He was a kind older man, like-minded and knowledgeable. A good listener to whom she could talk.

She dropped her gaze in sadness.

"I have a friend," she whispered. "Also a friend to Domin Tilswith, with whom we have spent many hours in study here. He was trusted and… his name is Chane. And when he came tonight, the dhampir's hound exposed him as a Noble Dead."

The news of Toret's conjuror frequenting the sages' guild did not surprise him. But it was quite curious how preoccupied Wynn was with Toret's vassal.

"He ran…" she continued, "and Chap chased him. But he threw fire at Chap and vanished into the sewers."

Welstiel patiently watched a scatter of emotions play across her delicate face.

"He is polite, well educated, considerate…" Her voice broke. "If you knew him, you would not believe what has been uncovered. I can barely accept it myself."

How intriguing. Still, if Magiere was nearby, Welstiel could not stay any longer.

"I am sorry, my dear," he said. "But if some mistake has been made, the truth will come out. We should focus on assisting the dhampir to find this truth."

Wynn straightened, possibly embarrassed by her brief outpouring.

"Of course. You are most kind."

She walked to a table and showed him a stack of unrolled parchments.

"Leesil believes at least one of the Noble Dead purchased a three-story house. But this one is female, and I found no dwelling recently deeded to a woman. That means little, though, as he also says they tend to live in groups."

Welstiel's eyebrows arched. "What makes him think that?"

"I assumed it was experience."

Welstiel sifted through the parchments one by one. At the fifth he tucked his finger into the stack above it and kept paging at an even pace. That one deed had been for a three-story stone dwelling near the inner wall ring purchased two moons ago. The signature at the bottom read Toret min 'Sharref.

How close the little sage was to what she sought.

"Well, I assume," he said, "you'll begin looking at the most likely possibilities in person."

As Welstiel reversed his paging through the stack, he began pulling out selected parchments. When a dozen or more were in his other hand, he slipped the one he'd marked to the bottom of the stack and handed her the selections.

"These might be the best," he said.

She took the parchments. "On what basis did these seem best?"

"Look at them…" he said intently.

Westiel let his voice drop low, and focused upon its sound, its vibration. It became a thrum in the young sage's ears. "See the connections. Think of what you know of all that has happened."

Wynn stared into his eyes a moment, and then her gaze dropped to the parchments.

Welstiel kept the hum of his voice steadily slipping into the back of her awareness.

"They are within a reasonable distance of the most recent deaths and disappearances. It will take all day to work through them, the last to be approached near dusk. You will go with the dhampir tomorrow and visit all of them. She will need your counsel, no matter how much she objects."

Wynn's gaze remained on the parchments without blinking. Her breath came slowly and evenly. She was lost in his words, his voice, and if not for her open eyes, she might have merely been asleep on her feet.

"Wynn, look at me," he said evenly.

The young woman's eyes drifted up.

"Forget what you now see," he said, voice still steady in the silence of the room. "Forget I was here. And remember only what is in your hands, what you must do. Visit the last house at dusk."

He stepped from the study and left the barracks, in control once again.

"You're lucky I got there in time," Leesil growled at Chap. "Or you'd have been scorched bald as a plucked goose."

Magiere stood in the kitchen doorway watching her partner examine the dog once again. A tuft of his tail and some spots of fur were singed, but Chap was otherwise sound. Now knowing the hound understood language, she had words for him about these stupid, headlong rushes at undeads before help arrived. And Leesil, ready to dive into the dark sewer, wasn't much better. Such a pair these two had become.

"What are you smirking at?" Leesil asked.

Magiere hadn't been aware of her expression. He looked ridiculous in the torn-off surcoat, though it had certainly made it easy to follow him in the dark.

"We need to find you a shirt tomorrow. Maybe something more as well."

"Oh, not the clothes again," he said. "This will do just fine. But I could use some boots, and hopefully my second blade is finished by now."

Yes, he'd left his boots in the fire at the Burdock, but had thought enough to grab the chest with his toolbox inside. Magiere wondered about his priorities.

"Besides such exciting errands," Leesil asked, "what is our plan for tomorrow?"

"Wynn has a stack of deeds for houses we'll look at. Hopefully one of them will be what we're looking for."

Chap whined loudly at the mention of more houses.

"These aren't members of the council," she added.

He barked and struggled in Leesil's grasp, his voice excited and eager.

"We'll have a fight soon enough," she added. "We handle it the same as in Miiska. Enter in daylight and take them before they know what's happening-and without burning anything down."

At that, Leesil shot her a belligerent scowl. "I'm not the one setting fires in Bela."

"Small miracle," she answered, and crouched down next to him and Chap.

In spite of her mocking him, Leesil remained serious.

"I had no choice back in Miiska. You were dying, and I had to cut off all pursuit." He reached out to touch the bone amulet dangling below her throat. "I would have died after the cave-in if you hadn't breathed air back into me, and once we were out, you would have died if I hadn't fed you."

For once, his words didn't trouble her so much. Extreme actions had been required of them both over this past season of their lives. She understood his intention, even if he still neither comprehended the full meaning of his own words or the consequences of his actions.

She didn't pull back or take the amulet from his hand. Her concern was that he seemed to live for extreme actions, and she saw them merely as a necessary misfortune.

"When this is over, Leesil, what do you want?"

"To go home. What kind of a question is that?"

The fire from the kitchen hearth burned cheerfully, and under the soft scent of wood smoke was the aroma of dried herbs hanging beside pots and cookware. Beneath that, she could smell Leesil. He needed a bath, but then so did she, and his thick, musty scent wasn't unpleasant.

"And you'll be happy? Living in Miiska and running the tavern? That will be enough for you?"

Magiere felt the bone amulet bounce against her shirt. Leesil dropped cross-legged on the floor.

"Is that what you're worried about? That I'll get restless?"

"Among other things," she said carefully.

"Listen to me," he said with equal caution. "We're sitting in a strange kitchen in a sage's guild and sleeping in an old barracks. This is most likely going to be our life. We'll have quiet seasons, possibly years at the Sea Lion if we're lucky, but this won't be the last time we're called."

She wasn't certain of his meaning.

"I'm bound to you," he continued, "as you are to this path. If we try to deny or avoid it, it will catch us unaware. Why do you think I was in the woods all those mornings outside of Miiska? To stay sharp. Of course I want a life at the Sea Lion, but it's never going to be that simple."

She let his words sink in. He was right, though she wished it otherwise.

Whatever hope she had to live a quiet and secluded life had been taken away, bit by bit. If their exploits in Miiska caused their current call to service in Bela, how much more would she lose of the life she wanted once they were done here?