The Night Voice (26 page)

Why did Leesil's absence suddenly terrify Chap?

Worse, he remembered that darker moment when panic had been eaten by fury. Had either of those emotions been his, or had he merely felt them from that other, the one who had died and not died? But who and why?

Chap remembered the last words of his kin. Those had to have some meaning for what he had seen—lived—in touching whatever lay within the anchor of Spirit, but he still could not find the full meaning of . . .

Leave the enslaved alone.

And why had he seen a dragon . . . the dark and fire-shrouded face of that great weürm?

• • •

Kneeling before Chap, Wynn grasped his face with both hands. “Talk to me.”

He looked up into her brown eyes and then struggled to look around at the others present. For just an instant, she thought he paused in staring at Chuillyon, which confused and then worried her even more.

—You must help me
—

“Of course,” she answered. “We will get you on my bedroll, and Magiere can find some water for—”

—No . . . help me with Chuillyon—

Wynn stiffened. There was nothing she could think of that was worth involving that trickster, unless he was the only way to escape if everything went wrong.

—It involves his assumed ability to travel between Chârmun and its children . . . its separated parts—

“What?” she asked in obvious alarm.

“What did he say?” Magiere demanded, crouching close.

Wynn stiffened, suddenly wary of answering in the presence of some of the others.

—We will need Leesil's branch. If we hope to win this battle, you will do as I instruct. First, remove Ghassan and Brot'an, and then find Leesil—

Chap sounded desperate as well as urgent. She didn't like the guesses that came to mind without a full explanation. As always, she had to trust him again.

“Everyone, give us some privacy, please,” she said. But as Chuillyon nodded and rose to follow Brot'an and Ghassan, she told him, “Not you . . . You stay.”

Chuillyon stalled, raising one eyebrow in puzzled fascination.

Oh, she so hated it when he did that!

Wynn turned to Magiere in a low whisper. “Go find Leesil, quickly.”

• • •

Not long after, Khalidah stood near the edge of camp, weighing his options. Ore-Locks and Chane once again sat together, speaking in low voices, but occasionally Chane glanced over at the center tent in what might be concern.

Khalidah too wondered what was happening inside that tent. He had no idea what had caused the majay-hì to fall, and this concerned him slightly, but he had come upon the scene too late and no one had offered an explanation. He had not wished to risk scrutiny by pressing Wynn or Magiere. Anyway, the majay-hì appeared to have recovered with the help of the enigmatic elf.

Within moments of Khalidah and Brot'an having been sent from the tent, Leesil had come back into camp, and Magiere had drawn him inside. Their voices were too low to hear. It was tempting to use sorcery to listen in, but Brot'an was still out here . . . and watching.

Well, if Wynn wished to plot and plan in secret, let her. It helped keep the attention off him, and he had his own plans.

Deciding upon a current course of action, he turned to Brot'an. “I may as well be useful,” he said. “We passed an area that might be a good hiding place for a well. I will take a look.”

Brot'an watched him with no expression. “Should I accompany you?”

Khalidah raised one hand. “No, that is not necessary. You might be needed here, and I can hide more quickly alone if I encounter something.”

Without waiting for an answer, he slipped out of camp, heading west. While he had been away on the long trek to meet Chane and Chap—and the three remaining orbs—Sau'ilahk and Ubâd had remained here. No, it was not a mistake, happenstance, or even the scouting of Brot'an and Leesil that had led to the selection of this spot to camp.

It had all been his subtle doing.

He walked through the foothills in long, steady strides for some time. Upon nearing the other camp, as usual, he encountered the ghost girl first.

Either she or the masked creature who controlled her always sensed his coming. He passed her watchful stare and soon came upon Ubâd's wheeled litter with his lashed, preserved corpse on top. His two overmuscled corpse servants likewise were always silently nearby.

Sau'ilahk crouched beside a glowing oil lamp.

He rose at the sight of Khalidah. Even out here after so many nights, his pale, handsome face appeared clean and flawless, as did his blue-black hair. He had always been vain.

“You have all five orbs in your possession?” Sau'ilahk asked without greeting.

Khalidah kept his tone measured, though his answer brought him relief and joy. “Yes.”

Sau'ilahk scowled, less than pleased. “Then you should have contacted me via the medallion long before now!”

“Yes, you should have,” echoed the ghost girl for Ubâd. “We have been waiting in ignorance while the horde grows.”

