This grew stranger and stranger.
“I wasn’t aware anyone needed to be informed for a passing visit,” she answered, still not giving him the real reason she had come. In the brief silence that followed, she listened for the slightest sound behind her. Both Chane and Osha were quiet and hopefully hadn’t moved.
Aweli-Jama shook his head in what appeared to be a dismissal.
“Of course not,” he answered flatly, as if her comment was pointless. “I meant that if I had been informed, I could have responded with proper regrets to your premin, who might have informed you. At this time, you and your companions cannot be accommodated based on recent and unanticipated concerns for security. I am sorry you have traveled such a distance, but please seek lodgings elsewhere.”
Without another word, the high premin began to turn away.
Wynn’s jaw slackened until her lips parted. Something here was very wrong ... from guards posted at the gate to Shade’s inability to pick up any memories to Aweli-Jama’s refusing shelter to a journeyor sage of another branch. The metaologers turned to follow the high premin as the guards spread out to block the way in.
Her thoughts raced for something to say that might stall the high premin for an instant. She stiffened when Chane’s hand settled on her shoulder, for she hadn’t heard him close in behind her.
“Do not mention ... the others,” he whispered in Belaskian.
After an instant of confusion, she realized he meant Magiere, Leesil, and Chap, but she had to say something.
“Premin,” she called. “I’ve come to see Domin Ghassan il’Sänke.”
That was the last topic she wished to raise openly, but it was the only thing she could think of in an instant. She had to get in there and find the domin.
“May I at least speak with him,” she went on, and then half lied, “He was one of my tutors when he visited Calm Seatt.”
High Premin Aweli-Jama stopped abruptly, as did the pair of metaologers.
Chane tried to still his mind amid the overriding sense—the stench—of fear emanating from the Suman sages. It was so strong that the beast inside of him, his inner feral nature, strained at its bonds. Fear made the beast hungry for prey, and Chane bit down until his jaws ached.
When Wynn spoke il’Sänke’s name, the sages halted and that stench thickened.
Chane fought to clear his thoughts amid the beast’s snarling.
The high premin spun and fixed on Wynn. For an instant, fear was evident on his lined face. This vanished as his expression became outwardly cold and measured.
“Why do you wish to see him?” Aweli-Jama asked with a slight tremor in his voice.
The metaologers had also turned, one eyeing Wynn, who retreated a step and bumped into Chane. The other looked over everyone with her, one by one.
“As I said,” Wynn answered, her voice wavering. “He was my tutor during his stay in the north. I wish to pay my respects. It would be rude to come all this way without doing so.”
Aweli-Jama’s cold expression remained unchanged, though his voice became even and more controlled. “What exactly is your mission here, Journeyor?” His gaze shifted upward. “One that requires a swordsman and a Lhoin’na archer.”
This high premin would not know that Osha was of the an’Cróan elves from the eastern continent. Chane had no intention of enlightening him, and instead wondered how Wynn would answer. He pushed that aside, trying to clear his head again so he could listen to how the premin would respond to Wynn’s next words.
“No mission, Premin,” she replied. “I’m simply ... journeying to learn about a land and people I’ve never seen for myself. While I’m here, can I not see my old tutor and thank him for his kindness? Why would you force me to be rude in not doing so?”
The premin studied her long in silence, perhaps trapped by the cultural manners Wynn intimated. His expression remained flat, though the stench of fear had not lessened.
Chane eyed the guards. Behind Wynn’s back, he slowly inched his free hand across toward the hilt of his longsword. The two metaologers worried him the most, but if anything happened, Osha could disable at least one while Chane readied to hold off the guards.
“Domin il’Sänke is not in residence at present,” Aweli-Jama said, “but as you are a past student of his”—he half turned, sweeping a narrow hand toward the main building with the six-peaked rooftop—“perhaps we can accommodate you ... until he returns.”
The beast within Chane lurched back in wary retreat; the premin was lying about something.
In the past, he and Wynn had used this odd ability of his. She would ask questions, and behind her, keeping his thoughts still, he would squeeze her shoulder when the beast grew wary or outright vicious. For whatever reason, his inner nature knew when it heard a lie. But the question—and its answer—had been too broken, mixed, and vague to know which part was the deception.
“No,” he whispered behind Wynn, lightly squeezing her shoulder. Then he spoke openly to the high premin. “We do not wish to be a burden and will seek arrangements in the city.”
“There is no need for that,” Aweli-Jama countered. “Journeyor, please bring your companions. We will find all of you some comfort.”
The metaologers eyed each other. Both stepped forward, with the woman positioning herself behind the premin and the man to his left. Two guards nearest to each side column stepped forward to the edge of the street.
This might have looked like they’d made room for the visitors to enter, but not so to Chane. When Shade growled again, Chane slipped his free hand up behind Wynn to close it on the longsword’s hilt.
“Osha?” he rasped without looking back.
“Yes,” came the firm answer from behind and off to Chane’s left.
He knew Osha had nocked an arrow and would cripple the left-side metaologer first. He disliked assaulting sages, but there was a hidden danger here, and Wynn came before all else.
Chane pulled gently on Wynn’s shoulder as he slid his left foot back.
Shade pulled out of Wynn’s grip and sidestepped in front of her.
“There is no need for this,” Aweli-Jama insisted with a tinge of desperation. “If you will simply—”
Wynn dashed around behind, startling Chane, but he kept his eyes on the high premin. All four guards drew their curved swords. The male metaologer’s lips moved as if speaking, though Chane heard nothing.
“Osha!” he rasped.
“No!” Wynn shouted. “Don’t hurt them.”
No arrow struck either Suman metaologer.
In panic, Chane froze over what to do. He would not hesitate to disable or even kill armed soldiers, most like city guards, but sages were another matter. At one guard’s advance, Shade inched forward a matching step, and her hackles rose with her snarl.
Chane was about to order everyone to run when that first guard paused while looking beyond him. A puzzled frown formed on the man’s face.
“Chane, duck and cover!” Wynn cried.
He almost turned—and then her staff thrust out around his left side. The long crystal at its top end was unsheathed, and he swore under his breath.
Chane spun away as he whipped up his cloak’s hem to shield his face.
Osha stalled at Wynn’s order contradicting Chane. With an arrow drawn back, he had shifted his aim to the darkly robed man with a raised hand. He did not wish to harm a sage, but neither would he allow anyone to harm his Wynn.
The premin’s face twisted with alarm as her staff’s crystal lanced out around Chane’s side.
“Chane, duck and cover!”
Osha froze, knowing what would come next but not what to do about it. And too much happened all at once.