Through Stone and Sea ndst-2

by Barb Hendee

  He had waited for the duchess and hers to move on, and then blindly slipped through stone around the room. Lost for only a moment in groping to an exit, he emerged slightly below the head of the downward-curving tunnel.

  Once his servitors followed, he trailed the duchess, remaining out of sight around the tunnel's wide curve. She finally reached the end chamber, and he was forced to remain far back. She faced two more armored dwarves framing another door, and Sau'ilahk barely contained his exhilaration.

  Had she reached the underworld?

  The door was unimpressive, unlike the iron panels in the entrance chamber, and doubt dampened his excitement. It could not possibly be a portal into the Stonewalkers' realm.

  "Welcome again, Highness," one guard said, and pulled a heavy key ring from his belt. Neither dwarf appeared surprised to see her.

  Sau'ilahk again wondered why she chose to go below at night.

  The first guard unlocked the door and stepped aside. The duchess and her people passed onward. Sau'ilahk caught only a vague glimpse through the opening.

  Light beyond it was brighter than in the end chamber, and the elf pocketed his crystal as he entered. As the last Weardas followed, Sau'ilahk was too far off to spot any passage beyond. The guards pulled the door closed, locking it again, and Sau'ilahk began to panic.

  He had not seen enough to blink into that space beyond the door. Even so, he could never emerge in plain sight if the duchess lingered. All he could do was gain the door, prepared to slip through when he was certain no one on the other side would see him.

  This left him an obvious dilemma.

  How to kill both guards, quickly and quietly, so that no one beyond the door was alerted? If there was another passage—or more than one—he might lose the duchess.

  Sau'ilahk glided back up the tunnel and drew his servitors with him.

  Rise, he commanded, and the segmented stone worm arched out of the floor.

  He snatched its head, squeezing its round mouth shut, and began to conjure something more into its body. Pale yellow vapors leaked from the worm's mouth to escape between his solidified fingers.

  Hold, he commanded. Expel only when you smell life before you.

  He pulled the worm from the floor, placing it against the side wall. Once it submerged, he pointed to the ceiling directly above. The stone-spider scuttled across the ceiling above his fingertip.

  Tap until someone approaches, he instructed. Then open your eye, burning brightly.

  And last, Sau'ilahk raised another pool of light-eating darkness. He sank through it, halfway into the wall, until only his cowl's edges remained surfaced as he watched.

  The spider's click-click-click began.

  "Did you hear that?" one guard asked the other in Dwarvish.

  "Hear what? There's nothing …" the other began, and then, "Oh, Eternal's mirth! Some rat sneaked in again!"

  The first grumbled. Leaning his iron staff against the wall, he trudged up the curving tunnel. Sau'ilahk remained still, letting him pass along the curve, just beyond sight of the end chamber.

  A red glow appeared upon the ceiling.

  The dwarf froze, staring upward. Before he uttered a puzzled exclamation, the worm snaked out of the wall near his head. He flinched away, but not far enough.

  A soft crackle of grating rock came as the worm's mouth snapped open. Pale yellow vapor erupted in the dwarf's face, and a startled suck of breath did the rest.

  The dwarf choked once, never gaining breath to cough. He crumpled in a dull clatter of armor and heavy bulk.

  "Guster, what are you doing?" the second called from the end chamber. "Guster? If you cannot find the vermin, stop fooling about!"

  No answer came, and the second guard hefted his iron staff. He stepped cautiously up the tunnel, and Sau'ilahk grew anxious.

  This was taking too long—long enough that the duchess could be well ahead of him. He had no way to dispose of bodies in this place, though he had hoped to feed on a guard before moving on. He waited only until the second guard stepped through the pocket of banished light.

  Nothing but a black silhouette showed against the tunnel's far wall, marking the dwarf's presence.

  Sau'ilahk thrust out both hands, and his forearms sank through the thick chest.

  He felt the dwarf turn toward him, gagging and shuddering in the pure darkness. Something long and narrow toppled across the light from the spider's eye. The dwarf's grip had loosened on the iron staff. It was falling.

