“Yes, come.”
He was not surprised to see Shâodh enter first. These two were most often found together. Chuillyon could not quite fathom what Hannâschi found appealing in the company of stoic Shâodh, but he never gave it much thought. Hannâschi entered next, lovely and composed as always, but a few strands of her hair appeared tangled.
“Journeyor Hygeorht has left the guild,” she said immediately. “She is preparing to seek out this Bäalâle Seatt. I apologize for having learned so little, but I was behind a tree in the courtyard and only able to pick up a few words as she and her companions headed for the gate. I could not follow farther for fear of being seen.”
Chuillyon stared at her, barely hearing anything after “Bäalâle Seatt.”
Hannâschi smoothed her hair and waited for some response. Chuillyon sat numb, until she and Shâodh exchanged a concerned glance.
“Domin?” Shâodh asked.
“Yes ... yes, I am listening.”
“Again, I only picked up bits and pieces,” Hannâschi went on. “It appears the journeyor did go looking for Vreuvillä. I can only assume that lone Foirfeahkan told her something of use.”
Chuillyon let out a weary breath and looked away. Wynn’s antics had frequently piqued his curiosity, and death often followed in her wake. But this was the first time her conscious choices had made him deeply nervous.
Bäalâle had fallen long ago, burying its dark secrets of how and why. Was she purposefully trying to rush events forward in seeking that place, if she could find it? What did she know that he did not?
“Where is she now?” he demanded, his voice sounding hard to his own ears.
“They are relocating to an inn somewhere in the city,” Hannâschi answered, sounding distressed that she could not tell him more.
As of yet, Shâodh had said little, but he stepped forward. “Do not be concerned. We will locate her.”
Chuillyon’s thoughts turned inward. “Yes, you do that.”
“And I will be ready, when it is time, to follow her,” Shâodh added firmly.
Chuillyon looked up at his subordinate, slightly surprised by Shâodh’s certainty of what would come next. Hannâschi eyed her companion with an almost dumbfounded expression on her lovely face.
Shâodh nodded in respect to Chuillyon as he turned away. But as Hannâschi followed, she jerked on Shâodh’s sleeve and whispered something in his ear.
Chuillyon called after them. “Both of you be ready ... for a long journey.”
Chapter 17
Before the first bell of full night, Wynn stood in the entry room of a ground-level inn. Her tears were used up, but she felt no better at leaving the guild. Now she waited silently with Shade for the inn’s proprietor to return. Chane and Ore-Locks had both remained outside.
Chane still looked a mess, his pale face battered, although not as bad as earlier. He’d claimed he shouldn’t be seen in good light, causing anyone at the inn to wonder what trouble had walked through the door. Ore-Locks said nothing to this and backstepped three paces behind Chane to wait. Wynn had ignored them both.
Now she reached down to stroke Shade’s head as the elderly, sleepy-eyed innkeeper reappeared through one of the room’s two tall wooden doors.
“All three rooms are ready, miss,” he said in Elvish.
Stooped by age, he was still much taller than she, and his thin, silvery hair was pulled back in a frizzy tail. His shock upon first seeing Shade remained, but overall he was so kindly that a majay-hì’s presence couldn’t be the only reason.
“Thank you,” Wynn replied, and counted two silver pennies into his hand.
“If you need anything, there is a small bell outside of each room. Ring it sharply, and I will be along.”
“Thank you,” Wynn said again.
She stepped out to find Ore-Locks and Chane exactly as she’d left them.
“Around back,” she said, and they headed off.
Being on their own again brought no relief to Wynn; it only seemed to make things worse. Chane and Ore-Locks weren’t speaking to each other, and Wynn fought against her rising sense of guilt in denying the price of Chane’s companionship.
She knew—had known—what he was, but kept seeing the other Chane, until he’d utterly lost himself in First Glade. That undead monster of his hidden nature was all that had remained. And it had been caused by more than just the forest’s influence.
It was also because of her.
Someone could’ve been needlessly hurt, or even died, for nothing. He would sacrifice anyone, anything, for her.
Shade kept to Wynn’s side as both men followed them to the back of the inn. Wynn unlatched the door to the first room and peered inside. Only then did it dawn on her that she hadn’t needed a key.
It was strange to be in a place where concern over security or privacy wasn’t given any thought. The place looked simple, comfortable, and perfectly clean, but what would they all do now? Sit in their separate rooms until morning, when Chane fell dormant and she would go out seeking supplies?
“I need a new shirt,” Chane said, breaking the silence.
He stood before the next door, watching her quizzically. Perhaps her affected calm wasn’t as convincing as she’d thought. But his suggestion that they go out to buy supplies tonight was not unwelcome. Dinner was long past, though some shops might still be open. At least it gave them something to do rather than talk—or think.
“Let’s stow our things first,” she agreed quietly.
Stepping just inside, she unloaded her pack around the door’s edge and then faltered, the sun crystal staff still in hand. She didn’t like going anywhere without it, but carrying it might become troublesome if they found enough supplies tonight. She tucked the staff in the corner behind the door and stepped out.
Ore-Locks stood before the third door, the chest on his shoulder.
“You don’t have to come,” she told him.
Ore-Locks opened the third room, slid in the chest, and then shut the door and stood waiting.
Chane had not expected mention of a new shirt to result in a group excursion. He had wanted to go off by himself. Yet here they all were, walking a manicured lane and looking for open shops.
Tension between him and the others was too thick. Worse, he still could not remember what he had done in First Glade. Wynn avoided any mention of the subject, and Ore-Locks watched his every move.
Chane did not care what Ore-Locks—or even Shade—thought of him, but Wynn was another matter. She appeared strained and was more distant than ever. He wanted to pull her aside and demand she tell him what was wrong.
Part of him knew better than to try that; another part was afraid of her answer. So he did nothing.
Ore-Locks pointed toward a shop ahead with pale green melons in a wooden bin out front. The sight took Chane back to his living days. Melons, though bulky and heavy, would be a good food source while they had a wagon to carry such. They kept well and provided fluid as well as nourishment.
Ore-Locks stepped up to engage the shopkeeper sweeping the front porch.
“How much?” he asked in Numanese, gesturing at the melons.
The rather stocky woman, or stocky for an elf, eyed him before returning, “In coin or barter?”
She obviously knew dwarven customs.
As the bartering began, Chane whispered to Wynn, “I have other errands. I will meet you later at the inn.”
She looked up, and the veneer of calm on her face did not hide the sadness in her eyes. He wavered again, longing to pull her aside, but she nodded and turned back to watching Ore-Locks.
“I pity that shopkeeper,” she said quietly. And then said softly, “Go.”
Chane flinched.