"Yes, I found you," he said coldly.

Wynn backed away from his glare.

"Before someone… or something else did," he added. "Not that I should have had to."

The dog watched him carefully, her jowls twitching, but she didn't growl. Her yellow-flecked eyes locked on the staff he carried.

"You were not to use this without my supervision," il'Sänke snapped, and then softened only a bit. "Though I suppose you had little choice, amid your foolish outing."

Wynn braced for an onslaught. What was she doing alone outside the guild at night? Why would the black-robed murderer be hunting her if she carried no folio? Where had this wolf come from, and why had she come to protect Wynn?

To her surprise, il'Sänke walked over and leaned the staff in the corner by her desk.

"You might have died," he whispered, his back still to her.

For an instant, Wynn was struck mute by his concern.

"I'm all right," she managed to say. "That thing never touched me, so I'm—"

"You lost your focus!" he hissed, and then whirled around.

Wynn flinched away from the fury tightening all of il'Sänke's features.

"You are not an adept, let alone a mage," he continued. "Though it was neither spell nor ritual that you toyed with, it is still thaumaturgy imbued in the crystal… as well as a trigger of my own devising."

Wynn was tired, feverish, and overwhelmed. The last thing she needed was another lecture from a superior.

"Then why make it so hard to use?" she asked angrily.

"To keep it from those wise but malicious," he nearly snarled, "as well as the witless! And I did not make it difficult. Magic is difficult—and dangerous… even when embedded in an object through artificing!"

The domin slid forward, too much like that black assailant in the night.

Wynn backed up at his threatening tone, until her legs bumped against the bedside. Even Chap's daughter circled away to the room's far corner, though she growled.

Anger's flush further darkened il'Sänke's complexion, until his face appeared to sink deep within the shadow of his cowl. Before Wynn could muster another retort, his voice lashed at her again.

"No created artifact is used by brandishing it with arrogance, or waving it about while babbling some poetically arcane phrase. Such nonsense is for children's fables and peasant lore! A thaumaturge feels the inherent connections of the five elements within the physical world. But he detaches himself in manipulating them, holds himself outside the web of things… or succumbs to the very effects that he—"

"You told me already," Wynn warned, as anger got the better of her fright.

"Then remember it!" il'Sänke whispered loudly. "Unless you enjoy the feel of elemental Fire cooking your insides! Disobey again, and I am done with you!"

Wynn remained quiet. Il'Sänke's ire was born of fearful concern as much as disapproval. But another rumble rose in the room.

The female majay-hì paced warily around the domin along the door's wall and crossed over to join Wynn.

"I see." Il'Sänke sighed, frowning tiredly at the animal. "One of your elven dogs."

Wynn glanced up at him. How did he know that?

He seemed to feel her eyes on him and straightened, still studying the female.

"Like any who have worked on the translations," he said, "I have read some of your journals."

Wynn was almost relieved. She didn't care for any more mysteries at the moment. Not that she would ever see her journals again, after last night.

"Now sit," il'Sänke commanded.

The young majay-hì remained on all fours.

"I meant you," he added, looking at Wynn.

She settled on the bed's edge. He came to her, laying his tanned palm upon her forehead as he closed his eyes. In that moment of silence, more questions popped into Wynn's head.

She wasn't the only one who'd broken Sykion's curfew. What was he doing outside the guild last night? And for that matter, how had he managed to come upon her? Had he seen Chane?

Domin il'Sänke opened his eyes with a muffled grunt. "You are well enough. The remaining backwash you suffer should fade in a day or two."

Wynn studied his dark brown eyes. Well enough for what? His right eyebrow arched as he watched her in turn.

"Yes?" he asked.

"You saw it," she said, challenging him to deny this. "The black-robed figure in the street, so silent in movement. I'm not losing my wits!"

"I never said you were." Il'Sänke's mouth tightened, and he nodded with an answer. "Only for an instant, before the crystal flashed."

"Do you know what it is?" she blurted out. "Rodian insists it is some malevolent mage, after seeing it walk through the scriptorium's wall. Maybe it is, but it's more than that. He is just seeking a rational explanation for the royals."

The domin turned away, gazing at the floor, and laced his fingers together in his lap.

"I am not certain. Its abilities are a serious concern, and in that, the captain may be partially correct, but that does not account for the way in which our young ones have died."

Wynn's mind reeled. Not only was he admitting that the killer could be unnatural, but it seemed he knew more than he said.

"Even in folktales, I've never heard of any mage who could walk through walls," she rushed on. "Let alone one that could let a sword pass through him and then tear out a man's chest."

"Yes, yes." And il'Sänke held up a hand before she continued. "Such skill seems difficult to accept, but I will not make conjectures based on a few moments of what anyone has seen."

He paused, and his expression hardened.

"And not a word of this to anyone, Wynn. No more wild rumors without substantiation. It might yet cut you off from what you have been waiting to see."

Wynn tensed, afraid to grow hopeful.

"And I trust," il'Sänke went on, rising and heading for the door, "that you will use equal discretion regarding anything you find? This knowledge must be protected. Now get dressed. I will wait outside."

He grabbed the latch and opened the door, but Wynn couldn't budge.

"Well?" he said. "Are you coming or not? Your precious translations and codex will not sprout legs and come to you."

"But…" she started.

Domin il'Sänke turned halfway, with the barest hint of a smile beneath his sly eyes.

"No one knows either of us was out. Now put some clothes on!"

The door thumped shut. Wynn didn't care how he'd done this. She snatched up her robe, struggling to get it on in a hurry. As the robe's neck finally cleared her head, she found the majay-hì standing before her.

The young female tilted her head with only one ear raised. She stared with wide unblinking eyes, as if trying to figure out what Wynn was doing.

The dog—the female… the charcoal colored majay-hì… Chap's daughter. None of these seemed right for a being that Wynn knew was as sentient as herself in its own way.

The an'Cróan elves of the Farlands had an aversion to forcing a name upon another sentient being. Even their children eventually went before their ancestral spirits for what they called "name-taking." By whatever vision was gained there, they chose a name of their own in place of the one given at birth. And still…

"What am I going to call you?" Wynn asked, though she wouldn't get an answer.

As she gathered her elven quill, a bottle of ink, and a journal, stuffing these in a satchel, she thought of other dogs she'd known, aside from Chap or Lily. She slung the satchel's strap over her shoulder, but when she reached for the door's latch, a cascade of images flickered through her mind.

Chap alone—then with Lily, their heads touching—and finally a hazy secondhand memory of the old wolfhound.

"I know who your parents are," she said. "It doesn't help."

She wasn't certain what those raised memories truly meant. When she opened the door, the majay-hì trotted out before Wynn could stop her.