Of Truth and Beasts

Chapter 17

Before the first bell of full night, Wynn stood in the entry room of a ground-level inn. Her tears were used up, but she felt no better at leaving the guild. Now she waited silently with Shade for the inn’s proprietor to return. Chane and Ore-Locks had both remained outside.

Chane still looked a mess, his pale face battered, although not as bad as earlier. He’d claimed he shouldn’t be seen in good light, causing anyone at the inn to wonder what trouble had walked through the door. Ore-Locks said nothing to this and backstepped three paces behind Chane to wait. Wynn had ignored them both.

Now she reached down to stroke Shade’s head as the elderly, sleepy-eyed innkeeper reappeared through one of the room’s two tall wooden doors.

“All three rooms are ready, miss,” he said in Elvish.

Stooped by age, he was still much taller than she, and his thin, silvery hair was pulled back in a frizzy tail. His shock upon first seeing Shade remained, but overall he was so kindly that a majay-hì’s presence couldn’t be the only reason.

“Thank you,” Wynn replied, and counted two silver pennies into his hand.

“If you need anything, there is a small bell outside of each room. Ring it sharply, and I will be along.”

“Thank you,” Wynn said again.

She stepped out to find Ore-Locks and Chane exactly as she’d left them.

“Around back,” she said, and they headed off.

Being on their own again brought no relief to Wynn; it only seemed to make things worse. Chane and Ore-Locks weren’t speaking to each other, and Wynn fought against her rising sense of guilt in denying the price of Chane’s companionship.

She knew—had known—what he was, but kept seeing the other Chane, until he’d utterly lost himself in First Glade. That undead monster of his hidden nature was all that had remained. And it had been caused by more than just the forest’s influence.

It was also because of her.

Someone could’ve been needlessly hurt, or even died, for nothing. He would sacrifice anyone, anything, for her.

Shade kept to Wynn’s side as both men followed them to the back of the inn. Wynn unlatched the door to the first room and peered inside. Only then did it dawn on her that she hadn’t needed a key.

It was strange to be in a place where concern over security or privacy wasn’t given any thought. The place looked simple, comfortable, and perfectly clean, but what would they all do now? Sit in their separate rooms until morning, when Chane fell dormant and she would go out seeking supplies?

“I need a new shirt,” Chane said, breaking the silence.

He stood before the next door, watching her quizzically. Perhaps her affected calm wasn’t as convincing as she’d thought. But his suggestion that they go out to buy supplies tonight was not unwelcome. Dinner was long past, though some shops might still be open. At least it gave them something to do rather than talk—or think.

“Let’s stow our things first,” she agreed quietly.

Stepping just inside, she unloaded her pack around the door’s edge and then faltered, the sun crystal staff still in hand. She didn’t like going anywhere without it, but carrying it might become troublesome if they found enough supplies tonight. She tucked the staff in the corner behind the door and stepped out.

Ore-Locks stood before the third door, the chest on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to come,” she told him.

Ore-Locks opened the third room, slid in the chest, and then shut the door and stood waiting.

Chane had not expected mention of a new shirt to result in a group excursion. He had wanted to go off by himself. Yet here they all were, walking a manicured lane and looking for open shops.

Tension between him and the others was too thick. Worse, he still could not remember what he had done in First Glade. Wynn avoided any mention of the subject, and Ore-Locks watched his every move.

Chane did not care what Ore-Locks—or even Shade—thought of him, but Wynn was another matter. She appeared strained and was more distant than ever. He wanted to pull her aside and demand she tell him what was wrong.

Part of him knew better than to try that; another part was afraid of her answer. So he did nothing.

Ore-Locks pointed toward a shop ahead with pale green melons in a wooden bin out front. The sight took Chane back to his living days. Melons, though bulky and heavy, would be a good food source while they had a wagon to carry such. They kept well and provided fluid as well as nourishment.

Ore-Locks stepped up to engage the shopkeeper sweeping the front porch.

“How much?” he asked in Numanese, gesturing at the melons.

