C H A P T E R T H I R T Y - F I V E Bird stalked restlessly around the common room, hands clasped behind her back. She sorted through the books on the table and peered up at the paintings on the walls, mostly aged banners of wizard houses and portraits of Mystwerk masters from years past.
Han could tell from the way she carried herself that she was nervous but trying not to show it.
Dancer came up behind Han, looking over his shoulder. “Bird?” he whispered.
She turned and saw them. Her copper skin was bronzed a bit more by the sun, and her curls were cropped shorter than Han remembered. She was clad in Demonai traveling garb—deerskin leggings and tunic, and soft, well-worn boots, her bow and quiver of arrows slung over her shoulder. She was leaner and more muscular than before.
Han’s gaze was drawn to the glittering Demonai amulet around her neck.
“Hello, Digging Bird,” Han said. “This is a surprise.” He made no move to descend the rest of the way. He liked having the high ground.
Bird inclined her head stiffly. “Hunts Alone,” she said. “And Fire Dancer. My name is Night Bird now.”
Her Demonai name. Had she chosen it to match Reid Nightwalker? Han wondered, with a twinge of jealousy. Or had Reid chosen it for her?
“Cousin,” Dancer said, brushing past Han, “it’s good to see you. Please share our fire and all that we have.” The ritual greeting to the visitor.
Walking toward Bird, Dancer opened his arms, smiling. She looked torn between rushing forward and hanging back.
“It’s all right,” Dancer said. “The amulet drinks it in. You won’t even feel it.”
They embraced. Bird rested her head on Dancer’s shoulder, closing her eyes.
Well, guess Dancer’s forgiven her for the way she treated him, Han thought. And if I’m waiting for an apology, I’ll likely wait forever.
“You have had hard traveling to get here, cousin,” Dancer said. “I’ll put the kettle on for mountain tea. Are you hungry? Have you had breakfast?” This rush of words, so uncharacteristic of Dancer, said that he was nervous too.
“I would like tea,” Bird said, her eyes flicking to Han, still on the stairs.
Dancer pumped water from the cistern and filled the kettle, setting it on the hearth to heat and spooning tea into the ceramic pot. The flurry of hospitality suggested that Dancer knew that Han wouldn’t step in as host.
“There’s cheese in the pantry, and some biscuits I brought back from the dining hall, if you are hungry from the road,” Dancer said. He gestured to a grouping of chairs by the hearth. “Here, come sit by the fire.”
Bird made no move to sit, but stood shifting her weight from foot to foot. “I need to speak with Hunts Alone in private.”
Han wasn’t sure he wanted to visit one-on-one with Bird. “Dancer can hear whatever it is you came to say,” he said. “I don’t mind.” He knew he sounded petulant, but he felt wounded and wanted to wound her back.
Bird looked from Han to Dancer. “No,” she said. “He can’t.”
“Hey, now,” Han said. “You’ve only just come, and Dancer is glad to see you.” He put the emphasis on Dancer.
“It’s all right,” Dancer said. “I’ll visit with Bird later. I was assembling a complicated piece anyway. I’ll get back to it.”
Dancer loped up the stairs, ignoring Han’s pointed look.
“So,” Han said, when Dancer had gone, “we’re alone.” He didn’t know what to think, what to hope for.
Bird folded her arms across her chest, gripping her elbows to either side—a familiar gesture. “I’m not going to shout. Are you coming down or should I come up there?”
Feeling a little foolish, Han walked down the stairs and crossed to the hearth, where the kettle was already steaming. Using a rag, he lifted the kettle and poured water over the leaves.
“Sit down,” he said, waving her to a chair by the fire. She finally sat, and he sat also, resting his hands on the arms of his chair.
Han felt the loss of her friendship like a huge aching hollow in his middle. He and Dancer and Bird had been inseparable every summer of his childhood. This past summer his relationship with Bird had evolved into something more. Memories churned forward, despite his efforts to tamp them down—slow kisses and the warmth of her summertime skin, her drowsy voice as they lay on the riverbank. He’d thought he’d seen his future in her eyes.
Now there were secrets between them, mistrust and betrayal creating a chasm so wide he doubted it could ever be bridged. She was a Demonai warrior, committed to a thousand-year-old fight against wizards. She’d chosen that vocation despite the fact that Han was a wizard. She’d chosen it instead of him.
“So you’re a full-fledged Demonai warrior now?” he said, fingering the worn damask on the arm of the chair.
