The Dog in the Dark Page 2

  So much, again, for passing unnoticed.

  Magiere was caught between helping Leesil or Leanâlhâm. The girl sat up, eyes watering as she held her nose, and Magiere reached for her first.

  “Amaguk!” someone growled in a deep voice, like a shouted warning.

  Magiere spotted the fur-clad Northlander reaching for his sword. His startled eyes were on Chap as the dog stepped off the ship’s ramp . . . with bits of Leanâlhâm’s skirt stuck in his teeth.

  “Hold, stop,” Magiere called, trying to get the Northlander’s attention.

  The big man snatched Leanâlhâm’s wrist, lifting and dragging the startled girl behind him with one hand. Magiere rushed in, one hand dropping to her falchion’s hilt as she raised her other before him, palm outward.

  “No!” she barked as she pointed at Chap and then herself. “It is a pet. Mine. Pet.”

  The big man grew still, eyeing her with a doubtful frown. He thumbed his nose as if it itched, and his dark eyes looked beyond her.

  —It?— . . . —Pet?—

  Magiere flinched at those two broken words spoken into her thoughts. They’d come in two different voices, single words stolen from old memories somewhere in her head and shoved forward into her awareness. And she heard the growl behind her.

  —I am—no—pet—

  There was no hint of warning in those words in her head, but there was plenty in Chap’s growl. Before recent days, he’d always communicated with her and Leesil by pulling up any of their memories that he’d seen in them at least once. It was a unique talent of his, as a Fay born into a Fay-descended body. Through bits and pieces of a person’s own memories called back up, he made basic notions or commands reasonably clear . . . or manipulated those unaware that he was doing so.

  And then Wynn had taught Chap a new trick.

  The little sage and her wayward majay-hì guardian, Shade—Chap’s daughter—had taught Chap how to isolate spoken words inside memories. In such a manner, he could certainly make his meaning more clear.

  However, this new “skill” was annoying because Chap wasn’t very good at it yet. More often than not, a whirlwind of flickering, flashing images out of one’s past rose up with these memory-words because Chap couldn’t always separate just the words.

  “Not now!” Magiere ordered as she glanced over her shoulder at him.

  Chap flattened his ears. When he bared his teeth at her, most of the fragments of Leanâlhâm’s skirt fell from his jaws. Magiere heard the big Northlander shift suddenly.

  “Leanâlhâm!” she called sharply.

  The girl peeked around the Northlander’s thick legs.

  “Do you still have the rope?” Magiere asked more quietly.

  Leanâlhâm nodded, fumbling for the length of braided hemp around her waist. That brought a snarl from Chap.

  Magiere hadn’t shared this preparation with him, but after a stupid incident in Calm Seatt when a mob had chased a “loose wolf” through the streets, she wasn’t letting it happen again. Unlike in other places they’d been, a wild animal in civilization drew too much attention in these lands.

  With the rope in hand, Leanâlhâm hesitated. Chap still snarled, agitating everyone around them, and the girl peered up mournfully at Magiere.

  Like Leesil’s, Leanâlhâm’s appearance was unique. Although she was only a quarter human, her coloring had been far more affected by it than his. In place of her people’s white-blond hair, hers was nearly brown.

  Leanâlhâm was a beautiful girl. Her eyes had the unearthly largeness and slant of her people. But where the elves’ larger irises, even Leesil’s, were always amber, hers were like the dark, damp leaves and needles of the an’Cróan forests.

  In sunlight, her eyes appeared to fluctuate between shades of topaz and verdant green. Just one more thing to call unwanted attention.

  “Go on,” Magiere encouraged. “He’ll put up with it better from you than us.”

  Leanâlhâm swallowed hard and started toward Chap on her knees. Chap’s growl sharpened, and Magiere whirled on him.

  “Chap . . . sit!” she commanded, as if he were a common dog.

  Chap’s crystalline blue eyes widened as he fell deadly silent. Everyone nearby turned quiet as well, but they all still watched, including the suspicious Northlander.

  “Forgive me, majay-hì,” Leanâlhâm whispered.

  She spoke with an Elvish accent, but her grasp of Magiere’s native language, Belaskian, and some local Numanese was passable. Her hurt tone said more than the words.

