Of Truth and Beasts

There were others orbs hidden by the Children of the Ancient Enemy.

Ghassan 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 Ghassan.

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 practitioner 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 Ghassan’s head, though he recognized it. His thoughts cleared at her urgent words.

“Tuthâna?” he whispered. “What ... what is wrong?”

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

Ghassan’s breath caught in his chest. How did this happen?

Hurry.

The medallion cooled in his grip. He plied his will upon it, crushing it in his hand as he tried to reach out for her.

“Tuthâna!”

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.

Ghassan limped up the tunnel, taking the side passage 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 Ghassan 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.

He began searching quickly among the calcified figures and paused before one.

It was tall for a dwarf. Though mineral crust obscured details of its form, it held something long and narrow against its chest in a double grip. The object appeared to reach all the way to the cave floor, unless decades and centuries of buildup had dripped down to make it look so.

“Forgive me,” Deep-Root whispered as he drew one heavy dagger. “I beg of you, grant me absolution for this sacrilege.”

With a single, quickened breath, he struck the first blow.

He stabbed and hacked until Wynn saw a glint of tarnished and mottled steel. Then the sound of running boots echoed among the caves. Deep-Root dropped the dagger and grabbed the top of the object with both hands. Calcified stone fractured and broke as he wrenched it from the figure’s grip.

Wynn thought she saw the petrified remains of dwarven arm bones as the figure’s hands broke off, still bonded to the object. She wanted to cringe at the sight of them.

The footfalls grew loud and near.

Deep-Root whirled, and all he could do was raise the object he held. A blade cracked against it.

Pieces of calcified stone exploded around the impact as he saw another stonewalker with a maddened expression before him. Chips shot into his face, and even Wynn flinched at their patter. Deep-Root groped at his belt for his other dagger. The other stonewalker’s hand closed into a massive fist, and he struck low.

Wynn felt the pain as if her own abdomen had been hit. Breath rushed from Deep-Root as he toppled back against the calcified figure.

“Your bones will not rest here!” the other stonewalker snarled. “We will leave you to rot with those outside who try to come for us.”