In Shade and Shadow

After trotting some distance along the wall's top, Ghassan led the way down the stairs into the fallow orchard below the southern tower. He paused there, holding back a hand to keep Wynn's «savior» from stepping past him.

Chane was in no condition to be scaling walls or possibly calling attention to himself if he fell. It was simple enough to fill the guards' minds with the notion of something skulking near the keep's northern tower. Yet even as they took off on an erroneous search, Ghassan was still disturbed.

Not by the strange marred and burned appearance of this one called Chane. More than that, he had not caught the slightest conscious thought in the man's head. He had tried in Wynn's room.

Unlike during the duchess's visit with her entourage, when he had picked up only something akin to a voice muffled inside a closed room, he could not find Chane's thoughts at all. As if the man were not there.

When the guards were gone he waved Chane on. He received not a word in response as the man jogged off through the gate.

Il'Sänke returned to the library's first floor and found Wynn slouched upon a bench with the majay-hì at her feet. On spotting him, she straightened and stood up.

"Come, you will sleep in the northwest building," he said, "in the study outside my guest quarters. It is more… protected."

She frowned, then nodded, as perhaps the prospect of sleeping alone in her room did seem unappealing. He led the way back through to the main doors and, once outside, cut across the courtyard. Entering through the storage building, they headed along a hallway that passed through the keep's outer wall and into the newer building beyond. On the ground floor they passed the area where he spent time among this branch's metaologers. When he glanced over his shoulder, Wynn was peering through a wide archway on the left. He knew what she saw inside.

Dimly lit colored glass tubes, mortars and pestles, small burners, and tin plates covered tables made of stone resistant to dangerous substances. Aging books lined high shelves about the workbenches running along both side walls. Perhaps she spotted the stairs to the sublevels, where the alchemical furnace sat, built like a massive barrel of charred steel mounted to turn and spin as needed. Plates of thick crystal were embedded in its walls, allowing a view of the interior to monitor any work in progress.

"I haven't come this way in a long time," Wynn said.

Shade, on the other hand, drew nervously closer to Wynn as they traveled up a switchback staircase at the passage's end.

Il'Sänke stopped before a door on the second level. He preferred to keep this locked the old-fashioned way—to avoid questions—and took a key from around his neck.

"What's in the lenses of these glasses?" Wynn asked suddenly. "What makes them darken?"

"The glass was infused with a thaumaturgical ink while still molten," he replied. "Nothing complicated, and not the best lenses to look through. I later discovered that they react to sharp changes in heat as well as light. Keep aware of this unexpected side effect."

He opened the door and let Wynn and Shade inside.

Only once they were alone in his study did he feel at ease. A faded wooden couch with cushions was pushed against one wall. On the other side, his desk was a mess of parchments and quills and charcoal sticks. The floor was dusty around the edges where no one walked, and two walls were lined with half-filled shelves. He had brought only a few of the texts from home. The rest were either there when he arrived or had been borrowed from the library. Another door at the back led into the guest bedchamber he used during his stay.

Wynn glanced over the desk, the spectacles still in her hand. Her expression filled with disappointment. "It's so—"

"Ordinary?" he finished for her.

He was in no mood to discuss the state of his quarters. Anything he did not wish others to see was always kept locked away—one way or another.

"Many things that appear ordinary are not," he added. "Your tall friend, for instance, is one of your walking dead."

Wynn stiffened, and Ghassan tried not to smile or laugh.

He could count off the notions running through her head—without even trying to touch her thoughts. First denial, then came reticence to confirm his statement, to be followed finally by resignation.

Wynn flinched, but Ghassan felt no pity. He had picked up nothing, not even stray thoughts in Chane, which seemed impossible. Then again, he had never had a chance before to try such on an undead.

"Yes," she finally answered. "A Noble Dead… a vampire… but he would never harm a sage."

"And why is that?"

He already guessed, but the longer he prodded her guilt, making her feel as if she had betrayed his confidence, the better it served him.

"I just know," she said tiredly. "What else do you wish me to tell you?"