The Night Voice (15 page)

She did, yet he seemed different from the man she'd once known, and she looked again to that still-glowing rock between them.

Ghassan was a sorcerer, a practitioner of a reviled magic. His focus was upon that of the mind, its powers, and its manipulations, though he had
employed guild thaumaturgical alchemists in Calm Seatt to make her sun-crystal staff. Causing a rock to produce light was psychokinetic at a physical level, or at least that was how she would describe it from studies in the sciences.

She had never seen him do so before. It left her wondering about the sun crystal. He had once used that to track her into Bäalâle Seatt?

Had sorcery been involved in what he had contributed to the sun crystal's making?

“And now I need your help,” Ghassan said, almost tiredly.

Wynn was afraid to even ask. “What help?”

• • •

Ghassan lay in the dark of his own mind, his own flesh not his anymore. In one instant of pause during conversation with Wynn, the specter had turned inwardly upon him.

Though he had no flesh within that darkness, he now lay shuddering as if burned and beaten to his own last breath. And the specter—Khalidah—had found and taken what he needed.

. . . The same way that I knew you were in the alley behind the sanctuary . . .

The specter had not been there in that moment; that had been Ghassan himself. Khalidah had taken that memory from him to once again deceive Wynn and to regain her trust in using hope against her. Khalidah wanted those orbs more than she knew, and yet . . .

Ghassan's false breath caught in realization as much as agony.

Khalidah was afraid to face the Enemy as yet.

He—the specter—did not yet know how to use the orbs.

How could that be possible? There were two nearby, and the specter could have even put Wynn into a natural slumber, so that he might delve those devices through sorcery. There was only one reason that had not happened.

Khalidah already knew his sorcery would not work on an orb.

Oh, yes, he might lift one by his art while in a chest, or perhaps even
directly, but he could not examine and find the secrets of the orbs themselves through his art.

Were the orbs impervious to the other two magical arts as well?

If they were proof against thaumaturgy and conjuring, how had they even been made? Such defenses so ultimate could not have been applied to them during or after their making. As to during, for what they could already do, such work would have been almost impossible.

No one could truly know how they had been made, what they were—except perhaps the Enemy.

Ghassan's mind blanked in trying to see how to use this. He stored it away as one other thing took hold of his awareness. The specter had to come at him to find something to convince Wynn that she still spoke to Ghassan himself. Khalidah had to come and tear that out of him forcibly.

The specter had not found that on his own, as he likely could have with past hosts.

Again, Ghassan did not see the use of this . . . not yet.

• • •

Upon disembarking in Soráno, Chap found his relief at having solid ground under his paws wiped away everything else for a moment. The sea voyage was over, and now they would travel inland to a'Ghràihlôn'na to find Wayfarer, Osha, and Shade. At that thought, he found himself looking forward to company besides Ore-Locks's and Chane's.

The three of them walked the port city's streets after obtaining a stout, strong mule on which to lash two of the chests. Ore-Locks carried the third, as three orbs might be too heavy, even for a mule.

Although Chap and Chane had stopped briefly here on the way north in dropping off the younger trio, Chap had remained on the docks that time, while Chane had gone in to make the caravan arrangements.

But now Chap walked through the evening streets of the port city, running
necessary preparations for further travels through his mind. Reaching the Lhoin'na lands was not even half of the journey ahead. Being lost in such thoughts, he was halfway through the city when he slowed upon noticing a young woman in a long, saffron-colored wrap gown passing by. As he took in her olive-toned skin, light brown hair, and roundish face, he halted completely and looked about.

Nearly everyone here looked like Wynn!

Fine boned, though round cheeked, the people of the Romagrae Commonwealth weren't as tall as the Numans of Malourné, Faunier, or Witeny, nor quite as dark-skinned as the Sumans. Nearly all walking past wore pantaloons and cotton vestments or long wrap dresses of white and soft colors. But they all had olive-toned skin with light brown hair and eyes.

