At least the animal was not trapped, would not starve to death on the voyage. Beyond that he wanted nothing to do with it, other than to learn why it was hereand if it was truly headed toward Wynn.
In the long voyage, he took only two victims: one penny-poor passenger, lodged in steerage, and one sailor. But only during rough weather at night, when he could dump the bodies overboard, as if they had been lost at sea. Otherwise he held himself in check, trying not to exert himself and force further feeding.
Not once did he see the dog, and he wondered if it lived on vermin in the hold or had somehow settled in with the crew. Perhaps it had even been taken in by one of the officers in the fore or aftcastle quarters.
To his relief, the ship reached the free port of Langinied, the long island off the coast of the middle continentand it docked at night. He insisted on leaving immediately, though the purser was put off at arranging oarsmen and a skiff before dawn.
Though the city sprawled over a large rocky area in both directions beyond sight, it was far from an actual nation or even a city-state, more like a chaotic growth of trade operations and other businesses with residents needed to support them. Langinied had spawned long ago from the needs of whatever ships came up the coast from the Suman Empire before making the difficult run across to what the sages called the Farlands. Added to this, some caravans braved what he learned were called the Broken Lands. A wild, uncivilized territory spanned the continent from this eastern coast to nearly the edge of the Numan Lands on the western side.
Chane stayed in Langinied, watching the ship as much as he could, until it left port on the fifth dusk. He never saw the dog again. Without its lead he was left adrift, once more questioning his actions. He had sworn to Wynn that he would never reenter her lifebut he eventually set out for Calm Seatt on his own.
The journey across land made the sea voyage seem short.
Little along the way came to bother an undead. At times he lingered in places past dusk, trying to decipher more of Welstiels writings. Or he paged through the varied texts taken from the healer-monks monastery. Every ink mark made with quill, no matter what it said, reminded him of Wynn ... sitting in a room by the light of her cold lamp, perhaps doing likewise with the ancient texts she had recovered.
Chane hunted wildlife along the way to sustain himself, though it fed him poorly compared to longer-lived humans. Among wolves, wild dogs, bears, and a ranging mountain lion, which he gave a wide berth, only once did he ever see anything on two legs.
It was neither human nor elf.
He emerged early one night from the tarp used to protect himself from the sun, and felt something watching him.
The only item of Welstiels he had learned a little of was the steel hoop that conjured fire within itself. Without looking about and letting the hidden watcher know he was aware of it, he laid out the hoop.
Its circumference was slightly less than a dinner plate, and its black thread-thin etched lines and marks smelled faintly of charcoal. With a hoarse hisswhich was the most Chane could manage for the necessary chanthe traced a finger around the hoops circumference. Then he snatched his hand back; he still did not know how Welstiel had handled the hoop while hot without being scorched.
Red pinprick sparks appeared in the hoops markings and quickly spread along all the dark swirls, until the hoops etchings became fiery and hard to look upon. It provided little light in the growing dark, but enough for Chanes undead sight. He glanced sidelong without moving his head.
Beyond a far tree in a sparse copse of firs and pines, two eyes reflected the hoops glow. But they were yellow, not red.
The creature was hard to see at first, peeking around one tree, but the position of its eyes marked it as roughly two-thirds of a mans height. Finally it leaned out just a little, peering intently at Chane.
Wildly spotted fur covered its hulkish body, thinning across its faceif one could call it that. Longer bristles sprouted about its head, so canine-like, though its muzzle was short by comparison. It snorted, grunted, and perhaps sniffed hard, which wrinkled its muzzle, exposing oversize canine teeth.
Chane finally turned his head, staring it down.
The creature leaped sideways into open view. Sickening yellow irises glared unblinking at Chane.
He had read of apes in the books of his fathers library. Many kinds were known in the southernmost parts of the Suman Empire and the jungles beyond that. This thing seemed much like those descriptions, though shaped disturbingly more like a small, grotesquely overmuscled and furred manexcept for its head and face, like some abhorrent breed of wild dog had bred with ... what was it called? ... a mandrill?
The result was far larger and more monstrous than either. In place of nails it had claws at the end of each thick finger. But more startling was the rusted and rent chain vest on its torso. And it gripped a thick cudgel made from a gnarled tree root.
The beast grunted in a staccato rhythm and raised the club in the air.
Chane dropped a hand to his longswords hilt. The thought of feeding on something with more life than a deer made the beast inside him thrash against its confinement.
The creature shrieked and pounded the earth with its crude weapon. It sniffed and snorted sharply. With huffing grunts it backed away.
Chane stood instantly, but it spun, flinging forest mulch in the air, and fled through the trees. It ran on three limbs, hauling its crude weapon over one bulging shoulder with the fourth. Chane dashed after it.
Before he passed half a dozen trees, he lost the sound of it. He crouched, checking for its trail, and found prints. A few were distinct among others in the torn earth, and their shape was like nothing he had ever seen. Claws had torn the ground in front of its toes, and the tracks were a bizarre mishmash between those of a beast and a wide-footed man.
Chane crouched lower and sniffed. No, not male but female, and in heat, but its overall scent was unfamiliar to him. Then he spotted more tracks.
At least six other trails led away into the dark, parallel to the creatures own. All the foot-paw prints were like the creatures, matched with the imprint of wide knuckles or claw gouges where they ran on three or four limbs.
Chane listened in the dark but heard nothing. He was not about to face a half dozen of these unknown beasts in the wilderness. He could only guess why they had run off. Since Langinied, he had not seen a need to wear Welstiels ring. Perhaps the female scout had sensed what he was and warned off the others. Some animals grew nervous in the presence of an undead.
He returned to camp, gathered his belongings, and continued the long walk westward. Until one night he finally entered widespread farmlands dotted sparsely with small towns. He skirted any military outpost but used the main roads to lead him onward. More nights passed, and then he saw the scattered lights of Calm Seatt in the distance.
Somewhere therein was Wynns home, the founding branch of the Guild of Sagecraft.
How he longed to walk among its library shelves.
And now, sitting in his attic room, Chane knew the torment of watching paradise from outside its walls. Ever the outsiderand a beasthe would never enter Wynns world. But he pulled the scroll cases pewter cap and gently slid out its contents.
Rolling it open, he stared for the thousandth time at its black-coated surface.
Wynn, he whispered. What texts did you bring back? Could you find any hint to this secret?
And last night he had seen the dog again outside the Upright Quill. She had grown and filled out, but it was the same animal he had followed across the western ocean.
And Wynn had seen him inside the scriptorium trying to steal a folio. What would she deduce, though she had told him to run? She had also seen the thing that attacked him, solid before his eyes and yet nothing he could touch.