Chane was taller, in his mid-twenties by appearance, with pale skin and red-brown hair halfway to his shoulders, which he tucked behind his ears. They had spoken sparingly the night before upon their first direct encounter following all that had happened in Bela. Now Chane was uncertain what to say or what came next in their newfound association. He reached for his sword nearby, pulled his cloak back as he got up, and strapped on the blade.

"Where to now?" he asked.

'To the inn where Magiere and Leesil slept," Welstiel answered. "We will pick up her trail from there."

Chane hesitated before asking, "Why are we following her?"

Welstiel studied him closely, as he had done on the night before. He stepped closer.

"Why are you here? Why join me?"

His dispassionate tone betrayed only mild interest, but Chane knew his answer must be convincing. He had lived in Bela with his "master," Toret, a lowborn little vampire who had managed to turn a noble like Chane for protection and moderate wealth. Forced to obey this creature that had raised him from death, Chane's first goal had been to find a way to destroy Toret. When the dhampir and her half-blood arrived to hunt Bela's undead, Chane had finally arranged for Toret to lose his head. Yet nothing afterward had occurred as expected.

"I was imprudent," Chane answered. "I sought to be free of Toret, but I had not anticipated losing my home, my inheritance, and-"

"Your welcome at the Guild of Sagecraft?" Welstiel offered.

The halting conversation of the previous night had given Chane a handful of wary moments. Welstiel's awareness of all in Toret's household was unnerving, particularly how much he seemed to know of Chane.

Chane nodded.

"Is that where you sought to spend your time, once free of Toret?" Welstiel asked. "With the old domin… Tilswith, I believe, and bis little apprentice, Wynn?"

Chane repressed a flinch and remained stoic.

He had counted on retaining the house, retrieving his inheritance, and keeping his undead nature a secret through long years in calming company at the sages' guild. Magiere had exposed him, and though he had escaped slavery, all had been lost-including his welcome in Wynn's company.

He had nowhere else to go.

Welstiel had a purpose in seeking the dhampir, and all that Chane had left was the longing for revenge for what Magiere had cost him. He would bide his time with whatever reasons might satisfy Welstiel.

"I am here now," Chane said. "And you are tracking the dhampir. Why?"

"She is unique and critical to my objectives," Welstiel replied. "But you are young in this existence. Your mortal family must still be alive. Why not go home? If they wish to be rid of you, they could replace part of your inheritance."

Chane shook his head. "I cannot go crawling home for coins. If my father learned how I lost… I cannot."

Welstiel scanned their surroundings until his gaze returned to the small brass urn hanging upon a chain around Chane's neck. He pointed first to Chane's sword, then to the urn.

"You are skilled and resourceful, so you may be useful to me. I offer you a bargain. I will pay you enough to travel west across the ocean, to Calm Seatt in Malourne or from there to the Suman Empire and the capital of Samau'a Gaulb. Both cities have longstanding branches of the Guild of Sagecraft. They are like nothing you can imagine compared with the meager offerings in Bela. I will prepare letters of introduction for you to certain connections I have. You have time on your side. In thirty years, few here will even remember your name, and you can return, if you wish. Time is the one true advantage that our… kind has."

The last words were spoken bitterly, and this gave Chane pause. Did Welstiel despise his own existence? He pushed the question aside.

"And in exchange?"

"Assist me and be rewarded," Welstiel replied, and then his voice lowered. "And put aside any foolish notion of revenge."

Welstiel's offer still smacked vaguely of servitude, but some of the fog clouding the future lifted from Chane's mind. He longed to speak with Wynn even once more, but this was impossible now that she knew what he was. The prospect of finding a place in another sage's guild was at least a second-best enticement. It filled him with anticipation akin to warm blood flowing from a fear-filled victim. And if Welstiel should forget this arrangement, there remained the smaller pleasure of revenge upon the dhampir, and thereby against Welstiel himself for any deceit.

Chane nodded his acceptance.

Welstiel pulled on his black leather gloves and started for the barn's doors. Chane picked up the sack and leather-strapped chest that held his remaining possessions and followed. They did not speak again while walking.

The woods were not dense between the farmland fields, but Welstiel kept to the trees and off the road until they were almost upon the small inn. It rested amid its scant neighboring buildings beside the main road out of Bela. Ill-kempt, weathered, and with a side stable that leaned severely into its eastern timber wall, the inn had the look of a place rarely visited. Few incoming travelers would stop here so close to a city where better options waited. And once leaving the capital, likely at daybreak, fewer still would pause for the night after traveling such a short distance.

Welstiel knocked at the front door. When no one answered, he knocked again. The door eventually cracked open, and a squat woman with graying hair peered out. She took in Welstiel's wool cloak and opened the entry a little farther.

"Didn't expect no one after dark tonight," she said in a muffled voice, and she frowned at the fine patrons upon her doorstep. "Got a room, but it ain't been cleaned."

Chane stepped closer. It was unlikely a room should remain uncleaned all day in an establishment this small. He caught the scent of cheap liquor beneath stale sweat on the woman's skin. Not expecting further business, she'd probably taken her payment from Magiere, purchased a jug for herself, and spent the afternoon drinking. He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"We are not seeking lodging," Welstiel said politely. "We arranged to meet friends here but were delayed and have become separated. She is a tall, young woman with black hair traveling with a blond-haired man and a dog. Did they stay here?"

The innkeeper's brow creased over bloodshot eyes, and Chane realized she wasn't as witless or drunk as she first appeared. Her faded brown dress was stained but not dirty, and while wisps of graying hair escaped her braid, it was still reasonably well bound. She glanced at Chane.

"You gentlemen are friends of that rough woman-and mat half-blood? He didn't fool me none with the scarf. I saw his eyes."

Welstiel's calm expression never faltered as he held out a silver shil, far more than a night's lodging would cost in a place like this.

"Could we see the room? Perhaps they left a hint as to where they were going."

The woman's eyes widened for an instant. She grunted, taking the coin, and reached back inside for a lantern. "This way."

She led them along a narrow side hall. Chane followed behind, wondering what Welstiel expected to learn from an unmade bed or a full chamber pot. The old woman opened a lone side door in the hall. The bed indeed was unmade, and the room was bare from what Chane could see as Welstiel and the old woman stepped in ahead of him. Chane heard the pulse beating beneath the innkeeper's flesh in the dim room.

In Bela, he'd often hunted in the poor sectors for concealment. If sustenance was all that time allowed, he was not choosy about slovenly or inebriated prey. He stepped through the doorway and closer, as the old woman followed Welstiel, and he reached for the sagging scruff of her neck.

Welstiel turned, surveying the room by the woman's lantern light, and his gaze stopped on Chane. He slowly shook his head once.