Selune must have heard her prayer, because Colle actually flinched at her vehemence, though Manas seemed to take it in stride.
"No, Moonmistress," he said, "but it is necessary that we investigate such a suspicious death."
"Which you have done by calling both my honor and Selune's sacred gift into question." Feena faced down the guard captain. To her surprise, it didn't feel that much different from facing down another wolf. "I'll be blunt, Captain Manas. I can see that's a quality you appreciate." She leaned closer and said, "I serve Selune and my service is not gentle. I have killed in her name and in defense of the innocent. But this man you've foundI did not kill him." She glanced at Colle and growled, "Do you still feel the need to test the truth of that, High Luck?"
The high priest shook his head. Feena looked at Manas. The guard captain's face was blank with studied disciplineand perhaps a little respect.
"And you?" Feena asked.
"Moonmistress, you've answered all of my questions." He took a step back and gave her a sharp half-bow. "Thank you."
"You're welcome, guard captain."
"If we should discover that there is a werewolf at large in Yhaunn, may I call on your expertise?"
Feena restrained a blink of surprise. "Of course," she said. "Selune guide your search."
Manas turned to go, summoning Colle after him with a hard glance. The High Luck stared in angry shock at
Feena, then scurried after the guard captain. The two were exchanging angry words when they stepped out of the gate. Feena waited until they were out of sight entirely before letting out a sigh of relief.
"I think you made an enemy in Colle Shoondeep today, Feena," Julith said.
"He was. no friend to begin with," Feena replied. She slumped back against the nearest wall and pushed her fingers through her hair. "Thank you."
"Whispering in ceremony and now lying to city guards and high priests," Julith said through a thin smile. "Feena, you're a terrible influence."
Feena tried to echo the smile, but couldn't quite manage it.
Jarull was waiting in the cool shadow of the stone wall. Keph twitched Quick out of the way and settled down beside him.
"I got your note this morning," Keph said. "What is it?"
"Cyrume is dead."
Keph blinked at the big man.
Jarull growled and added, "The potter from the south side of the city?"
"Oh," Keph breathed.
The past several days had been a heady whirl for Keph. Jarull had introduced him to a number of new peopleall followers of Shar. Faces and names had started to blur in Keph's mind. His memory hadn't been helped by nights spent drinking with Jarull and some of his new friends. He and Jarull weren't the only disaffected young people of Yhaunn. Cyrume the potter hadn't been among Jarull's immediate circle, but Keph thought he could picture him. He had seemed disturbingly intense.
"What happened to him?"
"He was found in the Stiltways last night," Jarull said.
Keph sat up sharply and asked, "That was him?"
Cold wrapped around his chest. The servants at Fourstaves House had been gossiping about the body found in the Stiltways. According to them, it had been torn to bloody shreds and half devoured. Panic was said to be spreading through the lower levels of the Stiltways.
"How… what…?"
"Sehinites," said Jarull. Keph blinked at him again.
"Followers of Selune?" In spite of his horror, he felt his mouth twitch almost into a smile. "That can't be right. I know Sehinites and Sharrans don't like each other, but have you seen the priestesses of Moonshadow Hall?"
Jarull glared at him and said, "You think they're all mercy and innocence? I've heard they harbor werewolves, Keph. They think the moon goddess blesses lycanthropes." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of Moonshadow Hall. "That place is probably as much a kennel as a temple!"
"Dark," Keph muttered. He glanced at Jarull. "How did they know Cyrume was a Sharran?" he asked. "If it was Selunite werewolves that killed him, can they…?"
He touched his nose. Keph didn't think he had to ask the obvious question. If the Sehinites could tellcould smell maybethat Cyrume was a Sharran, what was to stop them from coming for Jarull? Or maybe even for Keph himself eventually?
Jarull grunted and shook his head. "They can't sniff out Sharrans," he said. "You don't have to worry about that. Cyrume was on the goddess's business. The Selunites ripped him apart to stop him." He spat into the dust. "They didn't have to. They could probably have just taken him to the guard. But they killed him." He squinted, glaring at Keph through narrowed eyes. "Never trust a Selunite, Keph."
Keph nodded slowly.
"What now?" he asked. "Will you have some kind of memorial?"
Jarull shrugged and said, "I don't know. Maybe. I haven't been part of the cult that long." He twisted around and rose to his feet. "Come with me. I sent you that note because there's someone who wants to meet you."
"Who?" Keph stood as well.
"Bolan."
Keph drew a sharp breath and dashed after Jarull. Of the big man's Sharran friends, there was one name Keph hadn't forgotten, even if he hadn't yet seen a face to place with it. Bolan was the closest thing to a high priest that the followers of Shar in Yhaunn had, the leader of their secretive cult.
And Bolan, Keph had quickly gathered, didn't meet with just anybody.
Jarull set a brisk pace through the heat of the afternoon. Though they stuck to the relative cool of the shadows, Keph was sweating heavily before long. Jarull, however, barely seemed to notice the heat at all. Not a drop of sweat stood out on his pale skin. When Keph suggested a break in a nearby cellar tavern, a respite from the heat, the big man barely gave him a glance.
"When Bolan wants to see you," Jarull said over his shoulder, "you don't keep him waiting."
Their destination was halfway across the city, in one of Yhaunn's poorer neighborhoods. Jarull stopped and nodded at a narrow, unassuming house. The building was modest, in slightly better repair than those around it. Keph noticed, however, that the children playing on the street gave it a wide berth, and that a group of old men sitting on a plank bench nearby offered dark looks when they saw him and Jarull pause. Keph resisted the urge conceal his face.
"Do they know about Bolan here?" he whispered to Jarull.
"They don't know what we know." He went up to the door and opened it without knocking. Keph followed him through.
The air inside the house was blessedly coolbut it also stank. Keph's nose crinkled immediately. The smell was almost like his family's laboratories, but at the same time different. Wizards' laboratories tended to smell dry and faded, like old herbs, or else wet and rancid like rotting meat. Bolan's house had a different scent entirely: dark and heavy, a little bit metallic, a little bit like minerals. Keph could smell the sting of vinegar and the burning stench of sulfur, along with other odors he couldn't quite identify.
"Alchemy…" Keph muttered.
"Yes."
A man stepped out from a curtained doorway and Keph resisted the urge to stare. Short legs and a bullish neck made the man look as squat as a dwarf. His shoulders were round and thick, his chest and belly fat like a barrel. His appearance might have been comical if not for the porcelain smoothness of his face. He had no wrinkles or stubble, and Keph was reasonably certain the sun hadn't touched his face in months. His head was bald on top, but a long fringe of unnaturally black and glossy hair was gathered in a tight braid that hung down his back. Jarull offered him an obeisance. After a heartbeat, Keph did the same.
Bolan grunted and said, "He's quick, isn't he?"
Jarull nodded silently. Keph waited as the squat alchemist looked him over then held out his hand.
"Let me see your rapier," he said.
Keph glanced at Jarull. His friend gave him a pointed glare and jerked his head toward Bolan. Keph drew Quick and handed her to Bolan. In contrast to the eerie perfection of his face, the alchemist's fingers were stained yellow and purple-black. He plucked Quick out of Keph's grasp and held her up, examining not the blade as a swordsman might, but rather the metal itself. After a moment, he grunted, then took the tip of the rapier between rough fingers and flexed the blade. Keph winced.