The rather stocky woman, or stocky for an elf, eyed him before returning, “In coin or barter?”

She obviously knew dwarven customs.

As the bartering began, Chane whispered to Wynn, “I have other errands. I will meet you later at the inn.”

She looked up, and the veneer of calm on her face did not hide the sadness in her eyes. He wavered again, longing to pull her aside, but she nodded and turned back to watching Ore-Locks.

“I pity that shopkeeper,” she said quietly. And then said softly, “Go.”

Chane flinched.

Fear of losing her, even before this journey ended, tortured him. He had one chance to procure something rare and important—a slim hope of finding another way to keep her alive, should the worst come. That was all that mattered. He silently backed away and ducked off the road between the widely spaced buildings.

Chane began running as soon as he slipped from Wynn’s sight.

Wynn sighed, tired of waiting on Ore-Locks’s stubborn bartering. The poor shopkeeper looked worn and exasperated. Wynn turned about, looking down the road at the few people still out for the evening. Chane was nowhere in sight, but she guessed where he’d gone.

He needed to mend himself—to feed. The thought only made her more aware that she’d chosen to keep company with an undead. She closed her eyes tightly, opening them again as a sudden worry struck her.

Hopefully, Chane had gone after wild game. He knew better than to touch anyone here after her warning—didn’t he? How he’d managed to feed on livestock so far without being seen, after moons of travel, was another question she’d pushed aside. He never talked about it, never would, but this populated place wouldn’t offer him many options for privacy.

Would he go after the local livestock? What if he was discovered?

Wynn took a step, peering between the buildings and great trees. She touched Shade’s head and a memory of Chane’s face passed between them.

“Find him—now!” she whispered.

Shade loped off, sniffing the ground, as Wynn hurried after.

Chane pushed himself too hard, and the pain in his side returned. Stolen life gathered by the brass cup had not mended him enough. He ignored the discomfort, but at least his fluids had stopped leaking from his side. Soon he passed through a grove, emerging near the stables where they had first arrived.

Wynn might keep at her preparations all day tomorrow while he was dormant, and then suddenly announce that they were leaving at dusk. She had sprung such things upon him before. These lands offered something he might never find elsewhere. He had to finish one task and return before she began wondering where he was.

He ignored the stables and jogged out of the city. Even as he passed settlements along the way, where a few elves stopped in the night to watch in puzzlement, he kept to the road as the fastest route.

Wynn was gasping when she broke out of the trees behind Shade and spotted the stable across the way. Had Chane gone there?

She couldn’t believe he’d be so foolish as to feed in the stable. They had to come here to get their horses and wagon. What if someone spotted him or found a wounded animal in the morning, let alone a dead one?

Wynn stumbled across the road, looking about in panic, and hoping no one appeared until she could retrieve Chane. Shade huffed sharply, and Wynn almost jumped as she spun around.

Shade stood midroad but no longer sniffed the earth; she sniffed the air instead. She lunged past the stable and a few paces up the road toward the city’s huge tree archway. Before Shade breached the arch, she stopped to look back.

Wynn looked down the road beyond the city to its first hard turn among the trees.

She didn’t doubt Shade, but what was Chane doing? Where was he going to hunt? Or was he just leaving? Had his memory of the night before come back, horrifying him? No, that wasn’t like Chane. He’d followed her across half the world. Even if she chose to be rid of him, it would take effort to shake him loose.

Shade lunged another three steps and barked. A memory of the open plain beyond the forest surfaced in Wynn’s mind. She stared into the dog’s eyes.

How could Shade know this? She couldn’t dip into Chane’s rising memories while he wore the ring. Had he headed beyond the forest? That was at least some relief. Out there he might be alone, unseen as he fed.

Relief vanished quickly—there were Shé’ith patrols out there.

The instant Wynn started running, Shade dashed ahead, leading the way.

Chane reached the forest’s edge in agony. The pain in his side would’ve taken his breath away—if he’d had to breathe. He leaned against a broad tree trunk and didn’t even care that the contact made his skin crawl. As he fully widened his senses, he peered out across the open plain.

