by Barb Hendee
“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—”
“Silence!” Chuillyon ordered.
The duchess spun on him. “You cannot possibly believe—”
“I have told you there’s no time to cling to disbelief!” He turned back to Wynn. “You learned nothing more . . . of what it wants . . . how to deal with it?”
Wynn hesitated at Chuillyon’s so quickly accepting her words without a shadow of the duchess’s doubt. She’d been dismissed so often, so few believing a grain of what she said, that his acceptance made her more suspicious. She had a very disturbing sense that he was looking for untried tactics, which would only mean . . .
Had he tried others, sometime before . . . in facing this monstrous spirit?
And there was one other thing the wraith might be searching for, just like her.
“It may be searching for—”
“The last locations of others among the Children,” Chane cut in.
Wynn regained her senses in shock. He never spoke to anyone but her of such matters. When he glanced down, she caught the slightest, almost imperceptible shake of his head. She’d told the duchess and Chuillyon nearly everything pertinent—except Sau’ilahk’s bargain for eternal life. She still wasn’t certain of her conclusions on that, and it would’ve only aggravated the duchess even more. So what else was there to hold back? Only one thing . . .
Chane wished her to keep silent about Bäalâle Seatt.
“Nothing more?” Chuillyon asked again.
“No,” Wynn answered. “I had too little time. Translation is painstaking work.”
“But it thinks you know something.” The captain’s sudden words were almost as out of place as Chane’s.
“Pardon?” Wynn asked.
“It must believe you know of what it’s after,” the captain said, calm and cold. “Or it wouldn’t have followed you.” He turned to Chuillyon. “She offers nothing of use, so we must fall back on Cinder-Shard’s plan. Let the Stonewalkers trap it . . . using the sage as bait.”
“I do not think so,” Chane hissed.
Wynn had to grab his arm, as both he and the captain reached for their swords.
“Journeyor!” the duchess snapped, and then briefly closed her eyes, as if struggling to regain composure. “In Calm Seatt, you and Captain Rodian seemed to have vanquished this . . . perpetrator . . . or in retrospect, at least injured it. How?”
Wynn studied Reine’s face, not as lovely as some, but fetching in its clean simplicity surrounded by thick chestnut hair.
“Rodian had nothing to do with it,” Wynn answered. “Chane and Shade kept the wraith at bay long enough for Domin il’Sänke to hold it for an instant. In fact, the captain and his men nearly ruined our one chance. But I managed to ignite the staff’s crystal anyhow.”
She paused, anguished again over so many lost lives.
“Our plan should’ve worked—I watched the wraith,” she said with force, emphasizing what it was, and looked at Chuillyon. “I watched it tear apart in the light. But we merely beat it down enough to save ourselves that night.”
Everyone—most especially the captain—listened in silence. He eyed the staff she held.
“The sage should be kept at hand,” he said flatly. “Even if the staff proves less than she claims.”
Wynn felt Chane reaching around her waist, pulling her back.
His arm tightened, and Shade began snarling. The dog inched through the archway, ears flattening as her hackles rose.
“Too late!” Chane whispered. “It has come!”
Sau’ilahk settled upon the shaft’s bottom and peered along the underworld’s main passage. Yellowed wisps of vapor drifted down the shaft to coil around him, as if dragged by his descent.
Once his conjured gases had filled the domed chamber, there had been only a brief moment to feed before the last dwarven warrior died. Not one had laid a hand upon the bell rope, but that one taken life was too little. He raised his hands and watched them turn translucent for an instant.
The tip of a steel blade thrust out of his chest.
It flashed aside in a speeding arc as Sau’ilahk whirled about, facing an older female dwarf in black scaled armor. But the lift had not come down.
This Stonewalker had stepped out of the shaft’s wall behind him.
She held two long, triangular daggers at ready. Dark blond hair hung around her wide face, which appeared unsurprised that her blade never connected. The chance to feed again made Sau’ilahk lunge.
She did not move until his hand neared her chest.
The instant his fingers penetrated, she struck
the shaft’s wall with the back of her right hand, still gripping one broad blade.
Sau’ilahk saw stone flow across her body and face.
The feel of her life vanished from him, and he panicked, remembering his arm solidifying when he had tried to take the old one in the main cavern. Sau’ilahk jerked his hand free before the flow of stone reached his wrist. He slid back, out of the shaft into the passage’s head.
