“Is he gone?” Wynn asked.
“Enough!” Chuillyon interrupted, and leaned out the staff, its crystal nearly over Wynn’s head. “Both of you, up.”
Wayfarer took hold of Wynn’s arm, helped her rise, and guided her hands to take the staff.
“Take these,” Chuillyon added.
Wayfarer stared at the glasses, their lenses darker than the night. The tall Lhoin’na had thrust them at her and not Wynn.
“You will need them,” he added, “if you can help her.”
With one glance at Wynn, Chuillyon turned away, walking slowly toward the distant battle.
“I will do what I can to stop anything coming for you,” he added, and then paused to glance back at Shade. “Perhaps you should come as well?”
Shade stood by Wynn’s side.
“Go on,” she whispered, pushing blindly on the dog.
Wayfarer saw Shade look to her, though not a word rose in her thoughts. There was nothing worthwhile to say for a majay-hì now caught between two women over a man who wanted only one of them. Shade turned away to follow Chuillyon.
Everything now depended on Wynn’s finding the strength to ignite the crystal again and keep it lit. And that depended on Wayfarer doing something she had never done before.
Wynn reached out her nearer hand, fumbling toward Wayfarer. Wayfarer grabbed that hand, and Wynn guided it to a grip on the staff just above her own.
“Put the glasses on,” Wynn said weakly, turning her head but not her eyes. “And look away. Even so, you will know if the crystal lights up ... by whatever you are going to do.”
Wayfarer grew sick with panic as Wynn double-gripped the staff below her own hand. And as Wynn began to whisper, too many “ifs” swarmed Wayfarer.
What if the staff would not light? What if Wynn could not keep it lit? What if she did but then faltered and Wayfarer could not keep it lit? And still worse ...
What if she could?
Wayfarer put on Wynn’s glasses as Vreuvillä’s warning hammered in her thoughts.
Nothing can be created or destroyed in such a way. Only changed ... exchanged.
Wayfarer gripped Wynn’s shoulder with her other hand as she looked away. And all she could do was what she had been taught. She looked—felt—for the Elements in all things, the Fay that was ... were in all things.
From the heat—the Fire—in her own flesh. From the breath—the Air—she took in rapid pants. From the blood—the Water—that flowed through her. From bone and sinew—the Earth—of her own body.
From the Spirit that she was.
Answer my need ... my wish ... ay jâdh’airt.
The night lit up, even as Wayfarer continued looking down.
She flinched and stopped breathing but rapidly refocused so as not to lose what she had asked for. That light was so bright, she could see the cracks in the hardened earth—brighter than at any other time she had seen Wynn light the staff.
Relief almost made her look to the crystal, but she stopped herself. Relief almost kept her from thinking.
Only changed ... exchanged.
Somewhere in the world, the light of the sun was diminished, for that came to the staff so long as she wished it here.
Chapter Eighteen
Leesil followed Ghassan down the passage into the mountain by the light of the sage’s cold-lamp crystal. Ghassan gripped the crystal while carrying a single chest, so its illumination wobbled on the passage walls with every labored step. Leesil struggled to haul two chests strung on poles with Brot’an behind him. Chane and Ore-Locks bore the final two chests. Leesil began growing concerned as Ghassan continued glancing into the side tunnels.
Those other passages were obviously dug out long ago. Though the domin paused a few times, he never appeared lost or in doubt. He walked like someone recalling the right route without even thinking. Ghassan had claimed he’d explored places like this in his youth, but it was highly unlikely he had explored this one.
Leesil pulled up short, dropped his ends of the poles before Brot’an halted behind him, and grasped Ghassan’s sleeve.
“What are you looking for?” he demanded.
Ghassan turned, the chest still in his hands. “Pardon?”
“You seem to be looking for something, but if you haven’t been here before ...”
A flicker of surprise on the domin’s face was followed by something else, but Leesil couldn’t tell what.
“Of course I have not,” Ghassan answered sharply. “I am seeking, even guessing at, the best downward path to wherever the Enemy might have sought refuge.”
Leesil had little option but to accept this explanation, though it still bothered him. Simply studying the mouth of a passage wouldn’t reveal where it led. Glancing back, he assessed the others.
Chane had a crystal as well, though it was not glowing right now. Even as an undead, he looked almost as worn as the rest. Whatever Ore-Locks had done to pull down that last locatha had taken something out of him. And no matter what Brot’an said or didn’t say, he was wounded. Leesil’s side still ached, and the ache turned to outright pain when he crouched to lift the poles and chests again.
“Get on with it,” he said.
Ghassan did so as Leesil adjusted the poles’ front ends. Then the domin stalled again, but this time stood staring ahead.
“What is it?” Leesil asked.
“A cavern,” Ghassan whispered, seemingly more to himself than in answer. He moved on. Not far ahead, his crystal’s light exposed a broad widening of the path.
Four pale white men stood in the way, each with a sword sheathed on his hip.
Leesil knew a vampire when he saw one.
Having been so burdened and tired, he’d forgotten to pull out the amulet that would’ve glowed to warn him before now. He dropped the poles in the same instant as Brot’an and heard the same for Chane and Ore-Locks. The impact of multiple chests echoed along the tunnel.
Leesil gripped the handle of one winged blade and drew the weapon from its sheath.
“Wait!” Ghassan hissed under his breath.
The four blocking the way wore matching black clothing—simple pants and shirts. All of them had hair down to their shoulders not quite as black as their attire. None had drawn a weapon. The tallest one stepped forward. He looked first at Ghassan and then the chests. Puzzlement flooded his features.
“Where is Beloved’s child?” he asked, almost as voicelessly as Chane.
Leesil tensed.
“Child?” Ghassan asked dryly.
Leesil already knew whom that meant: Beloved’s child, Magiere.
The Ancient Enemy had plagued his wife’s dreams, tried to lure her in, and now this. Chap had been right never to allow her into the mountain. The undead quartet seemed to have expected her. Worse, they didn’t look one bit surprised by anyone else who’d come.
The tall one’s gaze dropped again to the chests. “We will take the anchors. You will go and bring the child.”
As Leesil took two steps forward, Ghassan set down his chest and straightened.
“Really?” Ghassan answered barely above a whisper.
Doubt made Leesil glance toward the domin.
Ghassan blinked slowly, maybe lazily. Did his lips move in a soundless whisper? He then blinked rapidly and appeared to relax.
The tall vampire leader’s features went slack, and his eyelids drooped. Neither he nor the others moved at all.
“Take their heads off in one strike,” Ghassan ordered. “Preferably at the same time, so as not to arouse the others as one drops.”
Leesil hesitated and looked back to Brot’an.
Brot’an only watched the four intently and did not move. Neither did Chane or Ore-Locks, though Chane wore an angry frown as if he did not care for how easily this had been done.