"Did Domin il'Sänke leave the guild at all that night?" Rodian asked.
High-Tower lifted his head, puzzlement disturbing his scowl, but Wynn cut in first.
"Why do you keep asking that?"
"Was he here the whole time?" Rodian demanded, ignoring her, and High-Tower hesitated. The pause was the only confirmation he needed, but the dwarf finally answered.
"Domin il'Sänke was handling a private task for me that night. It has nothing to do with what happened, but I can attest that he was engaged in guild business."
Rodian clenched his jaw—more evasions. He would get no rational help from these sages, even to save them from themselves. He started for the door but halted at another sharp rumble from the wolf.
Pawl a'Seatt stood in the hospice's doorway. Small Imaret peeked around his side, bearing an ink smudge on her brown cheek. Master a'Seatt's expression was flat and cool, but he was intently fixed upon either Wynn or Nikolas.
"Forgive us," the scribe master said. "Imaret wished to see how Nikolas fared."
The wolf's rumble shifted into an open growl, and Rodian glanced back.
Wynn reached for the animal. "Stop that," she said to it. "These are friends."
But the wolf remained tensely focused on the doorway, still growling.
Rodian followed its gaze back to Pawl a'Seatt, who now watched the wolf in turn.
High-Tower cocked his large head, and Bitworth's face filled with alarm. Even Wynn grew concerned. She raised a hand before the wolf's face, perhaps commanding it to stay. The animal held its place, its noise lowering to a rumble.
Pawl a'Seatt's brow wrinkled only slightly.
"What are you doing here?" Rodian asked bluntly. The shop's scribes had been laboring all day inside the guild, but masters didn't engage in the general work.
"I came to check on my staff," Pawl answered calmly. "And to see them safely home."
"I've already assigned men for that," Rodian replied.
"Forgive me, but your guards have not always been effective."
Rodian's throat tightened. He couldn't argue with that, though he failed to see how a scribe master could do better. Something else was wrong here. If a'Seatt overheard any of Nikolas's jumbled recollections, what had caught him so much that he'd stood silent in the doorway without announcing himself?
"Come, Imaret," Pawl a'Seatt said. "We must gather the others. Perhaps your friend will be better tomorrow."
Rodian almost stopped the scribe master, but he could think of nothing specific to ask. And would he receive an honest answer? Hardly. Truth had become as intangible as the black figure murdering sages for folios.
"That is enough for today," Bitworth said. "Everyone out. Nikolas needs rest."
High-Tower nodded agreement and gestured toward the door. Rodian shook his head in frustration and stepped out. But he had one other matter to address.
Wynn must have seen her coveted translations by now.
"Walk me out," he said as she stepped into the passage, and his tone implied that it wasn't a request.
"She's not had supper," High-Tower growled.
Rodian wasn't deceived by false concern. The domin simply wanted to keep Wynn away from him. He didn't care.
"I'll return directly," Wynn said, and then glanced back through the door at Bitworth. "Thank you for caring for Nikolas."
The wolf stalked out behind her, passing High-Tower with a quick snort. The dwarf rolled his eyes, grumbling under his breath as he stomped away. Rodian gestured down the hall as he stepped onward.
"How did you come by that animal?"
Wynn fell into step beside him. "She found me," she answered, as if she'd told him all that was necessary.
There had to be more, but at the moment he had other pressing concerns to address. She looked a little weary, with ink stains on her right thumb and forefinger. Did these sages do nothing but study and write? No wonder they were so misguided.
No, that wasn't fair, for he knew what she'd been doing all day. He'd had a hand in her gaining access to the translations—and he expected to be compensated.
And Rodian's attention drifted to the wolf or… what had she called it?
It was taller than any he'd seen during his military assignment in the eastern reaches. Packs sometimes raided farm livestock in deep winter, but this one…
The animal's head reached Wynn's hip, and it walked with her in some tame mockery of its true wild nature. How—why—was this beast even tolerated by her superiors?
When they finally reached the courtyard, Snowbird saw him from the front gates and whinnied. The wolf stopped, ears pricking up, and Rodian eyed it warily, ready to cut it down if it went for his horse. But the beast remained quietly at Wynn's side.
"What did you learn today?" he asked. "Anything rational that might help?"
Wynn just stood there, gazing across the courtyard and down the gatehouse tunnel at Snowbird. Rodian's anger got the better of him.
