Of Truth and Beasts

At a distance, Wynn couldn’t see any lines in the woman’s face, though her presence gave the impression of long years. Flanked by the pair of majay-hì—a female of steel gray and a mottled brown male—she moved smoothly in a felt skirt bound in pleats by leather thongs wrapped about her narrow waist. Her firm steps were purposeful, as if soft earth and moss, or even the fragrant air itself, would move to her aide if she wished.

She glanced once at the intruders, and then her eyes narrowed as they turned upon Chuillyon.

He offered her a half bow of his head. “Always a pleasure ... Vreuvillä.”

Wynn caught the veiled, put-upon annoyance in his voice as he addressed the woman called “Leaf’s Heart.”

“I felt something twisted within the forest,” she returned pointedly. “I knew it must be you tampering with Chârmun ... again.”

Chuillyon raised one feathery eyebrow. “Then hardly a need to come and see.”

“Unless something more vile followed you.”

“Unlikely.”

“Chârmun is not your tool! Go back to your guild of ranks and orders. The glade is not—and has never been—a place for your kind.”

Wynn caught every implication. This woman thought Chuillyon was part of an official guild order, but that wasn’t possible. There were only five orders, and none of them wore white.

“What are they saying?” Chane whispered.

There wasn’t time for Wynn to translate, as Vreuvillä turned their way. The woman settled a hand upon the head of the steel gray female majay-hì.

Shade pressed into Wynn’s thigh, her tall body trembling, and a barrage of images, sounds, and smells assaulted Wynn. All of them related to Shade’s homeland; her mother, Lily; and her siblings. Shade was too young to be thrown into this foray.

—Wynn ... safe ... here....Wynn ... stay here—

Vreuvillä focused her large amber eyes on Shade, and then raised them to Wynn.

“Who are you?” she asked bluntly, and her tone implied no choice but to answer.

Chane’s grip tightened on Wynn’s shoulder, and he pulled her back. She saw his sword tip at her side. He didn’t need a translation to catch the challenge in the woman’s voice.

“My companions do not speak Elvish,” Wynn said.

“How careless of them,” Vreuvillä answered in Numanese.

Chane felt worse than on his longest day aboard the ship, testing his concoctions. Disoriented and sick from this place, from that unnatural tree, even the woman—all felt wrong to him. He was desperate to leave but could not show this to anyone but Wynn.

The elven woman was still studying him. Then she pointed back at Chuillyon.

“You are not with this self-righteous ... priest?”

Chuillyon sighed caustically. “Vreuvillä, really—”

“Certainly not,” Wynn cut in.

But the woman’s last sharp word stuck in Chane’s head. She spoke it with such derision that it might have meant “heretic” instead. So what was she? Regardless that she spoke a language he understood, he was too ill to clear his mind. He could not tell if either this woman or Chuillyon uttered any deceits.

And what was Chuillyon doing here? How had he arrived first?

Vreuvillä pivoted, heading off toward the glade’s far side from where she had entered.

“You should all leave,” she said, walking away. “Disturb this place no further.”

All of the majay-hì turned likewise. One paced right past Chane, and he tensed. But the mottled brown male with the woman lingered, and then stepped toward Shade, stretching out its nose.

Shade leaned away with a quiver of her jowls. The male wheeled and was the last to hop into the brush, though the wild elven woman was already gone.

The glade was silent, and Wynn pushed down on Chane’s sword arm.

“Let’s go,” she whispered.

“Back to the guild?” Chuillyon asked. “It would be my honor to escort you and assist in—”

“No, thank you,” Wynn said, without looking back, brushing her fingers between Shade’s tall ears. “Come, girl.”

Shade whined again and reluctantly slunk along beside her.

Chane backed away as Wynn led him, keeping his eyes on Chuillyon. He waited until he heard Wynn’s boots step onto stone and knew she had reached the path. Only then did he turn his eyes from Chuillyon.

The trees appeared to block Wynn’s way, to catch and trap her, though she never faltered in a step. Chane sucked air into his dead lungs as she miraculously passed through. She reached up and briefly touched his hand upon her shoulder, and then retrieved her cold lamp crystal from her pocket.

“Close your eyes and hang on,” she told him.

Chapter 11

Wynn drew relief in seeing Chane improve once they returned to a’Ghràihlôn’na. Still edgy and twitchy, he no longer shook visibly, and his eyes had regained their semitranslucent brown.