Barb Hendee - Through Stone and Sea

Chane watched the space widen between the lock panel and the outer frame, but the bolt within the crack never moved.

"Crystal …" He grunted. "Bring it closer."

Wynn's feet splashed as she shuffled in with her burdens. But the crystal's light shifted enough to pierce the narrow space.

Chane threw his full effort against the pry bar. Though the gate shifted slightly from the frame, the bolt still did not move. Rather the lock plate moved to expose a bit of it, and its metal had a sharp glint.

The bolt was thick steel, not iron.

"Odsúdýnjè! " Chane hissed in his native Belaskian. He released all effort and slumped against the wall.

"What's wrong?" Wynn asked. "Why did you stop?"

Chane slowly shook his head. "The bolt is steel … and not attached to the lock."

Wynn's brows gathered in puzzlement.

"The bolt comes out of the wall," Chane tried to explain, "and into the lock plate. I will never pry the gate out far enough for the lock to slip free of it. There is not enough give between frame and gate."

"What about the hinges?" Wynn asked.

Chane looked back down the tunnel at the softly undulating seawater. "No, that would take too long."

"Then bend the bars."

Even Shade could not worm her head between those. Chane scanned all the way around the gate's circumference.

"The steel pry bar should hold," he answered. "But the iron bars are thicker."

Frustrated, he clutched one upright bar in silence.

"Heat," Wynn suggested. "You can conjure fire around one bar, make it more pliable."

Chane shook his head. "I cannot make conjured flame defy the earth and hang in the air … no one can."

"Then what? There has to be something!"

There was, now that the idea had been broached. But it was not something he was comfortable trying, considering Wynn's past reactions to the origin of his brass ring. He tucked the pry bar under his arm and unlashed the flap of his pack in Wynn's arms.

"What are you looking for?" she asked.

Chane pulled the etched steel hoop out of Welstiel's belongings.

"Where did that … come …" Wynn began, but trailed off, and she raised her eyes in accusation. "More of Welstiel's toys? Just how many of that madman's things did you take?"

"Everything he had," Chane returned flatly.

He had no time to deal with Wynn's distaste. He was not even sure that what he had in mind would work. The hoop's outer circumference was encircled with one etched black line no more than a hair's breadth. Similarly delicate and swirling marks and symbols covered the rest of it. Though it had the feel and weight of steel, a faint scent of charcoal rose from its etchings.

Chane stepped to the gate's center.

Crouching below the cross strut, he slipped the pry bar's end through, along one iron bar's side, and then reached through and hooked the loop over its end. The hoop slid down, resting against the gate's bar.

He had barely fathomed the hoop's operation. Whereas Welstiel had called up intense heat within the item, even handled it while hot, Chane could barely get it to glow. And once it was activated, he dared not touch it, always waiting long, until it cooled enough to pick up.

Chane waved Shade back as Wynn watched in silence. With a hoarsely whispered chant, he traced his index finger around the hoop and jerked his hand back.

Red pinprick sparks rose within the hoop's marks. They spread until all the etchings glowed like the coals beneath a fading fire.

"Is it doing anything yet?" Wynn asked.

Chane carefully touched the gate's bar in contact with the hoop. Barely any heat had penetrated. He needed more. But how?

He made a blind choice.

Dropping his free hand into the water, he drenched it. He then raised and extended his index finger as he began to chant again.

"No, it's too hot!" Wynn warned.

Chane quickly traced his finger another time around the hoop. A sizzle of water rose from the contact. He felt his fingertip begin to sear as he finished and thrust his hand down into the water.

The hoop's marks glowed with a sudden intensity. Red light became ruddy orange.

Pronounced heat radiated upon Chane's face. He heard Wynn suck in and hold a breath as he repeated the process, once, twice, three times more. The scent of seared flesh became distinct in the air. With his hand submerged the last time, Chane let hunger rise enough to eat away the small pain.

The hoop's markings turned pale orange-yellow, and the pry bar's steel began to grow hot.

He untied his cloak and wrapped a corner of it around the pry bar's nearer end. Even with protection, he felt heat grow beneath his grip. Vapor began to rise off the wet wool, but he focused only upon the gate's bar in contact with the hoop.

The barest dim red had spread into the black iron. He tipped the pry bar forward.

The hoop fell on the gate's far side and hit the water with a sharp hiss. As a cloud of steam erupted on its impact, Chane threw all his force against the pry bar's cloak-wrapped end.

Without a wall to brace his back, his boots slipped on the tunnel's submerged floor, but the one heated bar bent away from its nearest neighbor. He twisted back, levering the other way. The other central bar barely gave, but the heated one bent a little more.

"That's enough," Wynn said. "You've got it."

Chane pulled the pry bar out and splashed water against the gate's heated bar. Once it stopped steaming, he knew it was safe enough to pass through. He tossed the pry bar to the other side and took his packs from Wynn. He held hers as she struggled through the widened space, and then Shade wriggled after her.

Chane passed Wynn's pack and staff through. When she was ready, he shoved his own belongings through the tight space. Getting through himself was more trouble, and he ended up soaked to the shoulder on his left side. The last thing he did was fish out the pry bar and use it to hook the hoop out of the water.

The etchings still glowed. Not as brightly as when he had dropped it, but more than in the first pass of his finger. He had not yet learned how to dispel its heat and would have to carry it on the bar for now. He crouched down a bit.

"Warm yourselves," he said, nodding to the hoop.

Wynn waved Shade closer, though the dog was hesitant. Both took a moment of much-needed heat. Then Chane noticed the water on this side of the gate.

It reached above his ankles.

When he looked up, Wynn was staring up the tunnel. With a nod from her, they resettled their gear and moved on. Shade took the lead, and Wynn stayed close behind on Chane's right, holding the cold lamp crystal as he kept the dimly glowing hoop suspended ahead of him. It was a while before their feet stopped splashing, and they were walking on only damp floor. More than once, Chane glanced back, listening.

"What's wrong?" Wynn asked, watching his face.

"You and Shade are cut off," he answered. "If we reach a dead end, you cannot get back out until the tide recedes. It will be too far to submerge and swim."

Wynn grew very still. Perhaps she finally caught what he heard—the soft shift of the undulating ocean creeping up the tunnel.

"Come on," she breathed.

Chane pressed forward, but it was not long before they both heard Shade's growl, followed by a huff and a snarl. They quickened their pace until the crystal's light illuminated the dog ahead.

Chane nearly groaned.

Just beyond Shade was another gate.

Beyond that, the tunnel stretched into the pitch-dark distance.

They were nowhere near its end or the final gate Shade had seen in the duchess's memory. And the tide was still coming.

Sau'ilahk patiently waited in a dim side passage beyond the turn to the Off-Breach Market. A narrow place, it was little more than rear access to a few shops carved into the mainway.