“No!” she cried, slapping her hand against the portal, sending a thrum through the great hall. “Chane, why wouldn’t you go? Now there’s no one watching him, and we cannot follow.”
“I am not about to be trapped on the other side, away from you.”
How could he be so calm? Then another thought occurred to Wynn.
The locks for these portals had a combination for which rods were pushed or pulled into differing positions. Cinder-Shard, as master stonewalker of Dhredze Seatt, had likely set those combinations himself. How could Ore-Locks possibly know the combination here, set by a master stonewalker a thousand or more years ago?
She realized he’d never intended to bring her through, and panic threatened to overwhelm her. Had she come all this way to be left behind?
A rumbling grind of metal on stone made her lurch back.
The iron panel split, its halves slowly grating away into the frame stones on either side. The noise increased as the second, and then the third panel followed.
The portal was open, and Ore-Locks stood dead center, looking out at Wynn.
Chapter 23
Chuillyon led the way through the decaying, empty tram station and into a tunnel. He saw an archway ahead but was unprepared for the sight beyond it—a domed cavern as large as a small town.
“Oh, my,” Hannâschi breathed.
Chuillyon stared up at the remnants of walkways that had once stretched between remaining columns as thick as some old trees of his people’s forests. Column fragments and the ruins of huge stairways lay piled and scattered everywhere.
Even malnourished and exhausted, Hannâschi’s awe and wonder were plain to see. Shâodh, however, appeared singularly unimpressed. He stepped through the rubble, glancing once at a skeleton still wearing a thôrhk.
“Fewer bodies here,” he noted dispassionately.
Chuillyon almost winced, thinking of the grim fate of these lost dwarven ancestors.
“Did Wynn come through here?” he asked.
Shâodh paused, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. His exhale thrummed briefly in his throat, and Hannâschi crouched beside a set of broken bones.
“So much death,” she said quietly. “What happened here?”
“No one knows ... as yet,” Chuillyon answered.
She looked up, but her long hair and cowl covered half her face.
“This is the greatest archaeological find of our time,” she went on. “Bäalâle is no myth. If there is evidence here—amid all of this—then we will have proof the war did take place ... that it was not, is not, some overblown legend.”
Shâodh’s eyes opened, and he looked down at her with the barest frown.
In truth, Chuillyon had so single-mindedly followed Wynn that he had forgotten this possibility. But Hannâschi was only half-right.
“Such information must be kept from the public,” Shâodh stated before Chuillyon could express the same notion.
Hannâschi rose and turned to Shâodh with her mouth set tightly. Clearly, she did not need his reminder, and seemed about to tell him so. This was not the time for a spat—although one might come later. Chuillyon decided not to mention it yet, but, in truth, even few of his peers at the guild could be told of this place until he understood more himself.
“Did she come through here?” he asked again.
Shâodh nodded once. “But we have another problem. I sense three distinct lives. The journeyor’s protector cannot be one of them, and the majay-hì’s presence is different. That leaves her and the dwarf.”
“And so?” Chuillyon asked.
“Someone else is here, either with her or near her.”
This was all Chuillyon needed: one more unknown variable. “Which way?” he asked.
Shâodh pointed south. “Do we follow?”
Chuillyon fought an urge to snap at him for that same tiresome question. Did Shâodh think they were going home to announce their great find and bathe in glory? They were here to learn what Wynn was after.
When Chuillyon did not answer, Shâodh held out his hand, helping Hannâschi over a pile of loose rubble. He kept hold of her hand as he led the way across the cavern. Chuillyon never missed these small familiarities between them. Neither had he ever commented on them. But that might have to change.
They passed more crumbling stairways and fragmented columns ... and more remains of the long dead. After a good distance, Shâodh slowed, but he did not sink into meditation again. He gestured toward an archway at the cavern’s south wall.
Just inside of it lay a small pile of blankets and canvas bags.
Chuillyon hurried over to see inside the tunnel.
Chane stepped through the portal last, finding himself in a narrow passage. Ore-Locks walked to an open recess near the door that held the grid of metal rods exposed by a sliding metal panel.
“No,” Chane said quickly. “Do not close the portal.”
Ore-Locks eyed him in surprise. “It will bar any pursuit if we are still followed.”
“It will also lock us in. If we are forced to flee, we may not have time to stop and open it. Leave it open.”
The dwarf did not appear convinced, but Chane had no intention of allowing him near those rods. Should Ore-Locks close the panel, he could leave them entombed and trapped.
Wynn held up her cold lamp crystal, illuminating the passage. “Chane’s right. There’s been no sign of followers since the vibrations on the tram tracks. Ore-Locks, what if you get hurt ... or worse? The rest of us will be trapped with no means to get ourselves ... or you out.”
Her argument was rational and logical, and far less accusatory than what Chane was thinking. Ore-Locks finally nodded. It must go against his training and nature to pass through a portal without closing it. With the decision made, the strange, dark focus returned to his face, and he headed down the passage at a quick pace.
Shade rumbled low in discontent, watching him, and Chane shared her concern over the dwarf’s shifting moods. He was obviously looking for something.
Wynn trotted after Ore-Locks. “Come on.”
Within a few paces, Chane detected the floor’s slight slant. They were going deeper again, and he tried to gauge their descent. When he reckoned they were about two levels lower, Ore-Locks stopped before a side passage. He turned his head, cocking it, as if listening.
Ore-Locks suddenly turned into the side passage, as did Wynn. She seemed to be just blindly following the dwarf.
“Wynn,” Chane rasped, but she had already stopped.
Another iron portal blocked the passage’s end. Ore-Locks did not even pause, but walked straight through the iron and vanished.
“No!” Wynn cried, rushing to the closed portal.
The smallest hope flickered inside Chane. Perhaps this time, Ore-Locks truly had left them. Without his obsession feeding Wynn’s drive to go deeper, Chane might yet convince her to turn back. To his surprise, Wynn closed her fist around her crystal and pounded on the portal.
“Ore-Locks!” she shouted. “Open these doors now! Do you hear me?”
The words echoed loudly along the narrow passage, but Wynn only pounded harder.
Chane stood waiting, hoping, for her to finally halt in exhaustion.
Sau’ilahk drifted from the hall of the Eternals and through the open portal into a smaller passage. From a distance, he saw light down its gradual slope. The light suddenly dimmed by half and then spilled out of what might be a side passage. When the illumination faded from the passage’s mouth, he followed carefully.
The sound of Wynn shouting and pounding rolled out of the side passage and toward him in echoes. He stopped and slipped close to the main passage’s wall, prepared to sink into it. He had not caught her words—something to do with the dwarf—but she sounded more distressed than angry.