She nodded. “Since November.” Silence grew between them again, until she said, “You’re looking well. Are you taller than before?”
He shrugged. “Maybe.” Once, they’d measured their heights against each other. “It seems like being a warrior agrees with you.”
“Oh, it does,” Bird said, her eyes lighting with enthusiasm. “I thought I knew about tracking and traveling light on the land, but I’ve learned so much about weaponry and battle strategy. Nightwalker is a wonderful teacher, so patient and...” Her voice trailed off when she focused on Han’s face.
He tried to reorganize whatever it displayed into an expression of polite interest, to cover up his thoughts, which were, They call him Nightwalker because he visits all his girlfriends whenever he’s in camp.
Bird changed topics. “So. How have you been? You are taking classes in jinx…in wizardry, then?”
Han nodded. “We just took our end-of-terms. Our examinations. That’s one year down, out of three or four.”
“Have you learned very much, or is it mostly... preliminary?” Bird asked. There was something in her face that told Han she wasn’t just making small talk. Apprehension prickled between his shoulder blades.
“I’ve learned a lot,” Han said, thinking of Crow. “I still have plenty to learn.”
We sound like enemies meeting in the market, jousting for position, Han thought.
He tried to think of something else to say. “Didn’t Nightwalker come with you?”
She shook her head. “I came alone. He is busy organizing strategy for summer. We were already spread thin because of the problems along the border with Arden. And now there’s a new crisis. That’s why I came here to see you.”
No apology, then, Han thought. Let alone a rekindled romance. “Reid needs some advice?” he asked. “Or is there trouble between the two of you?”
Bird frowned. “You’re different,” she said. “I don’t know if I like you as well.”
“What do you want, Bird?” Han said. “I have things to do.”
Bird leaned forward, hands on her knees, her expression grave. “We’ve received word that Queen Marianna has given way to pressure from the High Wizard and plans to name Princess Mellony as her heir.” She sat back, dropping her hands into her lap and looking at Han as if she expected him to leap up and cry, “Not while I live and breathe!”
“Who’s Princess Mellony again?” Han asked, pretending ignorance.
Bird drew her brows together in a frown. “She’s Princess Raisa’s younger sister.”
“Ah. Hmmm. Well, what does Princess Raisa say about it?”
“She’s in hiding. She ran away back in midsummer, on her name day.”
That seemed familiar. “Oh. Right. I heard she had a fight with the queen.”
“They tried to marry her off to Micah Bayar, the son of the High Wizard.” Again, she looked at him expectantly, as if anticipating some violent reaction.
Huh, Han thought. That’s interesting. So poor Micah got left at the altar. Wish I’d known that yesterday.
“Why do the Demonai care which princess is heir?” Han said. “Long as the princesses aren’t fighting about it.”
“Princess Raisa is the true heir. She’s Hanalea’s line. We can’t allow the Wizard Council to put a usurper on the throne.”
Han shrugged. “They’re all the same bloodline, right? Doesn’t seem like it would make much difference.”
Bird rolled her eyes. “Once they name Mellony princess heir, they’ll marry her off to Micah Bayar. The Wizard Council will get what they couldn’t get before—a wizard married to the queen of the Fells. That’s been forbidden since the Breaking.”
This was interesting. He recalled what Rebecca had said, feeling grateful for her tutelage. “Even if that happens, aren’t there magical tethers the speakers use to control the High Wizard? Couldn’t they use those on Micah?”
Bird snorted. “They’re not working very well on the current High Wizard. The Bayars must have found a way around them.”
Maybe they’re using something from their stash of illegal magical tools, Han thought. He could mention that to Bird. Or not.
“We expect that the young Bayar will declare himself king,” Bird said.
King Micah. Han didn’t like that much. “He’s here, you know. Micah Bayar.”
“Here?” Bird looked around the room, her hand straying to her blade.
“Well, he’s not here right now,” Han said. “He used to live in this dormitory, though.”
Bird chewed on her lower lip. “He can’t marry Mellony if he’s dead,” she said.
Han stared at her. “You’d kill him just because you suspect that’s what the Bayars are planning?”
“Why are you taking his part?” Bird demanded. “Have you become friends down here in the flatlands? Have you forgotten what—”
“I don’t forget anything,” Han said, figuring she could take her pick from a range of meanings. “But the world is full of wizards, if they want to marry one off to the princess. Killing Micah Bayar won’t solve your problem. If it comes down to killing, I think you should aim higher.” He looked straight into her eyes, a challenge.
