Wynn turned into the cavern with her companions, and Sau'ilahk's thoughts went blank for an instant. He drifted closer in a staggered glide between side streets. At this time of night, few people milled about the multitiered market. When he reached the edge of the cavern's mouth, Wynn was heading for the tunnel to the tram station.
But why?
He blinked through dormancy as he focused upon a memory of the dark tunnel beyond the tram. Awaking there, he waited nerve-racking moments before she reappeared. The trio headed directly for the platform to Sea-Side.
Sau'ilahk backed halfway into the tunnel wall, watching.
It was a while before a tram arrived. The dog held back, curling its lips, as Wynn attempted to drag it on board. Chane tried to assist, and did, if only because the dog wheeled away from him and, by doing so, ended up inside the car. All three were seated, and the lead car's massive crystal ignited amid belching clouds of steam.
Wynn was going back to Sea-Side.
All this sudden change filled Sau'ilahk with uncertainty. With no time to replenish himself, and too little energy to conjure a servitor to eavesdrop, he had but one choice.
Sau'ilahk followed blindly after the tram as it raced beyond him.
Chapter 12
Near dusk the following day, Wynn stood clinging to the sun-crystal staff before the passage to the Iron-Braids' smithy. Shade sat expectantly nearby while Chane leaned against the wall with his eyes barely open.
They'd arrived in Sea-Side before dawn and procured two rooms at the same inn as their last visit. A decent place close to the station, it was the only one with which they were familiar. They'd slept much of the day, but before retiring, Chane had insisted that Wynn wake him by late afternoon. He believed Sliver would be less trouble if they approached during business hours, and with possible patrons about, she might be less confrontational.
Wynn was dubious about this—and about trying to rouse Chane. He seemed determined to master being awake during daylight while safe beneath the mountain. She'd reluctantly agreed, instructing the innkeeper to knock at Day-Winter in late afternoon.
As she'd anticipated, waking Chane hadn't been easy. He'd been disoriented from the moment she'd finally dragged him to his feet. Now the three of them stood outside the fifth northbound passage off of Limestone Mainway, and Wynn hesitated.
She couldn't botch this again, yet her plan might—would—anger Sliver even more in the end. Of course, she could always walk in and say, "Hello, we're looking for a door to the underworld. Care to show us how your brother gets out?"
Wynn scoffed under breath, and Chane raised his bleary eyes.
"I should've let you rest," she said. "Shade and I can handle this."
"No. I am … better than last time."
That was a lie, but Wynn couldn't think of another excuse. So she stepped into the passage.
The smell of fumes and heated metal grew strong before they even neared the smithy. Peering through the open door, Wynn blinked in surprise. Sliver wasn't alone.
Two male dwarves in char-stained leather aprons pounded upon mule shoes near the open furnace. Each hammer's clang rose above the bellows' hoarse breaths and sent scant sparks showering to the floor.
Sliver stood at a rear worktable examining the shorter and wider of two finished blades, both the mottled gray of fine dwarven steel. She looked impressive with her determined expression, thick red braid, and leather apron—a master crafter engrossed in her trade. She scraped her thick thumb across the sword's edge, testing its keening, and then set it down to inspect its human-proportioned companion.
Wynn cleared her throat. "Umm, hello."
All three occupants looked over, and Sliver's eyes widened.
"Could we have a word?" Wynn asked more nervously than she intended.
Sliver appeared both puzzled and stunned. Perhaps she hadn't expected Wynn to come with news so soon. The smith glanced at the workers before fixing her gaze on Wynn again. Her wide mouth parted.
The workshop's back door slammed open and banged and shuddered off Sliver's worktable.
A wrinkled dwarven woman stood in the opening. Wild white hair hung over the shoulders of a long sashless robe and a shift of faded blue. Shuffling out, she grabbed a worktable to steady herself. Both workers froze, casting wary glances at Sliver.
"Here!" the old woman called, and caught her breath from the effort. "Come, sage … you are welcome in my home!"
That crackling, manic voice made Wynn flush with shame. But Sliver's expression turned vicious. She set down the long sword and moved toward her visitors at a threatening pace.
Wynn tightened her grip on the staff.
Chane and Shade pushed through the door, rounding either side of her. Sliver halted beyond arm's reach, and with one derisive snort fixed her glare on Chane.
"Spare me your display!" she growled, then turned on Wynn. "Move!"
Sliver backstepped toward the old woman.
Wynn advanced, passing the smith as steadily as she could. Shade and Chane followed closely. The old woman wobbled through the rear door and everyone but the workers followed. As soon as they were all in, Sliver slammed the door shut.
Standing in a small room carved from the mountain's stone, Wynn spotted openings on either side near its back. Both were curtained with much-mended wool that had once been blue. Years and too many washings had rendered the fabric a pale slate color. A small hearth with a battered iron screen was set in the north wall, and an old maple table filled the room's center.
Unglazed urns and old iron pots filled scant shelves pegged into the walls. There was no sign of meat or fish, bread or vegetables. Sliver most likely had been too busy to visit a market, and the old woman looked too infirm to do so.
Wynn ceased looking about. Could she possibly feel any worse for how she would use these poor people?
"Here, sage, come and sit," the old woman urged, pulling out the only chair before she settled on one of three plain stools.
"Mother!" Sliver snapped. "Stop acting like these people are—"
"I'm honored, Mother Iron-Braid," Wynn cut in, nodding politely as she sat.
Shade circled away from Sliver to settle beside Wynn. The old woman barely glanced at the "wolf."
Chane cracked the door open, leaving it slightly inward and ajar. Perhaps he thought a lack of privacy would keep Sliver in check.
The old woman took a long breath, and when it rushed back out, her voice shook. "You have news of my son, of Ore-Locks?"
"Why else would she come?" Sliver crossed her arms, watching Wynn. "So, out with it … and leave!"
Chane tensed visibly at her tone, locking his nearly colorless eyes on hers.
Wynn was too confused to worry about their mutual hostility.
Sliver had visited the temple demanding that Wynn share all she learned, yet now seemed surprised that she'd come. Obviously the smith didn't want her here—unlike the mother. But Wynn's determination faltered at the manic hope in Mother Iron-Braid's eyes.
She sat there, suddenly uncertain of her scheme.
Chane kept watch on Sliver as much as Wynn, but he did not follow the verbal exchange closely. The smith's gaze often twitched his way. Sliver seemed less than pleased that he had cracked the door, but anything that kept her off balance was good enough for him.
Through the opening, something more had caught his eye. Something he had already seen once before, but now had all the more reason to notice. Widening his power of sight, Chane peered through the crack.
By the forge's reddened light, he saw two swords lying on the rear workbench. Both were as plain and unadorned as his own, but these were whole. Beneath their crisp sheen and strange mottling, he spotted not one imperfection—not even a polish-hidden dimple.