Through Stone and Sea

Chapter 14

Chane overtook Shade and led the way to Sea-Side's outer cavern. Passing the turn into the tram station, he headed for the main entrance. Unlike Bay-Side's larger one, there was no true market here, only a few scattered vendors with carts servicing patrons on their way in or out.

He stepped out of the huge archway and onto the mountainside street, and Shade pulled up silently beside him. The pair found themselves in the settlement's surface district overlooking the vast western ocean.

Sea-Side was less developed than Bay-Side. The narrow main street switch-backing up the mountain appeared steeper and more haphazard by comparison. Still, it was lined with varied buildings of stone, built in thin-line fitted blocks or carved from the mountain's rock. Directly ahead at the narrow plateau's edge was another crank house and lift station.

Shade began rumbling as Chane steeled his resolve. These dwarven contraptions were the most unnatural method of travel he had ever experienced.

"Come on," he rasped.

Shade's ears pricked over a wrinkled snout, and Chane realized he had picked up Wynn's habit of talking as if the dog understood.

He pulled out his pouch, pouring dwarven and Numan coins into his palm. He had no idea how much was proper for the trip down to shore level. As they approached the station, an impossibly wide dwarf waddled out of the crank house. How this whale of a stationmaster even fit through a dwarven doorway was a wonder. Wild hair tinted like redwood bark swung around his face, and a like-colored beard was dotted with oats. Perhaps he had been sharing a meal with his mules.

"Down?" he grunted. "How far?"

Chane held out his coins. "To the port."

The stationmaster grunted again and plucked a dwarven iron "slug" from Chane's palm. When he glanced at Shade, with a twitch of his bulbous nose he pecked out a copper one as well. He waved Chane toward the lift, not bothering to escort one lone passenger.

No one else waited to descend and Chane saw no passenger lift as at Sea-Side. There was only one large cargo lift, and he stepped quietly aboard. As he turned, about to close the lift's gate, Shade was lingering on the stone loading ramp.

Her head hung low. Rumbling, with every slow paw pad, she finally followed. Chane had barely closed and pinned the gate when metal clanks sounded from the crank house. At the lift's first lurch, he grabbed the rail with both hands, wood creaking under his fingers. An instant later, mountainside crags and gashes began rushing by.

Speed built quickly—too quickly—until they dropped far faster than the ride up to Bay-Side. Thunderous racket rose under the platform from its massive wheels boring along the granite road's steel-lined ruts. It was not just the sound—the vibrations shuddered through Chane's whole body. He felt as if he were being thrown down the mountain at the waiting rocky shore below. He thought he heard Shade gag over the lift's raucous noise.

He did not want to look.

The lift passed two lower settlements, but neither had a station where passengers transferred to another lift. Sea-Side's one cargo lift went all the way down, and those brief settlements blurred by in a rush.

Chane's only comfort was in knowing that—one way or another—the lift would eventually stop. When it finally slowed, then bumped into a wall-less station at the port's back, he shuddered in the silent cloud-laced night.

No one came out to check on arriving passengers. Perhaps on this side of the mountain fees were collected only above. Chane unbolted the gate with shaky hands, stepped down the loading ramp, and then stopped halfway.

Shade still stood at the lift's center. With her ears flattened and her head low and her legs splayed in a braced stance, a stream of drool trailed from her panting jaws to puddle on the platform's boards.

"It is over," he said. "Come."

Smelling sea air, he looked upward along the steep granite road. The peninsula's ocean side was more sheer and rough than the bay side. But the slant down into the open ocean was likely why full-size ships could dock here.

Other than a few warehouses framing a main avenue to the docks, buildings were sparse and deeply weathered. The shoreline, however, could never be called a beach.

Endless waves pounded and sprayed upon jagged rocks at the mountain's base. And Chane wavered at the chance of finding some small, hidden entrance in leagues of sea-battered rock. Just which way—north or south—should he begin?

Shade growled and then sniffed sharply, as she too gazed along the shore.

"A room first," Chane said, more to himself than the dog.

Shade stared upward toward Sea-Side's main settlement, probably still doubtful of leaving Wynn alone. Chane snapped his fingers to gain the dog's attention and stepped in between the warehouses.

Only a few dwarven dockworkers were about. A cluster of human sailors languished beneath a dangling lantern. He spotted only two single-masted vessels until he cleared the buildings and reached the heads of the piers. One larger ship rested farther out, near the end of the leftmost dock.

Its two masts were as tall as those of larger vessels he had seen in Calm Seatt. With all sails furled, it appeared to be quietly waiting. This had to be the duchess's vessel. If she stayed in Sea-Side, then her ship would have docked here. The other two smaller ones did not seem fitting.

Shade huffed once.

She trotted past the docks' heads, and Chane turned and followed. She finally dropped to her haunches to wait. When he caught up, she sat before a stone building, squat-looking though it was still two stories tall. Peering through the outer windows, Chane saw people inside, some with tankards in hand or seated for a meal at tables. With two stories, it might be an inn, or something like it among the dwarves.

Chane scrutinized Shade, though the dog ignored him. Perhaps she understood his intention, if not his words. It should have been a small relief, but it only made Chane warier.

