Of Truth And Beasts Part 7

In all the time Wynn had known Chane, he'd never ordered her to do anything, at least not like this. He looked openly angry now, as if expecting her to argue.

"What is the matter with you?" she asked.

"Just do it!"

Wynn crossed her arms and didn't even get up. Chane looked away, anxious, almost defeated.

"Please," he whispered. "Leave Shade here." Something in Chane's pleading voice pulled at Wynn. Maybe if she did as he asked, he'd finally tell her what was wrong. With a sigh, she pulled her cloak off the chair and got up.

The gla.s.ses were always in her robe's pocket these days, and she stepped around Chane to retrieve her staff. An instant of relief flooding his pale face was alarming.

She glanced toward Shade. "Stay."

Shade jumped off the bed, snarling.

"Stay," Wynn said more firmly, pulling the door open.

Shade rushed in and slammed headfirst into door. It closed with a loud bang as the dog backed up. Her snarls turned into a rolling growl.

A short wrestling match followed in which Wynn held the dog back while Chane stepped out. Wynn quickly slipped out after jerking her robe's skirt out of Shade's teeth, and Chane pulled the door closed. Shade immediately began howling, barking, and snarling.

"Stop," Wynn called through the door. "Or you'll have a crowd of apprentices come running. We'll be back soon."

Wynn motioned Chane onward, hoping Shade would quiet down once they were gone-although she had no idea where they were going.

Chane was silent all the way to the courtyard. He headed straight across for the northwest building that contained his quarters. Confused, Wynn followed, but he stopped her at the door. When he looked down at her, she almost backed up.

His irises had turned clear and colorless, as they did when his undead nature fully manifested itself.

"Wait here," he said. "I will return shortly."

Chane's voice was as cold as his irises, and he slipped inside.

His erratic mood s.h.i.+fts sometimes left Wynn unsettled, but she waited, s.h.i.+vering a few times in the chill night air. True to his word, Chane reemerged shortly, wearing a forest green cloak with the hood up. She'd never seen it before. A matching scarf was wrapped multiple times about his neck, leaving only his hood-shadowed face exposed. He wore new, fitted calfskin gloves, suggesting they'd been custom made.

Chane didn't need protection from the cold.

"What's all this for?" Wynn asked.

He didn't answer. Then she noticed a scrunched bulk of leather in his right hand. Two laces dangled from his curled fingers along with the strings of a brown felt pouch.

"This way," he said, and headed for the gatehouse tunnel. As he turned, the side of his cloak wafted open.

The hilt of his new sword protruded above his hip, its mottled dwarven blade now couched in a new sheath. He never walked the guild grounds while armed, as it was considered poor manners.

"Chane . . . ?" Wynn called, but he strode away, and she had to trot to keep up.

When he exited the tunnel, he didn't go on to the bailey gate, but turned left into the inner bailey. They'd nearly reached the barren trees and garden below the southern tower when Wynn got fed up.

"Chane, what is going on?"

He turned to face her. Without answering, he jerked the leather sheath off her staff with his free hand, exposing the sun crystal's long prisms.

Wynn stepped back in alarm, catching the crystal's sheath as he tossed it at her.

"Give me your gla.s.ses," he said, fiddling with the pouch he carried.

"First you tell me what we're-" She stopped.

Chane held up another pair of gla.s.ses like her own. These were smaller, with delicate arms curved at the ends.

"Made for you," he said. "Put them on, and give me your old ones."

Confused but curious, Wynn pulled out the gla.s.ses made by Domin il'Snke and handed them over. The lenses were clear, designed to go dark only when struck with harsh light. They allowed her to see when the sun crystal ignited.

Chane took them, shoving the new ones into her hand.

Wynn hooked their thin arms around her ears. They fit snuggly and did not s.h.i.+ft like the old ones.

"Better," she commented, adjusting them on her small nose. "What made you think to have them made?"

But Chane was off again.

Wynn glanced at her staff's crystal in puzzlement and had to hurry. She'd barely caught up as he rounded the southern tower and stopped. He looked up once, and Wynn did so, as well. All the windows in the tower were dark.

He pointed toward the barren corner garden. "Stand there."

"Chane, what is this about?"

With his back to her, he stopped a few paces down the keep's left side and lowered his head. Whatever that leather object was in his hand, he appeared to be tucking it inside his hood. When he raised his head again, he didn't turn to her. He just stood there with his hands limp at his sides.

"Ignite the crystal," he said, his rasp sounding strangely m.u.f.fled.

"What?" Wynn gasped, and then she had a notion of what he was up to.

From the gloves and scarf to the cloak, he'd planned this. What was he trying to prove?

"You don't know if that's enough protection," she said. "And you're too close."

"Ignite it!"

"No."

Chane held to his resolve. Reason had not been enough, as she would not listen. She had to see one thing, beyond a doubt.

"I'm not playing this game," she said.

Chane heard her footfalls in the autumn leaves as she began walking away, and he reached for his sword's hilt.

"This is not a game."

In one motion, he ripped the blade from the sheath and turned with a level slash. The tip of mottled steel pa.s.sed a hand's length before Wynn's throat as she lurched back. Her eyes widened in sudden fright, but Chane did not stop. As the beast rose within him, he lunged in, reversing his slash without a pause.

"Chane!" Wynn cried out.

