Барб Хенди - Between Their Worlds

Footsteps on wood rose behind her, and she spotted a large human male in a striped shirt and long coat of shaggy black fur striding down a pier toward the shore.

“Wait here,” Dänvârfij told Én’nish.

She quickly pulled down her face wrap and hood. Stepping slow and steady, she gave the heavy man time to spot her before going to meet him.

“Pardon,” she said. “You are a master here?”

He stopped, looking her up and down and then straight in the eyes, for she was as tall as he. She was obviously a foreigner, but most likely he would mistake her as one of the elves of this continent that she had heard mentioned twice in her time here.

“Ship?” she asked. “Bound for the isle?”

This was the only hint Osha had given her. Her Numanese was not perfect, but that last word would be enough for the man to understand her intention.

“You mean Wrêdelyd?” he asked. “You looking for passage?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry, the only ship I’ve heard bound for there just set sail.” He shrugged and pointed off toward the waterfront’s north end. “Leave word with the harbormaster about where you’re staying. When the next ship headed that way comes in, he’ll let you know.”

She could not even bring herself to shake her head as she tried to think of what to do next. Nothing came of it other than that she would have to explain all of this to Fréthfâre.

Dänvârfij turned away from the man without even a thank-you. She had let the monster—and any whereabouts of the artifact—slip from her grasp again.

Brot’ân’duivé now had both.

The following night, Chane paced alone in the guild’s inner courtyard. Events of the recent days and nights were fresh in his mind. He was a little surprised, perhaps annoyed, to find himself missing Ore-Locks’s company.

They’d arranged for the dwarf to head back to Dhredze Seatt as soon as Leesil’s plan had been set in motion. Ore-Locks’s tasks were done, and after all he had learned of the orb—the orbs—he had grown increasingly anxious to return home.

In that, Chane had agreed. No matter that the orb of Earth was hidden away with the Stonewalkers; he trusted only Ore-Locks where the orb was concerned.

Tonight, Wynn had gone to the main library to search for all possible routes, should they start a new journey soon. The library held more recent maps versus those in the archives, but Chane suspected that she wanted to be alone with her thoughts. A little time on his own was not unwelcome, either, now that a calm had settled over the guild, though he wished she had not grown so quiet.

Upon their return the previous night, as promised, Hawes had brought them in and dealt with the council. An instant storm rose over Wynn’s change of order. It seemed that simply changing robes was not all there was to this, and a petition process was required first. The arduous review and examination would be much the same as for any apprentice first applying for jouneyor status.

Fortunately, Premin Hawes had handled that, as well, or at least Chane assumed so. No one on the council, nor Domin High-Tower himself, had come at Wynn with any further requirements. Likely Hawes had simply told them it would be easier for her to keep an eye on Wynn if they waived any re-petitioning. Still, many an eye among the guild’s populace would turn Wynn’s way at the sight of her new midnight blue robe. On the surface, she would be treated like any other sage of rank, or so Hawes had proclaimed.

In Chane’s view, Wynn’s change of garb carried an extra warning not to tamper with a journeyor under the cold, watchful eyes of the premin of metaology. That was enough for now, but he wondered what hid beneath that protection. He would not forget the premin’s reactions to Wynn’s greater knowledge of the orbs and what lay within the scroll that he carried.

He kept pacing a circle around and around the empty courtyard.

The sight of Wynn in that dark robe still made him uncomfortable, but she and he were allowed back into the guild, though there had been no warm welcome. As soon as Hawes and Wynn uncovered any hints to the possible location of the orb of Spirit, he and Wynn would be gone again, and perhaps that was best.

As he walked, the soft clap of his boots seemed to echo too much. He paused at the strange sound, and only then did he hear the second set of steps. Raising his head, he followed the sound to the mouth of the gatehouse tunnel.

A tall figure came toward the courtyard from within the tunnel’s darkness.

Chane wondered who could possibly be visiting here at this time of night. The obvious answer was Captain Rodian, though after the council’s long meeting with Hawes, they had dismissed his guards and reopened the portcullis. Still, the captain had not been fully satisfied with what Wynn had told him about elves, assassins, and the escape of her hunted friends.

Something was not right about that figure inside the tunnel.

Rather than the hint of a red tabard or the glint of mail sleeves, the visitor’s clothing was too drab and dark to make out. Then it drew nearer to the tunnel’s inner end and the great braziers burning on the gatehouse’s inner wall.

It was cloaked and hooded, with a bow in hand and a quiver of darkly feathered arrows protruding above its shoulder. Some other narrow bundle stuck out beside the quiver. Even when the figure stepped fully from the tunnel, Chane was not certain who it was. Then he looked at the bow again.

Osha paused as he entered the courtyard and brushed back his hood.

Flames in the iron brazier above him made his white-blond hair shimmer with flickers of fiery orange. Amber eyes in his long, dark face matched that same burning intensity as he stood there.

Chane had not missed the way Osha had looked at Wynn, and more so, the way she had responded. His hands shook slightly, lowering to his sides, but since returning to the guild, he had left his swords in his room. It was improper to walk in this place bearing weapons.

Osha was supposed to have rejoined the others and fled the city.

As Chane locked eyes with Osha, he knew there was only one reason why the young elf had not done so....

Wynn.

ON THE THIRD DAY ATsea, as Magiere stood alone at the ship’s bow rail, the Isle of Wrêdelyd came into sight. There they would have to find a ship heading south for the Suman Empire and its westernmost nation, called il’Dha’ab Najuum, the seat of the emperor and home to the Suman branch for the Guild of Sagecraft.

Magiere wondered if she should tell the others to pack up, but at a guess, the ship wouldn’t make port for a while. Leesil was suffering his usual seasickness, and she didn’t want to drag him from his bunk too soon. Besides, ministering to his moans and groans gave Leanâlhâm something to do while Chap kept an eye on both of them.

On the first night aboard, when Leanâlhâm had learned that Osha hadn’t returned with Brot’an, Magiere had been forced to stop the girl from rushing for the skiff. After that, Leanâlhâm had fallen into a state of dark, silent sorrow. Regardless of how Brot’an matter-of-factly assured them all that Osha was alive and well, it did little to soothe the girl.

If Osha was all right, they all knew where he had gone: to Wynn. That Leanâlhâm’s sorrow remained, even in believing he was safe, meant just as much.

Magiere wasn’t certain how to keep the girl safe, let alone how to deal with Leanâlhâm’s broken heart. She only hoped it went no further than that, and not as far as whatever had happened long ago between Osha and Wynn. But all this wasn’t what had set Magiere—and Leesil and Chap—on edge concerning Brot’an’s claim that Osha was all right.