What else did Shade know or understand?

Wynn returned to her room after making certain that Duchess Reine had retired for the night. Alone for the first time since Chane had reentered her life, Wynn crawled into bed early and slept hard. She needed to be up and alert by dawn, if she was to follow Reine's movements by day. In the morning, as the innkeeper's knock came at the door, she awoke feeling more herself.

She wasn't certain why, but there was something liberating about awaking in the day, even in a world without sunlight. As she rolled out of bed, stretching sore muscles from another night on a hard dwarven mattress, she wondered how to begin. She was worried about Shade—and Chane—but there was no way to know whether they'd arrived safely and acquired lodging.

Wynn looked at her gray robe lying across the bed's corner. Anyone in the duchess's entourage would spot her in an instant wearing that. But her yellow and umber elven clothing on a short human would attract as much attention. A notion came to her.

She donned the clothing, pulled the robe on as well, and then wandered out toward the inn's front room. Perhaps she could trade for or borrow something more from the dwarven innkeeper? She could then spend the day blending in with the locals—and watching for the duchess.

"Yes," she said softly to herself. "A dwarven disguise."

That night, just past dusk, Chane awoke in the portside inn. Shade sat poised at the door, watching him, as if she had done so all day. Chane scowled at her.

If Shade was as intelligent as Wynn claimed, did the dog find it strange—suspicious—that he slept all day? Young as she was, and aside from protecting Wynn, how much could Shade really know of the undead?

He rolled from bed and began dressing in salt-stiffened clothes.

The previous night they had scouted the rocky shore. Time had passed too quickly, and he had grown fearful. When he sensed dawn's approach, they backtracked to the inn, both of them soaked with sea spray. He procured a dry blanket for Shade before removing his wet clothing.

The blanket still lay in the room's far corner, only a little damp from the dog.

Shade growled and scratched at the door.

"A moment," he muttered.

An entire night now awaited them. Chane had to find the tunnel entrance—or be certain it did not exist within reach.

Wynn blamed herself for their failures, but he had not been much help to her. In truth, what little success they counted was mostly Shade's doing, ferreting out secrets from the memories of others. For the first time since reaching Dhredze Seatt, Chane was in a position to do something.

Between an undead and a majay-hì, he hoped the gap might not be so wide. Perhaps Wynn was enough common ground for Shade to put aside natural instinct, should she learn anything certain of what he truly was.

His clothes were not completely dry, but he would be soaked again soon enough. He donned his cloak, pulled up the hood, and wished he did not have to carry two packs. But he was not about to leave them behind.

Shade scratched the door again.

"I am coming," he said.

Opening the door, he followed as she trotted out. When they reached the common room, he paused to purchase a slat of smoked fish. He fed this to Shade as they traversed the port, passed the last pier, and climbed out onto the northward rocky shore.

It was a guess, considering he had no idea which direction was adjacent to the grate-covered tunnel of Shade's stolen memory. But north seemed more likely, by estimate of Off-Breach Market's position above in Sea-Side. It was a while before they reached where they had left off the night before.

Shade led the way, her eyes half-closed against wind that did little to ruffle her salt-stiffened fur. Soon enough, sea spray dampened them both. Chane carefully examined every inch they crossed while Shade nosed ahead.

They were utterly alone. No one else had reason to scramble across the sheer, barren edge between stone and sea. Often he had to climb or crawl on all fours over outcrops and through crags in their slow progress. His cloak grew heavy as it soaked in more spray.

When he pushed back his sagging hood and peered up, the waning moon, barely a sliver of light, had finally crested the peak above. The night was half gone. Amid the surf's noise, he had not heard any dwarven bells on the mountain ringing out the passing time.

Chane paused and looked back the way they had come.

Whatever lanterns hung upon the piers or docked ships were too far off to see, and panic crept in. The return would be quicker without searching, but if they did not turn back soon, he would be caught by the dawn. He had seen few crevices along the way large enough to hide him from the sun.

Shade barked three times from ahead, and Chane spun about.

His foot slipped on broken rocks and slid down before he regained balance.

Shade barked again, but with his sight fully widened, Chane still saw no sign of her. She suddenly appeared over the top of a steep rock backbone sloping down into the pounding surf. She stood perfectly still, waiting.

What little hope rose in Chane only heightened his fear of going farther from port, but he scrambled onward. As he climbed the backbone, Shade climbed down its far side. He crested it quickly, peering into a deep inlet, and his hopes sank.

The inlet cut so deep into the shore's steep slant that its back was pitch-black. There was no place to follow the rolling waterline. They would have to climb high upslope to get around it. The whole venture became more dangerous with half the night gone, but Shade kept crawling along the inlet's steep side.

"Get back here!" he called, though his rasp was barely audible over waves and wind.

Shade clawed along the water's edge, deeper into the inlet, and Chane dropped down the rocky backbone, boots scraping on wet rock. Waves broke and tumbled well before they reached the inlet's back, so it had to be shallow. It was still not something to wade across in the dark. Shade suddenly shuffled sideways, trying to get upslope as dark foam-laced water surged upward around her legs.

"Shade!" Chane called.

