Of Truth and Beasts

A few stone benches lined the pathways that she could actually see among hedges and bushes, trees and vine-covered atriums. Their guide pushed on, and she hurried to follow with the others. Along the winding way, the only other thing of note that she saw clearly was located in the center of the sculptured, living courtyard.

A round depression rested at the courtyard’s center, surrounded by stone steps or seating enclosing its open floor. At a guess, it could have held fifty or more. Perhaps it was a place for gatherings, not unlike the seminar rooms at the Numan branch.

At the courtyard’s far side, the elven journeyor opened a single door, and they all reentered the redwood ring. Chane and Ore-Locks paused to get their bearings as Wynn went straight to wandering about the room.

It felt circular, though an archway at the back led into another chamber. She spotted two narrow passageways in the first chamber nearer the door to the courtyard. The one on the left curved downward, and the one on the right led up. Both had steps of living, shaped wood that was free of bark.

Brighter light shone out from the back chamber, and the apprentice crossed quickly. Wynn followed.

An open area with benches carved into the walls awaited her. A stone pit in the floor contained glowing orange crystals—dwarven crystals—that emitted light and heat. It left her wondering how these sages had acquired them, since nothing like them were used at her own branch.

“A welcome sight,” Ore-Locks said, and Wynn found all of her companions close behind her.

Several freestanding benches stood on each side of the stone pit. This must be some type of common room. A wide shelf jutting from one wall contained glazed ceramic mugs, a pitcher of water, and a bowl of apples. Two tall openings directly on opposite sides led to smooth shale floor passages.

“Dawn is not far off,” the journeyor said. “I will speak with the domin when he wakes. Can you take your comfort here until then?”

“This is just fine,” Wynn said in relief, wanting to hold both her hands over the pit of crystals, but she glanced once at Chane. “Does the domin rise before dawn?”

“Usually ... sometimes,” the journeyor answered.

That could be a problem. But if need be, she could insist on housing Chane somewhere here in privacy.

“Thank you,” she said.

The tall elf bowed his head and stepped out into the courtyard, perhaps returning to his vigil at the main entrance. Wynn turned back to find Shade snuffling along the base of a wall, her tail in the air. Chane headed for a table and dropped their packs on it.

“This is the best we can do for now,” Wynn said. “I’ll get Shade some jerky and try to heat some water for tea. Ore-Locks, maybe you could cut up a few of those apples.”

He didn’t respond, but he set the chest down next to the packs. Chane sank onto one bench, his expression strained.

“Are you all right?” Wynn asked.

“Chuillyon serves the royal family of Malourné,” he said. “What is he doing here?”

She’d wondered that herself since they’d left the white-robed pretender leaning against Chârmun as if it belonged to him. She just shook her head.

“It may have nothing to do with us.”

Chane frowned at her. Yes, it was a weak evasion.

“What is the next step?” he asked.

Ore-Locks looked over as he sliced an apple, waiting on Wynn’s answer.

“I’ll deliver the message from the council,” she said. “That’s my excuse for coming—even if the letter is nothing more than a warning against me, then I need to start searching their archives. If anyplace has information on Bäalâle Seatt, it is most likely here.”

“You guess,” Chane whispered.

“Yes, I guess. Every guild branch has its region from which it recovers lost information unearthed in various ways. We know Bäalâle Seatt was likely in the Sky-Cutter Range, considering its name was based in terms of tribal dialects once spoken in the great desert. This is the closest branch to the range.”

“Anything that old should have been shared with all branches,” Chane returned.

“Yes ... it should have,” Wynn echoed coldly.

Ore-Locks closed on her, holding out slices of apple. “If the premin here exposes the content of your branch’s message, these sages might not be any more helpful than those of Chathburh.”

“I don’t need their help. I’m a journeyor, and guild branches share—are supposed to share—archives with all ranks of journeyor and above.” She looked back to Chane. “So long as they don’t learn what I’m really after, I’ll find the information myself. All we can do is avoid Chuillyon until I dig up something useful ... something to tell us where to begin searching an immense range that crosses an entire continent.”

Thinking that, let alone saying it aloud, prompted Wynn to drop tiredly on the bench beside Chane. After so many days on the road, and switching back to being awake in daylight, she wasn’t accustomed to being up all night. She was about to say more when she heard a soft rattle.