by Barb Hendee
It had followed her.
When Wynn looked to Chane, she was choking in misery. She had led that monster in here.
"Wraith!" she whispered sharply.
Silent malice washed from Chane's features, replaced by startled disbelief. He began to shake his head. And Shade suddenly ripped free of Wynn's grip.
The dog bolted down the passage and cut loose an eerie wail that echoed. Both young Weardas behind Wynn winced at the deafening sound. Chane wasn't shaking his head anymore.
"The staff!" Wynn shouted, looking to the captain.
"Tristan, follow Cinder-Shard!" the duchess ordered from somewhere at the rear. "Don't lose sight of him."
Chane spun about, blocking the captain. "Give Wynn the staff. Do it, or you are all dead … even your precious noble!"
"I told you to keep quiet," barked the captain, shoving Chane forward.
"Duchess!" Wynn called. "Tell him to give me the staff. Not even the Stonewalkers can face this."
The pair of Weardas charged her. One grabbed her soaked tunic's shoulder and shoved her on. Before she turned, she looked to Chane and flicked a quick glance toward the staff in the captain's hand.
Chane nodded once.
Chapter 18
Sau'ilahk had no time to ponder how the second Stonewalker came out of a cavern wall. The thunderclap raised by the younger, red-haired one had to be an alarm. He needed to end this and slip away before being forced to flee. And he needed life to feed on.
He rushed the second Stonewalker, as it slashed at him with a wide dagger. Gray-blond hair hung wildly about the elder dwarf's bony face. The blade swept through unimpeded, and his expression shifted to surprise.
Sau'ilahk sank his incorporeal hand through the dwarf's black-scaled hauberk. Elation rose at the tingle of life as the dwarf's mouth gaped.
The old one tried to back away, and Sau'ilahk paced him, wanting to leach as much life as possible. He had not had enough time to memorize this cavern. If exhaustion forced him into dormancy, he would rise in the last place he had awakened.
The elder Stonewalker backed against—into—the wall.
The tingle of life vanished, and Sau'ilahk froze, staring into his victim's face, which was half-submerged in glistening stone.
The stone's texture and phosphorescence flowed over the elder dwarf's features. It began covering his form, armor, hair, and eyes. He became a likeness seemingly carved from the rock.
Sau'ilahk's hand began to harden, as if solidified against his will, trapped inside the stone.
Nothing could hide its life from his touch. Nothing could grip a spirit, especially one such as him. Stunned and horrified, he willed his hand to return to its spiritual state and jerked free, retreating in a rush. He whirled at the sound of grating boots, and the red-haired young one closed quickly.
Sau'ilahk could not help recoiling as another dagger slashed through him.
The young one's eyes widened when the blade did not even ruffle the black cloak. Sau'ilahk swiped at him in turn, hoping to consume this one's life. The dwarf slapped his free hand against a stalactite.
Sau'ilahk's black-wrapped fingers passed straight through his red hair and his face. The young one did not flinch, and Sau'ilahk did not even feel a brief tingle.
"Meâkesagh, yaittrâg vuddidí maks! Chleu'intag chregh; chleu'intag hìm!"
He twisted at the elder's deep voice, catching the meaning of those barked commands too late.
Ore-Locks, block the far exit! Keep to stone; keep to me!
The gray-blond elder stepped forward, his still-carved face pushing from calcified rock. Glistening stone flowed from his features, until he stood fully distinguished from the cavern wall. A rush of booted feet made Sau'ilahk whip the other way.
The red-haired one dodged between half-lit columns and deep shadows, always keeping one hand upon a stalagmite or stalactite. He regained the far opening where he had first appeared.
Sau'ilahk turned fear-fed anger on the bony-featured elder.
… keep to stone … keep to me.
He hissed, and his cloak began to rise. Even if he blinked across the cavern by line of sight, he could not feed on the young one. The elder was the key to Sau'ilahk's failure. That one somehow protected himself and the other through contact with stone. And there was stone here everywhere.
Sau'ilahk had to force one of them to lose contact between flesh and stone.
