"Records of her father?"

Unable to breathe, the captain nodded his confirmation.

Welstiel slammed the palm of his free hand into the side of the captain's jaw. The man's head jerked sideways with an audible snap, and his body went limp. Welstiel stood up as Geza flopped to the ground, eyes open and head tilted at an unnatural angle.

"What is it?" Chane asked, almost alarmed.

Welstiel had never before lost all his composure like this. He stood shifting his weight back and forth.

"Come," he finally said. "Gather the bodies and get the horses."

Chane did as instructed and rode after Welstiel down the road for a half a league. When Welstiel turned aside into the trees and dismounted, Chane followed. The copse Welstiel had entered was so dark that even Chane had trouble seeing clearly. Welstiel stood deep in thought.

"What now?" Chane asked.

"We need to slow Magiere down. You and I must reach Keonsk first."

"Why?"

"Just do it!"

Chane had never seen Welstiel so unsettled. "And what do you suggest?"

His companion paused and pointed to the urn hanging around Chane's neck.

"You are skilled with animal spirits, yes? Send something to stop her without causing her injury. The captain said she had been gone less than half a day, so she is not far ahead."

Chane shook his head. "What you ask is a complex process, and at present, the only familiar I have is a rat. I doubt that will suit your purpose."

"Magiere is my only interest," Welstiel returned. "Anyone with her is no concern of mine. Slow her down or I will have to do it myself. And my methods are not as… precisely controlled as yours."

Chane blinked. Welstiel knew enough of his private interests to use Wynn against him. A flash of anger and resentment brought harsh words to his lips, but he fought them back.

"Do you have wolf speech?" he asked.

"Do I have what?" Welstiel returned.

"It is what I call it," he explained. "My maker, Toret, told me that each of our kind develops different abilities. Toret lived for many years with another Noble Dead who possessed the power to call upon wolves. Do you?"

"Yes, I can do this," Welstiel answered, and he glowered in distaste. "But it is neither speech nor a kinship with wolves. You can abandon such superstitious nonsense. It is an expression of hungering instinct, cast out to catch the attention of any predator within reach. A base and crude ability which most of our kind develop over time."

Chane pondered this for a moment. In his short time as a Noble Dead, he had not manifested abilities beyond what any undead would have-speed, strength, suppression of pain and physical duress, amongst others. It was curious that one such as Welstiel, so repulsed by anything uncultured and raw, would have developed such an ability.

"Setting wolves upon them," Welstiel said, "is not the precise approach I expected from you."

"I only need one," Chane replied. "And it will be more focused than you imply."

He knelt down and pulled a brass urn, a candle, a silver dagger, and a bottle of olive green liquid from his pack.

"We'll clear a space where I can carve my symbols in the earth for the ritual."

Welstiel became immediately agreeable, and this raked Chane more than the man's previous manner. Welstiel was exactly like Toret in some respects. Polite, so long as Chane did as he was told. They picked a clear space in the copse, and Chane prepared for the ritual as Welstiel cleared the forest mulch with his boot.

"Now, call a wolf," Chane ordered.

Magiere sat with Leesil upon the wagon's seat and drove Port and Imp down the road through the night. It took little attention, as the horses were surefooted and never veered from the road.

Wynn and Chap were still awake in the wagon's back, and the sage had unpacked two cold lamps at dusk. Leesil lashed these to either side of the wagon's front footboard. He leaned back and took an apple slice from Wynn.

"So, you destroyed that creature by melting its urn? Clever."

Wynn didn't respond and continued cutting fruit to hand out.

Chap sat before her with his front legs set wide to balance against the wagon's rock. When Magiere glanced back, the dog licked his muzzle with ears straight up, his full attention on the next apple Wynn peeled.

Magiere hadn't forgotten what Chap had done in the forest for Wynn, though how was still a mystery even after Wynn's tale. What the sage had described was far more astonishing than the simple swipe of tongue that Magiere had witnessed. Chap became a larger puzzle each time they learned more of him-most often with no help from the dog himself.

Wynn looked tired and weak, and Magiere wondered how much of this was her ordeal with Vordana, her mantic mishap, or their stay in the village under the sorcerer's draining presence. Leesil had shaken off his fatigue, and this gave Magiere another reason for pause. Vordana had tried to strip his life away, yet he was less worse for wear man the sage.

Then there was Wynn's description of what she'd seen of each of them in her altered sight. Magiere had shared this with Leesil. However, there were more pressing concerns to discuss for what lay ahead.

"Geza showed me a letter from his brother," she began.

"Antes fiefs are being taken from their nobles by men sent out by Lord Buscan."

"Vordana was not an isolated incident?" Wynn asked, her voice rising. "There are more like him?"

Magiere shook her head.

"I don't know. The replacements carry letters of authority from Keonsk, but I can't imagine many sorcerers still about in this time-or any time I've heard of. Geza's brother thinks this is happening in eastern Droevinka, as well, and Geza asked us to look into it, though I've no idea how."

Chap lunged forward, threw his front legs over the bench's back, and growled at her. The sound startled Port and Imp, and they pulled up, dancing sideways.

"Stop that!" Leesil ordered, shoving the dog back.

"You know he does not want us on this journey," Wynn said. "Or anywhere in Droevinka, it seems. I suppose he does not want us involved in the captain's suspicions either."

It sounded to Magiere like Wynn had become as weary of Chap's behavior as Leesil or herself.

"All right," Leesil said. "Stop the wagon."

Magiere pulled in the reins, bringing Port and Imp to a halt. "What's wrong?"

"We're not moving another league. " He hopped down, circled around the wagon's back, and climbed in to crouch before Chap. "Not until we get some answers from you!"

Chap shifted nervously on all fours, but there was little room left for him to move in the wagon's back.

"Wynn saw you in her mantic sight," Leesil said to the dog. "And she saw them… the Fay."

Chap rumbled and glanced at Magiere. She frowned at him.

"He was trying to help Wynn," Magiere said.

"Maybe that's all," Leesil replied. "Or maybe he's in a hurry to get us away from any more information we might stumble upon. Like the fit he threw about the keep near your village. Think about it. Calling his… others, kin, whatever. So much power just to banish a simple magic gone awry? Like using a sword when a knife would do."

Even Wynn now stared warily at Chap.

"A very urgent choice, I'd say," Leesil added. "Perhaps to preserve one more new piece in the scheme he's been working all these years."

Chap growled and barked twice for no.

Magiere saw Leesil stiffen, and his gaze grew distant. His eyes drooped and filled with sadness. He shuddered and blinked.

"Don't do that again!" he snapped at the dog.

Chap dropped his head, breaking eye contact.

Wynn glanced between the two of them. "What? What happened?"

"Chap's playing his memory game again," Magiere said. "Leesil?"