Through Stone and Sea

by Barb Hendee

  Sliver spun in angry silence. She jerked the door wide, forcing Chane to step aside, and strode out into the workshop. Chane held back, waiting upon Wynn.

  Amid confusion and shame, Wynn carefully pulled free of Mother Iron-Braid’s grip.

  “I’ll reach Ore- Locks,” she promised, “or tell him . . . somehow.”

  A good distance down Breach Mainway, on Sea-Side’s second level, Wynn followed Sliver into the strangest open market she had ever seen. Deep inside the mountain, Off-Breach Market was set up in a huge space carved from the granite innards, rather like the interior of a great cathedral. Voluminous, it was lit in orange by massive crystals steaming upon stone pylons the circumference of oak tree trunks. Even thicker columns supported the ceiling all the way to the tile ringed opening at the dome’s apex. Vapors and smoke from various coal pots and food vendors’ carts wafted up to escape through the central air shaft.

  The columns here were brightly painted in purples, greens, and yellows, from their sculpted base rings to their flanged tops. All were embellished with dwarven characters and vubrí surrounding wedge-arrow symbols pointing the way to sectors for produce, clothing, housewares, leatherwork, and even livestock.

  A goat’s bleating carried over the market’s noise, and Wynn craned her head, looking for the source. She spotted a makeshift pen at the far left side. Inside a stick corral for goats and chickens, two young dwarves shoveled animal refuse into a wooden wheelbarrow.

  Stalls, carts, and tents of all shapes, colors, and materials filled the spaces around the columns, defining paths between for all patrons. None of it seemed odd to Wynn, for she’d visited many open markets on two continents. No, it was the looming ceiling that struck her the most.

  She understood the transport of goods, but this was the first time the underground settlement felt so artificial. Some merchandise was likely made here beneath the surface, but others, such as fresh fish, vegetables, and grain, had to be transported from outside and a long way off. Like Bay-Side, Sea-Side’s outer slope was a sheer drop down to its small port.

  Chane turned a full circle. “The noise is getting worse.”

  He looked more alert, so dusk must be close. Then Wynn noticed other tunnel mouths around the cathedral market. As the day’s end neared, more people were drifting in. Dwarves swarmed the vendors, haggling over fair trade of goods. The mounting din bounced off of stone, the walls magnifying the sound downward, and wrapped Wynn in its cacophony.

  Soon, hundreds of dwarves were engrossed in loud verbal bartering as they tromped about. There weren’t as many humans among them as in Bay-Side. Dozens of conflicting scents filled the air, all trapped and mingling, even with the central air shaft above.

  Wynn barely heard Shade’s whine and settled her free hand on the dog’s neck. Shade kept swiveling her head, trying to track the constantly shifting masses.

  Sliver grew impatient with their gawking. “This way,” she barked, shoving through the crowd.

  Chane waved Wynn and Shade on ahead.

  Perhaps he wanted to cover the rear or just keep her in his sight. Wynn hurried on, murmuring, “Pardon me, excuse me,” over and over as she struggled to keep up with Sliver. Then Chane’s hand fell on her shoulder from behind.

  Wynn slowed, but he pushed her onward. His whisper came close to her ear.

  “Sliver is lying . . . she knows more than her mother of Ore-Locks’s coming and going.”

  “What?”

  “Keep walking. Do not look back.”

  “How could you know this?” she asked.

  “Trust me,” Chane whispered. “Can you get Shade to read Sliver’s memories . . . on command?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe—”

  “Then try,” he insisted. “But only after I ask Sliver, ‘Where to next?’ Shade must wait for these words . . . or at least be watching for Sliver’s memories when I say them.”

  Wynn finally grasped what he was up to.

  At such a question, memories might rise in Sliver concerning the path—assuming she did know more than her mother. But how did Chane know Sliver was lying? Worse yet, how was Wynn going to explain all this to Shade with just memories—before they reached the end of Mother Iron- Braid’s instructions?

  Wynn curled her fingers deep into Shade’s neck fur.

