Of Truth and Beasts

Uncertain of her current position within the redwood citadel, she backtracked along the way she’d come. When she spotted a small group exiting into the courtyard, she grabbed the door to peek in. The meal hall waited inside, and Wynn felt a little more confident about finding her way around.

Better yet, the hall was almost empty.

Some dark bread, goat cheese, and late-season blackberries still graced the end of one table. Wynn made a beeline before someone cleared them away. Shade was satisfied with the bread and cheese. In the past she’d turned up her nose at anything baked, but these days, she’d even eat jerky and biscuits.

A few elven initiates looked at them—at Shade—but no one approached.

“Mind your manners,” Wynn said, breaking off more cheese for Shade.

Shade snapped and gulped and then whined for more, sniffing at the table’s edge.

“That’s enough for now,” Wynn said. “I need to find the archives.”

The courtyard door slammed open.

Wynn stiffened on the bench when Premin Gyâr strode in, his midnight blue robe swinging around his booted feet. Two young initiates sucked in audible breaths and scrambled out of sight. Gyâr’s gaze locked on Wynn, and her stomach knotted as he came straight at her.

“I am glad to have found you,” he said, and the calm in his voice belied the hostility in his eyes. “I have been informed of a change of circumstance. Our guild is preparing for a complete restructuring of the archives. The work begins sooner than anticipated.”

Wynn dropped a hunk of cheese on her plate.

“It is unfortunate that you traveled such a distance,” he continued. “At present, no one besides the archivists and their assistants will be allowed to enter. I do apologize.”

Wynn flushed cold with shock as she stood up and carefully asked, “How long will this restructuring take?”

“Indefinitely ... as it involves a great deal of work,” he answered, and turned immediately to leave.

Wynn was left standing there, staring after him. This was far worse than what had happened in Chathburh after she’d delivered the first message.

“I am in no hurry,” she called after Gyâr.

“Then your stay will be a long one,” he said, his back to her. “Of course, you are welcome to visit the public libraries in the branch’s lower levels.”

And he was gone.

Wynn was still numb, like the moment right after a sharp blow. It had never occurred to her that she’d be shut out. Not even her own superiors had gone that far. The frustration and the loss were overwhelming, and then shock burned away in anger.

What had that damned Sykion put in this message?

Wynn had sold a sacred cold lamp crystal for a more secretive passage than she’d told her superiors. Chane had suffered through the caravan ride to get here. Ore-Locks was still on her heels, trying to force her onward.

And she’d been locked out from afar by Sykion.

What was going on inside her own guild branch? It wasn’t enough for them to just get her out of their way for as long as possible, much as they’d connived to keep her connected to the guild and under watch. It now appeared she remained a sage in name only.

Shade rumbled softly.

Wynn wondered whether the dog reacted to Premin Gyâr’s demeanor or understood what had just occurred.

Two remaining initiates still stared at the courtyard door. They cast furtive glances at Wynn, as if she’d brought something fearful among them.

Wynn fled the meal hall, pulling Shade along. Once outside, she was panting in anger, frustration, and panic. This time the courtyard’s serenity didn’t help her. She wanted to hit something—or someone.

Had Sykion’s unknown warning been so dire that Gyâr had closed down the entire archives? It didn’t seem believable. Or were the archivists really engaged in such a vast reorganization while giving Gyâr a few moments’ notice? That was just as far-fetched.

The sound of shuffling footsteps and sloshing water barely cut through Wynn’s thoughts. A young initiate, perhaps fourteen, was hauling a bucket along the path in the other direction.

“Pardon,” Wynn called, hurrying after the girl. “Could you point me to the archives?”

The girl blinked. The question appeared to confuse her as she looked over Wynn’s gray robe. She pointed upward, above the courtyard.

“There,” she said.

Wynn peered up, trying to follow the girl’s finger. At a guess, the initiate pointed to one side of the redwood ring below one of its five spires.

“Thank you,” Wynn said. “Shade, come.”

They hurried around the courtyard’s perimeter, leaving the elven girl staring after them.

Wynn kept looking upward, trying to gauge when they were somewhere below where the girl had pointed. When she thought they were close, she went for the first door she saw. She and Shade slipped inside a chamber barely larger than an alcove. It emptied into a wide passage lined with more doors that ran along the middle of the redwood ring. Almost immediately, she heard raised voices.

Wynn followed the sound. She hurried into the passage, saw a branch that sloped upward, and scurried onward.