by Barb Hendee
The servitor's warp reappeared before Sau'ilahk.
He tensed in anticipation, waiting for the tunnel's Air to shiver with its recorded sounds. Wynn's voice echoed lightly and he listened.
Most of the sparse conversation was useless, but one utterance brought him some revelation.
Shirvêsh Mallet believes High-Tower's family resides below Sea-Side. If we can find them, we might find his brother … and then the Stonewalkers and the texts.
The servitor vanished with a pop as normal air rushed in to take its place. Its last command completed, it returned to nothingness.
Sau'ilahk's thoughts filled with fragile hope amid puzzlement.
So the little sage's reason for traveling to the mountain's ocean side was to search for the kin of Domin High-Tower, for his brother … and for the Hassäg'kreigi. What could she possibly know of Stonewalkers? That dwarven sect was all but a mystery, even to its own people. Yet, she now seemed to believe they were connected to the ancient texts. She had sounded resolute in her deductions. She must have learned something critical.
Sau'ilahk's mild fatigue from conjuring left him with no regret. He was on the correct path, and Wynn would lead him the rest of the way. He let himself slip down toward dormancy.
This time, he did not recall a memorized place. He focused instead upon the tram's distant glow and held it within his consciousness.
Sau'ilahk vanished from the tunnel, swallowed in an instant of dormancy. He immediately struggled to reawaken.
The tram's clatter erupted around him in the tunnel, startling him for an instant. Its last car was so close he could touch it, as if in one blind step he had crossed the long distance to catch up. Then it quickly rushed onward.
Blink by blink, to dormancy's edge and out again, Sau'ilahk followed Wynn's night journey through the mountain.
Chapter 4
Wynn gripped the bench's edge—not from panic but from growing nausea. Poor Shade had long since gone silent.
The tram constantly shuddered, rocking slightly whenever rounding a gradual curve. It didn't agree with Wynn's stomach, and worse, Chane appeared annoyingly immune. He glanced back at her now and then in concern.
"On our return, we will take a forward car," he said. "Being closer to the engine may minimize the rocking."
Wynn bit down on her lower lip. Such ideas were all well and good, but they didn't help her now. Rationalizing every problem was always his way of helping, but she wondered if he possessed any true empathy. She was also beginning to feel trapped.
Even with a welcome breeze from the tram's rush, there was little to see along the way. The absolute blurred sameness throughout the night made her feel as though the tunnel were closing in.
"The uneven motion may partly be the tracks' construction," Chane went on. "Did you notice them?"
Wynn glowered at the back of his head. Normally he was so quiet. Why all the prattle now? Perhaps he was trying to distract her from suffering.
"Simple and easily maintained," he added. "They need only forge new steel to reline the ruts, likely guiding the tram without need for a steering mechanism."
Wynn swallowed hard. "Chane, please … stop … talking!"
He pivoted and raised his eyebrows, as if surprised at her tone, and the tram took a hard left turn.
Wynn closed her eyes with a groan. Her fingernails bit into the bench as a strange metal screech built around their car.
"We are slowing," Chane said. "There is light ahead, more than from the engine's crystal."
At least that was a welcome comment.
Wynn opened her eyes in fragile hope and leaned over the tram's rail wall. She saw some light ahead, enough to make out the tram car's side … and the tunnel's stone wall rushing by in a blur.
Her stomach lurched.
Light grew quickly, building to a warm glow. The tunnel wall's rush began to slow, and to Wynn's relief, the tram rolled into another constructed cavern. In a screech of steel, it finally stopped, lurching her forward in her seat.
Shade groaned somewhere below amid a scratch of claws on the car's floor.
Wynn saw a station platform on the car's far side. Dwarves aboard immediately got up and began disembarking. She sagged forward, bracing against the back of Chane's bench, and reached down for Shade's head.
"We're here … it's over," she whispered with effort, but she couldn't find Shade by touch.
A moaning growl rose from somewhere behind her. Without a breeze from the tram's rush, so did a thin, foul smell.
