Of Truth and Beasts

Oversized and teardrop-shaped, their amber irises glowed in the falling sun’s light. All three had their wheat- or sand-colored hair pulled up and back in high tails held by single rings, and the narrow tips of their tall ears were plain to see. They were garbed in tawny leather vestments with swirling steel garnishes that matched sparkling spaulders on their shoulders. Running diagonal over their chests, each bore a sash the color of pale gold. As they drew closer, slightly curved sword hilts became visible, protruding over their right shoulders.

Wynn grew relieved. These had to be the border guard that A’drinô had mentioned. At least as a sage, she might ask for escort.

The leader reined in his tall russet mare directly in front of the wagon’s horses.

“Veasg’âr-äilleach,” Wynn said, greeting him.

His stern expression relaxed as he quizzically raised a thin, slanted eyebrow. Wynn noticed a silver ash-leaf brooch on his sash, though the other two didn’t wear one. He nodded and his thin lips parted, but a reply never came.

His gaze fixed on Shade, and he sucked in a hissing breath. Horror flattened his features just before they wrinkled in anger.

“Valhachkasej’ä!” he spat at her.

Wynn tensed at the foul utterance Leesil had often used. She’d even picked up his bad habit, but she’d never heard it aimed at her. Before she could speak, the leader reached over his left shoulder and pinched the notched end of an arrow in his quiver.

“Pull the wagon back, woman!” he commanded in Elvish.

“What? I don’t—” Wynn started.

“Now ... despoiler!”

“Blessed Bäynæ, what is the problem?” Ore-Locks growled from the wagon’s back.

Wynn heard further rustling behind her but didn’t take her eyes off the patrol’s leader. Her wagon wasn’t even onto the plain yet, and he wanted her to retreat?

“I don’t understand,” she finished in Elvish. “Why can’t—”

The leader’s hand flashed down across his face.

Wynn heard a crack close beside her, and Shade erupted into loud snarls. An arrow shaft vibrated between them, its head buried in the wood near her thigh.

“Force her down!” the leader shouted.

The other patrollers lowered blunt lances, and Wynn’s breath caught as they kicked their mounts into a lunge. One lance slipped between her and Shade, separating them before she could move. Shade snapped it in her jaws as the rider tried to sweep it toward Wynn.

Wynn exhaled, “Oh, seven hells!”

This wasn’t about her; it was about Shade.

“I can explain,” she called, forgetfully slipping into Numanese. “Just let me—”

The other lance struck her shoulder.

Wynn tumbled off the wagon’s side, slamming down beside it. She’d barely rolled over when she heard the canvas snap. Over the thud of two feet, she heard a rasping hiss.

Chane stood over her, gloved and cloaked, his face obscured by the leather mask and darkened glasses. She could only imagine what he looked like to the elven patrollers.

“No,” Wynn groaned, “ah no!”

Chane heard Wynn speaking with someone but could not understand either of them. It was likely Elvish, as he had heard Wynn speak in the strange, lyrical lilt a few times. Though not dormant, he was groggy and barely aware. He had not taken a dose of the potion for several nights, and the last one was beginning to wear off.

His awareness increased when Ore-Locks had grumbled, “Blessed Bäynæ, what is the problem?”

Wynn shouted something more, and then a crack of wood cut her off.

Chane heard—felt—it through the wagon’s frame. Something had struck the bench above his head. When Shade snarled, Chane frantically groped for his mask and glasses.

“A’Jeann a-shéos è!” shouted an angry, lilting voice.

“Oh, seven hells!” Wynn said breathily.

More shouts and scuffling hooves built as Chane ripped away the canvas. He vaulted the wagon’s side, nearly landing atop Wynn. She was curled on the ground, holding her shoulder, and he jerked out both swords.

Three elven riders blocked the wagon’s path. An arrow was stuck in the wagon’s bench. Shade snarled and snapped at the trio.

This was all Chane needed to know.

“No ... ah no!” Wynn whispered.

He did not look down, and rasped out one word: “Shade!”

Chane vaulted over Wynn as Shade leaped, her paws touching twice along a thick, protruding lance.

The instant Chane jumped over Wynn, she scrambled up the wagon’s side, but Shade had already charged, as well. The dog bounded off the lance and rammed headlong into the patrol’s leader. Both tumbled off the flanks of the panicked, rearing horse. Then Ore-Locks rolled out of the wagon’s back, bleary-eyed.

“All of you! Stop this!” Wynn shouted. “Èan bârtva’na!”

The first lunging rider swept his lance across the bench and at her head.

Wynn ducked, and then someone grabbed the back of her cloak. She spun as she was slung around and barely caught herself on the wagon’s rear wheel.

“Get back, and stay there!” Ore-Locks ordered.

A rider wheeled his mount around the wagon.

“Behind you!” Wynn shouted.