With the choice made for him, Ghassan quietly followed.
Wynn held her staff in one hand and a cold lamp crystal in the other as she followed Ore-Locks down ... and down.
Chane and Shade brought up the rear, with Chane carrying the second crystal. To Wynn’s relief, neither of them openly argued with her plan to go lower. They were tense and overly watchful, and Chane continually looked behind.
Wynn, as well, wondered if they were still being followed and by whom. She hadn’t forgotten Ore-Locks’s warning when they’d been halted by the cave-in.
The wide tunnel made a slow, curving spiral downward with main exits leading off to various levels, but along the descending way, many other smaller openings and stairways led up or down. Yet Ore-Locks always kept to the curving mainway.
Wynn hoped he had some notion of what he was doing. He was certainly succeeding in taking them to the lower levels, but beyond that, she was at a loss. They continued to step over more decayed remains along the way, and she steeled herself against being lost in sorrow or pity. Beyond taking care not to disturb the bones, she did not look right at them.
Her crystal’s light suddenly exposed a black patch on the wall, and she instinctively flinched and swerved away from it. Chane’s hand settled on her shoulder as Ore-Locks stopped and turned.
His gaze fixed on the black spot as Wynn finally saw what it was.
“Charred,” she said quietly, “like it was burned.”
“Look here,” Chane said.
She spun about and found him on one knee beside a skeleton. Its bones were too long and narrow for a dwarf.
“Human?” she whispered.
Shade whined, and Wynn glanced over to see the dog nosing another set of remains. Wynn could see something covering its rib cage. Chane moved over to crouch beside Shade, and he frowned.
“This one’s leather armor is almost intact.” He looked up at Ore-Locks. “These remains are not nearly as old as the others, but there is char just the same. We are not the first to find this place, but these others never made it out. They only got this far.... And what killed them?”
Ore-Locks’s black irises seemed to swallow any light from the crystals. “Perhaps they argued and killed each other,” he said quietly. “Is that not the way of greed among humans?”
“With their weapons sheathed?” Chane rasped. “And they somehow burned the entire wall first?”
“We don’t have time for this,” Wynn said. “Since we don’t know how they died, we should get moving again ... with our eyes open.”
In spite of her confident words, she pondered Chane’s questions. Ore-Locks turned away and continued onward. Wynn stroked her fingers over Shade’s head.
“We’re close,” she whispered. “We have to keep going.”
To her relief, as she stepped onward, Chane and Shade followed without argument. But she was well aware that Chane was near the breaking point in his zealous overprotection. Perhaps he’d never expected her to get this far, and she had no idea what might happen when he snapped.
The tunnel soon stopped at a wall, with a sharp turn to the right leading down. At the bottom of a stone ramp, they exited into a larger, open tunnel.
“Is this it?” Wynn asked in alarm. “We’ve reached the bottom?”
She could see only one archway ahead and hadn’t expected their descent to simply stop like this.
Ore-Locks moved quickly toward the archway, looking up. She followed with Shade at her heels. There was something carved over the archway in its topmost frame stones. Holding her crystal high, Wynn spotted the remnants of symbols made of complex strokes.
“Are those vubrí?” she asked.
Certain Dwarvish words weren’t always written in separate letters. The sages’ own Begaine syllabary used symbols for whole syllables and word parts, and might have once been inspired by such symbols. The harsh strokes of Dwarvish letters could be combined into a vubrí, a patterned shape. These emblems were used only for important concepts or the noteworthy among people, places, or things.
Ore-Locks’s eyes narrowed as he tried to see marks that were higher than Wynn’s light would reach.
“Chane, hold your light as high as you can,” she said.
He did as she asked, and she squinted up once more. The symbols were worn and faded.
“I think that one is Wisdom,” she said, pointing. “And that one might be Virtue, but I’m only guessing. The strokes are different from the vubrí I know.”
Ore-Locks appeared to be chewing the inside of his cheek as he started forward again, walking through the archway. Now curious, Wynn didn’t try to call him back, and stepped through.
She’d barely taken three steps inside when Chane rasped, “More.”
They were in a small tunnel now, wide enough for two to walk abreast. Chane held his crystal toward the left wall.
Dwarvish characters and more vubrí filled the wall in multiple columns, just like in the room of “stone words” Wynn had seen in the temple of Bedzâ’kenge—Feather-Tongue—at Dhredze Seatt. Those engravings had chronicled exploits of that saintly dwarven Eternal of history, tradition, and wisdom.
A sense of hope began growing within Wynn. Had they found a temple deep in the bowels of the mountain? If so, what did it mean?
Every few paces, she or Ore-Locks stopped to try to read the symbols, but many of them were too etched by grime and age to make out. Then she spotted one small, clear section and almost gasped.
“Stálghlên ... Pure-Steel!” she whispered. “And look there ... that has to be for Arhniká—Gilt-Repast.”
“Bäynæ?” Chane said. “References to the Eternals? On the walls?”
Wynn’s thoughts raced over the implications. Dwarves practiced a unique form of ancestor worship. They revered those of their own who attained notable status in life, akin to the human concept of a hero or saint. Any who became known for virtuous accomplishments, by feat or service, might be graced with a thôrhk and become one of the Thänæ—the honored ones. Though similar to human knighthood or noble entitlement, it wasn’t a position of rulership or authority.
After death, any thänæ who’d achieved renown among the people over decades and centuries, through continued retelling of their exploits, might one day be elevated to the Bäynæ—one of the dwarven Eternals. These were the dwarves’ spiritual immortals, held as honored ancestors of their people as a whole.
“Is Feather-Tongue mentioned anywhere?” Chane asked.
At that, Wynn almost stopped trying to decipher more symbols. Why would Chane ask that?
“No, but give me a moment on this next one.” She couldn’t make it out. “Ore-Locks, can you see any reference to ... ?”
He was already heading down the tunnel at a fast pace.
“Where are you ... ? Wait!” she called. “Chane, Shade, hurry.”
With no choice, they trotted after.
By the time they caught up, Wynn found herself standing before a huge set of doors at the tunnel’s end, but they were knocked outward into the tunnel. Each was one piece that must have been hewn from an immense tree trunk. Both had to be over three yards high. But both were broken like twigs by whatever had shattered the mountain peak above.
She stepped through to see Ore-Locks’s expression no longer so impassive. His eyes shifted rapidly.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, but he didn’t answer.
They’d entered the center point of a great hall that ran lengthwise, left and right. It had taken some damage in the catastrophe, but was surprisingly whole. Chane and Shade came in behind Wynn, and the sight gave them all pause.