On the other side of Deverath, far from the flames of Miralei’s burning temple, Raomar knelt before the blue-veined stone of Enshul’s altar. Behind him, lay the body of his priest, and he had not been able to discern who, or what, had killed him.

  He reached out to the goddess, again, and, again, was met with silence. He’d been praying for most of the night…and the goddess hadn’t answered.

  Try as he might, Raomar hadn’t been able to sense who or what had caused the priest’s death. He needed the goddess’s wisdom to help him discover the culprit.

  Why aren’t you answering? he wondered. What have I done?

  Or not done… The possibility was there. Was it his fault the goddess had fallen silent?

  Whatever it was, he needed her. The corridor outside was sterile, devoid of any hint as to what had happened, whether it be good or evil. There was nothing. The area had been left too clean to tell him anything, so instead of tracking the murderer down, Raomar was seeking the goddess’s guidance.

  And receiving no answer.

  He’d sent the acolytes to the outer temple to pray, then closed the inner chamber’s door behind him, and knelt before the nightstone. Around him, the candles he’d made and dedicated at Enshul’s instruction and to her service, remained unlit.

  Before him, the nightstone’s usually brilliant veins of blue, barely glimmered, their sullen light doing little more than making the stone visible atop its altar perch. Beyond that, the inner chamber resided in darkness.

  And, now, instead of receiving the goddess’s reply, and a sense of her presence, he received nothing. It was as though she’d closed the door between them. The connection was gone.

  When time stretched and still no answer was forthcoming, he rose stiffly from his knees and slowly approached the altar. He could think of only one more thing to try. Taking a deep breath, he reached out and placed both hands on the silver-seamed, blue-laced darkness of the nightstone’s surface.

  The effect was instantaneous. Within seconds of his hands touching it, he felt Enshul’s attention.

  “My lady,” he breathed, pressing his palms against the stone’s cool surface, and trying to suppress the sudden feeling of unease that rolled over him. “My lady?”

  Usually her presence brought him comfort, but this time?

  Raomar suppressed an internal shiver. The nightstone’s blue-lit veins dimmed to a dark gray beneath his touch, while around him the candles flared suddenly to life and then went out, one after another.

  “My lady?” Raomar asked, shocked to a whisper. “What is it? What have I done?”

  A feral growl shivered through the room, the single word hidden in its depths barely intelligible.

  "Nothing."

  Yet, despite that, the candles continued to go out, until, with the wavering of the last one's flame, Raomar felt the nightstone drawing his power into itself. He cried out, again, trying to pull away, but his hands were stuck fast.

  The wall of his lady’s rejection surrounded him, and his power waned. When he felt as empty of power as he’d ever been, the nightstone let him go, but this time, he refused to take his hands away.

  Instead of releasing it, and leaving the chamber as he sensed Enshul wished, Raomar clung to the altar, pressing himself against its hard surface.

  “Please,” he begged. “Answer me, my lady. Don’t send me away without knowing why. Have I not served you well?”

  “You have.” Her voice rang soft and sharp around him, its curtness making him wince.

  “Then—” he began, intending to ask her why, once more.

  The goddess cut him off.

  “Because you are not mine,” she snarled, and thick black tendrils disentangled him from the altar and threw him toward the chamber’s door. “Now, go!”

  Raomar hit the ground and pulled himself to his feet. Instead of continuing his exit, he turned about and took a step toward the altar.

  “But why, Mistress?” he asked, tears edging his voice. “You took me in when everyone else turned their backs on me. Who else would I serve?”

  When silence was his only answer, he continued.

  “You favored me with your power and gave me a home…” His voice firmed with determination. “I will not leave you, not even if you curse me to death. I will not—”

  The rest of his argument was cut off by another savage snarl. It continued around him until he was surrounded by the sound. He felt it vibrating against his skin and heard the chamber door shatter behind him.

  Seeing the tendrils gather before him, Raomar tried to brace, but he had nothing to brace against, nothing to stop the tendrils from picking him up and thrusting him bodily out the door. Before he had time to beg for mercy, they’d grappled him and thrown him from the chamber and into the hallway beyond.

  “You may never re-enter,” Enshul told him, and he heard sadness underlying her command, bitterness as she continued. “I will not curse you to death. That is not the fate you deserve.”