Khalidah barely glanced at the corpse on the litter. The three of them might be in league, but he had no intention of telling them anything more than was necessary—when necessary. Certainly they had done no more for him. And of late, he had begun to question Ubâd's inclusion in this triad of betrayers.

The puppet master of ghosts or corpses seemed of little use for what would now come. Ubâd, as a necromancer, might have had value in the imperial capital, but in facing the horde or manipulating those who would enter Beloved's mountain, such skills would be of little help. Well, perhaps they might.

Without full certainty, Khalidah put this aside until it could be tested.

“All that matters is that we have the orbs,” he said, “and the dhampir and those with her now plan to infiltrate the peak and locate Beloved.”

Sau'ilahk's eyes narrowed. “Then why do we not take all of them unaware, kill them, and take the orbs?”

Khalidah shook his head. “To use the orbs against Beloved, it is better to let some of them carry the chests inside the mountain. That is what Beloved wants—Magiere with the orbs—so we wait to play our own hand until necessary. It is doubtful any forces below would recognize any authority in us if we try approaching without her.”

“Yes, but anyone else—including you—among the dhampir's group faces that same risk if they are seen,” the ghost girl countered.

Khalidah refrained from smiling; these two were so deluded in their hunger for vengeance.

“Depending on the final plan by the dhampir and the others, we can attain our goal if the two of you use your own methods to help distract the horde. Remain in the shadows, but pull their attention and allow me to slip past with a small team and take the orbs into the peak.”

Sau'ilahk fixed on him intensely. “You will enter while we remain outside? I think not.”

Again, lack of trust reared its head.

“I have infiltrated the dhampir's group,” Khalidah replied with quiet scorn. “And was it you who employed a single anchor to bring down Bäalâle Seatt?” He looked from Sau'ilahk to Ubâd, ignoring the ghost girl. “Of the three of us, who could manage all five anchors to fulfill our goal?”

Neither of them answered.

“If we are to succeed,” he went on, “you will distract the horde and leave the rest to me.”

Sau'ilahk watched him silently without blinking. As to Ubâd, who knew what he would have done if he were not just a corpse.

Neither of them had grounds to argue further, though Khalidah knew he had pushed them to their limits. He was the only choice to enter the peak, though his cohorts both knew this left him in control of all five orbs. And though they were both now a threat, this was the arrangement he had planned from the start.

• • •

Chuillyon reappeared beside Chârmun, still partially surprised over why if not how. It could not be luck.

He had blundered into a group that had unearthed all five anchors of creation, brought them together, and was now determined to use such to destroy the Ancient Enemy . . . who was awakening and calling its servants to itself.

Such things did not happen by chance, and neither did his dropping unwittingly among them.

He frowned deeply as he looked up into the glimmering branches above.

“You could have told me first,” he grumbled. “And others think I am devious!”

Tonight, Chap and Wynn had kept him inside their tent and made a shocking request—no, demand. At first, he had been speechless, convinced it was impossible to fulfill. Wynn was certainly less polite than ever before. He realized he could not refuse to try, at least not to their faces, though he had every intention of applying all his powers of persuasion.

At his agreement, Wynn had held up the branch, which she had requested from the half-blood. And with a touch upon it, Chuillyon had returned home. Now he could not fail in what he promised.

Looking up, he again saw the small new sprout with one leaf growing from a low branch of the Chârmun.

“You could have told me what you had in mind,” he chided, “instead of letting me blunder into it. It appears that again, I am not the only one prone to pranks.”

He dug about inside his robe, pulled out a small knife, and unsheathed it. About to reach for the tiny branch, he froze.

Chuillyon looked warily about the clearing and listened as well. Being caught by Vreuvillä or one of her pack would be a worse twist than using
Chârmun for a trip. And soon enough, he would have to face that savage priestess to accomplish all that was needed. When certain neither was nearby, he set the blade to the base of that tiny sprout . . . and hesitated.

“I would beg forgiveness, but obviously this is what you intended.”

He cut the tiny leafed branch—barely more than a twig—in one clean slice.

Cradling it in one hand, he lingered, and smiled. It was so much like another tiny precious child he had cared for long ago. That one he had personally given a new home in a hidden alcove of the courtyard at the third and greatest castle of Calm Seatt.

And then he grew sad and worried. This one would not see that kind of peace.

“I swear I will do my all for this one,” he whispered to Chârmun, as if speaking to a mother or father or both.

He tucked the little sprout of branch into an inner pocket of his robe and looked to Chârmun again.

“Bless me, please, for I will need it.”

Then he slipped away into the forest.