  The an’Cróan revered majay-hì, among other natural guardians of their land, as sacred. The indignity of treating one this way was likewise harder for the girl. Aside from Brot’an, Chap was the only nearby connection she had to the world she’d left behind.

  Leanâlhâm slowly slipped the rope’s loop over Chap’s head, but Chap never took his eyes off Magiere.

  Magiere suppressed a flinch. This was going to come back to “bite” her sooner or later.

  “Are we done here?”

  Magiere started at the sound of Brot’an’s voice. The anmaglâhk master stood off to the Northlander’s far side, though she hadn’t seen him slip around Chap and onto the dock.

  “Yes,” she answered, and started to go after Leesil.

  Brot’an stepped in first, but as he reached down toward Leesil, Chap shot out, dragging a fumbling Leanâlhâm across the dock.

  Chap snarled once at Brot’an and ducked in close to Leesil, who braced himself on the tall dog and struggled up. Leesil wiped spittle from his chin and nodded once to Magiere. She bent down to pick up their travel chest, balancing it over her right shoulder so that she could hold it with one hand.

  “Thank you,” she told the Northlander in local Numanese. He grunted, nodded, and turned to go up the dock on his way. But there was still many a curious eye watching a bunch of obvious outlanders with a huge wolf for a “pet.”

  “Leanâlhâm, come on,” Magiere ordered.

  Chap passed Magiere with another growl as he pulled the girl along, and Magiere took hold of Leanâlhâm’s free hand.

  “We’re getting you out of that skirt,” she added, “and into some pants.”

  “I like my skirt . . . what is left of it,” Leanâlhâm answered quietly. “I can move freely in it.”

  “Yes, freely, just not on your feet.”

  Leanâlhâm actually huffed, but that was all, as Magiere headed for the waterfront.

  “Brot’ân’duivé was speaking to our ship’s crew,” Leanâlhâm said, changing the subject. “They told him it will be difficult to locate a captain heading south this same day.”

  “When did this happen?” Magiere asked, and when no answer came, she glanced down.

  Leanâlhâm was anxiously looking about the port, almost as if searching for something she couldn’t find.

  “Perhaps we will not leave until tomorrow,” the girl said wistfully. “Or the day after.”

  Magiere blinked. Why would Leanâlhâm wish for a delay in such a busy, foreign place? She, too, looked again about the port.

  “One of these captains must be willing to take passengers,” she said. “If we can find one who’ll talk to us, who’s heading in the right direction, and leaving today.”

  No small feat of luck.

  Fearless seagulls wheeled in the air above, some diving in almost close enough to touch as they searched for tidbits that might have been dropped on the dock. The humid air smelled of salt and kelp, old wood and oiled rope. Magiere glanced over her unburdened shoulder and looked for her husband.

  Leesil’s expression darkened, his eyes on Brot’an’s back. He hated having the aging shadow-gripper’s company forced upon them. Magiere tolerated Brot’an—and openly admitted he could be useful—but Brot’an and Leesil had an ugly history that would never heal.

  “Is that the best advice you could find?” Magiere asked Brot’an. “Try for a ship leaving tomorrow or later? We need something today.”

  Before he c
ould answer, a string of broken words erupted in Magiere’s head. This time all of the pieces were in her own voice out of her memories.

  —Best—find—large ship—discreet—captain—reasonable price—

  Magiere’s left eyed narrowed. “Chap, I told you . . . you’re to warn me before you do that!”

  “Is he jabbering in your head again?” Leesil called out. “What now?”

  “More advice,” Magiere answered, “and picky as usual.” Then she noticed Leanâlhâm.

  The girl again peered about the port, looking for something, and her pack hefted on one small shoulder caused her to teeter. They were all weighed down with too much travel gear, and this was no way to traipse up and down the piers, looking for transport. While none of them were fully fluent in the local language, Magiere and Brot’an knew enough Numanese for simple conversation.

  “Leesil . . .” she began carefully, not looking back. “If we get stuck here for a day or two, we’re going to need a room, someplace safe to sleep and store our gear while—”

  —No— Chap cut in, but Magiere went on anyway.

