The Warden

Chapter 37

Wilo, though far above, slipped his last peaking ray beneath the horizon.

Charlan's eyes snapped open. Her customary curse to the sun spattered through her mind with a quiver and a scowl. Creaking her way to her feet, she flexed every muscle throughout her body, working out the tension that accumulated over the entire day of laying completely immobile.

Winter, filled with long nights, predatory cold stalking the darkness, suited her far more. Summer's long days ate into the night hours, restricting her activities, confining her exploits to a much smaller portion of Haimlant. Luckily, Werold had started her yearly swing back into the darker tilt of winter's shadow. With the advances that had been made with the kingdom and the treaty, this winter promised to be a particular delight, especially if they managed to capture Lady Kyla.

Cracking her neck, she moved from her private chamber, Worked by some forgotten person centuries ago. Unfortunately, this forgotten Work had been done in the Imitation style, so her sleeping chamber appeared as a dingy, craggy cave, untouched by an elegant, guiding hand.

Sleeping chamber, thought Charlan, glowering as she strode through the pitch black, more like tomb.

She was just glad humans had no idea what wights really did during the daylight hours. If they did, all her plans would be for naught. As soon as she had the Warden under her control again, those worries would vanish.

Other wights emerged from their chambers and began moving in the same direction. A he-wight glided up beside her.

"Any word yet?" asked Lord Markham.

"How would I have received any news, Lord Markham?" asked Charlan, her mood souring further. "I've just arisen, myself. I would have thought you would know something."

"Me? How could I possibly know anything?"

"Don't play coy with me, Markham." Charlan pulled him into a niche, rough walled and sandy floored. "You seem to know everything that goes on even before I do. If you know something and are just taunting me, I warn you..."

"You? Warn me?" Lord Markham's following snicker had more fang than levity. "How quaint. But that's hardly a very kind way to address the man who is helping you deal with your grief. I'm sure the inner circle wouldn't be nearly as helpful as I. And since the squad you sent out to apprehend Lady Kyla didn't return last night, it's safe to assume they failed in their mission. Whatever will you do without your faithful guard dog?"

He bowed, a courtly smile adorning his face. He left Charlan there in the tight space.

Jaws clenched tight enough to nearly break teeth, Charlan's head shook from the tension, her breath held, hot in her lungs.

One day, Lord Markham, she thought, barely coherent. One day...

The cool, damp air quaked its way into her lungs. It escaped back out, sputtering. One after another, her feet began again to carry her in the direction of the gathering. She never stumbled, never faltered, no matter the seething haze before her eyes.

A disembodied voice murmured on the edge of her awareness.

An imagining of Lord Markham being torn apart by Charlan cackled into her mind.

"Mistress Charlan," the voice said again, this time louder.

Her eyes twitched as though she awoke from a doze. "What... what."

"Mistress Charlan," said Lord Markham, bringing her into complete focus as his pestering voice registered, "I was asking if there was anything else you would like to add to the instructions for tonight, other than the regular patrols that I suggested."

Her lips pursed, as another idea struck her. Time to put this git on the back foot.

"Yes, there is," she said, stepping in front of him. "Lady Kyla was sighted last night."

Murmurs went through the space. Heads turned. Eyes danced from one wight to the next. Feet shuffled. Even Lord Markham's expression widened with an instant of annoyed surprise.

They all knew what Kyla meant to them. To their future.

"A squad was naturally dispatched to apprehend her." Charlan paused, scanning the room. The inner circle kept their annoyance poorly concealed behind flashing eyes. "They didn't return last night, but we have yet to fear the worst. Those who are on patrol tonight must be especially vigilant looking for evidence of either our squad or, especially, Lady Kyla. This little wrinkle also means that we are down a member for the capital assignment. We need someone to take the place of Captain Ansleth, more specifically Hailun." She turned to Lord Markham. "Please, be good enough to pick out a suitable replacement."

She moved off before Lord Markham could react, cutting a swath through the assembled masses. Making for the entrance of the cave, she melted into the darkness to reform at the mouth thereof. Beneath the moonless sky, clouds blotting out the stars' superfluous glimmer, Charlan let the words she had just delivered echo back through her mind. A satisfied snort blew through her nose.

That must have unbalanced the cretin, she thought. Sometimes the only move left was the unsettling one, in the hopes that one's opponent would react poorly and leave an exploitable opening. I can always hope.

Behind her, wights began to emerge from the rough tunnel. Those bound for patrolling the area, ran or flowed away into the darkness. Those headed for the capital with Mistress Charlan accumulated behind her, a rusty mass.

No crickets serenaded. No wind blew. A dead night awaited them.

Lord Markham came alongside Mistress Charlan, his face flat, no evidence of ever having been ruffled.

One opening, thought Charlan. That is all I need. Just a single crack.

"Shall we then?" asked Lord Markham, gesturing out into the night.

Charlan responded by sprinting out into the night, her speed freeing her from the desire to part Lord Markham's head from his shoulders.