Chap knew Wynn had been left as an infant at the gates of the guild's Calm Seatt branch. He now wondered if her parents had come from here, and how she had ended up being abandoned so far north. Some answers were never found, but still he wondered.

Thinking of her filled him with sharp urgency to move onward.

Soráno's streets were clean, most cobbled in sandy-tan stones, and small open-air markets were all along the way. There were many solo stalls, tents, and booths here and there. Almost any necessity—and some minor fancies—were available within a short walk from every side street. Everyone appeared to be some kind of merchant or farmer or crafter or artisan, and all appeared to have the freedom to set up “shop” wherever they pleased. The result was somewhat overwhelming.

Arrays of olives, dried dates, fish, and herb-laced cooking oils were abundant. Of course, though, it was past dusk, and many vendors were now closing up for the night.

“They are a friendly and polite people,” Chane rasped. “But do not wander off. It disturbs them when animals are seen unattended.”

Chap refrained from making a sound. Yes, he had forgotten that Chane had been here before with Wynn and Shade. He also did not like how “thick”
Ore-Locks was with Chane; the young stonewalker was not to be trusted too much because of that.

Still, Ore-Locks now had his uses.

—What now?— . . . —A caravan?—

Ore-Locks paused in the street, looked down at him, and then to Chane. “The majay-hì asks if we should seek a caravan headed our way. I pondered the same thing.”

Chane turned, halting the mule. “What other choice is there?”

“We both know the way. I say we buy a wagon and team for ourselves.”

Chap thought that sensible enough. Much as the orbs were locked up and well guarded, he did not care for the idea of traveling with them among strangers.

“I would agree,” Chane said, “if we had enough coin left.”

Ore-Locks shook his head slightly and waved off the objection. “I have coin. Master Cinder-Shard made certain before I left.”

Both Chane and Chap blinked in surprise.

Ore-Locks shrugged. “It did not come up until now.”

After another pause, Chap offered a single huff.

“Very well,” Chane said. “We are all in agreement . . . for once.”

As with most needs in this place, it was not long before they found a stable. They summoned the owner from within a small sandstone domicile attached to it. Ore-Locks took to doing the talking with the middle-aged man before he even stepped out.

Chane glanced down at Chap and whispered, “If you have never before seen a dwarf haggle, you may as well sit. This could take a while.”

And it did. The poor stable master began to grow red in the face amid the bargaining.

Chap sighed at almost the same instant as Chane.

“Wait here,” Chane whispered, dropping the mule's lead next to Chap. “I will go back to the main street and find supplies before all of the vendors are gone.”

He walked away before Chap could consent. And by the time Ore-Locks finished, the poor stable master looked exhausted. That was how Chap felt in just sitting there while pinning down the mule's lead with his rump.

Chane returned with an armload of goods as Ore-Locks gave in on trading both the mule and money for a wagon and two bay mares, as well as full harnesses and several folds of canvas in the bed. Even so, when the dwarf produced a pouch with strange silver coins, each had a hole punched through its center.

The stable master balked at the sight of those, until he bit each one—several of them twice—to test their metal.

“That was still quite an amount of coin,” Chane observed as they loaded the stores, chests, and all of their belongings into the wagon.

Ore-Locks merely grunted and shrugged, heaving another chest onto the wagon's bed.

“You know my people value iron more,” he said. “Or even copper, tin, and steel. And I did not want the poor man to have a stroke on the spot.”

“Do we leave tonight?” Chane asked, pausing and looking down at Chap.

As curious as the city was, Chap worried what might have become of Wayfarer and Osha—and his daughter, Shade—in all of this time. And after that, there was still more distance to cross beyond the forests of the Lhoin'na.

Chap huffed once in agreement. The sooner, the better.