  But I don’t deserve your rejection, either, Raomar thought, staring dazedly at the sudden pattern of static that sprang across the inner chamber’s entrance. Pushing himself slowly to his feet, he noticed how Misrandar’s body lay between him and the crackling barrier that kept him from the lady’s inner chambers.

  Unable to bring himself to believe what was happening, Raomar reached out in prayer, trying to draw the goddess’s attention. Once more, he received no reply. He tried again, even though he didn’t expect one.

  He could hope, but he knew it was an illusion. There could be no going back. The goddess had rejected him and she refused to tell him why.

  Misery enfolded him. Confusion, also, but the approach of hesitant footsteps made him turn. It wasn’t really a surprise to see one of the acolytes, the third in age, walk slowly toward him, a thin lock of blue-slashed black streaking the natural bronze of his hair.

  Seeing it, Raomar’s spirits sank.

  Enshul had chosen another, and sent him to do her bidding.

  Raomar tried to stifle the welling hurt, but felt it heave itself loose in a racking sob. Despite the sudden blurring of tears, he saw the look of dazed curiosity on the boy’s face change to one of concern.

  The acolyte quickened his pace and, in spite of the pain in his soul, he wanted to reassure the lad that he would be all right, that they would both survive this, and that all would be well. Sadness robbed him of words.

  When he tried to speak, and when he couldn’t, Raomar sighed. He felt like he’d been beaten all over. What had she done to him? And what he done to anger her so?

  Despite his desire not to burden the boy, Raomar found himself accepting the acolyte’s help. High priest, exile, or whatever he now was, he felt drained of both power and identity. All that remained was an unreasoning grief at the goddess’s rejection, and a weakness that ran soul-deep.

  He didn’t find it strange that the acolyte didn’t speak. He just assumed the goddess had ordered the boy to silence, and that he’d obeyed.

  Perhaps it was for the best, because in his sense of loss and grief, Raomar felt rage. Why had Enshul rejected him? And why had she placed this…this child…in his place?

  Words might have triggered his rage, and the child did not deserve it.

  The other acolytes were waiting just beyond the temple proper, in the foyer that linked the thieves’ guild to the temple of its patron deity. Raomar saw them, noting the pile of clothing they offered in place of his high priest’s robes.

  Raomar huffed out a breath, his lips stretching in a humorless smile as he took them, stripping out of the robes and passing them over before dressing. He took the proffered stool, and instead of swinging it in a blow that would end at least one life, he sat, removing the temple boots before accepting the ones he’d worn on arrival.

  Changing from high priest to guildmaster took almost no time at all, but to his soul it felt like forever. After his feet were once more shod, he allowed the acolytes to guide him to the exit, feeling as though a heavy mist had dropped around him.

  The turmoil of his emotions subsided, and his thoughts slowed. He felt…nothing, as the door opened and Ghost hurried forward to greet him. She slid alongside him, dragging one of his arms over her shoulders and pulling him into the guild’s halls.

  “Come, Master,” she said, only to be interrupted by the oldest acolyte.

  “He is guildmaster no longer,” the boy pronounced, then closed the door between them.

  Raomar flinched at the sound of its closing, stumbling away from it another step, before he realized Ghost couldn’t take his weight. Rather than fall on her, he sank slowly to his knees, dragging her to a halt.

  She turned on him, a look of anxious exasperation on her face.

  “No, Master,” she whispered. “You can’t stay here. You have to come with me.”

  “But…” he began, wanting to point out she wasn’t strong enough to carry him.”

  “Hush,” she admonished, keeping her grip on his arm, and pulling him forward. “Get up. You have to come with me. You are still my master.”

  Raomar resisted her for a long moment, struggling to come to grips with what had happened, but Ghost was insistent.

  “Get. Up,” she commanded in a fierce whisper. “You can’t let the others see you like this. You have to move.”

  When he didn’t immediately follow, Ghost frowned, her face setting in stubborn lines as she studied him.

  Raomar wondered what she was up to, and was about to ask what she thought she was doing when he registered what might have been a thick arm of air wrap itself around him and lift him to his feet.

  “Come on, Master,” Ghost urged and, this time, when she tried to pull him forward, Raomar found himself following, his weight supported by a force he could not see, and unfamiliar power carrying him where the child wanted him to go.

  They’d made it half way to his quarters, using corridors the other guild members didn’t yet have a reason to travel, before Ghost crumbled to her knees, and the power holding Raomar upright vanished. His own knees buckled, and he dropped beside her.

