As the dwarf's body slumped to the passage floor, Sau'ilahk heard the thick blood spatter upon it like sudden rain as it fell through his ghostly arm.
Leaning the staff against the wall, he let his hand become incorporeal, and rushed to the end chamber. He hesitated there, not daring to slip through, but in the silence, he heard the duchess's voice beyond the door. His instant of relief passed quickly.
Sau'ilahk was at a loss as to why she had not moved on.
Chapter 16
Reine stepped into the domed chamber and halted as the door closed behind her. She stared at the floor's white metal portal, smoother than a mirror—or a still pond. The last comparison made her feel worse. She rarely thought of water without an anxious twinge, though that old fear had become small compared to others.
She didn't think of the dwarves' honored dead, now at peace in the Stonewalkers' care. Nor did she think of ancient texts heralding sinister days to come—or to come again. She thought only of that strange white metal, and how such simple beauty could seal in torment.
The underworld waited.
Chuillyon came up beside her, following her gaze. At his light touch upon her shoulder, she stepped onward.
"Welcome, Highness," said one thänæ bearing a long-hafted mace. All four about the chamber nodded sharply to her, and Chuillyon went directly to the bell rope.
One long, deafening tone shivered through Reine's flesh—one ring would call Cinder-Shard. When the Âreskynna's tall elven advisor glanced back, his amber eyes filled with concern. Reine didn't acknowledge him. His counsel and care were welcome, but not his pity.
Captain Tristan stood eternally attentive, occasionally eyeing the four thänæ. She didn't know him well, in spite of his years serving the royal family. He rarely spoke except for a question or an order. As a leader of the Weardas, his ability was beyond question. So was his loyalty, considering the secret she'd borne from the day she had married the one man she loved.
Her other two Weardas, Danyel and Saln, stood at attention, awaiting orders. She knew them even less, though they'd been handpicked by Tristan.
A rhythmic grinding began to build inside in the chamber, becoming a vibration in the floor. The white metal portal split along its thin seam, the halves sliding apart, and the lift rose through the opening.
Master Cinder-Shard stood alone upon the platform.
His gray-streaked black hair hung loose, and he wore no hauberk of steel-tipped black scales. In only charcoal-colored breeches and a bulky shirt, he looked much as Ore-Locks had a few nights ago. But his dark eyes were far more challenging.
"My lady," he said in his cracked-gravel voice.
He often avoided either of her titles—one by marriage, and the other she preferred by birth. One he acknowledged; the other he ignored. Titles meant nothing here. No bloodline or royal bond would see her through a night like this. If she saw it through again.
Cinder-Shard took a half step, then paused, and his craggy face tensed. He cocked his head, peering about the domed chamber, as if trying to find something only he heard.
"What?" Tristan barked.
Exchanged glances passed between the four thänæ as they watched Cinder-Shard. The master Stonewalker's tension appeared to spread among them. They followed his roving glare—as did Reine—and Chuillyon moved closer to her.
Cinder-Shard rolled his massive shoulders and shook his head.
"Nothing," he muttered. "Let us go."
Reine willed herself numb as she followed him onto the lift.
Sau'ilahk listened intently outside the door. The soft grating of sliding metal was followed by stone grinding out a rhythm—like the gears of a dwarven lift. When all noise died, a gravelly voice rose. It did not belong to anyone in the entourage.
A dwarf, most certainly, but that voice pulled a twinge from Sau'ilahk, as if he still had true flesh and muscles that could spasm. So few words, but that voice made him anxious. He faltered, uncertain why, and then heard the lift's grinding begin again.
Sau'ilahk could not bear ignorance. He pressed his cowl slowly through the door until the blindness of submerging in wood faded. He glimpsed beyond the door, then quickly drew back. It was enough to leave him astonished, hopeful, and frustrated all the more.
Duchess Reine descended through a central shaft in the chamber's floor. All her companions were with her, as well as some elder dwarf in dark attire.
Sau'ilahk had found the duchess's entrance into the underworld, and the texts waited somewhere below. But more guards stood within the chamber.
His patience thinned.
The two outer guards would be found sooner or later, but living ones left behind would quickly betray an invader's presence. Four thänæ could never harm him, but he could not kill them all before one raised an alarm. Already weakened by conjury, he lacked strength to fill the chamber with conjured noxious mists.
And the duchess was slipping away.
Sau'ilahk slid back from the door. Was his one glimpse enough? The shaft lay directly inward. If he could only keep a straight course, he could reach it.
Follow, he whispered to his servitors, and he sank through the end chamber's floor.
The lift settled at the shaft's bottom, and all Reine could do was retain her composure. Cinder-Shard opened the gate, but she barely took two steps before he paused, blocking the way.
The grizzled master peered down the rough passage ahead. Far away, past where the path split in three directions, Reine saw dim phosphorescence in one natural cavern at its end.
Cinder-Shard spun about toward the lift, glanced up the shaft over Reine's head. He then lowered his gaze, scowling in uncertainty. He spun back to stare down the way ahead.
Danyel and Saln both put their hands to their sword hilts. Tristan remained still, watching Cinder-Shard. But the master Stonewalker said nothing. He finally stepped off the platform, turning to usher Reine out.
"Do we have your leave to continue?" she asked, hoping he might offer a hint for his behavior.
"Of course," he said absently. "You know the way. … My thoughts go with you."
More pity.
"Thank you," she answered coldly, hoping he said no more.
At the tunnel's branching, Cinder-Shard followed the main path, but Reine turned left, to the west. Somewhere in this direction, beyond the mountain, lay the ocean and a rising tide.
"What was that about?" she whispered to Chuillyon.
The tall elf shrugged with a lazy roll of his large amber eyes. "I could not guess. Perhaps the old tomb tender has spent too much time in silence down here."
Tristan said nothing—probably because he had nothing to say. He, Danyel, and Saln brought up the rear. This was one of the few places where the captain never required that he take the lead, entering the unknown before her.
Reine made her way as Chuillyon dropped back behind her.
This side tunnel was nearly as old as the first castle of Calm Seatt, and its walls grew damper the farther she went. Tiny beads of water glistened dully upon their faint yellow-green phosphorescence. She heard soft, erratic patters as the droplets fell. But the tunnel grew dimmer the farther she went. Entering the passage's last leg, she stopped before a lone door, and Chuillyon pulled out his cold lamp crystal.
The stout wooden door showed signs of decay. Rust stained the hinges pinned into stone with steel spikes. The door would need replacing again in a year or two.
Reine peered at the handle and the lock plate with no keyhole. Only an oval of the white metal domed slightly from the plate.
She reached up and pulled one sea-wave-shaped comb from her hair. In its back was a small spot of white metal, as if a silvery molten teardrop had fallen there to bond with the mother-of-pearl. She placed the comb's back side over the lock plate's white metal oval. The steel bolt instantly grated away into the wall.