“Her choice?” Magiere stepped closer. “Why would she—”
A soft, rapid pound upon the door was followed by Leanâlhâm’s nearly breathless, hushed voice. “It is me.”
Leesil rolled up to his feet and unbolted the door. Leanâlhâm practically fell inside—alone.
“Where’s Chap?” he asked.
A rush of confused Elvish and Belaskian spilled from the girl. He didn’t follow anything but “guards on the gate ... the walls ... We had to leave quickly....”
Leanâlhâm paused to inhale deeply amid panting.
“Slow down,” Magiere said, limping over to the girl.
Brot’an was on his feet, listening to the exchange.
“Where’s Chap?” Leesil demanded, louder this time.
Leanâlhâm looked at him. “A black majay-hì ... came to the gate with a sage. When it left, the majay-hì ... I mean Chap ... wanted to follow the other. He made me ... come back alone.” She looked frantic for an instant, and then added, “I tried to argue, but he was very ...”
She faltered, as if she couldn’t find the right word.
“Oh, dead deities!” Leesil hissed under his breath.
The black majay-hì could only be Shade. Leesil watched Magiere sag, shaking her head. What was Shade doing outside the guild? What was Chap thinking, going after her and leaving Leanâlhâm alone? An angry tension filled Magiere’s expression.
Leesil grabbed the door’s bolt and looked at Leanâlhâm. “Which way did he head from the guild?”
The room’s window bucked open. Osha swung inside in a panic, dropping too loudly on the floor. He looked straight at Brot’an and rattled off something in Elvish. Then Leesil heard distant shouts through the open window.
Brot’an sighed audibly. “We have a problem.”
One voice carried from afar, and Leesil ran to the window, leaning out. Only a few words were clear above the clamor.
“Wolf! Get back inside!”
“Oh, seven hells!” Leesil groaned through clenched teeth. “What has the mutt done this time?”
Én’nish had been taken aback when panicked humans chased after Chap. Part of her wanted to end their pursuit of a sacred majay-hì. But he was not one of the guardians she knew.
He was an aberration that Most Aged Father had warned against.
She could do little but leap from one rooftop to the next in pursuit as Chap dashed through one street or alley after another, dragging a cord with one end looped about his neck. No matter his twists and turns, the crowd kept on growing and caught up again and again.
Én’nish wondered if this might be to her advantage.
All of the majay-hì’s efforts were focused on escape. He would never see an attack from above. If she gained just an instant, should he evade his pursuers again and then pause, she could drop and knock him out, safely capturing him for Fréthfâre.
There was the problem of trying to drag off a large animal by herself. But in this she could finally express her gratitude to Fréthfâre—to the Covârleasa—for giving her a second chance. The capture of the deviant would go far in proving her worth in the purpose given by Most Aged Father.
Én’nish crouched low, watching as the majay-hì swerved into a cutway, and then she took a running leap across to the next rooftop. When Chap halted, looking both ways along the street before lunging out, she hurried along the roof toward the forward eaves at its far end.
Then she froze, losing track of Chap at a sudden movement below.
An overly tall, cloaked form was rushing down the cutway toward its street-side end, with a smaller form following behind. Én’nish kept still and quiet. There was only one of such size who could appear so suddenly, run so silently.
Brot’ân’duivé neared the cutway’s end and peered into the street as the smaller follower caught up.
Sudden shouts drew Én’nish’s focus away. The crowd rounded the last street corner, and Chap bolted ahead of them. When she looked down again, Brot’ân’duivé was gone. Only the smaller figure remained, lurking in the cutway’s end near the street.
Chap couldn’t believe how quickly the crowd had caught up this time. His pursuers were once again only a block behind him. He peered about, trying to identify anything as he ran, but it was all a blur. Nothing looked familiar.
“Cut it off!” someone shouted, and ahead of him, people turned to look.
A large man in a hide jerkin pulled a sword. More shouts, seeming to grow in volume, followed behind Chap. He slid to a stop, the pads of his paws burning as they scraped across cobblestones, and he looked wildly about. A young boy tried to run out of a shabby little building, all too excited at the sight of the “wolf.” A bystander snatched the boy back.
For one foolish instant, Chap looked behind.
The original pair of men with their staves came trotting, huffing, and puffing after him. Behind them waddled a huge woman with a bosom like a shelf that bounced up and down as she waved a wooden rolling pin in the air. A grimy old man wielding a dung fork like a pole arm passed the woman, his gray, stubbled face set in grim determination as he gained ground on the men with staves.
Chap almost whimpered. How had his decision to track Shade come to all this? A soft triple whistle barely reached his ears, and he grew more frantic. Was someone now calling out dogs?
A scream of horror carried from somewhere behind the mob. “Another! Another one! Here!”
Chap took only one glance in utter confusion, for how could there be another like him? Had Shade now followed him? It did not matter that most of the pursuers stalled or turned to look the other way. Chap’s head whipped back around, and ahead the man with the sword was coming straight at him.
That triple, shrill whistle came again, but from above, as if it were some bird. It was too precise, and what would a bird of prey be doing flying over a city?
Chap looked up.
A figure rose on the next rooftop down and to the left. Tall and lean of form, its cloak was tied up around its waist. It waved both arms and pointed to the building’s far end.
Chap suddenly realized the building was the inn where he and his companions were staying. He had not recognized it amid the chaos in the street, for he had never seen it from the front.
A large, open-slatted crate came flying out of the cutway at the inn’s near-front corner.
Feathers trailed behind it in the air amid the ruckus of squeaking pigeons. One man ducked aside with a shout of warning. The one with the sword had time only to turn his head.
Chap charged just as the crate crashed into the swordsman’s face.
Feathers, squeaks, and wood rained around Chap. A pigeon bounced off the cobbles and hit him in the jaw, its thrashing wings blinding him for an instant. Amid curses and shouts, kicks and wild swings, Chap swerved and scampered through.
And there was Leesil, glowering at him from out of the cutway on the inn’s far end.
Chap swerved into the cutway, claws scrabbling on the cobble, as Leesil turned ahead of him and ran toward the inn’s rear. Leanâlhâm came running down the back alley’s other way, catching them both at the rear door. It must have been the girl who had screamed out about “another one” to distract his pursuers.
And there was Brot’an, holding the door open.
Leesil nearly shoved Leanâlhâm through, and Chap rushed in after them. He did not quite reach a full stop, his paws sliding on the floor’s planks, and he slammed sideways against the narrow passage’s wall as Brot’an pulled the door shut.
Chap stood there wobbling on tired legs, too exhausted to feel even relief as yet.
Leesil crouched down and whispered harshly into his face, “What was all that about?”
Chap’s panting broke as he glared back. After what he had just been through, did Leesil really have the audacity to be indignant?