Not long before, Wynn had worn gray for the order of Cathology, until she had been forced to change orders for a number of reasons. She now wore the midnight blue of the order of Metaology.
Chane was still unaccustomed to this; he would always see her as a cathologer ... a preserver of knowledge itself.
Wynn looked away from the port and up at him. Her gaze ran over his pale face and red-brown hair. A puzzled frown then clouded her expression. Not wishing her to think he was studying her, he turned his attention back to the port that awaited them.
“Isn’t it what you expected?” she asked.
In truth, he had not given this much thought or expected anything in particular. Now, upon their arrival, the place looked too ... foreign.
His night vision was far better than that of the living. By the clear sky and three-quarter moon, he could see that most of the buildings nearest to the piers were only one story high. Many of the structures beyond peaked high above the waterfront buildings. Some had to be huge, by a guess, especially those set farther and farther into the immense capital of the Suman Empire. Every structure within sight was mostly golden-tan sandstone except for heat-grayed timbers and planks or the occasional dyed wall or pinnacled dome with colors faded by the desert sun.
“Do you know where to find the guild’s Suman branch?” he asked in his nearly voiceless rasp. He had once been beheaded by one of Wynn’s past companions and then brought back to his undead existence for a second time by someone else. His voice had never healed.
“I’ve a rough idea,” Wynn answered as she turned the other way and looked to their two companions down the railing. “Shade ... Osha ... the ramp will be down soon. Time to gather our belongings.”
Shade, a long-legged black dog resembling an overly tall wolf, stood only a few strides away. With her forepaws up on the railing, she too looked out into the city. Then, dropping to all fours, she padded to Wynn’s side.
Chane studied Shade’s every movement in concern.
Before this voyage, the dog had been badly injured and nearly killed. Though she appeared fully healed, he still did not want her exerting herself unnecessarily. It was a strange thing for him to care so much for anyone or anything besides Wynn.
Shade, a majay-hì, was a natural enemy of the undead. Yet in recent times she had fought at his side—both with and for him—and not only for Wynn’s sake. He could not help his concern for her in turn.
All such thoughts faded as Chane glanced toward the aftcastle door.
The fourth member of their group had turned to readying the last of their belongings. An exceptionally tall elf with long white-blond hair hefted several packs.
From what Chane understood, the word in the an’Cróan elven people’s language for the man’s name—Osha—meant “a sudden breeze.” To Chane, Osha was a sudden and unwanted interloper who had forced his company upon Wynn. Unfortunately, Wynn did not see things this way, which was all the more irritating to Chane.
In grudging fairness, Chane had to admit that Osha was astonishingly skilled with the long, curved bow strung over his right shoulder. His shots struck with more accuracy than should have been possible. Over his left shoulder was a quiver of black-feathered arrows, as well as a narrow wrapped bundle tied to his back.
Osha raised his head with the usual dour expression on his long, horselike face. This softened only whenever his large amber eyes fixed on Wynn.
“All is ready,” he answered to her.
Though Osha now struggled less with tongues other than his own, Chane had rarely met anyone as inept with languages. He looked away, scowling for reasons besides those concerning the elf.
Around them, sailors tossed down lines to men on the pier, and Wynn suddenly stepped off to join Osha by the small pile of their belongings.
“Come, Chane,” she called without looking back. “You’ll need to carry the chest.”
Following her halfway, his gaze lowered to a travel chest at Osha’s feet. It was much heavier than it appeared, for inside it lay the orb of Spirit. The one called the Ancient Enemy and other names and titles had once wielded that potential weapon in an all but forgotten war upon the world.
The thought of the chest’s contents sharpened Chane’s anxiety. He had brought Wynn all this way, at her insistence, to reconnect her with past companions, but Magiere, Leesil, and Chap were hunters of the undead and certainly did not accept Wynn’s connection to Chane.
They would never accept him either.
More than anything, he feared what might happen should Wynn be forced to make a choice.
“Are you all right?”
Startled, he raised his eyes to find Wynn frowning at him again. He quickly stepped in to heft the chest.
“The ramp is down,” he said. “Let us go.”
Still frowning, Wynn turned the other way and grabbed her staff leaning beside the aftcastle door. It was taller than her head, with its upper end sheathed in leather over the long crystal atop it. She picked up the last pack and headed for the ramp as Shade closed in at her side.
Wynn let out a breathy sigh, perhaps as daunted as Chane over what they would face in the next step of this journey.
“All right, then,” she said without looking back. “Everyone stay close.”
Wynn tried to keep a confident air as she led the way down the pier toward the city. Though she’d come searching for Magiere, Leesil, and Chap, the only way she could think to find them was through one Suman sage of Metaology.
Moons ago, she and Magiere had agreed to split up in the search for the remaining two orbs: Spirit and Air. In all, there were five of these devices, hidden centuries before by minions of the Ancient Enemy. Upon learning of the orbs’ existence, Magiere, Wynn, and their other companions had soon found themselves embroiled in a desperate search to find them all and keep them from the wrong hands. Three had been recovered—and safely rehidden—leaving only two left to locate.
So Wynn had remained up north with her small group to search for the orb of Spirit. Upon finding it, she’d immediately sailed south to reconnect with Magiere, who, in her search for the orb of Air, had taken her group south to this very port, seeking assistance from Domin Ghassan il’Sänke—at Wynn’s suggestion.
The domin had once spent time in Wynn’s guild branch.
Unfortunately, he was unpredictable, perhaps untrustworthy, and always had his own agenda. One couldn’t even guess what he might do or why. Still, when Wynn and her oldest companions in this search had last been together, she couldn’t think of anyone better, let alone able and willing, to help Magiere.
It seemed reasonable that the first person she should speak to would be Ghassan il’Sänke. If anyone might know the whereabouts of Magiere and those with her, it would be him.
As Wynn dodged between passersby on the waterfront, she licked her lips, now drying in the night’s hot air. She was well aware that she didn’t have much to go on in her search, and she turned her attention to the sights and sounds of the capital.
The air of the waterfront was tainted with spices and dust that mixed with the odors of sea brine and masses of people. She wondered how strong the scents might become inside the city’s narrow ways. And if it was this bad to her, it must be so much worse for Shade’s nose.
As if that thought called the dog, Wynn felt Shade press up against her thigh. She glanced down and saw the dog’s ears were half flattened; Shade never liked crowds.