If the elder died, the younger would be helpless, but turning fully corporeal to fight them would deplete Sau'ilahk's energy. He would not last long. Even if he killed one, to do so quickly would not feed him enough.
He surged rearward, rushing back through three calcified columns.
"Bulwark?" the young one called.
"Hold!" the elder shouted, swerving around a lumpy column.
Sau'ilahk spread his arms wide.
His servitors could do little against enemies who became one with stone. A pure conjury was too slow, and a base summoning was the only choice. He arched his arms forward as the elder Stonewalker rounded another stalagmite. Sigils and shapes formed in Sau'ilahk's sight, but not fixed upon his assailant.
He held them within the vacant space between his arms, and the cavern's air began to shift.
Wind raced in through openings as if the cavern sucked it in. It built into a whirling core within the half circle of Sau'ilahk's arms. The elder dwarf faltered, slapping at hair whipping across his bony face. He growled unintelligibly and charged.
Sau'ilahk clapped his hands together.
A crack shook the cavern as churning air exploded outward. The elder Stonewalker skidded back, and his heavy body slammed into a joined stalagmite and stalactite. The column shattered under his bulk, chunks scattering all about.
The brief hurricane died just as suddenly as it came. Not one fold of Sau'ilahk's robe had been ruffled, but the elder dwarf lay prone and still in the column's rubble.
Sau'ilahk glanced aside in growing fatigue. The younger one was gone from the far opening, perhaps flattened as well. Satisfied, he slid toward his unconscious victim.
The elder rolled over. Shaking off shattered stone, he heaved himself up, not even bleeding.
Sau'ilahk halted in frustration.
At a clatter and scuffing of boots, the younger dwarf clambered back into the far opening.
"Hold!" the elder shouted. "The others are coming!"
An eerie wail rolled into the cavern.
Sau'ilahk peered at every opening, searching for its origin. He knew that sound, and hope drained like his strength. He had been detected. If the black wolf was here, so was Wynn. How had she found her way into the underworld? Had she learned the location of the texts, or even beaten him to them?
Something moved beyond a wide-based stone cone to his right. It was neither of his opponents. It slipped around that tall and broad stalagmite, taking shape in the wall crystals' orange light.
A third Stonewalker, a female, watched him with unblinking pellet eyes.
Sau'ilahk's hiss shifted to a moan. He did not have the reserves to engage three. All he need do was to sink into dormancy and vanish. But he had come so close to his desire.
Another form rushed out of the wall behind the gray-blond, bony-faced elder.
It shot from solid rock like a broad shadow and landed on heavy boots, sending vibrations through the cavern floor. This fourth Stonewalker seemed vaguely familiar, with black hair streaked by gray, and a beard of steely bristles.
Sau'ilahk slowly rotated, tracking his four opponents as they shifted about the cavern. Again he should have fled. But the texts were here, containing secrets he needed—for the means to regain flesh.
The black wolf rushed in beyond the two elder Stonewalkers.
Another warning to flee, but Sau'ilahk's long suffering smothered him.
He would not let that whelp of a sage steal the texts, steal his hope, no matter what it cost him.
Wynn stumbled out of the main passage into a long, low-roofed
cavern filled with twisted light. One Weardas bodyguard shoved her against the side wall, and, as the others came through, she looked frantically about for Shade. The dog had bolted ahead, wailing her alarm, so she must be here somewhere.
Shade reappeared, circling back to a protective stance before Wynn, and her eerie wail lowered to a snarl.
Small dwarven crystals spread pockets of wispy orange amid the walls' dim yellow-green glow. Shadows multiplied into a forest of dark silhouettes between the glistening wet columns. Some of those shadows moved.
Wynn spotted two, no, at least three dwarven shapes. One passed into the light of a nearby crystal.
Cinder-Shard stepped into view as all four Stonewalkers faced toward the cavern's midpoint. Wynn followed their attention, and her stomach tightened.
A black figure floated there, garbed in a flowing robe and cloak that shifted and swayed upon a breeze she couldn't feel. It raised one arm, and its sleeve slipped down, exposing its forearm, hand, and fingers all wrapped in black cloth strips.
