“Near the top.”
Wynn heard scraping sounds long before she saw stones tremble amid the rubble. She had unpacked the cart and sat on its forward corner with Shade at her feet, wondering how Chane and Ore-Locks fared on the other side.
She wished she could somehow convince Shade that retreat was not an option. With undeads like Welstiel and Sau’ilahk willing to murder to find these orbs, the few like Wynn, who knew the truth, could not stop, no matter the cost.
Shade whined and put her nose against Wynn’s hand but didn’t pass any memories or words. Perhaps she had nothing to say.
“Wynn, move back.”
Wynn stood up at Chane’s barely audible rasp coming from the rubble. She quickly backed along the cart’s side, calling Shade along.
A bulge broke in the cave-in. Stones and earth tumbled down. Chane’s dirt-caked hands began carefully pushing out more debris until he squirmed through an opening and slid downward on his stomach. He stood up before her, filthy from head to toe.
Wynn saw no victory in his faintly brown eyes.
“Start passing me the supplies,” he said. “I will bring you two through last.”
Wynn noticed his right hand was bleeding, black fluid turning dirt into dark mud stains on his fingers. Regardless of his doubts on this journey, he always managed to get her through to the other side.
Wynn held out her sun crystal staff and one of the packs, and he took them.
Sau’ilahk waited down the tunnel until Chane pulled Wynn and Shade through the cave-in. He managed to remain patient only long enough for safety, and then blinked himself through. He was too eager to learn what lay ahead beyond the cave-in, and drifted forward at a distance behind Wynn heading farther along the tunnel. The sight of dwarven bones along the way filled Sau’ilahk with hope.
Large, dead crystals in the walls grew closer and closer to each other, and the skeletal remains grew more numerous, until he saw one dwarf piled on top another. In places, rubble partially filled the tunnel, half burying some remains. Finally, he grew rash and closed the distance enough to hear the faint voices of his quarry.
Sau’ilahk froze when he spotted Wynn ahead, and quickly pulled back. The last thing he needed was for the dog to sense him.
“We’re close to the seatt, aren’t we?” Wynn asked.
She sounded distraught, and Sau’ilahk wondered if all the bones upset her. These dwarves had died long, long ago, and her feeble pity was wasted.
“Yes, we must be,” Ore-Locks answered.
Sau’ilahk swelled with relief. Yes, he agreed so vehemently that he could no longer wait. He slipped to the tunnel’s other side, looking ahead around its gradual curve, and let himself fall into dormancy. As he winked out of existence, he held that glimpse of the tunnel’s distance in his consciousness, though he was as blind as Wynn regarding what lay ahead.
He rematerialized somewhere beyond her and rushed on before the dog might sense him. Quickly enough, he found himself inside what must have been the tram station at the tunnel’s far end. Of course, there were no trams here; they had all been abandoned centuries ago at the range’s northern side. He briefly looked at the empty, grime-coated stone platforms before seeking an exit.
Rather than the multiple tunnels leading from the stations at Dhredze Seatt, here only one huge archway led Sau’ilahk into another tunnel straight ahead.
Chuillyon’s arms felt like lead as he pumped the handle. After so many days of powering this dwarven cart, every muscle in his body hurt. His thoughts kept drifting back to his days of travels with Cinder-Shard.
The two of them had tromped the countryside or rowed boats for days without stopping. But that time was long past. He had spent too many years dabbling in politics and diplomacy. However, though much younger, Shâodh was not faring much better on the pump’s other end. His long face and high forehead were flushed from exertion.
When they had first come across this cart, realizing where and how Wynn’s group traveled, Chuillyon had cautioned against moving too quickly, for fear of revealing themselves. He soon realized that overtaking Wynn was less of a concern than keeping up with her.
Ore-Locks was a dwarf, and Chane was quite possibly an undead. Between those two, they outdistanced Chuillyon at an incredible rate. Hannâschi often offered to spell Chuillyon or Shâodh. Though her offers were genuine, she could not provide much help.
In his life to date, Chuillyon had known a number of elven women who were quite strong. But Hannâschi was not one of them. Her strengths lay in other areas, so Chuillyon worked with Shâodh to keep from falling too far behind.
Upon spotting the engine crystal removed from a tram back at the station, he realized what Ore-Locks had managed. Chuillyon had found no way to break another crystal loose for his own cart. He and his had to rely on superior vision and cold lamp crystals for light.
His arms were nearly giving out, and he reluctantly decided to call for another rest. Hannâschi turned from looking ahead—over the top of the metal box—before he said a word.
“Slow down,” she said. Looking forward again, she shouted, “Shâodh, the break!”
Without hesitation, Shâodh released his pump handle and grabbed the break lever, pulling back hard.
Ahead, Chuillyon saw what had alarmed Hannâschi. Before they would even hit the packed rubble, they were going to smash into another cart on the tracks. He struggled to reach Shâodh, but the pressure of the cart slowing so rapidly forced him to keep hold of the pump handle.
Shâodh strained, crying out once with effort, and the cart slammed to a halt. Its platform’s rear end bucked upward, and Chuillyon fell across the pump handle. He heard another impact against stone before he could right himself. Upon impact, the other cart had rammed forward into the rubble.
Shâodh jumped away from the brake, taking hold of Hannâschi and pulling her up.
“Are you all right? Were you hurt?”
“No ... I mean, I was not hurt,” she answered, sounding a bit shaken.
Chuillyon dropped off the cart and left them both for a moment. There was a hole through the top of the cave-in.
“Shâodh, can you sense any life?” he called back.
With one last look at Hannâschi, Shâodh climbed off the cart and came forward. He briefly examined the cave-in, and the skin over his cheeks tightened. He closed his eyes, a soft, thrumming chant rising from his throat, and then he fell silent.
“I sense nothing,” he said. “They must have passed here too long ago. They have a good lead on us.” He glanced sidelong at Chuillyon. “You wish to press on, to crawl through to the other side?”
Chuillyon walked back to the cart for his pack. “Certainly,” he said, attempting to sound cheerful. “They have already done the work for us.”
Ghassan il’Sänke had been inside the mountain for at least eight days, possibly more. There was no way to be certain as he searched. From one dead end or cave-in to another, he had tried to climb higher into the seatt’s upper remains. He soon realized this was impossible.
All levels above the one he entered had been lost when the peak collapsed. As of yet, he had not discovered any passable tunnels downward. A few times he had been hopeful, only to reach another cave-in and then work his way back up. Tonight he stumbled onto a broad passage, easily as wide as a city street.
Broken fragments of pylons lay all along the way, but there was room to pass or climb over the debris. Though he made good time, it was difficult to keep his bearings in this ancient maze. He was almost certain he was near the center of the mountain when he saw a large archway ahead, and quickened his pace. Upon stepping through, he was not prepared for the sight that waited. The word “vast” was so insufficient.