by Barb Hendee
Chane's only comfort was in knowing that—one way or another—the lift would eventually stop. When it finally slowed, then bumped into a wall-less station at the port's back, he shuddered in the silent cloud-laced night.
No one came out to check on arriving passengers. Perhaps on this side of the mountain fees were collected only above. Chane unbolted the gate with shaky hands, stepped down the loading ramp, and then stopped halfway.
Shade still stood at the lift's center. With her ears flattened and her head low and her legs splayed in a braced stance, a stream of drool trailed from her panting jaws to puddle on the platform's boards.
"It is over," he said. "Come."
Smelling sea air, he looked upward along the steep granite road. The peninsula's ocean side was more sheer and rough than the bay side. But the slant down into the open ocean was likely why full-size ships could dock here.
Other than a few warehouses framing a main avenue to the docks, buildings were sparse and deeply weathered. The shoreline, however, could never be called a beach.
Endless waves pounded and sprayed upon jagged rocks at the mountain's base. And Chane wavered at the chance of finding some small, hidden entrance in leagues of sea-battered rock. Just which way—north or south—should he begin?
Shade growled and then sniffed sharply, as she too gazed along the shore.
"A room first," Chane said, more to himself than the dog.
Shade stared upward toward Sea-Side's main settlement, probably still doubtful of leaving Wynn alone. Chane snapped his fingers to gain the dog's attention and stepped in between the warehouses.
Only a few dwarven dockworkers were about. A cluster of human sailors languished beneath a dangling lantern. He spotted only two single-masted vessels until he cleared the buildings and reached the heads of the piers. One larger ship rested farther out, near the end of the leftmost dock.
Its two masts were as tall as those of larger vessels he had seen in Calm Seatt. With all sails furled, it appeared to be quietly waiting. This had to be the duchess's vessel. If she stayed in Sea-Side, then her ship would have docked here. The other two smaller ones did not seem fitting.
Shade huffed once.
She trotted past the docks' heads, and Chane turned and followed. She finally dropped to her haunches to wait. When he caught up, she sat before a stone building, squat-looking though it was still two stories tall. Peering through the outer windows, Chane saw people inside, some with tankards in hand or seated for a meal at tables. With two stories, it might be an inn, or something like it among the dwarves.
Chane scrutinized Shade, though the dog ignored him. Perhaps she understood his intention, if not his words. It should have been a small relief, but it only made Chane warier.
What else did Shade know or understand?
Wynn returned to her room after making certain that Duchess Reine had retired for the night. Alone for the first time since Chane had reentered her life, Wynn crawled into bed early and slept hard. She needed to be up and alert by dawn, if she was to follow Reine's movements by day. In the morning, as the innkeeper's knock came at the door, she awoke feeling more herself.
She wasn't certain why, but there was something liberating about awaking in the day, even in a world without sunlight. As she rolled out of bed, stretching sore muscles from another night on a hard dwarven mattress, she wondered how to begin. She was worried about Shade—and Chane—but there was no way to know whether they'd arrived safely and acquired lodging.
Wynn looked at her gray robe lying across the bed's corner. Anyone in the duchess's entourage would spot her in an instant wearing that. But her yellow and umber elven clothing on a short human would attract as much attention. A notion came to her.
She donned the clothing, pulled the robe on as well, and then wandered out toward the inn's front room. Perhaps she could trade for or borrow something more from the dwarven innkeeper? She could then spend the day blending in with the locals—and watching for the duchess.
"Yes," she said softly to herself. "A dwarven disguise."
That night, just past dusk, Chane awoke in the portside inn. Shade sat poised at the door, watching him, as if she had done so all day. Chane scowled at her.
If Shade was as intelligent as Wynn claimed, did the dog find it strange—suspicious—that he slept all day? Young as she was, and aside from protecting Wynn, how much could Shade really know of the undead?
He rolled from bed and began dressing in salt-stiffened clothes.
The previous night they had scouted the rocky shore. Time had passed too quickly, and he had grown fearful. When he sensed dawn's approach, they backtracked to the inn, both of them soaked with sea spray. He procured a dry blanket for Shade before removing his wet clothing.
The blanket still lay in the room's far corner, only a little damp from the dog.
Shade growled and scratched at the door.
"A moment," he muttered.
An entire night now awaited them. Chane had to find the tunnel entrance—or be certain it did not exist within reach.
Wynn blamed herself for their failures, but he had not been much help to her. In truth, what little success they counted was mostly Shade's doing, ferreting out secrets from the memories of others. For the first time since reaching Dhredze Seatt, Chane was in a position to do something.
Between an undead and a majay-hì, he hoped the gap might not be so wide. Perhaps Wynn was enough common ground for Shade to put aside natural instinct, should she learn anything certain of what he truly was.
His clothes were not completely dry, but he would be soaked again soon enough. He donned his cloak, pulled up the hood, and wished he did not have to carry two packs. But he was not about to leave them behind.
Shade scratched the door again.
"I am coming," he said.