  “Master!” Ghost protested, staggering to her feet, and grabbing one of his arms. She tried to drag it across her shoulders. “Master… Get—”

  The shadows stirred in a nearby doorway, and the girl’s order ended in a half-stifled scream.

  Dart chuckled as she stepped into the hall.

  As the shadow-woman stooped to drag him to his feet, Raomar wanted to ask why she hadn’t come forward before…but he didn’t, because he really didn’t care. He didn’t even care to ask her why she was helping him now, or what she expected in return.

  The hollowness of the goddess’s rejection radiated through his chest and stomach, numbing his mind. He hunched over his knees, resisting Dart as she tried to get him to his feet, but it did him no good.

  Firstly, because Ghost pulled his free arm over her shoulders, and secondly because Dart pulled his other arm across hers, and the pair ignored his awkwardness as they hauled him upright.

  “Which way, Ghost?” Dart asked, and the girl pointed in the direction of the guildmaster’s quarters. Together they started down the hall toward it, only to be interrupted a few paces in by another, familiar voice.

  “Here,” Grunwol’s familiar tones rumbled. “I’ll take him.”

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  “Cursed god’s fucking, Grun!” Dart exclaimed, when she saw who it was. “How many times have I told you not to sneak up on me like that?”

  “As many times as I’ve managed it,” the Northman replied, flashing her an unrepentant grin.

  It faded as he looked at Raomar’s condition and he maneuvered alongside the guildmaster, sliding into Ghost’s place and maneuvering the girl out of it, as he wound a hand around Raomar’s waist, and pulled the guildmaster’s arm across his own shoulders.

  “Gods, but he’s heavy,” he grumbled. “What happened to him anyway?”

  Ghost opened her mouth to reply, but Dart cut across her.

  “Later,” she said, her voice softening. “I’ll explain later, but trust me when I say there is no danger to the guild or the temple he loved.”

  Loves. Raomar wanted to correct her, but couldn’t find the energy to bring the word to life. He felt Grunwol pause, and the tension running through his friend’s arms as the big man considered Dart’s response.

  It wasn’t until they reached the door to his quarters that Raomar sensed the goddess once more. The touch of her anger and rejection made him flinch, and he struggled to free himself from the Northman’s grasp.

  “Put me down,” he ordered, relieved when Grunwol obeyed, gradually releasing him, but hovering close as though he was in danger of falling.

  As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Raomar had to admit the Northman might be right, but that didn’t change what he had to do next.

  He found his balance and carefully unwound Grunwol’s arm from his waist. Looking slowly around, he made sure to catch the eyes of his apprentice and his two friends.

  “Wait here,” he ordered, then straightened his spine and turned to face the door.

  He wasn’t sure what to expect but he reached toward the handle. The sudden surge of rage that met his gesture, was so strong that he pulled his hand back.

  “Well,” he said, feeling Enshul’s anger boiling at the edge of his senses. “If that’s the way the Lady wants it, I will obey.”

  He turned away, even though he also sensed she was angrier with her fellow gods than she was with him. Even that didn’t change the unmistakable knowledge that she wanted him gone. There would be no refuge in the quarters he had once called his own.

  Nor, it seemed, did she recognize his right to collect his belongings before he left. He turned and started to walk away, but had gone only a few steps when Grunwol stepped in his way.

  “Master,” the Northman interrupted. “What do you mean?”

  Raomar looked the big man up and down.

  “The goddess has rejected me,” he told his friend, welcoming the numbness the words brought. “She no longer recognizes me as one of hers, and has stripped me of my position both in her temple, and in this guild. I am guildmaster no longer.”

  “Surely you are still guildmaster?” Grunwol protested. “Even if your goddess no longer requires your services, surely the guild is still yours. We are not a part of the temple.”

  “That’s not how it works,” Raomar told him, and the man’s brow furrowed.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “I mean the goddess wants me elsewhere,” Raomar answered, his voice cracking as he held up a hand to still the big man’s next question. “She has rejected my service and ordered me out.”

  He bowed his head to hide the tears that, once again, blurred his vision. Swallowing hard, he fought for control, not trusting his voice until he had quelled the emotion. Only when he had both under control, did he dare meet Grunwol’s gaze.

  “She can’t,” the Northman protested. He gestured at the walls around them. “The temple, yes. I understand that, but the rest? This? You built this with your own hands, won your territory on your own…”

  He stopped when he saw the look on Raomar’s face, his puzzlement only increasing when the guildmaster laid a hand on his shoulder.

