by Barb Hendee
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.
Duchess Reine's eyes widened just barely, as if she'd heard something of keen interest—and Wynn knew she'd said too much.
"Your promise to Domin High-Tower will be kept," the duchess answered. "You will pass your message directly to his brother."
An awkward silence followed. Wynn used every ounce of self-control to keep her expression relaxed. Her seemingly successful bluff was vaporizing with each long moment.
A familiar grinding began to grow in the chamber. Wynn had heard it only in Shade's memories.
She glanced upward to the ceiling's large opening but saw nothing. When she lowered her gaze, Shade had crept to the edge of the white metal floor portal. With her ears flattened, the dog then backed away.
The portal's center hairline split.
Its two halves began sliding smoothly away beneath the floor. A stone platform slowly rose, filling the opening as it came level with the chamber. It held only one occupant.
Ore-Locks stepped off, looking annoyed.
His thôrhk hung around his neck, but otherwise, he wore only dusty char-gray breeches and an untucked shirt. Red hair hung loose to his shoulders, as if he'd been engaged in something that required little attention to appearance.
"My lady?" he said. "Is something wrong? Why did you not just come down?"
His tone suggested resentment for the summons.
"Forgive us, but … something else required that we wait here." The duchess half turned toward Wynn. "This young sage says she has a message from your brother, and she was entrusted to tell no one but you. I could not ignore this and I brought her here."
Ore-Locks looked Wynn up and down.
"From High-Tower?" he asked.
Wynn swallowed hard. This wasn't how she expected things to play out. She'd hoped upon spotting the duchess that she might make it all the way to the Stonewalkers. Now she was stuck with nothing more than another lie.
"In … in private," she stammered.
Ore-Locks's brow wrinkled. He closed on her, taking her firmly by one arm.
Chane took a step, but Wynn shook her head, warning him off. Shade trotted after as Ore-Locks pulled Wynn out through the chamber's entrance. No one stopped the dog, though Wynn thought she saw Chuillyon watching with too much interest.
"Please wait inside," Ore-Locks told the outer guards, and once they'd stepped in and closed the door, he faced her. "What message is so urgent that my brother sends a little sage all the way from Calm Seatt?"
He was so close that she smelled his breath—dusty, yet dank at the same time. Most male dwarves wore beards, but he was clean shaven. His mouth was a wide slash like Sliver's, but his black eyes reminded her of High-Tower by shape rather than the common dwarven colo
r. Somehow Ore-Locks was more intimidating than either of them, and that was no easy feat.
But Wynn stood face-to-face with one of the elusive Stonewalkers.
A hundred questions filled her head. Foremost was whether he knew anything of the texts. He would never answer that, so she straightened and said the only thing she could.
"A crisis in your family." She paused, considering her words. "Your brother asks that you take leave and visit your mother."
Resentment faded from Ore-Locks's expression, but his forehead wrinkled again.
"Crisis? And how would High Tower …" He broke off and took a heavy breath. "Has my brother come back? That is not possible." He shook his head. "What has happened with my mother and … ?"
Wynn never heard him speak the obvious final word—"sister."
"Why would my mother," he continued, "if not my sister, send word all the way to the guild? Why not to me?"
He faltered, as if knowing the answer.
"Because no one could contact you here, until now," Wynn confirmed. "It's not that easy, is it?"
"What else? What crisis?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. He begs that you take leave to see them."
"And that is all to your message? Nothing more specific?"
Wynn realized how flimsy this sounded, but she couldn't risk expanding the lie. She could think only about four words he'd spoken—if not my sister.
Sliver had vehemently opposed any attempt to bring her elder brother home. Ore-Locks seemed to imply that she never would've sent for him. He now paced the entrance chamber, lost in his own thoughts, and finally turned to face Wynn. His features hardened as if he resented the messenger because of the message.
Ore-Locks wheeled and shoved the door open, leaving his hand extended, commanding her to return to the inner chamber. When she and Shade stepped inside, the duchess was waiting, blocking their way.
"Your task is complete?" Reine demanded.
"It is," Ore-Locks answered before Wynn could.
"Tristan!" Reine called out.
The captain quickly joined her. "Yes, my lady?"
"Escort them back to the market," the duchess instructed, and when he nodded, she turned to Wynn. "You have well served your domin. You may now return home."
Wynn couldn't mistake that as anything but an order. The other two bodyguards closed on Chane, and he was ushered out as the outer guards regained their stations. Wynn was about to follow at the captain's silent urging, but Duchess Reine never moved.
"Are you not returning to the market as well?" Wynn asked.
The duchess looked her up and down, then turned away to join her elven advisor and Ore-Locks.
Chane looked down questioningly at Wynn as she exited with Shade, but he kept silent.
Captain Tristan pointed up the passage for the long walk back.
Wynn was seething by the time the escort unceremoniously showed her, Chane, and Shade into the market. It was late, and the place was nearly empty. Many of the stalls were closed or gone. But only when the Weardas turned back into the tunnel were they free to speak.
"What is the duchess doing here?" Chane immediately asked.
"Clearly more than paying respects," Wynn answered. "There are too many implied connections between the royals and the Stonewalkers … not to mention Ore-Locks's previous visit to High-Tower."
"Yes, the guild is involved as well," Chane agreed. "That is a trio of powerful factions in our way."
"And the duchess has gone to the Stonewalkers. I suppose we could hide here, wait until she comes out, and try to follow her."
"If she comes out," Chane countered. "Likely she did go with them after the funeral. She may be staying with them."
