"No, those are old," he said. "From... before."
This was not the time or place to tell her of his life before death, or about his father. Changing the subject, he gestured at the staff lying behind him on the bed.
"Is that what you carried last night?"
Wynn remained silent too long. When Chane finally glanced up, she averted her eyes. She began digging in the pocket of her yellow tunic.
"Without Magiere or Chap," she said, "I needed my own defense."
So it was the same staffand under the leather sheath was the searing crystal.
"Where did you get it?"
"Our guild alchemists make certain things, such as the cold lamp crystals," she answered, her tone careful and matter-of-fact. It was obvious she did not want to say much about it. "I'm still learning to use it properly," she added.
Chane considered himself intelligent, though only moderately skilled in conjury, but to create or even conceive of a crystal that carried light that burned like the sun...
There were moments when Wynn still astonished him. What the making of the crystal had taken was beyond what he could imaginemuch like most of Welstiel's items.
She drew a small ceramic jar from inside her pocket. "A healing salve," she explained.
"That will not help... me."
"You're suffering," she said bluntly, and knelt down. "It may still numb the pain."
Chane kept quiet, fearing she might vanish. It was hard to believe she was here, tending to his comfort. Only the pain seemed truly real. The rest felt as though one of his fantasies harbored over the last year had suddenly swelled into a full delusion.
Her light brown hair hung in loose wisps, sticking to one olive cheek at the corner of her small mouth. Candlelight warmed her brown eyes as she reached for his right hand resting on his knee. Her eyes flickered briefly to his bare chest, and he wished he had donned his spare shirt. Wynn's fingers hung for a moment above his hand.
"This may hurt," she said. "I didn't mean to injure you. I was trying to drive off that... thing, just before Domin il'Snke appeared."
Wynn slowly applied salve to Chane's right hand. Discomfort heightened under the delicate pressure, but he did not care.
"Il'Snke?" he echoed. "The one who carried you off?"
"Yes, and"
"And he's a mage."
Wynn glanced up. "Yes."
"Perhaps the one who created your crystal?"
Wynn frowned. "He's the only one who believes that we're dealing with an undead, besides you... and Shade."
The dog behind Wynn, so akin to Chap, sniffed at him. Her ears flattened as her jowls twitched.
It would sense nothing of his naturenot while he wore the ring. Likely the female smelled that he was not right, or at least was not like other people. Chane wanted to ask Wynn about the animal, but the mention of the Suman brought back images of the night before.
The black figure attacking Wynn, the dog trying to protect her, the flash of the crystal's light.
Chane flinched. Wynn jerked her fingers from a spot of raw skin on his wrist, where he had ripped away a charred sleeve.
"Sorry," she whispered.
But her voice sounded distant, as if he were some stranger she tended to. She leaned back to dip her fingers in the salve jar on the floor and looked about his small attic room.
The shabby walls, the slanting ceiling below the roof, the stool for a table, and the dusty, chipped water basin...
Chane was not accustomed to embarrassment. The son of a nobleman in life, he had lived in a lavish manor, worn fine clothes, and had even educated himself beyond what most would gainbeyond what most gentry thought was worthwhile. Now he livedexistedin squalor, with little more than his studies to distract him.
For once he had no one else to blame, not even Welstiel.
Wynn began gently reapplying salve, working around the brass ring on his left hand without seeming to notice it. Then he realized the sting in his right hand was beginning to dull. The ointment might not heal him, but something in it still affected his dead flesh. He loosely closed his right hand, and the pain barely increased.
"Have you learned anything about the scroll?" he asked.
Wynn's expression shifted with a hint of interest. "No, I haven't had time. I was in the catacombs, studying translated portions of the texts. By evening I began to figure out which sections of the translations had been stolen."
He froze, for her words confused him on several levels.
"You have had no access before? You brought those texts backthey are yours."
Wynn sighed. Picking up the salve jar, she stood and began dabbing at his face.
"It's complicated... but no, not until today. Only masters and domins working on the project are allowed access. There is precedence for this decision."
She sounded defensive, even resentful. This was a sensitive subject, so he did not press for more.
"Do you have any idea what is in the missing pages?" he asked.
She stopped dabbing, and her eyes drifted.
"Li'kn's wall writings mentioned two companionsVolyno and Hs'saun. I don't know what became of them, but I read some translations that came just before one set of missing pages..."
She told him of ancient undead, like the white woman with strangely shaped eyes in the castle of the Pock Peaks. And of something called "Beloved," among other names, that might have been what had whispered to Welstiel and sent Magiere her dreams of that castle. And also of how those undead had "divided."
Chane wondered at those other names Wynn mentioned. Did others like the white woman still roam free in the world after centuries?
Wynn paused, lost in thought, and then looked intently down at Chane.
"Did Welstiel ever speak to you about his patron... the thing in his dreams? Magiere suspected something was guiding him."
Chane shook his head. "I know only that someone whispered to him in dormancy, perhaps telling him where to go. But in the way we wandered, I believe he was not told much. He was obsessed with herding Magiere ahead of him, as if he needed her. When you and yours entered elven land, I think he tried to turn to finding his artifact on his own."
Even speaking Magiere's name made Chane's insides heat up. He thought he saw Wynn's eyes flicker once, perhaps glancing at the scar around his neck.
"Some of what Welstiel was told in dormancy turned out to be false," Chane went on. "When did Magiere start having these dreams?"
"When we reached the northern bay of the Elven Territories," Wynn answered. "We were promised a ship to take us south."
Chane shook his head. He had wandered the Crown Range with Welstiel for so long it was impossible to match the time frames.
"The night we found the monastery, Welstiel began shouting at the night sky. He must have believed he was being led to the castle, but that was not what we found. I think he broke with his... 'patron'... that night, after being tricked too many times. Whatever spoke to him, perhaps it decided to let Magiere find the orb without him. And she shares the nature of the Noble Dead."
Wynn studied him, perhaps wondering if he told the full truth. Chane's thoughts slipped back to the names she had spokenand the black-robed figure hunting sages, folios, and her.
"Do you think one of these other old undead is the black-robed mage?" he asked. "Some ancient vampire, grown powerful over so much time?"
Wynn started slightly. "It's not a mage, but it is a Noble Dead."
"No... vampires are Noble Dead."
Wynn tiredly closed her eyes. "Not only vampires. There is something else... a wraith."
Before he could ask, she shook her head.
"It's the word I use for it, among older ones, though none of them may be accurate. Just something mentioned in old Numan folklore."
"Then it is not"
"It feeds, Chane. It has to feed on life. And it is fully aware. Shade is convinced the black figure is a form of spirit."