Bird tightened her lips but didn’t respond.
“Do you have proof?” Han went on, “or is it just Reid Demonai’s theory?”
“Nightwalker has a network of informants in the Vale. They tell him that there is to be an announcement very soon. Lord Demonai and Elena Cennestre are concerned too,” Bird said, a little defensively. “They believe it is time to bring the princess heir home, if a way can be found to do it safely.”
Han felt oddly removed now. He was a fly on the wall looking down at himself and Bird, a sharper with no money left on the table.
“Well, good luck with all of that,” he said.
Bird looked down at her hands, then pulled back her sleeve and picked at a scab on her forearm. She’s nervous, Han realized. She doesn’t know how to say what she’s come to say.
“So,” Han said, “did you come here just to give the news?”
“The Demonai are requiring you to honor your agreement,” Bird said, looking straight ahead. “They are calling you home to the Fells to protect the princess heir and to join them in their fight against the Wizard Council.”
For a long moment Han couldn’t speak. His face felt frozen, his lips numb. “What?” he whispered. “Now? I’ve only just started.”
“You’re needed now,” Bird said. “We cannot allow the Wizard Council to put a puppet on the Gray Wolf throne. We will go to war to prevent it. We need your help.”
Han shook his head. “Nuh-uh. Our agreement was that the clans would sponsor my schooling at Oden’s Ford in exchange for my help.”
“We did,” Bird said, though she still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “We have kept our part of the bargain. We would have preferred that you’d had more training, but we have no control over the Wizard Council and what they do.”
It’s my own fault, Han thought. I should never have made a bargain with a trader.
It took him a moment to get his tongue unstuck. “So let me make sure I understand: you mean to send me against Lord Bayar and the Wizard Council—mostly master-level wizards—with two semesters of training?”
“You won’t be alone,” Bird said. “The Demonai will work with you, to—”
“Wait a minute,” Han said. “You said you came for me. Not Dancer.”
Bird nodded, still not looking at him. “Not Dancer.”
“Not that I want to bring him into this, but why just one of us?”
Bird toyed with the hilt of her knife. The Demonai unlidded eye was engraved into the bone handle. “Because the Demonai would like Fire Dancer to stay at school to continue with his studies. We know that your lack of training puts you at a disadvantage. So we hope that eventually Fire Dancer can better assist you in the future.”
“If I’m still alive,” Han growled.
“It’s natural to be afraid, Hunts Alone,” Bird said. “Nightwalker says—”
“Blood of the Demon!” Han growled. “Don’t quote Reid Demonai to me. I have my own reasons for going after the High Wizard. When I do, I’d like better odds. I wouldn’t start a gang war like this, against a ruthless opponent, when I don’t know the game, I’m outnumbered, and I have very few weapons. I’d like to win, and I’d like to survive. I don’t think that’s asking a lot.”
“I’m sorry, Hunts Alone,” Bird said, braiding and unbraiding the fringe on her carry bag. “That is the message I was ordered to bring you. Is there a reply?”
Han remembered the night he’d agreed to the clans’ sponsorship. He’d asked what would happen if he refused to carry out the terms of the agreement. Averill Lightfoot Demonai had told him that the clans would hunt him down and kill him.
Would Bird be given that assignment, he wondered, glancing at her. Maybe she already had. Her face was a stony mask, but her lower lip quivered just a bit. She’d been sent to do this job on her own. If he refused, would one of them end up dead?
Was that all Bird was to Nightwalker: an expendable tool?
Just like Han was to the clan leadership.
The clans were hedging their bets. If Han didn’t survive this fight with the Wizard Council, they’d have Dancer in reserve, hopefully better trained by then.
Han’s fingers found his amulet and closed around it. He sighed, feeling the welcome release of the magic building up within him. “Dancer’s my friend,” Han said. “What makes you think he’ll agree to stay and let me go on my own?”
“We won’t tell him,” Bird said. “That is why I wanted to speak with you alone. If Dancer knows you are returning to the Fells to fight wizards, he’ll insist on coming too.”
“He’s not stupid,” Han said. “Don’t you think he’ll figure it out? He knows about the deal I made with the clans. You show up out of the blue, we talk, and leave together?”
“Well...” Bird cast about for a solution. “We can make up a story. We can tell Dancer we’re back together and you’re returning with me to Demonai Camp.”
“Dancer knows how I feel about the Demonai,” Han said, not bothering to soften his speech. “And how the Demonai would react to that. He’ll never believe that story.”
