Three sounds struck her ears amid sudden blindness—a dog's startled yelp, a hiss rising to a wail, and Chane's grating shout of agony. Everything washed white, erasing Chane from Wynn's sight.
And a last sound smothered the other three.
A shriek filled Wynn's skull, riding on the searing light's pain lancing through her eyes. She felt herself hit the cobblestones.
That last sound had torn from her own throat.
Ghassan il'Sänke heard a howl and followed the sound, half leaping and half floating from rooftop to rooftop. When he reached the next street, Wynn stood with a dark wolf between her and the tall black-robed figure.
A cloaked man was running toward her, gripping a sword. 'Wynn!' he cried in a rasping voice.
Then a glimmer rose in the long crystal of Wynn's staff.
'No!' Ghassan growled, and extended his hand in the air, aimed toward the staff. Not one symbol or shape came quickly enough into his mind.
Yellow-white light erupted, turning night into instant day, and Ghassan ducked, raising a sleeve before his eyes. He heard a hissing wail, a yelp, and a rasping shout. Wynn's shriek smothered all three.
Daylight winked out.
Caught half-blind between colored blotches over his sight and the sudden return of darkness, Ghassan dropped quickly over the eave's edge. But when he landed upon the street, still blinking and squinting, the black- robed figure was nowhere in sight, and neither was Wynn's armed protector. Both had fled in the crystal's flash— but not the wolf.
It shook its head, whimpering, and Ghassan ran to kneel where Wynn lay.
Curled upon the cobblestones with her eyes shut, she shuddered in a growing sweat with the staff still clutched in one hand. He jerked it from her grip, but when he tried to touch her damp brow, the lanky wolf charged at him.
Ghassan slapped his robe's skirt aside and spun away on his knees with the staff in hand. The wolf hopped straight over Wynn's quivering form to block him from reaching her.
He raised a hand, symbols and shapes forming in his vision, and prepared to cast the animal aside as easily as he lifted himself to the rooftops. The wolf pulled up short, head low and jaws parted in a snarl, but it didn't advance.
Ghassan paused and studied this aberrant animal.
It stood its ground, directly between him and Wynn, as if guarding her. And the more he saw of it, the more it seemed too oddly formed. Wolves were not found in his homeland, but its legs, ears, and snout seemed exaggerated, from what little he knew of them. And its eyes… glittering crystal blue eyes…
There was something familiar about this beast.
Ghassan had little time left if he were to free Wynn from the effects of a failed attempt with the staff. He turned his gesture from the wolf to her, closed his fingers tightly, and jerked his fist back.
Wynn's curled form slid sharply across the cobblestones—right into the wolf's legs. The animal toppled in surprise, tumbling over her. Wynn came to a stop in front of Ghassan.
He pointed the staff's crystal outward as the wolf thrashed to its feet. It hopped aside, trying to get around, but Ghassan already had his free hand on Wynn's fevered brow.
He sank into her thoughts—and erased the lingering trace of the patterned shapes submerged in her mind.
Wynn went limp and still, moaning softly as she tried to roll over. Ghassan already felt excessive heat fading from her forehead.
'The dog…' she whispered weakly. 'Bring…'
She fell unconscious, and the wolf ceased rumbling, staring at her as its ears rose. Then it turned its eyes on Ghassan.
Its jowls curled, exposing teeth, as if warning him away from Wynn.
When he set the staff down, prepared to lift Wynn, the dog lunged at him and snapped.
Ghassan froze as his brow wrinkled in impatience. Wynn needed more care, and his first instinct was to just slap this animal aside—or perhaps he should kill it. Tonight had already been filled with enough nonsense.
Some form of nonsense always circled around Wynn.
But the wolf, or dog, puzzled him, as much for its sudden appearance as for its strange form. And when the black-robed mage had come after Wynn, this wild beast had tried to defend her.
He gripped the staff with his right hand, rose slowly to his feet, and swept his left hand across his sight of the wolf. More symbols formed in his mind.
'Halt,' he murmured, reaching for the animal's simple thoughts.
It stopped cold, as if bound where it stood.
Ghassan gestured in the air over Wynn, and her body rose off the street. When she reached his waist, he cradled her in his arms, still gripping the sun crystal's staff.
The wolf went into a snarling frenzy.
'Silence!' Ghassan snapped, and reached deeper into the animal's limited mind.
Something in there slapped his mental intrusion aside, as surely as if it had slapped his face. He nearly lost hold of Wynn.
The wolf lurched forward, one slow paw at a time, and Ghassan stared in surprise.
A simple beast should not have resisted his command so easily, let alone felt—or responded—when he entered its thoughts. He turned away, heading down the road toward the guild. He had no time to deal with getting some strange wolf onto the grounds, even if Wynn wanted it.
The animal's snarls intensified, and he paused, glancing over his shoulder.
It had not kept up, but it still made headway against his will sainhei.
Ghassan sighed. In a quick flash of symbols and a silent chant, he ripped the command from the wolf's mind.
It lunged forward and circled him.
Ghassan hissed back at it, hurrying on, and the wolf hopped aside before it got caught by his boots.
Chane lay on the far side of a leather shop, gritting his teeth in pain. Thin trails of smoke rose from his charred face and hands. It took effort not to whimper and betray his presence as he climbed to his feet and peered around the shop's side.
A tall sage with dusky skin and dark hair knelt beside Wynn's curled form. He was older and wore the midnight blue of a metaologer. Chane remembered him from the night the first two sages were found murdered in an alley.
At least the black figure was gone, and in the company of one of her own, Wynn might be safe for the moment.
The dark-skinned sage picked up the crystal-adorned staff, but when he tried to touch Wynn's forehead the dog lunged at him. What followed cut through Chane's suffering as he watched, to the instant Wynn floated up into the sage's arms.
This man was more than a sage. Chane's amazement succumbed to pain as Wynn's savior headed off, carrying her in his arms. And the dog followed, still snarling and circling.
Chane barely fumbled his sword back into its sheath. He was almost grateful for the Suman's arrival, as he certainly could not carry Wynn anywhere in his present state. He needed to feed, and soon, and he didn't care whom he found. Almost anyone would do, but he continued to watch the retreating deep blue robe.
Chane knew conjury, though he was less skilled than a true mage. Nothing in that art could have raised Wynn from the ground without a telltale sign—perhaps a geyser of conjured air. He had felt no wind, let alone one powerful and controlled enough to lift her small body from the street.
Thaumaturgy's manipulation of the physical world had better possibilities, but he had never heard nor read of a thaumaturge who could turn a breeze into wind so precisely shaped and with such strength.
This sage had appeared suddenly, in just the right place and moment, barely an instant after the black figure had vanished.