"Shade?" Wynn whispered.
She stood up, wobbling as she stepped into the aisle, and bent over, looking for the dog.
Shade lay under the next bench back. Her rib cage bulged with each heaving breath, and spittle dripped freely from her half-open jaws. Below Wynn's own bench was a pool of saliva surrounding undigested sausage lumps.
Wynn covered her mouth against a gag.
"It wasn't any better for me," she muttered.
Shade exposed still-dripping teeth, and Wynn regretted her words, even if Shade couldn't understand them.
"Come," Chane interrupted, and hoisted his packs and hers as well.
Wynn took up the staff, checking the sun crystal under its leather cover. Then she crouched, patting the side of her leg as she peered at Shade.
Shade crawled out, rising on shaky legs, and Wynn felt even worse at having put Shade through this ordeal. It couldn't be helped. They had to find High-Tower's family as soon as possible. She stroked Shade's head, passing memories of quiet inn rooms, and then pulled Shade along as she followed Chane onto the platform.
Sea-Side's tram station wasn't set deep into the mountain, as in Bay-Side. It was couched directly behind the settlement's main market cavern, smaller than Bay-Side's but still filled with the hazy glow of steaming crystals upon pylons. Beyond scarce vendors and others, only four great columns with few upper walkways supported the high ceiling. Scant passengers already gathered on the platform for the tram's return trip. As the stout female dwarf came along to usher them aboard, Wynn caught the young woman's attention.
"How late is it?" she asked.
"Barely Night-Summer's end," the girl answered. "About your midnight."
She stepped back on to the tram with the last of her passengers.
"And now?" Chane asked.
Wynn looked about. Some arriving passengers headed for the archway leading outside into the cold night, but most of them disappeared into the widest of three other tunnels leading deeper inside the mountain.
"That way," Wynn said, nodding toward the latter.
With Chane on one side and Shade on the other, she stepped off the platform to search for Sea-Side's "underside." Motion sickness passed as curiosity took its place.
After a short walk down a vast columned tunnel, she spotted side paths through archways the size of normal roads. These were placed at intervals akin to a city block. Squat pylons with engravings stood at each intersection, but only every other one held a steaming orange crystal, smaller than the ones of Bay-Side.
"This settlement is not as developed as the other," Chane commented, stepping ahead.
"Wait," Wynn called, circling the nearest pylon.
She studied dwarven engravings on all four sides. It took a moment to figure them out, and then she peered down the left-side path. The way broadened farther on, and she spotted signs, flags, and banners in front of varied doors and openings.
"The pylon says this is Chamid Bâyir," she said, pointing down the main tunnel. "Oblique Mainway—wherever that goes."
A few dwarves and fewer humans milled past them.
Chane looked warily at a thickly bearded human in a shimmering head wrap and short umber robe. Dark skinned, with a sheathless curved sword slid into his fabric wrap belt, he returned Chane's stare with haughty disdain before moving on.
"Do not get out of my sight," Chane warned.
Wynn shot him a glare. She was as well traveled as he was, and far more accustomed
to this culture.
Shade growled.
The tone was different from her pained suffering on the tram, and Wynn forgot Chane's irritating manner. She spun about and found Shade watching a dwarf in a leather hauberk striding toward them along the mainway. Two matched, overmuscled, and short-haired hounds padded beside him.
Both animals were barrel-chested, their raised heads easily higher than the dwarf's belt. In contrast, Shade looked even more like a slender, long-legged wolf. Her hackles rose as she pulled back her jowls.
One dog slowed and began growling back.
Wynn crouched, quickly laying down her staff and grabbing Shade's neck. She'd tried to warn Shade about growling at strangers, but doing so with memories hadn't been easy. She hadn't mentioned—shown—Shade anything about other dogs.
"Apologies," she said in Dwarvish. "My dog is a bit protective."
"Dog?" the dwarf replied.
His bushy brows rumpled as he eyed Shade, who obviously looked like a wolf. But he didn't appear offended and nudged his own animal with his knee, growling, "Quit!" With a polite smile to Wynn, he continued on his way.