  “You forget, my wolf,” Raomar said, “that the goddess helped us build the guild in return for establishing her presence in the city. It is as much hers as it ever was mine.”

  “But…” Grunwol still wasn’t happy. “You drove it, Master. You built is as you took each section of the city and brought it under our control.”

  “And who helped me?” Raomar asked. “Who gave us the intelligence we needed? Who showed us our enemies’ weakness and the secret paths we could not have discovered on our own? We did nothing without her assistance, Grun, and now she says we must leave.”

  He sighed, a sob making his breath catch as he spread his arms.

  “This place is as much hers…or more…than it ever was mine.”

  “But she can find another high priest,” Grunwol protested. “Why can’t you keep the guild?”

  Raomar could see his logic, but he knew the big man wasn’t thinking straight…and that his friend didn’t have all the information. The guild was built as part of his priesthood. Of course, it belonged to Enshul.

  Unfortunately, there were so many aspects of its building that he hadn’t shared, that it was no wonder the Northman was confused. Raomar sighed. As much as he wished he could explain, there was no time to do so now. That, and he didn’t have either the strength or the inclination to do so.

  “I have to go,” he told them, taking another step away from his quarters. “I have to go, and not return.”

  He pivoted slowly to glower at the door and the presence he could feel standing guard behind it.

  “Even my own quarters are barred to me,” he added, raising his voice, “And I am forbidden to collect what is STILL rightfully mine!”

  He was about to turn around, again, when a small form darted past him.

  “That’s not fair!” Ghost declared, and he realized Grunwol wasn’t the only one who needed an explanation of why the guild was more Enshul’s than his.

  His newest apprentice looked furious, her face holding all the righteous indignation of a child who’d discovered something else the world didn’t do fairly…and, he guessed, she’d just worked out that if he was no longer guildmaster, then he was no longer a master at all.

  He turned to face the girl, but she ducked past him, sliding under Grunwol’s reflexive grab to take hold of the door handle.

  “Ghost!” Dart saw the girl’s danger, but even she was too slow to stop her.

  “Don’t—” Raomar managed, but it was too late.

  The girl turned the handle and slid inside.

  “I’ll fetch her,” Dart told him, and started to move forward, but Raomar took a hold of her arm, and pulled her back.

  The shadow thief tried to twist free, but Raomar tightened his grip.

  “Don’t,” he repeated, this time addressing Dart. “She is young, and we can only hope the goddess is feeling more merciful for the innocence of youth than she is towards years of faithful service.”

  He heard the resentment in his voice, and ignored it, moving to stand in the doorway and see what was happening. He moved to block the way when he saw what was happening inside, feeling his friends stop behind him, when they would have pushed forward.

  Ghost faced a tall, dark-skinned woman with pale-gold hair.

  “Let me pass,” the child declared, her face pale, but set determinedly.

  The woman laughed, a spine-tingling chuckle that sent shivers down Raomar’s spine as his goddess raised a blue-flamed sword between them.

  “And why would I do that?” Enshul asked, her voice mild with curiosity.

  Ghost looked the goddess in the eye.

  “Because I have come to fetch his belongings,” she declared.

  “Pfft!” the goddess sneered. “I have forbidden him his temple, his guild, and his quarters, and he sends a child to do his work?”

  “He does not!” Ghost declared, her face darkening with anger. “I’ve come to ensure his successor does not get what my master earned and is owed.”

  “Owed?” the goddess asked, quirking an eyebrow, then, before Ghost could respond, she lowered her sword and stepped aside, leaving a clear path to Raomar’s quarters. “Then by all means, please, collect those things which are dear to him. Take his personal belongings only, and take nothing I gave him for his service, and none of the things he received as part of his office as guildmaster.”

  Ghost lifted her face to glare at the goddess, and Raomar tensed. Enshul was being more accommodating than he expected, but that could change at the utterance of an ill-placed word, and Ghost didn’t look like she was prepared to be reasonable. He got ready to intervene, whether it cost him his life or not.

  To his surprise, Ghost merely nodded, her voice civil despite the disapproval on her face. She sketched the slightest of respects in the goddess’s direction.

  “As you command, goddess,” she replied, before asking, “And may I ask my master which is which?”

  This time, Enshul glanced in Raomar’s direction before replying.