Opening the door, he followed as she trotted out. When they reached the common room, he paused to purchase a slat of smoked fish. He fed this to Shade as they traversed the port, passed the last pier, and climbed out onto the northward rocky shore.
It was a guess, considering he had no idea which direction was adjacent to the grate-covered tunnel of Shade's stolen memory. But north seemed more likely, by estimate of Off-Breach Market's position above in Sea-Side. It was a while before they reached where they had left off the night before.
Shade led the way, her eyes half-closed against wind that did little to ruffle her salt-stiffened fur. Soon enough, sea spray dampened them both. Chane carefully examined every inch they crossed while Shade nosed ahead.
They were utterly alone. No one else had reason to scramble across the sheer, barren edge between stone and sea. Often he had to climb or crawl on all fours over outcrops and through crags in their slow progress. His cloak grew heavy as it soaked in more spray.
When he pushed back his sagging hood and peered up, the waning moon, barely a sliver of light, had finally crested the peak above. The night was half gone. Amid the surf's noise, he had not heard any dwarven bells on the mountain ringing out the passing time.
Chane paused and looked back the way they had come.
Whatever lanterns hung upon the piers or docked ships were too far off to see, and panic crept in. The return would be quicker without searching, but if they did not turn back soon, he would be caught by the dawn. He had seen few crevices along the way large enough to hide him from the sun.
Shade barked three times from ahead, and Chane spun about.
His foot slipped on broken rocks and slid down before he regained balance.
Shade barked again, but with his sight fully widened, Chane still saw no sign of her. She suddenly appeared over the top of a steep rock backbone sloping down into the pounding surf. She stood perfectly still, waiting.
What little hope rose in Chane only heightened his fear of going farther from port, but he scrambled onward. As he climbed the backbone, Shade climbed down its far side. He crested it quickly, peering into a deep inlet, and his hopes sank.
&nbs
p; The inlet cut so deep into the shore's steep slant that its back was pitch-black. There was no place to follow the rolling waterline. They would have to climb high upslope to get around it. The whole venture became more dangerous with half the night gone, but Shade kept crawling along the inlet's steep side.
"Get back here!" he called, though his rasp was barely audible over waves and wind.
Shade clawed along the water's edge, deeper into the inlet, and Chane dropped down the rocky backbone, boots scraping on wet rock. Waves broke and tumbled well before they reached the inlet's back, so it had to be shallow. It was still not something to wade across in the dark. Shade suddenly shuffled sideways, trying to get upslope as dark foam-laced water surged upward around her legs.
"Shade!" Chane called.
He gripped slick rock with his slope-side hand and pushed on.
Turning only her head, Shade barked at him and then gazed toward the inlet's back. As he came up behind her, the darkness in the inlet looked different. The rock above it did not meet the water's surface. A rough overhang created a low and wide opening over the undulating water.
The cave, or pocket, was half-filled by the sea.
Chane looked to the moon and then down into the water. There was no telling its depth.
Shade huffed at him, sounding impatient, and then pricked up her ears. Peering at the low cave, she cocked her head to the side and whined loudly. She barked once and began backing unsteadily across the backbone's side.
"What?" Chane called tiredly.
Shade backed another step, stopping only when she could go no farther without running into him. Clearly she had decided this was not what they sought. But Chane had to be certain and stepped down the sheer rock. He hesitated before he sank one booted foot into the dark, undulating water.
When he found his footing, he dropped waist-high into the water. Clinging to the backbone's side, he inched into the inlet until his eyes adjusted to its deeper darkness. Still, he could not see to its back, but he heard water slapping against stone somewhere deeper beneath the overhang. Shade's actions now made sense.
She had been listening for the path of the water flowing unobstructed. Even without entering, she had known there was no opening beneath the overhang.
Chane backed out in dejection and clawed up the backbone's side. Shade was already moving on. Scrabbling upslope, she began nosing out a way around the inlet, and Chane struggled after her.
They should have turned back, but the prospect of failure overrode reason.
Chane searched every nook, crack, and hollow, making certain they did not miss a single hole or odd patch of pure black. He forgot how dangerously far they had pushed on until he heard faint, distant bell tones rolling down the mountainside.
He froze, counting off the five tones.
The fifth eighth of night, by the dwarves' measure of time, and they had found nothing. Fear pulled reason back through frustration. He could push his body until morning if need be, but even now, he was uncertain whether he could reach the inn before sunrise. How could he fail Wynn in this task?
"Shade!"
He knelt on the rock as the dog paused ahead, glancing back at him. To his bewilderment, she looked up at the sky—no, up the mountainside to the moon glowing behind thin night clouds. Did she understand that they traveled by night out of more than choice? If she knew that much, then …
A huge wave hit the shore.
Spray rose high and slapped down around Chane, drenching him. When his sight line cleared, Shade faced him within arm's reach. One jowl twitched beneath her cold, intense gaze, and she never blinked.
"Do you know?" he whispered.
If she did know what he was, why had she never attacked him outright? If she did not, why did she always wrinkle her snout and glare at him?
Chane had to head back immediately—but Shade did not.
