Teri McLaren
"Naruq? Is that you? You are always welcome here. But why do you come under the cloak of secrecy?" said Wiggulf, ambling over, dragging his covers, his round face troubled.
"There is one who seeks this man's life." Naruq pointed to Cheyne. "And his killer has been watching me for a very long time. I have risked enough by coming here, by showing myself in Sumifa before. I could make no direct contact."
Cheyne threw off his blanket and stood up, hand on his dagger. "So you were in Sumifa. I know Riolla's henchman is spoiling for my head. That's no secret."
"It's not the assassin Saelin you need consider. Although that fight outside Riolla's shop was a little too close for my liking. You handled yourself well, though. And you make friends fast, it seems."
"Who is the Treefather?" said Cheyne.
Wiggulf pulled at his bushy beard. "He's the Sarrazan elder. The Ancient. He never leaves the forest. No one knows how old he really is, but there are rumors that he was around at the time of the Wandering. If anyone would know what your totem says, he would."
"And he does. He has been expecting you since the lost caravan. He will answer all your questions. Time is of little consequence to the Treefather, but not to you. The curtain will part for us only for another hour."
If the elf had pierced him through the heart with his own knife, Cheyne could not have been more surprised. It was the answer to his every prayer. He had come so far on sheer hope. And to find the answer to his greatest need, he had only to go now, this minute, with Naruq.
And leave Javin to his death. The dream had followed him into consciousness. With every passing second, Cheyne's conviction of favin's predicament grew even more certain.
"Naruq, I can't go with you."
Claria looked at him through sleepy, unbelieving.