He gripped slick rock with his slope-side hand and pushed on.

Turning only her head, Shade barked at him and then gazed toward the inlet's back. As he came up behind her, the darkness in the inlet looked different. The rock above it did not meet the water's surface. A rough overhang created a low and wide opening over the undulating water.

The cave, or pocket, was half-filled by the sea.

Chane looked to the moon and then down into the water. There was no telling its depth.

Shade huffed at him, sounding impatient, and then pricked up her ears. Peering at the low cave, she cocked her head to the side and whined loudly. She barked once and began backing unsteadily across the backbone's side.

"What?" Chane called tiredly.

Shade backed another step, stopping only when she could go no farther without running into him. Clearly she had decided this was not what they sought. But Chane had to be certain and stepped down the sheer rock. He hesitated before he sank one booted foot into the dark, undulating water.

When he found his footing, he dropped waist-high into the water. Clinging to the backbone's side, he inched into the inlet until his eyes adjusted to its deeper darkness. Still, he could not see to its back, but he heard water slapping against stone somewhere deeper beneath the overhang. Shade's actions now made sense.

She had been listening for the path of the water flowing unobstructed. Even without entering, she had known there was no opening beneath the overhang.

Chane backed out in dejection and clawed up the backbone's side. Shade was already moving on. Scrabbling upslope, she began nosing out a way around the inlet, and Chane struggled after her.

They should have turned back, but the prospect of failure overrode reason.

Chane searched every nook, crack, and hollow, making certain they did not miss a single hole or odd patch of pure black. He forgot how dangerously far they had pushed on until he heard faint, distant bell tones rolling down the mountainside.

He froze, counting off the five tones.

The fifth eighth of night, by the dwarves' measure of time, and they had found nothing. Fear pulled reason back through frustration. He could push his body until morning if need be, but even now, he was uncertain whether he could reach the inn before sunrise. How could he fail Wynn in this task?

"Shade!"

He knelt on the rock as the dog paused ahead, glancing back at him. To his bewilderment, she looked up at the sky—no, up the mountainside to the moon glowing behind thin night clouds. Did she understand that they traveled by night out of more than choice? If she knew that much, then …

A huge wave hit the shore.

Spray rose high and slapped down around Chane, drenching him. When his sight line cleared, Shade faced him within arm's reach. One jowl twitched beneath her cold, intense gaze, and she never blinked.

"Do you know?" he whispered.

If she did know what he was, why had she never attacked him outright? If she did not, why did she always wrinkle her snout and glare at him?

Chane had to head back immediately—but Shade did not.

Indecision made him falter. Somehow, he had to make her understand. If his suspicion was correct, and she knew his true nature, then letting her see into his memories would change nothing. If he was wrong, one of them would end here—or at best, he would have to flee. What would become of Wynn without him?

Chane grew frantic.

Finding a sea tunnel to the underworld might be the only chance they had left. If he and Shade did not succeed, Wynn's mission ended in failure. There was only one way to tell Shade to go on without him—and he knew only one way that could happen.

Chane rose on his knees, his thumb already rubbing the ring on his finger. He locked eyes with Shade, but hesitated as he pinched the ring between the fingers of his other hand.

He pulled off the ring of nothing.

Shade shimmered before Chane's eyes, as did the sloped rocky shore, like an intense heat across a plain making the horizon blur. Another wave's arcing spray crashed down on both of them.

Salt water ran off Chane's face. He shuddered, not from cold but as all his awareness sharpened threefold. He had not removed the ring since first entering Calm Seatt, moons past. He had almost forgotten how much it dampened his awareness. It felt like coming alive again—or at least how he might have imagined such a thing.

And there were Shade's blue crystalline eyes, burning too brightly in his widened vision.

Shade snarled, her jowls pulling back and exposing all of her teeth. Her shoulders bunched, and even soaked as she was, her hackles rose. Shade snapped the air, her teeth clacking.

Chane went completely still—he had made a grave error.

The dog's rolling snarl took on a pealing mewl, like a cat's enraged yowl caught in its throat. Her ears flattened as her whole body quaked under that sound.

But Shade remained where she stood.

Her snarls lessened, becoming no more than low growls.

"You knew …" Chane whispered. "All this time."

For an instant, he could not even think how. Either Shade's own senses, so much like Wynn's old companion Chap's, had sensed he was not natural, or …

Had Shade caught some slip in Wynn's memories?

The dog had not attacked him, as one of her kind should. She had even fought beside him against the wraith—in defending Wynn.

How could he tell Shade what he needed her to do now?

He tried to think of memories, of any instance in which he had protected Wynn, as well as moments of searching since the three of them had come together. There was also the small room at the inn to which he would have to return and wait. But he had no memory like the one Wynn had spoken of—a grated iron opening that let the sea rise in an underground chamber. All he could think of in its place was the one overhang that Shade had already found, though it had proved false for what they sought.

Shade grew strangely silent, watching him.

Once Chane was clear on which memories he would have to use, he reached out.

Shade twisted on the slope and snapped at his wrist.

He snatched his hand back. He was not certain how this process worked, but Wynn had so often touched the dog that it seemed necessary.