  Sau'ilahk whipped his left arm sideways through the dwarf, keeping his right encased. Willing both solid, he snatched the toppling staff as the dwarf stiffened around his forearm. He tried to wrench his hand out, tearing the chest open—but it would not come. What had been easy with humans, such as the city guard of Calm Seatt, was nothing like this—like trying to pull free of half-hardened clay.

  The dwarf's hands slapped upon the wall's surface, shoving hard. Sau'ilahk felt himself being dragged out of the wall.

  In panic, he struck the staff sharply into the guard's head. At the dull thump, massive weight jerked his arm downward. He quickly released his will, his forearm turning incorporeal.

  As the dwarf's body slumped to the passage floor, Sau'ilahk heard the thick blood spatter upon it like sudden rain as it fell through his ghostly arm.

  Leaning the staff against the wall, he let his hand become incorporeal, and rushed to the end chamber. He hesitated there, not daring to slip through, but in the silence, he heard the duchess's voice beyond the door. His instant of relief passed quickly.

  Sau'ilahk was at a loss as to why she had not moved on.

  Chapter 16

  Reine stepped into the domed chamber and halted as the door closed behind her. She stared at the floor's white metal portal, smoother than a mirror—or a still pond. The last comparison made her feel worse. She rarely thought of water without an anxious twinge, though that old fear had become small compared to others.

  She didn't think of the dwarves' honored dead, now at peace in the Stonewalkers' care. Nor did she think of ancient texts heralding sinister days to come—or to come again. She thought only of that strange white metal, and how such simple beauty could seal in torment.

  The underworld waited.

  Chuillyon came up beside her, following her gaze. At his light touch upon her shoulder, she stepped onward.

  "Welcome, Highness," said one thänæ bearing a long-hafted mace. All four about the chamber nodded sharply to her, and Chuillyon went directly to the bell rope.

  One long, deafening tone shivered through Reine's flesh—one ring would call Cinder-Shard. When the reskynna's tall elven advisor glanced back, his amber eyes filled with concern. Reine didn't acknowledge him. His counsel and care were welcome, but not his pity.

  Captain Tristan stood eternally attentive, occasionally eyeing the four thänæ. She didn't know him well, in spite of his years serving the royal family. He rarely spoke except for a question or an order. As a leader of the Weardas, his ability was beyond question. So was his loyalty, considering the secret she'd borne from the day she had married the one man she loved.

  Her other two Weardas, Danyel and Saln, stood at attention, awaiting orders. She knew them even less, though they'd been handpicked by Tristan.

  A rhythmic grinding began to build inside in the chamber, becoming a vibration in the floor. The white metal portal split along its thin seam, the halves sliding apart, and the lift rose through the opening.

  Master Cinder-Shard stood alone upon the platform.

  His gray-streaked black hair hung loose, and he wore no hauberk of steel-tipped black scales. In only charcoal-colored breeches and a bulky shirt, he looked much as Ore-Locks had a few nights ago. But his dark eyes were far more challenging.

  "My lady," he said in his cracked-gravel voice.

  He often avoided either of her titles—one by marriage, and the other she preferred by birth. One he acknowledged; the other he ignored. Titles meant nothing here. No bloodline or roy
al bond would see her through a night like this. If she saw it through again.

  Cinder-Shard took a half step, then paused, and his craggy face tensed. He cocked his head, peering about the domed chamber, as if trying to find something only he heard.

  "What?" Tristan barked.

  Exchanged glances passed between the four thänæ as they watched Cinder-Shard. The master Stonewalker's tension appeared to spread among them. They followed his roving glare—as did Reine—and Chuillyon moved closer to her.

  Cinder-Shard rolled his massive shoulders and shook his head.

  "Nothing," he muttered. "Let us go."

  Reine willed herself numb as she followed him onto the lift.

  Sau'ilahk listened intently outside the door. The soft grating of sliding metal was followed by stone grinding out a rhythm—like the gears of a dwarven lift. When all noise died, a gravelly voice rose. It did not belong to anyone in the entourage.