  “Ah, Shade.” She sighed, and the dog’s pace slowed. “I wish you understood language, like your father. Even a few words, like ‘dip’ and ‘memory.’ ”

  She concentrated on the simplest, most ordered memories she could recall. First of Sliver, and then the sound of Chane’s voice a moment ago.

  . . . Where to next?

  She followed with another glimpse of Sliver and then quick ones of any stolen memories Shade passed on from others. And again, Sliver, and again, Where to next?

  Wynn repeated the sequence over and over, until her head began to ache. She glanced down and found Shade’s ears upright, as if she were listening. An echo of sight and sound filled Wynn’s head.

  First of Sliver, then a dizzying series of memories from others, and finally a sound like a breathy, broken voice but too garbled to understand.

  Wynn hadn’t actually heard words at the end. Another image rose in her mind.

  Chane stood in the small back room of the Iron- Braids’ smithy. Though his lips didn’t move, as he’d said nothing while there, the image mingled with the sound of his rasping voice.

  . . . Where to next?

  Wynn flushed with relief, though she was still uncertain Shade truly understood. Was the dog merely echoing everything back, asking for explanation? Memory-speak was so frustrating!

  They passed booths selling potatoes, turnips, and dried fruits, and then a section of glazed pots, urns, and bowls. Ahead, another tunnel led out of the market’s rear, but Sliver veered away from it. The vast cavern grew more and more packed.

  Wynn glanced behind but couldn’t see where they’d come in. Or was she even looking in the right direction? Hopefully Chane’s height gave him a better view if they had to turn back. As Shade pressed against her thigh, Wynn worried that the distressing throng had hampered the dog’s understanding.

  Then a flash of red caught Wynn’s eye.

  Sliver pulled up short, pointing. “There,” she said.

  A stall near the market’s back wall sported numerous folds of cloth hung upon wooden racks. Many bolts were dyed in a wide array of colors, though one was pure apple red. A wide dwarven woman with extra-wide hips, dressed in a myriad of colors like her wares, was straightening a cloth bolt left askew by some browser. She spotted the onlookers in turn.

  “Need something for a new shirt?” she called out. “Have a look at this weave. Stout and light, it is.”

  “No, thank you,” Wynn replied politely.

  At the next stall hung leather vests and shirts, and pairs of premade boots were piled on a makeshift plank counter. Between the two merchants, Wynn saw a narrow tunnel leading off beyond the market.

  “I have shown you,” Sliver muttered, turning around. “For all the good it will do.”

  She didn’t even look at Wynn as she started shoving her way back through the crowds. Wynn waited for Chane to speak, but at his silence, she called after Sliver, “And that’s all?”

  “That is all I was told to do,” the smith retorted. “This is as far as my mother got.”

  Wynn pivoted, watching Chane and waiting.

  He dropped his hand onto Sliver’s shoulder.

  She instantly slapped it away and turned on him, outrage flushing her face.

  “But not as far as you went,” Chane said. “Where . . . to . . . next?”

  Sliver froze, and Wynn’s fingers cinched in Shade’s neck fur.

  The smith’s eyes widened with anger—or perhaps a flicker of panic? She lingered, as Chane waited in silence, and then her brow furrowed.

  “Do not make that mistake again,” she warned. “The only deceiver here is your puppy of a sage!”

  With that, Slive
r strode off.

  Chane whirled about, glancing once at Shade before turning expectant eyes on Wynn.

  “Well?” he whispered.

  Wynn tried raising a memory of Sliver, hoping Shade would pick up her intent.

  A cascade of images answered.

  Stone corridors . . . branching paths . . . fewer people at every turn . . .

  Wynn was following a wide, short figure concealed in a full cloak and hood. It tromped ahead along the path, and she ducked into hiding whenever the figure slowed or paused.

  Wynn raised her face to Chane, as he watched her hopefully.

  Then Shade lunged.

  “Oh—wait—Shade!” Wynn squeaked, nearly jerked off her feet. “Chane, come on . . . she’s got it!”

  Chane was already on her heels.

  Shade took off through the crowd, dragging Wynn by her grip on the dog’s scruff. But Shade didn’t bolt between the cobbler and clothier. She veered along the stalls at the market’s rear wall.

