"We have no prison here," Cinder-Shard growled. "There is only one sealable chamber, but—"
"No!" the gray-blond elder snapped, and turned on Cinder-Shard. "The living do not belong—"
"I don't care," the duchess shouted. "Put them in some hell, if you have to. They already know too much. But keep them contained until we understand whom we're dealing with!"
Ore-Locks, the middle-aged female, and the bony-faced elder all watched Cinder-Shard expectantly. The elder one still shook his head in warning, but Cinder-Shard focused only on the duchess.
Reine shrank a little, as if reproached. Even Chuillyon looked less than pleased by what she demanded.
"Very well," Cinder-Shard finally answered.
The duchess exhaled, but Chuillyon frowned. Then the elf crouched.
Retrieving Wynn's and Chane's discarded belongings, he glanced at Cinder-Shard with clear disapproval. Cinder-Shard turned away, heading for the cavern's far-left end. The female Stonewalker lifted the burned Weardas, carrying him.
"He needs attention," she stated flatly. "I will take him to Amaranth."
Wynn had no idea who or what that might be. The captain released her, shoving her onward as Chane was herded into motion. Wynn grabbed Shade's scruff to keep the dog out of the way, but kept her eyes on Cinder-Shard, trying not to guess where they were going. Instead, she groped for any notion to pique her captors' interest… .
Something they might half believe, enough to want more and thereby take her to the texts. The duchess's reaction, like that of Captain Rodian of the city guard, suggested that any mention of the undead would only make things worse.
"Smarasmôy, this is not right," Chuillyon called from farther back. "You know it!"
"This is not your domain," Cinder-Shard answered.
He continued on, leading the way into an adjoining cavern. With no orange crystals in its walls, the space was lit only by dim phosphorescence. Strangely shaped lumpy protrusions rose head-high among the shadowy columns of joined stalagmites and stalactites. But they crossed too quickly, exiting into another dim space before Wynn made out anything.
Amid the rush, something occurred to her—something Cinder-Shard had shouted.
Maksag, choyll-shu'ass Kêravägh!
Out … Leave … you dog of … Kêravägh?
Did he think the wraith was a minion of … what? Wynn was sickened at the possible answer as she tried to break apart that final word.
It had to be a proper noun, but seemed older than the Dwarvish she knew. The root "kêrakst" referred to "black" or "blackness." Not in color but as in nightfall, when twilight ended and the last of daylight vanished. But the suffix was baffling, like a root word conjugated to an infinitive—then declinated into a vocative noun?
"The Nightfallen One …" Wynn whispered absently. "The Nightfaller?"
Cinder-Shard slowed.
Wynn clenched her mouth shut, but he resumed his pace without glancing back. She grew chill as a connection formed, though she wasn't certain of her translation.
Hkàbêv meant "Beloved" in Iyindu, an ancient form of Sumanese. Il'Samar and in'Sa'umar in varied dialects meant "the Night Voice." Most Aged Father of the an'Cróan and Anmaglâhk had a very old Elvish term for it.
Nävâij'aoinis—the Ancient Enemy.
Had Cinder-Shard spoken a lost Dwarvish title for the enemy of many names? Was the enemy known among this hidden sect of dwarves?
They twisted rightward through more columns in another low-ceilinged cavern. Cinder-Shard stepped out into a long, straight tunnel.
Chuillyon had also whispered something before the wraith's fire had raced in. But Wynn's thoughts were so wrapped around Cinder-Shard's utterance that all she remembered for the moment was …
Chârmun … Sanctuary.
This was the name of the ancient great tree within Aonnis Lhoin'n—First Glade—at the heart of the Lhoin'na's homeland. That thought vanished as Wynn saw the path's end.
Crystals in the walls illuminated an archway of heavy framestones, but its opening was nearly black. Drawing closer, she saw it was walled off with age-darkened iron. There was no lock or handle, and Wynn grew frantic.
It looked like the triple-layered portal beneath the amphitheater. Her thoughts raced for a way to reason with the duchess, but she couldn't think of anything certain.
Cinder-Shard closed on the archway's left side.
Wynn heard metal slide evenly across stone, clinking to a stop, but she couldn't see around his broad form. More grating and clacks followed, and the archway's iron wall began to move. It slid left to right, rather than splitting down the middle, and behind it was another. The second door began grating after the first.
Cinder-Shard stepped aside, exposing an open stone cubby. A three-by-four grid of iron rods was pressed or protruded at varied depths. She'd seen something similar with her mantic sight on the other side of the amphitheater's door. But here, the lock was on the outside.
Wynn realized how Cinder-Shard had opened the amphitheater doors. He'd passed right through the wall, opening them from the inside. She and Chane possessed no such ability, and they were about to be locked away.
"Please!" she shouted, trying to turn. "You have to—"
She was cut short as someone grabbed the back of her collar. A third iron door began to open, and Cinder-Shard pointed into the darkness beyond it.
"Mind the landing," he warned. "Do not slip and fall."
"Inside!" the captain ordered.
A firm hand shoved Wynn between her shoulder blades.
She pulled Shade along before the dog turned to snap. Chane stumbled in next, wheeling about, and the captain warned him back with a sword. Cinder-Shard returned to the archway's side, and Wynn heard iron rods being shifted.
"The wraith is after the texts!" she cried. "It won't stop killing until it finds them!"
The first iron door was half-closed, and she sidestepped, leaning into the narrowing space.
"Give me access to the texts!" she shouted. "Let me find out what it wants … or something to help us fight it!"
Chane grabbed her, jerking her back as the door clanged shut.
Wynn shuddered twice in the full darkness, hearing the duller thud of the second and third doors.
Tightly holding her sea-wave comb with its drop of white metal, Reine hurried all the way to Frey's chamber. Danyel followed on her heels. Pressing the droplet to the lock, she opened the door. All of her pent-up fear threatened to break free.
"Frey!" she called.
He stood in the pool, gripping the gate's bars, and staring into the tunnel. When he looked back, he smiled softly, sadly at her. His hair was still soaked, but his gaze was clear.
"Highness?" Danyel whispered.
Reine glanced over her shoulder. He hung in the doorway, as if uncertain whether to enter or not. His nose had stopped bleeding, though he wiped it again with his sleeve. She cared only that Frey was unharmed—and in control of his wits.
Reine stepped to the pool's rear ledge, holding out her hand.
"Come," she called softly. "Please."
Frey waded over and reached up. As he took her hand, he gently pulled. Reine shook her head, trying to smile.
"No, I have to leave again. You come out of there."
She had to return quickly to Cinder-Shard and learn how he intended to ensure Frey's safety.
Frey didn't move until she pulled. He climbed up to stand before her, and nothing remained of his brief smile.
"It's all right," she said, touching his chest. "Danyel will stay."
Frey glanced at the bodyguard and frowned. Resentment was at least another sign he was rational. She knew what this looked like—what it was—and didn't care for putting him under guard any more than he did. There was no choice.