Барб Хенди - Of Truth and Beasts

“Domin?” a lilting voice called from above.

“Yes, come!”

Hannâschi appeared at the chamber’s entrance.

“What have you learned?” he asked immediately.

“The journeyor and her companions left the grounds and headed north, out of the city. They eventually took the Birth Path, likely all the way to First Glade.”

Chuillyon was dumbstruck. There was no telling what Wynn Hygeorht might do next.

“Wait, go back,” he said. “What happened in the archive? Have you learned anything new?”

For a mere journeyor of Metaology, Hannâschi’s skills were exceptional. She could bend light by her thaumaturgy, creating simple illusions, or twist what it did or did not illuminate. She never attained the complete elimination of light, but her abilities made eavesdropping much easier.

“I could not get close enough,” she answered. “I waited nearby in an unoccupied side passage. Premin Gyâr is furious about the letter. He believes someone broke into his office and used the council’s seal.”

Hannâschi offered Chuillyon the most irritated glare her elegant face could portray. He forced himself not to smile.

“I caught up with the premin,” she continued, “as he closed himself inside his office with the master archivist. I amplified any sound within the wall’s wood. His first instinct was to suspect you.”

Chuillyon almost rolled his eyes. That much would be obvious.

“But there was doubt,” she added. “He still believes you are his ally, yet he assumes none of the other premins would dare such an act. He is frustrated in not finding an answer.”

“Good enough for now.”

“He will not let this go,” she warned, as if shocked by his satisfaction. “Tomorrow morning’s gathering will be difficult.”

Hannâschi had a polite way with euphemisms. “Difficult” would hardly describe it. Chuillyon would not be at all surprised if Gyâr called an emergency meeting tonight.

“What about Journeyor Hygeorht?” he asked. “What was she after?”

Hannâschi shook her head. “I suspect she did not realize that the archives are divided by the orders into five separate locations.”

Chuillyon digested this notion. At least it explained Wynn’s baffling choice of destination in using the pass. However, not only had she used up her chance, and a hard-won chance at that; she had wasted his capability to assist her further.

“And she is heading for First Glade?”

“Yes.”

It was not difficult to guess why. The place itself held nothing useful for Wynn, even in seeking Chârmun’s grace. As a somewhat typical human sage, she would have only scholarly wonder and curiosity in the tree.

Something—someone—else had been present there on Wynn’s first brief visit.

Chuillyon let out a tired exhale. “Oh ... rotted roots!”

Hannâschi’s eyes blinked rapidly at his near obscenity.

“I had better follow her,” he muttered, more to himself than to Hannâschi. “I should make certain—”

“Chuillyon!” a deep, angry voice called from above.

Hannâschi jumped slightly at the sound, her eyes popping wide, and Chuillyon’s neck muscles tightened.

“Yes, Gyâr,” he called back. “What may I do for you?”

Wynn pressed on along the narrow path to First Glade. With the sun crystal staff in hand, she followed Shade’s lead, and Ore-Locks brought up the rear. Chane once more held on to her shoulder under the forest’s growing influence, and she felt him tremble through his grip. When she glanced up, his eyes were closed. His face was covered by the same sheen as the last time they’d come this way.

Chane’s gaze darted about. He flinched twice, as if something had jumped out of the dark at him.

At the rear, Ore-Locks was watching him closely.

“Almost there,” Wynn whispered.

Chane’s grip tightened briefly.

She wished she knew of a way to help him, but had he possessed an ounce of sense, he would have stayed behind. Really, how much protection could he provide in his current state?

They reached the path’s strange three-way split, only this time Shade came to a dead stop. Her ears pricked as she raised her head high, nose in the air.

“What’s wrong?” Ore-Locks asked.

Shade turned a tight circle and lowered her head as she appeared to search the forest. She suddenly huffed, and Wynn heard something in the distance.

A lone howl carried from far off.

Chane’s grip tightened again.

A second howl rose, a little longer than the last. Wynn was still uncertain where it had come from.

Shade turned, looking between the trees. As another howl came, she wheeled around, and a single word sounded in Wynn’s mind, in her own voice.

—Follow—

Shade bolted into the underbrush.

“What’s she doing?” Ore-Locks called.

Wynn grabbed Chane’s belt to pull him along, but he gripped her wrist and hauled her back. His colorless eyes shifted in every direction.

“Not into the trees!” he rasped. “You are not going in there.”

Wynn couldn’t see Shade. She heard the dog huff twice and that was all as she peeled off Chane’s fingers and took his hand.

“Close your eyes and trust me,” she said.

Sau’ilahk watched through his familiar’s eyes as it scampered along the upper branches in pursuit of Wynn—or in pursuit of one shiny little ring fixed in its instinctual obsession. Its eyes offered a much better view at night than those of his conjured servitors.

Chane did not look well.

The vampire might have breached the forest’s safeguards, but clearly he suffered for it. Wynn led onward ahead of the dwarf as they followed the majay-hì. When they came to a three-way split in the path, a loud howl carried from a distance.

The tâshgâlh froze, backing away along the branch. Sau’ilahk seized control to keep it still.

The dwarf muttered something, but Sau’ilahk was too distracted to catch the words. After a few more distant howls, Shade darted off the path, followed by Wynn and the others in a stumbling gait through the underbrush.

Sau’ilahk forced the tâshgâlh onward, choking off its whimpers of fright at those howls.

Chuillyon waited tensely as Gyâr’s heavy footfalls descended the stairs outside his chambers. Hannâschi sidestepped away from the entrance. This was not a good time for a visit from the tall premin. Chuillyon snapped his fingers.

Hannâschi went rigid, her eyes locking on him. He pointed at the curtained doorway to his sleeping chamber, and she rushed through, trying to still the curtain in her wake.

An instant later, Gyâr pounded through the entrance, the letter held high in hand.

“We have a problem,” he announced, as if the presumption that Chuillyon would share the weight of it was not debatable.

Chuillyon raised his feathery eyebrows. “And that would be?”

Gyâr held out the letter. “A sympathizer ... and traitor in our midst.”

Chuillyon took it, scanning its content as if he had never seen it before. Of course, he had not seen it since the council seal had been added.

The fact that no one had sought out Hannâschi meant that Wynn had given no description of the courier. This was no surprise. The errant little sage, so accustomed to persecution, would never give up another who had tried to help her.

“I assume you did not issue it,” Chuillyon murmured, looking up with a carefully baffled expression. “Where did it come from?”

“From that Numan journeyor,” Gyâr snapped, “standing in the north archive!”

Chuillyon feigned a gasp. “What premin would issue this? Perhaps Viajhuijh? Wynn, though from another branch, is a cathologer and of his order.”

“I’ve already challenged Viajhuijh. He seemed as surprised as you ... and would never dare go against me, let alone steal into my study to use the seal without consent or council approval.”