Wynn had believed Shade and had known what they would find. But to actually see it made her choke.
The wraith slowly turned, watching the Stonewalkers. Shade suddenly lunged at a break between the dwarves.
"No!" Wynn shouted. "Stay!"
Shade halted short but didn't retreat.
The wraith's cowl turned at her voice, its opening darker than any cavern hollow.
The captain shoved Chane aside, and the second Weardas took his place as guard. Wynn tried to remember what the captain had called that one. Was it Danyel?
The captain dropped the sun crystal's staff and stepped out.
"We're here!" he shouted.
"Stay back!" Cinder-Shard returned. "Keep your people out of our way!"
The wraith's cowl cocked slightly, fixing on Wynn.
"The staff!" she shouted, and tried to step out for it. "Give it to me!"
The captain cast her a hard glare and set his boot on the staff. The third Weardas shoved Wynn back, pinning her to the wall with one hand. She heard a guttural rumble, but it hadn't come from Shade.
Chane's face twisted in his own snarl. The guards had taken his sword, but he could fight without it. His colorless eyes shifted from Wynn's assailant to the captain's exposed back.
Reine ignored Wynn and stood staring beyond Tristan and Cinder-Shard at a tall, black-robed figure. She'd heard scant details of a "mage" who'd murdered sages for translation folios. Through all of it, Wynn had insisted that it was something else… .
What had she called it—an undead?
Reine hadn't read Captain Rodian's final investigation report, but she'd been told that he claimed the perpetrator had died. Yet here was a likeness that could be no other. The culprit lived and was here in the underworld.
Wynn Hygeorht's follies mounted by the moment. She'd repeatedly muddled Rodian's investigation in trying to get access to the texts. There was only one way this interloper could've found the underworld.
Reine's fright turned to anger.
Wynn had led a murdering mage into the place of Frey's safekeeping.
Sau'ilahk fixed on Wynn; then his attention shifted again.
Beyond the black wolf, a tall royal guard in a helm and red tabard had dropped the staff and now held it down with his boot. Its upper section was enclosed in a leather sheath.
Sau'ilahk knew it even with its crystal hidden. That crystal had nearly burned him into oblivion the last time he had hunted Wynn. But she was pinned against the wall, and her ignorant new companions would not let her have the staff.
He took a fleeting instant of joy before spotting another small woman.
The duchess stood with saber in hand before an overly tall, white-robed figure. Though an reskynna only by marriage, she was still a royal. If the elder gray-blond dwarf could make the other Stonewalkers as impervious as himself, killing so many would be impossible, let alone taking one to torture for information.
Sau'ilahk's attention shifted erratically between Wynn and the duchess.
Could he seize someone more susceptible, someone he might even exchange for the texts? Tormenting Wynn would please him most, but even if she knew the texts' location, would the others sacrifice her and move the texts as a precaution?
He lost his train of thought as all of the Stonewalkers became still. They spread their arms wide and began a low, guttural chant in unison. It thrummed throughout the cavern as they stepped inward, closing around him.
Sau'ilahk did not know what they attempted, but their lack of fear concerned him.
Then Chane lashed out at one Weardas.
Sau'ilahk knew Chane would fight to get the staff into Wynn's possession. Too many sides were coming at him at once. He wanted to screech in frustration at more lost strength as he crouched and solidified one hand.
Sau'ilahk slammed his palm against the cavern's floor.
Chane could not believe the wraith had survived—not after all they had been through to destroy it. There was only one way to drive it off and give them time to learn why. Swords were worthless; regaining the staff for Wynn was all that mattered.
A Weardas still held her against the wall, but Chane needed to put his own guard down and reach the captain.
The Stonewalkers suddenly halted, and their chant rose. At the distraction, Chane twisted and slammed a fist into his guard's face.
The man teetered as his head whipped back, but he still managed to slash out with his sword. Chane felt the blade's point tear across his chest. Hunger rose quickly to eat that small pain. He crouched and drove his other palm into the man's gut.
