by Barb Hendee
The metaphor of "two-edged" was part of almost any culture. It referred to a benefit that could be a downfall as well. "Three-edged" implied something worse, as if deficit outweighed any gain twofold.
… by beauty … frail the high priest was and is … his wish fulfilled … cheated with eternal life …
Wynn went cold in the pit of her stomach.
Not just one of the Reverent, but their very leader had asked for and received eternal life, but it didn't make sense. How could one be "cheated" by such a gift? And the Children were not alive; they were undead, Noble Dead.
And "was and is"? When had Häs'saun written this? How could he know what had happened, or would happen, to Beloved's high priest, considering Häs'saun had gone off with Li'kän, Volyno, and the orb?
… not mortal … not in young eternity …
Wynn sighed. That translation couldn't be right. She closed her eyes, reworking the phrases in her mind.
… never immortal … never eternally young …
"Three-edged" and a high priest's "vanity" began to connect. He hadn't just been after eternal life but eternal beauty. So why wouldn't eternal life provide that?
… Beloved's vain first [something] knew not what he would lose …
Whatever trick had been played on the high priest hadn't come to pass at the time of the siege.
… eternal being, Sau'ilahk shall never be …
Wynn came to a frantic halt.
She had found the name of the tricked priest, the last one among those identified as part of the Reverent. But it wasn't enough, and the rest of the page wasn't readable. She flipped to the next, but it started with an account of something else. There was no mention of Beloved's high priest.
"Eternal being but never be … what?" she whispered.
Or was that all there was to it? No eternal youth, no immortality, but eternal life just the same. What was the result of such a mistake in Sau'ilahk's shallow longing for beauty?
Wynn knew the answer, slowly rising to her feet.
"Ore-Locks," she said slowly, "I think I know who the wraith—"
"Someone comes," he cut in.
Wynn turned to find him facing the cave's far wall. She backstepped at the sight of a hulking figure emerging from stone and grew wary as it took form.
It wasn't Cinder-Shard.
"Master Bulwark," Ore-Locks said in equal surprise.
Wynn recognized his bony features and gray-blond hair. Her crystal's light glinted on the steel tips of his black-scaled hauberk.
Master Bulwark appeared equally surprised, then angrily suspicious. He glanced once at the guardian in the pool as he strode forward.
"I could not believe Cinder-Shard sent you here with the sage!" His eyes narrowed on Ore-Locks. "What have you been doing?"
"What I was told," Ore-Locks returned, though resentment leaked into his voice. "To wait until the sage finished and then notify Master Cinder-Shard to retrieve her."
Wynn took only a grain of comfort in the exchange. Bulwark didn't trust Ore-Locks. Perhaps he didn't even approve of Cinder-Shard taking in the outcast of the Iron-Braids. Did Bulwark know something about Ore-Locks's connection to Thallûhearag? Had Ore-Locks ever come to this cave before, trying to delve into the texts on his own?
The elder Stonewalker glowered at Ore-Locks and stepped past toward Wynn.
"Have you discovered anything useful?" he demanded.
"What?" Wynn sputtered. "Possibly … but I've barely begun. I need more time."
"The day has passed. Night has come again," he said. "You will return to your companions, as Ore-Locks is needed elsewhere. If you have something to report, I will inform the duchess, and she will come to you."
Wynn backed away. Apparently Bulwark was second only to Cinder-Shard. He was going to pull her through stone whether she wanted to go or not. She had little to tell, so little that she might never see the texts again.
"I can tell the duchess what I've learned," Wynn bluffed. "But she will want to know more once she hears it … as will Cinder-Shard."
Ore-Locks was already packing the texts away with great care. Bulwark merely stood waiting, speaking only to Ore-Locks.
"You may go. Find Amaranth and assist her until you are called."
As Ore-locks turned across the cave, Wynn sagged. She crouched to gather her things, never seeing him step into stone. One desperate notion struck her.
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.
Chapter 22
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 reskynna. 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.
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.
Hinder those outside the door! Distract them!
The dwarf's staff whipped through him as his own fingers slashed through a helmet and wide face. The dwarf yelped, and Sau'ilahk blinked out.
All it would take was just one reaching the bell rope to warn of his presence. A thrust of incorporeal fingers could put down a human, but it would only weaken a dwarf. He materialized instantly before the bell rope as the other five dwarves spread out, closing from all around.
Sau'ilahk saw his tactic would not work.
Not one had even hesitated as the first slumped against the wall. They were willing to die so that one could get to him. It would take only one to grip the rope as the last fell. Sau'ilahk had to leave this place in silence, no matter what it cost, but he had so little to expend. Barely one life taken, and now he would lose even that. Why had he not reawakened in the underworld?