Wynn wasn't so sure. "Why shop in the market for clothes she wouldn't need and didn't fit her? She may be welcome among them, but I hardly think a royal would take quarters in the underworld. No, she's here for something else."
Shade whined loudly, and Wynn looked down.
The dog scratched the flagstones with one paw and barked.
"Shush," Wynn said, but knelt to grip Shade's face with both hands.
Everything blurred in Wynn's vision as a dark image overtook her mind.
She was walking down a damp tunnel. Mineral-glazed walls of natural rock glistened, faintly phosphorescent, though the floor beneath her feet felt level and smooth. She could smell … seawater.
The tunnel was narrow, barely wide enough for two to walk abreast, or one dwarf. The rough walls were calcified, as if the path had been created long ago. For some reason, no one had seen fit to finish them smoothly.
Near the path's end was an iron door, slightly mottled by rust.
The memory wavered.
Wynn suddenly stood before the door, looking down. She glimpsed the long hem of a deep green cloak around high riding boots—those of the memory's owner. Then her attention caught on a palm-size shining oval on the door where a lock's keyhole should've been.
There was no mistaking that silvery white—more Chein'âs metal.
Wynn felt herself reach up into her hair, pulling something out. When her hand lowered, she held a pearly sea-wave comb in her palm, and she knew the memory's owner.
Duchess Reine took the comb and pressed its concave side to the door's oval.
Wynn heard the scrape of metal sliding.
She passed the comb to someone behind her and pushed the door open. Its hinges squeaked lightly. As she stepped through, no other footsteps followed, though someone shut the door. She stood in a dark chamber of natural stone where the smell of the sea permeated the air.
Just beyond a near ledge, Wynn spotted a pool filling most of the chamber's floor. An iron grate in the back wall was half-submerged in its water. Beyond that was a dark tunnel half-filled as well, though she couldn't see more than a few yards down it. She suddenly turned left.
A rough opening led to another chamber, but it was too dark to see what lay there, and she didn't even approach. Dim light came from somewhere, but Wynn wasn't certain of its source. The sight of the opening became misty, blurred… and her eyes began to sting.
There were tears running down her cheeks.
Something wet slapped stone, the sound echoing from that next chamber.
Something moved in there.
She began to feel dizzy, trapped between her own fears and the grief welling from within the duchess's memory. And then everything winked black.
Wynn was shaking as she looked into Shade's crystal blue, yellow-flecked irises. She crumpled on the market's flagstones.
"Wynn?" Chane said in alarm, crouching beside her.
While she'd been tangled in a failing scheme inside the white portal's domed chamber, Shade had been quite busy. Wynn took a long, shaky breath and pressed her cheek against Shade's as she closed her eyes. The dog was clearly trying to tell her something, but she wanted—needed—more than what she'd seen.
"Wynn?" Chane insisted. "Say something!"
"An underground room … a pool in its floor … and an iron grated tunnel," Wynn whispered, still trying to make sense of it.
"Whose memory?"
"The duchess … she started crying."
"Why would Shade show you this?"
"I don't know."
Without warning, another flash surged upon her.
She sat at the table in the Iron-Braids' back room. At first, she thought it was her own memory of just a short while ago. But Chane and Shade weren't present.
The table was laden with roasted venison, fresh sliced bread, and baked apples, all served in plain clay bowls. Mother Iron-Braid hobbled about, setting out bleached wooden plates and tin forks and knives as she babbled away with shining joy on her face. But Wynn was staring across the table at Sliver, who sat glaring back. Unlike her mother, the smith didn't care for …
Whom did this memory belong to?
Mother Iron-Braid rounded the table, reaching out a gnarled hand to lay it on Wynn's cheek.
"It is
so good to see you again, my son," she whispered.
Wynn shivered, her fingers closing in Shade's neck fur. The spoken words were much clearer this time than anything Shade had shared with her before.
It was Ore-Locks's memory.
Everything winked black for an instant.
Wynn stood in a dark passage where orange crystals were few. It looked familiar, like someplace she'd walked herself at some recent time. At the sound of heavy footfalls behind, she paused and turned.
There was Sliver again, following her.
"No more," the smith hissed in Dwarvish. "No more of you … and your twisted calling! No more of your shame and hidden sin upon us. Mother does not know what you are, what really took you—and I will keep it that way."
"I was called," Wynn answered—in Ore-Locks's deep voice. "Called by one that so few remember … and none know for the truth. But I hold that truth."
"You hold a lie!" Sliver nearly screamed back. "And if it calls you, then faith itself is a plague—and you are nothing but its carrier. Is it not enough that we've fallen so low that you try to infect us with its horror? Follow it alone and keep away! Do not come again!"
Sliver backed up the passage as she began to shake—as she had upon Wynn's visit when the smith first uttered Ore-Locks's name.
"Stay away from us!" she shouted. "Go to your fall … alone!"
The memory faded, and again Wynn looked into Shade's eyes.
Whatever called Ore-Locks to service among the Stonewalkers horrified Sliver, and perhaps High-Tower as well. Was that why the domin had nearly denounced his brother in that one secret visit to the guild?
Shade had been very … very busy, indeed. Wynn sat astonished, now realizing just how intelligent the majay-hì were as a whole—or Shade for her youth.
"Did you see more?" Chane asked. "Did she show you anything that would help us locate the texts?"
Wynn shook her head. "No, it was Ore-Locks's this time. I'm not certain, but I may have gotten to him. I'll tell you more later. Right now, I need you to stay and watch for the duchess, while I go back to the Iron-Braids'."