  “While Brot’an and I search, maybe you, Chap, and Leanâlhâm can find us an inn.”

  “No.” Leesil echoed Chap’s unheard reply.

  With anger rising, Magiere turned on both of them. “Neither of you will be a lick of help in talking some captain into taking passengers!”

  She was well aware that neither of them trusted Brot’an, but they’d all suffered and sacrificed too much to let themselves be caught here by any pursuit. The thought of losing another day was more than she could face. Her mission was too dire and her final destination so far away.

  At present, they were off the west coast of the central continent’s Numan Lands. They would travel all the way down that continent, beyond the world’s center, to il’Dha’ab Najuum, the westernmost kingdom of the Suman Empire and the seat of its emperor. In that region a vast desert crossed the entire continent, and there Magiere hoped to seek the forgotten resting place of another ancient artifact.

  There were five “anchors” or “orbs,” one for each of the five elements, created and wielded over a thousand years ago by the Ancient Enemy. Magiere and a few others believed this Enemy would return, and that even now its minions—living and undead—were on the move, searching for the orbs. She had managed to find two, and Wynn Hygeorht had found one. Water, Fire, and Earth were now hidden away, and that left only Air and Spirit.

  Wynn had uncovered clues that the orb of Air might lie somewhere in or near the Suman Empire. She’d suggested that Magiere go there and contact an enigmatic domin of metaology named Ghassan il’Sänke. The troublesome little sage believed that if anyone could help locate the orb, it would be il’Sänke. Whether he would was another matter. But Wynn herself, intent on using the resources of her branch of the Guild of Sagecraft to search for more clues to the whereabouts of the final orb of Spirit, had chosen to stay behind in Calm Seatt.

  Magiere and Wynn had not parted on good terms—which was Wynn’s fault—but Magiere still missed her little friend’s knowledge, and even Wynn’s inability to shut up now and then. Magiere straightened, trying to keep her anger under control, as the others eyed her in silence. So far Brot’an had been particularly quiet, and that was always unnerving.

  “Leesil . . .” Magiere began again. “Brot’an and I speak the language best. We can move faster on our own, without all this gear. Take Chap and Leanâlhâm, and find us a place to hide out. You can meet us later at the end of this pier, midafternoon. If we’ve found something leaving tonight, we’ll board, and if not, at least we’ll have quarters.”

  Leesil’s expression remained taut.

  Magiere knew he wasn’t up to being bullied. Recently both Leesil and Chap had questioned her judgment with good reason, but this time she was right.

  Leesil glanced at Leanâlhâm. Shifting his pack farther onto his back, he reached for Brot’an’s. The old assassin slipped his pack off and handed it over, and then Leesil took the travel chest from Magiere and balanced it on his shoulder.

  “By midday at the pier’s end,” Leesil said coldly. “No later.”

  —No—I will—come—

  The words rose unbidden in Magiere’s head again, and she looked down at Chap.

  “Just find us an inn, while I try to find a ship.”

  Neither Chap nor Leesil looked happy, but they didn’t argue further.

  “Maybe it is not bad if we do not leave tonight,” Leanâlhâm said again.

  When Magiere looked into the girl’s unusual eyes, Leanâlhâm appeared to realize how odd she sounded, given their situation.

  “Maybe it would be good to rest one night on land,” she added hurriedly.

  Still shifting and hefting too many packs, Leesil raised one white-blond eyebrow in suspicion. Brot’an actually frowned and shook his head once. Magiere fought against sighing yet again as she realized what this was really about.

  Leanâlhâm still hoped Osha might catch up.

  Osha was the other absent companion, though he should’ve been here, as he’d been traveling with Leanâlhâm and Brot’an. From what Magiere understood, he’d been sort of a half-trained anmaglâhk. But he, too, no longer dressed as one of the caste, and he was definitely no longer part of the Anmaglâhk. Why was another unknown, and apparently something separate from the war Brot’an had started with his caste.

  More than two years ago, the leader of the Anmaglâhk—Most Aged Father—had learned of Magiere’s uncovering the first orb. He’d had his caste hunting her ever since. He wanted the orb badly enough to kill without hesitation and even to sacrifice his own underlings.