Wynn watched the houndmaster and then saw Chane's hand on his sword's hilt. The dwarf either hadn't noticed or hadn't cared. Holding Shade fast, Wynn called out in Numanese so that Chane could follow.
"Sir?"
The dwarf paused and half turned.
"Do you know of the Yêarclág … the Iron-Braids?" she asked. "And where they reside?"
"No, miss," the dwarf answered, this time glancing at Chane's tensed hand. "But you are in the upper trade district. You may need to head beyond it, possibly down, to find dwelling districts. Maybe someone there can help you."
His Numanese was perfect, but most dwarves spoke it well enough, along with a smattering of other tongues. Dwarves, who valued good trade with other cultures, were so oral that language came easily to them.
"Thank you," Wynn called.
The dwarf returned a shallow bow and headed off with his hounds. Shade was still leering after them, and Wynn grabbed her gently by the snout.
"No!" she whispered firmly.
Shade rumbled, glaring back with blue crystalline eyes. She shook herself free of the grip.
Wynn sighed in frustration. Sometimes she forgot that Shade didn't understand language—not like her father. Trying to use memories and present them in clear and meaningful strings was daunting. Wynn stood up and turned on Chane.
"And you!" she said. "Keep your hand off that sword, unless you have no choice! Most dwarves are quick to laugh and slow to anger, but once aroused, they don't calm easily. Even you would have trouble facing one of them."
Chane's eyes widened and his jaw muscles bulged. Clearly offended, he opened his mouth to respond.
"I'm not questioning your skill," she went on, but lowered her voice to a whisper. "And keep your sword in plain sight. To them, only a villain carries concealed weapons. Magiere and Chap both saw visions of the past … through the memories of others. Dwarves are a match—or better—for an undead's strength."
Chane's expression relaxed. Perhaps he took her at her word—or he was patronizing her. The barest slyness surfaced in his expression—almost a thin smile—and he lunged sideways.
By the time Wynn twisted to catch sight of him, he was behind her.
"They would have to get a hold on me first," he rasped.
She just stared at him. Was he joking? Did Chane know how to joke?
Wynn almost smiled—and then scoffed. He might be faster than a dwarf, but that wasn't the point. The last thing she needed was his overprotective gallantry getting them into trouble.
Chane gestured down Oblique Mainway, then cocked his head toward the side tunnel.
"Onward or outward?"
Wynn had no idea. If the Iron-Braids lived in the poorest district, then they would have to head below sooner or later. How and where was another matter, and she would rather have the answers before they tried navigating unknown regions. She should've asked more from the polite houndmaster.
"The main tunnel," she finally answered. "Maybe it will lead to some way down."
At that wild guess, they were off once more.
A single row of sculpted-based columns stretched along the avenue's center. The structure of Oblique Mainway was plain but astonishing, not only for size and supports but for the chaotic structures that lined it.
Shops and stalls were carved into or built out of the side walls, but their spacing, shape, and size had no discernible pattern. Between one with wide double doors and another with an archway blocked by a garnish of braided drape was a third with a vertical set of three windows—triangle, square, and hexagon. Even those were obscured with curtains. Occasionally, vendors' stalls of wood or canvas surrounded a column, but nearly all along the way were closed for the night.
There was no one who appeared to be a resident to ask for directions. The farther they went, the fewer passersby scurried off their own way. More than half of those kept to the other side of the center columns once they spotted Shade.
Wynn was thankful that Shade kept quiet, but she couldn't help noticing the near absence of humans. Even without Shade, that alone made her and Chane stand out.
"If we cannot find guidance," Chane said, "then we should secure lodging. Tomorrow, more people will be about. We cannot visit these Iron-Braids in the middle of the night, if manners are valued here."
"I want to at least find where they live, and you can't be out during …" She paused when he glanced sidelong at her. "Oh … I suppose you can down here."
The thought hadn't occurred to her before. Underground, shielded from the sun, Chane wasn't limited by daylight.
