Of Truth and Beasts

With a groan, Wynn hauled herself up. A heavy gray curtain covered the room’s small window, though a little light filtered around its edge. She wasn’t certain of the time of day. At the room’s far side, Chane lay stretched out on another bed ledge, completely covered, a blanket pulled up over his head.

Barefoot in only her shift, Wynn hastily wrapped herself in her robe and tiptoed to the other inner door. She cracked it open and found Ore-Locks snoring away in the adjoining room. He’d stretched out on the floor, likely unable to get his bulk onto a bed ledge. He’d been living on Chane’s schedule since their caravan trip began and would likely sleep half the day.

Wynn quietly shut the door, and Shade’s whine shifted to a discontented rumble.

“Hold on,” she whispered as she reached for her clothes draped over the travel trunk.

She’d been too exhausted last night to do anything but crawl into bed, but now she took clearer notice of the room. Stacks of books, loose paper, and leather satchels were scattered about haphazardly. Mujahid wasn’t particularly orderly for a sage. Two unlit, half-burned candles sat on the small table, along with a crucible and a mortar and pestle.

Wynn picked up one book. Its flaked, gilded title, written in exaggerated elven script, read The Wells of the Elements, by Premin Glhasleò ácärâj Jhiarajua Avcâshuâ. She vaguely recognized the name.

Premin “Gray Light” or “Dusk Light” had been one of a few metaologers to become a high premin—and the only such among the Lhoin’na. About three hundred years ago, he’d been criticized and suspected by his peers for his manic interest in the arcane. He’d died in bed at only seventy-two, after eating a plate of mushrooms. It was recorded that he’d gathered them himself, so theories of foul play were dismissed.

Wynn lifted a finely crafted parchment from the desk and scanned its Elvish writing. It was a conservative treatise on the hazards of thaumaturgical practices involving elemental Spirit. What, exactly, was Mujahid researching here?

Suddenly, Shade growled, bit down on Wynn’s robe, and jerked, making her stumble back. Wynn dropped the book and page on the table. Shade’s urgency also left her feeling a bit too nosy. Whatever Mujahid’s reasons, he’d been generous with his rooms, and she shouldn’t take advantage.

She pulled on her formal, full-length robe and retrieved the sealed message entrusted to her. Then she paused to scavenge a scrap of paper and a small charcoal stick. She scrawled a quick noted in Belaskian for Chane, telling him she’d try to be back at dusk.

“All right, come on,” she said softly.

Wynn barely opened the outer door when Shade squirmed through and bolted out in a ruckus of scrabbling claws. Wynn rolled her eyes and followed, not bothering to call after the dog.

The narrow passage didn’t exactly resemble a hallway—more like a strange, bark-covered, organic tunnel. Taller than it was wide, it burrowed through the place in a gradual curve ahead. Tall, teardrop-shaped doors, no two ever alike, were spaced sporadically along both sides. Wynn finished the arcing downward slope, reached the flowing stairs, and followed them downward.

When she reached the chamber where she’d met Mujahid, Shade already stood wriggling before the door to the courtyard. The instant Wynn opened it, Shade shot out, and Wynn followed more slowly.

The day was cold and clear outside, though the walls of the redwood citadel cast the courtyard in dusk as she waited on Shade. Hopefully, Shade wouldn’t desecrate some labor-intensive shrubbery.

Wynn craned her head back, looking straight up. By the light of the circle of sky above, she guessed it was early afternoon. Perhaps lunch was still being served. If so, and if she could find the meal hall, she might find assistance with directions, as well.

Shade came back at a leisurely trot, looking much relieved, and Wynn opened the door.

Upon stepping back in, Wynn heard voices echoing from the next inner chamber. She shooed Shade ahead and followed the sound into a passage much wider than the one outside the guest quarters. She’d lost track of how far around the redwood ring they might have gone when she stepped into a cavernous chamber of flowing bark walls.

Light filled the busy place from crystal-paned windows that went up and up along the inner wall. Though the tree ring had to be quite broad, it wasn’t as deep as the hall of Wynn’s guild branch. Instead of spreading out, it spiraled upward.

A central, bark-covered pillar as big as a single redwood rose out of the shale-tiled floor into the heights. Anchored between it and the chamber’s walls were at least five partial levels that she could see. Stairs of bare wood sprouted from the walls, leading from one level to the next. Sages and even others in plain elven clothing sat at tables on each level and chatted away in their lyrical tongue.

And, as usual, too many eyes looked Wynn’s way, or, rather, at Shade.