K" wsenIt might be the only real protection against a Noble Dead hunting sages and folios.

As she served vegetable soup in the common hall, she watched for Domin il'Sänke, but there was no sign of him throughout the evening.

"You missed me," a small voice said.

Wynn looked down. A little initiate in pigtails looked up at her, a mix of hurt and pouting indignation on her freckled face.

"I'm sorry," Wynn said. "Here you are."

As she set a bowl down in front of the girl, Domin High-Tower entered from the narrow side archway. He paused to study her from across the crowded hall.

Wynn had no wish to face the stout domin, but she handed out the last of the bowls on her tray and worked her way through the tables.

"Have you seen Domin il'Sänke?" she asked. "He hasn't come to supper yet."

High-Tower's mouth tightened within his thick beard. "He went out earlier. I haven't seen him since."

"He went out? How long ago?"

The domin's pellet eyes narrowed at her impertinence. "A domin's comings and goings are none of your concern!"

He strode past her toward the hall's hearth, his footfalls vibrating the stone beneath her feet. She didn't even flinch at his admonishment.

Instead Wynn peered toward the main archway. What possible reason could il'Sänke have for going out this night?

Ghassan il'Sänke lingered around the corner of a dry-goods shop, watching across the vacant street as three young sages approached the Feather & Parchment. The only other living thing he saw was a pony harnessed to a small cart in front of the scribe shop.

"Where are they?" Nikolas said too loudly. "Wynn promised—"

"Enough!" Dâgmund snapped. "We can't stand about waiting for the city guard. The sooner we get back, the better."

Il'Sänke straightened, glancing up and down the street. How had the city guard learned of tonight's folio retrieval? There was no sign of the Shyldfälches, so perhaps Nikolas's expected message had never arrived.

Once again, Nikolas turned hesitantly about, looking back the way they had come.

"Stop doing that!" Miriam squeaked.

"Both of you, be quiet," Dâgmund warned. "Now get inside."

He squeezed the front latch, stepping into the shuttered scriptorium. Nikolas nearly tripped over the front step as he backed up, still watching the street. Miriam shoved past, scurrying through the door an instant before him.

Il'Sänke remained where he was, awaiting their departure.

He did not truly need to hide. They would not have seen him if he stood right before their eyes. No one would have… not if he spotted them first. And on their return to the guild, it would be easy enough for him to addle their minds, even incapacitate them if necessary. He would have a peek at this latest folio's contents before anyone else.

And if necessary, no one else would ever see it, leaving only the original texts to be found and dealt with later.

A creak and rattle of wooden wheels carried up the street.

It had not been hard for Ghassan to convince High-Tower of his scheme. He had used the ruse that the messengers were in danger and had to be protected. The old dwarf and Premin Sykion would not risk involving outsiders, such as the inquisitive captain of the city guard. Nor would they send domins or masters to retrieve folios. Such notable messengers would raise general suspicion and interest from any bystanders along the way. The content of the folios was more important—more dangerous—than the guild wanted anyone to know.

They contained more information than the Numan guild members themselves should know, as far as Ghassan was concerned.

A rickety wagon turned the far corner, and a pair of mules hauled it closer under the guidance of a lad at the reins. As one cart wheel hit a deep cleft between cobblestones, the wagon thumped, jostling a shovel and rake in its bed.

Ghassan ignored the refuse wagon. There was nothing along this city block to clean up. He watched the scriptorium's front door, the dull yellow light behind its shutters, and the occasional shadows of people moving about inside.

High-Tower had been dubious of the plan at first, but Ghassan assured the stout domin that he could guard over the messengers this night. For as little as anyone knew of his full abilities, his reputation as a mage of thaumaturgy carried weight.

And someone else in this city sought the folios.

If that someone appeared this night, Ghassan would see tonight's folio first, one way or another. Then he would make certain that his competitor never hunted sages again.

The refuse wagon slowed, as if coming to a halt.

Ghassan's gaze flicked from the scribe shop's door to the driver. He snorted in frustration as the young man looked his way.

His concentration had slipped. The incantation, which had removed his presence from the trio's mental awareness, was no longer in his thoughts, ready to be spread to others.

Ghassan blinked only once. In the dark behind his eyelids, lines of light spread.

Sigils, symbols, and signs burned bright within the border of a doubled square. Within the inner space a triangle appeared, and another inside that, but inverted. He did not utter his incantation. The words sounded with greater speed in his thoughts as…

He finished that brief blink. And the glowing pattern overlaid his sight of the young driver, centering upon the lad's face.

The driver blinked as well.

He looked about as if he had seen something, but it was not there anymore. With a shrug he flicked the reins, and the two muscular mules pulled the wagon onward.

Ghassan had not expected any rare passerby to halt and stare. This time he kept the spell's glimmering pattern in focus, ready for use. Once embedded in a target's mind, it would last for a while, depending upon how much will and command he put behind it. His presence would not be remembered with certainty by anyone so touched.

The trio finally exited the scriptorium, with Dâgmund in the lead.

Miriam stepped out next, tightly clutching the folio. Nikolas came last, hesitating in the doorway until Dâgmund reached back and tugged him along. All three turned back the way they had come, hurrying along the empty street.

Ghassan slipped around the shop's corner. He quickly split and tripled the glimmering pattern overlaying his sight.

Three glyph-adorned double squares drifted across his vision, and each centered on one young sage. Three recitations flickered through his thoughts as quick as a finger's tap.

Ghassan hurried to close the distance to the trio.

Not even his footfalls or the rustle of his robe would register in their awareness.

Rodian slackened Snowbird's reins, letting her canter through the streets of the outer merchant district. Even so, the pace was too slow as she dodged carts and citizens making their way home. Garrogh's bay gelding followed behind, and Guardsman Lúcan and three others brought up the rear. Several startled citizens shouted angrily at them, but most rushed aside at the sight of the Shyldfälches' red surcoats.

Taverns and eateries gave way to shops patronized only during daylight. People in the streets grew sparse, and Rodian tightened his legs on Snowbird.

"Go!" he called.

She lunged, her light hooves clattering on cobblestones.

When they neared the next main intersection, Rodian reined her in and turned east toward the Feather & Parchment. A small pony and cart waited out front of the freshly painted shop. Otherwise the dim, narrow street was empty. Snowbird skidded to a stop, and a thin man with a flat nose started in surprise. He nearly dropped a heavy iron key ring before he could lock the shop's door.

"Master Calisus?" Rodian called as he slid from his saddle. "Where are the sages?"