He heard no hoofbeats nor smelled anything made of flesh in the low breeze. There was only the grass shifting softly in the dark, and hidden within it was what he sought. He crouched, looking again in all directions.

As he crept beyond the tree line, that sensation of a thousand insects crawling over him faded. His eyes half closed as he stalled. He had become so accustomed to the forest’s fear-laced prodding, trying to seek out what he was. Its absence was bliss.

He moved on, spreading the tall grass with his hands.

Sau’ilahk instantly sank halfway into the earth. The shock of Chane’s lone appearance blotted every thought from his mind. He had not felt Chane’s presence before the pale undead appeared, so Chane still wore the ring.... And he was alone. What was he doing out here?

Perhaps he simply foraged for a kill, trying to find some wild animal to feed on? That did not make sense; the forest or enclaves of the Lhoin’na were better places to hunt.

Sau’ilahk refrained from rushing forward. He had no physical possessions, as such required continued use of energy to carry. He would have to leave them behind each dawn as he slipped into dormancy. But that ring offered so many possibilities.

Chane had gone into a place Sau’ilahk could not. Chane’s true nature was hidden from any unnatural awareness, even Shade’s. With that ring, neither Wynn nor her majay-hì would know when Sau’ilahk finally came for her.

It was too much to let pass.

Sau’ilahk slid through the dark, and not a single stalk of grass caught as they flowed through his black robe and cloak.

Chane flinched and squinted at a sudden glare of white before his eyes. It was almost too bright to look at where it caught the moonlight.

A dome of white flowers sprouted between the tan stalks of wild grass. Tiny pearl-colored petals—or leaves, by their shape—looked as soft as velvet, as delicate as silk. They appeared to glow, though the stems and leaves beneath them were so dark green, they were nearly black where moonlight could not reach them.

Their true use, hinted at in The Seven Leaves of Life, was still a mystery. Chane knew only that their name meant everything concerning Wynn.

Anasgiah ... Anamgiah ... the Life Shield.

He had to learn the secret of that thin text, one more step toward preserving her, if he ever failed in protecting her.

Chane slid his hand along the earth. He reached under with his fingers for the stems, not wishing to even bruise those precious petals. Like his need, they filled his awareness, until he neither smelled grass nor felt the hushed breeze, nor even heard a footfall.

Wynn stumbled into a broad tree trunk at the plain’s edge as she caught up to Shade. Dizzy and exhausted, even in the cool air she’d sweated through her undergarments. She tried to swallow away dryness in her mouth as she looked beyond Shade standing at the plain’s edge.

There was no one out there as far as she could see in the dark.

Where was Chane? Had he gone across to the woods beyond? She couldn’t even see the far trees at night. If he’d crossed, she’d never find him. This was wasted effort, and more than likely she’d be the one to stumble right into a patrol.

She pushed off the tree trunk, but Shade still stood perfectly still, staring out across the plain. Her head didn’t move. Her tall ears stood upright and poised. Her whole attention fixed in one direction.

Shade began to rumble low in her throat.

Wynn tried to follow Shade’s focus, but she still saw nothing.

A dark silhouette suddenly rose out of the tall grass.

It had to be Chane—just him. Who else would be on foot out here at night?

Wynn grew cold, shivering in her damp clothes now that she’d stopped moving. Something about the plain had nagged at her the first time she crossed it. Chane’s lone, dark silhouette stood silent in the grass, and Wynn remembered....

So long ago, Magiere—or perhaps Chap—had told her of a memory stolen from Most Aged Father. Once called Sorhkafâré—the Light upon the Grass—he had led the remains of his forces in desperate flight toward the only safe haven. So very few made it to First Glade, and Sorhkafâré had wandered in grief and rage to the forest’s edge.

And he had seen them.

Scores of undead had raced about the night plain, trying to find a way in. With nothing living within reach to feed upon, they turned on each other in frenzy. Their fluids matted the grass with stains of liquid darkness. All of those risen remnants of the enemy’s horde, as well as fallen allies who’d fought against them, had torn each other apart.