O
sha once again headed toward the barracks of the Shé'ith on the outskirts of a'Ghràihlôn'na, the great city of the Lhoin'na, though he did not want to. His days here were like a mist-laden sleep caught between a dream and a nightmare. And he could not awaken until Leanâlhâm—Wayfarer—chose to let him, wherever she was. He so rarely saw her now.

The two of them and Shade had traveled with a caravan as far as a fork in the inland road, where they were directed to take the northward path. Leaving the caravan, they had traveled on foot. Where that path finally broke from the woods, they halted before an open, grassy plain.

Tan stalks with traces of yellow-green gently shifted in the breeze. For a moment, Osha had forgotten his bitterness at the sight of the forest beyond the plain.

The trees were so immense; perhaps more so than in the homeland he had lost. Welcome as the sight was at first, it then left him so sad. It was not his home, that of his people. Wayfarer had finally pulled him onward with Shade lagging behind, and they took a few steps along the road through the plain.

The sound of hoofbeats grew louder before Osha stopped and spotted
three riders headed their way at a gallop. He pushed Wayfarer back behind him as Shade rounded forward on his other side.

The two rear riders held their reins in one hand and gripped long wooden poles in the other. The leader appeared to hold only a bow in his free grip.

Osha quickly shrugged his own bow off his left shoulder and into his hand, but he did not draw an arrow yet. As the riders raced nearer, he made out their hair and eyes.

Oversized and teardrop-shaped—like those of his own people—their amber-irised eyes sparked now and then in the light of the falling sun. Their triangular faces looked much like those of his own people, though perhaps not as darkly tanned. Instead of white-blond hair, their sandy and wheat-colored hair was pulled up and back in high tails by single silver rings at the back crown of their heads. They had the same ears as his own kind.

Garbed in tawny leather vestments garnished with swirling patterns of steel that matched the shoulder armor, each bore a pale golden sash diagonal over his chest. When they were near enough, Osha saw the long, narrow, slightly curved sword hilts protruding over their right shoulders.

Shade rumbled, and Osha dropped his other hand to shoo her back.

He knew exactly who these riders were by the illustration in the sages' book that Wayfarer still carried. However, to see the Shé'ith with his own eyes was something else.

The riders neared to a stop before all three dismounted. The two leveled their poles as the third, the leader, closed in. Any stern challenge on that one's face faltered at the sight of the trio before him.

Osha could understand that. To have two foreign “elves” arrive in the company of a majay-hì would be startling—certainly not a common sight. He expected suspicion, harsh questions, and no immediate belief of the answers. It would have been the same from the guardians of his own people—the Anmaglâhk—before Brot'ân'duivé and Most Aged Father seeded war among the caste.

But there were no questions, not at first.

The leader, whom Osha would later know as “Commander” Althahk, stared at a black majay-hì with strangers who looked much like his own people. After one wave of his hand, the other two raised their poles, dropped the butt-ends on the earth, and stood waiting.

“Are you in need of assistance?” he asked.

Or at least that was what Osha could make out.

He had trouble following the strange pattern and pronunciation of some words. But he had expected a different dialect and did his best to communicate. It was not long before he, Wayfarer, and Shade were escorted along the road. Althahk walked beside them, leading his horse, and sent the other two Shé'ith back to patrolling.

Such a welcome was perhaps a relief to Wayfarer, though Shade seemed indifferent. To Osha, it meant little. And yet it was the beginning of his seeing the stark differences between these people and his own.

Althahk took them onward to the city. As they finally passed through a living arch of two trees grown together high above, the sight beyond almost made Osha think of turning back.

Cleared stretches for paths were “paved” with packed gravel and stone slabs. Gardens and alcoves of flora flowed around countless buildings—rather than living-tree homes. Tendril vines with glistening green leaves and flowering buds climbed immense trees . . . with more “made” structures and “made” walkways in their heights.

Earthbound buildings constructed of cut timber and stone were startling compared to the one port settlement of his own people. The an'Cróan did not build cities; they lived in—with—their land and did not dig, chop, cut, and change it like this place. He could understand and accept that humans did so, but not people supposedly like his own.