"I must," he said, reaching out again. "I must be sure you understand! You have to go on and … look for the entrance, damn you!"

His head suddenly filled with a memory.

In the dwarven port's inn, in that small dark room, a lantern sat beside a narrow bed and a damp folded blanket in one corner.

Chane drew back in hesitation. He had not been thinking about that as he spoke.

Shade fell silent. Her left jowl quivered and she spun away.

Chane only watched as she clawed and hopped away, up the dark coast beneath the erratic spray of the sea. She stopped only once upon a crest of rock, and it seemed her head swung back his way.

Then all he could think of was the room at the inn.

As much as Wynn claimed that Shade was fully sentient, the truth of it had never quite settled upon him until now. She was telling him to go back.

Turning south, Chane scrambled toward the port.

Wynn heard the fifth bell of the second day—past noon—in following the duchess and her entourage. No one recognized her from afar.

She had two bedsheets tied about her waist, beneath her robe, and an oversize dwarven cloak borrowed from the innkeeper. Unless someone peered too closely, she looked stout enough to pass for a young, rather skinny dwarf. But she was beginning to regret giving in to Chane and staying behind.

In the first place, she had learned nothing. Reine spent most of her time hiding away in her inn, leaving Wynn to mill around the mainway and wait. A problematic pursuit, as no one else spent so much time loitering in plain sight. Secondly, and more important, she hated being cut off, blinded as to her companions' whereabouts and well-being.

Was Shade all right? How had Chane fared on his own among the dwarves? And had they found any tunnel entrance?

Wynn's disguise had proven adequate, but she began to think her task was a waste of time. How long could she pretend to wait for someone before anyone noticed? One set of dwarves in heavy furs had passed by more than once. The same pair of clan constables had already come and gone three times that morning. As she was about to give up and work out some other ploy, someone stepped out of the inn down the side tunnel.

Duchess Reine emerged in polished boots, breeches, and a front-split deep teal skirt. Her elven companion, as always, was nearly covered by his white robe and cowl. All three Weardas followed, and the small group marched straight toward the mainway.

Wynn ducked back and flattened against the wall, lowering her head until the cloak's hood hung over her eyes. She waited, not moving as she watched their feet tromp by. Once they were well down the way, she followed as closely as she dared.

When they turned into the passage to Off-Breach Market, she held back until they passed the first stalls. It wasn't until she caught up that she noticed the elf carrying a small piece of parchment and a sharpened stick of writing charcoal wrapped in scrap paper. Reine moved about the market, trading dwarven slugs for a blanket, a tin kettle, and a coil of stout rope.

Whatever the items were for, the elf stroked the parchment as if marking off acquisitions. Wynn slipped behind a candle maker's booth, close enough to hear them.

"Extra bread loaves would not be amiss," the elf said in his lilting, reedy voice. "Best not tax our hosts' resources, if we are to be down there several days."

Wynn stiffened, lifting her head a bit too much. They were heading below to the Stonewalkers—for days, it seemed—and she would lose them!

"I'm aware of the time," the duchess answered. "With every passing year, I can almost feel the highest tide coming."

A breath's pause followed.

"But yes," she said, "let's see about bread … and perhaps dried fruits."

They all headed back toward the market's entrance, where vendors of food and dry goods had set up their stalls. Wynn wove her way around the market, glancing twice toward its rear and the passages leading into the level's outer reaches.

She could think of no way to remain unnoticed in following, once they headed off for the hidden entrance to the underworld. But after acquiring several loaves, the captain turned and escorted the duchess toward the market's exit to Breach Mainway.

Wynn slipped along behind the booths one path over. As the entourage neared the exit, the duchess spoke again.

"We have everything reasonable we might need. Please make certain I'm not disturbed until tomorrow night. I need … time."

"Of course," the elf answered, and they all left.

Wynn didn't follow, knowing they now headed back to their inn. Apparently the duchess was holing up until tomorrow night. She would then go below for days. How many, how long—and why? There seemed no reason for it, and the only thing that came to mind were the ancient texts.

Wynn racked her brain for any way to spy on the duchess inside the inn. She needed to learn what Reine was doing here, and how she and the royal family were connected to the Stonewalkers. If they guarded the texts, and could somehow move them to and from the guild every day—over a distance of three days' shore-side journey—what purpose did the duchess serve here?

Wynn couldn't think of a way to find the answers—not without getting herself arrested. There was no point in lingering.

Grimacing, Wynn headed back to her own inn.

Chane awoke and lay quietly for an instant, uncertain where he was. The previous night filtered back into his thoughts. He rose quickly, swinging his legs over the bed's edge, and looked around, still dazed from dormancy.

"Shade?"

She was not present, but then how could she be? He had barely reached the inn on the edge of dawn, just in time to bolt into his room and fall dormant upon the bed. His clothes had dampened the blankets, as he had not bothered to undress. He picked up his cloak and left. The instant he stepped outside, he called out.

"Shade!"

Outside the inn, two husky-looking dwarves glanced his way, but Chane did not care. He looked for Shade, at a loss for how to find her, let alone whether she had yet returned.

The last of evening activities still filled the port. Another ship had docked far out on one pier. Its strange curled prow and central row of towering triangular sails caught his attention. Long ship's oars were raised upright along its rail.