The Stonewalker had not even flinched, but her face now wrinkled in spite, her eyes glaring.
“Come on!” she challenged in deep Dwarvish. “Take my stone, if you can . . . you soot-wisp!”
This could not be happening. This was not the way things should be.
She lunged at him.
Sau’ilahk raised a hand to strike and then saw what she did. At each hammering step, the back of her hand holding a dagger grazed the passage wall on either side. The space was too tight. There was no way to get to her so long as she could touch stone.
He spun, fixing on the passage’s far end, and blinked.
The instant he appeared there, he flew into the glistening cavern, looking for any near path. The black-haired elder leaped out of the wall on his right.
Sau’ilahk had barely turned when two heavy footfalls slammed the cavern floor behind him. As he spun, a rising deep chant erupted around him. The elder female closed at full speed down the passage, no longer bothering with her staggered wall-touching advance.
He had no time for them. Where was Wynn?
Desperation made him latch upon the only way to find her—the wolf. All he need do was raise the beast’s awareness of him. Wynn would follow its lead soon enough.
Sau’ilahk gathered lingering energies to conjury, twisting the air within his form, and created a voice. He shrieked his rage, letting it echo through the cavern.
A long, pealing wail answered.
Sau’ilahk rushed toward the cavern’s left opening, and then slowed.
A faded, nearly forgotten memory came to him. He struggled as if trying to advance against a desert windstorm. In place of a wind’s whistle and moan, he heard the Stonewalkers’ baritone thrum.
What were they doing?
Drawing more power, he burst forward, breaking whatever impeded him. He sailed through the cavern, into the tunnels, following the sound of a majay-hì’s hunting cry.
Wynn heard the distant shriek.
Even the duchess twisted about as the captain spun and jerked out his sword.
Less than a breath passed before Shade threw her head up. Her eerie cry exploded at full volume.
Wynn grabbed Shade by the scruff, shouting, “Hold . . . wait!”
“Make her quiet, now!” Chane rasped.
“Shade, stop it,” Wynn urged.
“No . . . let her howl,” someone said, and Wynn looked up.
Cinder-Shard stood in the passage. How had he arrived so suddenly, and from where?
“My brethren heard the black one,” he added. “If it runs toward the wolf’s noise . . . so much the better.”
Wynn understood—they all thought the wraith would come for her.
“Everyone up the passage and into the next cavern!” he ordered. “Until I am certain where the intruder is, all of you stay near. Do as I command, and do not get in our way.”
Wynn released Shade, who ceased howling but still rumbled. Chane pushed past, signaling her to follow.
They hurried down the passage after him, leaving the Chamber of the Fallen behind, and emerged in a cavern lit only by dim phosphorescence. Wynn knew what those dark forms were in that place. Light suddenly erupted behind her.
A cold lamp crystal blazed in Chuillyon’s outstretched palm. He closed his hand over it, crushing out the light.
“Do likewise,” he told her. “But toss your crystal when I cast mine.”
Wynn dug in her pocket, first pulling out the pewter- framed glasses. She tucked these into her grip upon the staff and then retrieved and prepared her crystal. In its briefly escaping light, forms moved among the cavern’s columns and the calcified remains of the honored dead.
Bulwark stepped around a figure barely recognizable beneath crusted minerals. Another Stonewalker at the far end moved inward. Both stared toward the cavern’s left side, but Wynn couldn’t see what they watched through all the obstructions.
She closed her hand, snuffing the crystal’s light, as a thrum began to build from two, and then three deep voices. The last, somewhere off to her right, had to be Cinder-Shard.
Chane stood tense before her and reached back, pulling her as he stepped inward and away from the walls around the entrance.
“No!” the duchess whispered.
Wynn glanced back as Reine pulled free of the captain’s grip and followed. Chuillyon advanced behind her with a scowl, and the captain hurried out ahead of them.
Shade’s rumble rose to a pealing whine. A shout echoed from the cavern’s left, sounding far off.
One dimly glowing column off to Wynn’s left went black—then returned. Two more did likewise, one after the other, as if something dark passed quickly before them.
Light erupted behind Wynn. The bright spark of a cold lamp crystal arced past her between the columns, and fell to the cavern floor.
Wynn shuddered at a grating hiss rolling throughout the space.
The wraith stood in the cavern’s heart and twisted toward the crystal’s light.