• • •

Wynn emerged from the tent, followed by Chap first, and then Magiere and Leesil. Ghassan was nowhere in sight, but Brot'an, Ore-Locks, and Chane all turned her way. Brot'an immediately walked over, pulled the tent's flap, and peered inside.

Wynn looked down to Chap, gently placing a hand on his back. “How are you doing?”

—Better, physically; as for otherwise, it does not matter anymore—

It mattered to her, though, for whatever Chap had been through when he collapsed, she didn't know what else she could do for him. What mattered most was that she had not lost him.

“Where is Chuillyon?” Brot'an asked. “There is no one in the tent.”

Wynn braced herself before turning to face him. “We sent him to check on Wayfarer and Osha and Shade, through Leesil's branch.”

It was not a lie, not exactly. Chap had demanded that the rest be kept secret. There had been no point in arguing with him.

Brot'an rarely betrayed emotion at all, but his eyes narrowed, buckling those four scars that skipped over his right eye.

“Chuillyon will return soon,” Wynn assured. “Magiere was worried about Wayfarer when she didn't come with Chap. Chuillyon is the only one who can . . . look in on the girl.”

Magiere and Leesil neared. Though they'd been inside the tent and had been involved and informed regarding Chuillyon's part in the plan, even they did not know everything.

“If you have concerns,” Wynn added to Brot'an, “take them up with Magiere.”

The master assassin's jaw might have clenched slightly. It was hard to tell. He would know that he was being kept in the dark about something. At present, there was nothing he could do about it. Chuillyon was already gone, and all Wynn—or anyone—could do was wait.

If only it could have depended on anyone but
Chuillyon!

T
he following evening, past dusk, Wynn noticed the others gathering in between the tents, and she knew it was time. The full creation of a plan was about to be discussed openly. Though she suspected some of them had been ready to begin earlier that day, everyone waited for Chane to rise.

Whether they accepted him or not, hated him or not, they all knew he would be needed for what was to come. And he and Chap had traveled up an entire continent to retrieve the missing three orbs. Chane had earned his place here as much as any of them.

Magiere and Leesil settled next to each other with Chap to Leesil's left. Brot'an crouched on Magiere's other side. Chane and Ore-Locks stood slightly aside and both looked to Wynn, so she went to join them. A moment later Ghassan emerged from a tent.

He had been angry last night upon returning to find Chuillyon gone and, for some reason, he blamed her exclusively. She'd kept Leesil's branch and also kept quiet about its use at Chap's insistence.

Ghassan glanced around and raised one dark brow at her. “Has your elf returned?”

“He isn't mine,” she corrected. “And no, he hasn't. But everyone else is ready, so we should begin without him.”

As she, Chane, and Ore-Locks stepped closer into a circle with the others, Ghassan wouldn't let up.

“Then we start with the truth, right now,” he insisted. “Why did you send Chuillyon back home? And you can skip any more nonsense about him checking on Wayfarer.”

His tone bordered on threatening.

Magiere fixed on him, her expression darkening, and Chap rumbled low in warning. Perhaps one or both were about to intervene, but Wynn needed no such protection.

“Chap feels some things should be on a need-to-know basis,” she countered, “and I agree whether you like it or not. This is not a matter of trust but for the protection of everyone should any one of us be captured instead of killed. We cannot be forced to tell what we don't know.”

At that, Brot'an frowned but didn't argue. He might agree with Chap in principle, but he would also see that if she were taken, it would not matter what the others didn't know. And Brot'an was right about that.

Very little could be done to Chap to get anything from him. Not so for her. But Chap had been as careful as possible. Last night, he had merely asked Leesil and Magiere to trust him in sending Chuillyon back. He had not shared his plan even with them. However, he had told Wynn most of it, or so she believed.

Leesil glanced nervously at Magiere, and Wynn knew there were several reasons why.

“Can we get on with this?” he asked.

Ghassan studied him coldly. “By all means.”

Leesil opened his mouth, closed it, and took a deep breath before he began. “Chap believes the only way we might succeed is to break into two teams. One team to distract and draw off the forces below while the other team finds a way into the mountain . . . with the orbs.”

Magiere straightened upright, turning on him where he sat. “What?”

Leesil ignored her. “The first group must do anything to keep as many of the Enemy's forces from seeing and following those infiltrating the peak. Without that, we fail before we even start.”

Ore-Locks and Chane had been silent so far, but Chane asked quietly, “How do we decide who goes with which group?”

Chap's head swiveled, and Wynn found his sky blue eyes locked on her.