Indecision made him falter. Somehow, he had to make her understand. If his suspicion was correct, and she knew his true nature, then letting her see into his memories would change nothing. If he was wrong, one of them would end here—or at best, he would have to flee. What would become of Wynn without him?
Chane grew frantic.
Finding a sea tunnel to the underworld might be the only chance they had left. If he and Shade did not succeed, Wynn's mission ended in failure. There was only one way to tell Shade to go on without him—and he knew only one way that could happen.
Chane rose on his knees, his thumb already rubbing the ring on his finger. He locked eyes with Shade, but hesitated as he pinched the ring between the fingers of his other hand.
He pulled off the ring of nothing.
Shade shimmered before Chane's eyes, as did the sloped rocky shore, like an intense heat across a plain making the horizon blur. Another wave's arcing spray crashed down on both of them.
Salt water ran off Chane's face. He shuddered, not from cold but as all his awareness sharpened threefold. He had not removed the ring since first entering Calm Seatt, moons past. He had almost forgotten how much it dampened his awareness. It felt like coming alive again—or at least how he might have imagined such a thing.
And there were Shade's blue crystalline eyes, burning too brightly in his widened vision.
Shade snarled, her jowls pulling back and exposing all of her teeth. Her shoulders bunched, and even soaked as she was, her hackles rose. Shade snapped the air, her teeth clacking.
Chane went completely still—he had made a grave error.
The dog's rolling snarl took on a pealing mewl, like a cat's enraged yowl caught in its throat. Her ears flattened as her whole body quaked under that sound.
But Shade remained where she stood.
Her snarls lessened, becoming no more than low growls.
"You knew …" Chane whispered. "All this time."
For an instant, he could not even think how. Either Shade's own senses, so much like Wynn's old companion Chap's, had sensed he was not natural, or …
Had Shade caught some slip in Wynn's memories?
The dog had not attacked him, as one of her kind should. She had even fought beside him against the wraith—in defending Wynn.
How could he tell Shade what he needed her to do now?
He tried to think of memories, of any instance in which he had protected Wynn, as well as moments of searching since the three of them had come together. There was also the small room at the inn to which he would have to return and wait. But he had no memory like the one Wynn had spoken of—a grated iron opening that let the sea rise in an underground chamber. All he could think of in its place was the one overhang that Shade had already found, though it had proved false for what they sought.
Shade grew strangely silent, watching him.
Once Chane was clear on which memories he would have to use, he reached out.
Shade twisted on the slope and snapped at his wrist.
He snatched his hand back. He was not certain how this process worked, but Wynn had so often touched the dog that it seemed necessary.
"I must," he said, reaching out again. "I must be sure you understand! You have to go on and … look for the entrance, damn you!"
His head suddenly filled with a memory.
In the dwarven port's inn, in that small dark room, a lantern sat beside a narrow bed and a damp folded blanket in one corner.
Chane drew back in hesitation. He had not been thinking about that as he spoke.
Shade fell silent. Her left jowl quivered and she spun away.
Chane only watched as she clawed and hopped away, up the dark coast beneath the erratic spray of the sea. She stopped only once upon a crest of rock, and it seemed her head swung back his way.
Then all he could think of was the room at the inn.
As much as Wynn claimed that Shade was fully sentient, the truth of it had never quite settled upon him until now. She was telling him to go back.
Turning south, Chane scrambled toward the port.
Wynn heard the fifth bell
of the second day—past noon—in following the duchess and her entourage. No one recognized her from afar.
She had two bedsheets tied about her waist, beneath her robe, and an oversize dwarven cloak borrowed from the innkeeper. Unless someone peered too closely, she looked stout enough to pass for a young, rather skinny dwarf. But she was beginning to regret giving in to Chane and staying behind.
In the first place, she had learned nothing. Reine spent most of her time hiding away in her inn, leaving Wynn to mill around the mainway and wait. A problematic pursuit, as no one else spent so much time loitering in plain sight. Secondly, and more important, she hated being cut off, blinded as to her companions' whereabouts and well-being.
Was Shade all right? How had Chane fared on his own among the dwarves? And had they found any tunnel entrance?
Wynn's disguise had proven adequate, but she began to think her task was a waste of time. How long could she pretend to wait for someone before anyone noticed? One set of dwarves in heavy furs had passed by more than once. The same pair of clan constables had already come and gone three times that morning. As she was about to give up and work out some other ploy, someone stepped out of the inn down the side tunnel.
Duchess Reine emerged in polished boots, breeches, and a front-split deep teal skirt. Her elven companion, as always, was nearly covered by his white robe and cowl. All three Weardas followed, and the small group marched straight toward the mainway.
Wynn ducked back and flattened against the wall, lowering her head until the cloak's hood hung over her eyes. She waited, not moving as she watched their feet tromp by. Once they were well down the way, she followed as closely as she dared.
When they turned into the passage to Off-Breach Market, she held back until they passed the first stalls. It wasn't until she caught up that she noticed the elf carrying a small piece of parchment and a sharpened stick of writing charcoal wrapped in scrap paper. Reine moved about the market, trading dwarven slugs for a blanket, a tin kettle, and a coil of stout rope.