Barb Hendee - In Shade and Shadow

Chane gazed across the night street over Wynn's shoulder. "No matter what happens, do not trust everything il'Sänke says. I do not think… feel… that he speaks the full truth."

Wynn glanced back. "What do you mean?"

Chane's expression appeared to change, though it was hard to be certain in the dark. Whatever faint color remained in his eyes suddenly drained away. Only the crystalline irises of an undead stared out into the night… toward the place from which il'Sänke had whistled.

Wynn shivered, but not from the chill air.

In that instant Chane looked like the mad feral monks who had come with him and Welstiel to Li'kän's ice-bound castle.

"Omission can hide the truth… or a lie," Chane added.

Rodian took supper alone in his office, not caring for even Garrogh's company. He wanted solitude and time to think.

The pieces of this tangled intrigue were disintegrating, and he saw no way to keep them whole. Il'Sänke was the murderer—of that much he felt certain. The domin was the only one who fit all the criteria of ability and inside knowledge. But Rodian had no proof.

What was that man after in the translated pages? What was his motive?

Suddenly Rodian regretted his poor treatment of Wynn, regardless of her naïve outburst. Clearly that had been brought on by Nikolas's delusional account of events.

Rodian looked down at his half-eaten beef, potatoes, onions, and carrots, then lifted his gaze to the growing pile of reports on his desk. Petty thefts, one other yet-to-be-solved murder, and a handful of social disputes required his attention. He'd let everything sit while trying to solve these guild murders and thefts. And with royals and sages standing in his way at every turn, all he had left were his other poorly attended duties—and his failure. Still, he couldn't let it go.

He knew exactly who the killer was, but where could he find proof?

There was only one answer—Wynn Hygeorht.

She'd been studying the translations for two days. She must have learned something, at least a hint of what had been stolen. If so, how could he get her to tell him even that little?

He wouldn't pretend to understand this odd and troublesome little journeyor, but she seemed genuinely driven to protect her guild. Perhaps, like her superiors, she was taking matters too secretly into her own hands. Would she still do so if she uncovered something concerning il'Sänke?

Would she give up her juvenile notions of ghosts and the undead?

Rodian got up and strode for the door. Pulling it open, he lifted his sword hanging upon a coat peg.

"Lúcan!" he shouted into the passageway.

But it was Garrogh who finally ducked around the door.

"Sorry, sir, I've got Lúcan watching the guild's gatehouse tonight."

Rodian nodded. So far the only report was of Wynn's strange wolf coming back after dark—after escorting one of Pawl a'Seatt's scribes who'd worked too late. Otherwise none of his men had seen anyone come or go past dusk.

He grasped his cloak. "Have these dishes removed and get Snowbird saddled."

"Where are you off to?" Garrogh asked bluntly.

"The guild," he answered.

"I'm coming with you."

Rodian stiffened. "Pardon?"

"You're not yourself," Garrogh said, crossing his arms. "This sage nonsense has you turned around like a dog that won't stop biting its tail. The men want their captain back, so I'm coming with you, before you bite your tail straight off… sir."

Rodian was struck mute. He heated up, ready to put Garrogh in his place. Then he remembered the stacks of reports lying upon his desk and suddenly felt weary. Duty wasn't the only thing he'd ignored, if his second now openly faced him down.

"All right," he agreed. "But when we get there, wait for me in the courtyard. I need to talk to that journeyor again. She's… odd, and might speak only to me."

"Of course, sir."

Together they headed for the stables, saddled their horses themselves, and rode out.

As always, Garrogh's big bay protested at being forced out into the cold. The horse clomped angrily, throwing his head and grinding his bit.

"Next time you requisition a horse, I'll pick it for you," Rodian chided.

"Just 'cause you like them dain" lia hty doesn't mean I do," Garrogh returned.

"She could run yours into the ground."

Garrogh's brush with near-insubordination had roused Rodian. Along with other matters, he'd forgotten how sensible and aware his lieutenant truly was. And it felt better to do anything but sit and stew. Perhaps Wynn had discovered something that would help him prove the truth, so long as she spoke no more of her deluded beliefs. This murderer was not some undead of folk superstition. Then he might gain legitimate means to get a grip on il'Sänke. Not even the royal family would be able to deny him.

Soon Rodian and Garrogh approached the guild's half-open bailey gate. It was never bolted and barred, but it still bothered him that it stood ajar. He looked up the path to the gatehouse's closed portcullis.

There was no one out front on post.

"Where's Lúcan?" Rodian growled. "And who is on watch with him?" Garrogh looked about. "I don't know… Ulwald was paired with him. I've got two other pairs walking circuit around the place. Two more are off duty in the gatehouse above, waiting to rotate with others throughout the night."

Rodian urged Snowbird into a trot all the way to the portcullis.

"Open it up!" he shouted.

One of his men shouted acknowledgment from above, and the portcullis began to rise. Rodian ducked, prepared to ride under before it was fully raised.

"Captain?"

He sat back up, reining in Snowbird. Lúcan and Ulwald came at a trot through the inner bailey.

"What are you doing off post?" Garrogh barked.

Lúcan halted, eyes shifting between the lieutenant and Rodian.

"We heard something in the trees, around the west tower," Ulwald answered.

"You heard something?" Rodian mimicked. "What?"

"Not sure, sir," Lúcan answered. "Something large breaking through the brush and branches."

At Rodian's shifted glance, Ulwald nodded agreement.

"Then one of you goes alone!" Rodian shouted. "Or you get whoever's off duty above to watch while you both check."

"You had to have heard it, Captain," Lúcan exclaimed. "Others have. Gael heard something the other night and—"

"No post is left unwatched!"

Both men stiffened, whether in resentment or fear at the rebuke, it wasn't clear.

"Yes, Captain," they answered, but Lúcan glanced toward Garrogh.

"I'll handle this," Garrogh said. "You go on… find that nosy little sage."

Rodian took a slow breath. He wasn't the only one under pressure—or had he passed on his own duress to his men? They wouldn't have left their post together without some real concern. He dismounted, handed Snowbird off to Garrogh, and walked the rest of the way in.

When he reached the main doors, he knocked and waited this time, though his patience had worn paper-thin. The young apprentice who'd led him to the hospice yesterday peered out.

"Ah, sir, it's you." The young man opened the door wide. "Should I announce you? Do you need to see Domin High-Tower?"

"No, I'm here to see Journeyor Hygeorht," Rodian said, and stepped inside. As yet, he wasn't certain where they might talk, but she would probably have an idea.

The apprentice blinked in brief uncertainty. "A moment, sir. I'll see if she is available."

The boy was well-spoken, with a slight accent. Rodian wondered which province he came from, perhaps as far south as Witeny. He nodded, and the apprentice stepped out, hurrying off toward the dormitory on the courtyard's southeastern side.

Rodian paced the entryway for what felt like too long. A few young sages passed on their way elsewhere, but none were anyone he knew. The apprentice came running back in.