—
Help Leesil—

“By ability or usefulness,” she answered. “Five heavy orbs have to be carried in, and that means Chane, Ore-Locks, and Brot'an, with Leesil leading.”

The skin over Magiere's cheekbones drew back. Before she could fire off an argument, Ghassan spoke up.

“I may not be as strong as they are, but I have skills they do not, such as shielding infiltrators from nearby detection for short periods or moving an orb by means other than strength . . . and there are five orbs.”

“Your inclusion had already been decided,” Wynn said to him, “if you had let Leesil finish. There are other things for which you will also be needed.”

Wynn tried not to look around at everyone present, for she knew that by the end of tomorrow night, she might never see some of them again.

• • •

Watching Magiere grow angrier by the moment, Chap readied himself to stop her before a verbal onslaught started. He was too late.

“I am going for the Enemy!” she stated, rising to her feet. “No one else before me!”

Chap also rose as he snarled.

—Success . . . is all . . . that matters— . . . —There is more . . . to be . . . said . . . in private— . . . —Sit down . . . now—

While he called up those words out of Magiere's memories, Leesil had lurched to his feet and stepped in on Magiere.

“Sit down,” he ordered as well, “and hear the rest of this out.”

Magiere blinked, still breathing hard, and Chap waited and watched. Leesil seldom spoke harshly to her or gave her orders. That he had done so as well left her hesitant.

“Please, Magiere,” Wynn added.

Magiere did not sit but stepped back, remaining silent, and Wynn continued as Chap had instructed her.

“The optimal time would be daylight, dawn,” Wynn continued, “when the undead fall dormant. But it is unlikely that all of those below are undead. Worse, it would be that much harder for the second group to sneak in, so we have to do this at night.” She paused. “And Chane won't be able to help until then . . . and we need him.”

Chane glowered at her, now as openly suspicious as Magiere had been before her outburst. His eyes turned nearly clear.

“And where will you be?” he asked Wynn, as if he didn't know already.

“With Chuillyon, when he returns,” Wynn responded.

Chane's brow furrowed as he shook his head, and Brot'an spoke for the first time.

“The vampire is the only one making sense. How are Wynn and Chuillyon to distract the horde, even assuming Chap and Magiere will join them?”

Chap wished there were a way to keep Brot'an even more in the dark.

• • •

Wynn was far less confident than she sounded. She'd known how difficult Chane would be once he realized he would not be with her. Chap looked up at her.

—Tell them it is possible to distract the horde because Magiere will be with you—

Wynn related this aloud, and Magiere turned on Chap.

“What do you mean?”

As Chap continued speaking into Wynn's head, she explained to the others.

“If the infiltration team is spotted, Magiere may be able to hold the undead forces through her dhampir nature—either in controlling some, as was once hinted at long ago, or in simply being seen as a prime threat to them . . . or both. I'll have the sun crystal ready, if needed, to keep them at bay.”

Magiere shook her head. “What do you mean . . . controlling some of them?”

Wynn didn't like that part herself. “Chap will explain more in private.”

Chane hissed, and even Ore-Locks scowled, though he knew less about the others than anyone.

“Chap believes we have a good chance,” Wynn went on. “One group
can
distract the forces long enough for the other to find an entrance into the mountain.”

“How and where?” Ore-Locks demanded, speaking for the first time.

—Enough! Move on!—

Wynn winced at Chap's sharpness in her head. She was growing tired of his harsh insistence while simultaneously dealing with the others on all sides.

Looking to Magiere, she said, “He wants to speak with you and me alone.”

“We have not finished here,” Ghassan challenged, eyeing Chap. “We have barely started, and why is
he
in charge?”

Chap turned away, padding out of camp, and without a moment's hesitation, Magiere strode after him.

Wynn couldn't guess which one would do the talking—shouting—first. And they were both leaving so fast that she had no time to speak with or even glance toward Chane before hurrying after them.

• • •

Magiere closed on Chap as he rounded a craggy knoll. He stopped near several large boulders and sat without turning or looking back. Wynn arrived and scurried past Magiere toward Chap.

“You could have handled that better!” Wynn scolded Chap. Then she straightened suddenly, eyes widening. “Oh, really? Well, I am tired of being your surrogate mouth
and
the first target for the others . . . because of you!”

“You won't be my target,” Magiere growled as she rounded them to face Chap. “I'm going inside the peak, you understand!”

She wasn't letting anything—anyone—tell her otherwise.

