I thought il'Sänke would… at least he should've believed me… I thought… I am so alone.

Ghassan heard the heavy door creak open, and its thud upon closing echoed back down the passageway. Even in Wynn's scattered thoughts, he sensed determination. How far would she go to uncover the truth—either what he already knew or had yet to learn?

How far must he go to stop her?

Chapter 3

Just before noon the following day, Rodian urged his exquisite white mare up Old Procession Road toward the bailey gate of the Guild of Sagecraft.

Slender aspen trees now grew inside the castle's inner bailey wall, their high branches overhanging its top. At one time the royals had suggested that the entire wall be removed. The prospect of clear sight of the guild's keep might enhance the impression of accessible knowledge in the city. But the sages had already converted the inner bailey into narrow groves and gardens and natural conservatories—except where additional buildings had been added to the keep's exterior. They feared too many people traipsing through their precious accomplishments. Or so they said.

Rodian had his own perspective. These discomforting scholars coveted secrecy, and he wasn't looking forward to this morning's interviews.

He passed through the inner bailey's gate and headed for the fortification's hulking gatehouse. Before his mount entered the long tunnel to the inner courtyard, a stout young female in a gray robe scurried out.

"Premin Sykion and Domin High-Tower are expecting you, Captain," she said. "I'll see to your horse."

He looked into the young sage's face as he dismounted and handed over the reins. Her eyes struck him as dull and vacant, yet somehow she'd proven adequate enough to become an apprentice. Rodian shook his head as the girl led off his horse, and he headed into the gatehouse tunnel.

All three portcullises were open, not that this place needed such anymore. His footfalls on mortared stone echoed around him until he stepped into the wide and square inner courtyard. Today he wore a cloak over his uniform and kept his sword covered. Had it been possible, he would have sent Garrogh here instead.

Sages, so misguided in their ideals, but Rodian knew the truth of higher learning. Something they did not.

Knowledge belonged to the blessed.

Only those with the highest sentience were suited to the use of the highest knowledge—all for the betterment of those less endowed. Anything else was letting a mule drive the cart, while the carter donned halter and harness. And such knowledge had to be coupled with sound moral reasoning versus blind adherence to codes of ethics. Yes, there were laws and rules to be upheld, for such was his calling, but it wasn't the same thing.

If only more sages, particularly their masters, domins, and premins, would join his own brethren, their service to humanity might one day achieve a greater glory. But there were no sages in his own temple congregation. As much as this was a sorrow to his faith in the Blessed Trinity of Sentience, it was a greater loss to them.

Rodian headed swiftly across the courtyard to the main doors of the large keep. And another young sage opened one door before he'd even touched it.

"Please follow me, sir."

The warmth inside felt welcome, but Rodian steeled himself for a private audience with the premin of cathologers, head of the entire branch. Perhaps any masters or domins who knew the victims would be present as well.

The young sage led him through the entryway, and then turned left down a long passage. A low buzz of voices,nlyzz of v footfalls, and other noises carried from ahead, leaving him puzzled. At a wide archway on the right, the boy turned in.

Rodian stepped into a vast common hall where a fire blazed in a great hearth at the rear. Numerous robed figures milled about rough tables, benches, and stools, with books and parchments spread about. Two boys were finishing an early lunch, and everyone looked up.

Rodian exhaled sharply. This wasn't the proper place for questioning.

He ignored curious faces and glanced around until he spotted Domin High-Tower at one long table. The dwarf was muttering gruffly with the tall Suman named il'Sänke. A slight woman in a gray robe stood at the table's head.

Rodian had taken time to review the structure of the guild's orders before setting foot in this place. A long silver braid hung down the woman's back, dangling over the folds of her downed cowl. She was so slender that she might almost disappear from a sideways view. When her head turned, following High-Tower's thick pointing finger, her calm hazel eyes fell on Rodian.

He approached with a respectful nod, expecting her to speak first, but she only held his eyes with her penetrating gaze.

High Premin Sykion—for all the naïveté of sages—had the presence of a calculating intellect.

He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling a need to apologize for the intrusion, but that was a foolish impulse.

High-Tower rose to his feet. "What have you learned?"

Rodian ignored the question, facing only the premin. "I expected a more private meeting. Could we speak in your office?"

Her composure appeared to waver just slightly. "Surely you can give us your report here."

"I think you misunderstand," he offered politely. "I'm here to obtain information regarding the victims, not to make a report."

"What can we possibly tell you that you do not already know?" she asked. "They were attacked in an alley, not here. Would your time not be better spent looking for the murderer?"

Rodian didn't blink nor take offense. Even in his scant years as captain of the city guard, he'd faced such opposition before. Family and friends—even those of superior intellect—rarely understood how a victim's personal life had anything to do with a crime.

"Your office, Premin?" he repeated.

"My study, then," High-Tower intervened.

"Yours is as high up as mine," Sykion returned.

"But closer," he added, then looked to Rodian. "Will that do?"

Rodian nodded, though his attention had drifted elsewhere.

Domin il'Sänke remained silent where he sat. His dark brown eyes, nearly black in the alley, were just as observant now as then. Something about the foreigner's intense dusky features put Rodian on edge, as did the color of his robes—the midnight blue of the Order of Metaology.

Meddlers in the beliefs of others, dabblers in the arcane, who thought they understood a higher reality.

"You come, too," Rodian said.

Il'Sänke cocked his head in acknowledgment, but Premin Sykion intervened in a smooth voice.

"Domin il'Sänke knows nothing of the young cathologers you found dead, as he is not of their order. He is here to provide me with additional understanding of what he observed last evening."

"I insist," Rodian returned, "because he was there last night." He looked quickly about the hall, scanning those present. "Where's the young woman? I'll speak with her as well."

"Wynn Hygeorht is resting," the premin said. "She is easily troubled and should never have been allowed to witness last night's tragedy."

Sykion's steady gaze cast subtle reproach at High-Tower.

"Very well, later then," Rodian said, stepping back. "Which way?"

High-Tower's habitual scowl deepened, but the stout dwarf turned to lead.

They passed out of the hall's north side, walking in silence through long passages and one turn. When they reached an end door somewhere along the keep's rear, Rodian's best guess was that it opened into the castle's old north tower. They entered the tower's lower chamber.

To his surprise an inner wall had been constructed; the curving stairs ran upward between it and the outer wall. They climbed all the way to the third level, where High-Tower paused before a stout oak door. The domin pushed it open, waiting for others to enter.