Chane stood in the grass as if he’d risen from that earth still stained black in Wynn’s imagining. He, one of the undead, stood amid the ghost memory of ancient hunger that couldn’t stop until it consumed even itself.

Wynn realized that very plain of madness was right before her eyes.

“Chane?” she whispered.

Shade’s rumble grew to a sharp snarl. Her voice twisted until it became something like the threatening mewls of a cat. Even then, Wynn couldn’t take her eyes off the dark silhouette in the grass. She began to take a step.

Shade instantly wheeled and snapped at her leg.

Wynn lurched back, but Shade wouldn’t stop. The dog lunged again with a vicious snarl.

—Wynn ... back ... Wynn ... stay—

“Not now, Shade,” she said. “Stop trying to—”

A shriek upon the plain smothered the last of Wynn’s words. It hadn’t even died before she screamed out, “Chane!”

Chane shook and convulsed—though only one white petal had fallen upon his palm.

He had stood up, holding his precious find by the stems, only to pause and wonder. They were just flowers, as strangely shaped as they were. In curiosity, he could not help pinching one petal with the fingertips of his free hand. Indeed, it felt like silk-thin velvet, though it stuck to his fingertip. He quickly pushed it off with his thumbnail, and it dropped into his palm.

It was so fragile, like Wynn.

The petal in his palm quickly darkened—first to dull yellow, and then to ashen tan. As it withered, black lines spread from beneath it, twisting and threading through the skin of Chane’s palm. He whipped his hand to shed the tiny husk, but the lines did not stop. They wormed up through his wrist.

Chane dropped the flowers and grabbed his wrist. He thought he felt his skin begin to split beneath his grip, but instead, the veinlike marks were worming up his forearm, beneath his shirt’s sleeve.

He began to grow ... cold.

He never felt cold—not after rising from death—not even when his hands had frozen solid in the mountains. Paralyzing, icy pain filled his black-veined hand, quickly following those worming lines into his arm. The cold carried agony to his shoulder and into the side of his throat and face.

Chane shrieked, the sound deafening in his own ears.

He began to fall, darkness thickening before his eyes, as his widened senses collapsed. Someone—somewhere—called out his name.

Was it Wynn, or did he only wish it so?

Sau’ilahk slowed at a scream carrying across the plain.

Chane vanished into the grass, and before his scream faded, Wynn’s cry spread over it. She was here, looking for him. Most certainly the dog would be with her.

Everything changed in an instant for Sau’ilahk. He heard the dog’s snarls, and then someone thrashed farther off near the forest’s edge.

Sau’ilahk could not bring himself to flee into dormancy. Frustration was unbearable with the temptation of Wynn so close, and Chane had been alone with that ring so close within reach. Sau’ilahk hovered in the dark, caught in indecision, until ...

The thrashing in the grass kept coming closer. It was now well beyond where Chane had stood, and the sound of snarls and growls came with it.

—Wynn ... stay back!—

Shade’s command erupted in Wynn’s head as the dog charged into the grass toward the last place they’d seen Chane. Wynn wasn’t about to stand there, and she bolted after Shade. All she could do was follow the grass parting in the passing of Shade’s black form.

It was only moments until she realized they should’ve reached Chane. Shade didn’t stop there. She charged onward into the plain as Wynn slowed for an instant.

“Shade?” she called in a hushed voice. And then, louder, “Shade, get back here!”

Shade’s snarls grew more distant by the moment. All Wynn could do was hurry onward, until she nearly tripped over a fallen form writhing in the grass.

Even in the dark, she could see Chane curled up and convulsing. He gripped his right wrist, silently choking and gagging as if ... as if trying to breathe.

Wynn dropped to her knees beside him, not daring to risk igniting a cold lamp crystal. That would only alert anyone else out here. She grabbed his face, trying to turn it toward her, and his flesh felt damp and icy, as if he’d been out in a winter storm.