—You cannot—

Magiere's anger started to burn up her throat.

—Remember . . . what I told you . . . through Wynn . . . on the night in the an'Cróan . . . forest . . . after . . . your trial—

Startled, Magiere hesitated. “What does that have to do with anything?”

—Sit down— . . . —I will speak . . . through Wynn . . . to recount— . . . —You will . . . listen . . . to her—

Magiere didn't need the sage to recount. She'd never forget that night, and she didn't need reminding. Before she could tell this to Chap, he locked gazes with Wynn. After a moment's hesitation, the sage began.

“No undead existed before the war at the end of the Forgotten History, not that we know of. No undead rose but from humans. No undead walks into elven lands . . . except you.” Wynn paused and stared without blinking as Magiere thought of one exception . . .

“Yes, Chane can enter elven lands,” Wynn confirmed, “but only because of the ring he stole from your half brother, Welstiel.”

Though she went on, Magiere already knew the rest.

In the dank forests of Pudúrlatsat, on the eastern continent, Chap had fallen prey to a phantasm cast by Vordana, an undead sorcerer. Magiere, herself—and Leesil—had suffered the same. Though they'd all experienced some portent of the future, each had seen it differently, based on their own worst fears. That, and perhaps something more hidden in each of them.

Chap's had been the worst, and right now Magiere wished he'd never told her.

He had seen her leading an army—a horde—with ranks of creatures driven to slaughter. She'd stood at the head of those forces in black-scaled
armor, fully feral with her dhampir nature unleashed. Among the horde were the shadowed and gleaming-eyed figures, as in some of Magiere's own delusions and nightmares.

The undead followed her into a thriving forest.

Everything withered and died in her wake under their hunger.

Wynn went on.

Magiere had been imbued—infected, cursed—at birth with the nature of a Noble Dead. And yet, unlike them, she was alive. She had been created inside her mother's womb by a ritual that used the blood of five sacrifices from the original races of the world . . . the Úirishg.

The Ancient Enemy had arranged all of it, and by that and the life within her, Magiere could go anywhere she wished.

The undead could not, especially into those lands protected by Chârmun or its offspring—unless they followed her. And since that night in Pudúrlatsat, that had been Chap's reasoning for why she had been made.

Magiere didn't like it but couldn't argue about it.

“And then there's something not about you,” Wynn said. “Remember that Leesil was given a name by one of the an'Cróan's spiritual ancestors called Léshiâra—‘Sorrow-Tear.' She named him Léshiârelaohk—‘Sorrow-Tear's Champion.'”

Magiere back-stepped once, trying to draw a breath.

“In that, he was also
created
 . . . or re-created,” Wynn added, “for a purpose, like you.”

Nothing Wynn said was anything Magiere didn't already know. To think of Leesil as the
other
side for what Chap saw as her purpose was too twisted, too cruel.

“Don't you see?” Wynn asked quietly. “Leesil has to be the one—and not you—if we believe anything about what we've encountered since we met. He has to go for the Enemy while you have to lead the horde away . . . somehow . . . from him.”

Magiere didn't know if Wynn now spoke for Chap or herself or both.

“That is Leesil's only chance to fulfill his fate and for you to escape yours,” Wynn added, “even if any living forces below turn another way and do not follow the undead after you.”

In another back step, Magiere's heel struck a boulder. She dropped down onto that stone and sat looking from Wynn to Chap.

“You told him already, didn't you?” she accused, fixing on Chap. “You already got to Leesil.”

Chap crept in to sit before her.

“We had to,” Wynn answered. “If we revealed too much too soon, you would have gone to him first. And he would have gone anywhere with you. It cannot happen that way.”

As the truth sank in, Magiere went numb. Wynn came to crouch beside her, but she couldn't look at either of them anymore.

“I will be with you, and so will Chap,” Wynn said. “Together, we will make certain Leesil and the others have a chance.”

In Magiere's own phantasm on that long-lost night in the forest, she had turned on Leesil with the horde and killed him. She'd thought that if she kept clear of the undead here and now, she could wipe away that nightmare and keep Leesil safe.

But even now they'd been doomed to different sides.

“I need to talk to Leesil,” Magiere said. She left without looking back.

• • •

Leesil sat in one tent, trying to shut out the sounds of the voices outside. When Magiere, Chap, and Wynn had left, he'd had to cut off anyone else from following. Ghassan had been the worst, and for an instant, Leesil had wondered what the fallen domin might do. When Ghassan slightly turned away, Leesil had done the same by retreating to the tent.