  “No,” she answered, turning back to the child. A slight smile curved her lips. “You will have to guess, but know that I will not let you take that which I have forbidden.”

  A chill rolled across Raomar’s skin at her words, but he said nothing, watching as Ghost sketched another gesture of respect toward the deity. He took a breath, holding it as the girl stalked past the goddess and entered all his quarters.

  Enshul waited until the girl was inside the room, before moving to stand opposite Raomar.

  “You,” she snapped, her voice sharp with anger.

  Raomar jumped, but didn’t relinquish his place in the doorway. The goddess looked him over, then took in the two friends guarding his back, before returning her attention to her ex-high priest.

  “You still carry part of my power.” She gestured toward the symbol still hanging around his neck. “Return it to me, now.”

  Her command re-awoke some of the emotion Raomar had brought under control, and his heart sank, breaking through numbness to despair. He heard Grunwol draw a sharp breath, but ignored the man, instead raising his fingers to his throat and fumbling for the thick gold chain that hung there.

  With a touch numbed by grief, he lifted it over his head, his vision blurring when he caught sight of the weaver he’d worn so close to his heart. Taking a hold of his emotions, he held out the chain. Instead of taking from his hands, she hooked the tip of her flaming blade through the chain and flicked the chain and her emblem into the air.

  There, it vanished in a sparkle of blue light, returned, he assumed, to her realm. Enshul turned away, ignoring him as though he’d never been.

  She might as well have taken her blade and plunged it through his heart. Numbness flared to pain and Raomar pivoted away from the door, stumbling into Grunwol’s grip. His mottled skin took on a gray pallor and his amber eyes lightened with distress until it looked like he had no pupils at all.

  Returning Grunwol’s hold, and reaching out to grab a hold of Dart, he dragged his two friends down the corridor. His voice grated when he spoke.

  “I need a tavern,” he snarled. “A tavern and drink strong enough to put me under the table.”

  “Master…” Grunwol began, but Raomar reached up to take the man’s face in his hands and drag it down to eye level.

  “I am ‘master’ no longer,” he managed. “I am Roamer, kevarag without a home.”

  He glanced back at the door.

  “Without sanctuary or protection. You’d be better off staying here and serving whoever takes my place.”

  Grunwol shook his head, and Raomar sighed and hid his feelings deep.

  “Then I need a tavern,” he said coldly.

  “You cannot,” Dart argued, sliding her arm through his. “Kevarag are unwelcome on the streets. You’d be killed on sight.”

  “I’m unwelcome here,” Raomar replied. “And I need to forget. I will drink myself into oblivion with my good friends at my side, or I’ll do it alone. The choice is yours.”

  So saying, he stepped away from them, and turned to continue down the hall to the outside world. He’d only gone two paces before a small form stepped in his path, almost tripping him over.

  “What is it?” he demanded, looking down to see who’d dare get in his way.

  Ghost’s silver-gray eyes gleamed up at him.

  “The Lady Dart knows a good place,” she told him, sending a hurried glance toward the shadow thief. “It’s known for its spirits…”

  After a brief moment of shock, Dart rolled her eyes.

  “Ghost, you know that’s supposed to be a secret,” she managed, but Ghost ignored her.

  “I’m sure she’ll take us…” she added, in pleading tones.

  Raomar looked from the child to Dart, then wrapped an arm around the shadow thief’s shoulders.

  “Lead the way,” he ordered, steering her toward the guild’s main hall and exit.

  When they reached it, they found Brianda had just arrived with Varan. Of the other guild members, there was no sign, save that Druurnal stood beside the collections desk.

  The guild’s Master-at-Arms lifted his gaze as they entered, his expression one of both discomfort and embarrassment.

  “Mast…” Druurnal began, then hastily corrected himself. “Mister Filameth.”

  The man’s words brought Raomar to a halt, and where he’d been about to leave the guild, he stopped and looked over. Druurnal hurriedly continued, his face going from florid to pale in seconds. He extended one hand, using the other to lean on the counter in front of him.

  “Your tokens.”

  All four of them froze, staring at him in disbelief, and his face colored.

  “She demands it,” he added weakly.

  As if the mere mention of her was a summons, Enshul’s avatar appeared, this time taking station between Raomar and the doors leading out of the guild and into the narrow alley beyond.

  Raomar unwound his arm from Dart’s shoulder, and straightened. He glanced at Druurnal and the guildsman flinched, relaxing only slightly as he gestured toward Brianda.

