Through Stone and Sea

by Barb Hendee

  Wynn stepped out to follow, until Chane grabbed the back of her robe. She glared up at him, but he held fast, and Shade quickly slunk by down the passage branch. Only then did Chane let go, and he slipped in ahead. Wynn followed them both in silence.

  It wasn’t long before Shade slowed her creeping advance, and Wynn saw that the surface of the walls had changed.

  She hadn’t even noticed until she spotted thin seams next to her shoulder. Finely masoned mortarless blocks fit tightly together in place of smoothly chiseled mountain stone. Why were masoned walls needed in place of native rock?

  Shade stopped, and Chane swept back a hand in warning.

  Wynn slipped up behind him, peering around his side.

  The passage had straightened, but she could see a spot of light spreading on the walls ahead. There stood the elf with his stolen crystal, its light revealing the duchess and her guards.

  Duchess Reine looked worn. Strands of chestnut hair had loosened from her sea-wave combs. She merely stared at the passage’s stone-block wall as her companions waited in silence. Then she took a deep breath, releasing it slowly.

  She handed her burdens to a Weardas and flattened her hands upon the wall’s stone—but not together. Separated beyond shoulder width, her left landed distinctly higher than her right. She held them there, and none of the others made a sound, as if this act was familiar.

  Wynn couldn’t tell if the duchess applied any pressure, but it didn’t seem so. Then she heard the sound of stone grating.

  The block beneath the duchess’s left hand shifted slowly inward. She lifted her hand, but the stone continued to sink. In another moment the grating grew louder as the block under her right hand sank as well. Wynn watched as the duchess repeated the process over painfully long moments, until prolonged touch sent five scattered wall blocks sliding inward, and all without any pressure applied.

  The grating amplified even more, echoing down the passage.

  Wynn had leaned so close to Chane that she felt him flinch with her.

  All of the blocks before the duchess slipped and twisted, spreading away into a hidden space beyond the wall. As the opening formed, so did a risky notion in Wynn’s mind.

  Perhaps there was a reason Sliver and her mother had lost track of Ore-Locks.

  No one with the duchess appeared surprised at what they saw. Yet none had opened the strange portal for her. Even if Wynn remembered which stones to touch, would the wall later respond for her or Chane? Did it even lead anywhere she wanted to go?

  Duchess Reine stepped through the opening, and her entourage began to follow.

  Wynn dodged around Chane.

  “She will see you!” he hissed.

  “And that’s our only chance.”

  She scurried down the passage before he could stop her.

  One Weardas saw her coming and jerked out his sword.

  “Captain!” he shouted.

  The only other one still in the passage was the tall elf in white. He twisted about, revealing a lined face of advanced age. Wynn hadn’t covered half the distance when the duchess’s voice carried from the opening.

  “Wait here!”

  All three Weardas encircled the duchess as she stepped out. The white-robed elf shifted closer, and everyone was watching Wynn. All of the duchess’s people stood in the passage, so whom had she told to wait inside that hidden place?

  “Wynn . . . Journeyor Hygeorht,” the duchess began.

  In those three words, her tone slipped from surprise to disdain. Wynn knew the duchess had gained more than a passing familiarity with the young sage who’d caused so much trouble.

  “Ah, the curious one,” added the elder elf.

  When Wynn glanced at the crystal in his hand, the barest smile spread upon his lips, crinkling the corners of his mouth. He nodded slightly to her, but his eyes held no malice—unlike Reine’s.

  “Duchess,” Wynn said, bowing respectfully.

  Reine’s gaze shifted slightly, and Shade and Chane stepped into plain sight.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded. “How did you find this place?”

  “Domin High-Tower sent me . . . on a family matter,” Wynn answered. Lying was getting far too easy for her. “I must speak with his brother among the Stonewalkers immediately. The domin said you would be at Dhredze Seatt, and if I located you, you could help.”

  “Answer my question!” the duchess ordered.

  Wynn flinched, and then again for visibly flinching the first time.

