Throngs of dwarves and scattered humans passed by the small tunnel's opening, but his height let him clearly watch the cavern's wide entrance. Waiting was something Sau'ilahk had turned into an art. Soon enough, Wynn appeared, along with Shade and the man who was there and not there.
Sau'ilahk watched Chane's mouth move and then Wynn's. He seethed, not near enough to even read their lips. His black burial attire blended well with shadows, but he would not pass unnoticed in the open. Even if he did, the majay-hi would sense him if he came too close. For now, the masses of the living clouded the animal's awareness.
His quarry pushed through the crowds, stopping only once at a meat vendor.
Sau'ilahk did not have to follow to know where Wynn headed. It was unlikely, in leaving the temple, that she was going into the underlevels of this settlement. He let himself dissipate again.
His presence faded as he sank once more toward dormancy—but not all the way into its pure darkness. He clung to the image of another well-memorized place. In a blink, he awoke some fifty yards down a tunnel beyond the tram station, standing between deep and wide ruts in its floor lined with scarred steel. Again, it was not long before Wynn arrived.
Where was she going and why? Had she found some clue at the temple that might lead her to the texts—to the writings of Li'kän and Häs'saun and Volyno, three of Beloved's "Children"? A small wave of relief overtook him. This night, she might bring him to his desire. But spite followed quickly.
Hkàbêv—"Beloved"—whom lowly Sumanese soldiers of old had called il'Samar, the Night Voice, had entrusted its treasures to the Children—vampires—rather than to Sau'ilahk's own caste of the Reverent.
Beloved was as treacherous as glorious, as Sau'ilahk had learned an age ago. But even treachery could be turned to advantage, given patience and time. Sau'ilahk had learned patience in prolonged torment. In this moment, he was closer than he had ever been to what he wanted.
Wynn Hygeorht believed she could find those texts and unveil secrets from what her sages called the Forgotten, a history so long lost that its fragments were bread crumbs scattered across a desert plain. When he had taken all she gained for him, he would feed on her little life, a morsel tasted before a lavish feast.
But first he must learn where she was going and why.
Wynn struggled to lead the way down the tunnel. The throng thinned as people finished their passing barters, but more were coming out than going in. She tried to hug the tunnel's high wall as she waded against the flow. When the way branched off in a gradual curve, she glanced back, making certain she hadn't lost Chane. Then Wynn stumbled out into another wide cavern.
It wasn't nearly as large as the market's, but she still pulled up short.
In place of columns and crowds, two tunnels the width of three roads took off into the mountain's depths. One bore nearly southward, its destination likely Chekiuní, "Point-Side." The other aimed more west by southwest, and that had to be to Sea-Side.
Two wide and long platforms in the cavern were made of stout wood planks and timbers like the docks of a harbor. Each aimed toward one tunnel, and triple sets of twined, steel-lined ruts in the granite floor ran from each platform into a tunnel's mouth. One of each trio was wider than the others, likely for a cargo-only tram.
At the Point-Side platform, a few dwarves and a single human in gentleman's attire waited to board.
Shade tried to back up, pulling on Wynn's grip as her grumble rose into a whine.
"Odsúdýnjè!" Chane cursed in his native Belaskian as he scowled at a string of open-sided cars.
"Would you two rather walk over the mountain?" Wynn returned.
She was getting fed up with their reluctance for dwarven travel, though she was a little doubtful herself. The trams were basically a long string of connected cars constructed of solid wood. Painted in tawny and jade tones, they rode upon steel-and-iron undercarriages, their thick iron wheels shod with steel. Rows of benches faced ahead inside each car, separated by a narrow walkway down the center length. Passengers were protected on the outside by waist-high rail walls. Each car was roofed, but only their fronts contained a full wall and a door, probably to break rushing winds once the tram gained speed.
A wide and paunched dwarf in a plain leather hauberk stood with his feet spread slightly on the platform. He cupped his mouth with gnarled hands, shouting, "Maksag Chekiuní-da!" and then repeated in Numanese—"Leaving for Point-Side!" He then trundled along the platform, shooing scant passengers into the cars.
Wynn didn't watch him long. No sooner had the last passenger settled when a cloud of steam billowed around the tram's lead car, making it impossible to see clearly. She barely made out its front, which seemed to end in a point. She saw that much only because it glowed.
Within the steam cloud, its front point burned like one of the massive pylon crystals. But it seemed larger still, more cleanly lined, and it pulsed in a slow rise and fall of light. A sharp explosion of steam belched from the lead car's undercarriage, and the glow brightened to a steady, hot yellow that hurt Wynn's eyes.
The tram's whole chain of cars inched forward with a metallic scrape of wheels along the ruts. In moments, it picked up the speed of a trotting horse. As it bore into the tunnel, the sharp glow at its lead end lit the way, and Wynn heard its wheels' rhythm building steadily. As it vanished from sight, her mouth went dry.
Chane stood staring after it as well.
"Some arcane engine," he whispered. "And the pylon lights in the street and cavern. Do dwarves engage in thaumaturgy through artificing?"
Wynn struggled for an answer. "Something like it. Domin Tilswith explained it more in terms of the dwarves' innate connection to the element of Earth. But he was rather evasive. I don't think he fully understood it himself."
Watching after the vanished tram, Wynn felt Shade grow silent in quivering, as if too frightened to even whine. She stroked the dog's back, suddenly realizing what an ordeal this journey would be for Shade—underground, away from natural day and night, surrounded by masses of people, and traveling in such unnatural ways.
"We need that one," Wynn said, pointing and heading off toward the other platform. "Shirvêsh Mallet believes High-Tower's family resides below Sea-Side. If we can find them, we might find his brother … and then the Stonewalkers and the texts."
Again, there was only a passenger tram waiting among its three tracks.
Chane quickly outdistanced Wynn. As he climbed the ramp ahead of her and gained the platform, he craned his head, trying to see the tram's lead car. It was already obscured in rising steam.
Another stationmaster walked back along the platform, herding passengers into the cars. The Sea-Side tram was only slightly more full than the one to Point-Side.
"Hurry," Wynn said, taking the lead, and she ducked into the nearest car.
A young female dwarf was directing passengers to seats. She gave Shade a long stare but didn't object to the animal's presence.
"How long to Chemarré?" Wynn asked in Dwarvish.
The stocky girl put her hands on her hips and answered in a shockingly deep voice, "No stops on this run, so by Night-Summer's end."
Then she was off through the forward door to the next car.
Wynn understood why so many vendors sold food and drink in the great market cavern. It was well past dusk, even past mid-Night-Spring and the second bell of night. The trip would take over a quarter-night. She settled on a bench at the car's midpoint.
Shade flattened, trying to crawl under the seat, but only managed to get half her bulk out of sight.
Wynn reached down, scratching Shade's back. "It's all right."