Barb Hendee - Through Stone and Sea

A wide tin flue above the forge caught rising smoke and seemed to suck it up like a mouth. Each "breath" came in time with the bellows' pumps. The counterweights halted, and the tin mouth went silent.

Wynn saw thin smoke spill upward over the flue's lip.

The woman jammed the mule shoe into the coals in a burst of sparks and stepped around to grab a chain dangling from the higher counterweight. She hauled upon it, thick muscles bulging in her arms as it changed places with its counterpart. When she released her grip, the clicking of chains and gears resumed, along with the flue's pulsing breaths. The woman rounded the forge and picked up her iron tongs.

Though dizzy, Wynn clearly remembered Hammer-Stag's accounting of names. High-Tower's sister was named Skirra, which roughly meant "Sliver" in Numanese. As the smith jerked the mule shoe from the coals and set its red-hot metal upon the anvil, Wynn stepped in and dropped her pack inside the doorway.

"Is this the Iron-Braid smithy?" she called out. "Run by Sliver?"

The woman's hammer hung poised in the air. Her dark eyes rested briefly on Wynn, shifted to Chane, and finally dropped to Shade.

"We are closed," she said in a deep voice.

The hammer fell with a sharp clank, sparks spitting from struck metal.

Wynn hesitated. "Are you … Sliver Iron-Braid?"

"Come back tomorrow," the woman said.

That wasn't a denial. Wynn's stomach rolled again as she took two steps, trying not to trip on her robe.

"We're not seeking s-s-services," she said, and then stopped, trying to swallow away the cottony sensation in her mouth.

The woman lowered her hammer until its head barely clicked upon the anvil.

"I am Wynn Hye … Hyj … orth … of the Guild of Sagecraft," Wynn added. "I … we stay at the temple of Bezu … Bedaka …" She gave up on Dwarvish. "We stay at the temple of Feather-Tongue. We traveled a long way for news of your brother."

Sliver's expression hardened. Even her cheekbones appeared to bulge above a clenched mouth.

"The smithy is closed!" she snarled. "And maybe you would know more of my brother than I!"

Shade paused in sniffing about the nearest table legs, and Chane stepped in quickly, placing a warning hand on Wynn's shoulder. Wynn didn't know how she'd given offense.

"No … not High-Tower," she corrected. "Your other brother."

Sliver straightened slowly, not blinking once as she stared back. She sucked air through reclenched teeth and took a fast step toward Wynn, the hammer still in her fist.

"Get out!" she roared.

Before Wynn finished a cringe, Chane stood partially in front of her. Sliver sneered at him, not the least bit intimidated.

"I said leave," she repeated, full of warning. "I have no other brother!"

Wynn's brief fright faded. Perhaps it was how dwarves respected strength and forthrightness, or maybe just pride at her successful "telling" in the greeting house. Something emboldened Wynn, but it certainly wasn't the ale. She stepped directly into Sliver's face.

"Don't lie to me!" she shouted back. "I saw him when he came to the guild to visit High-Tower. He's one of your people's Stonewalkers."

Sliver's mouth gaped, and she backed one step. "Meâkesa … went to Chlâyard?"

Then her voice failed, and so did Wynn's.

Why did a meeting between brothers shock their sister so much? Then Wynn realized through her haze that Sliver had just given her the name of a stonewalker.

Meâkesa … Ore-Locks.

"We need to speak with Ore-Locks," Wynn insisted. "It's critical. Where do I find him?"

Sliver shuddered as her face twisted in revulsion … or was it fear, perhaps pain?

When Wynn had eavesdropped outside of High-Tower's study, she got the sense that he hadn't seen his brother in years. They were both so bitter, with no connection other than blood. Shirvêsh Mallet hadn't heard from High-Tower for a decade or more, and the mention of Ore-Locks visiting High-Tower had struck Sliver even harder.

How long had it been since either brother had looked in upon their younger sister?

Sliver snatched the front of Wynn's robe.

Wynn sucked in a breath in fright. Before she shouted a warning, Chane latched onto the smith's thick wrist, and Wynn never got out a word. Sliver released her hammer and rammed her flat palm into Chane's lower chest.

Chane was gone before Wynn heard the hammer clank onto the floor.

She heard Chane hit the outer passage's far wall in a clatter of packs as Shade let out a savage rolling snarl. Sliver's face twisted in an echo of the dog's noise as she hoisted Wynn higher.

Wynn's feet left the floor, and ale welled up in her throat.

She couldn't even gasp as Sliver threw her out of the smithy after Chane. She slammed against something yielding but firm, and the staff clattered from her grip as she flailed. Then Chane's arms wrapped around her as they both fell back against the passage's far wall.

The tunnel's dimness, welling ale, and the haze in Wynn's head mounted one upon another. She slid down Chane's legs to the floor, struggling to get untangled from her twisted cloak. She heard and saw Shade poised and snapping in the doorway before the maddened smith.

"Shade … no!" she gagged out.

Foam built in the back of Wynn's throat, filling her whole mouth with a bitter, acrid taste. She tumbled forward onto all fours as Chane crab-stepped aside to get his footing.

"Shade!" Wynn choked out. "No!"

The dog finally backed into the passage, still growling.

Sliver spun away into the smithy and slammed the door shut.

Wynn's last glimpse of High-Tower's sister was of a face warped by outrage and fright. She tried to get up, but the floor seemed to roll beneath her hands like a ship's deck.

Her stomach clenched so hard she squeaked in pain.

Chane watched helplessly as Wynn vomited all over the tunnel floor. When she retched again, he dropped to his knees and pulled back her hair. He had to grab her when she almost collapsed in the pool of slightly foaming ale.

She felt so small in his arms as her body clenched and heaved, and she finally collapsed against him. Her eyes closed as she went limp with a shuddering inhale.

"Wynn?" he whispered, afraid to even shake her a little.

Shade rushed over, whining in open alarm, and began pawing at Wynn's robe.

"Back," Chane rasped, but the dog either did not understand or would not listen.

"Witless …" Wynn mumbled. "Witless … Wynn … me and my stupid—"

Another heave cut off her babble, and she curled over Chane's folded knees, trying to hold it back.

Chane looked frantically up and down the tunnel.

Lost in an underground city of foreign people, with only an antagonistic elven dog and a half-conscious sage, what could he possibly do? If not for Shade's presence, he would have hunted down some lone resident and forced answers to his need.

Down the way, a bulky figure stepped out of a draped doorway.

Chane glanced at Shade and gritted his teeth.

"Pardon," he rasped in Numanese, hoping his maimed voice did not startle the person.

The figure paused and turned and then came thumping down the way. As the man entered the bit of red light seeping through the smithy door's cracks, Chane looked into the face of a young male dwarf. Beardless and dressed in burlap breeches and jerkin under a rabbit fur vest, he wore a sloppy hat of lime-striped canvas slouched upon his head of wiry brown hair.

"I need to find the nearest inn … common house … lodge," Chane said in frustration.

The young dwarf crouched, frowned at the pool foaming ale, and then peered at Wynn's huddled form.

"A'ye, dené beghân thuag-na yune rugh'gire! " he said, and shook his head with a sympathetic sigh.

Chane sagged. His first lone encounter was with a dwarf who did not speak Numanese. Even intimidation would gain him nothing. He slid Wynn's staff into the lashing on his own pack, mounting the whole of it onto his back, and then grabbed for his other pack, preparing to head out in search of an inn.