Shade and her kind converted experience into memory more quickly and completely than other sentient beings—certainly more than humans. It made sense, considering their form of communication, and might well be the better way, given time, ability, and skill.
Perhaps it was Shade who expected Wynn to improve in that.
When they had finally headed for Sea-Side's lower port, arriving before dawn, they went to the same inn that Chane had used before, and slept away the day.
Now that they were out on the rocky shore, the black sky was moonless, and though the waves were calmer this night, salty spray still crashed with force. For some reason Wynn ended up more soaked than anyone as she struggled along last.
Chane could see that she was cold and exhausted.
"Take my hand," he said, reaching back.
Wynn was trying to clamber over a barnacle-covered shelf. Too winded to argue, she grasped his hand, letting him pull her up. Her cloak's hood had fallen back, and she kept trying to pull it up. Soaked hair clung to her cheeks and forehead. Fortunately she chose to wear her elven clothing in place of her longer, traditional robe, making climbing a little easier.
"How much farther?" she breathed tiredly.
"Not far," he answered. "But we must move quickly. Low tide came just past dusk, and it is already rising."
Wynn nodded and followed after him.
Shade barked loudly from ahead, and Chane paused.
"Is that it?" Wynn asked.
The dog stood atop the long rock backbone. Chane grabbed Wynn's hand, pulling her along. As they climbed up, Shade scrambled down the far side. Chane crested the rock and Wynn held up the cold lamp crystal.
Light exposed the inlet's overhang and the dark space beneath. Shade already picked a precarious path inward along the water's rolling edge.
The tide was higher than Chane had hoped. He had no idea how long the tunnel would be. Even looking up the massive peak to where Sea-Side was situated inward on the peninsula, he could not begin to guess. Another wave rolled in, breaking near the inlet's mouth.
He waited for it to pass before stepping down. When sure of his footing, he reached up for Wynn and helped her follow.
"Wait here while I look," he said.
Setting down the pry bar, Chane stripped off his packs, sword, and cloak.
"I don't think even you can see much in there," Wynn said. "You'd better take this."
She held out the cold lamp crystal.
Chane hesitated, but not because he had never held such a thing. Since following Wynn to the guild's founding branch, he had never been so aware of what the crystals represented. They were bestowed only upon sages who had reached journeyor status and above—those who had proven themselves superior to all others. This one crystal represented the world Chane wanted to be a part of, but it was also like holding a piece of Wynn.
He took it, watching it glow softly in his pale palm.
"Wait, on second thought," she said, and reached out to take it back.
Chane was confused, even hurt by this—until she briskly rubbed the crystal. She opened her hands, and it burned bright with the heat of friction and her own warmth.
"The water's cold," she said. "You might have trouble brightening it … especially once you're wet."
She placed the crystal back in his palm.
Beneath its strengthened light was Wynn's own warmth. That sensation in Chane's palm washed away doubts. But he felt something else, something more, which brought a new fear.
He smelled Wynn—her life—as if her warmth in the crystal accentuated it, even under the cold shore breeze. The beast within him stirred slightly in its perpetual appetite.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
Chane closed his hand, clutching the crystal, fearful it might be taken again—even as its incidental warmth faded against his cold flesh.
"Nothing," he whispered, and stepped into the water.
The ocean's true chill was not as cold as he felt inside.
He sank only to his knees, relieved that the tide had not risen as high as he had first thought. Shade barked at him, but he ignored her and waded in under the overhang. Wynn had said the opening was hidden at the far left. He worked his way to the back wall and followed it.
The round opening was no more than a shadow in the rock until he stepped directly in front of it. He had to duck to step in, but the curved floor inside was smoother than the inlet's bottom. The tunnel was fully round as far as he could see, like a great stone pipe surging into the mountain's base. There was no doubt that the passage was unnatural. It had been excavated long ago. Algae and the remains of other dried growths spread halfway up its curved sides.
Soon, he could stand upright, though his head brushed the tunnel's top. It widened as well, until he could only just touch either side with outstretched hands. As he sloshed up its center, the incline was so gradual that he never noticed it, until the water undulated only to his ankles. Then he spotted the grate ahead—or rather a gate.
Vertical bars filled the tunnel from top to bottom. Its outer frame was mounted in the circumference by massive rivets. But the gate's condition surprised him more.
The iron bars were not new, but neither were they wholly rusted or worn. Continual exposure to salt water and air should have eaten at them more. The gate was either newer than the tunnel excavation, or it had been replaced repeatedly over the years. Then Chane noticed the lock plate level with the one horizontal slat of iron through which all vertical bars passed.
The plate was larger than a flattened hand. There was no handle or keyhole. Only a palm-size oval, slightly domed, appeared on the plate's surface. Even obscured by grime and salt crust, its tone was lighter than the surrounding iron.
Chane held the crystal close, and light sparked a vague sheen from the oval. He rubbed it, scraping with his fingernails, until the reflection brightened.
Nearly white metal, pale but bright as silver, bounced the crystal's light about the tunnel. That one clean patch was smooth and perfect, unmarred by salt. It was the same metal he had seen in the floor portal to the Stonewalkers' underworld.
Chane quickly headed back, emerging in the inlet to find Wynn and Shade crouched at the water's edge on the backbone's steep side.
"Did you find it?" Wynn called.
"Yes. Hand me my packs and the pry bar. Make sure your pack is secure. The footing is rough until we get inside the tunnel's mouth."
"What about the grate?" she asked, handing him the pry bar first. "Can you break it open?"
"Perhaps. It is actually a gate, but …" He hesitated. "Better you see for yourself."
They paused to tie up their cloaks above their waists, so the bottoms would not take on water and weigh them down. It was only then that Chane noticed a long sheathed dagger tucked in the back of Wynn's belt cinching in her tunic.
When she turned about and found him looking at it, she frowned but handed over his packs. He hooked one over each shoulder by its outer strap, so they hung together behind him, and then grasped his sword, holding it along with the pry bar.
"I will hold the crystal, so you can keep your staff above the water," he instructed. "Grip one of my packs if you need to steady yourself."
Chane turned to Shade and pointed beneath the overhang. The dog hopped into the water and waded inward. Wynn climbed down to join them and sucked a sharp breath as a cold roll of the ocean surged to her thighs.
"Stay close," Chane whispered, heading after Shade.
By the time they gained the tunnel, Wynn's teeth were chattering with shivers, and their splashing footfalls echoed off the curved walls. When they approached the gate, Shade was already waiting there. The dog appeared better than Wynn at withstanding the cold.