Dänvârfij fell silent at this. She still did not agree, though the reasoning made sense on the surface. And they were already stretched too thin.
“I will take watch on the guild tonight,” she said. “Once Rhysís has rested, he can watch the port, at least at night. He needs less sleep than the rest of us.”
Fréthfâre shifted in her chair. “It may be time that I take a hand in matters.”
Dänvârfij looked away, fearing her companion might volunteer for watch duty. Then Én’nish crawled in the window, saving Dänvârfij from another uncomfortable argument.
“Covârleasa!” Én’nish breathed, looking to Fréthfâre as she rose from her crouch. “I have found them!”
A moment of chaos followed as Rhysís and Eywodan sat up and Dänvârfij leaped to her feet. Everyone began asking too many questions at once.
“Silence!” Fréthfâre ordered. “Let her speak.”
Dänvârfij waited as Én’nish recounted a tale about the majay-hì, a wild chase through the streets, and a rescue by Brot’ân’duivé. In spite of Én’nish abandoning her post, the more she talked, the more Dänvârfij believed she had done right.
Magiere had been found.
But at mention of another name, Fréthfâre sat upright and whispered, “Leanâlhâm ... here?”
Dänvârfij did not recognize this name at first. Then she remembered hearing of a mixed-blood girl as kin to Sgäilsheilleache. What would such a girl be doing here?
“Their words all surrounded the sage,” Én’nish rushed on. “That is why the deviant majay-hì returned to the guild. The sage is a prisoner, and they plan to free her.”
“We should assault their inn tonight,” Rhysís said, “and take them all.”
Silence fell for the span of a few breaths. Rhysís had not spoken much since the previous night when Owain had returned without Wy’lanvi’s body. Apparently, Owain had gone back to the spot in the alley where Wy’lanvi had been assigned and found nothing. They all believed Brot’ân’duivé had taken the body.
Dänvârfij hoped only that the aging greimasg’äh still held enough respect for his people’s burial customs. And if not, she could only pray that Wy’lanvi found his own way to their ancestors.
“Why do they want the sage?” she asked of Én’nish.
“I do not know,” Én’nish answered. “But they are determined. Brot’ân’duivé is helping them.”
Another pause followed, and though Dänvârfij’s purpose, given by Most Aged Father, was to capture Magiere or Léshil, she began to wonder. The artifact had been removed from the ice-bound castle by those two, but Most Aged Father had also warned that the pair often relied on the sage for information. If those two now needed the sage so badly that Brot’ân’duivé assisted them, then the sage must know something essential.
“Our first task is to gather information about the artifact,” Dänvârfij said slowly. “The sage may know more than Magiere or Léshil. That may help us understand how to handle it, once it is acquired. We will double our watch on the guild. When they come to retrieve the sage, we separate them, kill Brot’ân’duivé, and capture the others.”
“No,” Fréthfâre said, shaking her head. “Rhysís is right. They are unaware that we know their location and would not expect an attack tonight. When the sun sets, we move ... and then kill the traitor and take Magiere and anyone else possible. The sage is not worth risking the loss of such a chance.”
The others present, including Rhysís, looked uncertain, but not because of the difference between the two plans. Not one of them would ever choose to go against a greimasg’äh, but for Fréthfâre to countermand Dänvârfij in front of everyone was another matter.
Anmaglâhk functioned under a chain of command that began not with the highest or the eldest but with the first one given a purpose by Most Aged Father. That had been Dänvârfij. Even now, most of the others still looked on Fréthfâre as their wounded Covârleasa, though Most Aged Father had appointed someone new in her place back home. This shared command through Fréthfâre’s sway over the others had more than once proven a difficulty.
Dänvârfij had no wish to further anyone’s embarrassment by partaking in an open argument. She simply resorted to a higher authority than her own.
“If Magiere and Brot’ân’duivé want the sage so much,” she said, “Most Aged Father would want us to capture the sage, as well. She is currently locked inside a human castle—a stable, stationary target. I believe this is how Most Aged Father would counsel us.”
Dänvârfij looked to Fréthfâre and found the ailing woman studying her in return. For how could Most Aged Father’s one-time prime counselor counter what he would obviously have advised?
“I could contact Most Aged Father and ask him ... if you prefer,” Dänvârfij suggested.
Fréthfâre’s expression tightened slightly, but not from pain. She knew exactly where that would lead. All that would come of it would be delay, and that would not sit well once Most Aged Father heard the facts.
“Unnecessary,” Fréthfâre replied. “But we will wait for them to go after the sage ... and then take them all at the same time.”
Dänvârfij nodded politely, as if this had been a joint decision. It was the one she had sought all along.
Chapter 12
THE FOLLOWING NIGHT, Chane again paced his room. Shade lay on the bed, equally agitated, watching him. By now, the message he had sent to the temple of Feather-Tongue at Dhredze Seatt should have been passed onward to its final destination. Once read by its recipient, something—or nothing—might come of it.
Chane was tired of waiting to find out.
Magiere, Leesil, and Chap likely sought their own way to get to Wynn, but he was determined to do so first. Yet although that was his foremost concern, he could not stop wondering if Chap had sensed his presence after following Shade. If so, would Chap bring his companions to hunt for an unknown undead?
Chane had promised Wynn to avoid them, so if they came, he would have to run. He would then be entirely cut off, without a place for her to reach him. He had wondered if Magiere or Chap were even now waiting in the nearby streets for anything they could sense. He tried to put this out of his head.
Last night, he and Shade had gone to scout the guild from the shadows. Two city guards walked separate half circuits on the bailey wall. One more stood inside the portcullis, and one or two had to be in the gatehouse tower to man the gears. And this could not be the full count. If Captain Rodian was under orders to guard the grounds, he had brought more men than were visible.
There was a time when Chane would have simply scaled the walls and killed anything in his way. It would have been so much easier.
He had noticed one strange event while he and Shade lurked near the western corner of Old Bailey Road. He had been studying the keep’s heights for signs of more guards when Shade huffed and directed his attention down the street.
At well past night’s first bell, a wagon rolled onto Old Bailey Road at its southern corner and headed straight for the keep’s bailey gate. The portcullis rose even before it arrived, and a city guard and a sage in midnight blue came out to open the bailey gate and let the wagon in. The vehicle was heavily laden, its cargo hidden beneath a lashed canvas tarp.
In the time Chane had spent among the sages, he had never seen a supply wagon arrive at night. Of course he could not have seen any arriving in daylight, but he had never even heard of nighttime deliveries before. He wished he could have learned more of this—although it was a minor puzzle among greater concerns, and he remained inside his room as much as possible. He was too afraid that he might miss ...