He found the trunk, its straps still unbuckled, but he hesitated at flipping it open. Though the ring hid his nature, startling the dog could ignite an assault. He lifted the trunk's lid half a handbreadth, but it was too dark in the hold for even his eyes to see into the hidden kto lt.space. Finally he had to open it wide.
The trunk was empty but for the bolts of cloth.
Chane glanced about the hold. There was no sign of the dog, nor could he smell it. He finally turned away, heading back for his small cabin.
At least the animal was not trapped, would not starve to death on the voyage. Beyond that he wanted nothing to do with it, other than to learn why it was here—and if it was truly headed toward Wynn.
In the long voyage, he took only two victims: one penny-poor passenger, lodged in steerage, and one sailor. But only during rough weather at night, when he could dump the bodies overboard, as if they had been lost at sea. Otherwise he held himself in check, trying not to exert himself and force further feeding.
Not once did he see the dog, and he wondered if it lived on vermin in the hold or had somehow settled in with the crew. Perhaps it had even been taken in by one of the officers in the fore or aftcastle quarters.
To his relief, the ship reached the free port of Langinied, the long island off the coast of the middle continent—and it docked at night. He insisted on leaving immediately, though the purser was put off at arranging oarsmen and a skiff before dawn.
Though the city sprawled over a large rocky area in both directions beyond sight, it was far from an actual nation or even a city-state, more like a chaotic growth of trade operations and other businesses with residents needed to support them. Langinied had spawned long ago from the needs of whatever ships came up the coast from the Suman Empire before making the difficult run across to what the sages called the Farlands. Added to this, some caravans braved what he learned were called the Broken Lands. A wild, uncivilized territory spanned the continent from this eastern coast to nearly the edge of the Numan Lands on the western side.
Chane stayed in Langinied, watching the ship as much as he could, until it left port on the fifth dusk. He never saw the dog again. Without its lead he was left adrift, once more questioning his actions. He had sworn to Wynn that he would never reenter her life—but he eventually set out for Calm Seatt on his own.
The journey across land made the sea voyage seem short.
Little along the way came to bother an undead. At times he lingered in places past dusk, trying to decipher more of Welstiel's writings. Or he paged through the varied texts taken from the healer-monks' monastery. Every ink mark made with quill, no matter what it said, reminded him of Wynn… sitting in a room by the light of her cold lamp, perhaps doing likewise with the ancient texts she had recovered.
Chane hunted wildlife along the way to sustain himself, though it fed him poorly compared to longer-lived humans. Among wolves, wild dogs, bears, and a ranging mountain lion, which he gave a wide berth, only once did he ever see anything on two legs.
It was neither human nor elf.
He emerged early one night from the tarp used to protect himself from the sun, and felt something watching him.
Meet me behind the stables south of the guild's grounds.
I need to speak with you.
The ragged note wasn't signed, and it was written in Belaskian, not Numanese. Even so, she would've known the handwriting anywhere.
Wynn didn't blame herself, but she knew she had to be part of the reason he'd traveled here. Even after all this time, she found her feelings toward him were conflicted. She just stood breathing for a few moments, rereading his brief note.
Of course she would go—if only to find out why he had come all this way and broken his promise to leave her alone. And she had to know of his involvement in the deaths and thefts, and what he'd been doing in Master a'Seatt's scriptorium, holding that folio.
Wynn looked up as two apprentices walked out the main doors and headed across to the southside barracks, where her own room was located. She couldn't get out the front gate, and she still needed a few things before she faced Chane.
She waited long enough for the pair to reach their own quarters, then hurried inside and upstairs. Reaching her room, she closed the door and leaned against it. Reading the note again, she remembered the first time Chane had come to the guild in Bela—the handsome young scholar. And then the night he'd appeared in Apudâlsat's dank forest, and she watched in horror as Magiere cleaved his head from his neck. And last, atop the Pock Peaks inside Li'kän's library, his features taut and rigid as he promised…
