Through Stone and Sea ndst-2

by Barb Hendee

  "This should help old Chuillyon," she said. "He hardly sleeps at all on these hard dwarven beds."

  The bodyguard didn't answer, and they turned into the third frontage, exactly where Chane had pointed.

  "Earlier," he whispered, "her boots and cloak's hem were soaked with seawater. I could smell it."

  "Seawater?" Wynn whispered.

  Her head began to pound. She and Shade still hadn't eaten. But a memory stolen from the duchess, of a strange room with a grate beyond a pool, pushed itself up in Wynn's head.

  As if someone else had forced it there.

  Wynn glanced down and found Shade watching her.

  Something had moved in that dark adjoining space beyond the grated pool's chamber.

  "We should return to our inn," she said quietly. "Arrange for supper and then talk." Looking up at Chane, she added, "We have to change tactics … again."

  Wynn paid the innkeeper for two bowls of chowder and carried them back to the room, closing the door with her hip. It was good to be alone with Shade and Chane for a little while. She set one bowl on the floor for Shade, who hungrily lapped it up, and then sat on the solid dwarven bed.

  "You should eat too," Chane said, settling on the bed's end.

  She was too weary to argue—or too preoccupied to eat. While Shade finished, Wynn reiterated all that had transpired with Ore-Locks. Chane listened carefully, then shifted a bit closer.

  "You did as well as you could," he said. "You lured him out and may have offered something he wants, though he would not … trade for it. It reasons that he would place loyalty above personal desire, if he holds his calling above his family. Perhaps in dwelling on it, he may yet reconsider."

  His reassurance changed nothing, but it made her feel less defeated.

  "I may have broken their family," Wynn whispered.

  "That is nothing. Families are destroyed every day—and some do not deserve to be saved."

  His coldness stunned her. She knew almost nothing about Chane's past.

  "Do any of your family still live?" she asked.

  "My father, as far as I know." He looked away. "Viscount Andraso of Rùrik, halfway up the peninsula from Bela toward Guèshk. My mother took her own life shortly after I encountered Toret, my maker, who was also called Ratboy. Considering my father's treatment, death was a blessing to my mother."

  Wynn was dumbstruck, uncertain what to say. Another notion occurred, perhaps to avoid his last words.

  "When your father … passes over," she asked, "won't you inherit his title, lands … fortune?"

  Chane laughed without smiling. His maimed voice made the sounds come out like quick, hoarse pants.

  "Toret took my meager wealth, for all you saw that he owned in Bela. I am the only heir of the Andraso, but the dead don't inherit from the dead. And even if … I doubt I would be recognized by the nobility."

  "Well, if I muck up my next idea," Wynn said, "you might at least have someplace to run when I end up in a Calm Seatt prison."

  Chane's eyes narrowed. "What are you up to now?"

  "In a moment," she said, glancing at Shade.

  Shade had finished supper and was trying to lick the last taste from the bowl. Wynn snapped her fingers, and Shade raised her head. With one hopeful look at the bowl, the dog padded over to butt Wynn's hand with her snout.

  Wynn slid her fingers over Shade's head and closed her eyes, passing memories of Duchess Reine. She followed this with bits and pieces of the dripping corridor that she could remember—the one leading to the chamber with the iron grate half-submerged in a pool of seawater.

  Shade echoed the image back, and much more clearly.

  "I'm seeing through Reine's memory, through her eyes," Wynn said quietly for Chane. "She is down so deep the walls are constantly damp and glistening, and the only light I've noticed is the glow of minerals coating the walls."

  She began describing all she'd seen: how Reine had gone to the chamber with the pool, how it was locked, and about the side chamber Reine had never entered. She most carefully described the half-filled dark tunnel that stretched outward beyond the iron grate.

  Wynn kept her eyes closed, focusing on sharp details that Shade provided. She felt the bed's stiff, padded layers flex as Chane shifted even closer.

  "A pool filled with seawater … from a tunnel?" he asked quietly, but his voice was filled with urgency. "Fresh seawater?"