The guard toppled, and Chane lunged for the captain's back.
"Tristan, behind you!"
At the duchess's shout, the captain started to turn, and another blade slashed across Chane's back. It failed to penetrate his cloak. Chane grabbed the captain's wrist above the sword, ready to strike the man down and snatch up the staff.
The cavern's glow brightened sharply with orange-red.
Chane hesitated as the Stonewalkers' chant died. He saw fire erupt from stone around the wraith's crouched form.
A line of flame spread from under its flattened hand and shot outward, racing and twisting around the wide bases of stalagmites. Cinder-Shard lunged out of the fire's path as the other Stonewalkers scattered.
Chane had hesitated too long.
A sword hilt struck the back of his skull—but the blow was too weak. He barely dropped his head as someone shouted, "Highness, keep away!" Chane knew who had attacked him from behind and did not care.
He wrenched the captain off balance as he thrust back with his elbow. But his arm slammed against something more solid than a small woman. He twisted his head in surprise, coming face-to-face with the young guard he had punched. Blood ran from the man's nostrils across his mouth.
"Chane, get out of the way!" Wynn shouted.
The line of fire raced toward the gathering at the entrance, steam shrieking off the wet stone in its path.
He glanced quickly beyond the bloody guard blocking him. The duchess and the elf stood in the way. There was not enough time to get through them, let alone get the staff to Wynn. The fire was coming too fast.
"Shade, free Wynn!" he ordered, hoping the dog understood.
Chane shouldered sideways into the young guard and charged toward Wynn.
Reine stiffened as the fire streaked between through the cavern. Blood ran freely down Danyel's face, dripping off his chin, and Tristan stared at the oncoming flames.
"Everyone out, now!" she commanded.
Then the wolf leaped at Saln.
He stumbled aside, fending it off, and lost his hold on Wynn. Chane slammed into Wynn, pushing her back against the wall, and he grabbed for the wolf's scruff. He tried to pull them both behind his wet cloak.
Reine took a step, and Chuillyon's light hand fell upon her shoulder.
"Be still," he whispered.
She spun, ready to grab him and flee, but faltered
at his soft voice.
"Chârmun … agh'alhtahk so. A'lhän am leagad chionns'gnajh."
Chuillyon's large amber eyes closed as his other hand flattened over his heart.
Reine's Elvish wasn't good enough. All she caught was something about "grace," as if he'd whispered a prayer. She grabbed his robe's belt to pull him, but his grip on her shoulder closed slightly.
Chuillyon sighed, and a shallow smile spread across his thin lips.
When Reine turned her head to call the others, Tristan kicked the staff aside before he tried to leap clear. Onrushing flames raced over his boot, licking up his shin. He hadn't been wearing his cloak in Frey's pool, and the dry hem ignited. He ripped it off, letting it fall, and stomped on it. The stream of fire reached Saln, sending flames up his legs.
"Saln!" Reine cried. "Drop!"
He did, rolling on the floor as he screamed.
Reine backed against Chuillyon, shoving at him. Try as she might, she couldn't force him into the passage.
Sau'ilahk watched with glee as Stonewalkers scattered. But holding conjured fire upon wet stone while keeping his thin bond to his servitors became too much. His remaining energy was quickly draining away.
He savored only an instant of satisfaction as Chane abandoned the staff and ran to shield Wynn and the wolf. Frustration followed as the tall captain kicked the staff aside. Flames caught in his cloak. As he ripped it off, another guard was hit full on by the fire. That one cried out in pain, steam and smoke rising from his damp pants and boots.
But the white-robed elf just stood there.
He pulled the duchess back, calmly closing his eyes. His lips moved, but whatever he spoke was too soft to hear.
Sau'ilahk was sick of the unknown, from mystical dwarves and Wynn's two companions to some white-robed dabbler with the duchess. With a clear line of sight to his target, he jerked his hand from the cavern floor, releasing his hold upon the fire. He rose, preparing to blink across the cavern and snatch the duchess, for the others would trade anything for her.
Sau'ilahk halted with a shudder of disbelief.