Any dates mentioned by the ancient authors of these texts would be of little use. There was no point of reference to compare a long-lost calendar system used at that time with the one now part of life in the Numan Lands.

Domin Tilswith, Wynn's old master, believed the war had taken place well over a thousand years ago. No one was certain of this, even among the guild, and the large gap in time made determination of long-past events unverifiable.

And Wynn realized part of why the guild was being so secretive.

Without proof, including time frame, these writings could be dismissed as speculation or a mere collection of accounts from differing periods as well as places. And not from the same war that had devastated the known world.

Varied ideologies and religions, including the major four of the Numan Lands, believed the war never took place. Or if it had, that it wasn't nearly as far-reaching as the catastrophe suggested by the guild. Wynn knew the royal family would take great pains to avoid anything that might cause unrest or discord—or open outrage and conflict. Even if solid proof were established, what could be more threatening than having one's beliefs shown to be in error?

If anyone learned what Wynn believed—what Most Aged Father believed—that the Enemy was returning, even those convinced of the war's magnitude might turn on those who didn't, and in more than just heated disagreement. Fear would spread, and those who clung to unfounded beliefs or even incorrectly reasoned conclusions would in turn look upon others as the carriers of an incurable disease.

Wynn quieted her wandering thoughts. Was this what the undead killer searched for—proof that the enemy was returning? But to what end? She put aside any conclusions. At least now she understood part of High-Tower's and Sykion's fears—as well as il'Sänke's warning.

She began trying to determine which pages or volumes listed in the codex weren't present—the ones stolen by the black figure. She scanned section after section of the codex, taking notes on the breadth of the project. She turned to organizing and checking off volumes and pages of completed work, searching for what was missing.

Within the catacombs, without a window or the sound of city bells, she had no idea how long the task took—but long enough that the twin columns on the pages began to blur before her eyes. She took a pause before continuing.

Of course, she couldn't guess what was in those missing folios, but she could look at adjacent pages and sections that she did find. Perhaps therein was a clue to what the black figure had sought and stolen. She returned to inspecting more pages—and she found a gap.

There were pages listed in the codex as worked upon that weren't in the loose stack in her hands. She flipped back to the last present page before the gap.

She came upon something that made her cold inside.

The page was covered in dots, much of the original being unreadable, though the words could be counted. There were also blanks in the right column for equivalent parts in the left one, indicating a section of text that had so far defied translation. From what Wynn could tell, the original had been written in one or more lost dialects of Sumanese. Of what had been translated, one term appeared a number of times.

in'Ahtäben—the Children.

What children? Whose children? And why the emphasis, as if it were a title? Baffled, she scanned the three pages that followed what was missing and then stopped. Her eyes fixed on another strange phrase within an incomplete sentence.

Wynn shifted to the left column of original text rendered in Begaine symbols.

At first it didn't seem like the same phrase, but she was reading ancient Sumanese. She'd heard one of the Ancient Enemy's names spoken in more current Sumanese, as repeated by Magiere and Chap, and its translation had been the same: il'Samar—the Night Voice… in'Sa'umar—the Night Voice.

By the similar prefix on in'Ahtäben, that also had to be a title—the Children. And here was one more title for the Enemy: Hkàbêv—Beloved.

Wynn wasn't reading about actual children—they were some group who'd served the Enemy of many names. She began searching for other names or anything concerning who these Children might be. On the very same page, in the left column, she sounded out two Begaine symbols for a name she would never forget.

Li'kän.

The white undead had selected a tin scroll case from her castle's library—the same one that Chane had brought to Wynn. And Wynn found two more names near Li'kän's.

Volyno and Häs'saun.

She didn't know her hands shook until the sheets' upper corners began to shiver. She'd seen these names written on castle walls in the faded black fluids of Li'kän. Three guardian undead had once inhabited that place, but Li'kän was alone when Wynn and her companions had reached the castle.

Wynn read further and came upon a reflexive proper noun. Volyno had written this passage. When she turned to the next sheet, the page's numbering jumped by three.

She stopped, quickly checking her notes, and then scanned the codex for any date on which missing pages or selected passages had been sent out for transcription. When she found it, finally realizing the time frame, Wynn sank into depression.

It was the night Jeremy and Elias had died.

Whatever was missing had been in that stolen folio, and the black figure had willingly killed for it. Wynn returned to the loose stack, reading onward, and found two more strange titles aside from the Children.

The Reverent and the Eaters of Silence.

Upon her return home with the texts, Domin il'Sänke had been asked to extend his visit and assist with any ancient Sumanese dialects found therein. Likely he'd worked on these terms. Unable to stop, she read on and found more proper names scattered throughout the pages.

Jeyretan, Fäzabid, Memaneh, Creif, Uhmgadâ, Sau'ilahk, and more…

In places, she could tell where another person was referred to, but next to these were only a blank space or a margin note—"marks or letter system unknown" or "symbol or ideogram unknown." She counted these anyway, making note in her journal. It was impossible to tell if any name belonged to any particular group or none of them at all. But she found two closely positioned near another mention of Li'kän.

Vespana and Ga'hetman.

She didn't like the implication.

In the very next sentence—or fragments of it—the white undead was referred to as "daughter of Beloved."

Wynn froze.

Daughter, as in a child—Li'kän was one of the Children. Vespana and Ga'hetman were mentioned with her as well. And Volyno and Häs'saun had been with her at one time in that ice-bound castle.

The Children—like Li'kän—were all ancient Noble Dead.

"Valhachkasej'â!" Wynn swore in a whisper, more from fright than anger.

Vampires from a thousand or more years ago had served their «Beloved» in a war that erased the world's history. There were five, not one, not Li'kän alone, and that one had survived for so long…

Wynn didn't want to finish that thought.

How many of the other four still walked the world to this day?

A vampire versed in one of the three magics, who had existed for a thousand years, might develop power beyond what any mage could hope for in one lifetime. Perhaps even the power to walk through walls, to become incorporeal at will, and yet physically tear out a city guard's chest.

Was Rodian half-right concerning the black figure? She had even seriously entertained his notion. Was it a mage as well as a vampire—like Chane?

Was it one of the other four among the Children?