Tomas took in Leesil's words. Brown eyes wide, he nodded.
Leesil tossed his head toward the kitchen's far door. "Go."
Chap's snarl rose sharply. Leesil scooted back to put his hand on the dog's muzzle.
Tomas looked up at Wynn. He cringed, a look of shame on his gaunt little face, and then bolted for the far door and was gone.
Beneath her relief, Wynn was miffed that Tomas had been allowed to go free only when Leesil stepped in. Magiere had not argued with him at all, but she'd brushed Wynn off without even listening to her.
Magiere turned in a slow circle, examining the kitchen. "Welstiel. All this time, all this way, just to come back to him."
"We're still not sure," Leesil said. "We only know he was involved somehow."
Wynn tried to put aside her irritation. "Your Aunt Bieja said there were three who came for your mother. Osceline said Ubad was present at your birth. If Welstiel was mere, as well, perhaps, then who was the third?"
Magiere's gaze ceased roaming to turn upon Wynn. The lost look in her eyes faded, and determination returned. "When we find Ubad, we'll ask, as it seems he's not coming to us."
As they headed back outside, Wynn's thoughts were upon Tomas, who never had a choice in what had become of him. Much like another she had spent time with in a small room filled with books and old scrolls and peaceful quiet. She looked ahead in Tomas's existence and saw long solitary years in a dank forest.
They should have done more. There should have been a way to take the boy from this place. Though he would never grow up, he deserved something more than what had been left to him in the wake of his lost life. Some day, Magiere- and Chap-would have to see the individual in place of the natural enemy their instincts drove them to hunt.
They emerged in the courtyard, stepping out through the stockade's missing gate, and Wynn's breath caught as she saw Port and Imp in the light of her cold lamps.
Still harnessed to the wagon, Imp had dropped to the ground, legs folded under her. Port's eyelids sagged, his head hanging, and his massive legs trembled. Wynn rushed over to them, and the others followed. Port blinked once at her but did not lift his head.
Wynn gazed about the dark, fear creeping in upon her.
"I do not feel tired," she said. "Leesil?"
He looked around, as well. "No, I'm fine."
Chap began to growl again.
"Over there," Magiere said.
Both Wynn and Leesil turned toward the south side of the stockade as something gray walked forward through the trees. Its face was shriveled in upon its skull, so much so that its lips did not meet over the teeth of its closed jaws. There was no mistaking the wisps of long, white hair clinging to its scalp. Vordana.
Chane woke the moment the sun set.
They'd been forced by dawn to pitch their tent and hide for the day in this soggy forest, but Welstiel had told him they would reach Apudalsat shortly after dusk. Wynn might already be in danger, and Chane had no intention of waiting any longer.
"Welstiel, get up. We need to go."
His companion rose, rubbing his face. "Give me a moment."
Chane strapped on his sword, wishing he'd had time to make another wolf familiar, or whatever large animal he could find in this dismal province. "While you're taking your moment, you can explain what we're facing. This sword, and my conjury… is that going to be enough?"
Welstiel's silence was more than frustrating. Chane couldn't help Wynn if he didn't even know what waited ahead for them. Indecision weighed on Welstiel's face. He looked older with his hair askew, in a cream shirt that badly needed washing.
"Do you know what a necromancer is?" Welstiel asked.
"I've heard of conjurors who specialize in spirits of the dead. " Chane paused. "Is that what Magiere seeks?"
"His name is Ubad, and he's much more than you suppose. He served my father… and helped create Magiere."
Once again, there was more to this than Welstiel let on, and he was giving up what he had to only at the last possible moment. Magiere had been "created"? Chane harbored doubts concerning any undead fathering a child. The involvement of a conjuror-a necromancer-told him little, but it hinted that there was considerably more to the dhampir's origin that Welstiel kept to himself.
"When he finds Magiere," Welstiel continued, "he will be most anxious after all these years. I'm uncertain of specifics, but I suspect it took Ubad a lifetime's preparation for her birth. He will try to persuade her to follow him for his own purpose. When she refuses, he will not let her-or anyone in her company-leave this land alive."
Chane glared out into the dark. They should have been planning their strategy nights ago, but Welstiel's selfish secrecy left them at a disadvantage.
"I hope you have more toys than a brass disk and a ring!"
He grabbed Welstiel's pack and threw it at him. He was almost certain the ring helped Welstiel to hide his presence from mantic and divinatory magics-or unnatural senses, such as those of other undead. Welstiel was not moved by his outburst and caught the pack in midair.
"You do not know Magiere as I do," he said. "Her powers will be strong when she faces Ubad. She is resourceful, and her experience grows. And my 'toys' are more useful than you imagine. We will assist from the shadows."
Chane cared nothing for Magiere. He cared only for Wynn.
"I'll saddle the horses," he said, "while you finish your moment."
Leesil's topaz amulet glowed brightly.
Vordana's appearance was no surprise. In the back of Leesil's mind, it had always seemed the undead sorcerer had gone down too easily. Now that they knew what this creature was capable of, Leesil's only worry was how to take its head. How could he fight something he couldn't get close to?
Vordana smiled, little more than a lipless stretch of his mouth to expose grayed receding gums around clenched teeth. He raised one hand, and Magiere stepped out in front of Leesil.
"Run!" she ordered.
Wait.
The word filled Leesil's mind.
The topaz jerked upon the leather cord around his neck, extending in the air before his face. The cord snapped, and the amulet sailed into Vordana's upraised hand. Bony fingers closed around the stone, and he smiled again.
Follow me.
The voice echoed again in Leesil's head. He glanced to Magiere and then Wynn. They clearly heard the words, as well.
"An escort," Leesil said. "I think Wynn should stay here."
"No," the sage replied, her eyes on the walking corpse.
"It's all right," Magiere said. "You thought you'd finished him, but you still saved us and the town. That's all that matters."
Wynn looked away. "Wait a moment."
She set one of her cold lamps down, ran to the wagon, and dropped her heavy pack and the other lamp inside. She returned with a crossbow and quarrel case, strapping both to her back, then retrieved the cold lamp, holding it out in front.
Leesil nodded to Magiere, and they all stepped into the trees. Chap was silent, but his hackles stood up upon his neck. Magiere kept her falchion up, and Leesil gripped both his blades. Wynn and Chap followed behind him, the dog staying close to the young sage.
Vordana's clothing had changed, and he no longer wore the stained shirt from the night Stefan had murdered him. His umber brown robes were cleaned of the soil from whatever secret grave he'd crawled from. The state of his own form was another matter. The sorcerer's skin was more drawn and shriveled. He was no vampire, and his corpse succumbed to time, no matter how much life he bled from the world around him. A new brass urn hung around his neck.
He motioned for them to follow and turned back into the forest.
Strands of moss in the high branches hung down to the ground, like dark green curtains between the tree trunks. Vordana passed through them easily, but Leesil and Magiere had to hack a clear path with their blades. Soon their hands and sleeves were soaked from the damp foliage. Without sight of the night sky through the forest canopy, the dark was too thick for even Leesil's night sight. He was grateful for the illumination of Wynn's cold lamp.