  Wynn let herself sink deeper into Shade's stolen memory. She breathed in as if she were Reine within that moment, and the scent of brine filled her nostrils.

  "I think so. The water seems clear and clean, not fetid, though its too dim in the chamber to be certain. It just smells like the sea. Strangely, though the chamber itself is damp, it doesn't smell moldy."

  With her eyes still closed, she asked, "Do you understand what I'm thinking?"

  Chane didn't answer, and Shade moved forward through the memory.

  So deep inside Reine's recollection, Wynn felt sudden anguish. Again she heard something move in the dark side chamber, as before. She opened her eyes, still holding Shade.

  "Clever girl," she murmured, and then turned to Chane. "This place that the duchess went to … it must be in the Stonewalkers' underworld."

  "Another guess," he countered, but he rose and began pacing the room. "Wherever it is, the tunnel may connect to the open sea … and the shore."

  For comfort's sake, he'd undressed down to breeches and a white shirt once they'd returned. How he could stand barefoot on the cold floor was beyond her. His feet were so pale … paler than his face and hands.

  "We have to find that outside entrance," she said flatly.

  Chane shook his head. "If the chamber is in the underworld, I hardly think these Stonewalkers would provide easy access. The tunnel might not be large enough—"

  "Then why a grated opening into the pool?" she asked. "One obviously large enough to pass through, though it's blocked."

  "The entrance could just as easily be underwater. We do not know for certain where below this massive mountain to find such a—"

  "Oh, stop it!" she chided. "I know that you know we're going to try anyway. And … you want to."

  Chane fell silent. Finally, he replied, "With all the insurmountable obstacles so far, we should not expect this pursuit to be any better."

  Wynn merely waited—until he sighed. For the first time, she noted how odd that was, considering the dead didn't need to breathe.

  "Clearly the duchess is a liaison between the royals and Stonewalkers," he said, "as well as between the royals and the guild. It reasons that she also fulfills the third side of that triangle—at least in relation to the texts. We cannot afford to lose track of her if this new endeavor comes to nothing. You stay here and keep watch on her."

  Wynn jumped to her feet.

  "You mean you can move faster without me," she accused. "Or you're worried it might be dangerous, and I should keep out of the way."

  A flash of guilt on his long, clean features confirmed both.

  "It will take some time," he added. "If I find something, I will return and take you—"

  "This is my purpose, Chane," Wynn cut in. "I left the guild because I was sick of taking orders from people who thought they knew better … and didn't!"

  Chane's lips parted, but Wynn kept at him.

  "You may be more aware than they are, but that doesn't mean you understand as much as I do—and I don't take orders from you, either!"

  "Fine. Then you decide," he returned. "But one of us needs to stay—and watch the duchess."

  Wynn turned away, still angry, but only because he was right. "People died in Calm Seatt," she said, "because I was … obedient … and didn't resist until too late."

  She heard him step closer, and his voiceless whisper softened.

  "You know this part of the world. I do not. For what little success we have had, your instincts have often been better."

  Wynn glanced at him, already hearing a "but" coming, though she knew
the right decision.

  "I have the better senses," he added, "sight and scent … and hearing. But I would have the harder time following the duchess, considering I tower over everyone here."

  "All right," Wynn relented, "but take Shade. She has the more acute sense of smell where older scents are concerned. Two can search more quickly than one."

  For an instant she thought he would argue, likely thinking she would be left unprotected. Perhaps her fixed stare made him think better of saying so.

  "Can you make Shade understand?" he asked. "Make her leave you and go with me?"

  "I'll try."

  Chane left to gather his things, and Wynn dropped before Shade, touching the dog's face.

  She began with memories of Leesil and Chap traveling together. She then turned to their own trials in Calm Seatt, before battling the wraith, when she had left Shade in Chane's company.

  Shade snarled and pulled away, and Wynn had to grab her neck.

  Wynn raised the image of the chamber and its pool. Working with a memory that had come to her thirdhand was difficult. She tried to focus upon the water-filled tunnel beyond the grate.