His mind churned furiously. He really didn’t want Dancer—or Cat—coming with him, maybe throwing their lives away in a lost cause. Secondly, he didn’t intend to be dragged back to the Fells like a runaway child. He’d go on his own, on his own terms.
“I’ll go alone,” Han said. “I’ll make up a story, say I have to go somewhere for one of the faculty. You’ll stay here for at least a week to throw Dancer off the scent. By the time he realizes that I’m not coming back, it will be too late for him to track me.”
Too late for you to track me, either, he thought.
Bird shook her head. “I’m supposed to escort you to Marisa Pines Camp,” she said. “Nightwalker said—”
“Why is that?” Han said softly, looking her in the eyes. “Do you think I don’t know the way? Or do you think I’ll bolt? What did Nightwalker tell you to do if I refuse to come? If I try to cut and run, are you expected to hunt me down?”
Bird licked her lips, speechless for once.
“I’ll keep my word,” Han said. “I’m asking you to believe me.”
They sat looking at each other for a long moment. Then Bird nodded. “All right. We’ll do it your way, Hunts Alone. Just know that the Demonai are... unforgiving. And I... I’m risking a lot.”
“So am I,” Han said.
Bird chewed her lower lip. “Does anyone know you’re working for us?”
Han shrugged. “I didn’t tell anyone.” He paused, and when she said nothing else, he stood up. “All right. I’m going out. I have some things to take care of. Tell Dancer I went to see Dean Abelard about a project. I’m going to spend the next couple of days in the library. Day after tomorrow, we’ll have a nice evening together, just like old times. Then I’ll go.”
Bird shifted in her seat, clasping her hands together. “There’s not much time. It will take a while to travel to—”
Han struggled to control his temper. “I get that. Look, I’d like to have a fighting chance. I want to research the Wizard Council and speak with some of the masters here before I go. Surely you can spare me that much. Assuming I’m not just a throwaway.”
Bird stood also. “Hunts Alone,” she said, her face troubled, her eyes focused on his face. “I’m sorry about... the way things turned out. For us.”
It wasn’t much of an apology, but it was more than he’d expected.
“I’m sorry, too.” Han put a hand on her shoulder, and she flinched away. “I’ll be back,” he said, swiveling away from her. Snatching his cloak from the peg next to the door, he walked out.
He strode down the street, headed for the river. He’d cross to the Wien House side and speak with the stableman about his horse. Then go back to his place in Mystwerk Tower and gather up some books and other items he wanted to take with him.
He was distracted, making mental lists, thinking about all he needed to accomplish, and so his guard was down as he crossed Bridge Street into Wien House territory. As he passed a side street, someone grabbed his arm and yanked him into the space between two buildings. He struggled and kicked, trying to reach his amulet, but his attackers knew what they were doing. Two of them pinned his arms to his sides, holding him immobile.
There was no sting of wizardry through the grip on his arms, though, and when he looked up, he found himself facing Corporal Byrne. The corporal’s face was hard, intent, focused. Turning his head to either side, Han saw that he was being held fast by Hallie and Talia, their faces set and grim.
Blood of the Demon, he thought. Just what I need, along with everything else—being beaten up by Rebecca’s jealous ... um ... commander?
Han remembered what he’d said to Rebecca at solstice about Byrne. There is a thing between you. I just don’t know what kind of thing it is.
Why would Hallie and Talia be in on it? If anything, they’d encouraged him to walk out with Rebecca.
“Hey, now,” he said, trying to pull free. “What’s this all about?”
“Have you seen her?” Byrne demanded. “Have you seen Rebecca?” He looked scruffy and haggard, as if he’d neither shaved nor slept in days.
“Rebecca?” Han shook his head. “I’ve not seen her since we—ah—since the last time I saw you,” he said. “Up in…up in her room.”
Byrne stuck his hand under Han’s chin, shoving his head back against the wall and practically cutting off his air supply. “Are you sure? Are you sure you haven’t seen her?” His eyes narrowed. “What happened to your face? Have you been in a fight?”
This wasn’t like Byrne, to manhandle a prisoner.
“Let go of me,” Han said evenly, “and we’ll talk. I’m not guilty of anything, all right?”
Byrne stared into Han’s eyes for a long moment, then let go, nodding to Talia and Hallie. They let go also, but stood close in case he tried to make a break for it.