“Chane?” she whispered, but he wouldn’t focus on her. “Chane! What’s—”

A massive hand clamped over her whole jaw and mouth. It smothered her voice as something hulkish wrapped her in thick arms and jerked her back. Before Wynn began struggling, an iron staff toppled and flattened down the grass beside her.

“Quiet!”

Ore-Locks’s gravelly hiss was too loud next to Wynn’s ear.

“Riders ... across the plain,” he whispered. “Do you want them to find you ... or him, like this?”

Ore-Locks removed his hand. As he released Wynn, she spun away on her knees, but his attention was fixed into the distance along the forest’s tree line. She didn’t even wonder how he had found her.

“I don’t hear anything,” she said urgently. “Now help—”

“I can feel hoofbeats on the earth,” Ore-Locks answered, “long before a human can hear them.”

Wynn was too frantic to answer back. Shade had run off, and she didn’t know what was wrong with Chane. If Ore-Locks was right, they had to leave before the patrol stumbled on them.

“Get him out of here,” Ore-Locks ordered, hefting his dropped staff. “I will delay the riders long enough.”

“No! I can’t lift or drag him by myself. You have to help.”

Wynn finally heard the hoofbeats, more than one set. The Shé’ith were coming.

Ore-Locks hissed something under his breath as he reached down to grab hold of Chane’s shirtfront.

Sau’ilahk blinked through dormancy. It was a half-blind shift.

Uncertain where he would awaken on the plain, it would be enough to baffle the majay-hì. That beast had somehow sensed him. The instant Sau’ilahk reappeared, he heard the rapid pound of horses—two, perhaps three—and he whirled to find his bearings.

The road was far off to his right, so he must have shifted north, maybe a hundred yards more along the plain’s midline. He traced the road to where it met the forest’s edge and the nearby place where he had spotted Chane.

There were two shapes there now, but he was too far off to be certain who they were. The hoofbeats pulled his attention. The shapes of three riders were farther along the forest’s edge in a direct line toward those two waiting figures.

Sau’ilahk panicked. How much more downfall could come atop a missed opportunity? He had heard Wynn call out Chane’s name, so what had the undead been doing out here? He could not afford to have Wynn delayed—or arrested. Perhaps she and hers were finally prepared to move on, out of that cursed forest to where he could track her once again.

The very thought that he would have to save her burned Sau’ilahk within as he skimmed the grass and blinked once more through dormancy.

Wynn looked out across the night plain as Ore-Locks hefted Chane over his shoulder. The dwarf headed toward the tree line, but she didn’t follow him yet. Shade was still out there on the plain.

“The dog knows where to find you,” Ore-Locks whispered.

He was right, and she couldn’t afford to call out for Shade.

Another shriek broke the quiet, and Wynn stiffened.

Even Ore-Locks spun about, staring along the tree line, as the sound of something heavy hit the earth in the distance. The rhythm of hoofbeats broke amid the frightened whinny of horses. Thrashing in the grass followed as someone shouted and cursed in Elvish.

The riders had stalled, run afoul of something, but what? That thought had barely finished when Wynn heard Ore-Locks snarl under his breath.

“Be still!”

Chane was struggling, clawing at the dwarf’s back.

Wynn rushed toward them, but before she reached out, Ore-Locks dropped his staff again. He latched both hands on Chane’s torso and heaved. Chane hit the nearest tree trunk, and the impact twisted him midfall.

His shoulder struck the earth first, and his arms and legs whipped down across the base of large tree roots. Almost immediately, he began clawing the earth, as if he hadn’t felt the impact. He couldn’t seem to get up, and he started crawling toward Wynn.

Ore-Locks closed on Chane, cocking one clenched fist. Wynn threw herself onto the dwarf’s back, wrapping her small hands over his face to obscure his sight.

“Enough,” she said directly into his ear.

When Ore-Locks froze, Wynn slid off his back and ducked around him to drop beside Chane.

Chane wasn’t lying at the dwarf’s feet. He was still trying to crawl off and kept whispering something as Wynn grabbed him, trying to pin him down.

“Flowers ... my flowers.”

Wynn looked to the grass plain. Chane hadn’t been trying to crawl to her. A memory of white petals came to her.

