His gaze flicked once to his swords tucked under the right-side bunk.
Ore-Locks took only one step into the doorway, and Chap looked back once with a snarl. Ore-Locks barely raised open hands in yielding, and Chap turned on Chane again. Sniffing the air and everything on the floor, Chap inched forward but never took his eyes off Chane.
Chane felt the bottle’s searing heat spreading in his whole hand.
Chap’s head flashed around at Ore-Locks and quickly back. Ore-Locks stiffened in a flinch and blinked twice, and looked at Chane.
“He ... demands to know what you were doing,” Ore-Locks said.
Chane looked back to Chap. Perhaps growing pain spreading to his forearm got the better of him.
“No,” he rasped.
Chap snarled and lunged, Chane dropped to a crouch ready to counter, and Ore-Locks rushed in behind Chap.
The dwarf tried to grab Chap’s tail and only half succeeded.
Ore-Locks barely closed his big hand when Chap turned and snapped. Chane almost lunged but stalled, uncertain whom to go after. Ore-Locks jerked his hand back.
He glared at Chap, stuttering, “You ... you ... yiannû-billê!”
Chane did not react. Hopefully Chap did not understand that racist comment, but when Chap’s growl sharpened, Chane knew better.
Ore-Locks quickly raised a booted foot and slammed it down.
Even as Chap quickly retreated, Chane felt the whole cabin shudder.
“And what do you think you can do about it?” Ore-Locks snarled at Chap.
The dog must have said something into the dwarf’s head. Chane could not guess what, and before he tried ...
“I do not need to wait for port,” Ore-Locks ranted on. “All I need to do is take my orb and drop over the side to sink. Try to follow through stone at the ocean floor, if you can.”
That panicked Chane. He could not fail Wynn like this, even for perhaps his only other friend.
“I am tired of both of you,” Ore-Locks grumbled, and then eyed Chane. “And you need to stop baiting the majay-hì with your secrets!”
That as well frightened Chane as he looked between his cabin mates. When his gaze returned to the dwarf, Ore-Locks’s narrowed eyes were not looking directly back; he was looking much lower.
Ore-Locks thrust out his hand. “Give it to me.”
Chane hesitated.
“Now!” Ore-Locks added.
Chane did not like this. He had multiple reasons for not wanting anyone else—especially Chap—to know what he had been doing. Even Wynn might not have liked it, considering he had again been using Welstiel’s tools.
Ore-Locks thrust out his hand even farther.
With a soft exhale through his teeth, Chane relented and held out the copper bottle.
Ore-Locks took it, held it up, eyed it with a scowl, and then eyed Chap. He suddenly pulled the stopper and put the bottle to his mouth.
“No, do not!” Chane rasped.
It was too late, and Ore-Locks tipped the bottle slightly. He smacked his lips once, ran his tongue over them, and wrinkled his broad nose, as if he had smelled something unpleasant. He tilted his head as if some puzzled thought occurred to him, and then looked down at Chap.
“There,” he said, “I am fine ... See?”
Chane was not so certain, though he had seen dwarves drink wood alcohol that would kill a human. The elixir had not clarified, which left him worried about unknown effects upon even one of them.
Ore-Locks slapped the stopper into the bottle and tossed it at Chane, who caught it in another rush of panic. It felt nearly full.
“You two settle this matter, once and for all,” Ore-Locks warned.
He turned out of the cabin, slamming the door.
Chane was alone with Chap. The majay-hì climbed up on the far bunk, lay down, and glowered in silence. Chane settled on the other bunk above where his swords were hidden.
“I am not the only one with secrets,” Chane said. “What were you doing when you ran off into the trees and left me to dig up two orbs?”
Chap did not move or even blink. He made no sound at all, nor did he do anything to indicate that Chane should pull out the talking hide for a response.
Chane finally dropped his gaze to the copper bottle in his hands, one of which still stung from being seared. From what he felt of the bottle’s weight, Ore-Locks had taken no more than a sip, but that still worried Chane. He bent over to pick up the glass bottle and the scrap of silk, and filtered a tiny amount of the concoction into the glass bottle.
For an instant, what he saw did not make sense, and when he had poured every bit of the mixture into the glass bottle, he could only stare.
The liquid was now entirely crystal clear.
Not long past sunset, Wynn watched as Magiere, Leesil, and Brot’an set off on another scouting trip. Dinner—or perhaps breakfast—tonight had come as a relief.
Ghassan had somehow caught and killed a sizable desert lizard. He had also been saving the best chunks of coal from previous fires, and soon had a low-flamed heat ready for cooking. And meanwhile, he dressed down the lizard. The creature provided nearly as much meat as a chicken.
Everyone was beyond tired of eating dried stores. Though none had ever eaten lizard before, it proved quite tasty—either because it was or because they were desperate for anything other than their normal rations. There was a time when Wynn ate only vegetables and fish. Now she ate whatever was available.
Once the trio passed beyond sight, she turned to Ghassan, who had remained behind with her to guard the orbs. There had been some tension between him and Magiere, as Ghassan wanted more proof of any supposed gathering of a horde before they turned to hunting their real quarry’s hiding place.
Wynn wished they knew more about this Ancient Enemy—il’Samar, Beloved, and any of too many other names. All they really understood was it was a being or person of great power who had waged a great war across the world, created the first of the undead, and then for unknown reasons withdrawn into hiding.
Even this much was speculation based on what she’d gleaned from ancient texts. Now, apparently, it was reawakening after a thousand years.
Magiere was driven to find it.
And things were moving out there toward ... wherever ... in the east.
Ghassan urged caution until all five orbs had been brought together. He felt that more information should be gained first. Were most of the gathering servants vampires? Or were some more powerful, like the wraith, Sau’ilahk?
Magiere saw little point to learning any of this, and for her, finding the location of the Enemy was all that mattered. After a heated debate, she and Ghassan had compromised. Scouting trips would continue, but if she came across any undead heading east, she and those with her would try to trail them to their final destination, and hopefully to Ancient Enemy.
Night after night, Magiere came across only a few bodies.
Wynn was nearly always left behind at camp. With her shorter legs, she only frustrated Magiere and even Brot’an with their long strides. Lately, Ghassan had been the other one most often to remain in camp.
Wynn had grown more and more concerned about Leesil. He never joked or teased her anymore. He’d become even quieter than Brot’an, and that by itself was the most disconcerting change.
Now Ghassan sank down cross-legged before the tent he shared with Brot’an. Wynn knew he preferred being out under the night sky unless he was asleep. She looked up, for though it was full night, the desert was clear to see beneath a brilliant silvery moon.
“Ghassan,” she began slowly, “do you think we would need all five orbs, should Magiere find the Enemy?”
She expected resistance, but she thought she saw him stiffen where he sat.