  A dwarf, most certainly, but that voice pulled a twinge from Sau'ilahk, as if he still had true flesh and muscles that could spasm. So few words, but that voice made him anxious. He faltered, uncertain why, and then heard the lift's grinding begin again.

  Sau'ilahk could not bear ignorance. He pressed his cowl slowly through the door until the blindness of submerging in wood faded. He glimpsed beyond the door, then quickly drew back. It was enough to leave him astonished, hopeful, and frustrated all the more.

  Duchess Reine descended through a central shaft in the chamber's floor. All her companions were with her, as well as some elder dwarf in dark attire.

  Sau'ilahk had found the duchess's entrance into the underworld, and the texts waited somewhere below. But more guards stood within the chamber.

  His patience thinned.

  The two outer guards would be found sooner or later, but living ones left behind would quickly betray an invader's presence. Four thänæ could never harm him, but he could not kill them all before one raised an alarm. Already weakened by conjury, he lacked strength to fill the chamber with conjured noxious mists.

  And the duchess was slipping away.

  Sau'ilahk slid back from the door. Was his one glimpse enough? The shaft lay directly inward. If he could only keep a straight course, he could reach it.

  Follow, he whispered to his servitors, and he sank through the end chamber's floor.

  The lift settled at the shaft's bottom, and all Reine could do was retain her composure. Cinder-Shard opened the gate, but she barely took two steps before he paused, blocking the way.

  The grizzled master peered down the rough passage ahead. Far away, past where the path split in three directions, Reine saw dim phosphorescence in one natural cavern at its end.

  Cinder-Shard spun about toward the lift, glanced up the shaft over Reine's head. He then lowered his gaze, scowling in uncertainty. He spun back to stare down the way ahead.

  Danyel and Saln both put their hands to their sword hilts. Tristan remained still, watching Cinder-Shard. But the master Stonewalker said nothing. He finally stepped off the platform, turning to usher Reine out.

  "Do we have your leave to continue?" she asked, hoping he might offer a hint for his behavior.

  "Of course," he said absently. "You know the way. … My thoughts go with you."

  More pity.

  "Thank you," she answered coldly, hoping he said no more.

  At the tunnel's branching, Cinder-Shard followed the main path, but Reine turned left, to the west. Somewhere in this direction, beyond the mountain, lay the ocean and a rising tide.

  "What was that about?" she whispered to Chuillyon.

  The tall elf shrugged with a lazy roll of his large amber eyes. "I could not guess. Perhaps the old tomb tender has spent too much time in silence down here."

  Tristan said nothing—probably because he had nothing to say. He, Danyel, and Saln brought up the rear. This was one of the few places where the captain never required that he take the lead, entering the unknown before her.

  Reine made her way as Chuillyon dropped back behind her.

  This side tunnel was nearly as old as the first castle of Calm Seatt, and its walls grew damper the farther she went. Tiny beads of water glistened dully upon their faint yellow-green phosphorescence. She heard soft, erratic patters as the droplets fell. But the tunnel grew dimmer the farther she went. Entering the passage's last leg, she stopped before a lone door, and Chuillyon pulled out his cold lamp crystal.

  The stout wooden door showed signs of decay. Rust stained the hinges pinned into stone with steel spikes. The door would need replacing again in a year or two.

  Reine peered at the handle and the lock plate with no keyhole. Only an oval of the white metal domed slightly from the plate.

  She reached up and pulled one sea-wave-shaped comb from her hair. In its back was a small spot of white metal, as if a silvery molten teardrop had fallen there to bond with the mother-of-pearl. She placed the comb's back side over the lock plate's white metal oval. The steel bolt instantly grated away into the wall.

  Reine shifted her other comb to hold back her falling hair. As she cracked open the door, she handed the first comb to Chuillyon. When he turned to pass it to the captain, she stayed his hand.

  "Keep it," she said.

  "You do not wish me to come with you?" he asked.

  "Just … wait out here. I'll call if I need anything."

  "But the goods we purchased … Should you not—"

  "Later, Chuillyon."

  "Highness—"

  "Leave me be!"

