Of Truth and Beasts

Chane started to speak, but Wynn held up a hand to stop him. Ore-Locks wasn’t looking at either of them, as if he’d forgotten their existence. For once, his guard was down as he absorbed the mysteries here. She wanted to hear more from him.

“They must have excavated deeply between levels,” he went on. “So deep that the stone between them helped shield the lowest levels. The peaks on either side may have dispersed some of the downward force.” His voice became almost too quiet to hear. “But whatever happened shook the entire mountain.”

Wynn began to feel ill. None of his speculations changed anything. Pushing away the horrors of a forgotten time, she focused on her purpose in coming here. There was an orb to be found, but where would it be hidden in a place of this size?

As far down as they were, she believed the orb would have been placed even deeper—at the lowest place possible. How were they to find a way down in this much destruction?

Chane had crouched, examining the skeleton with the ax and the thôrhk; it was an odd, morbid sight watching his passive and silent study. Before she could call him away, he whispered to himself.

“The ends are not spiked ... this was not a thänæ under one of the warrior Eternals.”

His eyes turned to the ax, and his brow wrinkled. For a moment, Wynn was startled that he even pondered such things, but her own curiosity was piqued.

“Are there marks on its end knobs?” she asked. “If so, can you make them out?”

Chane looked back to the heavy thôrhk’s two open ends. “They are too blemished, tarnished. But it does have end knobs, rather than being plain and unadorned.”

Wynn looked at him in surprise. Only one type of thôrhk for one of the Bäynæ, the Eternals, had no end knobs of any kind. It was the one given to those honored under Bedzâ’kenge—Feather-Tongue. Although she knew of this practice, she had never seen a thänæ who wore such in her few visits to Dhredze Seatt. How had Chane ever learned such a thing?

Wynn started slightly when she realized Ore-Locks was watching her.

Straightening, she said, “We need to go lower.”

He glanced away, and then he nodded and took the lead, heading south. “In Old Seatt, for my own people, the underways have tunnels out of places like this. Those headed north led to upward connections, while those to the south led to downward ones.”

Wynn blinked. She’d never heard nor read such a thing. Then again, she’d seen nothing of Old Seatt besides its surface atop the mountain that held all of Dhredze Seatt. The newer settlements, like Bay-Side and Sea-Side, had spiral tunnels at the end of all mainways leading both up and down.

Motioning to Chane and Shade, Wynn hurried after Ore-Locks. For once, the dwarf might be truly useful. It bothered her that she was forced to follow someone with his hidden agenda, who could walk through stone and was a potential puppet of some traitorous ancestral spirit.

But it didn’t bother her enough to stop her. It didn’t even slow her down. She had to find the orb.

Ore-Locks headed into a large tunnel in the center of the south wall.

“You think this is the best tunnel?” she asked.

He half turned. “It leads down.”

“Wait,” Chane called, and began pulling blankets, canvas bags, and water skins from his back to pile them on the floor.

“What are you doing?” Wynn asked. “Those are all our supplies.”

“I will bring some food and one water skin,” he replied. “But I need to be able to move more freely, for whatever we encounter. We can retrieve all of this on our way out.”

She was tempted to argue, but realized he was right. He kept both his own packs, but their weight was nothing to him. Ore-Locks waited and watched until Chane was ready, and then he headed onward.

Without hesitation, Wynn followed into the broad tunnel.

Still crouched behind the crumbled stairwell, Ghassan had watched Wynn and her companions enter the cavern. Even from a distance, the sight of her surprised him. She looked different, almost beyond travel worn. Her oval face was thinner than when he had last seen her, and she moved so surely, easily scrambling over loose debris. Not once did she accept assistance offered from Chane.

Ghassan remembered Chane and Shade well. In spite of himself, he had some respect for Wynn’s choice of protectors. Ghassan had fought beside the undead and the dog. They were both formidable. The presence of the dwarf, however, made little sense.

Had Wynn hired him as a guide? That seemed unlikely, as this place was well more than a thousand years old.

As the four came closer and passed by, Ghassan studied the dwarf, thinking he bore a resemblance to Domin High-Tower. But where High-Tower was visibly aged, even for a dwarf, the one leading Wynn looked much younger, not as thick, and was clean-shaven ... or at least had been before this journey.