Wynn quickly threw her crystal to the other side, filling the cavern with more light, and the black figure turned toward her. Every time she saw it—him—her stomach wrenched like that first night in the streets of Calm Seatt. It was nothing but black robes and cloak, sagging faceless cowl, and cloth-wrapped hands that weren’t truly whole and real.
“Chuillyon, get them out, now!” Cinder-Shard yelled.
The wraith lurched around, turning every way.
All six Stonewalkers shifted among the columns and the still, stone forms of the dead as they circled inward. Those who’d just arrived joined the others in the thrumming chant, doubling its volume. Wynn still didn’t understand their utterances as they raised their palms outward.
The wraith pivoted back to fix upon her.
His hiss seemed to form into words she couldn’t quite catch—and he rushed straight at her.
Shade lunged out as Chane reversed, grabbed Wynn’s arm, and thrust her aside before she could speak. She spun into a column, tripping on its wide sloped base, and he stepped straight into the wraith’s path.
“No, get to cover!” she shouted.
The wraith never slowed.
Shade backpedaled, hopping aside with a failed snap at it, as Cinder-Shard shouted, “Balsam, cut it off!”
The Stonewalkers’ rhythmic chant faltered the instant Chane collided with the black spirit.
The wraith dissipated like smoke on a wind gust, and Chane stumbled through, nearly collapsing.
Those shredded black vapors coalesced again with a hoarse scream. At first, both the robe and cloak trailed wisps of black dust or smoke in the air—as if the wraith struggled to regain its presence.
Then it rushed on. Wynn had barely gained her feet when its black-cloth-wrapped hand swiped at her.
She flopped back against the column, rolling around it, out of reach. The wraith’s hand closed on her staff, just below the crystal. But the staff passed straight through those clutching fingers.
For an instant, Wynn thought she saw the glow of Chuillyon’s crystal behind the wraith—through it.
The wraith seemed weakened—it couldn’t solidify even a hand. With a soft hiss, it whirled, its cloak’s wing passing straight through the column. Wynn ducked away from the flailing, ghostly fabric.
The wraith went straight at the duchess.
“Get her out!” Wynn shouted, raising the staff again. “Shade, go . . . attack!”
Chuillyon didn’t move, not even when Shade wheeled, her claws scrabbling on stone. He stood there, eyes closed, lips silently moving. Reine backed agai
nst him, eyes wide in shock, though she had her saber out. The captain lunged in front of her, straight into the wraith’s path.
Something wide and dark came at them from the side, near the cavern’s back.
Balsam reached around a column and latched onto the captain’s wrist.
Wynn thought she saw the woman’s face change. It darkened, glittering like the column’s stone. But Balsam never had an instant to pull the captain aside.
The wraith swung as Tristan slashed with his sword. A black hand whipped down through Tristan’s face and chest as his blade passed straight through the cloak and robe.
The captain flinched, eyes widening, and that was all. Nothing happened to him.
The wraith halted, frozen in place, and Shade closed from behind.
Rising on rear legs, she snapped her teeth through its wrist, and they both screeched. The wraith slapped down at Shade, but she wheeled out of reach. Wynn pulled her glasses out of her grip upon the staff, trying to get them on her face.
The wraith crouched, flattening its hand against the floor.
Chuillyon’s soft laugh startled Wynn.
The elf’s eyes opened, his left arm wrapping around the duchess and holding her close. He peered down at the wraith’s wavering form.
“Oh, no . . . Sau’ilahk,” he whispered.
The wraith snapped to full height at its name.
“No tricks for you!” Chuillyon added with a slow shake of his head. “Not again.”
Balsam reached out for the wraith. Her other hand was fastened around a column, and the wraith retreated in a gliding rush, searching in all directions.
Wynn finally shoved the glasses over her eyes. But the wraith began to fade, becoming a pale shadow in her sight as she grew frantic. Then the Stonewalkers’ thrumming chant rose again, and it instantly reappeared.
It appeared to shudder, its fingers twitching before its chest.
“Chane . . . cover up!” Wynn shouted, tilting the sun crystal outward.
In her mind, she formed the outlines of shapes, each one appearing within the last as the pattern overlaid her sight of the long crystal. Circle then triangle, another triangle inverted, and a final circle.
“Mên Rúhk el-När . . .” she recited—From Spirit to Fire . . .