Of Truth And Beasts Part 55

The domin was a torn and bleeding mess, bracing one hand against the wall at the cave's mouth. He did not enter but stood there, blocking Chane's way.

"Give it to me," il'Snke ordered, his voice low and hard. "Whatever it is, it must be protected. You and she are nowhere near capable of that."

"Who is this?" Ore-Locks demanded, taken aback that Chane and the intruder knew each other. "What is this . . . thing you all want?"

Chane kept his gaze locked on il'Snke. His first instinct was to kill the man where he stood. But il'Snke was more than a sage, perhaps more than a highly skilled metaologer.

For an instant, Chane almost considered giving up the orb. Even if he reached Wynn and found her still alive, after all she had suffered and all she had risked, how could he face her if he did so?

"Do not defy me," il'Snke said, his voice deadly cold. "There is more at stake than you understand."

Chane tensed, ready to charge and strike.

Il'Snke's gaze turned on Ore-Locks. As his b.l.o.o.d.y right hand shot out toward the dwarf, he began to whisper unintelligibly.

Chane knew what was happening, had seen it before. He quickly sidestepped between the two, breaking il'Snke's line of sight to Ore-Locks.

Il'Snke's eyes widened. He shook slightly as anger washed over his dark-tan face.

Chane suddenly remembered something that il'Snke might not know. They all had abilities, powers, not just the domin. They could do things most people could not.

"Ore-Locks, go!" Chane said. "Take it into stone!"

It was a desperate move, but he saw no other choice.

"Neither one of you leaves with that!" Gha.s.san shouted, losing his composure.

He pushed off the wall, limping forward and s.h.i.+fting left around the cave wall.

Chane s.h.i.+fted too, keeping himself between the domin and the dwarf. He was losing precious moments, and desperation broke his control. The beast inside him surged, struggling against the violet concoction he had taken upon heading under the mountains.

Chane whirled with a wild slash at il'Snke and shoved Ore-Locks toward the cave's rear wall.

"Go!" he rasped.

Ore-Locks started in surprise at the sight of him. Chane knew his eyes had lost all color, his features likely twisted into something feral. He did not care as long as Ore-Locks listened.

With one last glance, Ore-Locks backed into-through-the wall, and Chane turned on il'Snke.

Gha.s.san's breath choked off as the dwarf simply sank into the cave's back wall and vanished.

Then Chane turned on him.

He couldn't help stumbling back at the sight of Chane's altered face . . . colorless eyes, elongated teeth, and twisted features. Chane rasped like a snake or a voiceless, rabid dog as he thrust his sword.

Gha.s.san flashed a hand in front of himself, focusing on the steel.

The blade swerved slightly at his gesture, striking into the wall at his side. He tried spinning away before the blade slashed across at him, but sharp pain in his right knee made his leg buckle. Gha.s.san tumbled down along the cave wall.

Bloodied and weak, he could feel his strength ebbing. He raised a s.h.i.+elding arm and tried to scramble back before Chane struck him down.

The blade never fell, and he heard only the sound of running feet.

Gha.s.san peered over his arm at an empty cave. When he flopped over to look up the tunnel, all he saw was a form fleeing by the fading light of a cold lamp crystal.

Gha.s.san rolled back, his heart pounding, as he looked at the cave's rear wall. None of this made sense. There was not even a hint of the dwarf's pa.s.sing . . . and the orb was gone.

He had read Wynn's journal accounts of what she and three others named Magiere, Leesil, and Chap had found in a castle among the highest icy peaks of the eastern continent. The description of their find matched what had been under the dwarf's arm.

And where was Wynn, if Chane still . . . lived?

Pieces of the poem tumbled through Gha.s.san's head.

The Children in twenty and six steps seek to hide in five corners

The anchors amid Existence, which had once lived amid the Void.

One to wither the Tree from its roots to its leaves

Laid down where a cursed sun cracks the soil.

That which snuffs a Flame into cold and dark

Sits alone upon the water that never flows.

The middling one, taking the Wind like a last breath,

Sank to sulk in the shallows that still can drown.

And swallowing Wave in perpetual thirst, the fourth

Took seclusion in exalted and weeping stone.

But the last, that consumes its own, wandered astray

In the depths of the Mountain beneath the seat of a lord's song.

The anchors of the creation were the orbs. The poem was a puzzle, giving clues to their locations. Wynn had figured this out before he had.

There were others...o...b.. hidden by the Children of the Ancient Enemy.

Gha.s.san struggled up, biting the inside of his mouth against the pain in his knee. What could he do now? Go after Chane, try to dip into his thoughts, and find where the dwarf might have gone?

That would not serve him. He had tried to hear Chane's thoughts once before and found nothing, as if the man-the undead-was not even there. Even if he could find the dwarf . . .

What if Wynn had sent those two on purpose, so the dwarf could take the orb? No one would know where he had gone, so that not even she or Chane would have knowledge of its new location.

Anxiety set in, and then a strange paranoia grew within Gha.s.san.

Had he underestimated her? Could Wynn be that devious? Did she know what he was . . . what he could do? Did she understand he was more than some guild pract.i.tioner of thaumaturgy or even conjury?

Did Wynn even suspect sorcery still remained hidden in the world?

He put a hand to his mouth, smearing blood across his face in the process. Perhaps he had been reckless to jump down that shaft. His body now betrayed him.

The medallion against his chest suddenly warmed. Amidst his turmoil, he ignored it at first. He had no wish to speak with Mujahid, and he waited for the medallion to grow cold again. It would if he did not answer.

The warmth did not fade, and he finally grabbed it.

What? he demanded.

Return now. Make all haste.

It was not Mujahid's voice in Gha.s.san's head, though he recognized it. His thoughts cleared at her urgent words.

"Tuthna?" he whispered. "What . . . what is wrong?"

I cannot say, even in thought, for . . . It has awoken and might hear.

Gha.s.san's breath caught in his chest. How did this happen?

Hurry.

The medallion cooled in his grip. He plied his will upon it, crus.h.i.+ng it in his hand as he tried to reach out for her.

"Tuthna!"

No answer came, and he lingered, not daring to think of what his comrade's warning might mean. Some part of him felt like he had been defeated by the seatt itself, but he could do nothing more here. He had been away from his kind for far too long, and it appeared the worst had happened in his absence.

He had to reach home . . . quickly.

Gha.s.san limped up the tunnel, taking the side pa.s.sage that led back to the shaft. He would have to crawl out the same way he had come in, the only sure path he knew.

If it had escaped, he could waste no time searching for another exit.

When Gha.s.san reached the shaft's bottom, he closed his eyes and focused all of his will, and he began to rise through the dark.

CHAPTER 26.

Still lost in the memory, Wynn-Deep-Root-emerged in the glistening caves of the honored dead. He stepped out of stone, placing each foot slowly, fearful of making any sound. Then he crouched to feel the cave floor with one hand.

The leaf-wing still skittered in Wynn's mind, holding the whispers at bay, but beyond its influence, Deep-Root felt the gale whispers. They were distant, moving erratically, but they were out there, searching for him. He had no more time for caution.