  Wynn stumbled after, fearful of letting go, and not everyone saw the overly tall wolf in time. Twice Shade snarled at someone in her way. Twice Wynn got a startled or nasty look from whoever twisted aside. Too many times she bumped rudely into someone as she tried to hold on to Shade.

  “Slow her down, before I lose you!” Chane called, and his maimed voice seemed a bit far behind.

  “I can’t!” Wynn shouted. “Shade, stop!”

  But Shade didn’t, and then Wynn did, very suddenly. She slammed into something like rock beneath leather.

  Her hold on Shade broke as she recoiled, careening backward. Wynn toppled as her footing failed, and she tensed, waiting for her back to hit the flagstones. She tried to hold out the staff to keep its crystal from striking.

  Strong hands hooked her under the arms.

  Chane hoisted Wynn up from behind, and she came face-to-face with the solid wall of padded rock . . . or rather an armored dwarf with a perplexed expression.

  A fringe of beard ran around his jawline beneath his steel pot helmet. His leather hauberk was overlaid with an orange diagonal chest sash embroidered with a yellow vubrí. He also carried a tall iron staff.

  “Oh, no,” Wynn moaned. “I’m so sorry.”

  She had just slammed headlong into a member of a local clan’s constabulary. The dwarf glowered as if she were some rambunctious child run amok.

  “Mind your pace, missy,” he warned. “There’s too many people to go rushing about.”

  “Pardon us,” Chane said. “Our dog got away.”

  “Then get a leash.” With a final frown, the constable turned off through the crowd.

  “A leash,” Wynn muttered, but right then it was an appealing notion. “Shade, where are you . . . Shade!”

  One bark carried over the market’s ruckus.

  Wynn couldn’t see Shade, but at the dog’s noise, a few people turned to look.

  “There . . . go,” Chane urged.

  They wove through shoppers, vendors, and stalls, until Wynn spotted the top of a large tunnel. One brief break in the crowd exposed Shade hunkering in that opening.

  Wynn pushed on. “Shade . . . come here!”

  The dog backed another step into the tunnel, glowering at the crowd. She openly snarled at anyone who got too close, gaining far too much attention. Wynn rushed into the tunnel opening and clamped her hand over Shade’s muzzle.

  “She must learn not to growl at these people,” Chane admonished, jogging up behind. “Can you not get that much through to her?”

  Wynn only heard Shade’s answering snarl and felt the vibration beneath her small hand.

  “It’s not her fault.”

  Apparently, whatever Shade had learned from Sliver’s memories had immediately become an excuse to bolt out of the market.

  “If she is as intelligent as her father,” Chane returned, “then she should understand simple commands.”

  “Not now, Chane.”

  Shade seemed uninterested in communicating in any way other than memory-speak, which was understandable. But Wynn wished Shade might’ve picked up a few spoken words by now.

  Shade shook her nose free and snapped her jaws closed on Wynn’s sleeve. She jerked on it as she backed down the tunnel. Her intent here was clear enough.

  Wynn pulled her sleeve free and stood, but as she turned to Chane, a passing white figure appeared briefly amid the crowd. Wynn froze, peering around Chane’s side, and there it was again.

  A stark-white-robed and cowled figure towered above the dwarves in the market.

  “Oh, no . . . no . . . no!” she breathed, and grabbed Chane, wrenching him in against the tunnel wall.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  “Shush. Don’t move!”

  She reached back, urging Shade in behind herself, and then peeked around Chane. There in the crowd was the white-clad elf she’d seen at Hammer-Stag’s funeral. Beyond him, she quickly spotted the Weardas. And last . . .

  Duchess Reine stood a little ways beyond the tunnel mouth, bartering with a clothier. She inspected a pair of folded pants and a heavy wool shirt. Both were simple—quite plain, in fact—and certainly not what a royal of Malourné would wear. And they were obviously too large for her.

  Wynn frowned at this. The duchess was out shopping? That hardly seemed likely, since she would have anything she needed.

  “It’s the duchess,” Wynn whispered.

  She grabbed Chane’s belt, pulling him as she backed down the tunnel. Shade kept huffing impatiently behind her. Once they were far enough along a curve and lost sight of the market, Wynn let go of Chane—only to find him scowling at her.

