Night Study. Maria V. Snyder

it again in the future.

      “Could be a trap.”

      “Indeed.” Valek tightened his grip on his sword and drew a knife with his free hand. “I’m just going to confirm there’s a tunnel behind it.”

      Janco straightened. “Then I’ll come confirming with you, just in case.”

      The pressure on his body increased with each step. Janco paled when they reached the authentic-looking rocks. Even knowing it wasn’t real, Valek braced for impact as he strode right into the pile. He muscled through the magic.

      No one ambushed them. The tunnel’s entrance was empty. Valek crept inside a few feet and listened for any noises that would indicate people were farther inside. No sounds bubbled up from the solid darkness.

      Wagon wheel ruts warped the ground just past the opening. Janco drew in a deep breath. Relief smoothed his features and he crouched down to inspect the marks, running his fingers along the smooth grooves.

      “How old?” Valek asked.

      “Eight to ten days.”

      “Probably the last smugglers before Rika set the illusion.”

      “Now what?”

      “Return to camp and discuss the next step.”

      “How about we inform the Sitian authorities and let them deal with it? After all, they have all those magicians,” Janco suggested.

      “That’s one option.”

      They mounted their horses and headed back to camp. It was late afternoon by the time they arrived. Valek slowed Onyx. A number of people milled about the camp. More than he’d expected. Concern for Yelena pulsed in his chest until he recognized Ivon.

      “Report,” he ordered his lieutenant.

      “We’ve been talking to the other mining camps, sir. Two of them had a significant amount of food stolen from their stores.”

      “And why is this relevant?”

      Ivon snapped his fingers and signaled one of his men, who dashed away. “A witness caught sight of the culprits.”

      An uneasy sensation brushed his stomach. He met Janco’s gaze.

      “Can’t be good,” Janco said.

      Ivon’s sergeant approached with a grubby teen boy wearing a torn miner’s jumpsuit. The all-black material had a row of green diamond shapes down each sleeve, indicating the miner worked for MD-5.

      “Tell Adviser Valek what you told me, Lewin,” Ivon ordered the teen.

      Under the coating of dust, the young man’s face drained of color. Lewin stared at Valek as if he peered into the mouth of a dragon just about to eat him. “Um...uh...it was the...the middle of the night and I was on the...the way to the latrine,” Lewin stuttered. “I heard voices ar...arguing near the supply shed, so I crept up tr...trying not to make noise, but I couldn’t see nobody.” He rubbed his chin with his sleeve. “Yet the...the voices kept at it as if there were a couple of invisible ghosts.” Lewin glanced around as if expecting them to tell him he was crazy.

      No one said a word. Valek’s unease turned sharp, jabbing his guts. “Go on,” he urged Lewin.

      “There’s been lots of ac...activity around here and weird...stuff. So I followed the voices to the...the edge of the camp. And...” He shuddered. “Three people step...stepped from the air. Bulging sacks floated behind them. They con...continued into the woods, heading west. I found out later the stores had been raided.”

      Valek and Janco exchanged another glance.

      “I hate it when I’m right,” Janco said.

      “Can you describe them?” Valek asked Lewin.

      “Yes, sir. Two men and one lady.”

      Valek tightened his grip on Onyx’s reins. “Did you see their faces?”

      “Yes, sir.” Lewin described the thieves.

      Janco cursed under his breath.

      “Anything else?” Valek asked, almost hoping the answer was no.

      Lewin scuffed his boot in the dirt. “Yeah. Their uniforms. They wo...wore the Commander’s colors.”

      The information rendered Janco speechless. However, Valek knew Janco would say holy snow cats. If Valek considered the bright side, at least they knew where Owen, Rika and Tyen were. Too bad they were in Ixia and appeared to be heading toward the Commander.

6

      LEIF

      “Nope, haven’t seen anything like that before. Good day.” The glassmaker hustled Leif from his shop, closing the door right behind him.

      At least he didn’t slam it, Leif thought. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Between the heat pumping from the glass factory’s brick walls and the unseasonably hot afternoon sun, his tunic was soaked. Leif returned the small square of glass with the miniature holes to his pack. He’d cut a couple of pieces from the glass house’s ceiling for him and Devlen to take along and show to the glassmakers.

      He scanned the street. A few people walked along the row of factories and businesses in Whitestone’s small downtown. Over the past nine days they’d been checking with every glass factory and workshop in ever-widening arcs from Owen’s farmhouse. They hadn’t been back there in the past four days, and Leif planned to return after this stop. There hadn’t been any messages from Yelena, and that worried him.

      Whitestone was located two days southeast and about a half day from the border with the Cloud Mist’s lands.

      Devlen rounded the corner. Hard to miss the tall Sandseed among the paler Moons.

      “Any luck?” Leif asked when his brother-in-law drew closer.

      “No. You?”

      “Think I’ve found something.”

      “Oh?”

      “Guy in there showed me the door faster than I could eat a slice of apple pie.”

      “That is an impressive amount of speed,” Devlen agreed.

      “And he smelled like black licorice.”

      “Which you do not like.”

      “Not at all.” He’d always hated it. The candy tasted of fear and deceit.

      “Shall we go talk to him again?” Devlen asked.

      “Thought you’d never ask.”

      They entered the thick air. Five kilns roared, masking the sounds of the glassworkers who sat at benches and shaped the molten slugs of glass gathered onto the end of their pontil irons. Assistants scurried, fetching tools, cracking off pieces and filling the annealing ovens to cool the piping-hot glass slowly. The open windows did nothing to dispel the force of the heat.

      The older man Leif had spoken with earlier directed the traffic, but once he spotted them he hustled over with a scowl. The spicy scent of red pepper burned the inside of Leif’s nostrils. Anger had replaced the man’s fear.

      “Get out,” he shooed. “I’ve no time for your nonsense. I’ve orders to fill.”

      “This will not take long.” Devlen projected his voice through the noise. “Your office.” When the man hesitated, he leaned closer and said, “Now.”

      The man bolted for an open door to the left. Nice. And it’d been the reason Leif waited for Devlen before confronting the lying glassmaker. They followed close behind. Leif shut the door on the din.

      The neat and utilitarian office lacked personality. No pictures hung on the walls. No decorative glass lined