“We were supposed to meet for tutoring last night,” Han said. “She didn’t show. I thought maybe you had restricted her to quarters, or whatever you sword danglers call it.”
“But you didn’t come looking for her,” Byrne pointed out.
Han shook his head. “After last time, I wasn’t sure what kind of welcome I’d get at Grindell.” He rubbed his arms where Talia and Hallie had gripped them. “And I got this face during a—ah—magical practicum. Why? Rebecca’s missing? Since when?”
“Nobody’s seen her since yesterday afternoon,” Byrne said. “Her things are still at the dormitory, but her horse is gone.”
“Since yesterday?” Han rubbed his chin, wondering if Byrne kept such a tight leash on all of his cadets. “When she missed our meeting, I assumed she wasn’t allowed to come, she didn’t want to come, or she’s mad at me.”
Byrne shook his head as if Han were a hopeless idiot. “She’s in danger,” he said, his gray eyes glittering like agates. “I need to find her.” He fingered the hilt of his sword. “Where have you been last night and today?”
Han thought back. Well, he’d fought in a pitched battle in Aediion, had it out with the Bayars, found out his ex-girlie and his best friend were walking out together, and been given a suicide assignment by another former girlfriend.
“I was at my dormitory,” Han said. “I’ve been there pretty much the whole time except for that practicum with Dean Abelard. I have people who can vouch for me.”
Byrne glared into his face a moment more, then shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing his forehead wearily. “Any idea where she might have gone? Is there anyone else you’ve seen her with? Could she have gone riding with someone?”
Han shook his head. “We met for tutoring twice a week, but the other night was the first time I—ah—saw where she stayed.”
“Do you know Micah Bayar?” Byrne asked abruptly.
The hair stood up on the back of Han’s neck. “I know him,” Han said. “Why?”
“He’s gone too,” Byrne said. “He and his sister and cousins have cleared out and left Oden’s Ford, even though exams aren’t over yet. Any idea where they’ve gone?”
Han shook his head. “We aren’t close,” he said, his stomach knotting up. “But why is that important? I mean, Rebecca used to work for him, but not anymore.”
Byrne just looked at him as if he didn’t have an answer for that. Not an answer he wanted to give, anyway.
Han seized hold of Byrne’s lapels with both hands and jerked him closer. “I said, why is that important? What about Bayar? What do you know?”
“Hey,” Hallie said, putting her hand on Han’s arm. “You don’t touch the commander.” She didn’t raise her voice, but she meant business.
Han reluctantly let go. “Why would Micah Bayar have something to do with Rebecca’s disappearance?” he persisted, looking from Byrne to Talia to Hallie.
Memories trickled back, how Rebecca had begged him not to tell the Bayars she was in Oden’s Ford. How she didn’t want to cross to the Mystwerk side for fear of running into them. How Han asked her if she ever went out, and she’d said no.
A terrible possibility occurred to him.
“Did Bayar hurt her when she worked for him?” Han said, his heart thudding against his rib cage. “Was that why she was so afraid of him?”
Byrne’s face might have been a stone slab. “Ask all you want, I’m not going to tell you any more than this—if she’s disappeared, he might have something to do with it.”
Rivulets of flame ran along Han’s hands and arms, and he gripped his amulet to discharge it. He recalled his words to Bayar when they’d parted.
You Bayars need to learn that you can’t have everything you want. I’m going to teach you.
Maybe he was wrong. Maybe the Bayars would always get everything they wanted. Everything Han cared about. Including Rebecca. Had Micah found out they were walking out together? Would he go that far to get revenge on Han?
It seemed like destiny, a bad dream repeated relentlessly.
“Where would he take her?” Han demanded. “Bayar, I mean.”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Byrne said. He squinted at Han. “There’s something different about you,” he whispered, almost to himself. “Something that reminds me of...” He caught himself. “If you see Rebecca, if you hear anything that might be useful, find me. No matter what time it is.” He motioned to Hallie and Talia.
Han watched the trio of cadets walk away.
All the way to the stables, Han chewed over Rebecca’s disappearance like a tough piece of meat. She’d seemed stressed and unhappy the last time he’d seen her, worried about her mother, talking about going home. Maybe she’d up and left.
But would she leave her belongings behind? No.
Was it possible that Byrne himself was responsible for Rebecca’s disappearance, and was trying to deflect blame? After all, he was the one who’d driven Han off at swordpoint.
No. Han hadn’t lived as long as he had by misjudging people. Byrne was a hopeless liar, and he’d seemed genuinely distraught.
