The Night Voice (11 page)

“I will leave you now,” Shirvêsh Mallet said politely. “I can see you have much to discuss.” With that, he left.

Chane turned to the elder dwarf in visible surprise and perhaps some anger. “Master Cinder-Shard, I did not send for you.”

“No,” the dwarf answered. “And yet I am here.”

Chap was instantly on guard. He'd expected some resistance from Ore-Locks about turning over the orb, but the presence of this other man was completely unexpected.

• • •

Chane tensed all over, and then Ore-Locks stepped around Master Cinder-Shard to approach.

“It is good to see you,” he said, “though I know you would not have come nor called for me without a serious reason.”

Chane's tension eased slightly. By shared trials and battles, the young stonewalker had become something close to a friend. And Chane did not have many friends.

“It is good to see you as well,” he answered, “and I—”

“Enough niceties!” Cinder-Shard barked. “Why has a . . . Why have
you
returned here, and how does one of your kind hold influence with a head shirvêsh?”

His gaze flicked toward Chap, and his eyes widened a little.

Chane followed his gaze. Did Cinder-Shard recognize a majay-hì?

That stood to reason, considering the master stonewalker was friends with Chuillyon, the white-robed sage of the Lhoin'na . . . and a notorious liar.

Cinder-Shard's focus shifted to Ore-Locks. “I hope you had nothing to do with this.”

Ore-Locks hesitated and then straightened. “Yes, I did.”

Cinder-Shard's face tinged red.

Chane saw no way to be diplomatic. “I need the orb of Earth,” he said bluntly. “And there is good reason.”

At this, Cinder-Shard's reddish tinge went gray, and even Ore-Locks was silenced in wary shock.

Chane had not expected to deal with the master of the stonewalkers, and he felt somewhat blindsided. He had to regain control quickly and raised a hand to forestall outrage or arguments.

“I will not explain here,” he said, and nodded to Chap. “This majay-hì and I traveled a great distance, and we fear minions of the Enemy could have followed. We need a place they cannot go . . . or hear . . . before anything more is said.”

Expressing such concerns was risky, and it might simply cause Cinder-Shard to retreat beyond reach and order Ore-Locks to follow. The last time Chane had been here, he, Wynn, and Shade had been followed by the wraith, Sau'ilahk.

In hunting them and an orb, Sau'ilahk had infiltrated the underworld.

Although this was not Chane, Wynn, or Shade's fault, their own actions had led to the havoc and loss caused by the wraith. In the aftermath, further safeguards had been implemented below. The underworld of the dwarves' most honored dead was still the most secure place in the seatt. It had to be.

Cinder-Shard's expression was flat. He shifted his weight from his right foot to his left, and then his left shifted back a few inches and planted. His large right hand rose to settle around the hilt of a battle dagger.

“You . . . among the honored dead . . . again?” he said. “Your kind . . . with an anchor of creation?”

Chane almost reached for his own sword, anticipating an attack. And if possible, he chilled slightly at this particular opponent.

“Master,” Ore-Locks said, turning quickly. “No matter what else he may be, he is no liar. And he was there to help in retrieving the orb.”

Still, Cinder-Shard fixed only on Chane.

“And in the end, the orb is still
my
charge,” Ore-Locks added.

At that, Cinder-Shard's gaze shifted to the youngest stonewalker.

“I know all of us, with you, are jointly responsible for the orb,” Ore-Locks went on, “but I am its inheritor, so named by its all-eater guardians.”

Chane remained watchful but remembered what had happened. In
Bäalâle Seatt, the forgotten resting place of this orb, there had been all-eaters—dragons.

They had guarded the orb through generations since the seatt's fall at the end the Great War. One of Ore-Locks's ancestors, and brother of Feather-Tongue now among the Bäynæ, had been the one to collapse the seatt with the aid of those dragons' ancestor. That act had blocked the Enemy's forces from using Bäalâle as a way to easily flood into the north.

The few who escaped the cataclysm, including Feather-Tongue, did not know this truth.

They knew only that one of their own—assumed a “fallen” stonewalker—had seemingly aided the Enemy.

