Tonight he said good-bye to the only existence he had known since the night Toret had raised him from death. He had never thought of returning to the family keep, but realized that as well was now left behind forever. Finally, he took the rat from its cage and slipped it into the cloak's pocket. With one hand, he grabbed both the sack and small chest, a strap about its girth, and left his room.
Out in the cellar again, he stared up the stairs as he heard booted feet walking slowly on the floor above.
Chane set his baggage down and drew his sword as he climbed the steps. Reaching the exit to the main floor, he slipped the rat out the door and directed it along the wall to the dining chamber.
Through the rodent's eyes, he expected to see city guards come to check on the hunter's story, or perhaps her half-blood returning for some reason. Instead, he saw that Toret's visitor with black hair and white temples stood examining the dead raven upon the table.
Chane tried to sense him through his familiar but felt nothing. It was as if the man were an illusion, not truly there. He watched the stranger idly poke the wolf's corpse with the toe of his boot and then walk down to the parlor. Chane followed, sending the rat along the hallway wall. The visitor stared only a moment at Sapphire's body.
The stranger inspected the whole house, stopping only briefly to note Tibor's body and severed head on the second floor. When it was apparent he was heading for the cellar, Chane slipped quietly into the hidden door at the bottom of the stairs and waited.
It took more time for the rat to catch up, but when it did, the man was in Chane's room. He glanced at the empty cage, paged through several texts, and then picked up Chane's sewer-soaked clothes from the floor. He frowned and dropped them.
When the stranger's inspection was finished, he went back up to the parlor and studied Sapphire's body. Chane had no idea what this man wanted, but there was purpose to his inspection. When the stranger headed for the front door, Chane set a simple task into the rat's thoughts with an image of the man.
Follow-watch.
Chane pulled out of the familiar's mind and waited until he was certain the stranger was well away from the house. Then he climbed to the main floor and slipped through the rear kitchen door.
Magiere sat numbly upon the sage's kitchen table, her armor removed and her ruined shirtsleeve cut away. Domin Tilswith carefully spread oily salve across her shoulder, arm, and leg. Neither the old man's comforting presence nor the salve did anything for the turmoil of her thoughts.
If this night's suffocating revelations settled in her mind all at once, she wouldn't be able to keep from screaming-or weeping.
Leesil hovered near, asking if he could do anything.
Wynn kept pushing him out of the way as she assisted the older sage. Chap sat at the floor before her, looking up intently. Every now and then, his tail twitched.
Apparently, Vatz was still at the guard barracks. Once he arrived with Magiere's message, Captain Chetnik had forced him to stay inside for his own safety. It seemed the captain had been more successful than she in getting the little whelp to obey.
Magiere gazed around the kitchen at the herbs and pots hanging everywhere, the fire crackling in the hearth, and the cold lamps hung about for good light. She looked at Leesil's pleasant, tan face, and knew she should be glad, at least in part. They'd taken two undeads and managed to survive. Leesil had the heads for proof.
But proof of what? Chesna's murderer had escaped, as had Chane, making Magiere little more than the charlatan who once bedazzled peasants out of their last coins.
While Wynn dressed her wounded leg, the young sage talked feverishly with the domin in their own language. All wounds finally tended, Tilswith smiled at Magiere.
"Done," he said with confidence. "You heal soon."
Magiere looked tiredly into his eyes and lined face. She wondered if he was speaking of more than just her body. The old sage turned to Leesil.
"Teeth?" he asked, pointing to the base of Leesil's neck. "And bruise."
For a moment, Leesil appeared puzzled, lifting a hand up to feel. Then he winced. The domin motioned for him to sit beside Magiere, and Leesil became the object of ministrations. As Wynn helped Leesil remove his armor, Tilswith suddenly turned his curiosity back to Magiere.
"This man-Noble Dead-who kill Chesna. You know him?"
"Yes," Magiere said bitterly. "We know him."
Leesil looked at her in concern. "There's no way we could have guessed. None of this is our fault."
"Isn't it?" she asked. "Dunction, our tavern's previous owner, also mysteriously ‘disappeared' one night. Somehow Welstiel made certain I would buy the Sea Lion, and we would end up in Miiska, stumbling upon disappearing townsfolk and uncovering Ratboy, Rashed, and Teesha."
Realization spilled across Leesil's long features.
"He knew what I was before I did," Magiere added. "Watched us on the game. And I think he knows a great deal more about my past, about what I am, than he's told us. He's been playing us… like everyone else."
Tilswith was listening carefully as he dressed Leesil's wound. "Why? Why he know these and want you learn?"
Magiere remembered Welstiel's urgency in the sewers.
"Something he's after," she said thoughtfully. "Something old, a long-forgotten object that will give him power, and he thinks it's guarded by ancient Noble Dead. He's been preparing me for that task."
Tilswith stopped and looked her full in the face. "This he say? Exact he say?"
"Yes," she answered with a frown. "What does it matter?"
Wynn had frozen in place as well. She and Domin Tilswith began speaking rapidly again in their own tongue, agitated and perhaps arguing. Finally Tilswith ended with a shake of his head, and Wynn turned slowly to Magiere.
"He told you an object of great power was guarded by ancient undeads, and he has been preparing you to assist him in attaining this?"
"What is this about?" Leesil asked.
Tilswith shrugged. "Not certain. But if he undead, can hide self from hound, and seek object, you must find first. This thing not be in his hand."
For a moment, his words, like part of an overheard conversation, didn't fully settle upon Magiere as having anything to do with her.
Leesil sighed deeply. "Oh, spiteful deities."
"Are you suggesting Leesil and I go after him?" Magiere asked. "We wouldn't even know where to look. Chap can't even track him."
Tilswith pondered this for a moment with an appraisal of Chap. All eyes in the room followed his gaze.
Chap glanced about at all of them and began to fidget, slowly sliding his butt backward across the floor, not able to meet anyone's gaze. The old sage grunted.
"Track… no," Tilswith said. "But Welstiel first to know majay-hi, yes? And elf hunt Leesil stop because hound here. Chap has part in all."
At his mention, Chap lowered his head.
"He your guide," Tilswith added, bright green eyes warm as he delivered a disapproving frown to Chap. "From his mistake to Wynn, you three meant to be. Dhampir, majay-hi, and one half-elf in all land? Now find why-and what-to Welstiel."
The room was silent for a moment. Wynn took up where her domin left off.
"Some of our guild see a time of convergence approaching, though we do not all agree on what it means or what it will be… or even if it will be. We have seen strange occurrences over the decades but without a clear connection."