Dwarven dockworkers were hauling huge bales and barrels down the pier from the vessel. Among them were short and dark-skinned Suman passengers or crew in long, flowing vestments and cloth head wraps. Though they stood a head taller than the dwarves, they were not as tall as Wynn's Suman confederate, Domin il'Sänke.

The night was even darker than the last, the moon still hidden behind the peninsula's high peak. Tomorrow, it would be invisible, even when it crested—a new moon. As the night was his world, he used to pay more attention to such things. Right now, he did not care.

"Shade?"

A low huff reached his ears.

Chane twisted left at the sound, and Shade came padding down the street. To his surprise, he felt a pang of guilt that she had been locked out all day. But she trotted right past him.

"Shade?"

The dog kept on, heading for the main road—the one that led to the lift.

"Get back here!" he called.

Shade paused at the corner, looking over her shoulder at him, and then slipped out of sight.

Chane bolted back into the inn and ran for his room. After retrieving his packs, he tossed coins on the counter for the innkeeper, waiting only long enough to see that they were sufficient. Then he rushed out.

When he rounded the corner, there was Shade, sitting at the bottom of the loading ramp.

A pack of dwarves with cargo and a pair of Sumans in garish colors approached. All of them stopped at the sight of a "wolf" in their way.

"Dhêb!" snarled a full-bearded Suman.

When the man reached for the hilt of an arced sword cradled in his waist wrap, Chane pushed through.

"She is mine!" he said, stepping in front of Shade. "She will not cause any trouble."

One dwarf with hair cropped to bristles grimaced at him. He whispered something to his closest companion, who in turn spoke directly to the pair of Sumans, presumably in their own tongue. Chane glanced back.

Shade wandered up to the lift under the suspicious eyes of what had to be the stationmaster. The dwarf stood silent, holding the gate open. Shade boarded with a disgruntled rumble and squatted in the platform's rear corner.

Chane stood looking at her in frustration while one Suman argued fervently with his dwarven companions. Finally, Chane boarded, stepping in next to Shade, still wishing he could somehow demand an answer. Dockworkers loaded up the platform, piling bales and barrels and crates to such width and height that Chane grew nervous about the weight. He glared down at Shade.

Had she found anything or had she given up, insisting on returning to Wynn?

Amid the fuss her presence too often caused, he had no way to find out. He would have to bear the ride up before this belligerent beast gave the answer to Wynn.

At the first bell past supper, Wynn sat on her room's floor holding the scroll's case in both hands. The duchess wasn't going anywhere tonight, and she felt at loose ends.

For two seasons at the guild she'd often sought little more than privacy. Being alone was her only relief. But a third night on her own in the seatt suddenly left her lonely. She felt strange, even incomplete.

With some reluctance, she admitted to herself that she missed Chane and Shade, that she worried for them in finding their way among the dwarves. Chane didn't even speak their language. And Shade …

Wynn began to feel spiteful again.

She had some choice words for that troublesome adolescent. There would be no more stubborn nonsense about words where Shade was concerned. Loneliness didn't break under righteous anger, but it felt like a weakness or a fault within her. She had a purpose to fulfill at any cost, even alone, if need be.

Wynn grasped the scroll case's cap but hesitated at pulling it off.

In the ice-covered castle atop the Pock Peaks, the first time she had seen this scroll, Li'kän had nearly ripped it off the shelf of the decaying library and shoved it at her. Wynn had thought Li'kän simply wished for her to read it aloud. Now she knew that was impossible.

That deceptively frail white monster had some other intention, considering the scroll's black coating over its writing. But Wynn hadn't seen inside the case that night. Li'kän dropped it, and later, Chane had found and taken it.

Why had Li'kän tried to give her this scroll case?

Wynn pulled off the pitted pewter cap and removed the contents.

The scroll itself was an ancient piece of hide, made pliable once more by Chane's painstaking efforts. But it was unreadable—at least by normal means. The inner surface was nearly black all the way to the edges, covered in ink that had set centuries ago.

Wynn carefully flattened it on the floor.

The words beneath the coating had been scripted in the fluids of an undead. Though ink and hide retained traces of the five Elements of Existence, those fluids would always be devoid of, or the negative aspect of, one—Spirit. Through her mantic sight, she could see what was missing as much as what was there. She'd already once glimpsed the ancient Suman characters beneath the coating.

This was how she'd begun her translation work back at the guild, memorizing as many of the Sumanese Iyindu characters as possible before her sight made her too sick. With Chane's aid, she'd jotted down those phrases and translated what she could. Domin il'Sänke had later assisted with corrections.

Reaching for her pack, Wynn pulled out her journals, her elven quill, and a small bottle of ink. If tonight would be spent in more solitude, she might as well do something useful. The poem hidden on the hide had been written by one of Li'kän's companions, either Häs'saun or Volyno. More likely Häs'saun—a Suman name.