Feather-Tongue's brother, Byûnduní, “Deep-Root,” was forgotten. In his place, only the false legend of Thallûhearag, the “Lord of Slaughter,” was remembered by the dwarves. And Deep-Root was now among the Lhärgnæ, or “Fallen Ones,” who were the malevolent counterpart to the dwarves' Bäynæ.

Ore-Locks and his family were the descendants of both brothers.

Chane grew uncomfortable as well as fearful. Though the connection of Ore-Locks's family to Thallûhearag was known by very few, they had still lived for generations in a poor state devoid of honor among their people. The orb of Earth was perhaps the only, smallest evidence of the truth for one day to come . . . which Chane now needed to take away.

Ore-Locks spoke quietly. “Master, I vouch for Chane Andraso's word and honor. Please hear him out.”

Cinder-Shard did not answer at first. His dark eyes lowered to rest for a moment on Chap. Then he spun, headed for the exit, and barked only one word.

“Follow!”

• • •

Chap felt swept along on a journey that he did not fully understand. Through Wynn, he did know some of the story of finding the orb of Earth. It appeared
that the aftermath was more complicated. And it wasn't until after a short but harrowing lift ride ended with a swift walk through the peak's top settlement that his puzzlement became irritation.

Why were they going
up
in order to go down into some “underworld”?

The four of them finally entered an empty but immense open-air theater, and Cinder-Shard had not said a word along the way.

The elder stonewalker turned at the first side passage.

They made their way down corridors behind the theater's stage, turning at intersections, descending ramps and stairs, and twisting and winding so much that Chap worried he would never find his way out. They finally rounded a corner that aimed straight at a deep archway blocked by tall iron doors . . . without handles.

Chap saw no other opening along the corridor to where it ended in a left turn.

He peered around one side of Ore-Locks, studying the iron doors. He did not see even a keyhole or empty brackets for a bar. How would the stonewalkers open these?

Master Cinder-Shard barely paused and then walked through the stone wall beside the arch.

Chap hunched and retreated with a snarl. Chane did not react at all, but Chap was once again becoming fed up with surprises.

“Wait a moment,” Chane said without even looking down.

Standing frozen and lost—and angry again—Chap heard grinding from somewhere. The iron doors split along their center seam, and they were thicker than any Chap had encountered. In sliding away into the walls of the arch, they revealed a second set, which also split and slid, and then a third set.

It was a bit much for even Chap's paranoia, and as the last set separated . . .

Master Cinder-Shard stood on the other side, no less dour than before.

The aging master had passed through the wall and somehow opened the doors from the other side. It appeared “stonewalker” had a very literal meaning,
and Chane must have already known by his apparent disinterest in the sight. Wynn might have been considerate enough to mention this.

Upon entering the next room, Chap wondered how the triple doors were controlled from within. All he noticed was a three-by-four grid of what appeared to be square iron rods on a ledge. Behind this were small round and possibly metal vertical struts inside an opening in the inner wall.

Master Cinder-Shard strode toward the chamber's center, leaving no chance for further inquiry. And any such questions vanished from Chap's thoughts.

Embedded in the chamber floor's center was a perfectly round mirror big enough to hold a wagon. But that mirror was made of metal . . . white metal, rather than glass. How did the stonewalkers, let alone any dwarves, know and use the white metal of the Chein'âs, who made Anmaglâhk weapons and tools?

More and more questions mounted, with no chance to seek answers to any of them.

There was another hair-thin seam dividing that great disk in the floor. No bars, locks, latches, or handles of any kind could be seen.

Chap almost invaded Cinder-Shard's thoughts and memories to learn more. He held back for fear of disrupting the elder stonewalker's reluctant agreement so far. But he would certainly question Chane at length later.

“Ore-Locks . . . ring!” Cinder-Shard barked.

Chap's ears pricked up, but before he could wonder, Ore-Locks crossed the chamber to grip a rope and unwind it from an iron tie-mount on the wall. He heaved on it with all his weight, and the chamber resonated with one deep tone, as from a bell.

Ore-Locks released the rope, and a now-familiar grinding grew in the chamber.