As Osha walked the main path, Wayfarer whispered to him in pointing out countless gardens overladen with heavy blooms. Every bit of space possessed nurtured—controlled—areas that stood out from their surroundings as . . . unnatural.

When Althahk paused and pointed down a side path—another with stone paving—he mentioned finding them lodging. Instead, Osha asked to speak to him alone and told Wayfarer and Shade to wait. He stepped off before the commander even acknowledged the request, though Althahk caught up quickly and redirected him down another side path.

Osha looked around for anyone who might be watching and then pulled the long, canvas bundle off his back and unwrapped it.

Althahk stared without expression.

Osha had already learned his sword was like that of the Shé'ith, though his was made of Chein'âs white metal the commander would have never seen before. He did not know how these other guardians of another people earned their weapons. That was, if they earned such things at all.

Althahk raised his eyes to Osha. “What is this?” he asked. “And where did you get it?”

Osha did his best to explain without revealing much concerning the Anmaglâhk, the Chein'âs, the Séyilf, and . . . too many other things.

Althahk listened in silence and remained so for a while after Osha finished. If he was not satisfied, it was difficult to tell.

“What do you seek here?” the commander then asked.

This was the moment Osha dreaded. It was difficult to even say, as he held up the sword.

“To remain among you—the Shé'ith—long enough to understand what this means.”

The large eyes in the elder's face were too much like those of the great and most honorable Sgäilsheilleache, Osha's deceased teacher.

“That is wise,” Althahk finally said.

After this, Osha explained Wayfarer's purpose in coming here. On that same day, the commander took them deep into the forest.

At one point, Shade stopped, looked all around, and then sank on her haunches and began to howl. When Osha asked the majay-hì to stop and
move on, Wayfarer grabbed his arm as she looked all around the forest. The girl trembled with fright but stood her ground as if waiting.

“The sacred one knows who is coming,” Althahk said. Raising his eyes from Shade, he gazed in only one direction.

Osha followed the commander's gaze and heard noises in the undergrowth immediately.

A steel gray female majay-hì shot out of the undergrowth and halted.

Osha remained perfectly still, even as Wayfarer stepped around behind him. Were the majay-hì here as different as everything else in this land?

The female studied everyone tensely, as if prepared to act. She was obviously the scout, for Osha could hear the rest of the pack moving all around but out of sight. And Wayfarer pressed up against his side so that he could feel her trembling as she watched the steel gray female.

He knew what she feared from all of that one's kind except for Shade and Chap—she feared that they would sense her human blood and reject her as not one of “the people.” She had once told him this fear in secret.

The female swung her head to look back into the brush-thickened trees.

A wild-looking woman pushed out through the leaves with another majay-hì, a mottled-brown male, at her side.

She was small for either a Lhoin'na or an'Cróan, and little taller than an average human woman. Her hair was dark brown—like Wayfarer's—but with silver streaks. Those locks were bound back by a circlet band of braided green cloth, which might be made of raw shéot'a by its dull shimmer.

Osha did not know Lhoin'na knew how to make such cloth.

The woman's complexion was dark enough to be that of an an'Cróan. This had to be the one that Wynn had called Vreuvillä.

“Leaf's Heart” was the last of the Foirfeahkan, whatever that meant. Osha had never heard of such a caste, clan, or calling. There was no such word among his own people.

More majay-hì began coming into sight all around the clearing.

The woman settled a narrow hand upon the head of the mottled-brown male, and she looked down at him as if startled. When she raised her wide eyes, they shifted to someone slightly to Osha's left.

On instinct, Osha swung his bow arm back to push Wayfarer farther out of sight.

The wild woman's gaze hardened at him but turned again to Wayfarer.

