He drank two more cups of wine before he finally went to his room.
Wil clawed his way back to waking.
And again that sense of being watched—
He blinked. It vanished.
It wasn’t far past midnight, and the thing that had woken him had not been the Vision—though he’d been up to his neck in cold water—but his bladder. He threw on clothes and trundled out into the night, toward the outhouse.
He turned the stable’s corner—
Something was out there.
Wil had never feared the dark. But the yawning space between the stable and the outhouse filled him with sudden, unspeakable dread.
Something was there.
His eyes scanned the uneven shadows of the forest hemming the inn. Did he see a shape there? A blot of movement in the darkness?
Cold dread filled him. The presence felt true—not just a hallucination. His mind flitted back to his time on the Karse Border . . . was it possible he’d raised a Sunpriest’s ire? Was something following him, waiting for a chance to strike?
The presence evaporated. The darkness became just that, the movement in the trees nothing more than wind and woodland beasts about on mundane business.
Wil crept back to his room, hunkered down in his bed, and waited out the night.
When he emerged from the inn the next morning, Lelia stood next to Vehs, one hand on his withers.
“Good morning,” Wil said, faintly suspicious about them together. Something in their posture suggested . . . conspiracy.
“You look like hell,” Lelia replied cheerfully as a groom emerged with Destrier and helped her up into her saddle.
:She’s worried about you,: Vehs murmured.
:I’m worried about me.:
:Well, finally.:
Wil swung into the saddle, ignoring the jab. :Last night—something was out there.:
:Something?:
Wil toyed with the reins. :Alberich . . . he mentioned night-demons once—:
Vehs snorted. :This far into Valdemar? Not possible.: More gently, he added, :Chosen, you’re exhausted. Your mind is playing tricks on you.:
:I felt something, Vehs.:
Vehs said nothing.
:You don’t believe me—:
:No!: Vehs said sharply. :I believe that you think you saw something.:
Wil took a deep breath. :Fine. But let’s stay in a Waystation tonight. Just in case.:
:This close to Traderest?:
:Yes.:
:With the Bard?:
Wil frowned. Now he wished he hadn’t brought her along. They were potentially in danger, but he was sure if he told her to turn back, she’d only want to know why, and no matter what he told her, she’d still want to come along.
But better one overcurious Bard than a village full of innocents . . .
“Lelia,” he said, “we’re going to stay at a waystation tonight.”
He braced for the inevitable questions.
“All right,” she replied.
He gave her an odd look. She smiled back congenially.
“Whatever you say, Herald,” she said.
The Waystation outside Traderest was typical of its kind—small, with a water pump and trough, and secluded among the trees. Wil slid out of the saddle, and Lelia tethered Destrier as he hauled their packs into the Waystation. They had a fire and a pot of porridge going within a candlemark.
She still hadn’t asked why they were here. He watched as she finished smoothing one of her cloaks over her boxbed—they hadn’t brought bedrolls—and then left again to tend to her horse.
He sat on the edge of his own boxbed. All he wanted was sleep without dreams. He wanted . . .
One minute he was alone, the next Lelia was leaning over him. When he’d fallen back on the bed, he wasn’t sure. Just that his eyelids felt so, so heavy. He could barely meet her gaze.
“You know,” she said, “Heralds don’t just die in fights, fires, and floods. Keighvin, the Queen’s Own before Talamir, worked himself into a brainstorm and an early grave.”
“Knew that,” Wil mumbled.
“They throw themselves into their work,” she continued, “until they’re so exhausted they wind up doing something foolish.” She smiled a little. “Lyle once told me . . . I was his balance. I keep him from flogging himself to death.” The smile softened with sadness. “I don’t know how good a job I’ve done with that, honestly.”
Even talking, her voice had a melodic quality. His eyes slid shut, his thoughts growing muzzy. He could feel the Vision unfurling, tugging at him like the waters of the river that had killed Elene, and then—
Something stepped between him and it. A soft susurration, like the drowsy chirr of insects at twilight.
And instead of plunging into deadly waters, he found himself at the edge of a clearing, though not one he knew. It could have been the heart of Companion’s Grove. It could have been any number of places in Valdemar. A faintly blue light, soft as moonlight, lit the world, but it was not of the world he knew.
Some distance from him was a woman in luminous Whites. She stood at the center of the clearing, and despite the unearthly light, her face remained obscured. Even so, he got the sense she was . . . watching him.
“Tell him I’m waiting,” she said.
Wil sat up in near darkness. Coals gleamed in the hearth, and someone was breathing lightly in the boxbed to his right. He crawled awkwardly out of bed and emerged into the chilly night air.
Vehs walked over and nuzzled his hair.
:Sleep well?: he asked. :We had hoped it would last through the night.:
Wil frowned. “It? We?” he asked, and remembered the day before. “Have you two been conspiring behind my back?”
Vehs lowered his lashes and gave him a coy look.
Wil started to speak—
Something moved in the dark.
Wil snapped his head around, scanning the forest. He felt Vehs stiffen.
:That,: Vehs said, :is not your imagination.:
The Waystation door creaked, and the presence vanished. From behind him, Lelia said, “Something’s out there.”
Both he and Vehs turned to look at her. “You feel it, too?” Wil asked.
She nodded. “Something . . . big. Familiar, but not.” She shook her head. “Whatever it was, it’s gone, now.” She hugged herself tightly. “It’s freezing. I’ll be inside.”
Wil and Vehs stared into the darkness together.
:Any idea what it is?: Wil ventured.
:Something . . . but not night-demons.: Vehs shook his mane. :Chosen, go back inside. Rest. I’ll stand watch.:
Wil could tell Vehs was being evasive . . . but he knew better than to try and press a Companion when he or she didn’t want to give details.
Lelia had added wood to the fire. She waited by his bedside, wrapped in her spare cloak.
“You sang me to sleep,” Wil said.
She nodded. “Did it work?”
Wil stretched out in the bedbox. “I think so.” The fire popped and crackled. “Can you do it again?”