Chap crept to the white metal portal's edge. His ears flattened, and he backed away as the floor portal's center hairline split. Its halves slid smoothly away beneath the chamber's floor, and then a stone platform rose to fill the opening. It stopped at floor level.

Cinder-Shard, Ore-Locks, and Chane stepped onto the platform. Chap watched them and gave a low growl.

“Chap,” Chane said.

Still growling, Chap inched forward—he was sick of these dwarven contraptions—literally sick. Touching the platform with his paw, he tested it and then stepped on it.

He clenched all over, waiting for the inevitable. Two breaths later, the platform began to drop, slowly at first and then picking up enough speed. He could feel his fur lightly rustled by rushing air.

He felt as if he were falling down the perfectly round shaft, and he could not help closing his eyes. That did not help his stomach, and the sense of falling went on and on.

A sudden lurch almost made him vomit. Fortunately, he had not eaten yet. The platform began to slow—and slow—until he cracked one eye open. He quickly shut it again on seeing the shaft's stone wall passing upward. And the sudden thump of hitting bottom was worse.

He heard two heavy steps of boots and still could not open his eyes. He would have faced feral vampires in a bloodbath rather than another night like this one.

“Chap?” Chane rasped.

When Chap finally opened his eyes, Ore-Locks had paused in a stone passage ahead to look back. Cinder-Shard strode onward, and Chane still stood waiting on the lift.

Chap wobbled out into the passage and heard Chane follow as Ore-Locks headed onward. Worse, from what Chap saw, they would have to take that lift out again soon. Much of the night had to be gone by now.

Down the way, the passage split in three directions. Ahead, it appeared to lead into a cavern with a low ceiling. Phosphorescence flooded out of there, providing some light, and they must be deep below the mountain for that to occur. In spite of his sickness, Chap's curiosity was piqued.

Cinder-Shard stopped short of the cavern opening ahead.

Peering toward the greenish phosphorescent glow, Chap tried to see into that cavern. He made out stalactites and stalagmites joined together in concave, lumpy columns. However, Cinder-Shard stepped in front of him like a wall and looked beyond him. Chap glanced back along the dark one's gaze at Chane.

“This is as far as you go,” Cinder-Shard warned. “Now . . . why are you after the anchor of Earth?”

It puzzled Chap that the master of stonewalkers knew and used the term “anchor” rather than “orb.”

After a pause, Chane began to explain their reasons for coming. He spoke of retrieving the orb of Spirit, how he learned that Water and Fire had been hidden in the northern wastes, and then traveled to the Suman Empire for the recovery of Air. He told them of rumors of the Ancient Enemy's servants gathering in the great desert's east. And finally, he warned that this last could be a forewarning of the Ancient Enemy's reawakening.

The orbs were needed as the only possible protection for the world—the only weapon against their creator.

Chane did not mention that he and Chap had already recovered Water and Fire from the wastes.

Master Cinder-Shard listened in silence.

“The orb of Earth is now needed,” Chane finished. “Without it to complete the five, there is no potential weapon to use against the Enemy.”

There was one other detail that Chane had not mentioned.

None of them actually knew how to use the orbs as yet.

When Chap looked up, Ore-Locks was watching his master's face intently, but Cinder-Shard still had not spoken.

Ore-Locks became visibly anxious. “Master, I—”

“I will guard the anchor on this journey,” Cinder-Shard cut in. “You will remain here.”

“No,” Ore-Locks answered, and this one word echoed off the stone walls.

Cinder-Shard turned his coal black eyes on his subordinate. “You have wandered enough for a lifetime.”

“I will be the one to go,” Ore-Locks insisted.

Cinder-Shard's expression shifted to fury. “It is enough that you left to follow the misbegotten little human sage who brought that thing”—he pointed to Chane—“out into the realm. This is too important . . . too dangerous . . . for your recklessness.”

Ore-Locks stalled. Perhaps he had never argued with his superior before, though he had gone behind the elders' backs in some things, Chap knew.

“I was entrusted with the orb at Bäalâle Seatt.” The young stonewalker's voice carried an edge. “I am its sole keeper, its inheritor, and without Chane, that might not have happened. Do not think you can usurp me in this, in disregard of the all-eaters . . . Master.”