How could Han leave Oden’s Ford with Rebecca missing?
Han paid his bill at the stable and made arrangements to have Ragger and Simon, his spare horse, reshod and ready to travel later in the week. “Don’t give up the stalls. I’ll be back,” he said, to cover his tracks in case anybody asked. “I’m going to Tamron Court to do some research.”
The stableman grunted, making it obvious he didn’t care, and probably wouldn’t remember if anyone did ask.
As he walked back toward the bridge, Han saw a crowd of cadets in their dirtback uniforms outside the Wien Hall library, studded here and there with the colors of faculty robes—Wien House and Mystwerk. He saw Dean Abelard with a group of Mystwerk masters and proficients, apparently directing an investigation of the grounds.
The crowd hummed with excitement, like a mob on Chatt’s Hill on execution day.
As Han looked on, two healers carried a body wrapped in a blanket down the steps of the library, followed by a clutch of provost guards.
No, he thought, his heart stalling in his chest. Oh, no.
Han pushed and shoved his way through the onlookers, drawing scowls and curses along the way, until he stood next to the walkway as the healers passed by. He grabbed the sleeve of one of the provosts.
“Ma’am? Who is it? Who’s dead?”
The provost ripped her arm free. “Leave go, boy. We’ll issue a statement.”
“But my friend—she’s missing,” Han said. “Since yesterday.”
The provost stopped so suddenly, the person behind her practically ran into her. She turned off the path, pulling Han by the arm. “What’s your friend’s name?” she asked.
“Rebecca Morley.”
“Come with me.” The guard pushed Han back toward the library. As he passed Abelard, she looked up and fixed him with a piercing gaze.
They walked through the heavy double doors and up the steps. Around and around they climbed, while Han’s heart sank lower and lower.
Finally they reached the top of the staircase and threaded their way through a warren of small reading rooms. The door to one room stood ajar.
“In there,” the guard said.
Han halted just inside the door, half sick with dread. The room was small, with a desk under a window on one wall, a fireplace on the other, a worktable facing the door. Books and papers lay scattered over the surface of the table. A lamp lay smashed on the floor, and bits of glass glittered in the sunlight from the window. Blood splattered the wooden floor between the door and the table.
A stocky man in Wien House master’s robes stood looking out the window.
“Master Askell,” the provost said. “This boy says he’s friends with Rebecca Morley.”
Master Askell turned toward Han, his broad face etched by years of sun, and completely impassive. He took in Han’s attire, the amulet at his neck. “Who are you?” he asked, without preamble.
“Han Alister. Newling at Mystwerk House,” Han said.
“How do you know Rebecca?” Askell asked.
“She was tutoring me,” Han said. “We met back home.”
Askell pointed at the worktable. “See if you recognize the materials on the table as Rebecca’s.”
Sand and glass gritted under Han’s boots. Blotting sand was also scattered across the tabletop, the jar overturned. Here were pages of notes in Rebecca’s familiar, angular handwriting. Here was her ornate pen and enameled ink bottle.
Han shut his eyes and swallowed hard. Blood and bones, he thought. Bloody, bloody bones. Would the carnage in his life never stop?
“These are hers,” Han said, looking at Askell, his voice thick with despair.
The master held up a dagger by its tip. “We found this lying next to the wall,” he said.
“That’s hers too,” Han said. He crossed the room to take a closer look. There was no blood on the blade. So Rebecca hadn’t gotten any back.
I should’ve hushed Bayar when I’d had the chance, he thought. I should’ve stuck with what I know—street rules.
“You better send someone for Commander Byrne,” Han said hollowly.
“He’s on his way.” Askell set Rebecca’s blade on the table.
“How did she die?” Han asked, leaning his hands on the stone sill and staring out the window. “What killed her?” Would Bayar have been so arrogant as to use wizardry?
When Askell didn’t answer, Han turned to face him, leaning his backside against the window frame. The master looked perplexed. “Are you talking about Rebecca?” he asked.
“Well, yes,” Han said. “I saw them carrying out the body.”
Askell shook his head. “We found four bodies, in fact, two men, two women, none of them students, though they all wore cadet uniforms. One was in here. He seems to have smashed his head against the table during a struggle. The other three were outside, and they appear to have been killed with wizardry.”
“What?” Han stared at Askell. “That doesn’t make sense.”
Askell shrugged. “There are many things in this world that don’t make sense,” he said. “Rebecca may be dead, but we did not find her body.”