Timid Osha looked ahead at Sgaile yet again. But Sgaile pressed on behind Brot'an's lead and did not appear to hear.
"Oh for goodness' sake, Osha!" Wynn snapped in a harsh whisper. "I am not trying to get some great secret out of you!"
Sgaile glanced back once.
"Shadow-grip… gripper… keeper…" Osha said with difficulty, as the word seemed troublesome for his limited Belaskian. "Masters beyond our caste ways, beyond what our teachers know and teach us. Many say Greimas-g'ah grip shadows, pull them in to… to hide them. No one see them until they want. It is great honor if Greimasg'ah accepts you for… to teach you. I am not lucky for this."
When Wynn looked ahead at Brot'an's back, she caught Magiere listening to Osha’s words.
"There were… once five," Osha added. "Now are four… when we lose Leshil's great-mother."
For an instant, Wynn thought he meant Nein'a. "You mean 'grandmother'… Eillean?"
Osha nodded and went silent. Wynn was back to struggling to keep up.
"Halt for rest," Brot'an called.
Wynn expected Sgaile might argue, but he crouched by an evergreen, poised for the moment they resumed. She was grateful for any reason to pause and braced a hand on a silver birch to steadyherself.
A shadow crossed Wynn, and she looked up.
Sgaile stood close enough that she could have counted the white hairs of his feathery eyebrows. His handsome face was lined with tension.
"All thathappened this last day and night," he said quietly in Elvish, "was because you did not heed my words. You remain under my protection, but disobey again and I will do whatever is necessary to assure your safety… no matter that you will dislike my methods. Do you understand?"
Wynn bit back her retort.
If his kind had not imprisoned Nein'a, Leesil would never have needed to come here in the first place. She and Chap would not have had to break Most Aged Father's attempt at coercion. But Sgaile's tone was so serious.
"Yes," she answered stiffly.
He headed back to his resting place, and Wynn turned and found Leesil standing right behind her.
"What was that?" he asked.
"Nothing," she answered."Just… nothing."
Leesil grabbed her hand and pulled her along toward where Magiere crouched. "You stay near us. And let's see if we can't tie up that cloak."
Wynn gripped down on Leesil's fingers, feeling a little less alone.
Forestscents intoxicated Chap, and still he returned often to look in on Magiere and Leesil and Wynn. The majay-hi shadowed the procession from out in the trees as they all headed toward Crijheaiche. But Chap believed the pack only made the journey because Lily stayed with him.
The dogs fell behind to sniff, and even to hunt. More than once, one of them chased down the silver yearling who had wandered off. Some ran ahead, but in the end, they always ended up back near the Anmaglahk and Chap's companions.
He pressed his nose against Lily and drew in her warm scent. But as they returned again to the procession, he caught brief words in Leesil's memory, spoken in Magiere's hushed voice.
Marry me.
Chap paused, ears cocked.
And Leesil now dwelled in embarrassment upon his fumbled response.
How strange and surprising that it had happened in this place, in these dangerous times. But when Chap dipped Magiere's thoughts for her memory of that moment, his wonderment vanished.
He saw through her eyes the dead bark upon the tree she had touched. He heard the name spoken in her mind as she had blacked out.
Sorhkafare.
It was not familiar toChap at first, until he saw tangled pieces of what Magiere experienced the moment she fell prone.
He knew the encampment, and remembered that long-ago night in an ancient elf's fearful memories. The two became one.
Sorhkafare… Aoishenis-Ahare… Most Aged Father.
Magiere had touched a tree. She had seen a vision she did not understand-one of Most Aged Father's oldest memories.
Chap looked wildly about the forest, wary of every quiver of leaf.
Nein'a had looked about the clearing in the same way, easing only when the majay-hi appeared peaceful and settled in their surroundings. And Lily had tried desperately to keep Chap from going into Most Aged Father's home.
Somehow the withered old elf, impossibly long in his years, had been in Nein'a's glade. He had been in the tree Magiere had touched. It was the only thing Chap could reason.
Magiere had touched a tree… and eaten a piece of its life without knowing it. Chap remembered his delusional vision of her at the head of an army upon the edge of a dying forest.
He paced quickly through the trees, watching Magiere from a distance as his fear rose.
He wanted no more of this. He wanted only to be alone a while longer with Lily. But he kept seeing Magiere in his own remembered delusion and the dark shapes of others waiting upon her to enter the trees.
Lily yipped as a brown hare raced out from under a bed of mammoth coleus.
Chap did not follow her.
Welstiel headed south as dusk turned to night. He led their remaining horse packed with their gear while Chane's new familiar loped ahead of them.
He noted how gaunt Chane appeared. They would need to melt snow later, perhaps use the last crumbles of tea taken from the Mondyalitko, and replenish their bodies' fluids. For the most part Chane looked tolerable, all things considered. Even in his used cloak and scuffed boots, there was still some trace of a young nobleman, tall and arrogant. No one who saw him could doubt his heritage-at least the one that Chane once had in his living days.
Welstiel feared that he could not claim so much at present. He fastened his tattered cloak more tightly, and tried to smooth his filthy hair.
He had not dreamed these past days. Why would his patron show him the castle, its inhabitant, and the very room of the orb, only to fall silent? He clung to one hope.
The Mondyalitko had been clear in their directions. It was possible that Welsteil's patron felt no further assistance was needed. Yes, that must be the case.
Barren rocks and patches of snow and ice vanished as his thoughts drifted into the future.
He wore a white silk shirt and charcoal wool tunic. He was clean and well possessed, living alone on a manor estate in isolation, perhaps somewhere on the northern peninsula of Belaski, still within reach of its capital of Bela or the shipyards of Gueshk. The manor's entire first floor was given over to a library and study, with one whole room for the practice of his arcane artific-ing. He could create ever more useful objects and never need to touch a mortal again. For somewhere in the cellars below, safely tucked into hiding, was the orb-his orb.
The horse tossed its head, jerking the reins in Welstiel's hand, as the animal's hoof slipped on a patch of snow-crusted stones. It righted itself, and Welstiel looked up the barren mountainside at his companion.
Chane never wavered from his desire to seek out the sages. Why-to study histories and fill his head with mountains of broken pieces culled from the past? Ridiculous.
Welstiel shook his head. Only the present was useful. Let broken days of the Forgotten History remain forgotten, once he acquired what he needed.A solitary existence with no distractions.
But still…
"Have you ever tried your hand at artificing?" heasked, his own voice startling in the night's silence.
Chane lifted his eyes from his trudging steps. Conjury-by ritual, spell, or artificing-always stirred Chane's interest.
"Small things," he answered."Only temporary or passive items for my rituals. Nothinglike… your ring or feeding cup. I once created a small orb to blind interlopers. I conjured the essence of Light-a manifestation of elemental Fire-and trapped it within a prepared globe of frosted glass. When tripped, its light erupted, and it was spent."