  She slipped inside, shutting the door. With her hands pressed against the damp wood, Reine heard and felt the bolt slide back into place. The sound still made her stomach clench, no matter how many times she heard it. All of this had begun a moon after she'd been found drifting alone in the boat—the night she had lost Frey.

  Reine leaned her forehead against the door, and looked down at another white metal oval on the lock plate's inner side. Twice per year, the highest tides were the worst.

  She always left the one comb with the white metal teardrop behind, locking herself in. Without it, only Chuillyon—or Cinder-Shard—could let her out. Nothing could escape this place. She rolled her head upon the door and peered toward the rough opening in the far-right wall.

  The space beyond it was nearly pitch-black.

  Reine took a long breath, straightened, and headed for that opening. She tried not to look upon the pool's invading seawater, even as she stepped along its rear stone shelf. Too many times, she'd stared blankly across it at the iron gate, waiting for something to come. Half-submerged by the rising tide, the gate, its every detail, had already been branded into her mind. So much so that it had worn away even her fear of the ocean. This "cell," as she'd come to know it, had been excavated so long ago that not even Cinder-Shard knew when.

  The tide's welling stench intensified, making it hard to breathe, as Reine stepped into the adjoining dark chamber. She reached out and slid her hand along the opening's inner right side. Her fingers caught on tiny crisp edges, and she stroked them three times.

  Dim light rose from the thumb-size crystal resting on a ledge. It was a small gift she clung to in this place, passed to her privately by Lady Tärtgyth Sykion, high premin of Calm Seatt's sages. Reine peered about the space.

  A blend of fixtures turned the place into a tight and cluttered cross between a sitting room and a study. Its major furnishings were a small scribing desk, a wooden couch with aging cushions, and a book-laden stone casement chiseled into the opposite wall. She'd tried to soften its nature with tapestries, blown-glass fishing floats of varied hues and such, but nothing changed what it was.

  There was no end in sight to this repeated torture, and still she refused to give in. She glanced reluctantly to the right. There was another opening in the sitting room's rear.

  "I'm here …" she said flatly, but bitterness leaked in when she added "again."

  She heard the rustle of fabric from that next room. That one didn't even
have the dim glow of phosphorescent walls. Uneven shuffling footfalls upon stone echoed from it.

  A dim, tall figure took shape in the doorway.

  Head low, dark blond hair draped around his face. One of his hands clutched the opening's edge.

  Reine saw sallow fingers with faint undertones of sickly green. Or was that just the light in the sitting room reflected by mineral-laced walls?

  "It will pass," she whispered, stepping closer. "Just one more night."

  She would never cry in front of him. He didn't need that further burden.

  "I'm here now. Everything will be all right … my Frey."

  The seawater reached Chane's knees, and even he grew hard-pressed to advance. He could only guess how bad off Wynn must be.

  The steel hoop had long ago cooled and been stored away. The more gates they reached, the more the tide gained on them, until the bars were too deep in cold water to heat up. He had to force them by sheer strength. The last—the sixth—had taken too long.

  Shade suddenly vanished in a splash.

  Wynn grabbed his arm, about to shout, and Chane quickly hooked the pry bar in his belt, ready to jump in. But Shade resurfaced and paddled back until her forepaws caught on something. She rose, standing only chest-deep.

  Chane looked beyond her, clenching his jaw. There was a dropoff beneath the water.

  Wynn's forehead pressed against his arm.

  "Damn dead deities!" she whispered. "If they don't want anyone to get in, why not just trap the place, kill us off, instead of these endless—"

  Chane clamped his hand over her mouth.

  He had already wondered about the same thing, thinking that perhaps the tunnel had other uses than simply to let in the sea. But right then, he looked ahead, uncertain of what he saw.

  A faint light glowed somewhere down the tunnel.

  Glancing down at Wynn, he laid a finger across his lips and slowly lifted his hand from her mouth. He leaned close to her ear and whispered, "Look."

  Wynn lifted her head, eyes widening.

  Chane glanced down at Shade, once more laying a finger across his lips, and then he peered down the tunnel again. Perhaps twenty, maybe thirty yards ahead, he thought he saw vertical lines of black over the light.