Sianim 02 - Wolfsbane

among the humans, but we don’t tend to be nearly as powerful. I know two dreamwalkers; only one of them can dreamspeak. We don’t even have stories of dreamwalkers who can influence others the way Gerem was, except for the—what was it you called it? Ah yes, the Dreamer.”
    “Now you’ve heard the whole story of the spell on the Lyon. Do you still think that a dead dreamwalker couldn’t do this?”
    “Maybe one could,” he said. “Kisrah and Nevyn’s part, yes. I am less certain of whoever held your brother in thrall—I’d think that would take a fair bit of power. The howlaa? I just don’t see how a dead man would have the power to do that. But I haven’t talked to any dead dreamwalkers to be certain of it.”
    “Maybe,” she said thoughtfully, “I should go talk to someone who knows more about dead people.”

    The wind was gusty as Aralorn took the path to the temple, but it didn’t bother her as much today. Perhaps her lessons on centering helped her to block the voices more effectively, or else the ability was fading with time. She rather hoped for the latter.
    The temple doors stood open, so she rode directly there, dismounted, and left Sheen standing outside.
    “Tilda?” she called softly. The room appeared deserted, though by no means empty. In spite of the open door, it was warm inside, but there was no sign of a fire. She shivered and backed out of the temple, closing the doors carefully behind her.
    Leading Sheen toward the little cottage, she told him, “I don’t know why that should unnerve me when I run around with wizards and shapechangers, but it does.”
    There was a hitching post in front of the cottage, and Aralorn dropped Sheen’s reins beside it.
    “Be good,” she said, and patted him on the shoulder before taking the shoveled path to the door of the cottage.
    “Enter,” bade a cheerful voice when she knocked. “I’m in the kitchen, baking.”
    Sure enough, when Aralorn opened the door, the smell of warm yeast billowed out.
    “It’s me, Aralorn.” She followed the smell to find Tilda up to her elbows in bread dough. “I see I caught you working.”
    Tilda laughed. “Shh. Don’t tell. A priestess is supposed to stand around and look mysterious.”
    “That’s all right, I generally get plenty of mysterious. Speaking of which, the temple door was opened. I shut it before I came here.”
    Tilda smiled. “Well then, we both welcome you here.”
    “Thank you,” said Aralorn with what aplomb she’d managed to develop running around with Wolf. “I came because I need to ask you a few questions.”
    “Me or the priestess?”
    Aralorn shrugged. “Whichever one can answer my questions. Geoffrey ae’Magi is dead, right?”
    “Yes,” Tilda answered without hesitation. “Ridane sometimes tells me when significant people die.”
    Aralorn let out a harsh breath of relief. She’d been pretty sure of it, but hearing it was better. She could deal with him dead—it was the living Geoffrey who had scared the courage out of her. “A great many people, including the current ae’Magi, are convinced that his spirit is dreamwalking around Lambshold. Is that possible?”
    “Dreamwalking?” Tilda stopped kneading her bread and looked thoughtful. “I don’t know.” She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath.
    Something stirred in the air. It wasn’t magic, but it was like enough to it that Aralorn could feel it drift through her and wrap itself about the priestess.
    When Tilda opened her eyes, the pupil filled her iris, making her eyes appear almost black. “No,” she said. “There are a few ghosts in the area, old things for the most part. But nothing strong enough to influence the living.”
    Aralorn nodded slowly. “That’s what I needed to know. Thank you.” She turned to go.
    “Wait,” said the priestess. “There is something ...”
    “Yes?”
    Tilda stared at her bread for a moment before looking up. She was pale as milk, and her pupils were contracted as if she stood in the noonday sun rather than in a cozy but rather dim cottage. “If you are not very careful and very clever, there will be several more deaths soon.”
    “I am always clever,” responded Aralorn, with more humor than she felt. “Careful, we may have to work around.” Tilda still looked upset, so Aralorn added, “I know that there is danger. It should not take me long to discover what has been happening these last few weeks. Once I know that—I’ll know what can be