  “She would not be coming our way,” he said, and spun her around to push her onward.

  Shade wheeled and took off, and they followed the trail she held in her mind.

  Along twists and turns, they passed people in the crystal-lit tunnels, most heading back toward the market. But at each divergence, they encountered fewer passersby, until Shade made two turns in which they saw no one for a long while. Orange crystals mounted in the iron fixtures upon the walls grew scarce, until Wynn had to pull out her cold lamp crystal.

  Then Shade halted.

  By the crystal’s light, they saw that the narrowing passage ahead split in two directions. Both branches sloped downward, arcing away from each other into the dark distance, for neither had any crystals mounted upon the walls.

  Shade stood at the split, looking down one branch and then the other.

  “What is wrong?” Chane asked.

  Wynn crouched, touching Shade’s back, and the dog looked at her with a whine. Wynn tried remembering the cloaked figure Shade had shown her from Sliver’s memory. It was difficult, since it wasn’t truly her memory. But in turn, Shade just whined.

  “She doesn’t know which way,” Wynn said. “Maybe Sliver lost Ore-Locks here, or Shade didn’t catch the whole memory of the way Sliver went. We’ve already come quite a ways and—”

  “Then we must guess,” Chane said, “and continue with . . .”

  He never finished. Chane lowered his head, turning it to one side as his eyes half closed.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  He hesitated and then answered, “Just footsteps, some group headed off to the . . .” He trailed off again.

  Chane spun around, staring back the way they had come. Shade paced past Wynn, following his gaze as she sniffed the air. Even stranger, Wynn saw Chane’s nostrils flare.

  “They are coming!” he whispered.

  “Who?”

  Then she heard the footsteps—more than one pair—and Shade’s jaws snagged in her robe and jerked.

  “Douse the crystal!” Chane whispered.

  Wynn shoved the crystal in her pocket as they fled down the right-side passage. Chane got ahead and veered in against the wall. He pulled her in beside himself, and they flattened there.

  “Be ready to hurry on if they come our way,” he whispered.

  Wynn peered up, s
till wondering why they hid. She just made out the branch head around the wall’s gradual curve—and light was growing there. Chane pulled his cloak’s hood forward, and Wynn did the same with her robe’s cowl.

  Over the rise at the passage’s head, a sharp point of light appeared. It glowed from the hand of a tall and slender figure in a white robe.

  “The elf,” Chane whispered.

  Wynn glanced up. Was that what he’d smelled? She tensed as the tall elf paused and looked back. Behind him came a much shorter figure in a deep sea green cloak, followed by three Weardas.

  Duchess Reine was carrying a folded stack of clothing.

  Chane gripped Wynn’s hand, flattening his other against the wall. She knew he was preparing to bolt, and his hand in hers felt as cold as the stone. Shade stood poised at her hip, unblinking eyes watching up the passage.

  The duchess approached the elf holding up a bright cold lamp crystal.

  Yes, that was what it was, and Wynn’s eyes widened. There were no orders of the guild that wore white, so where had the elf acquired a guild crystal?

  The duchess passed the elf and disappeared down the other passage branch, the left one. The tall white-clad elf followed her, as did her bodyguards, and they all vanished from sight.

  Chane’s grip slackened on Wynn’s hand. “Let us continue down this direction for now.”

  “No, wait,” she whispered.

  Wynn wondered why the duchess was wandering these lonely backways under Sea-Side, the same in which Sliver had followed her brother. Wynn took a step upslope.

  “What are you doing?” Chane hissed.

  “You saw her,” she whispered. “At the funeral, she and the others were the only ones allowed to leave the same way as the Stonewalkers.”

  It was too dark to clearly see Chane’s face, but she heard the incensed tone of his breathy voice.

  “You told me at the amphitheater’s iron door that you did not know if she went with them.”

  “Just the same,” Wynn countered, “she’s the best lead we have.”

  She strode up the passage in soft steps, ignoring Shade’s sudden huffing and growling. When she reached the top and peered around the sharp corner into the left branch, light receded below, beyond the passage’s gradual curve.