"Their task," Master a'Seatt answered. "The guild sends us pages of draft work to be copied into final versions. These young men were carrying such back when—"

"Time enough for that later," High-Tower cut in. "Two of ours are dead, and another is beyond herself."

"The pages are missing?" Wynn demanded, and she whipped around, her wild eyes searching the alley floor.

"We do not know what happened yet!" High-Tower growled.

"What more do you need from us?" il'Sänke added. "This is not a place for lengthy discussion."

All of these reactions struck Rodian as bizarre, from the blustering dwarf, to the panic-stricken young woman, to the disturbingly composed sage in blue, who now showed no emotion at all. Behind them stood Pawl a'Seatt, his attention still fixed on young Wynn.

"I will take the bodies for further examination," Rodian answered.

He had many questions, some he hadn't even fully formed as yet. And he wished he had more time to study everyone present. Too many strange reactions had passed too quickly.

"I will arrange interviews at the guild," he added.

"Interviews?" High-Tower echoed. "For what?"

"For a formal inquest. Both victims currently resided at the guild, correct?"

High-Tower opened his mouth as if to argue.

"Yes, come tomorrow morning," Wynn blurted out. "We will expect you."

High-Tower swept her back with one massive arm, and il'Sänke pulled her farther up the alley. A moment of uncomfortable silence followed. But as Wynn back-stepped past Pawl a'Seatt, she cocked her head slightly, looking at him.

The scribe master met her gaze steadily, as if he were the one studying her. Grief-stricken Imaret was still shocked into stillness, except when her eyes flicked nervously up at her employer.

All three sages paused near the alley wall, perhaps waiting to see how the final few moments here played out.

For another breath Rodian watched the scribe master, who passively turned his attention from Wynn as if he'd seen nothing of note.

"I will arrange interviews at your scriptorium as well," Rodian told a'Seatt.

Master a'Seatt glanced his way. "Business will keep me from the shop all day, but Master Teagan will be in. I will not be available until evening."

Rodian frowned but nodded. Hopefully Master a'Seatt fully understood he was connected to a murder investigation.

"At dusk then," he replied.

Pawl a'Seatt began turning away; then he paused. "Captain, I have some things to attend to at my shop. Could you arrange an escort to take Imaret home?"

"Of course," Rodian answered. "Have her wait with one of the constables at the alley's entrance, and I'll see to it directly."

"My thanks."

Pawl a'Seatt reached down to usher Imaret along. She jumped slightly as his fingers slid across her shoulders. She turned, walking close at his side, right past the three sages.

Rodian didn't bother to watch them go. He had too much to deal with this night.

"Lieutenant, have a cart brought in."

Garrogh was staring at the ashen bodies, and Rodian stepped closer.

As officers of the Shyldfälches, they were uniformed much alike, with their contingent's red tabards over clean chain vestments and padded hauberks. But while Garrogh paghtle Garrid only passing attention to his appearance, Rodian was meticulous, with clean hair cropped short and a close-trimmed beard sculpted across his jaw. In Calm Seatt, appearances counted for much—if one were ambitious.

"Lieutenant," Rodian repeated. "The cart?"

Garrogh finally nodded. "Yes, sir."

He was a hardened soldier, late of the regulars, and it bothered Rodian that his second in command was so unsettled by dead sages. Finally Garrogh turned away from the eerie scene.

"Would you like an escort back to the guild?" Rodian asked Domin High-Tower.

The dwarf blinked. "No, we need no escort."

Il'Sänke nodded politely, ushering Wynn out, and all three headed back toward where the turn into the dead end joined the main alley back to the street.

"I'll arrive before noon tomorrow," Rodian called after them, but no one answered.

As much as he shared his lieutenant's shock over these ugly murders, he had other concerns. The royals would hear of this soon enough. Ambition and devotion had taken him far, but if he didn't settle this matter quickly and thoroughly, it might ruin him.

Rodian stood alone, but for the guardsman holding the lantern. The closest body lay at a crooked angle with his robe's collar torn open, exposing his throat.

What had Wynn Hygeorht been looking for?

A figure crouched low upon a candle-shop roof.

He watched a cart with two bodies in gray roll from the alley, pulled by city guards in red tabards. Another guard with a close-cropped beard led the way, obviously their superior. All of them paused upon reaching the constables waiting at the intersection. The officer appeared to give orders. With nods, the constables went their way, escorting a young girl, and the guards headed off with the cart. But the officer remained.

Looking one way and then the other along the street, he froze, perhaps watching something farther off. And the cloaked figure upon the roof lifted his hooded head, peering in the same direction.

The bundle he held pinned to the roof suddenly began to slide, and he quickly pressed his hand down on it.

The bearded officer below looked up, and the figure flattened low and still.

He waited in silence, listening. He could hear the officer's breath pause, the click of chain and creak of leather as the man turned around twice. Finally boots clapped slow and steady upon the wet cobblestone, until the sound all but faded. Only then did the figure rise, searching along the street below.

Down the far way, three figures were nearly out of sight: one small woman in gray, a dwarf in a like robe, and a taller man in midnight blue.

And the figure leaned forward, overhanging the eaves, as his gaze fixed on the woman.ghton the

That distant glimpse was not enough, but fear of being seen smothered his urge to drop down and follow her. He looked to the bundle he held pinned against the roof's shakes.

And he lifted the leather folio in his gloved hand.

He had barely gotten it out of the alley before the scribe master and the girl arrived. Pulling the strap from its buckle, he whipped the folio's flap open and peered inside. He froze for an instant, then dug furiously about inside of it.

The folio was empty.

Sagging in stunned confusion, the figure reached behind and pulled forward one of two canvas packs. Opening its flap to shove the folio inside, he paused, glancing over his belongings.

Tucked within the pack were old books, some coming apart with age. Two boxes as well, one bound in leather and the other wrapped in cloth. Several short rods of various metal lay askew, leaning against a large hoop of smooth steel with hair-thin etchings. And for an instant he remained fixed upon an age-marred, tin scroll case.

The figure lifted his hooded head, listening a moment for anyone nearby. Then he quickly shifted his belongings, with clinks and clatters, and wedged the empty folio into the pack. Rising up, he hefted both his packs over one shoulder and gazed down the street.

Those three robed sages—man, woman, and dwarf—slipped from sight around the road's gradual curve. And the cloaked figure pulled back his hood, letting raggedly cut red-brown hair swing freely around his narrow, pale face.

Chane Andraso stood high in the dark, staring after Wynn.

But she was beyond his widened sight as much as beyond his reach.

Ghassan il'Sänke lingered outside the main archway of the guild's common hall, watching the commotion play out. Half this branch's population was now crowded into that large space. A small sea of initiates in tan robes pressed in toward the mammoth hearth at the hall's far end. Among them were the teal, cerulean, gray, midnight blue, and sienna of apprentices and perhaps a few journeyers of the five orders. Domins and masters of the guild were present as well. And the thrum of agitated voices echoed out over Ghassan.