Of Truth and Beasts

“The council approved her request. As always, they give her anything she wants.”

Chuillyon made an effort to remain passive. This petty young woman would never attain journeyor status on her own merits.

“Where is she going?” he asked softly.

“South, to Chathburh, and then inland across Witeny ... to your guild branch.”

“To the Lhoin’na?”

“That’s what she wants. She’s been begging for it since she got back from Dhredze Seatt. As I said, they give her whatever she wants ... or she pesters them until they do.”

“Why does she wish to visit the guild’s elven branch?”

Regina shrugged. “Who knows? She may act deranged, but no doubt she’s up to something. She thinks she’s better than anyone because she tripped over a pile of old books halfway across the world.”

The girl’s endless spite again wore on Chuillyon. “She gave no clear reason for this journey?”

Regina shook her head. “But she’s to take a message to Domin Yand at the Chathburh annex ... and then one to your branch and High Premin To . . tov ...”

“Yes, I understand,” Chuillyon cut in before the girl butchered the name or his people’s language.

His mischievous nature sank like a log under troubled water.

Wynn was not whimsical. She always had reason for whatever she did, and was methodical, even if reckless. But why had the Numan sages’ council given her the pretense of messenger duty?

“This is what you wanted, yes?” Regina asked. “I tell you what she’s up to, what I can ... and you speak to Premin Adlam for me? I’m ready for a journeyor’s duties. I have been for more than a year! Please make him see this.”

Her desperation haunted Chuillyon, much as it made her useful. Looking into her hungry eyes, he saw no readiness. Doing as she asked would be no true favor. It would only send her to a harder fall.

“Of course. Soon,” he assured. “You have been most helpful, apprentice.”

Regina took a deep breath of relief and triumph. “Good. I mean, thank you ... sir,” and she backed away.

“And to you, apprentice.”

Before he turned away, her high brow furrowed. “Sir ... I know Premin Adlam and some others treat you as a sage, but I don’t know of any others who wear white robes. I don’t even know how to refer to you properly ... by our ranks.”

“It is complicated,” he answered softly, “and I have an urgent task to attend. If you would not mind, perhaps another time?”

That “other time” would never come for her.

He did not watch her leave. Instead, he walked on through the remainder of the obelisk trellises nearly barren but for brittle vines. Wynn Hygeorht had requested to go to his own guild branch. But why? She sought portents of the returning enemy and the prospect of another great war. In that, she knew almost as much as her superiors. It was quite surprising how far she had foraged, regardless of all obstacles. Even he was impressed.

But too many secrets—that should be left buried—had long been hidden in the forests of the Lhoin’na. Some he could not let Wynn Hygeorht root out, but others ...

Such a precocious little human, aside from her growing skills as a sage, and even just thinking of her actually made Chuillyon smile. He could not help it.

There was a time, perhaps fifty years ago, when he would’ve found even greater delight in her exploits and antics. Perhaps he might have joined her, just for the surprises along the way.

Oh yes, he would have joined her, but these were not those days. He needed to remain apart and alone—in preparation for what was to come. That thought took away his smile.

Chuillyon pressed on, entering a small, manicured clearing with but one barren tree at its center. From anywhere else in the garden, it was always hidden from sight. It was not shaped like a typical tall and straight ash. From its thick trunk, stout branches curved and wound and divided up into the night. Even that might not be noticed at first.

Leafless and barkless—yet alive—a soft, golden glow emanated from its fine-grained, tawny wood to dimly light the clearing. It glistened, from its wide-reaching roots creating lumps in the earth to its thick and pale yellow trunk and limbs.

“Not so soon, I beg,” he whispered, as if to that tree—or perhaps something greater that it represented. “A little more time ... it is not so much to ask.”

Chuillyon stepped into the reach of the tree’s glow. A little of his sadness washed away, but not enough.

Wynn stood hesitantly outside the iron door of Premin Hawes’s study.

Before coming here, she’d stopped by her own room and put her things away. In recent times, she’d justified some astonishing betrayals for the sake of a higher purpose. But what she was about to do felt extreme, even to her. Taking a deep breath, she knocked.

“Yes?” a voice called from inside.

“It’s Journeyor Hygeorht,” she answered. “May I come in?”

No one responded, but barely a pause passed before the door opened.

Premin Hawes looked out, her normally flat, cold expression betraying a hint of surprise. She glanced briefly at Shade.

“I assumed you would be preparing for your trip,” she said.