Of Truth and Beasts

Anger drove the numbness of shock out of her, but she still couldn’t believe her eyes. She’d seen him head off for the royal castle of Calm Seatt barely seven days before her journey began. No one could have reached the forest before her, let alone known where she would go first upon arrival.

All he did was nod, a curt bow of acknowledgment. And he was still smiling softly at her.

“What are you doing here?” Chane asked.

At a glance, Wynn saw the sword in his grip. Chane stood well away from Chârmun, as if hesitant to approach, but worse was the sheen on his face. She’d never seen him perspire, didn’t even think it was possible for the undead. His eyes were utterly colorless again.

When Wynn looked back at Chuillyon, he wasn’t smiling anymore.

“You are a never-ending source of perplexity, Wynn Hygeorht,” he said, but his gaze was fixed on Chane.

No one could know what Chane was while he wore the ring ... could they?

Ore-Locks stepped wide around Chane, but as he looked to Chuillyon, he grew visibly uncomfortable. He swallowed hard and lowered his eyes in a respectful bow. Clearly, Ore-Locks hadn’t expected to see his master’s comrade here, either.

Chuillyon clicked his tongue.

“Your sudden absence has been a great concern, stonewalker,” he said in a parentlike tone. “Master Cinder-Shard would be quite shocked to learn of the company you keep.”

Ore-Locks continued to look at the ground.

Wynn studied him. Hadn’t he told Cinder-Shard or any of the Stonewalkers where he’d gone?

“Your penchant for unusual companionship continues,” Chuillyon added.

Now he was studying Shade—and smiling again—leaving Wynn uncertain to whom he’d been speaking.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Me? Just a brief retreat of rest,” he answered, with obvious mock surprise. “It is my homeland, after all.”

She examined his hair, free of tangles, as if freshly groomed. His pristine white robe and even the toes of his soft boots showed no sign of travel. He looked as if he’d just stepped from the royal grounds for a leisurely walk in the woods.

“Turnabout is certainly fair,” he continued. “Why are you here, journeyor, other than for the peaceful welcome of Chârmun?”

“None of your affair. You have no authority over me.”

“Chârmun’s blessings!” Chuillyon said with a soft laugh.

What did he want? Had he followed her, or was his reason for rushing home a coincidence? She had long stopped believing in coincidence.

“Wynn, we should leave this place,” Chane rasped.

He sounded manic, but he was right. She’d seen First Glade for herself, but the appearance of this false sage had ruined that one moment of unblemished assurance.

Ore-Locks barely glanced up at Chuillyon. The dwarf’s broad face was a mask of urgency fighting reluctance, as if caught between explaining himself and simply leaving as quickly as possible.

Wynn decided upon the latter. She backed toward Chane, and Shade wheeled to follow.

“You came all this way,” Chuillyon called after her, “but you leave without even one touch? Come, now, have you lost all of your curiosity?”

She wasn’t about to let him bait her, and placed Chane’s hand on her shoulder, turning to lead him out. Then Shade stiffened beside her and spun sharply, making Wynn stall.

Shade hadn’t turned toward Chuillyon or Chârmun. She began twitching ever so slightly as she stared toward the clearing’s far side.

A long, almost mournful howl rose out of the forest.

“What was that?” Ore-Locks asked.

Chuillyon released a long, exhausted breath. “Oh, not now.”

That unguarded slip was like an annoyed boy’s mischief interrupted—or another snide utterance from an aging deceiver hiding beneath tranquillity.

A single form burst from the trees at the clearing’s rear side. Shade stood at full attention, but she didn’t snarl.

Tall and leggy, a silver-gray majay-hì loped purposefully forward. Another dog leaped out of the brush, and then another.

By Chârmun’s glow, Wynn watched a majay-hì pack appear one by one out of the forest, until nine paced and padded around the glade. They looked so much like the ones Wynn had seen in the Elven Territories of the Farlands ... silver and gray, or dull brown to charcoal, though none were as near to black as Shade. And they were all silent. Crystal blue eyes shone clearly as they closed in, circling watchfully around the intruders.

Then something more upright pushed through the trees where the last two dogs stood waiting.

Wynn stared in surprise at the newcomer.

She was small for an elf, shorter than an average human male. By her deeply tanned complexion, she could have passed for an an’Cróan, if not for her darker hair. It was so dark that it could’ve been brown rather than the sandy blonds of the Lhoin’na, let alone the brighter tones of an an’Cróan. Still, those locks were lined with vivid silver streaks. Her hair was bound by a circlet of green cloth, perhaps raw shéot’a by its dull shimmer.