Rodian fumed over losing the dog so quickly. He wavered, knowing full well that only one person knew the answer, and the Premin Council had barred him from questioning Wynn.
As if they could.
Something was going on here tonight, and he needed to find out what. Until he received a direct order from the royal family regarding Wynn, he was not going to tolerate guild interference in his duties. And besides, it was late. Sykion wouldn’t even hear about his “visit” to Wynn until the morning, if at all.
“Lower the portcullis once I’m through,” he called, as he pulled the bailey gate closed behind him.
He didn’t even pause when he entered the gatehouse tunnel, but as he reached the courtyard, the bell for the first quarter of night rang out. And Lúcan called down from above.
“Sir, wagon coming.”
Rodian stopped and sighed, and the nagging knot of tension in his neck tightened.
“Very well,” he called back.
These wagons of late arrived the same time every night, yet there was no explanation for them. Even the sages wouldn’t need this much of ... whatever ... all at once. Again, they were up to something. He could just feel it somehow. Questioning Wynn would have to wait.
Turning, he peered down the gatehouse tunnel. What had Shade been doing out there? He looked about the empty courtyard. Over the years, he’d trusted his sense of the order of things, and all this was definitely lacking a perceivable order. He headed back to the portcullis as he heard its gears and chains begin to grind again.
“Go unbolt the gate,” he ordered. “I’ll see to the wagon myself.”
“Yes, sir,” Maolís answered.
“When you’re done, cut through the bailey and take the stairs up the wall at the eastern corner. You’re to walk the back side, and tell Jonah and Angus to stick to their sides of the keep and the front. The more eyes everywhere, the better.”
“Yes, sir.” Maolís ducked out under the half-closed portcullis.
“Bring it back up!” Rodian called, and he waited inside the tunnel’s mouth, watching for the wagon’s approach.
Dänvârfij still perched on the same rooftop with Én’nish. So far, they had seen no sign of their quarry or the two strangers—human or dwarf—who had disappeared through the keep’s outer wall. Although those two concerned Dänvârfij, she was focused on watching for Magiere or Léshil or even Chap. She knew better than to think she could watch for Brot’ân’duivé.
Every shadow in the world was a greimasg’äh’s ally, defense, and weapon.
The only thing that might betray Brot’ân’duivé was if his new attachment to Léshil and the monster drew him into the open. Even so, could she actually kill a shadow-gripper by chance, let alone by the choice to do so? Sgäilsheilleache had killed her beloved jeóin and mentor, Hkuan’duv, but the act had cost him his life.
Én’nish fidgeted restlessly beside Dänvârfij, not at all as an anmaglâhk should, but Dänvârfij needed someone with her. If any messages had to be passed to the others on watch, this was the only way without someone abandoning his or her post. She was considering sending Én’nish to check in with the others when a loud barking and howling erupted outside the bailey gate.
“The black majay-hì!” Én’nish breathed.
Dänvârfij’s hand tightened on her bow. She had let herself slip into distracted thoughts and not even noticed the dark form approaching. She watched in puzzlement as a guard with a close-trimmed beard hurried out to let the majay-hì inside, but it ran away from him. It was the same majay-hì that Dänvârfij had seen earlier in the company of the pale man and the dwarf.
Had they left the animal behind for this reason? Almost as soon as the majay-hì vanished down a city side street, the sound of rolling wagon wheels carried from down the loop around the castle. Dänvârfij leaned a little over the roof’s edge.
Another mysterious wagon, like those from the nights before, pulled up to the bailey gate opened by another guard.
Dänvârfij settled back, watching. What was happening inside the guild this night?
As the wagon rolled through the bailey gate, Rodian nodded to the driver and turned to head up the gatehouse tunnel. Overseeing the wagon’s unloading was an unwanted intrusion, but it had to be dealt with before he could rouse Wynn for a talk. Once he’d cleared the tunnel, he turned and waved the driver toward the courtyard’s northeast side. Then he blinked and wrinkled his brow.
As the wagon emerged into the courtyard, two cloaked people sat on its bench. He was certain there had been only one when it arrived. The second figure was smaller and slighter than the driver.
Rodian shook his head. The second had likely been in the wagon’s back, perhaps steadying the cargo. From the way the tarp bulged too much on one side, the wagon looked improperly loaded. As it pulled past him to stop before the northeast building, he could see where the tarp’s back corner lashing had broken off under the strain.
He cared only that the process moved swiftly. The sooner it was finished, the sooner he could find out why Shade was running loose in the city.
As the wagon stopped under the second-floor bay doors, he headed for the storage building’s central door to inform Hawes of its arrival. He didn’t even reach the door.
Four sages in midnight blue came out and hurried toward the wagon. The bay doors above opened as a fifth swung out a winch arm and lowered a hook and line.
He couldn’t fault their efficiency, though it was unnerving how they always seemed to know exactly when a wagon arrived. And not once was there any sign of a sage on watch for a wagon.
Rodian stepped back, observing as the cargo was unloaded. These dark-robed sages couldn’t work fast enough for his limited patience tonight.
Timing was critical, as Leesil stood flattened in the corner where the bailey wall met the central, rear barbican. He listened to the receding footfalls of the northern guard walking away along the wall’s top. When he no longer heard those steps, Brot’an turned before Leesil could.
“I will go first,” Brot’an whispered, pulling out his hooked bone knife and holding out his other hand for Leesil’s identical blade.
Leesil wavered and shook his head. “No, I’ll go first. Chap gave me a better lay of the grounds.”
This was a lie. Leesil—and Chap—had barely seen the keep’s inside. Neither of them knew what waited within the large, three-story construction at the back. He badly needed to get Wynn out, but the last thing he wanted was Brot’an ahead of him, in case they ran into trouble.
Brot’an raised one eyebrow but didn’t argue. He held out his bone knife and Leesil took it. Brot’an turned to face the corner between the wall and barbican and braced his arms.
“Up my back,” he whispered.
Leesil placed both blades between his teeth, their handles out to either side of his mouth, and climbed up Brot’an’s back. When he stood on Brot’an’s shoulders, nearly seven feet up the wall, he took the blades in hand. Reaching as high as he could, he quietly wedged one blade tip into a seam between the stones. He tested the first blade’s set with half his weight. When it held, he pulled himself up another arm’s reach and set the second blade.
He repeated this over and over, trying to quell triggered memories of youth. There had been more than a handful of nights when he’d entered some lodge, keep, or stronghold in a similar fashion, seeking out whomever he’d been sent to kill.
Leesil shut off his thoughts, focusing on the slowly nearing top of the wall and barbican. When he reached up the last time, he set the first blade atop a crenellation between two of the barbican’s merlons. He gripped the edge with his hand and pulled himself up, grabbing the discarded blade as he rolled into the barbican. Then he rose just enough to peer along the wall’s top.