Барб Хенди - A Wind in the Night

How old were those words? Likely they were from a lost time, when Aupsha’s ancestors had first cut up an orb key so that it couldn’t be used on an orb, but the pieces were still functional for something else. A part of Wynn already doubted too much, but she quickly repeated those exact sounds as Shade had heard them.

She closed her hand on the device and waited, for there was an orb already in the room—and nothing happened. She lifted the device and swung her arm in an arc, toward and away from the orb’s chest—and again nothing.

Wynn sagged where she knelt, closing her eyes.

Of course it didn’t work like some children’s fairy tale of strange words that could cause miraculous things to happen. Even when she’d learned key phrases to ignite the staff’s sun crystal, it wasn’t words that mattered.

It was the meaning that sparked her intention to make the sun crystal respond.

Wynn scrambled on all fours to her pack, then ripped out and tossed aside its contents until she found quill, ink, and journal. Using the symbols of the Begaine Syllabary, she quickly scrawled those words as best she could without knowing them. That was all she could do for now, but simply possessing the unknown phrase changed everything.

She needed someone like herself, who understood all that was at stake. She had to find someone who also knew of orbs, of a war to come, of the dangers of simple fragments of knowledge ... and of dead languages from another land. That wasn’t even Premin Hawes.

Wynn rose to her feet, quietly stepped close to Shade, and whispered, “I’ll be back right away. Don’t move.”

With that she hurried out to find Chane or Osha, for all of their plans had changed.

Osha returned down the road into Oléron. As in any stop made on the way to that little coastal town, he—or Chane—had always gone back along the road to watch and listen for any sign that they were followed. Tonight he had heard nothing as he stood listening to the wind for what it could tell him ... and for any other sound it did not cause.

Osha walked softly through the dark past the stable and on toward the inn where he had left Wynn.

A majay-hì—a sacred one—had fallen in battle against an undead. For that, he felt shamed in his relief that Wynn had not been harmed, though Shade was so different from her own kind, or at least from what he knew of them.

How different and dark was this world outside of his people’s lands. Perhaps no darker than what he had left behind, but all the more confusing, for he did not understand it.

An undead and a majay-hì, enemies by their natures, fought side by side. And they did so because of a precious little human woman and her purpose.

Osha knew little of the undead: he had seen them only once before, when he had gone with her, Magiere, Léshil, and the sacred one called Chap to search for an artifact in some frigid peaks. If he had known then what that would lead to, would he have stopped it if he could have?

No ... not if it had meant never knowing Wynn.

Even in the brightest light of day, darkness was not always seen until it revealed itself. He was well aware that she had considered killing that one Suman guard ... the one whom he had wounded twice and left helpless.

Darkness had taken part of Wynn, just as it had taken him. She did not see it as he did within himself. One could not fight an enemy if one did not know it was there. He had learned at least that much in his time among the Anmaglâhk. And knowing was worth even more than seeing.

In seeking Wynn Hygeorht, Osha had traversed half the world, only to find someone else.

Where was the woman he loved?

He had to find her and bring her back. For the present there seemed to be little hope of this, but he had learned to be patient, to watch ... and to listen.

He arrived at the inn’s front to find that the undead was not there.

Claiming concern that the keep might have a shoreside dock below the cliff, Chane had gone his own way to the docks. A boat might be used to reach the port by sea instead of by the road. It was a short walk from the landing to the inn, and he should have returned to the inn first.

Osha went for the inn’s door but stalled. He could do less than even Wynn could in helping Shade. That frustration, the helplessness, had led to his arguing with her undead companion. It only made her desperation, and his, that much worse.

So he stood in the dark outside the inn. He heard the footfalls even before he spotted Chane’s approach.

“Anything?” the undead asked.

“No,” he answered. “You?”

Chane shook his head once and stared at the inn’s front door. “Have you gone in? Is there any change with Shade?”

Osha eyed Chane, who in turn did not look at him. “No. Not go in. Wynn not come out.”

“So ... we have a truce between us ... for her?”

The sudden question almost made Osha snap a denial. This was a strange world; perhaps he would have to be strange as well for now.

“Yes,” he answered, “for her purpose, we have truce, but not for—”

The inn’s door swung open, and there she was. Wynn started slightly at the sight of both of them. Osha had no chance to finish, though his faltering with Numanese might have been less clear in attempting to say ... but not for Wynn herself.

“Shade?” he asked quickly, cutting in before Chane could speak.

Wynn swallowed once. “Better, I think. She ... she awoke briefly to speak with me. I don’t know yet how bad it is or ... how much.... She needs more time and care.”

And, of all the stranger things, Osha heard the tall undead heave a sigh that sounded like relief.

“All right,” Chane said. “Can she be moved to a ship, perhaps tomorrow? We need to leave here as soon as possible and head north directly to—”

“No, we’re not going to Dhredze Seatt and Ore-Locks,” Wynn cut in. “We’re heading south.”

No one said a word for a moment, and then Osha noticed something in Wynn’s hand.

She held that strangely discolored bit of metal she had used to track the orb and the duke.

“What are you talking about?” Chane demanded.

Wynn turned on him in an instant. In the argument that followed, Osha could not keep up with what was said. All he caught was what seemed to be a name he thought he had heard once before, though he was not certain.

“This is madness!” Chane finally rasped so harshly that it had to have hurt his throat. “You cannot trust him. Even any truth he utters is only a trick for his own means.”

“I know that now!” Wynn returned. “But he’s the only one left that I can approach about how to activate this again.” And she thrust the piece of an orb key into Chane’s face. “This is the quickest way to find the last orb. Even with another orb still in our hands, that’s why we have to go south now.”

“And to Magiere—and Leesil and Chap—as well?” Chane shot back.

Wynn looked away and said nothing. Osha could see that was an answer unto itself.

“I am going to look in on Shade,” Chane rasped at her.

He jerked the door open and slammed it shut after he entered.

And still stranger, in only now understanding what their argument was about, Osha found himself in agreement with the undead—concerning the orb, at least. He was finally alone with Wynn once more.

Osha held back the hundred or more questions concerning what had changed her so much. All he could ask was ...

“Who is this ... Il-san-kay?”

Domin Ghassan il’Sänke was shoved roughly through the doors of the great domed chamber atop the imperial castle at the center of il’Dha’ab Najuum. At present that wide, round space—at least half a stone’s throw across—was empty.