In Shade and Shadow

Before either could exchange another barb, two apprentices in gray bolted through the entry. Wide-eyed and panting, they never got out a word before someone strode in purposefully on their heels.

Tall with long, tangled hair, the man wore a red tabard over his chain mail vestment and padded hauberk. As frightened as the apprentices appeared, his expression was twisted somewhere between anger and anguish. The man's sword sheath was embellished with an inlaid panel of silver engraved with the royal crest and a panorama of Calm Seatt.

His red tabard marked him as military, but the silver plate suggested more. This one was an officer in the Shyldfälches—the "People's Shield" — the contingent of the city guard.

Wynn had no idea why he was chasing two apprentice sages of her order.

"Where is the premin of cathologers?" he demanded.

Both young sages stepped aside as Domin High-Tower closed on the officer.

"Why do you seek the premin?" the dwarven sage demanded with twice the officer's force.

The man calmed slightly. "Pardon… I'm Lieutenant Garrogh. Captain Rodian sent me to bring either the premin… or a domin of the cathologers. Two bodies were discovered in an alley. The master of the nearby scribe shop identified them, but only knew their given names… Elias and Jeremy."

Murmurs of shaky voices rose in the common hall, and Wynn heard a stool scrape as someone stood too quickly.

"Bodies?" High-Tower growled. "They are dead?"

Wynn's mind blanked as others in the hall drew nearer. She barely noted the varied degrees of shock and fright on their faces. She didn't recognize the names mentioned, even when a frightened, breathy voice repeated them.

"Jeremy… Jeremy Elänqui… and Elias Raul?"

Nikolas surged from his corner stool, his face paler than usual. At the lieutenant's continued silence, his gaze wandered and he began to shiver, backing toward his corner. When he dropped upon the stool he teetered, nearly slipping off. His jaw clenched as tears rolled down, shaken out of him by his shudders.

Wynn's thoughts cleared. Nikolas knew them both, likely the same two she had seen him with. But try as she might, she couldn't remember their faces.

Lieutenant Garrogh licked his lips nervously at all the attention he'd drawn in his haste.

"My condolences," he said quickly to High-Tower. "But the captain requires an authority from the guild. By your robe, you'll do as well as the premin."

High-Tower's dark glower broke. He turned his iron eyes on one apprentice who'd led the lieutenant inside.

"Find Premin Sykion immediately. She may be in tht G may bee new library. Inform her where I have gone… and why."

He waved Garrogh out and followed.

Without a word, Domin il'Sänke went after High-Tower, and Wynn didn't hesitate to tail him. But when they reached the wide doors into the courtyard, High-Tower realized they were following. He planted himself, and a vibration shuddered through the courtyard's stones.

Wynn pulled up short as the lieutenant slid to a halt. But she had no intention of being left behind.

"One of us is not enough," il'Sänke said quietly. "I am the only other of rank at hand. There will be much to deal with in this grave matter."

It made sense, though Wynn knew that if High-Tower were less pressed, he would've chosen someone else.

Lieutenant Garrogh backed toward the castle's gatehouse tunnel. Still seething, High-Tower resumed following. Wynn sneaked along behind il'Sänke, a little more than relieved. Trying to get past a dwarf, once he was planted upon the earth, was harder than battering through a stone wall with one's own head.

Two young sages returning a translation folio had been found dead in an alley. And that folio had contained material from the texts she'd brought back. She didn't want to see the bodies, to learn how they'd died or why.

She had to—her fears demanded it.

Chapter 2

Siweard Rodian, captain of the Shyldfälches, rocked on his heels as he stared down into a young, ashen, dead face. Another body lay crumpled nearby in the dead end's corner. Neither victim bore any cuts or bruises, and he saw no signs of a struggle, except a piece from the robe's shoulder of the nearest body had been torn off.

The eyes of both young sages were open wide, and their faces…

Both expressions were locked in similar twisted fear—no, outright terror—with mouths gaping, as if their last scream had never come out. Their hair looked faintly grayed, aged in an instant. Though he'd seen sudden fright and trauma produce such symptoms in men, particularly after the worst of battles, he'd never seen this in ones so young.

Rodian was at a loss for where to begin. He wasn't even certain how much he should disturb the scene.