"Wynn?" a deep voice called out.
She leaned around Shade's tall form and looked out of the chamber's entrance. Shirvêsh Mallet wandered among the tables, searching, and he didn't look happy about doing so.
"Do not call to him," Chane whispered. "We cannot pass up this opportunity."
Wynn was tempted to agree, but she couldn't.
"We can't alienate him anymore. We may need his aid. If we can't find a way to follow, he's our only link to learn what happened to Hammer-Stag … and maybe why the duchess is here. She seems favored among the religious castes of the seatt."
Wynn stood, about to leave. Chane opened his mouth to argue, but she shook her head. He closed his eyes in resignation, and she stepped out into plain sight.
"We're here," she called.
Chane stepped out as well as Mallet closed on them, his bushy white eyebrows raised.
"What are you doing in there?" he asked.
Wynn searched for a quick answer. "Giving you a little time with the others. I know Hammer-Stag was dear to you as well, and we didn't want to intrude."
Mallet's expression softened. "Never mind such things. I have said my farewells, and we should leave the family and friends to their feasting and telling."
"Of course," Wynn agreed, glancing at Chane.
Mouth tightly set, he followed as they headed out.
Chapter 10
Sau'ilahk waited in the night, sunken halfway into the wall near an alley's mouth. The amphitheater was too crowded to approach or enter, even by slipping through its stone. He did not know the place; certainly not enough to wander its back ways, seeking some hidden vantage point. But he longed to see the Stonewalkers for himself—and if the meddlesome little sage had uncovered anything of use.
Killing the thänæ had cost him more than he could have guessed, nearly draining him of all the life he had consumed. He had taken dwarves before, and as difficult as it was, it had never been this costly. In two days of recuperation, he could barely conjure a few servitors of Air to monitor the amphitheater's exits.
How many times had he thrust his hand through Hammer-Stag's chest? He could not even count, and still the blustering dwarf would not die. In the end, what vital life Sau'ilahk consumed, touch by touch, was a fraction of what he lost in effort. Now he stood exhausted, waiting for any sight of Wynn.
Evening passed into deep night. Finally, dwarves began emerging from the amphitheater's settlement-level tunnels and higher arches, descending stone stairs and out into the streets. They spread and scattered, talking amongst themselves, or marched on in somber silence.
Sau'ilahk watched for Chane, who would tower over these short, stocky people. Dwarves kept coming, but there was no sign of the tall undead. Panic began to set in, which only made Sau'ilahk angry.
Wynn must have been witness to the final rites, but what if she did not come out? And he had not seen any Stonewalkers enter. Had he made a mistake? If they had come and gone another way, had she gone after them? Could he risk slipping inside to look for her?
Sau'ilahk hung in indecision. Then the air rippled before him as one servitor appeared.
It emitted three soft tones like a reed whistle and then vanished with a pop of air.
Sau'ilahk flowed up the building's side, drifting from one rooftop to the next. Before he reached the third entrance on the amphitheater's near side, he spotted a dark form on the street below.
Shade padded ahead, hurrying out of a crowded intersection. Wynn jogged after the dog and then paused for Chane and a white-haired dwarf in an orange vestment to catch up.
Sau'ilahk held his place on the rooftop. Even here, the dog might sense him, but would not likely look upward. He let Wynn and her companions pass on.
Two other dwarves in orange vestments came down the steps from the amphitheater's next high entrance. They fell in beside the white-haired one, and Wynn slowed, dropping back a few paces with Shade and Chane. She hung close to Chane, and her lips moved, as if she were engaged in quiet conversation beyond the hearing of their dwarven companions.
Sau'ilahk desperately wanted to hear what she said.
He stilled his mind, calling to his remaining servitors. The air around his head warped and swirled as they joined him. Banishing all but one, he focused his reserves to recommand it and fixed the image of Wynn in his mind.
Target the gray-clad one. Remain above the target. Absorb all sound. If the target reaches the temple …
He faltered, so tired that he was not being concise. His mindless creation would not comprehend such references.
If the target passes inside stone, then return to me. Reiterate all sound and banish.
The ball of distorted air sped over the roof's edge and up the night street.
Once Wynn was well on her way, Sau'ilahk followed along the rooftops. At every alley or side street, he watched for her passing along the main avenue. When she slipped beyond sight again, he sped onward, staying ahead of her. He kept changing his position and orientation, in case the dog became aware of his presence.
When Wynn reached the way station, the old dwarf stepped into the crank house building, walking through it to the lift's landing. Wynn followed through the opening in a wall … made of stone.
Sau'ilahk could have shrieked in rage as his servitor came rushing back. Wynn passed out of the building's other side, boarding the waiting lift with the others. But she was no longer talking with Chane while in the close company of the three dwarves.
The servitor began to replay what it had gathered, gruff dwarven voices low and dull behind Wynn's and Chane's whispers.
"No, it's too crowded!" Wynn said. "We'll go back tomorrow night."
"The trail will be cold," Chane rasped.
"Shade may have found a door to their underworld. It has to be where they went … where they would take Hammer-Stag. We don't need to track them. Shade can lead us there."
"Come along, young Wynn," a deep voice called. "No lagging on such a cold night."
The servitor popped and vanished.
It had recorded so little, but enough. The dog had found a way to this "underworld." Whatever it was, Wynn believed the Stonewalkers had gone there. Tomorrow night she would return to follow them.
But how had the animal gathered or relayed such information?
The answer could wait. Wynn had finally learned something useful! The cost of killing one dwarf had played out to some small satisfaction. As Sau'ilahk mulled over the best strategy for the following night, his form wavered in the darkness. Or rather the world began to dim as dormancy threatened to take him.
Sau'ilahk had exhausted his energies more than he realized. He cursed his useless excuse for a form. But if—when—Wynn located the texts, he might finally learn the secrets of Beloved's Children. Somewhere in the world, one of the Anchors of Creation waited in hiding. Once he found it, he would have flesh again after an age of searching.
Sau'ilahk faded, and his last conscious thoughts tumbled back through centuries past… .
Sau'ilahk, master conjuror, first of the Reverent and high priest of Beloved, trekked up the mountain's craggy base to a place far above the desert. The day's heat lingered into night but never bothered him, even in his black robe.
As he passed, minions bowed their heads, from scattered packs of goblins with yellow eyes and repulsive speckled canine faces to the rare hulking locatha, reptilian abominations half again the height of man. Even his own people, from their desert tribes, showed him obeisance.
But not as much as they once had—not since the night the Children had walked out of Beloved's sanctuary, naked and pale under the full moon.