  “We’ve been looking for you for several days. The Off- Breach Market was one place Domin High-Tower suggested. This man was sent as my guard.”

  Wynn stepped slightly aside, gesturing to Chane.

  Reine’s lips parted, but the elf spoke first. “And you are far out of place.”

  Wynn wondered how this elf of no known guild order knew that Chane was a foreigner. But his gaze was low and to her other side. He was looking at Shade.

  A quick laugh rolled out of him, and Shade answered with a rumble. Puzzled as Wynn was that the elf seemed to recognize Shade, she couldn’t afford the distraction. Not if she were to gain more from the duchess.

  Reine remained quiet and swept a hand downward before her bodyguards.

  “My lady?” the chin-bearded one returned sharply.

  “It’s all right, Tristan,” she said.

  Unlike the other two, he only lowered his sword rather than sheathing it, and with visible reluctance.

  “Very well, journeyor,” the duchess continued. “Since our honored domin is in need, I would never refuse. Give me whatever letter you bear for him. I will see that Ore-Locks receives it.”

  Wynn caught Reine’s slip. Not only did the duchess know the Stonewalkers, she knew High- Tower’s brother by name. Duchess Reine advanced half the distance and held out her hand.

  “Do not get any closer to her,” Chane whispered.

  He spoke in Belaskian, so only Wynn understood, but the captain, the one called Tristan, inched forward with his gaze fixed on Chane.

  “I have no letter,” Wynn replied.

  “And I have no patience for more of your meddling!”

  Wynn shook her head. “Forgive me, but as I said, this is a family matter . . . a private matter . . . difficult for the domin to speak of.”

  “Then tell me. I will pass it to his brother privately.”

  “Domin High-Tower’s instructions were explicit. I must deliver it personally. Please take me to Ore-Locks.”

  The duchess dropped her hand. Suspicion mounted in her expression.

  If the Stonewalkers truly guarded the texts, had Wynn just hinted too much concerning her true goal?

  Chane slipped a hand beneath his cloak to his sword’s hilt. He did not dare step in front of Wynn and cause this whole standoff to suddenly crumble. Beneath the duchess’s suspicion, he saw discomfort and uncertainty surface. It was not hard to guess what troubled her.

  If the duchess believed Wynn at all but did nothing to help, there could be repercussions with the guild. But if the duchess even suspected Wynn was lying . . .

  Chane’s gaze slipped to the saber’s hilt protruding from the duchess’s cloak.

  It was not the weapon that troubled him but rather the way it hung, not high near the belt, dangling like the ornament of a royal. It was slung low, raked back, loose on its suspension strap.

  Duchess Reine knew how to use it—or at least how to set it for a smooth draw. If something went wrong, she could be on Wynn as the guards came at him. Even if he broke Wynn free, they would be running with no hope of ever getting near the texts.

  The captain watched him, never seeming to blink, but Chane ignored the man. He shut out everything, even Wynn, waiting for the duchess to speak again.

  “Surely, even for a family crisis,” the duchess began, “High- Tower would have faith in the royal family. He would trust my discretion, as we have always trusted his.”

  Chane caught no deception beneath those words—he fel
t nothing at all. Why could he not tell truth from lies when it mattered? Why did such warnings only come when he was not focused on trying to listen for deception?

  The duchess shifted weight between her feet. She was obviously disturbed by Wynn’s sudden appearance. But that was all Chane could discern.

  “I can’t break my word,” Wynn insisted. “I’m allowed to speak only with Ore-Locks.”

  “And I cannot take you to him,” Reine answered flatly.

  Again, Chane could not tell if that was a lie. Wynn took a step forward, and he tensed.

  “This is urgent, Highness,” she pleaded. “Domin High-Tower assured me you would help.”

  “Of course I will,” Reine answered sharply, and then sighed. “There may be a way.”

  All amusement washed from the tall elf’s lined face. “My lady,” he warned.

  “I know, Chuillyon,” she answered, and then studied Wynn. “Come with me.”

  As the duchess turned away, Wynn advanced, but Shade did not. Chane found the dog standing tense, eyes locked on the duchess’s back. Was Shade trying to catch the woman’s memories?

