If he faced them openly, any inside the domed chamber beyond would hear their shouts. Another alarm would sound, indicating his new location and further cutting into his time to find what he sought. But without at least a glimpse through the door, he had no sight line by which to slip through the floor to the lift’s shaft.
His choices were frustratingly inadequate. If he used a servitor for another distraction, not all of the four new guards would come after it or any at all. If he had to fight, it was better to get as far as he could. He fixed upon the door—or rather the sense of open space just beyond. And he tried to remember the one glimpse through its opening he had ever had.
Sau’ilahk blinked again, awaking in the domed chamber, surrounded by six dwarves. Four wore spike- ended circlets around the raised steel collars of their armor.
The nearest shouted a warning and leveled his iron staff in a swing.
Sau’ilahk lashed out as he summoned his servitor.
Hinder those outside the door! Distract them!
The dwarf’s staff whipped through him as his own fingers slashed through a helmet and wide face. The dwarf yelped, and Sau’ilahk blinked out.
All it would take was just one reaching the bell rope to warn of his presence. A thrust of incorporeal fingers could put down a human, but it would only weaken a dwarf. He materialized instantly before the bell rope as the other five dwarves spread out, closing from all around.
Sau’ilahk saw his tactic would not work.
Not one had even hesitated as the first slumped against the wall. They were willing to die so that one could get to him. It would take only one to grip the rope as the last fell. Sau’ilahk had to leave this place in silence, no matter what it cost, but he had so little to expend. Barely one life taken, and now he would lose even that. Why had he not reawakened in the underworld?
He raised his arms, robe sleeves sliding down over limbs wrapped in black cloth.
Sau’ilahk began to conjure, more strength draining away.
Wynn followed Balsam until the Stonewalker stopped at the final passage and pointed onward. She rushed on alone with her regained journals clutched in her arms. Shade sprang to all fours, barking excitedly as she lunged forward from the archway. Wynn hurried straight past, looking about the landing for her pack.
Chane was slouched beside their belongings with his eyes closed.
She was surprised to find him still dormant. Bulwark had said night was upon them. Was Chane’s hunger becoming too great? Had he slipped into some other kind of unconsciousness?
“Chane?” she said in alarm.
His eyes opened as he sat upright, but he appeared disoriented. “Wynn?”
In relief, she dropped to her knees, dumped the journals, and began pulling everything out of her pack.
“When did you return?” he asked, blinking. “Where did you get those?”
Wynn didn’t answer. She didn’t know whether the duchess had ever seen the texts or knew of the old journals among them. She wasn’t about to find out. Pulling out her tightly folded robe and spare shift, she reached for the pile of journals.
Chane grabbed her wrist. “What have you done?”
“They’re mine!” she shot back. “My journals . . . from the Farlands!”
She jerked free and shoved them in the pack’s bottom.
“What if their absence is noticed?” he asked. “At least portions of the texts are taken to the guild each day.”
“These journals hold everything that happened to me. Every detail of what I learned . . . and they’re mine. I don’t care who finds out, because no one will get them back!”
She began stuffing her belongings on top. Chane craned his head, looking over her and out the archway.
“Hurry!” he urged. “If you are here, others will come soon.” He paused as if remembering something, and pointed at a bag on the floor. “There’s food and water.”
She hadn’t eaten all day, hadn’t even thought of it. She finished lacing her pack closed and hurried over, helping herself to water and a torn hunk of bread. Then she felt suddenly guilty.
Nothing here would sate Chane’s hunger.
He stood up, bracing against the wall, and his other hand clenched into a fist. He stepped into the archway, watching down the passage.
“Did you learn anything?” he asked.
Shade pressed in, nosing Wynn’s cheek. Still chewing, Wynn wrapped her free arm around the dog’s neck. Then she began recounting what little she’d uncovered.
Chane crouched before her, listening intently, and then he glanced