Wynn pulled up short as the lieutenant slid to a halt. But she had no intention of being left behind.

"One of us is not enough," il'Sänke said quietly. "I am the only other of rank at hand. There will be much to deal with in this grave matter."

It made sense, though Wynn knew that if High-Tower were less pressed, he would've chosen someone else.

Lieutenant Garrogh backed toward the castle's gatehouse tunnel. Still seething, High-Tower resumed following. Wynn sneaked along behind il'Sänke, a little more than relieved. Trying to get past a dwarf, once he was planted upon the earth, was harder than battering through a stone wall with one's own head.

Two young sages returning a translation folio had been found dead in an alley. And that folio had contained material from the texts she'd brought back. She didn't want to see the bodies, to learn how they'd died or why.

She had to—her fears demanded it.

Siweard Rodian, captain of the Shyldfälches, rocked on his heels as he stared down into a young, ashen, dead face. Another body lay crumpled nearby in the dead end's corner. Neither victim bore any cuts or bruises, and he saw no signs of a struggle, except a piece from the robe's shoulder of the nearest body had been torn off.

The eyes of both young sages were open wide, and their faces…

Both expressions were locked in similar twisted fear—no, outright terror—with mouths gaping, as if their last scream had never come out. Their hair looked faintly grayed, aged in an instant. Though he'd seen sudden fright and trauma produce such symptoms in men, particularly after the worst of battles, he'd never seen this in ones so young.

Rodian was at a loss for where to begin. He wasn't even certain how much he should disturb the scene.

Murders happened in most large cities. Unlike petty crimes, left to district constabularies, the dead always fell in his lap. At twenty-eight, he was notably young for his position. He knew it, though he'd certainly earned the honor. And in the three years since taking command of the Shyldfälches, he'd learned that most murders were motivated by revenge or passion. Only a few came from panic, when some unfortunate stumbled upon a culprit engaged in criminal undertakings.

Serious poverty wasn't rampant in Calm Seatt. Even pickpockets and muggers were less common than elsewhere. The royal family kept the people's welfare at heart. Funding to help the poor and homeless was made available whenever possible.

But Rodian had never seen anything like this.

He would have to report these deaths by dawn to the minister of city affairs. By noon at the latest the king and queen would hear of it. Malourné's royals took pride in the guild, founded by their ancestors.

Shaken, angry, even anxious, he felt overwhelmed. He needed to resolve this quickly.

And where was Garrogh?

Guards of the local district's constabulary had blocked both alley entrances. Two of his own men stood at the turn into the dead end. And one more stood close, holding a lantern to light the scene.

There were also two civilians present.

Master Pawl a'Seatt, owner of the nearby scriptorium, had found the bodies. Behind him, clinging to his arm, was a dark-haired girl named Imaret—in his employ. She wept in silence, her eyes locked wide as she stared at the bodies. Now and then she looked up to her tall employer, who ignored her.

Rodian felt sick inside that he had to keep the girl this close for so long.

"You found them… just like this?" he asked. "You didn't move or touch anything?"

Master a'Seatt seemed neither shocked nor unsettled by the sight.

"I touched nothing," he answered. "I found them and sent word to the constabulary. In turn, they called for the guard."

Rodian lowered his head, studying the bodies in their long gray wool robes. They wore the color of an order as opposed to the bland tan of initiates. But he couldn't remember which order. Too young to be masters, they were still old enough to be apprentices, perhaps even journeyors.

And as to how they had died…

His best guess was poison. Something quick, but cheap and common, considering they'd died in such agony. But why would anyone poison two would-be scholars? And why poison, if this was murder spawned by the culprit's panic at being discovered? It wasn't done with some toxin-laced weapon, since he could find no wounds.

"Sir?"

Rodian lifted his head at the familiar voice rolling along the alley walls. Garrogh pushed through, ushering in three robed figures.

Lieutenant Garrogh was a good man, quick and efficient, though waiting here had eroded much of Rodian's patience. Perhaps now he could begin finding answers. Then he spotted Pawl a'Seatt watching the newcomers.

The hint of a serious frown spread across a'Seatt's features—the first real expression Rodian had observed on the man's face.

A determined, solid-looking dwarf in a gray robe led the new trio, followed by a tall, slender man with dark skin in a deeper-colored robe. As the latter entered the lantern's light, Rodian spotted him as Suman, and his robe was a blue shade near to black. The last of the trio was a younthrio was g woman in gray. As the dwarf's gaze settled upon the bodies, sorrow broke his stern features, then quickly turned to frightened anger.

"Bäynæ, vastí ág ad," he whispered like a prayer.

The Suman released a long sigh and held his arm back.

"There is nothing for you to see here," he said, beginning to turn.

But the young woman shoved his arm aside and peered into the alley's dead end.

"No… not here!" she breathed, each word rising in force. "Not so far from…"

She lunged into the dead end and fell upon the first body before Rodian could stop her. Grabbing its head, she tore back the robe's cowl.

"Wynn, no!" the dwarf commanded.

Everyone flinched at his thunderous voice in the alley's small space—except for the young woman. Rodian reached for her as she wrestled to tear open the robe's neckline. The instant he touched her shoulder she lashed wildly at him, striking his hand away.

"Wynn!" the Suman snapped. "This is not the way!"

Rodian glanced at the man, but his attention shifted to Pawl a'Seatt.

The scribe master had stepped closer. As he peered around the two elder sages, his stoic expression filled with intensity. He watched the young woman's furious struggles with the body, and her actions seemed both to surprise and fascinate him.

Rodian reached again for Wynn as Garrogh closed in on her other side. To his shock she rolled the victim's head from side to side, pulling down the robe's collar as she pawed at his throat and chest.

"No blood?" she whispered between rapid breaths. "No wounds… no blood?"

Rodian halted Garrogh with a raised hand. He'd already memorized every aspect of the scene, so what was the young woman looking for?

"Did you find them like this?" she blurted suddenly, but she didn't look up. "Did anyone see what killed them?"

"They were found by Master a'Seatt and one of his scribes," Rodian answered. "And neither saw…"

He never finished, for his answer wouldn't have matched her question.

She hadn't asked who—but rather what—had killed members of her guild. There was something telling in her strange choice of words. In her frantic pawing, was she looking for a cause of death, something she'd expected but hadn't found?

Master a'Seatt stepped yet closer, watching her every move. Imaret remained half-hidden behind him.

"No teeth marks," the small sage whispered.

"Wynn!" a deep voice grated. "That is enough!"

"I put it in their hands," a'Seatt answered. "You have my sympathies."

"What folio?" Rodian asked, for he'd found no such thing in this place.