Stalls, carts, and tents of all shapes, colors, and materials filled the spaces around the columns, defining paths between for all patrons. None of it seemed odd to Wynn, for she'd visited many open markets on two continents. No, it was the looming ceiling that struck her the most.
She understood the transport of goods, but this was the first time the underground settlement felt so artificial. Some merchandise was likely made here beneath the surface, but others, such as fresh fish, vegetables, and grain, had to be transported from outside and a long way off. Like Bay-Side, Sea-Side's outer slope was a sheer drop down to its small port.
Chane turned a full circle. "The noise is getting worse."
He looked more alert, so dusk must be close. Then Wynn noticed other tunnel mouths around the cathedral market. As the day's end neared, more people were drifting in. Dwarves swarmed the vendors, haggling over fair trade of goods. The mounting din bounced off of stone, the walls magnifying the sound downward, and wrapped Wynn in its cacophony.
Soon, hundreds of dwarves were engrossed in loud verbal bartering as they tromped about. There weren't as many humans among them as in Bay-Side. Dozens of conflicting scents filled the air, all trapped and mingling, even with the central air shaft above.
Wynn barely heard Shade's whine and settled her free hand on the dog's neck. Shade kept swiveling her head, trying to track the constantly shifting masses.
Sliver grew impatient with their gawking. "This way," she barked, shoving through the crowd.
Chane waved Wynn and Shade on ahead.
Perhaps he wanted to cover the rear or just keep her in his sight. Wynn hurried on, murmuring, "Pardon me, excuse me," over and over as she struggled to keep up with Sliver. Then Chane's hand fell on her shoulder from behind.
Wynn slowed, but he pushed her onward. His whisper came close to her ear.
"Sliver is lying … she knows more than her mother of Ore-Locks's coming and going."
"What?"
"Keep walking. Do not look back."
"How could you know this?" she asked.
"Trust me," Chane whispered. "Can you get Shade to read Sliver's memories … on command?"
"I don't know. Maybe—"
"Then try," he insisted. "But only after I ask Sliver, ‘Where to next?' Shade must wait for these words … or at least be watching for Sliver's memories when I say them."
Wynn finally grasped what he was up to.
At such a question, memories might rise in Sliver concerning the path—assuming she did know more than her mother. But how did Chane know Sliver was lying? Worse yet, how was Wynn going to explain all this to Shade with just memories—before they reached the end of Mother Iron-Braid's instructions?
Wynn curled her fingers deep into Shade's neck fur.
"Ah, Shade." She sighed, and the dog's pace slowed. "I wish you understood language, like your father. Even a few words, like ‘dip' and ‘memory.'"
She concentrated on the simplest, most ordered memories she could recall. First of Sliver, and then the sound of Chane's voice a moment ago.
… Where to next?
She followed with another glimpse of Sliver and then quick ones of any stolen memories Shade passed on from others. And again, Sliver, and again, Where to next?
Wynn repeated the sequence over and over, until her head began to ache. She glanced down and found Shade's ears upright, as if she were listening. An echo of sight and sound filled Wynn's head.
First of Sliver, then a dizzying series of memories from others, and finally a sound like a breathy, broken voice but too garbled to understand.
Wynn hadn't actually heard words at the end. Another image rose in her mind.
Chane stood in the small back room of the Iron-Braids' smithy. Though his lips didn't move, as he'd said nothing while there, the image mingled with the sound of his rasping voice.
… Where to next?
Wynn flushed with relief, though she was still uncertain Shade truly understood. Was the dog merely echoing everything back, asking for explanation? Memory-speak was so frustrating!
They passed booths selling potatoes, turnips, and dried fruits, and then a section of glazed pots, urns, and bowls. Ahead, another tunnel led out of the market's rear, but Sliver veered away from it. The vast cavern grew more and more packed.
Wynn glanced behind but couldn't see where they'd come in. Or was she even looking in the right direction? Hopefully Chane's height gave him a better view if they had to turn back. As Shade pressed against her thigh, Wynn worried that the distressing throng had hampered the dog's understanding.
Then a flash of red caught Wynn's eye.
Sliver pulled up short, pointing. "There," she said.
A stall near the market's back wall sported numerous folds of cloth hung upon wooden racks. Many bolts were dyed in a wide array of colors, though one was pure apple red. A wide dwarven woman with extra-wide hips, dressed in a myriad of colors like her wares, was straightening a cloth bolt left askew by some browser. She spotted the onlookers in turn.
"Need something for a new shirt?" she called out. "Have a look at this weave. Stout and light, it is."
"No, thank you," Wynn replied politely.
At the next stall hung leather vests and shirts, and pairs of premade boots were piled on a makeshift plank counter. Between the two merchants, Wynn saw a narrow tunnel leading off beyond the market.
"I have shown you," Sliver muttered, turning around. "For all the good it will do."
She didn't even look at Wynn as she started shoving her way back through the crowds. Wynn waited for Chane to speak, but at his silence, she called after Sliver, "And that's all?"
"That is all I was told to do," the smith retorted. "This is as far as my mother got."
Wynn pivoted, watching Chane and waiting.
He dropped his hand onto Sliver's shoulder.
She instantly slapped it away and turned on him, outrage flushing her face.
"But not as far as you went," Chane said. "Where … to … next?"
Sliver froze, and Wynn's fingers cinched in Shade's neck fur.
The smith's eyes widened with anger—or perhaps a flicker of panic? She lingered, as Chane waited in silence, and then her brow furrowed.
"Do not make that mistake again," she warned. "The only deceiver here is your puppy of a sage!"
With that, Sliver strode off.
Chane whirled about, glancing once at Shade before turning expectant eyes on Wynn.
"Well?" he whispered.
Wynn tried raising a memory of Sliver, hoping Shade would pick up her intent.
A cascade of images answered.
Stone corridors … branching paths … fewer people at every turn …
Wynn was following a wide, short figure concealed in a full cloak and hood. It tromped ahead along the path, and she ducked into hiding whenever the figure slowed or paused.
Wynn raised her face to Chane, as he watched her hopefully.
Then Shade lunged.
"Oh—wait—Shade!" Wynn squeaked, nearly jerked off her feet. "Chane, come on … she's got it!"
Chane was already on her heels.
Shade took off through the crowd, dragging Wynn by her grip on the dog's scruff. But Shade didn't bolt between the cobbler and clothier. She veered along the stalls at the market's rear wall.
Wynn stumbled after, fearful of letting go, and not everyone saw the overly tall wolf in time. Twice Shade snarled at someone in her way. Twice Wynn got a startled or nasty look from whoever twisted aside. Too many times she bumped rudely into someone as she tried to hold on to Shade.
"Slow her down, before I lose you!" Chane called, and his maimed voice seemed a bit far behind.
"I can't!" Wynn shouted. "Shade, stop!"
But Shade didn't, and then Wynn did, very suddenly. She slammed into something like rock beneath leather.