Barb Hendee - Through Stone and Sea

Wynn sucked in a breath and her world went black and cold.

Chane hung near the archway behind Shade. Like her, he kept watch down the empty passage. He did not like sitting idle, feeling useless and incapable. He was so drained that he could not stop the beast's hungry mewling within himself.

Though he had given his word to remain until Wynn's return, a promise to enemies meant nothing. There were too many tangles, hidden alliances, and secrets in this place, and all seemed to grow more complex with each night spent in this dwarven seatt. Ore-Locks seemed to genuinely believe his own denial of Wynn's accusation—that he was intricately connected to a long-dead mass murderer. And Chane was anxious that she had gone off with Ore-Locks and his master.

He waited, trying to be patient … not to worry … and to push down the hunger.

He was failing at all three.

No one came down the passage, but he could not tell if anyone waited in the cavern at its end, the only exit along the path. He almost slipped out to inch down the way when a stout dwarf in black stepped through the passage's far end.

A female Stonewalker approached carrying two packs, but she paused partway as someone else called out. The tall elf in white came in behind her and handed off a third pack. Then he turned back to vanish out the end. When the Stonewalker reached the archway, she held out all three packs with one hand—and his sword and Wynn's dagger in the other.

Chane took them, offering no thanks. Then she pulled a bag off her shoulder, dropped it, and left without a word. She never looked back.

He set the packs next to the staff leaning inside the archway and strapped on his sword. Opening the bag, he found a water skin, a loaf of bread, some jerky, and a wooden mug within it. He took out some jerky, poured a mug of water, and brought them to Shade.

"Here," he said, kneeling down.

She did not growl at him and lapped the water briefly. He set the jerky on the floor and moved away. Shade snapped it up, barely chewing, and returned to her vigil.

He could not help but admire her patience. She had thrown herself at the wraith more than once, always protecting Wynn without hesitation. She had found the shore entrance to the underworld when he could not continue the search.

Shade was a better companion than most Chane had known.

"She will come back," he said.

Shade's ears twitched, but that was all.

He hoped Wynn would return with some answers, perhaps even concerning the scroll. In her absence, he hoped Shade might grow more used to his presence. Natural enemies or not, they were stuck with each other in a common purpose. But even that had become too complicated, from the elf's indiscernible lies, to the master Stonewalker's seeming acceptance of Ore-Locks … and the madman hidden away in the pool's locked chamber.

Worst of all, the wraith still existed. It had gained the underworld before raising any alarm or awareness—even his own.

Chane looked down at Welstiel's ring of nothing on his finger. He had worn it so long, so often, he sometimes forgot it was there. It was necessary, or had been. But if he had not been wearing it when they had entered this place …

Even Shade had not sensed the wraith until too late. Chane had not sensed it at all, not while wearing the ring. The wraith would come back, and he needed to know when, if not where.

Chane gripped the ring with his other hand. "Shade?"

She twisted her head up and back, looking at him. He showed her what he was about to do, but she merely returned to her vigil. In one swift movement, Chane pulled the ring off.

For an instant, the world rippled like the surface of a disturbed pond. His senses sharpened slightly as his awareness expanded, free of the ring's influence.

Chane smelled— felt —Shade's life and the brief twinge of someone else beyond the passage's end. Then it was gone, though the beast within Chane lunged to the end of its bonds.

Shade remained silent though Chane thought he saw her hackles prickle.

Between them, he hoped one would know if—when—the wraith returned.

Chane slid down the archway's side to settle beside the packs and the staff. Hunger kept eating at him, as if it turned upon him with nothing else to sate it. He closed his eyes, thinking of anything else… .

Of Stonewalkers … and their secrets …

Of white-clad, false elven sages … and their secrets …

Of beings of the sea and a prince believed dead.

There were moments he wished none of this had begun. It would have been so much better to slip into the guild library for the brief part of any night with Wynn, even if he spent his days hiding in some hovel. But what he had seen could not be ignored, even as he felt himself drifting at the dark edge of dormancy.

A dead prince of this foreign land appeared to have spoken to people of the sea that Chane could never have imagined. Among other puzzles, that one lingered upon him now. What did it mean? It seemed a very desperate secret, dangerous enough that the duchess might yet kill for it.

Chane found himself standing among the guild library's shelves.

He tried to pick a first book to pull out. He knew there was one he needed to find, but could not think of what it was. When he turned to ask Wynn's advice, he was looking at the pool through the bars of the sea tunnel's last gate. Face-to-face, he stared at a man soaked to the skin, who reached through those bars.

A dream … and even within it, he wondered why.

Dormancy held no dreams for the dead. But a few times before, they had come to him.

He heard something that made him turn, waist-deep in the tunnel's freezing water. But Wynn was not there, nor was Shade. The long darkness behind him, filling the tunnel to its round walls, seemed to twist … like black coils with soft glints of light.

Crushing cold … suffocation … pure darkness that brought utter silence …

Wynn felt stone's chill over her whole body and couldn't move. The pressure threatened to grind her into nothing as the heat in her flesh rapidly leached out.

She was buried alive.

In terror, she tried to scream, but her mouth couldn't open. Even her jaw and lips wouldn't move. Her lungs began to burn, wanting to expel used-up air.

"It will pass quickly," someone said.

That sudden voice in the silence made her flinch in panic, and she collapsed. Her left arm felt instantly strained, but the darkness began to lighten.

"Breathe," someone ordered in a gravelly voice. "Open your mouth and breathe, fool!"

Wynn did so, in one tearing, heaving gasp. She grew faint, but something held her up by her left wrist and wouldn't let go.

"Do not succumb to what you feel, or it will linger!"

Wynn opened her eyes.

In the dimly lit dark, Cinder-Shard was watching her. Her left shoulder ached, and she finally realized he held her up by her wrist. The few items she'd brought lay on a damp floor of dark stone below her buckled legs. She struggled to regain her feet.

"Let go of me," she said, but it came out hoarse and broken.

"Not until you can stand," he answered.

Ore-Locks stepped into view, blocking off more of the surroundings.

"The first time is the worst," he said, "though few have ever traveled this way."

Wynn wheezed and coughed, and Ore-Locks glanced at Cinder-Shard, as if in concern. She finally planted her feet firmly on stone.

"She will recover," Cinder-Shard said.

When he released her wrist, her arm flopped numbly against her side.

"Come for me when she is finished," he added, stepping around her.

Wynn slowly wobbled around, still shivering, but all she saw behind her was the cave's rough wall. Cinder-Shard was gone, and she was alone with Ore-Locks.