  “Shade?”

  The dog shook herself, peered up at him, and then padded after Wynn. Chane hurried onward, still dumbfounded at the risks Wynn took.

  The duchess could detain them and send an inquiry to High-Tower, uncovering Wynn’s deception. Wynn had already related that Duchess Reine, acting for Malourné’s royals, had used her influence to keep the texts in the hands of guild premins. The Stonewalkers’ involvement was still only an educated guess, but Chane was certain of two things.

  First, Duchess Reine was hiding something, and second, she was only playing Wynn’s polite game for now.

  Wynn inhaled a sharp breath an instant before he stepped through the opening. His attention immediately fixed on what he saw there, even as he heard the bodyguards enter behind him.

  At the back of a hidden stone room was another pair of iron doors, just like the ones at the amphitheater of Old-Seatt. But these doors were guarded.

  A dwarf in plated leather armor stood to either side, and both held iron staves. Both wore sashes, one of russet with green lines and the other of pure plum. Embroidered emblems on each were different, so their clans were not the same. But both were obviously constabulary.

  Chane’s frustration grew.

  A hidden door behind a hidden opening in a deep lonely passage—and guarded as well. The only other difference was a recessed iron panel behind the guard with the plum-colored sash.

  “Now, please,” the duchess said.

  The dwarf turned, grasping the panel’s handle, and then paused and glanced back. Duchess Reine turned to face Wynn.

  “You and yours will turn around, until told otherwise.”

  Wynn pivoted, and Chane saw her dejected frown before he turned as well.

  He heard the panel slide open.

  A series of steady scrapes followed, like honed metal sliding on smooth stone. He could only guess at some set of rods being pressed or pulled, like the ones Wynn had described beyond the amphitheater’s iron doors. It made him wonder why that other door’s lock had been on the inside.

  A louder grinding began—once, twice, and three times.

  Chane shook his head. He knew this portal had the same triple-layered doors as the last.

  Every new sound reaffirmed how impossible it would be to come this way again if Wynn’s gamble did not get them to the Stonewalkers. Despite his claim to her about using mixed intimidation and manipulation, that ploy had worked only on humans who had viewed Welstiel as a powerful noble. It would not work here.

  Whatever lay beyond the doors was of such importance that the dwarves took no chance of anyone finding—let alone gaining—the entrance.

  “This way,” said the elf.

  Chane turned around to find the iron portal fully open. But he was not looking into another chamber, rather at the head of a wide passage that turned sharply left. The duchess and her elven advisor stepped through, disappearing around the portal’s left.

  As Chane followed Wynn and Shade, he entered the passage’s head and saw that it curved away, gradually downward. The Weardas came last, and the captain still had his sword out. Chane quickened his step, closing behind Wynn. Strategically set orange crystals lit their path.

  He remained silent, hearing only an indiscernible whisper or two pass between the duchess and the elf walking ahead. This was too easy, and going far too well from Chane’s perspective.

  The journey continued along the tunnel’s gradual spiral down—and down. Soon, Chane lost all sense of which direction they headed through the mountain. They had been walking for something less than an eighth- night when the tunnel finally ended in a small round chamber.

  Another door waited between two more armored constables, though it was normal wood and overly broad. Both guards clearly knew the duchess. One began unlocking the door as the second studied Wynn and Shade—and Chane. The elf said something in Dwarvish. Other than his higher-pitched voice, it sounded as if he was fluent. The guard studying Wynn shook his head, perhaps not liking surprise guests, and then motioned everyone forward.

  Chane stepped through the door into a wide domed chamber of smooth stone. His gaze immediately locked upon the floor’s center.

  Embedded there was a perfectly round mirror big enough to hold a wagon. Light from the elf’s crystal bounced off its surface, sending flickers across the domed walls. But the closer Chane stepped, the less certain he became.

  The mirror was not glass.

