Barb Hendee - Through Stone and Sea

The wet journal she'd brought lay within reach of five more—her older ones, from her time in the Farlands. Travel-worn as they were, they couldn't be mistaken for part of the ancient texts. Bulwark wouldn't know what she had brought with her or what she found here.

Wynn closed the wet journal, sliding it onto the top of the other five.

Deceptions and lies, threats and coercion—now she could add thievery to the lot—but these were hers, stolen from her in the first place.

Wynn snatched up her quill and ink, and shoved these with her crystal into her pocket. With all six journals bundled under one arm, she rose in the cave's near darkness. Master Bulwark grasped her other wrist and dragged her toward the wall.

Wynn quickly sucked in a breath for what would come next.

Reine reclined numbly on the sitting chamber's couch while Frey rested in the adjoining bedchamber. Chuillyon stood before the stone bookshelves, but he wasn't looking for something to read.

Reine knew the family relied on him for more than wisdom and insight; whenever possible, he accompanied any who left the royal grounds. But until the black mage had appeared, she hadn't fully understood why. Seeing Chuillyon halt the racing fire left her wondering who and what he really was. But she started from contemplation when Tristan appeared at the sitting chamber's opening.

Beyond the captain, Danyel stepped back out into the passage, closing the pool chamber's outer door. Strangely, she was relieved to see Tristan again. He was like her homeland's eastern stone steppes, immovable and permanent. He was the heart of the Weardas … he was the Sentinel.

"Were you able to assist Thorn-in-Wine?" she asked.

"Uncertain," he answered. "A Stonewalker appearing before clan leaders overrode most doubt or disbelief. Word was sent to other settlements. Six warriors guard all portals to the underworld. More patrol Sea-Side, keeping people inside. The display of numbers may give the black mage pause."

His passivity might've fooled others, but Reine knew better. What could he or any of them do against an assailant who could appear anywhere? Even here, in the pool's chambers, Frey wouldn't be safe until it died.

Tristan exchanged glances with Chuillyon. The captain subtly shifted his weight from one foot to the other—very uncharacteristic—and Chuillyon cleared his throat.

Reine didn't like these signs.

"My lady," he began, "the captain feels it's best that he stay with the prince. Danyel and I will take you—"

"No," she cut in.

"Highness," Tristan tried in turn, "I can protect the prince from himself. Your safety matters. The family cannot afford to lose—"

"I'm not leaving," she warned. "There's more to protecting Frey than—"

"You are needed!" Chuillyon snapped. "If you were lost within scant years of the prince's apparent death, how could it be explained to the people?"

Reine scoffed. "Many of the people still think I'm guilty, no matter what Captain Rodian reported. I'm less benefit than burden to all of the Âreskynna. Let's hope, for the future, that this doesn't affect the alliance with my country."

"Faunier and Malourné are old allies," Chuillyon said, "almost from their founding days. Your status as scapegoat will not alter that. You and the queen are the only ones—"

"Who can't become sea-lorn?" Reine finished bitterly. "Who will never succumb to a mad longing eating our wits and will? All the more reason—more than ever—that I will not leave my husband!"

Chuillyon's mouth opened once more, and Reine sat upright.

"Don't! " she whispered.

He shut his mouth in a frustrated frown. Tristan still bore no expression, but it was obvious he agreed with the advisor. Getting her out of harm's way had probably been his idea.

Someone knocked at the pool chamber's outer door.

Relieved by the interruption, Reine was already up by the time Danyel opened the outer door and leaned in.

"It's Master Bulwark, Highness," he called.

Why had he come? She stepped across the chamber and looked out through the partially opened door. Master Bulwark waited with arms crossed.

"The sage has been returned," he said.

Hope and dread flooded Reine. "You didn't bring her here?"

"I assumed you wished to question her away from the prince," he said quietly. "She is with her companions."

Reine moved into action. "Danyel, stay with the prince. Watch him carefully. Tristan, Chuillyon …"

They were already joining her.

Reine hesitated, looking to the sitting chamber's opening. She'd never left Frey alone so much on a rising tide, especially not the highest of the year. She turned once more to Danyel.

"If the prince wakes, tell him I won't be long … and keep him away from the pool."

Danyel glanced at the pool's rear gate. "What if they come again?"

"Drive them off!" she ordered.

"Reine!" Chuillyon said sharply, and he rarely used anything but her titles in front of others. "Do not jeopardize an older alliance through bitterness!"

"You have your orders," she told Danyel, holding out her hand.

With one curt, sure nod, Danyel handed over the comb with the white metal droplet, though Chuillyon expelled an exasperated sigh. Reine swept out, following Master Bulwark, with Tristan and Chuillyon close behind.

Nothing Wynn Hygeorht said should be trusted, but Reine hoped the sage had discovered something in the texts. They needed any slim advantage before Frey was exposed to something worse than the burden of his heritage.

Sau'ilahk stood among the ashen-faced bodies of only five dwarven warriors. Two had died before any realized he was upon them. The fifth had taken too long to put down. For all his efforts, and the need for expedience, he had barely consumed the sum of one whole life. And the sixth warrior had escaped.

But Sau'ilahk was fixed upon a course, and nothing would turn him.

The placement of new guards meant warning had spread. Others would soon learn he had reappeared. There would be no more peeking through walls, surprising anyone who waited in the hidden room.

A distant bell's clang reverberated through the mountain's passages—over and over.

Sau'ilahk focused hard on the downward passage that lay beyond the hidden room. It was the only place he could remember clearly along the path to the underworld. He blinked through dormancy and stood in the tunnel's head.

Any guards bypassed in the hidden room would be alerted soon enough. He drifted down the tunnel's gradual curve, listening carefully along the way, until he finally spied the ending alcove.

Four armed and armored dwarves stood guard before the lower door.

Sau'ilahk slipped into the tunnel's sidewall. Only his cowl's opening protruded as he watched. If he faced them openly, any inside the domed chamber beyond would hear their shouts. Another alarm would sound, indicating his new location and further cutting into his time to find what he sought. But without at least a glimpse through the door, he had no sight line by which to slip through the floor to the lift's shaft.

His choices were frustratingly inadequate. If he used a servitor for another distraction, not all of the four new guards would come after it or any at all. If he had to fight, it was better to get as far as he could. He fixed upon the door—or rather the sense of open space just beyond. And he tried to remember the one glimpse through its opening he had ever had.

Sau'ilahk blinked again, awaking in the domed chamber, surrounded by six dwarves. Four wore spike-ended circlets around the raised steel collars of their armor.

The nearest shouted a warning and leveled his iron staff in a swing.

Sau'ilahk lashed out as he summoned his servitor.