Of Truth and Beasts

He had never searched the Lhoin’na lands before. Sight of the guild left him briefly stunned before sending his new familiar clawing up the thick bark. It peered through crystal-paned windows in search of Wynn, but found no sign of her. When it scaled the structure’s heights, slipping through a tight saddle between treetop spires, Sau’ilahk looked down into a deep inner space.

The guild was not a solid mass, as he had first thought. It was a ring, its inner space left open between them. The tâshgâlh took longer than the upward climb to skitter down into the courtyard’s green growth. It ducked in beneath a rhododendron’s bulk and hid beneath the large purple blossoms.

Tall elves robed in various colors walked the shale pathways, but Sau’ilahk was looking for any way into the structure. Then he spotted Wynn by pure chance.

She emerged from a door with Shade—and Chane.

A glint from Chane’s left hand caught the tâshgâlh’s attention, and it began to croon. Sau’ilahk eyed Chane’s brass ring with unsettling envy.

The ring had to be how Chane had breached the forest. No other explanation would justify a mere dabbler in conjury achieving such a feat as an undead. The ring became all the more desirable.

Ore-Locks came out behind the trio.

Sau’ilahk exerted will upon the tâshgâlh, stopping it from chasing after the object of both their obsessions. He held the creature back until certain of Wynn’s destination, another door across the courtyard. To follow, the animal had to do so at the correct instant.

He directed it ever closer from bush to bush. As Wynn pulled open the door, the animal bolted toward the wall to the portal’s right, ducking behind a hedge. When Ore-Locks stepped inside last, the tâshgâlh slipped through before the door closed. It darted into the dim entry chamber’s nearest corner and curled in the shadows, waiting to follow unseen.

Chuillyon paced his outer room beneath the southern spire’s base. He was not precisely worried. He was simply waiting—and waiting—for news.

Too much talk had spread among the domins and masters concerning an illicit entry into the Naturology archives. For such quick gossip, there were very few useful details. Naturology was the last branch of the archives Chuillyon would have guessed Wynn would seek. What, by Chârmun’s grace, was she doing in there?

“Domin?” a lilting voice called from above.

“Yes, come!”

Hannâschi appeared at the chamber’s entrance.

“What have you learned?” he asked immediately.

“The journeyor and her companions left the grounds and headed north, out of the city. They eventually took the Birth Path, likely all the way to First Glade.”

Chuillyon was dumbstruck. There was no telling what Wynn Hygeorht might do next.

“Wait, go back,” he said. “What happened in the archive? Have you learned anything new?”

For a mere journeyor of Metaology, Hannâschi’s skills were exceptional. She could bend light by her thaumaturgy, creating simple illusions, or twist what it did or did not illuminate. She never attained the complete elimination of light, but her abilities made eavesdropping much easier.

“I could not get close enough,” she answered. “I waited nearby in an unoccupied side passage. Premin Gyâr is furious about the letter. He believes someone broke into his office and used the council’s seal.”

Hannâschi offered Chuillyon the most irritated glare her elegant face could portray. He forced himself not to smile.

“I caught up with the premin,” she continued, “as he closed himself inside his office with the master archivist. I amplified any sound within the wall’s wood. His first instinct was to suspect you.”

Chuillyon almost rolled his eyes. That much would be obvious.

“But there was doubt,” she added. “He still believes you are his ally, yet he assumes none of the other premins would dare such an act. He is frustrated in not finding an answer.”

“Good enough for now.”

“He will not let this go,” she warned, as if shocked by his satisfaction. “Tomorrow morning’s gathering will be difficult.”

Hannâschi had a polite way with euphemisms. “Difficult” would hardly describe it. Chuillyon would not be at all surprised if Gyâr called an emergency meeting tonight.

“What about Journeyor Hygeorht?” he asked. “What was she after?”

Hannâschi shook her head. “I suspect she did not realize that the archives are divided by the orders into five separate locations.”

Chuillyon digested this notion. At least it explained Wynn’s baffling choice of destination in using the pass. However, not only had she used up her chance, and a hard-won chance at that; she had wasted his capability to assist her further.

“And she is heading for First Glade?”

“Yes.”

It was not difficult to guess why. The place itself held nothing useful for Wynn, even in seeking Chârmun’s grace. As a somewhat typical human sage, she would have only scholarly wonder and curiosity in the tree.

Something—someone—else had been present there on Wynn’s first brief visit.

Chuillyon let out a tired exhale. “Oh ... rotted roots!”