He raised his arms, robe sleeves sliding down over limbs wrapped in black cloth.
Sau'ilahk began to conjure, more strength draining away.
Wynn followed Balsam until the Stonewalker stopped at the final passage and pointed onward. She rushed on alone with her regained journals clutched in her arms. Shade sprang to all fours, barking excitedly as she lunged forward from the archway. Wynn hurried straight past, looking about the landing for her pack.
Chane was slouched beside their belongings with his eyes closed.
She was surprised to find him still dormant. Bulwark had said night was upon them. Was Chane's hunger becoming too great? Had he slipped into some other kind of unconsciousness?
"Chane?" she said in alarm.
His eyes opened as he sat upright, but he appeared disoriented. "Wynn?"
In relief, she dropped to her knees, dumped the journals, and began pulling everything out of her pack.
"When did you return?" he asked, blinking. "Where did you get those?"
Wynn didn't answer. She didn't know whether the duchess had ever seen the texts or knew of the old journals among them. She wasn't about to find out. Pulling out her tightly folded robe and spare shift, she reached for the pile of journals.
Chane grabbed her wrist. "What have you done?"
"They're mine!" she shot back. "My journals … from the Farlands!"
She jerked free and shoved them in the pack's bottom.
"What if their absence is noticed?" he asked. "At least portions of the texts are taken to the guild each day."
"These journals hold everything that happened to me. Every detail of what I learned … and they're mine. I don't care who finds out, because no one will get them back!"
She began stuffing her belongings on top. Chane craned his head, looking over her and out the archway.
"Hurry!" he urged. "If you are here, others will come soon." He paused as if remembering something, and pointed at a bag on the floor. "There's food and water."
She hadn't eaten all day, hadn't even thought of it. She finished lacing her pack closed and hurried over, helping herself to water and a torn hunk of bread. Then she felt suddenly guilty.
Nothing here would sate Chane's hunger.
He stood up, bracing against the wall, and his other hand clenched into a fist. He stepped into the archway, watching down the passage.
"Did you learn anything?" he asked.
Shade pressed in, nosing Wynn's cheek. Still chewing, Wynn wrapped her free arm around the dog's neck. Then she began recounting what little she'd uncovered.
Chane crouched before her, listening intently, and then he glanced out the archway.
"What is it?" she asked.
Shade pulled from Wynn's arms, her pointed ears rising.
Duchess Reine, Chuillyon, and Captain Tristan strode down the passage toward the archway.
Wynn stood up beside Chane. Without even thinking, she took the staff and held it firmly, fearful it might be taken again.
"What have you learned?" the duchess demanded, still a few strides off.
Did she wish to hold this discussion from the passageway?
Chane wrapped his near hand around his sword's sheath, just below the cross guard. He pocketed the ring, freeing his sword hand if needed.
Why had he taken the ring off? If the Stonewalkers, especially Cinder-Shard, could sense the wraith as an undead, would they sense him without the ring's protection?
Chuillyon slowed, almost falling behind the other two. He arrived three steps after the duchess and the captain, eyeing Chane.
"Well?" the duchess asked more sharply.
"A little," Wynn returned in kind. "Master Bulwark interrupted me too soon. I need more—"
"Do not play me!" The duchess took two rapid steps closer.
Wynn forced calm, though one bitter thought escaped. "It's regrettable you were less interested back in Calm Seatt. Several people might still be alive."
"Enough!" Chuillyon said, pulling back his cowl.
The passage's orange light accentuated the lines around his eyes. Wynn couldn't help wondering at his age.
"Please continue," he instructed.
Wynn knew she had to share her meager findings but still hoped for more time with the texts.
"I didn't uncover the wraith's specific goal … yet," she said. "But I believe I have his name … and something of the part he played in the war."
"The war?" the duchess echoed with disdain.
"What name?" Chuillyon demanded.
"The Ancient Enemy had three distinct groups of followers," Wynn began. She briefly recounted the Children, the Eaters of Silence, and lastly the Reverent, a religious caste. She left out what little she knew of a bargain with Beloved, adding only …
"His name was—is—Sau'ilahk, high priest of Cinder-Shard's so-called Nightfaller."
Chuillyon's large eyes lost focus. His gaze dropped, staring at nothing, and then shifted erratically. Wynn wondered what thoughts came so quickly, one overwhelming the next.
"Liar!" Reine accused, pulling Wynn's attention. "I'm sick of your schemes. To suggest that this mage has been around since—"