Барб Хенди - A Wind in the Night

“I take it Brot’an and Wayfarer are packing up, too?” he asked.

Magiere nodded without stopping, and her black hair fell forward over one shoulder, for she hadn’t tied it back. In the dim light of a single-candle lantern, Leesil could barely see the bloodred tints in her tresses. Her beautiful, pale features tightened with worry, always about everything from their journey’s success to the littlest tasks at hand ... or the not-so-little things.

“Wayfarer will be fine,” Leesil assured her, and hoped he sounded more certain than he felt.

Magiere didn’t respond and continued stuffing their meager belongings into two packs and their small travel chest.

Leesil glanced at Chap, who was resting on one bunk and watching Magiere.

—The girl will ... have ... to be—

The dog’s words, drawn from Leesil’s own memories, rose in his mind: a new little trick learned from Wynn ... and Shade, Chap’s daughter.

—We have ... no choice ... but to continue—

This time Leesil didn’t snap at Chap to stay out of his head.

Chap was right: they had no choice but to reach il’Dha’ab Najuum, the westernmost nation of the Suman Empire. There they hoped to find a first clue or lead to locating the orb of Air. Privately Leesil longed to forget everything about the orbs and go home to their little tavern, the Sea Lion, nearly halfway across the world. That wish was pointless.

Magiere would never give up the search, and wherever she went, he stayed at her side. When this was over—all over—he knew she would gladly go home with him, and they could finally have some peace together.

“That’s all of it,” she said, taking one pack and handing him the other before she hefted the small travel chest over her shoulder.

There was little else to say. If they stayed much longer, the captain would throw them off, one way or another.

Leesil shouldered his pack and picked up his weapons. As they headed into the passage, with Chap in the lead, Brot’an, followed by Wayfarer, stepped out of the next cabin. Both were ready as well, but fear was back in Wayfarer’s green eyes.

“Léshil,” she said, pronouncing his name in an’Cróan Elvish. “Must we?”

There was only one answer, one she didn’t want to hear—one he didn’t want to say. For all his resignation, he knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Magiere said nothing, either, and jutted her chin down the passage.

Chap nosed Wayfarer out ahead as the rest of them followed. Leesil was the last to come up on deck and find Alberto and Paolo standing under a glowing lantern. Behind them was a muscular dark-haired man; Dirken always seemed to wear that ever-serious expression.

Leesil and Magiere had rescued these three from a slave ship back in a cesspool of a port called Drist. Dirken had taken responsibility for both boys and managed to find all of them a place among the ship’s crew. His eyes fixed on Leesil.

“We have to stay,” he said.

“Of course,” Magiere answered. “It’s best for all of you.”

The last thing Leesil needed was two boys to watch over; keeping Wayfarer safe when none of them would ever truly be safe was hard enough. Still, he felt strange at saying farewell.

“Captain ... is good man,” he said. “You have good life here.”

Dirken nodded once, but both boys stared at Wayfarer. Alberto’s lower lip trembled, and Paolo was pale with a tight expression. And, to make matters worse, as Wayfarer looked at each of them, none of them said anything.

The young often had no idea how to say good-bye or why it had to hurt.

Leesil had no false comfort to offer, such as You might see each other again . That would be a lie, as it would never happen, and he didn’t have the strength to sell a lie right now. Instead he took hold of Wayfarer’s hand.

“Don’t let go,” he told her in Belaskian.

She gripped down on his palm, and as the captain watched from the aftcastle, Leesil led everyone down the ramp and onto the pier. They left the Cloud Queen for the last time and walked into the port city of Soráno. This time Brot’an brought up the rear.

Leesil glanced back more than once to see the old assassin watching all around, perhaps even more than Chap did out ahead. Leesil never let down his own guard, though he knew there was little chance that any of the anmaglâhk team trailing them could have beaten them to this port. For tonight they were likely safe. As to the port itself, he had no idea what to expect.

This far south, the night air was warm, and the small city appeared orderly and well maintained. But as he strolled along with Wayfarer clinging to his hand, one startling thing about the people on the well-lit street sank in suddenly. Magiere beat him to the first words.

“They all look like Wynn,” she half whispered with shock.

She wasn’t wrong.

Fine boned but round and oval faced, these people weren’t as tall as the Numans of Malourné or as dark skinned as the few Sumans they had met. Nearly everyone walking past wore strange pantaloons, cotton vestment wraps, or long shifts of either white or soft colors to their ankles. But every one of them had olive-toned skin, and light brown hair and eyes, just like Wynn.

Even Chap, with ears pricked up, slowed a little ahead in watching the passersby. Wayfarer was staring a bit too much. Anyone walking by who noticed merely smiled with a slight nod.

“Did she come from here?” Leesil asked.

Chap looked back once, for he needed a sight line to answer. — I don’t know— ... —She was ... left ... at the guild ... as an infant—

Oddly Chap knew more about Wynn than anyone else did. Leesil recalled some mention of the troublesome little sage “growing up” at the guild. It suddenly bothered him that he’d never asked her more, perhaps because he didn’t like talking about his own childhood ... as a slave and then a spy and assassin to a warlord.

Soráno’s streets were made of clean, cobbled, sandy-tan stone. Smaller open-air markets, rather than the big central ones of Leesil’s land or even those back in Malourné, popped up everywhere. Many stalls were still open for business, and everyone not on the move appeared to be some kind of merchant of dry goods or a farmer with a small harvest from a spring crop. The number of offerings for sale was overwhelming.

Arrays of olives, dried dates, fish, and herb-laced cooking oils were abundant. The scents on the air were spicy and unfamiliar. He slowed briefly as they passed stacked bolts of fabrics with wild, earthy patterns.

At the sight of glass bottles filled with oil and black olives, Leesil considered pausing for a purchase or two. Then he took a glance at Wayfarer.

Any surprise or puzzlement over so many people like Wynn was gone from the girl’s triangular face of tan elven features. The old fear of being among too many humans was clear to see there.

Leesil looked behind at Magiere and found her watching the girl as well.

“We should find an inn,” she said quietly, and he nodded.

So far Brot’an had been completely silent, and that left Leesil suspicious. The old anmaglâhk master continued his vigil.

Like Chap, Leesil still struggled for a way to be rid of Brot’an’s company. As yet, no opportunity had presented itself. As they headed down the strange street lit by glass lanterns that bulged like perfectly made pumpkins of pale yellows, oranges, cyans, and violets ...

Brot’an quick-stepped past Leesil and even Chap to get ahead. He stopped one of the locals with a nod and raised hand.

“Can you direct us to an inn?” he asked in Numanese.

The fine-boned man in a long shift of saffron cotton over matching pantaloons looked up—and up—at the tall an’Cróan. After an instant of shock, he smiled and pointed down the way at a two-story tan building. Leesil couldn’t be sure, but the whole place looked as though it was all made of dried brown clay.