to find a sage kidnapped from her bed, amid the outrage of the guild and the royalty, the High Advocate might be swayed.
“First thing in the morning,” he said with a slight smile. “A very wise ... cunning ... suggestion, Corporal.”
Lúcan matched that smile as he nodded and stepped out, closing the door.
Rodian sank into his chair. Chances were still slim, but perhaps he might still find the journeyor within three days.
Wynn sat cross-legged on the floor with the blackened scroll before her, as she prepared to call up her mantic sight. She never looked forward to this sickening process, and it was difficult to stop once it started.
Chane brought her quill with the white metal tip, an ink bottle, and a blank sheet, and set them on the floor beside the scroll. He also prepared to steady her hand, if need be.
“From the stanzas so far, the rest will likely be just as veiled,” Hawes said, “and there may not be more concerning locations. In the main ascendancy dialects of Sumanese, look for rúhk for ‘spirit’ and shàjár or sagár for ‘tree.’ ‘Life’ would likely be hkâ’ät. ‘Air’ is háwa or hká’a, which are also used for ‘wind,’ though sometimes that is hawä. Since your time in this state is limited, scan quickly for any words you can sound out as similar to these.”
Wynn nodded. Shade sat off on her left, and neither Shade nor Chane approved of what she was about to do. Both were silent nonetheless, knowing this was the only way to gain what they needed—they hoped.
Ore-Locks had never seen this, but he watched intently from out of the way.
“Are you prepared?” Hawes asked.
“I guess ... I mean, yes,” Wynn answered.
She lost sight of the premin as the woman stepped around behind her. Then Wynn heard a whisper close to her ear.
“Begin.”
Extending her index finger, Wynn traced a sign for Spirit on the floor and encircled it, and she heard Hawes whispering something more, something unintelligible behind her.
At each gesture, Wynn focused hard to keep the lines alive in her mind’s eye, as if they were actually drawn upon the floor. She scooted forward, settling inside the circle, and traced a wider circumference around herself and the first pattern. It was a simple construct, but through it, she shut out the world as she closed her eyes.
Wynn felt for that thin trace of elemental Spirit in all things, starting with herself.
As a living being, in which Spirit was always strongest, she imagined breathing it in from the air. She imagined it flowing upward from the wood of the floorboards ... from the earth below the inn. In the darkness behind her eyelids, she held on to the first simple pattern traced upon the floor. When that held steady, she called upon the last image she needed.
Amid that pattern before her mind’s eye, she saw Chap.
As she’d once seen him long ago in her mantic sight, his silver-gray fur shimmered like a million silk threads caught in the glare of a blue-white light. All of him was enveloped in white vapors that rose from his body like slow-moving flames.