“What have you done?” she breathed.

Magiere had once been seized by the an’Cróan while in their land and taken before their council of elders to be tried as an undead. Fréthfâre, who had acted as prosecutor, had pulled a vicious trick in front of everyone. She’d held up the white flowers and proclaimed ...

“Anasgiah—the Life Shield. Prepared by a healer in tea or food, it sustains the dying, so they might yet be saved from death. It is vibrant with life itself, and feeds the life of those who need it most.”

Wynn remembered every word like it was yesterday, for then Fréthfâre had slapped those flowers across Magiere’s face. Magiere was not an undead, but her father had been one, and she shared some of their nature through him. When the flowers struck her, their effect was so damaging that she’d nearly collapsed.

Chane was a true undead, and he’d touched the same white petals. Why?

His hand clamped down on Wynn’s thigh. She felt its icy chill through her pants, and though he tried to squeeze, his fingers convulsed too much.

“Flowers ... for you,” was all he said.

His eyes closed, and he stopped moving.

“Chane?” Wynn whispered as she shook him. “Chane!”

She looked wildly over his body lying facedown in the dirt. Was he gone? Had the anasgiah finished him? How was she to know with no way to check for ... someone who wasn’t alive?

“Move aside,” Ore-Locks said, stepping in over Chane. “I will bring him, but we must leave—now!”

Chane’s body flinched at the sound of Ore-Locks’s voice. Wynn gasped, not realizing she’d been holding her breath.

“Get him deeper into the trees,” she whispered to Ore-Locks. “I’ll come in a moment.”

“No, you will—”

“Go! Now!”

Wynn ran onto the field, crouching low. All of this was mixed up in Chane’s obsession with her. Whatever purpose he had for those flowers might’ve cost him even more in his ignorance. When she reached the place where he’d fallen, she barely spotted the dropped flowers in the dark. They were crushed by his fall.

She spun on her haunches, spreading the grass as she crept about, looking for more. As she saw another dome of white and grabbed hold of its roots, a rumble from behind pulled her around.

Shade stood there, jowls still quivering.

“Where have you been?” Wynn whispered.

She immediately wondered if Shade had been scouting for the patrollers. There was no time to ask as another notion came to her. She took Shade’s snout in her hand and tried to remember useful images to pass as she spoke.

“Riders are coming. Lead them away. Then find me.” She released Shade. “Go!”

Shade rumbled once and took off through the dark.

Wynn ripped out the dome of flowers, roots and all, and ran for the trees.

Sau’ilahk remained far off, uncertain if his ploy had worked. As much as he had wanted to take the chance to feed, he had not. He had only slipped through the dark and nestled in the grass along the riders’ path. When the horses cantered nearer, moving too quick to see or sense him, he lashed his arms through the lead one’s legs.

It had screamed and fallen instantly, and he had blinked away before its rider hit the earth. When he rematerialized, he could see the three elves moving about in confusion. It was not long before they regained their wits and the horse recovered, but it was longer still until they gathered themselves and continued on.

They reined in short of the place where he had first spotted Chane. He thought he saw one of them point back the way they had come. They remained there, their horses stamping the grass, and Sau’ilahk finally risked rising to look.

Back along the way the riders had come, something raced away that left a trail of whipping grass. Not one of the riders took chase, though neither did they race on toward where Wynn had vanished.

For the second night in a row, Wynn stood in a room while Chane lay worse than broken and unconscious. Shade had barely caught up before they reached the inn, and now sat poised near the door.

It hadn’t taken much for Wynn to get Ore-Locks to leave the room. Perhaps he thought Chane was finished and no longer a concern to his own goals. But Wynn saw the occasional shift of Chane’s closed eyes, and the intermittent twitch of his one unmarred hand.

From what little Wynn knew of the ways of the Noble Dead, Chane didn’t appear to be in true dormancy. She couldn’t stop staring at his face.