Wynn reviewed her notes on the few phrases she'd glimpsed in the scroll:

Children … twenty-six steps

To hide … five corners

To anchor amid … the void

Consumes its own

Of the mountain under … the chair of a lord's song

Domin il'Sänke had corrected her translation of min'bâl'alu—"of a lord's song." What she'd thought was prepositional was actually an obscure Iyindu syntax with no comparison in her native Numanese. By context, it was pronounced differently than what was written, sounding like "min'bä'alâle." As well, the term maj'att—"chair"—should actually be translated as a general "seat" of any kind. Stranger still, its correct spelling didn't end with a doubled "t," as found in the scroll. The combined changes produced a startlingly familiar though all-but-forgotten Dwarvish term approximated in an ancient Sumanese dialect.

Min'bä'alâle maj'att … Bäalâle Seatt.

At the guild, she'd been given one day's access to translations so far completed. Through a very long day, and later realizations, she had uncovered other possible hints of meaning behind the poem's strange metaphors.

"Twenty-six steps" didn't refer to a distance but rather thirteen pairs of feet, thirteen individuals traveling. Wynn still didn't know what "five corners" meant, but she'd learned who the thirteen had been … or were.

Ancient vampires, perhaps the first Noble Dead of the world, called in'Ahtäben—the Children—had numbered thirteen. They'd served their Hkàbêv—Beloved—another term for the unknown being or force in the war of the Forgotten History. She knew other terms in varied Suman dialects for this forgotten enemy of many names, such as in'Sa'umar and il'Samar… .

The Night Voice.

Wynn had also uncovered names for at least five of the Children of Beloved. Li'kän, along with her missing companions, Häs'saun and Volyno, were among them. She only hoped, considering the white undead's long, inescapable isolation, that the latter two were somehow gone from this world. But there were others to account for, including a pair named Vespana and Ga'hetman.

So far, "to hide" what wasn't clear, but the Children had scattered near the end of the war. In the frozen castle an "orb"—for lack of a proper term—had been discovered. But where had the other ten Children gone, if any still existed, and why hadn't they accompanied Li'kän and her companions? What had "consumed its own" beneath lost Bäalâle Seatt? And more immediately, why had the wraith committed murder for the translation folios?

The wraith had attacked Wynn on several occasions, after Chane had brought the scroll to her. Had it known what was hidden therein?

Perhaps she'd overlooked something in her one brief glimpse of the scroll's content. But attempting to see the poem again meant raising her mantic sight. Tonight, she didn't have Domin il'Sänke or Chap—or even Shade—to help rid her of the sight, should something go wrong.

Wynn sat there, staring at the scroll's blackened surface and teetering between sensibility and overwhelming desire. As usual, curiosity tipped her one way. She set the scroll aside, extended her right index finger to draw a mental circle upon on the floor, and—the door burst open.

Chane rushed in behind Shade. Both halted at the sight of the scroll and Wynn's finger poised over the floor stones.

"What are you doing?" Chane demanded. "Are you trying to summon mantic sight all alone?"

The odor of the sea filled the room from her returned companions. Chane's clothing was stained in faint white shadows of dried salt, though much of him still looked damp. His hair was a mess, as was Shade's crusted charcoal-colored fur.

Shade crept over, sniffed the scroll, and wrinkled her jowls. Her glittering eyes narrowed on Wynn—the suspicion there was too much like what Wynn remembered from Chap.

She searched her companions' faces, caught between relief and trepidation over their venture.

"Did you find it?" she blurted out.

Chane scowled, matching Shade's disapproval over what they'd caught her doing.

"Maybe," he answered, and glared at Shade.

Wynn went numb. "What does that mean?"

"What are you doing?" Chane repeated. "I thought to find you near the market or the duchess's inn."

"Pointless," she answered, rolling up the scroll and tucking it back in its case. "Reine has retired until tomorrow night. Everyone with her is apparently waiting for something. They're going back down for days. I have no idea what's so special about tomorrow night."

"The new moon," Chane said, and before she asked, he shook his head. "Something I noticed while onshore. The moon will be invisible tomorrow night."

Wynn pondered this, though it didn't seem to mean anything. Stonewalkers would rarely see the sky or the moon.

"Never mind … did you find a way in or not?"

"Ask her," Chane replied, jutting his chin toward Shade.

Wynn blinked rapidly. How could Shade know but not Chane? Upon seeing her confusion, he explained all, up to the point when Shade led him back to the lift.

"She clearly wanted to return to you," he added.

Wynn put aside Shade's sneaky reluctance for language and crooked a finger at the dog.

"All right, you," she said. "Out with it, now!"

Shade approached and Wynn reached for the dog's face. At the touch, she raised a memory that Shade had shown her—of the grated opening beyond a sea pool in the sealed chamber that the duchess had visited.

In answer, Wynn's head swam with new images, scents, and sounds.

The smell of the sea was overpowering, as if it clogged her whole nose. She felt cold and damp all over. Even high up the shore's slope, the surf's spray kept hitting her. Her feet hurt, as if she'd been walking barefooted—bare-pawed—on broken stone all night.

Inside Shade's memory, Wynn looked down upon rock as she sniffed her way along the shore. Wet crags, cracks, and crevices glittered in her sight. She—Shade—glanced up.

