In Shade and Shadow

He was tall for a Suman, and, standing so close, he towered over her. His short, glossy hair, the color of pure chocolate, waved slightly upon his forehead where it peeked from beneath the lip of his cowl. The barest flecks of silver showed in those locks. A straight but beaked nose separated his thick eyebrows above bright eyes with irises darker than his skin.

He had become a master among sages long before Wynn was born, and yet his true age was a mystery to her. Only hints of lines showed at the corners of his lively eyes. His cheeks were rough, as if exposed to blowing sands of the great desert separating the northern Numan Lands from the great Suman Empire to the far south. And he didn't wear the light gray of Wynn's Order of Cathologers, those who studied in the Realm of Knowledge.

Domin Ghassan il'Sänke was garbed in midnight blue, for he belonged to the Order of Metaology.

As the smallest of the orders, and perhaps the most enigmatic, they focused upon the Realm of Existence. They gathered and recorded information concerning metaphysics and cosmology, cultural religions and myths, and even magic.

Il'Sänke made most young sages uncomfortable, even those attending his seminars given as a visiting domin of note. But not Wynn—or at least not often. No one knew him well, for his guild branch lay half a continent south in Samau'a Gaulb, the capital of the Suman Empire and that of il'Dha'ab Najuum, one of its nations. Il'Sänke was a mage of thaumaturgy—by spellcraft, ritual, or articifing—and was well acknowledged for his skill.

His mouth tightened, and he didn't look pleased.

Despite her state of suffering, Wynn couldn't help a wave of anxious anticipation. It sharpened when her gaze fell upon a narrow bundle of plain muslin cloth lying on the bed beside her.

"It's finished… finally?" she asked without even greeting him.

She reached for the bundle, ght the bubut il'Sänke grabbed it first.

"Premin Sykion will have harsh words," he said in his smooth accent, "when she sees the final accounting of resources and funds—at least those I listed. Then, of course, there's Premin Hawes."

Wynn didn't care what her order's leader or the head of metaology had to say on the matter. She fidgeted impatiently until il'Sänke unrolled the bundle, and she drew another quick breath.

Resting in the opened cloth was a six-sided crystal, pure and clear as polished glass. Two fingers in thickness, it was longer than her outstretched hand.

Wynn was still holding her breath as she grabbed the crystal from his hand. She instantly began rubbing it furiously, as she would to initiate a cold lamp crystal.

But nothing happened.

"Contain yourself!" il'Sänke chided. "Even when it is finished, friction's heat will not be enough to awaken the 'sun crystal.»

Wynn's mouth turned dry at those final two words.

It didn't matter if il'Sänke thought her foolish, or that most sages here viewed him as a mysterious outsider. He had listened to her wild tales of the Farlands without judgment—the same tales that Domin High-Tower and others dismissed as nonsense. Many of her peers now viewed her as an outsider as well. Ironic, considering she'd grown up in this branch of the guild.

Staring into the lightless crystal was like looking at an open blank book. And across its unmarred pages she could see words she didn't wish to write.

Not names, places, and events of her time in the Farlands, but words for the fear that made her desperate for il'Sänke to finish what she'd asked from him.

Years ago as an apprentice she'd taken leave of her home to follow her master, Domin Tilswith. They traversed their continent and crossed the eastern ocean to the Farlands, where Domin Tilswith intended to found a new guild branch in the city of Bela. The prospect had been thrilling, and she'd been pleased with this adventure—until the day her life tangled with two hardened strangers and a dog. In that city, Magiere, Leesil, and Chap had come to the old barracks, claiming to be hunting an upír.

A vampire, in their language—one of what they called the undead… the Noble Dead.

All too soon Wynn had faced realities she'd never imagined nor wanted. When this trio left Bela in search of an ancient artifact sought by a powerful undead, Domin Tilswith had sent her with them—as a journeyor on her first solo assignment. Their travels took them through the dank lands of Droevinka, and through Stravina and into the Warlands on their way to the Elven Territories of the an'Cróan. The journey's last leg ended far south in the Pock Peaks' high, desolate range. There they'd finally uncovered the artifact—the "orb."

Hidden within an ancient castle, it was guarded by a female vampire so old that she'd forgotten the sound of spoken words. Li'kän had waited there for a thousand years or more, and was perhaps one of the first Noble Dead of the world.