  The door opened, and Chane stood in the hallway fully dressed and armed. Reaching around the door, he set the old tin scroll case on the side table, leaving it in Wynn's care.

  Wynn lifted Shade's muzzle and pointed at Chane.

  Shade snarled again. Instead of pulling away, this time she dropped to her haunches, grinding her foreclaws on stone.

  Wynn held Shade's face and tried again.

  "Please understand," she said.

  Shade growled, but it quickly turned to a soft whine. She peered at Chane, swung her nose back to Wynn, and then pulled away. Shade trotted toward the door, and Chane outside. Wynn sighed in relief.

  Shade swerved suddenly and headed straight for the sun-crystal staff leaning against the wall.

  Before Wynn could get up, the dog rose on hind legs, forelegs braced on the wall. She clamped her jaws on the staff as high as she could reach.

  "Shade?" Wynn called. "Shade … stop that!"

  Shade twisted off the wall. The instant her paws landed, she trotted off, dragging the staff behind the bed's far side.

  Wynn clambered across the bed, reaching for the staff. Shade dropped it, planting both huge forepaws atop its haft.

  "What is wrong with you?" Wynn demanded, grabbing for the staff.

  She jerked it from under Shade's paws and backed across the bed. Before she got halfway, Shade clamped its haft with her teeth and heaved.

  Wynn flopped facedown on the bed. "Let go!"

  Shade growled and heaved again.

  Wynn shot headfirst over the bed's side, hanging upside down below a stubborn Shade.

  "I should go alone," Chane said. "She does not want to leave you."

  No, that wasn't it. Shade was trying to tell her something else, but at the moment, Wynn didn't care.

  "Give it to me!" she growled through clenched teeth.

  Wynn twisted over, slapping at Shade's legs while her own were still hooked over the bed's edge. In that upside-down tug-of-war, she finally twisted the staff out of Shade's mouth. When the dog tried to grab it again, she scrambled away across the bed.

  Shade hopped up and began barking, and Wynn finally realized what this was all about.

  She rarely went anywhere without the staff. Shade had pinned it down, trying to insist that Wynn "stay put" in this room.

  "I'm following the duchess!" Wynn growled back. "You are going with Chane. Now get!"

  With a sharp huff through wrinkled jowls, Shade bounded off and out past Chane, rumbling all the way. Wynn exhaled in frustration, though Chane just shook his head and closed the door. She got up, brushing herself off, and went to return the staff to its place.

  She was sick and tired of everyone telling her what to do or not do, even a dog now. She snatched the scroll case off the table and headed for the bed. Then she froze in the middle of the room.

  Wynn turned very slowly and stared at the door.

  She imagined Chane following a peeved Shade. Not Shade following Chane, but rather … the petulant, adolescent majay-hì had been leading the way.

  "Oh … oh, you …" Wynn began, unable to get the words out.

  She ran for the door, jerked it open, and rushed out.

  Chane and Shade were already gone, but Wynn still knew one thing: She had shown Shade what needed to be done, but the dog had given up only once Wynn had lost her temper and ordered Shade out … using language, not memory-speak! And how could Shade have understood what Wynn planned to do as her own task while Chane—and Shade—were away?

  Wynn clutched the scroll case hard. "You little sneak … just like your father!"

  Shade had understood words—at least enough to know exactly what Wynn planned to do.

  All this time wrestling with memory-speak until her head ached—and now it seemed Shade understood at least some of what she heard. Wynn stepped back inside and slammed the door.

  "Oh … I've got some choice words for you … when you get back!"

  Sau'ilahk heard and saw through his servitor half-submerged in the ceiling stone of Wynn's room. He quickly recalled it.

  The servitor rose from the inn's side wall, surfacing like a four-legged spider from mottled gray water. Sau'ilahk reached out with one solidified hand and snatched its rock body.

  Wynn, Chane, and Shade were on the move again, but along separate ways.

  The scroll case had also caught his attention. But it was only one text among many, a paltry resource compared to others. Clutching his conjured creation, Sau'ilahk slid out toward the mainway.