  A team of anmaglâhk had followed her all the way across the world. They’d been lying in wait, watching Wynn’s guild branch, until Magiere had returned to the sage not long ago. With the aid of her companions and Wynn’s allies, Magiere had managed to slip from her pursuers’ reach back in the port city of Calm Seatt.

  Most Aged Father’s followers wouldn’t give up so easily, though she still didn’t know why Most Aged Father wanted the orb so badly. How much he even knew about the device was unknown. Brot’an had also come to the Numan Lands and swore he was here to protect her from his caste. And more, for reasons unknown, he’d brought Leanâlhâm and Osha. But as Magiere, Leesil, and Chap had escaped from Calm Seatt, Osha had been instructed to meet them on their ship. He never came, and Magiere knew exactly why he’d remained behind.

  They all knew Osha had stayed behind for Wynn.

  Those two had a past, a personal attachment, and Osha’s failure to join them had left Leanâlhâm wounded. Now the girl seemed to harbor a secret hope that he would catch up.

  Magiere didn’t know what to say. Was it better to let Leanâlhâm live with the comfort of false hope for a while or force her to face the truth?

  “I’d like a good night on land, too,” Leesil said, relieving Magiere of the decision, and he turned his eyes from her to the girl. “Come on, let’s get to it.”

  Leanâlhâm nodded sadly, and as Leesil headed toward the waterfront, she followed. Chap rumbled once, but Magiere waved him off.

  “Go on. You know I’m right.”

  Still rumbling, he, too, followed after Leesil, but Magiere watched Leanâlhâm as Leesil led the girl off by the hand.

  “And get her some pants!” Magiere called after them, though no one answered. Whether they all left tonight, tomorrow, or half a moon from now, she was certain of one thing.

  Osha wouldn’t be joining them.

  Chapter Two

  Not long after, Magiere strode beside Brot’an along the waterfront between the dock and the main city of the isle. She grew even more daunted, never expecting a place quite this big.

  Warehouses and shops, most piled three stories high, were a wild mix of weathered log and lumber buildings of all makes and colors mashed together along narrow streets rising up the sharp slope above the open ocean. A forest of smoke trails curled into the sky from c
himneys of clay and tile and brick. The air was tainted with tangled smells of fish and oiled wood amid the noise of people, livestock, carts, and wagons tightly milling about.

  Brot’an was silent, towering over everyone. More than a few people looked up at him, and Magiere started to feel self-conscious. A young sailor came toward them while whistling a tune. On instinct Magiere held up a hand to stop him.

  “Harbormaster?” she said in her broken Numanese. “Tell us where to find?”

  He stumbled, and she nearly sighed again—which she’d been doing a lot today. Though her hauberk and sword might have made her intimidating, his gaze fixed on her face and hair.

  She knew her appearance affected some men, both attracting and unsettling them, whether she wanted it to or not. She was tall and slender, and her long black hair with its strange bloodred tints swung across her back when she moved. Her skin was too pale and perfect, and her eyes were deep, dark brown . . . when they were normal.

  She couldn’t help any of this, but on occasion it was useful.

  Brot’an stood waiting.

  “Harbormaster?” Magiere repeated.

  The young sailor blinked, swallowed, and cleared his throat, and Magiere wondered whether she’d used the correct words for what she was after. Brot’an hadn’t bothered correcting her, and his Numanese was better than hers. The sailor finally pointed to a faded wooden building nestled between two warehouses down the way he’d come.

  “There,” he said, and blinked as he glanced over—and up—at Brot’an.

  From what little Magiere knew, this continent boasted an elven people called the Lhoin’na. She didn’t know whether they looked different from the an’Cróan, and Brot’an was tall even for one of his kind. When his face wasn’t covered and his hood wasn’t up, his scars drew all the more attention.

  “Thanks,” Magiere said, and quickly hurried on.

  She led the way to the building the sailor had pointed out and found the door wide open. Loud voices carried from inside as she stepped in. Brot’an had to duck slightly to follow. They found themselves in a room with two large desks, a brass telescope of some kind aimed out the front window, and countless maps covering the walls.