Vreuvillä's wild eyes widened and became glassy, as if tears might come. Her lips trembled once. Osha had seen that look on others, those who found something they thought gone forever. He did not like that look aimed at Wayfarer.

Neither did Shade, who crept out with hackles rising.

Vreuvillä's pained and relieved gaze dropped to Shade with puzzlement and then . . . recognition. Her frown returned as she looked to the commander with a slow sigh.

“How often do you let fate shove you about?”

That was the strangest question Osha had ever heard.

“I could hardly resist,” the commander answered, “as you would know.”

At the hint of a smile altering his stern expression, Osha glanced back to Vreuvillä and felt certain she did the same for an instant. There was something more than mere familiarity between these two.

What was happening here?

Vreuvillä looked once more to Osha's left.

“Please . . . come out,” she said softly.

Softness was not something Osha expected from this woman. He felt Wayfarer shift outward around his side. He tried to hold her back, but she grabbed his arm and held it off. At the sight of her, the woman slowly approached.

Osha watched carefully as Vreuvillä reached out, touched Wayfarer's arm with only her fingertips, and closed her eyes so slowly, she might have been falling asleep.

When she opened them again, she whispered, “You wish to stay?”

Wayfarer nodded. “For a while.”

It troubled Osha to leave her with a strange woman and a pack of majay-hì. But this was why the girl had come, supposedly, and at least Shade would be with her. With one glance up at him, Wayfarer stepped off and followed the wild woman. Shade caught up, pushing in front between Wayfarer and Vreuvillä.

Both girl and dog looked back at Osha more than once.

He suddenly could not tolerate this. But at his first step, a grip closed tight on his bow arm.

“No, not yet,” Althahk warned, all hint of humor gone. “Come with me.”

Osha returned to the city and spent a restless night in an inn. The following day, Althahk took him to the barracks and introduced him to a group of five: three men and two women.

“This one will train with you,” he told them.

Without question, they accepted him.

The first day had involved nothing but a long walk through the forest. They finally camped somewhere on the forest's edge beneath its immense trees. At least with those sentinels, though even taller than the ones of his homeland, he had one more moment of ease . . . until he looked to the open, grassy plain beyond. It seemed like the same one he had first crossed upon entering this land.

And there were horses out there grazing.

When he asked about them, the smallest of the trainees—later known to him as Yavifheran—answered, “For later, when they think you are worthy.”

That set him on edge, and he eyed the horses: only five, as his inclusion in this group had been unanticipated.

There was not one day that followed when he was free of guilt over leaving Wayfarer and Shade with that unknown woman. And he felt more guilt than any sense of peace he felt with these others out in the wild. Though his skill was poor as compared to others of the caste, his anmaglâhk training
aided him in what “games” were played for stealth, surveillance, hunting, and tracking.

From early on, not one of his new companions could match him with a bow.

More than one asked why he looked hesitant before—and angry and sad after—he fired an arrow and never missed his mark. He could not answer, for they would never understand. Praise for his skill only made this worse.

By looking in their eyes, he knew not one of them had ever killed in battle.

Especially not Siôrs, who was lighthearted and not a deep thinker. But of the five, Osha found Siôrs's company a tonic sorely needed, for Osha himself had come to think far too much. Unfortunately, this broad-shouldered Shé'ith trainee also gave Osha new turmoil. Siôrs was forceful in teaching Osha the horse, and then the pole . . . and finally the sword.

Each proved difficult for different reasons; the last was the worst, but riding came first.

The idea of sitting on the back of and attempting to control another being was abhorrent to him. That “she” had a name put upon her by someone was troubling, even though he had become accustomed to such things in the human world. This was even worse when Osha realized she was something
more
than the horses he had previously encountered.

En'wi'rên—“Wild-Water”—threw him off violently the first three times he hesitantly tried to mount her. The last time he hit the earth, she came at him. He rolled and scrambled away as her fore-hooves slammed and broke the forest floor, though nowhere near enough to have struck him.