Chane looked down the dark street as his senses fully widened—and panic crept in.
After his botched attempt to seize the folio, that black figure, so physical to his eyes and yet not, had fixed upon Wynn. If it still watched for her, and she now carried the scroll from the same source as the texts…
He had been so relieved at her acceptance of him, that he had not thought of the further danger in which he had placed her. He had not even thought to trail her home in secret.
'Fool!' Chane hissed at himself, and bolted back up the street.
Blackness vanished suddenly from the alley.
Wynn saw the dim outline of the exit reappear. Still, she took another step back.
Had she seen that pure darkness at all? Or had she grown so paranoid that her mind played upon her fears?
Down the alley she clearly saw the tall bailey wall and the keep's southern tower above it. Both remained plainly visible. In a slow, angry breath, she gripped the staff with both hands.
'So… paranoid it is,' she grumbled to herself and stepped forward.
Reaching the alley's far end, she carefully peeked around the left side.
The guild's southern corner hid the front gate and gatehouse from sight, but she didn't spy any patrolling guards. A quick glance right found that way empty as well. Wynn stepped out, prepared to dash for the wall and follow it around to the castle's front.
A black column stood twenty paces off in the middle of the road.
Pieces of it began to waft, like night-colored sails unfurling under a rising breeze.
Wynn glanced quickly up at the keep's southern tower.
As during her escape, all its windowed archer's slits were dark. No one was there to see her. When her gaze dropped she lurched backward.
The figure stood no more than five paces off.
Folds of its heavy black cowl sagged across its cloak's shoulders. And the cloak's layers over its long black robe floated on a wind that touched nothing else in sight. Wynn gripped the staff in both hands, glancing frantically about.
She wasn't skilled enough with the staff's crystal for this rushed moment—she wasn't really skilled with it at all. She couldn't outrun this thing in the open, but fleeing into the alley was foolish. All the murdered sages had been caught and trapped in tight spaces. As much as her own safety or life, she didn't want the scroll to fall into this thing's possession.
Should she scream out, call to any guards who might hear?
Wynn whirled to run the other way, hoping to catch the patrol she'd evaded, and a chill wind swirled up around her. It tore at her cloak and robe until her hood ripped back and her hair whipped across her face. She slapped the tendrils out of her eyes.
There it was again.
The black figure loomed in front of her. She stumbled back and it rushed her. A hand wrapped in shreds of black cloth reached out.
Wynn twisted away in the only direction it hadn't appeared. She ran straight into the alley.
Her robe's skirt slapped against her legs. Any instant she expected to see the figure appear before her, but she didn't look back. She reached the alley's far end, skidded into the next open street, and wildly searched for anyplace to hide.
No open inns or eateries lay in sight with any lighted windows or people about, just dark buildings, one with storage bins out front and marked with the sign of a dry-goods shop. She looked back to the alley.
Darkness rolled toward her, swallowing any scant light upon the brick walls. The figure slid into the open without the sound of a footfall.
Wynn choked once as the air turned frigid around her. Sucking in a freezing breath, she retreated toward the street's far side. As numbing cold spread through her, a savage howl erupted along the street. Wynn turned her head as a dark form rushed forward.
A charcoal-colored wolf wove and twisted, snarling before the robed figure. Its ears flattened as its jowls pulled back, exposing fangs and teeth glistening with spittle.
Wynn blinked as the black figure shrank away one pace, and the wolf, so tall—too tall—spun to one side.
She saw its pointed ears and long muzzle. And its glittering eyes, like pale and faceted sapphires… like Chap's eyes.
It was a majay-hì, but it wasn't Chap.
A hiss of unintelligible whispers filled the street in answer to the animal's threat. The dog lunged in.
'No!' Wynn breathed. 'Don't!'
The air's chill waned as the figure pulled farther back.
Wynn stared at the snarling dog.
How could it be here, and why? Chap was the only majay-hì that she knew of beyond the bounds of the elven lands. Unlike his silvery gray, this one's charcoal-colored fur was almost inky, though faint shimmers rose within its coat.
As much as for herself, Wynn feared for this animal so far from its native land. And all she had for defense was the sun crystal staff. She'd brought that more for show, in case she needed to threaten Chane. She'd promised il'Sänke never to attempt to use it without his guidance. And honestly, she wasn't even sure if she could.
The black figure slid sideways, trying to get around the dog, and the pure silence of its movement terrified Wynn. The majay-hì darted quickly to cut it off, and the figure swung one hand down at the dog's head.
'No!' Wynn shouted, though it came out voiceless and strangled.
She'd seen this creature kill three city guards with little effort.
The dog twisted its head clear of the strike and whipped back with a snap. Its jaws bit into—through—those wrapped fingers. The majay-hì's teeth clacked, as if they'd closed on nothing at all.
The figure snatched its hand back, fingers quivering as if in pain.
An eerie, hollow screech erupted around Wynn. And the dog's yelp rose over that. The majay-hì backed toward her, shaking its head in whimpers.
Wynn was so startled that she forgot about the staff and crystal.
An undead mage, with the skill to become incorporeal, and yet the snap of a Fay-descended majay- hì had hurt it in turn. Both dog and figure recovered quickly and fixed upon each other with caution. Wynn tried to block out the threatening snarls and hissing.
She ripped the sheath off the sun crystal.
Letting it drop, she gripped the staff with both hands and shut her eyes, trying to remember what little Domin il'Sänke had taught her.
Not a spell, but more a series of thoughts—symbols—matched with plain words so that her voice reinforced her intent. She leaned the staff's head out and concentrated, seeing the long crystal's shape in her thoughts.
'From Spirit…' she whispered, and a circle surrounded the crystal in her mind's eye. 'To Fire…' And she added a triangle within the circle. 'For its light' — and another inverted triangle appeared within the first—'of life!'
A final circle filled the inner space of the pattern, overlaying the crystal's image. Wynn held her focus, keeping the pattern alive in her mind.
A soft warmth spread upon her face.
The insides of her eyelids brightened slightly—as if a candle had been lit before them. Clinging to the mental pattern, Wynn turned her face aside.
'Wynn!'
She snapped her eyes open at the rasping voice.
Only the barest light showed around her. Horror flooded Wynn at the sight of Chane running toward her, his sword drawn—and the pattern vanished from her thoughts.
Light, like a noon sun, ignited before Wynn's face.