He brought the blade tip back along the side of her head, so close that she could hear its pa.s.sing in the air. Brittle aspen branches snapped as Wynn twisted away along the autumn trees. She lost her footing and toppled into the bailey wall.

Chane faltered for an instant, but he could leave her with only one choice, and he c.o.c.ked the blade for a direct thrust.

"Mnajil il'Nr'u mn'Hk't!" Wynn shouted.

The world flashed blinding white in Chane's eyes.

Wynn sucked in cold air that burned her lungs, as the lenses turned black against the glare.

This wasn't some reckless test of Chane's to withstand the crystal's light. He'd been the one to demand Shade stay behind. Why had he turned on her after all the times he'd fought to keep her from harm?

The gla.s.ses' lenses quickly adjusted, and Wynn shed no tears from the intense light. She gripped the staff with both hands as she saw Chane. At first he was little more than a black silhouette beyond the burning crystal.

He just stood there with his sword's tip dangled against the hardened earth.

"Chane?" she whispered, and the sight of him grew more distinct.

Inside the cloak's hood she saw the glint of round gla.s.ses with black lenses, the ones she'd exchanged with him. But she didn't see his pale features around them.

She saw only pure black, like when she'd stared into the cowl of Sau'ilahk's black robe. There was no Chane, just a featureless darkness broken only by those round, pewter rims that focused on her.

Why had he attacked her? And why did he now just stand there?

"Look at me!" he rasped. "Do you understand what this means?"

Wynn didn't answer, for she didn't understand. She finally shook her head, holding on to the staff so tightly that her hands began to ache.

Chane lunged at her.

Wynn tried to swing the crystal into his missing face. He grabbed the staff above her hands and turned it aside. She tried to pull it free, but her effort was futile, and she knew it.

He didn't take the staff from her. He just stood there, gripping it, his missing face much closer now.

A leather mask completely covered his features.

The look of it made Wynn cringe. Then she felt something else. The staff was shuddering in her hands. She glanced only once, fearful of changing her focus too long.

Chane's arm was shuddering, the tremor spreading into her staff. She spotted the quiver of his hood's edge. He was beginning to shake all over.

"Look at me," he said. "If I can stand in the sun crystal's light . . . if I can resist it with so little preparation . . . how could you know Sau'ilahk is gone?"

All her terror and anger at his seeming betrayal twisted in her throat.

"The wraith . . . cannot . . . not . . . that easily," Chane whispered, and the shudders were now in his voice. "You only believe . . . wish it so."

Wynn felt something fracture inside of her. Her worst swallowed fear, the one she'd pushed down so hard, leaked from that crack. She shoved at Chane.

"No!"

Chane stumbled back as he released Wynn's staff, though her little force would have done nothing to him. He lowered his head, turning from the searing light . . . and from the agony on her face.

All of his skin p.r.i.c.kled and stung, like the memory of a blistering sunburn in the youth of his lost life. It sank deeper and deeper with each moment, eating away his strength, but he was not burning . . . yet.

If he had to, he could now withstand the crystal's light for a while. But he could not bear to look into her eyes. He heard her breaths come in shudders, perhaps sobs, but she still said nothing more.

If he had to burn for her to make her face the truth, then he would.

Chane let the sword fall and thud upon the cold ground. When he saw Wynn's feet s.h.i.+ft and stumble, he reached across and jerked the glove off his left hand. Without looking up, he thrust it blindly out at her.

"Look! It did not even burn me."

But it did so now. He bit down against the pain. The air around him became laced with the stench of searing flesh. Wynn's breaths ended in a sudden inhale, and all light winked out instantly.

Everything went pitch-black.

Chane drew back his hand, curling it against his chest. He tried to remain steady as he fumbled to pull off the gla.s.ses and mask with his good hand.

"That wraith . . . a spirit . . . is centuries older than me," he said, panting. "More powerful than I could ever become. You believed you had burned it to nothing . . . in the streets of Calm Seatt the first time. How can you know you succeeded . . . the second time?"

Even his night eyes took a moment to adjust to the sudden return of darkness. And he dared to look at her. What he saw was worse than the torment of his hand.

Wynn stood clutching her own gla.s.ses, the staff pulled so close to her face that Chane made out only one wide eye over a tearstained cheek. Her breaths came too fast as she shook her head ever so slightly.

"You weren't there in the tunnel," she said, sobbing. "You didn't see what happened. I destroyed it!"

"You have no proof! You are about to set sail and head into the wilds, yet you cling to a false belief you only wish was the truth."

Wynn broke right before Chane's eyes. Half buckling, nearly dropping, only the staff held her up. Her eyes clenched and tears flowed fast, dripping down her chin.

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d," she whispered.

Chane wanted to run, to hide from her sight.

Anger and fear twisted inside Wynn as those words had leaked out.

In the last few years, she'd traveled with a mix of companions, from a dhampir and half-blood rogue to a Fay spirit in the body of a majay-h, and elven a.s.sa.s.sins as either allies or enemies. They had all possessed innate talents, which gave each a chance against the n.o.ble Dead.

She was just a small, mortal human possessed of only one weapon: the staff and its sun crystal she'd begged from Domin il'Snke. Now Chane made even that sound like nothing-like she was powerless.

Didn't they have enough to fear without him making it worse? Couldn't there be just one small victory for her in the face of all that might come?

She would never forget the sight of him in that mask and those gla.s.ses, swinging a blade at her throat. Not ever. She wanted to hurt him.