Around a vast courtyard stood numerous enormous buildings of tan stone with ornately peaked rooftops. The courtyard had been painstakingly cobbled with dark brown and red tiles in an arcing diamond pattern. Paths between buildings were well swept and benches had been placed at comfortable intervals. She felt a little daunted at the sight of it all.
These grounds were far larger than those of the Numan branch, which by comparison looked like little more than a squat stone keep tucked tightly inside a four-towered old wall.
“The entrance,” Chane said, pointing.
Following his finger extended along the chest’s side, Wynn indeed saw an opening about forty paces to the right down the wall.
“We’ll have rooms and supper soon,” she assured, leading the way. Much more important, they should soon learn where to find Magiere.
Upon reaching the entrance, she halted before a set of opened iron gates between two immense sandstone columns. Four men—obviously not sages—were stationed inside the columns, and all four turned to stare at her.
They wore identical tan pants of fine fabric tucked into matching tall, hard boots. Dark brown tabards overlaid their cream shirts, and red wraps were mounded atop their heads. Each had an ornately sheathed curved sword tucked into the heavy red fabric of his waist wrap.
Wynn hadn’t expected armed guards. She was staring at them with growing concern when one barked a question in Sumanese. She didn’t quite catch it and shook her head.
“Do any of you speak Numanese?” she asked.
All four guards looked over the visitors with a wariness that bordered on fear of a threat.
Wynn’s worry increased, though she resisted glancing back at either Chane or Osha. She hadn’t heard Chane drop the chest yet, so that was good, but Osha could draw and nock an arrow faster than a man could draw a sword.
Then Wynn heard the sound of packs being dropped on the street stones behind her.
Both men, along with Shade, were far too protective of her. When Shade rumbled at the guards, Wynn clenched her fingers on the dog’s scruff. One guard with a close-trimmed beard took a step toward her.
“I speak your tongue,” he said, eyeing her robe. “What is your business here, sage?”
His accent was thick, but his command of Numanese was sound, and at least he recognized her for what she was. Still, none of the guards stepped aside, and intuition warned her not to mention Domin il’Sänke just yet. This unexpected “welcome” at the gate left her wondering if the domin might be a questionable figure within his own branch.
“I am visiting from the Numan branch,” she answered. “Could you please direct us to High Premin Aweli-Jama.”
Asking to see the branch’s highest-ranking sage was presumptuous but safest. For the sake of good manners, Aweli-Jama would have to offer hospitality to a fellow sage—albeit a foreign one—and her companions.
The bearded guard simply studied her. Then his gaze shifted beyond her, likely to Osha and Chane. He twisted slightly, whispering something to the other guards, and then ...
“Wait here.”
Wynn’s mouth gaped as he turned away and walked across the courtyard. She watched as he entered the beautiful sandstone building straight ahead with six peaks along the top of its roof. Her view was then cut off as the other three guards positioned themselves across the entrance’s opening. There was another strange thing Wynn noted.
Though it was well past dusk, the evening meal couldn’t have finished long before, and yet she saw no one walking the paths of this huge complex. There had to be many sages of all ranks staying on the grounds full-time, especially in a place as big as this.
So where were they? Had a curfew been ordered for some reason?
“What is happen?” Osha whispered in Numanese.
“Happening,” she corrected. “And I’m not certain.” She eased and then squeezed her grip on Shade. “Anything?”
That was all that was needed between them in situations like this. The dog could catch rising memories within anyone in sight and show such to Wynn, so long as they were touching. Wynn waited three breaths, far too long for any sights or sounds to enter her thoughts.
Shade shuddered once beneath her hand and whined in agitation.
At that, one guard lifted a hand to grip the hilt of his sword.
“Easy, sister,” Wynn whispered to Shade. “What’s wrong?”
—Nothing ... is ... there—
Wynn’s confusion increased at these words called up and then reassembled from her own memories of things heard from others in the past. What did Shade mean?
—No ... memories— ... —All ... blank—
Wynn’s breath caught. No one’s thoughts were ever completely blank, at least not at all times. Something was blocking Shade from dipping the guards’ memories. How—or, for that matter, why? No one here could’ve known they were coming, let alone what Shade could do.
Movement across the tiled courtyard caught Wynn’s attention.
Four people walked brusquely toward the gate, and the guard who had told her to wait led the way. Behind him came a tall man hidden within the gray robe of a cathologer, with the full cowl up and shadowing his face from the courtyard lanterns. Last came a more disturbing pair: a stout man and a spindly woman, both robed in midnight blue, like Wynn, for the order of Metaology.
That the high premin was flanked by two metaologers was troubling, especially after what Shade had claimed. As far as Wynn knew, conjury was favored among metaologers of this branch versus thaumaturgy in the Numan branch.
This time, Wynn did glance back ... just in time to see Chane whisper aside to Osha. The chest now sat on the street, along with the packs Osha had carried.
Osha silently nodded to Chane.
“Oh, not again,” Wynn moaned under her breath.
Chane must have sensed something, for anytime those two agreed about anything it meant there would be trouble. Osha shrugged his left shoulder, and his bow slipped off and dropped down his arm. He caught it without even looking, but at least Chane hadn’t yet reached for one of his swords.
“You will not bring that canine onto the grounds.”
Wynn flinched around toward the gate and came face-to-face—or face-to-throat—with the sage in gray. He was tall for a Suman, and both metaologers still flanked him. The four guards had broken into pairs at both of the gateway’s columns.
“Such beasts are not permitted here,” High-Premin Aweli-Jama declared, for that was who he had to be.
Of all the things Wynn expected to hear first, that was not among them.
Other than his accent, his Numanese was perfect, and up close it was easier to see his face. He was likely in his mid-sixties, at a guess, and his gray hair was cropped short beneath his cowl. Dark-toned skin covered a slightly wizened and narrow face with slanted cheekbones. He pressed his hands nervously together, though his expression was unreadable.
“Good evening, High Premin,” she said politely as she stroked Shade’s back. “I am Journeyor Wynn Hygeorht of the Numan branch. This is Shade, who is not a common animal and will harm no one. She travels with me for my protection, as do my other two companions.”
Both metaologers were entirely fixed on her, but she’d been the subject of scrutiny many times before. Both were middle-aged, which suggested they each held at least the rank of domin.
“We have come a long way, and we’re weary,” she added. “If we could only—”
“Why are you here with so much protection?” Aweli-Jama asked abruptly. “Your branch’s council did not inform us of sending a journeyor.”