Barb Hendee - Through Stone and Sea

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.