The sky over the ocean was dimly lit. Dawn wasn't far off, though the sun couldn't have yet crested the eastern horizon beyond the mountain. Only Shade's superior sight allowed Wynn to see as much as she did. She felt and heard herself whine, and the sound was so frustrated and tired.

In the distance, too far off, she made out the port by its tallest buildings and the few moored ships. Instead of dipping her muzzle in continued search, Wynn turned back toward the port. Her pace quickened as much as shifting rocks would allow.

Wynn's own frustration and misery mounted on top of the memory. She let her hands drop from Shade's face at her own weak whisper.

"No … no."

"What did she find?" Chane rasped.

Wynn was too crestfallen to face him. Shade had found nothing. But when Wynn tried to lift her head to answer, Shade huffed. The dog dipped and wriggled her muzzle until Wynn's fingers slid down her neck.

The memory began again.

Down the shore, the port seemed nearer, but not by much. And Wynn—Shade—climbed higher up the shore to pass over a deep inlet. Then she stopped, pricked her ears, and listened. The sound of the water below seemed wrong.

She heard the undulating sea breach the inlet's shallows, and she crept dangerously close to look down. Waves broke out near the inlet's mouth, and below, she couldn't quite see the inlet's back.

A second memory flashed over this moment, from sometime much earlier during the night.

Wynn saw an inlet from along its southern-bordering rock ridge. At the back was a wide overhang barely a few feet above the water. She—Shade—listened as the water hit the cave's back somewhere in that deeper dark.

Then she was back in the previous memory.

She stood atop the overhang, and the sound had changed. It echoed. Not the soft reverberation of water undulating against the cave's back, as in that second overlaid memory. It was more rolling and extended, amplified in the space below.

The water in the inlet was shallower now, revealing the inlet's rocky floor.

Wynn scrambled across the inlet's top and down the backbone. She didn't stop until she was all the way along its inner slope and staring into the inlet. At low tide, the overhang was now well above the water's shifting surface. The change of the waves' sounds increased, becoming clearer. Wynn leaped off the backbone's edge into the cold water.

She sank chest-deep as all four paws fought for sure footing, and she heard …

A soft trickling, water flowing … out between sluggish inward surges.

She froze, waiting as water rolled inward, rising halfway up her hips and soaking her tail. When it receded, again she heard the hollow echo of water trickling out—as if from a deeper space.

Wynn lunged in beneath the dark overhang. When her nose finally struck the back wall, she recoiled, snorting and shaking her head. The dim light of predawn wasn't enough to see, but the water was now only halfway up her legs. She nosed carefully along the rough stone until … it wasn't there anymore.

Wynn—Shade—pulled back, startled, but the echo of trickling water was now loud in her ears. She glanced back to get her bearings and found she had shifted far to the right of the overhang's opening. Whatever space she'd found would never even be seen from outside.

She extended her snout.

Poking about, she found an opening's edge. One careful paw step after another, she crept inward.

It was a tunnel. By her best guess and the echoes of her splashing steps, the passage was not tall. The farther she went, the less water surged inward, until it barely splashed under her paws. Then her head bumped sharply against something hard. Somehow it had missed her nose and caught her on both sides of her face. She retreated as the thump echoed, sounding dully metallic.

Wynn sniffed about until she found something.

It was upright and round, thicker than her foreleg. She carefully closed her jaws on it. Indeed, it tasted like metal. The next vertical bar was too close to slip her head between them.

Shade had found a hidden passage, but it was barred against entry.

She was already shivering from cold, but it didn't matter. She had found what Wynn needed.

Shade wheeled about, lunging back down the passage, into the ending cave, and out from beneath the overhang. By the time she scrabbled over the rocky backbone, she was hurrying for port as fast as her footing allowed. When she reached it, full daylight had arrived.

Fishermen and sailors glanced over as she trotted between the buildings, but none approached, giving her no reason to growl. She was alone and cold, longing for the blanket at the inn. She stopped outside the door, hesitated, and turned aside. Then she spotted a small shed filled with netting and piled canvas.

Shade slipped inside and burrowed into the pile.

The memory ended suddenly.

Wynn's head ached from such a prolonged exchange, but she knew the rest of what had happened. Shade had waited out the day, having no way to reach Chane. Close within sight of the inn, she had watched for him and led him back to the lift.

Wynn was shaking, and not just from memory of drenching cold water.

"Oh … oh, my Shade!"

"What did you see?" Chane asked.

"She did it! She found it! Shade, you clever girl!"

Wynn told Chane all she'd experienced. His eyes widened at her mention of the inlet, and he shook his head, as if denying it was true.

"The tide," he hissed. "Why did I not think of that?"

At Wynn's silence, he explained how he and Shade had first stumbled upon the inlet and found nothing.

"We must check the tides," he added, "and return when it is low or at least receding."

"And find a way through those bars," Wynn returned. "It may be another grate, like the one in the pool's room."

Then she faltered. One puzzle remained concerning her companions' venture.

"How did you make Shade understand what to do … on her own?" she asked. "She can memory-speak only with me."

Chane hesitated and then raised his hand directly before Wynn's face—the hand with the brass ring.

He pinched it with his other hand.

"No … don't!" Wynn gasped.

Before she could stop him, Chane pulled off the ring.

