Barb Hendee - Through Stone and Sea

"Chane, watch your manners!" Wynn warned. She'd been so overwhelmed by Shade that she'd forgotten what Chane had somehow overheard.

"My apology," Chane said, though his civility sounded forced.

Mallet was still stunned speechless, but the shock in his expression quickly vanished.

"I see no need to answer to a thief!" he snarled, "who steals words not given to him."

Wynn quickly got up. Mallet's choice of words implied something worse than eavesdropping, considering he was an elder monk of a poet Eternal in a culture of oral tradition.

"Please, shirvêsh," she pleaded. "There's no time for formality. What happened in the shattered passage? How did Hammer-Stag die?"

Mallet turned renewed astonishment on Wynn. The obvious unspoken question was how did she know that? But there was no time to cover up her blunder.

"It could be very important," she said. "We need to know."

The old shirvêsh eyed her as if he had indeed caught a thief in his temple.

"Nothing is certain," he finally answered, "only that a vicious battle took place. Passersby found him and alerted the local clan guard. No one knew what to make of what they found. His ax lay just beyond his hand and … and as you said, the passage was shattered all around him. Yet no blood … as if not one of his blows had struck true on his opponent, and there were no wounds on him. He was just … pale, eyes still open … as if his heart gave out in an instant and all blood drained from his face."

Wynn grew colder with every word that Mallet uttered. Hammer-Stag was renowned as a warrior. In that narrow tunnel that Shade had shown her, how could he not have struck his attacker even once?

A thunderous beat echoed about the amphitheater. Any low sounds among those present died instantly. Four more beats of an unseen drum echoed around the high curved walls, and Mallet spun about.

His eyes roamed the stage and then fixed as she heard him inhale. Wynn forgot everything as her gaze followed his.

From out of the far square opening upon the platform came six dwarves, all dressed in black and dark gray. The drum kept on, its thunder matched to their steps. Wynn barely caught that two of them were women, dressed exactly like the men, before she focused entirely on their leader.

Black, steel-streaked hair framed an old face with a broad nose over a mouth rimmed by a cropped and bristling steely beard. Like all the others, he wore char-gray breeches and a shirt beneath a hauberk of oily black leather scales that glinted strangely. In the low light, it took a moment to make out those sparks. Polished steel fixtures covered the tips of each scale upon his armor.

Wynn had seen him once before in the doorway of Domin High-Tower's study. As much as his attire, she remembered that face, that bearing. If Death personified stepped into the path of this one, the grim dwarf would walk right through him without acknowledgment. Or Death would scurry out of the way.

Wynn stared at the Stonewalkers as their elder paced straight to the litter upon the stone block. The amphitheater's silence was so complete that she heard every grind of his heavy boots upon stone. He stopped directly behind the head of Hammer-Stag's draped corpse. The five remaining Stonewalkers took places around the litter, two to either side and one at his feet. The last caught Wynn's full attention.

His red hair was unmistakable … the one she'd overheard High-Tower call "brother."

It was Ore-Locks.

Wynn took one furtive glance toward Sliver in the stands.

The smith was on her feet. She leaned hard upon the stone rail, but without eagerness in her face. Her expression twisted over and over, as if she might weep in pain, but then instantly hardened in resentment at the sight of Ore-Locks.

Wynn understood why Sliver had come tonight—to hopefully catch a glimpse of one long-lost brother. But Wynn didn't know why hate rather than love shone upon Sliver's face.

A roaring voice like cracking stone jerked Wynn's gaze to the stage.

"Who brings this one to wait upon us?" called the eldest of the Stonewalkers.

"Stálghlên—Pure-Steel—brings him," answered a white-clad shirvêsh.

There was hesitation in his voice, as if Hammer-Stag's fate remained uncertain.

"Then he comes by virtue of championship?" asked the eldest stonewalker.

"Most certainly Fiáh'our—Hammer-Stag—was this and more," the monk answered.

Another long silence left Wynn fearful that something had gone wrong. A shout rose from the silver-streaked elder of the Stonewalkers.

"An honored thänæ!"

The entire amphitheater erupted in shouts and cries, and the crowd's noise pounded in Wynn's ears. It was so loud she could almost feel it upon her skin. Warriors upon the floor before the stage unsheathed weapons, raising them in the air. Every dwarf in the place was on his or her feet, chanting that Hammer-Stag was to be taken "into stone . "

Chane's hissing voice rose close to Wynn's ear.

"We should slip out amid the distraction," he insisted. "We must find out how they got in before they take the corpse. This may be our only chance to catch them."

Wynn came to her senses. She was here for a reason, but how could she just slip away? What would Mallet say when he discovered his guests were gone? She hadn't thought through her hopes for this night, but High-Tower's brother was right here . She couldn't miss the chance of getting to him.

The elder stonewalker abruptly jerked off the gray cloth, and his comrades instantly tilted the litter up. Shouts for Hammer-Stag's acceptance turned into an incomprehensible roar.

Wynn's gasp was drowned in the cacophony.

Hammer-Stag's body stood carefully dressed and groomed, his armor oiled and polished. The sides of his hair were braided, the two tendrils bound at the ends by tight rings of dark metal. His arms were folded and bound across, clutching his great ax against his chest. But Wynn stared only at his face and hands.

They were ashen—almost gray beyond the mottled undertones of his people.

His features weren't twisted as in the memory Shade had passed. But whatever attempt had been made to relax them in final repose hadn't fully succeeded.

Hammer-Stag was as sallow as the victim of a Noble Dead.

Wynn looked up at Chane. He too stared at the dead thänæ.

A few others on the floor nearest the stage exchanged disturbed glances. Those in the stands were too far off to notice. The roar in the amphitheater continued as Wynn struggled to get hold of herself.

She grasped Chane's sleeve.

"Say nothing!" he insisted, but his eyes flickered in rapid thought.

The Stonewalkers lowered the litter and re-covered Hammer-Stag with the shimmering cloth. They jointly hoisted the litter upon their shoulders as their elder turned toward the stage's far exit.

"We must catch up with them," Chane whispered, and grasped Wynn's hand.

She half turned, following him, and then spotted a small group entering the amphitheater.

Duchess Reine Faunier-Âreskynna swept out of the dark tunnel onto the flagstones. A trio of the weardas surrounded her, followed by the white-robed elf so often seen at her side. Everyone standing near the tunnel's mouth quickly stepped aside for the entourage.

"Valhachkasej'â! " Wynn cursed, and pulled out of Chane's hold.

She grabbed the back of his cloak, jerking him halfway around as she ducked in behind him. Then she had to grab him again to keep him from turning around on her.

"Don't move!" she whispered, and peeked cautiously around his side.

Dressed in high riding boots and a dark sea green cloak, Duchess Reine had thrown back her hood. Thick chestnut hair was pinned up with twin combs of mother-of-pearl, shaped like foaming ocean waves. Neither she nor any of her companions broke stride as they drove straight through the crowd.