  In the distance, Chane and Shade headed toward Sea-Side's entrance cavern and the lift down to its lower port. The conversation regarding one called Ore-Locks had confused him. But he had forgotten all about the Iron-Braids once he heard mention of the duchess.

  An reskynna—"Kin of the Ocean Waves"—if only by marriage, was here in the seatt. This good fortune was almost unbelievable. Duchess Reine had acted for the royals in Calm Seatt, and they were directly connected to the guild superiors and the translation project.

  Sau'ilahk half submerged into the inn's wall, pulling his servitor with him. He waited there, watching for Wynn to emerge. When she did, he merely blinked along after her, slipping in and out of dormancy as his servitor scuttled and swam high along the mainway's walls.

  Wynn finally paused on the next level down and peered into a side passage.

  Reine Faunier-reskynna stepped from a shop.

  Sau'ilahk knew her face. She had helped protect his interests at the guild, keeping that city captain at bay in his investigation. The nature of the texts had remained secret, in the guild's control. The translation folios had remained scattered about the city's scribe shops.

  Until Wynn had intervened.

  But he no longer needed her … not if the duchess could lead him right to the texts.

  Sau'ilahk would soon be finished with one troublesome little sage.

  Chapter 14

  Chane overtook Shade and led the way to Sea-Side's outer cavern. Passing the turn into the tram station, he headed for the main entrance. Unlike Bay-Side's larger one, there was no true market here, only a few scattered vendors with carts servicing patrons on their way in or out.

  He stepped out of the huge archway and onto the mountainside street, and Shade pulled up silently beside him. The pair found themselves in the settlement's surface district overlooking the vast western ocean.

  Sea-Side was less developed than Bay-Side. The narrow main street switch-backing up the mountain appeared steeper and more haphazard by comparison. Still, it was lined with varied buildings of stone, built in thin-line fitted blocks or carved from the mountain's rock. Directly ahead at the narrow plateau's edge was another crank house and lift station.

  Shade began rumbling as Chane steeled his resolve. These dwarven contraptions were the most unnatural method of travel he had ever experience
d.

  "Come on," he rasped.

  Shade's ears pricked over a wrinkled snout, and Chane realized he had picked up Wynn's habit of talking as if the dog understood.

  He pulled out his pouch, pouring dwarven and Numan coins into his palm. He had no idea how much was proper for the trip down to shore level. As they approached the station, an impossibly wide dwarf waddled out of the crank house. How this whale of a stationmaster even fit through a dwarven doorway was a wonder. Wild hair tinted like redwood bark swung around his face, and a like-colored beard was dotted with oats. Perhaps he had been sharing a meal with his mules.

  "Down?" he grunted. "How far?"

  Chane held out his coins. "To the port."

  The stationmaster grunted again and plucked a dwarven iron "slug" from Chane's palm. When he glanced at Shade, with a twitch of his bulbous nose he pecked out a copper one as well. He waved Chane toward the lift, not bothering to escort one lone passenger.

  No one else waited to descend and Chane saw no passenger lift as at Sea-Side. There was only one large cargo lift, and he stepped quietly aboard. As he turned, about to close the lift's gate, Shade was lingering on the stone loading ramp.

  Her head hung low. Rumbling, with every slow paw pad, she finally followed. Chane had barely closed and pinned the gate when metal clanks sounded from the crank house. At the lift's first lurch, he grabbed the rail with both hands, wood creaking under his fingers. An instant later, mountainside crags and gashes began rushing by.

  Speed built quickly—too quickly—until they dropped far faster than the ride up to Bay-Side. Thunderous racket rose under the platform from its massive wheels boring along the granite road's steel-lined ruts. It was not just the sound—the vibrations shuddered through Chane's whole body. He felt as if he were being thrown down the mountain at the waiting rocky shore below. He thought he heard Shade gag over the lift's raucous noise.

  He did not want to look.

  The lift passed two lower settlements, but neither had a station where passengers transferred to another lift. Sea-Side's one cargo lift went all the way down, and those brief settlements blurred by in a rush.