Wynn heard Shade's quick snarl behind her, but that was all.

"She knows," Chane said. "Perhaps has known all along."

Wynn twisted about.

Shade still sat on the floor, but her ears were flattened. Her jowls curled at Chane before her crystal blue eyes turned back on Wynn. Shade grew quiet once more.

"I knew the risk," Chane whispered. "It was the only way for her to see my chosen memories and hope she understood."

Wynn studied Shade, still unsure what this really meant. One thing was certain—Shade was aware of much more than she let on. Without warning, Wynn whispered one sharp word at Shade.

"Chane."

Shade's gaze wavered, flickering briefly toward him.

"I saw that!" Wynn accused. "You little sneak!"

"What are you talking about?" Chane asked.

"Her!" Wynn jabbed a finger at Shade.

With a throaty whine, Shade cocked her head.

"You're not the only thing she knows about," Wynn accused. "All this time, twisting my head apart until it aches, trying to use memory-speak, because it was all she understood … and she's been lying to me! She knows words!"

Chane let out a tired groan that sounded more like a hiss. "Names, perhaps … only because she has heard them, connected them to someone."

Wynn didn't believe it, but it was easy enough to test. Keeping her thoughts clear of memories, she scanned the little room. She spotted the sheathed sun crystal where she'd left it.

"Staff!" she said pointedly.

Shade started to turn her head but halted. In barely a blink, her ears lowered and she didn't look back up at Wynn.

"That's it!" Wynn growled. "Get over here, you … you obstinate … adolescent!"

With one quick step, Wynn made a grab for Shade's scruff—and missed.

Shade scooted her butt back across the floor. One snort and a huff, and she made a face at Wynn, wrinkled and repugnant, like she'd tasted something foul.

"Wynn, this is not the time," Chane warned.

"Oh, yes, it is!" Wynn shot back, still eyeing the dog. "If we're headed into more trouble, I've no time to constantly wrestle with memories. She's going to stop being stubborn and start doing things my way. Now … come here, Shade!"

This time, Shade spun on her butt. She pushed off from a squat and leaped straight up and over the bed's foot. The sight would've scared most people, but not Wynn.

"Don't you run from me!" she ordered, making another grab.

Her hand slipped too quickly down Shade's rising back and haunches. When her fingers crossed the dog's tail, she clenched her grip.

In the years to come, Wynn would look back on this moment and cringe. Snatching the tail of a now panicked wild animal taller than any wolf would be one—among many—of the stupidest things she'd ever done. But in the moment, she didn't care, until …

Shade yelped and twisted her head back with a snarl. Standing on the bed, she leveled her eyes with Wynn's—and Wynn balked.

"Stop it!" Chane said sharply. "She will turn on you!"

"No, she w—"

A squeak of shock was all Wynn finished with, as Shade lunged away.

Chane rushed by as Wynn's legs caught on the bed's foot, and her feet left the floor. Still clinging to Shade's tail, she shot forward and landed facedown on the hard pile mattress. Half of Wynn's breath rushed out in a grunt, and Shade's tail slipped from her hand.

Wynn rolled onto her side, trying to sit up. She heard Shade utter a vicious snarl and shrank away, flopping over on her back.

"Get back!" Chane hissed, and his hand shot out above Wynn.

She saw him try to shove Shade away.

"Chane, don't—" she started to warn.

Shade had already wheeled upon the bed.

Chane's hand barely lighted on her shoulder when she twisted her head and nipped him. He snatched his hand back, clutching it in shock. Before Wynn could react, large forepaws landed against her side and shoved.

With another squeal, Wynn slid sharply across the bed, over its side, and straight into Chane's legs. He toppled as she flopped on the floor and quickly scrambled over onto her hands and knees. Chane sat on his rump, staring at his shaking hand.

"It burns," he whispered, "like …"

Like Magiere's blade, Wynn thought, though Chane never finished. Then Wynn saw the smudge of oily black fluid above the base of Chane's thumb.

As far as Wynn knew, the only other things in this world beside Magiere's falchion that could sear an undead with a wound were the teeth and claws of a majay-hì. Shade had broken Chane's skin, and though she obviously hadn't intended serious harm, she'd gone too far.

"Damnation!" Wynn swore, clawing up and over the bedside. "How many pain-in-the-ass majay-hì do I have to fight with in one lifetime?"

Shade wasn't there—not exactly.

The tips of two tall, dark ears peeked above the bed's other side. For Shade's size, it was ridiculous for her to think she could hide there.

"Shade," Wynn said, "I'm your elder, no matter why your father sent you!"

The dog's head rose just enough to reveal her yellow-flecked blue eyes. She blinked slowly with mocking, sleepy-eyed disinterest, and swung her muzzle over to rest upon the bed.

Then she snorted.

Wynn lost her last grain of calm. "You will learn more words … if I have to pin your ears back and shout them into that stubborn head!"

Shade wrinkled her jowls—and her tongue flicked out and up over the tip of her nose.

Wynn stiffened. That impudent gesture was all too familiar—like the one Chap always used. She stabbed a finger across the bed, straight at Shade's nose.

"Don't you sass me, young lady!"