No one came out to check on arriving passengers. Perhaps on this side of the mountain fees were collected only above. Chane unbolted the gate with shaky hands, stepped down the loading ramp, and then stopped halfway.
Shade still stood at the lift's center. With her ears flattened and her head low and her legs splayed in a braced stance, a stream of drool trailed from her panting jaws to puddle on the platform's boards.
"It is over," he said. "Come."
Smelling sea air, he looked upward along the steep granite road. The peninsula's ocean side was more sheer and rough than the bay side. But the slant down into the open ocean was likely why full-size ships could dock here.
Other than a few warehouses framing a main avenue to the docks, buildings were sparse and deeply weathered. The shoreline, however, could never be called a beach.
Endless waves pounded and sprayed upon jagged rocks at the mountain's base. And Chane wavered at the chance of finding some small, hidden entrance in leagues of sea-battered rock. Just which way—north or south—should he begin?
Shade growled and then sniffed sharply, as she too gazed along the shore.
"A room first," Chane said, more to himself than the dog.
Shade stared upward toward Sea-Side's main settlement, probably still doubtful of leaving Wynn alone. Chane snapped his fingers to gain the dog's attention and stepped in between the warehouses.
Only a few dwarven dockworkers were about. A cluster of human sailors languished beneath a dangling lantern. He spotted only two single-masted vessels until he cleared the buildings and reached the heads of the piers. One larger ship rested farther out, near the end of the leftmost dock.
Its two masts were as tall as those of larger vessels he had seen in Calm Seatt. With all sails furled, it appeared to be quietly waiting. This had to be the duchess's vessel. If she stayed in Sea-Side, then her ship would have docked here. The other two smaller ones did not seem fitting.
Shade huffed once.
She trotted past the docks' heads, and Chane turned and followed. She finally dropped to her haunches to wait. When he caught up, she sat before a stone building, squat-looking though it was still two stories tall. Peering through the outer windows, Chane saw people inside, some with tankards in hand or seated for a meal at tables. With two stories, it might be an inn, or something like it among the dwarves.
Chane scrutinized Shade, though the dog ignored him. Perhaps she understood his intention, if not his words. It should have been a small relief, but it only made Chane warier.
What else did Shade know or understand?
Wynn returned to her room after making certain that Duchess Reine had retired for the night. Alone for the first time since Chane had reentered her life, Wynn crawled into bed early and slept hard. She needed to be up and alert by dawn, if she was to follow Reine's movements by day. In the morning, as the innkeeper's knock came at the door, she awoke feeling more herself.
She wasn't certain why, but there was something liberating about awaking in the day, even in a world without sunlight. As she rolled out of bed, stretching sore muscles from another night on a hard dwarven mattress, she wondered how to begin. She was worried about Shade—and Chane—but there was no way to know whether they'd arrived safely and acquired lodging.
Wynn looked at her gray robe lying across the bed's corner. Anyone in the duchess's entourage would spot her in an instant wearing that. But her yellow and umber elven clothing on a short human would attract as much attention. A notion came to her.
She donned the clothing, pulled the robe on as well, and then wandered out toward the inn's front room. Perhaps she could trade for or borrow something more from the dwarven innkeeper? She could then spend the day blending in with the locals—and watching for the duchess.
"Yes," she said softly to herself. "A dwarven disguise."
That night, just past dusk, Chane awoke in the portside inn. Shade sat poised at the door, watching him, as if she had done so all day. Chane scowled at her.
If Shade was as intelligent as Wynn claimed, did the dog find it strange—suspicious—that he slept all day? Young as she was, and aside from protecting Wynn, how much could Shade really know of the undead?
He rolled from bed and began dressing in salt-stiffened clothes.
The previous night they had scouted the rocky shore. Time had passed too quickly, and he had grown fearful. When he sensed dawn's approach, they backtracked to the inn, both of them soaked with sea spray. He procured a dry blanket for Shade before removing his wet clothing.
The blanket still lay in the room's far corner, only a little damp from the dog.
Shade growled and scratched at the door.
"A moment," he muttered.
An entire night now awaited them. Chane had to find the tunnel entrance—or be certain it did not exist within reach.
Wynn blamed herself for their failures, but he had not been much help to her. In truth, what little success they counted was mostly Shade's doing, ferreting out secrets from the memories of others. For the first time since reaching Dhredze Seatt, Chane was in a position to do something.
Between an undead and a majay-hì, he hoped the gap might not be so wide. Perhaps Wynn was enough common ground for Shade to put aside natural instinct, should she learn anything certain of what he truly was.
His clothes were not completely dry, but he would be soaked again soon enough. He donned his cloak, pulled up the hood, and wished he did not have to carry two packs. But he was not about to leave them behind.
Shade scratched the door again.
"I am coming," he said.
Opening the door, he followed as she trotted out. When they reached the common room, he paused to purchase a slat of smoked fish. He fed this to Shade as they traversed the port, passed the last pier, and climbed out onto the northward rocky shore.
It was a guess, considering he had no idea which direction was adjacent to the grate-covered tunnel of Shade's stolen memory. But north seemed more likely, by estimate of Off-Breach Market's position above in Sea-Side. It was a while before they reached where they had left off the night before.
Shade led the way, her eyes half-closed against wind that did little to ruffle her salt-stiffened fur. Soon enough, sea spray dampened them both. Chane carefully examined every inch they crossed while Shade nosed ahead.
They were utterly alone. No one else had reason to scramble across the sheer, barren edge between stone and sea. Often he had to climb or crawl on all fours over outcrops and through crags in their slow progress. His cloak grew heavy as it soaked in more spray.
When he pushed back his sagging hood and peered up, the waning moon, barely a sliver of light, had finally crested the peak above. The night was half gone. Amid the surf's noise, he had not heard any dwarven bells on the mountain ringing out the passing time.
Chane paused and looked back the way they had come.
Whatever lanterns hung upon the piers or docked ships were too far off to see, and panic crept in. The return would be quicker without searching, but if they did not turn back soon, he would be caught by the dawn. He had seen few crevices along the way large enough to hide him from the sun.
Shade barked three times from ahead, and Chane spun about.
His foot slipped on broken rocks and slid down before he regained balance.
Shade barked again, but with his sight fully widened, Chane still saw no sign of her. She suddenly appeared over the top of a steep rock backbone sloping down into the pounding surf. She stood perfectly still, waiting.
What little hope rose in Chane only heightened his fear of going farther from port, but he scrambled onward. As he climbed the backbone, Shade climbed down its far side. He crested it quickly, peering into a deep inlet, and his hopes sank.