Of Truth and Beasts

Chane wanted Wynn as far from this place as possible, and he quickly put her and Shade aboard. Then, he and Ore-Locks began pumping for the long journey back. Still, Chane watched the shadows, though il’Sänke was not foremost in his thoughts.

He found no vindication in being proven right about the wraith. Much the opposite. He had terrorized Wynn before this journey began, in the hope of planting doubt in her certainty that the wraith was finished.

He wished he had been wrong. He wished he could beg her forgiveness for what he had done.

Days and nights followed, but by the time they made it through the long tunnel and emerged again into open air—taking refuge where the Slip-Tooth Pass met the Sky-Cutter Range—only one thing preoccupied Chane.

Wynn appeared broken; he could not save her from everything, most especially herself.

Too often, when she had sought what was most crucial or necessary, others paid the price. While he did not care about that, it was unbearable to watch her sit hunched before the campfire. He stood outside camp, where the firelight barely reached him. Even with Shade’s head in her lap, Wynn looked at nothing but the crackling flames.

“Why did you tell me to go ... when that Suman found us?”

The sudden question broke Chane’s train of thought. He swiveled his head to find Ore-Locks standing a few paces to his right. But the dwarf was not looking at him, only at Wynn.

Chane took too long to answer, and Ore-Locks finally turned to him. Only a hint of suspicion and revulsion lingered there, but in that moment the dwarf asked about, perhaps he had seen who Chane truly was.

“Why did you risk her,” Ore-Locks went on, “and trust me ... when she would not? How did you know you could trust me?”

“I did not know,” Chane answered tiredly. “There was no knowing anything at all.”

It was not that simple. It was also not a real answer, but Chane did not have one yet.

How could he say that a part of him had not cared what happened to the orb, as long as he could reach Wynn? In doing what she asked, he had still made that choice to trust Ore-Locks. It had come and gone in an instant, when reason and knowing had been lost.

Only the beast had remained, half-aware behind Chane’s desire for Wynn, or so it seemed now. This frightened him, even as he obsessed over it.

“You should get some rest,” he said.

But Ore-Locks still stood there, watching Wynn.

In one piece of luck, they had found both horses nearby, drinking from a mountain brook. The animals were in surprisingly good shape and fit to pull the wagon. However, as if to quell this bit of fortune, Chane found three other horses, as well, along with three elven saddles tossed into the brush. He did not know what this meant, but it supported Ore-Locks’s earlier claim; they had been followed, and not just by il’Sänke. Perhaps the Suman sage had not been on the second cart.

Who had ridden those other horses?

“Shade and I will go hunting,” Chane said. “After that, we will stop only for food or to rest the horses. I will keep us moving at night, and you will in the day, with Shade to keep watch with you. We will find a way to cut through to the coast rather than go anywhere near the Lhoin’na ... especially with what you now carry.”

Ore-Locks sighed, nodding as he folded his arms.

Chane stepped slowly into camp but stopped short, not wanting to startle Wynn. Even as Shade lifted her head, Wynn did not move. She showed no sign of even hearing his approach. Chane was uncomfortably aware of Ore-Locks out in the dark, more so than the dwarf even knew. For Wynn’s guilt toward the wayward stonewalker was anchored by something more.

In the seatt, when they had reached the pump carts, and before even starting the journey back, Wynn requested—insisted—that Ore-Locks never openly speak of Deep-Root.

That name had been erased, replaced with a title that even those few who remembered it wanted forgotten, forever dead. Deep-Root had wanted his name buried. He had not wanted anyone to know the truth, that his brethren had gone mad and turned against their own people.

After Wynn made this request, Ore-Locks had turned on her with the first words he had spoken since finding his ancestor’s bones. The entire incident was burned into Chane’s memory forever.

Wynn had stood in silence, offering no defense, as Ore-Locks verbally tore her apart. On some level, Ore-Locks must have known she was right. Still, he assaulted her with the anger and pain he had locked away—as there was no one else to take the blame.

Chane had stood there in silence.

Though he had tensely watched Ore-Locks for any sign of violence other than words, he never interceded. Wynn would not have wanted him to. Perhaps she knew Ore-Locks deserved a chance to vent his anguish.

In the end, Ore-Locks had fallen silent, exhausted.

Even if he had wanted to clear his ancestor’s name, what proof did they have of the truth?

There was no proof.