  Milky, perhaps a gray nearly white, it appeared made of some kind of metal. Chane spotted a hair-thin seam dividing the great disk. Another portal, this time in the floor, but again, no bars, locks, latches, or handles of any kind. What was it made of, and where had he seen such metal before?

  Wynn whispered, “Chein’âs . . . the Burning Ones!”

  Wynn stared at the glistening portal in astonishment. She wasn’t even aware she’d spoken until her own whisper filled her ears. She clamped her mouth shut, hoping no one had heard her clearly, but there was no mistaking that metal.

  It was the same as the head of the elven quill given to her by Sgäile’s uncle, Gleann, while she’d been in the Elven Territories. It was the same metal as the weapons gifted to Leesil and Magiere by . . .

  The Chein’âs—the Burning Ones.

  They were one of the five races of the mythical Úirishg, though only dwarves and elves were commonly known to exist. At least until Sgäile had taken Magiere, Leesil, and Chap on a secret side trip during the journey to Pock Peaks in search of the orb.

  Were the Chein’âs here as well, hidden somewhere below the seatt?

  It didn’t seem possible they had been so close all these centuries and remained unknown to the world. Then again, First Glade, at the center of the Lhoin’na’s lands, had been hiding in plain sight since the great war and beyond. Or had the dwarves learned to mine this metal themselves from somewhere deep in the earth? That was unlikely.

  From what little Wynn had learned, the Chein’âs lived in the depths amid severe heat. Only they seemed to know the working of this white metal.

  Shade’s quick huff startled Wynn to awareness.

  Four dwarves stood post around the domed chamber at equidistant points, but they weren’t constabulary. Though they carried tall iron staves, their armor was more layered bands of steel than leather, and their iron-banded helms would’ve been too heavy for a human male. Two were armed with double-bladed axes, harnessed head-down on their backs. Another held a long hafted mace, its butt resting on the floor, while the last had a wide sword in a scabbard on his waist. All carried paired war daggers sheathed on their belts. And the one beyond the Chein’âs portal rounded toward the duchess and her attendant.

  Wynn spotted a thôrhk wrapped around the raised steel collar of his armor. Its ends were spiked like Hammer-Stag’s, and she quickly saw all four wore the same. All four guardians were warrior thänæ.
/>
  The one paused before the duchess, offering a curt nod, as if that were all she were due, and then he glanced slowly between Wynn and Chane.

  Wynn couldn’t clearly see his face between the helm’s brow and cheek wings, but his posture seemed challenging enough. He looked back at the duchess.

  “Why have you done this?” he demanded.

  Duchess Reine returned her own slower nod. “A family matter for one of the guardians of the honored dead.”

  “No matter is enough to breach the secrecy of this place!”

  “It involves other kin as well, one who is a member of her guild,” the duchess added, and she looked toward Wynn, as she continued speaking to the thänæ. “I would never do this lightly. They will go no farther, and I will vouch for their sealed lips . . . at any cost.”

  The duchess’s wintry gaze explained it all.

  One slip, one hint of ever having been here, would get Wynn—and Chane—killed. There would be no court or tribunal, no charges at all for them to defend against. Wynn could only nod her understanding as she grew sick to her stomach. But it didn’t matter how deep she’d mired herself, so long as she had any chance to find the texts.

  “So . . . is everyone now clear on the matter?” Chuillyon interjected, his tone a little too mockingly bored. “Very good then.”

  He went straight to the far wall and grasped a rope Wynn hadn’t noticed. Unwinding it from an iron tie mount, he heaved with all his weight.

  The chamber rang with a deep tone, and Wynn clamped hands over her ears. She felt the floor stones vibrate beneath her and looked up. In the dome’s height hung a great brass bell. It was mounted to one side, out of the way of a wide shaft running upward from the ceiling’s center. The opening’s circumference appeared to match that of the floor’s white metal portal. Then the elf rang the bell again.

  Wynn cringed through six tones vibrating her whole body before the duchess’s companion released the rope.

  “What’s happening?” she finally asked.

  “We wait,” Reine answered.

  “Aren’t we going on to meet Ore- Locks?” Wynn asked, growing worried.