Of Truth and Beasts

To Wynn’s relief, Chane followed her with only one last glare at the elven guards. Shade scurried ahead, rumbling at the younger archivist until he backstepped in shock.

Gyâr reluctantly let them pass, but his eyes never left Wynn.

Her relief was short-lived. They may have escaped the premin’s anger, but they had nothing to show for it. 

Chane did not say a word all the way back to their room. Much as he would prefer to let this failure drive Wynn toward home, his thoughts raced elsewhere. He searched wildly for some way to get her into the correct archives. For certainly if he did not, what would she do next, and thereby place herself in even more danger?

None of his abilities, his arcane tools or books, or even his recently mastered concoctions offered a single way to help her. There had to be something, though he could not yet see it.

Wynn shuffled ahead of him through the small common room and up to the passage to their quarters. Only once did Chane catch her profile. He expected to see defeat, but instead her features were tense, eyelids half-closed in some deep thought. This made him worry even more.

He wanted to say something, to do something, to make her feel better or divert her from whatever drastic scheme she would try next. Still, he could think of nothing, and it was driving him mad under the constant prodding of this place, this forest, all over his flesh.

Wynn opened the door to their room and stepped inside.

“Where have you been?”

Chane looked over her head to see Ore-Locks standing inside their room. Without answering, Wynn walked past him and sank down on her bed ledge. This penchant of hers was also beginning to worry Chane. More and more, she often shifted between suffering in defeat and rushing into thoughtless action.

“We had a chance and we took it,” she sighed.

Ore-Locks crossed his arms. “What chance?”

Wynn looked up at him, hesitating, and then told him everything up to the point where Gyâr had come for them.

“We were in the wrong archive,” she finished. “Now I have no way to gain the right one.”

Ore-Locks grimaced, his anger no better contained than the premin’s, though his reason was exactly the opposite. Whatever his ultimate motivation might be, his goal was for Wynn to succeed in finding the lost dwarven seatt.

“We cannot stay here doing nothing,” Chane finally said. “Yet we cannot continue until we learn where to go. We are without options.”

“I know that!” Wynn nearly shouted, and then shut her eyes. “Sorry,” she said more softly, “but I’m well aware of our situation.”

Ore-Locks glanced sidelong at Wynn, his broad face thoughtful. His resentment had vanished, which left Chane wary. Dwarves were not quick to real anger, but once it came, it did not fade easily.

“If you cannot access written words,” Ore-Locks said, “then turn to truer spoken ones.”

Wynn lifted her head, looking at him in puzzlement. Then she dropped her chin back into her hands.

“Oral tradition may be your people’s way,” she said, “but not for the guild or the elves.”

“The elves are long-lived,” he went on. “They may not be as oral as my people, but more so than humans. Someone here must know something of use.”

Wynn sat upright. Something in Ore-Locks’s words must have sparked another wild notion.

“No one here will talk to us,” Chane interrupted. “They have been warned against us by now.”

“Then find someone who disagrees with them,” Ore-Locks stated, looking only at Wynn. “We have already met one such who finds the guild quite distasteful ... because of Chuillyon.”

Wynn lifted her eyes to him and whispered in astonishment, “Vreuvillä!”

Chane’s chest tightened the instant that name crossed her small lips, for Ore-Locks might be correct. That wild woman—priestess, whatever she was—might tell them whatever she knew simply out of spite, if she knew anything useful at all.

Chane could not bear the thought of going anywhere near First Glade again. The first night had been horrible.

Wynn’s soft brown eyes shifted to him, concern and questions on her face, as if she’d read his thoughts. Chane knew it was too late now to stop her, but he raised a hand before she spoke.

“We have no idea where or how to find her in this ... forest.”

The anticipation on her face faltered. It crushed him to crush her hope. Yet Wynn would still push blindly forward, now that Ore-Locks had prodded her.

Chane simply hoped he could stall a little longer—long enough to find a better answer. Only then did he notice an oddity from the only silent one in the room.

This time, Shade had not protested at all.

Chapter 14

Sau’ilahk observed a’Ghràihlôn’na through the tâshgâlh’s eyes. Not one elf walking the city’s paths noticed the animal darting between sculpted shrubs and bushes. The beast was easy to control, but once it reached the guild’s living structure, it paused under Sau’ilahk’s own astonishment.