"Yes," Wynn replied.
"Then it was hardly effective," Chuillyon answered.
"Enough nonsense!" Cinder-Shard cut in. "Even if … How would such a thing be made?"
"You would have to ask Domin il'Sänke," Wynn answered.
"How convenient!" Reine spit. "The domin she speaks of is from the guild's Suman branch. And he has returned home, well beyond questioning."
"It was created at my guild," Wynn countered. "From what I understand, Premin Sykion nearly fainted when she learned of its cost. Ask her … or Premin Hawes, head of Metaology."
"And from what I understand," the duchess responded coldly, "the guild took you in as an orphan, raised you, fed you … educated you, and trained you as one of them. And you thanked them with your selfish ploys!"
Wynn couldn't help flushing with anger.
"The wraith is here for something," she said. "Until you know what that is, you won't know for certain what it will do … how it will act."
"And you would know of this?" Chuillyon asked.
"I can help only if you help me," Wynn answered.
Cinder-Shard raised his dark eyebrows. "In what way?"
"Give me my staff and my belongings … give me access to the texts."
"No!" Reine cut in.
"Then you'll die," Wynn said flatly. "You'll probably die anyway. The wraith wants those texts, and it will kill anyone in its path to reach them. But why? Unless I learn that, you're fighting blind."
She looked at Chuillyon again. "Can you read old tongues … Iyindu, Heiltak lettering … old Stravinan or Belaskian?"
He shrugged idly with a raised feathery eyebrow. "Some."
"Lie!" Chane breathed behind Wynn.
A lie about what? Could Chuillyon read such languages more—or less—than he implied?
"Can you?" Chuillyon challenged. "Or is this another boast … upon which we base our slim chance of survival?"
Wynn was careful not to show any reaction. His tone implied he did know old languages, as if he might actually be a sage. This was the only way he could ever judge whether she "boasted" or not. So if he could read dead languages, why bother with her?
He was baiting her, but to what purpose?
"Yes," she answered. "Well enough that I might find something useful. After all, I was raised … cared for … and educated"—and she cast a glance at the duchess—"inside a guild branch."
Chuillyon pursed his lips and fell silent.
Cinder-Shard seemed to calm suddenly. He glanced at Chuillyon, and the old elf merely nodded to him.
"So, you have raced this thing to gain the texts," Cinder-Shard said.
It seemed too obvious a comment, and Wynn grew warier.
"And Âthkyensmyotnes will continue to try to stop you," Chuillyon added, his expression growing thoughtful.
"No!" Chane hissed. "You will not—"
"No one is speaking to you!" Cinder-Shard growled.
"Wynn," Chane whispered, "they are trying to—"
"I know," she answered.
The wraith knew both she and the texts were here. It had killed to gain translations sent to scribe shops in Calm Seatt for clean transcription. But rather than searching their content and leaving them behind, it had always taken those pages. Whatever it sought, it didn't want others to find as well. Either it hadn't found what it was after, or it wanted to keep others from doing the same. It had followed her, in her search for the originals, so it had some way of tracking or locating her.
Chuillyon wasn't baiting her; he was making her into bait.
"Yes," Chuillyon whispered.
Wynn tensed slightly, and Chane's grip tightened upon her shoulder. "What you learn of Âthkyensmyotnes's goals may help us—or not," Chuillyon added. "Either way, you will tell us all you discover … in exchange for access to the texts."
"Chuillyon!" Reine gasped.
He raised a hand to silence her.
"At the least," he went on to Wynn, "if it knows you are here, it might be more direct … less cautious … in returning. Will you consent to this?"
Wynn hesitated. They offered what she wanted, but at a price.
Chuillyon had called the wraith by another term. She knew it from delving into old folktales of her people. The elf knew more of the wraith than she'd guessed—and Cinder-Shard did as well, from his shout in the main cavern.
Wynn reached up, putting her hand over Chane's.
"Later I will need his help," she said. "He knows more about fighting the wraith than any of you. Give him back his belongings … and his sword."
Chuillyon shook his head emphatically. "Absolutely not." He pointed at Chane. "We do not want to arm that one."
"Then delve into the texts yourself," Wynn returned. "Choose."
It was a bluff, and likely the elf knew it, but no one else did. If he called her on it in front of the others, it would simply be based on what everyone knew of her: that she would want the texts no matter what. If he succumbed to her conditions, the others might not think much of it, but Wynn would know what it meant.
Chuillyon knew less than he let on, or … he had more to hide with his deceptions than Wynn could guess.
She wasn't certain whether he suppressed a soft smile, but he just stood there watching her, not saying a word. Silence lingered so long that the duchess crept down behind him, a frown growing on her face. Still, Chuillyon stood poised with the staff resting lightly in his grip.
It was Cinder-Shard who finally answered, looking to the duchess.
"Have one of your men bring their gear. If they wish to survive, they will fight and do as they are told. I will take the sage to the texts … with your permission."
He waited upon her reply, as if all had to be in agreement. The texts belonged to the guild but were ultimately under the protection of the monarchy of Malourné. The Stonewalkers were merely guardians.
Reine appeared suddenly weary. "Do what you think best."
"Very well," Cinder-Shard replied, and without turning back, added, "and Ore-Locks will come. He will stay with the sage and watch her while we attend to other matters."
Wynn didn't care for that. There was no telling what private agenda Ore-Locks had—let alone that his superior appeared to know of the young Stonewalker's ancestor. Cinder-Shard stepped closer.
"You will share all you learn. When you finish, you will report such findings to the princess and myself."
Wynn glanced at Reine's poorly hidden distaste. Cinder-Shard wasn't making a request, but Wynn answered.
"Agreed."
Chapter 21
Upon the landing, Wynn watched Cinder-Shard and Ore-Locks walk straight through the iron door. An instant later, its first outer panel began grinding open and another realization struck: Cinder-Shard had simply entered by walking through stone—or iron, as it were. Anything of the earth must submit to their passage. But that didn't explain the duchess's and Chuillyon's presence with the doors closed.
The innermost door slid away, and Cinder-Shard stood blocking the archway. He looked first at Chane.
"You and the wolf remain here until she finishes," he ordered. "I will leave the archway open if you swear to stay unless called."
Wynn glanced nervously at Chane.
His irises still lacked any trace of brown. Her shoulder was only scratched beneath the tears in her tunic, but she understood why he'd accidentally injured her. His hunger had returned, and it was growing. How many days had passed since she'd procured the goat's blood for him?
Worse, he swayed slightly, blinking slowly as he glared at Cinder-Shard. Was dawn approaching outside the mountain?
"It's all right," she told him. "I'm in no danger at present … you rest."
She thought he might argue, but he merely answered, "Remember what I told you."