Barb Hendee - Through Stone and Sea

"I did not come to harm you."

Chane twisted back at the deep voice.

Ore-Locks stood between two tombs before the opening. The red-haired Stonewalker was dressed in a hauberk of steel-tipped scales, with two wide black-sheathed blades lashed to the front of his belt. He did not advance but only watched those before him, as if waiting for a response.

For an instant, Chane wanted to vent all his anguish on this one.

This dwarf had frightened Wynn, caused her to cry out … caused Chane's momentary loss of control. The beast inside him began to wail, and he ground his jaws, beating the monster into submission.

Chane stood shuddering as he glared at Ore-Locks.

"No one has ever breached our underworld," Ore-Locks said, fixing on Wynn. "So you are not what you seem. Did you guide that black spirit here?"

"Of course not!" she answered.

Chane knew something of what had passed between these two in the Iron-Braids' home. Ore-Locks would hardly consider Wynn a friend.

"But it followed you," Ore-Locks stated.

Chane waited, but Wynn did not answer immediately.

"I've nothing to say to you," she answered. "Not with what I know. Not with what you worship!"

Ore-Locks's eyes narrowed, but Chane was confused by Wynn's words. What did she mean?

The dwarf lifted his chin, teeth clenched between barely parted lips. Chane set himself, watching for Ore-Locks's slightest move.

"That thing in there," Wynn went on. "Somehow, he was responsible. … Whatever brought down Bäalâle Seatt … that mass murderer did it."

"No!" Ore-Locks snarled, and took a step.

Chane instantly shifted into his way.

"Then why is he here?" Wynn demanded. "Why else would Thallûhearag's representation be put aside, separated even from the Fallen Ones?"

Ore-Locks's jaw muscles clenched in mute outrage, and Chane understood what was in that small chamber. He remembered all Wynn had told him concerning Bäalâle Seatt and a forgotten title feared by the few who knew of it and wished to forget it.

Chane tried to calm himself. He needed to wash his thoughts clean if he were to have any chance at sensing deception in the dwarf's words. Letting go of everything, trying to ignore hunger and how he had recklessly injured Wynn, he closed his eyes.

But the only thing he could find to soothe him was a memory.

There had been one brief moment when he had sneaked into the guild's library with Wynn. With her so close, guiding him into her world, he had stopped and looked upon all of the volumes placed so orderly upon the shelves.

"He is not one of them!" Ore-Locks shouted. "Not as claimed by the few who remember only his title … and not his name. I have known him since I was a child, though I did not understand until later who touched me—called me through blood. He cannot be what they claim … not as my ancestor!"

Chane remained placid in that quiet memory of the library, letting each word pass through him. Though the beast moaned at his complacency, no discomforting twinge rose within him. He opened his eyes and fixed his gaze on Ore-Locks.

The dwarf was not lying—or at least he believed his own words. Chane turned his head enough to glance at Wynn. He nodded at her, hoping she understood.

Wynn blinked at him, her brow wrinkling slightly.

"Now you owe me—in barter!" Ore-Locks said. "What do you know of the black spirit that followed you here?"

Wynn hesitated.

"Only that it is an undead," she answered. "One form of what is known in the Farlands as the Vneshené Zomrelé —the Noble Dead … though it isn't physical, like the type more commonly dealt with."

"Physical?" Ore Locks repeated.

Wynn shook her head. "That doesn't matter. … We're dealing with a powerful spirit, which can become corporeal in part or whole for brief periods. We believe it is a conjuror, one so old its power and skill are like nothing heard of before. But like any undead—or most—it can be injured by sunlight."

"Then it is impervious in our underworld," Ore-Locks countered.

Wynn took one step forward, passing her hand before Shade's face.

"No," she returned, "not if I have the staff."

Ore-Locks cocked his head, his eyes narrowed in doubt, but Wynn quickly went on.

"The key to stopping it is to find out what it wants! Get me access to the texts you are holding for the guild!"

Ore-Locks said nothing. Chane tensed at the dwarf's steady gaze upon Wynn—as if the Stonewalker actually considered her demand. Had Wynn finally gained them an ally here? But was it one they even wanted or could trust?

"That can wait," someone else called out.

Chane twisted about, looking around and then up.

Duchess Reine, her elven companion, and the master Stonewalker stood above, a dozen or more steps up the stairs. Chane had not heard the iron doors above slide open.

The elf stood lowest, in the lead, gazing down upon Wynn. He held the staff in his hand, its crystal unsheathed.

"I also have questions, Wynn Hygeorht," he said flatly. "But I am not here to barter."

Chane slipped in behind Wynn and gently touched her unharmed shoulder. A rush of relief came, along with guilt, when she pressed back against him. Monster though he was, besides Shade, he was all she had.

Did he too often take advantage of that?

He whispered in Wynn's ear, "Stay close. Listen for what I tell you."

Reine stood upon the curving stairs between Chuillyon below and Cinder-Shard above her. She was dazed and aching from their silent method of entrance. Chuillyon had hoped to catch whatever the captives might be discussing before revealing their presence. But the nonsense Reine heard made her want to snatch the staff from him and leave this place.

That wasn't possible until Cinder-Shard opened the portal.

She'd seen the Chamber of the Fallen only a few times, but always from the landing above. By the light of the sage's crystal, it was disturbing in its dark simplicity—more so because Ore-Locks was here. He was the last person who should be alone with this manipulative, mad sage, who'd already used him once.

"What are you doing here?" Cinder-Shard growled.

Ore-Locks rounded the great brass seal away from Wynn and approached the stairway's base. His chin lifted, but he didn't look to his master. Instead he eyed Chuillyon and the staff.

"I came for answers," Ore Locks replied. "More than the ones you seek."

Cinder-Shard gently pushed Reine against the wall and stepped down behind Chuillyon.

"You are out of place!" Cinder-Shard nearly shouted. "The others already see to our people's defense—as you should!"

"I am seeing to my people!"

Cinder-Shard turned his head, looking off to the chamber's far side.

Reine tried to follow his strange shift of attention. At first she had no idea what he was doing. Then she saw a black opening between two stone figures. It was directly below the landing above.

She'd never come down the stairs before, so had never seen it. What was in there? Obviously not another way out, or Cinder-Shard wouldn't have placed captives here.

Cinder-Shard stepped off the stairway's edge. As his boots landed upon the chamber floor, a dull thunder echoed into the heights.

"What have you done?" he demanded. "What have you told them?"

"Nothing," Ore-Locks answered. "Nothing more than what the sage read for herself."

Cinder-Shard sagged under some unseen burden, almost like a mourner in a graveyard. He ran a large hand over his face and turned his eyes on Wynn.

"You … you can read the ancient vubrí ?"

All this time, Wynn had merely watched and listened. The wolf stood rigid before her and Chane behind her, his cowl pulled up and his hand upon her shoulder. She drew back against him, as if seeking refuge beneath his chin.