Dull black squiggling lines like veins ran through his other hand, up his arm, and into the same side of his throat and face. She’d found more across his chest on the same side, as if something had wormed through him just beneath his pale skin. He was so cold all over, and she couldn’t think of any way to help him.

She carefully wrapped the flowers and stowed them in her own pack. She thought again of Fréthfâre’s words that anasgiah could hold off death. Had Chane inferred this from scant notes in her journals and made the connection when he saw the flowers?

Wynn realized why he’d wanted the flowers so badly ... for her.

Chane suddenly gagged and rolled onto his side. She pushed back several strands of hair sticking to his eyelids. She let out an exhausted breath, sick with worry. This all had to stop, one way or another.

Two nights later, Wynn pulled the wagon’s horses to a halt on the road at the forest’s edge. She looked out across the grassy plain.

Chane was conscious but lay in the wagon’s back, wrapped in his cloak. The black lines in his face and hand were fading but still visible. He’d claimed to be able to travel, and she hadn’t argued with him.

It was time to move on ... almost.

Ore-Locks had wanted to head directly south, through the forest. She’d told him that the branch road that the caravan had taken would give them easier access toward the south and the Slip-Tooth Pass. But that wasn’t the real reason she’d come here again.

Wynn needed to see this plain—this place from Most Aged Father’s memory—one final time.

The Lhoin’na called this the Bloodless Plain, though the origin of that name had been long forgotten. It wasn’t that no blood was to be spilled here, but rather that those who’d perished here had no blood to spill. Their bones had been long buried by time and nature.

What bothered Wynn most was that glimpse of Chane, an undead, a Noble Dead, standing in the dark amid the grass. A connection tickled the back of her mind between what lay in the earth and him.

Magiere had once severed Chane’s head, yet somehow he’d come back from a second death. Welstiel had done something, but Wynn had gotten no more than that from Chane. Aside from wondering if he really didn’t know ...

She stared across the plain, thinking of the horrors that lay buried and forgotten here, where only a blind tradition forbade the spilling of the blood of the living upon this place.

“What are we waiting for?” Ore-Locks asked.

Wynn didn’t look at him, though he sat at the bench’s far end. Shade rested her head over the bench’s back between them.

Yes, it was time to go, since nothing more could be learned here.

Wynn snapped the reins. The wagon lurched forward along the road through the plain before her eyes and the other one in her memory.

Chuillyon sat on a horse amid the trees far off from the road. He waited beside Hannâschi and Shâodh, sitting on their mounts.

When Chuillyon had requested Hannâschi accompany him abroad, Gyâr had fumed until Chuillyon explained. Even Gyâr would want to know what some “covert” little Numan sage was up to. Not that Chuillyon would share all he learned of Wynn’s pursuit.

“Why are they traveling by night?” Shâodh asked.

Chuillyon put a warning finger across his lips. He still had not spotted Wynn’s wagon pull out of the forest onto the road.

“Her tall guardian is likely an undead,” he whispered. “Though it would seem he has some method of hiding his nature.”

Hannâschi, sitting on a white gelding, leaned forward to glance at him around Shâodh.

“And you neglected to mention this?” she said.

Chuillyon rolled his eyes and shushed her. “Either you or Shâodh can detect the others. The stonewalker will be the greater problem, if they actually locate the seatt. He can travel in ways that we cannot follow.”

He waved both of them to silence as movement caught his eye.

Wynn’s wagon pulled out of the trees along the road, heading slowly through the plain. Chuillyon waited until it had nearly reached the plain’s far side. He could stop Wynn at any time, but he had no plans to do so—not yet.

“There’s the patrol,” Shâodh said, pointing.

Indeed, the Shé’ith guards emerged from the trees to the north and galloped along the forest’s edge. They pulled up in the grass, waiting. All three nodded in respect to him, and Chuillyon returned his acknowledgment as he urged his mount forward.

Formalities mattered to maintain an image of authority.

“Let them pass unimpeded,” he said.

The patrol leader nodded again. “As you wish, Domin.”

Chuillyon did not want to get too far behind tonight—just enough to let Wynn have her unwitting relief at being free to follow her purpose.