"Let's look a little longer," she added.
They finally reached the end of the shops. Farther on, the tunnel emptied into a tall, domed chamber somewhat wider than the mainway. Four slimmer columns supported its ceiling, and narrow passages spidered outward around it. Thick steps on both sides climbed upward into stone. On the cavern's far side, one broad tunnel continued onward in a gentle downward slope that arced left.
Wynn heard someone walking toward them.
It took a long time for the figure to enter the mainway's light. An ancient dwarf in a faded gown hobbled into Oblique Mainway, leaning upon a walking rod. Her hair was so thin that her age-speckled scalp showed through it all around. Gnarled wrinkles over her features all but obscured her small eyes. In her stoop, she might have been shorter than Wynn, but was twice as wide, with a large mole on her wrinkled cheek.
"Old mother," Wynn said, a respectful phrase learned from Domin Tilswith, "we are looking for the Iron-Braids. Could you help us?"
The elderly dwarf raised her milky eyes, but her voice was clear as she shook her head.
"I only recently came to live down below … with distant relations… ."
She trailed off somberly. Perhaps she'd lost her immediate family and been reduced in circumstances enough to fall back on relatives in the underside.
"Could I ask," Wynn began, reluctant to press, "where do you and yours reside? It might be near where I can find those I seek."
The old woman took a slow, haggard breath, answering in Numanese. "Go all the way down to yillichreg Bâyir … Limestone Mainway. Look for the cheag'anâkst called Kìnnébuây. It stays open all the time."
"Cheag'anâkst?" Wynn repeated, trying to decipher the term. "A greeting house?"
The old woman nodded. "The locals there may have heard of your friends."
"Thank you," Wynn replied.
She wanted to say more, or offer trade for welcome advice, but the old woman had already hobbled onward.
"What is this … greeting house?" Chane asked. "A tavern?"
"Not exactly," Wynn replied. "I've never been in one. It's closer to an eatery, lodge, and gathering place all in one."
"Then a common house."
She shook her head. "Dwarves have another word for that. And such places are for family or clan onl
y, not outsiders."
She looked across the wide end chamber to where the tunnel began its downward curve. She'd hoped for more specific directions before going into the depths. Without a word, Wynn trudged onward, and Chane and Shade paced her on separate sides.
A few small crystals were set in the walls along the gradual downward spiral. In a while, another wide tunnel with a single row of columns shot off in what she assumed was the same direction as Oblique Mainway. She stepped through the end chamber to the first crystal-mounted pylon. The new tunnel wasn't Limestone Mainway.
Here, the look of the shops and structures were much the same as above. She peered back to where the curving tunnel joined the right side of the end chamber. On the left, its gradual spiral continued downward. And they were off again… .
Down to the next level, and the next, and yet again, but none of the names upon the first pylons depicted the symbols for Limestone Mainway. The lower they descended, the fewer crystals lit the spiraling tunnel, until there were none at all. Wynn took out her small cold lamp crystal and rubbed it briskly to provide light.
She stepped out through yet another end chamber, but this time, the curving tunnel didn't continue on its far side. It was the last place to look. Sure enough, the first column was marked for Limestone Mainway. It was nothing like Oblique Mainway far above.
Perhaps it had been named for the shots of limestone that ran through the wide tunnel's walls. There was an ocher dinginess to the whole place. It was brightly lit, as were all the main tunnels, but none of the excavated shops here were smoothly finished. All looked hastily cut for their space, with no thought for appearance. Some fronts were even made of old timber and piled stone. Dust and grime had built up in the crevices around column bases and where the mainway's walls met the floor.
And the only place with any signs of life was hard to miss.
A dingy banner too dull to read from a distance hung above a wide, plain arch with no door or curtain. Yellow light spilled out across the mainway's stone, as did a loud, raucous noise of deep voices that echoed in the tunnel.
Wynn took a step, eager to find someone to direct her. Chane's hand settled on her shoulder, and she looked up. He studied the greeting house's entrance, and a twist of distaste spread his thin-lipped mouth.