Of Truth and Beasts

About the size of a common barn cat, it had a ferretlike body as well as some of that animal’s coloring. A stubby tail, darker than its bark-colored fur, quivered once before it rose on its hindquarters. Large, round brown eyes peered around a pug muzzle in a face masked with black fur. Twitching, wide ears made the tufts of white hairs on their points blur in vibration. But most useful of all were those tiny forepaws.

Almost like small hands, their stubby digits ended in little claws. A tâshgâlh—“finder of lost things”—stood mesmerized before Sau’ilahk.

A natural-born thief, the tâshgâlh possessed dexterous paws that exceeded a raccoon’s for getting at whatever it became obsessed with. A trilling coo vibrated from its throat, for it was still entranced by the summoning; it did not actually see him yet. Tâshgâlh were found only in elven lands. Wherever he sent it, no one would give it notice other than to hide any shiny baubles that might catch its attention.

In a smooth flash, Sau’ilahk solidified one hand and snatched the tâshgâlh by the back of its long neck. Its trance broke, and its pigeonlike purr became a squealing, screeching chatter. He let it thrash, its tiny rear claws hooking nothing as it tried to tear at his incorporeal forearm.

It was the most perfect selection for a familiar.

With this beast Sau’ilahk could hunt for Wynn Hygeorht within a land forbidden to him.

Wynn paused at the courtyard door and looked back into the meal hall.

Ore-Locks’s reddish hair badly needed brushing, as it was looking wild and tangled even when pulled back with a leather thong. As he gulped large spoonfuls of stew, nearby initiates stood dumbfounded, eyeing the other plates they’d brought him moments ago, which he’d emptied. They obviously had no idea how dwarves could feast at a moment’s notice, though why Ore-Locks did so now was puzzling. Dwarves could store up food and go without for three times as long as a human.

“We should bring him,” Chane whispered.

Wynn shook her head. This small venture was best kept from Ore-Locks; she’d told him nothing about the mysterious letter. Instead, she told him that she would look into how else she might gain access to the archives. He’d been too hungry to argue.

She might not be able to get rid of Ore-Locks, but she would keep the upper hand in whatever they did—by what she learned and he did not. The more dependent on her that he was, the better. For whatever he wanted at Bäalâle Seatt, she couldn’t have him leaving her behind and getting there first.

Wynn turned to hurry out, shivering once in the cold air as they emerged in the courtyard.

“Which way?” Chane asked.

“North.”

She trotted ahead, still gripping the unsigned letter and wondering who had sent it. Was someone here actually trying to help her? Or was the letter merely bait to trap her, complete with grounds for her expulsion? If the latter, it wasn’t very effective. She would still have the pass with which to implicate whoever had sent it.

“Do you have any plan?” Chane asked. “Besides showing the pass to the guards and waiting to see what happens?”

She shook her head. “They’ll let us through, and then it’s a matter of time. Whoever arranged this is at odds with Premin Gyâr. We can only hope this comes out too late for him to stop us.”

Wynn was even more uncertain than she sounded. They headed along the courtyard’s paths, reaching a spot beneath the northernmost spire. Upon reentering the great redwood ring, her uncertainty turned to dread.

What if Gyâr had sent the pass? He was acting high premin and could simply claim it was forgery, no matter how legitimate it looked. He could’ve even used the council’s official seal. She’d be trapped, and he would simply misdirect all others in a hunt for whoever had illicitly used the council’s seal.

When had she become this paranoid? Steeling herself, she pressed on. What other choice did she have?

The entrance chamber was empty, and Wynn took a long breath before leading the way. Finally, she pointed up the sloping side passage where she’d seen the Suman sages expelled.

Chane looked positively grim, and Shade had been rumbling intermittently along the way. The dog had even once wrinkled a jowl at Wynn, expressing displeasure at all of this. Wynn pressed onward and upward.

They emerged to face the same two shé’ith standing before the opening to the spiral stairs. She’d forgotten how intimidating they were—tall, armed, and expressionless. She stepped leisurely forward with as much confidence as she could muster, and held out the letter.

“I’m here on assignment,” she said in Elvish. “The Premin Council granted me this pass to enter the archives.”

The female shé’ith looked down—not at the letter, but at Wynn.

Wynn couldn’t help a flash of anxiety. She stood waiting, still holding out the letter.

When the woman took it, she snapped it open and scanned its content. A flicker of surprise on her triangular face washed away under a frown. She looked beyond Wynn at Chane and Shade.