Barb Hendee - Rebel Fay

Lily yipped as a brown hare raced out from under a bed of mammoth coleus.

Chap did not follow her.

Welstiel headed south as dusk turned to night. He led their remaining horse packed with their gear while Chane's new familiar loped ahead of them.

He noted how gaunt Chane appeared. They would need to melt snow later, perhaps use the last crumbles of tea taken from the Mondyalitko, and replenish their bodies' fluids. For the most part Chane looked tolerable, all things considered. Even in his used cloak and scuffed boots, there was still some trace of a young nobleman, tall and arrogant. No one who saw him could doubt his heritage-at least the one that Chane once had in his living days.

Welstiel feared that he could not claim so much at present. He fastened his tattered cloak more tightly, and tried to smooth his filthy hair.

He had not dreamed these past days. Why would his patron show him the castle, its inhabitant, and the very room of the orb, only to fall silent? He clung to one hope.

The Mondyalitko had been clear in their directions. It was possible that Welsteil's patron felt no further assistance was needed. Yes, that must be the case.

Barren rocks and patches of snow and ice vanished as his thoughts drifted into the future.

He wore a white silk shirt and charcoal wool tunic. He was clean and well possessed, living alone on a manor estate in isolation, perhaps somewhere on the northern peninsula of Belaski, still within reach of its capital of Bela or the shipyards of Gueshk. The manor's entire first floor was given over to a library and study, with one whole room for the practice of his arcane artific-ing. He could create ever more useful objects and never need to touch a mortal again. For somewhere in the cellars below, safely tucked into hiding, was the orb-his orb.

The horse tossed its head, jerking the reins in Welstiel's hand, as the animal's hoof slipped on a patch of snow-crusted stones. It righted itself, and Welstiel looked up the barren mountainside at his companion.

Chane never wavered from his desire to seek out the sages. Why-to study histories and fill his head with mountains of broken pieces culled from the past? Ridiculous.

Welstiel shook his head. Only the present was useful. Let broken days of the Forgotten History remain forgotten, once he acquired what he needed.A solitary existence with no distractions.

But still…

"Have you ever tried your hand at artificing?" heasked, his own voice startling in the night's silence.

Chane lifted his eyes from his trudging steps. Conjury-by ritual, spell, or artificing-always stirred Chane's interest.

"Small things," he answered."Only temporary or passive items for my rituals. Nothinglike… your ring or feeding cup. I once created a small orb to blind interlopers. I conjured the essence of Light-a manifestation of elemental Fire-and trapped it within a prepared globe of frosted glass. When tripped, its light erupted, and it was spent."

Welstiel hesitated. "You developed notable skill for one who had no instructor. I wonder how you would fare with a more studied guide to teach you."

Chane stopped walking, forcing Welstiel to pause.

"Have you fed without telling me?" Chane asked.

"No, why?"

"You are different tonight… more aware."

Welstiel ignored this bit of nonsense. A series of loud barks sounded from ahead.

Chane dropped to the ground and folded his long legs.

Welstiel struggled to be silent and wait as his companion closed his eyes.

Chane would reach out to connect-spirit to spirit, thought to thought-with the wild dog he had enslaved. He would learn through the dumb beast's senses what it had found.Far more efficient than racing after the animal and wasting remaining energies before knowing if it was worth the expenditure.

Welstiel stood tense, fighting for patience.

The castle could be just ahead. The end of his repugnant existence might be that close.

Night wore on as Magiere traveled beside Leesil and kept Wynn close. She cautiously allowed her dhampir nature torise just enough to widen her vision. It accomplished little with the moon hidden from sight.

Leesil said no more about his mother. Wynn was near physical exhaustion, so her bursts of babbling were few. All the Anmaglahk, especially Sgaile, were withdrawn and driven by their purpose. Only in one place in the world did people accept Magiere for who, rather than what, she was-Miiska. But home was far away.

She tried to shut out the vision she'd had in Nein a's clearing, the marks her hands left on the tree, and whatever lay ahead in Crijheaiche. She tried to focus on Leesil.

Leesil was the imaginative one, not she. After facing Nein'a's coldhearted-ness, all Magiere wished was to make him feel wanted-and to let him know he would at least have her for the rest of his days. He reminded her that there was a place for them in this world, where others waited to stand up with them on the day they swore their oath. Annoying as Leesil was at times, he was right.

His words painted a picture in her mind of celebration with Karlin, Caleb, little Rose, and perhaps Aunt Bieja. Magiere imagined Leesil with his hair tied back and wearing a clean white shirt-one he hadn't mended and patched beyond its time.

Yes, she wanted this too.

The surrounding forest began to look familiar, and Magiere caught the soft glow of lanterns among the trees. They passed an enormous oak swollen into a dwelling.

"We're close," she said.

"Oh, for a bath and clean clothes," Wynn grumbled.

Freth traveled just ahead of Leesil, but she slowed and dropped to the rear near En’nish.

Magiere found this odd. Then she saw someone running toward them between the domicile trees, flashing in and out of pools of lantern light or the seeping glow from under a curtained doorway.

Leanalham's yellow shirt stood out in the dark. She smiled and ran straight for Sgaile with her light brown ponytail swishing. Sgaile pulled her against his chest, and Leanalham's eyes wandered about the group until they found Wynn.

"I am so glad you are found," she said with the relief of a lifelong friend. "Urhkarasiferin said you were lost in the forest, but I knew Sgailsheilleache would find you."

Wynn smiled briefly over her exhaustion.

Magiere waited for Leanalham's rush of questions. But when the girl tried to go to Wynn, Sgaile's arm tightened. He held her back, turning slightly away. Magiere knew it wasn't Wynn who he kept the girl from-it was herself.

Sgaile spoke harshly in Elvish to Leanalham, and the girl's mouth dropped open with a flash of hurt in her eyes.

" Bartva'na! " Sgaile half-shouted, cutting off her rising protest.

Magiere understood the word from the little Elvish that she'd heard Wynn translate. Sgaile commanded the girl to stop and obey. Leanalham stared at him with open resentment.

"He ordered her back to their quarters," Wynn said quietly. "She is not to speak with us."

"What?" Leesil asked. "Why?"

It wasn't right for Sgaile to deny the girl so harshly. He didn't want his little cousin anywhere near the unnatural thing discovered among them. But for all the man's fear, he couldn't possibly believe Magiere would harm Leanalham. She'd given her word to watch over the girl whenever possible.

Sgaile's distress ran more deeply than Magiere had guessed.

She glanced carefully about at the other Anmaglahk. Most remained expression less, except for En’nish’s venomous glare and Freth's smoldering silence. But Brot'an now peered about the trees with a strange uncertainty.

Magiere wanted no more confrontations with Sgaile, and hopefully Leanalham would do as he asked.

Leanalham backed away, her features fading in the deeper black beneath a tree in the darkness.