  “She is to go with you,” he instructed, casting a quick look at the goddess as though for approval.

  Following the gesture, Raomar caught the slight nod his Master-At-Arms received in return.

  With a hasty swallow, Druurnal continued, “She is no longer welcome here.”

  Raomar felt like he’d been turned to stone, like there was no feeling in his skin. He managed a rough nod. His voice creaked as he gave the required order.

  “Brianda, come with me. Varan, too, if his business is with me and not the guild.”

  The boy’s face paled and his eyes widened, and Raomar wondered what had happened for Alessia to have sent her apprentice to meet him, instead of coming herself. Worry settled in the back of his throat, and he coughed to clear it.

  “With you, Master,” Varan managed, crowding closer to Brianda.

  Druurnal moved his fingers.

  “Your tokens,” he repeated, tensing as Raomar approached.

  His eyes followed the movement of the kevarag’s hand as he slid his fingers into a concealed pocket in the waistband of his trousers, and he didn’t relax, not even when Raomar fished out the night-stone token that marked him as the guildmaster.

  Raomar didn’t look at the token—and he tried not to think about the symbol he’d already relinquished. It was harder than he’d thought, giving up the second piece of what had been his identity for so long.

  "Make sure the next master is worthy,” he instructed, pressing the blue-veined token into Druurnal’s palm, and folding his hand around it.

  He hadn’t realized he wasn’t alone in his approach, until Ghost’s small hand reached around him to offer Druurnal a small copper disk. Brianda repeated the movement, her token gleaming bronze in the lamplight. The guild’s Master-at-Arms accepted them, hastily stowing Raomar’s token in a pouch at his belt.

  Enshul watched the proceedings from her post at the door, only intervening when Grunwol stepped forward, offering Druurnal a token made of jade. As the Master-at-Arms reached out to accept it, a blue-flamed blade appeared between them, and Enshul stepped in to confront the Northman.

  “You are still a member of this guild,” she informed Grunwol. She tapped his chest with the tip of the blade. “You will remain.”

  The Northman gave her a contemptuous look and brushed the blade aside with one gauntleted hand. Meeting the goddess’s gaze with a defiant look of his own, he spoke.

  “I am Grunwol, of the North,” he told her. “The one once known by the tribes as the Jade Wolf.”

  He made a show of looking her up and down, then continued.

  “I owe my life to the one you have rejected and am foresworn.” He clenched his jaw, regarding the goddess with barely suppressed anger. “I chose a friend to be my master, not a guild…and not a goddess.”

  His expression turned to one of disdain.

  “You have no right to command me.”

  Before she could reply, Grunwol went on.

  “If my friend and master is not welcome here, then neither am I, and I withdraw my membership from the guild.”

  He flipped the token into the air, sending it arcing over the avatar’s head to bounce off Druurnal’s head. The Master-at-Arms made a hasty grab and snatched it out of the air.

  Withdrawing her blade and ignoring the Northman, Enshul turned to Dart.

  The shadow thief merely arched her eyebrows at her as she met the deity’s gaze.

  “Do we need to renegotiate our alliance, my Lady?” she asked.

  The avatar inclined her head, a small smile playing over her lips.

  “Only if you require it, Lady Dart,” she replied. “Unless you state otherwise, the terms of our original agreement stand.”

  Dart held the goddess’s gaze for a moment longer, then nodded.

  “So be it. The original agreement stands,” she stated.

  The goddess rewarded her with a small smile, and made an open-handed gesture toward the door.

  “You may go,” she stated, her gaze drifting over the small group before her. “You may all go.”

  They looked at her, then Ghost opened the small pack she’d carried from her master’s quarters and rummaged inside.

  “Here, Master” she stated, thrusting a bundle of dark blue cloth into Raomar’s hands. “You will need this.”

  When Raomar didn’t immediately respond, Grunwol took the cloth and shook it out. Dart nodded in approval as he draped the cloak around the kevarag’s shoulders and pulled the hood over his head, hiding the elf’s straw-colored hair and mottled features.

  With an anxious look at their companion, they moved toward the guild exit, taking Raomar with them. As Dart touched the handle, Enshul spoke.

  “Go to Wildejun, Once-Mine,” she told him. “At Wildejun your answers lie.”

  Raomar gave no sign of having heard her, following Dart and Grunwol into the street beyond, and leading Ghost, Varan and Brianda into the gray light of dawn.