onto his back, and then grabbed for his other pack, preparing to head out in search of an inn.
“Cheâ, âha a-chadléag silédí?” said the dwarf, jutting his broad chin at Wynn, and then glanced expectantly at Chane.
Chane shook his head in confusion.
The young dwarf huffed his own frustration. He slapped his hands together, fingers flush, then tilted them and laid his cheek against them. All through this, Shade quietly crept closer, staring fixedly at the dwarf. With his eyes closed, the young dwarf made a show of snoring. Then he opened his eyes, pointed at Wynn, and repeated insistently, “Chadléag!”
Shade bolted off up the tunnel, but Chane had no time for her nonsense.
“Yes . . . sleep!” he replied. “She needs sleep! Where . . . where do I go?”
“Kre?” said the dwarf.
Chane set down his second pack. He walked two fingers across the floor, mimicking someone on their way, and then pointed in every direction. Finally, he held up his hands in mock futility.
“Chad-lay-ag?” he tried to repeat.
The young dwarf chuckled. He slapped the floor, held up four fingers, and pointed to the tunnel roof.
Chane stared back in confusion. To make matters worse, somewhere behind him up the tunnel, Shade began barking.
The dwarf shook his head again. He walked his own fingers across the floor, and then up and up into the air in a steady rise. He slapped the floor, held up four fingers, and pointed upward again.
Chane finally understood, but it was not the best news. A place for Wynn to sleep was at least four levels up, possibly all the way to the tram level, if he had correctly counted the levels down.
Shade kept on with her noise.
“Be quiet!” Chane rasped, turning on one knee.
Shade snarled at him, pacing near the intersection. She then lunged partway down the tunnel, wheeled about, and rushed back to its end. She stood there rumbling before the side way’s exit.
“You are an idiot,” Chane whispered to himself, remembering how the dog had stared at the dwarf.
Shade already knew where to go. She had caught the young man’s memories as he tried to make his instructions understood.
Chane hooked Wynn’s legs and shoulders in his arms. The dwarf scooted forward, as if to help. Chane shook his head and rose up, towering over his happenstance guide. The young dwarf’s expression blanked in surprise at how easily he bore all that he carried.
“Thank you,” Chane said flatly with a nod.
The young dwarf acknowledged him silently in turn, and Chane hurried off, carrying Wynn.
Shade ducked into the mainway ahead of him, trotting too quickly. Then she suddenly stopped.
The instant Chane caught up, a twinge halted him as well—so quick it was but a feathery touch. Or rather it felt as if something should be there but was not, like stepping into an empty room that did not feel empty. Then it was gone.
Shade rumbled. Her sound broke and stuttered. The charcoal fur on her neck stood on end.
Chane held Wynn tighter against his chest. That presence, or lack of it . . . had it been there at all?
Shade fell silent and inched forward, swinging her lowered head side to side, and watching all ways with each step. Chane knew he was not the only one who had felt it. Something had been there, was not there but should have been, or . . .
He turned a full circle but felt nothing—truly nothing at all.
Chane had worn Welstiel’s ring of nothing for moons. As much as it hid his nature and inner self from all unnatural detection, it also dulled his awareness as a Noble Dead. Taking it off in Shade’s presence was not an option; she would instantly sense what he was. But was something near, something even Shade could not pinpoint?
Shade quieted and raised her head as if listening.
Wynn moaned in discomfort, and Chane took off down the mainway. Shade finally darted ahead to lead.
He had a long way to go, and hunger was beginning to weaken him. As they followed the wide turns to the upper levels, he walked as fast as he dared without breaking into a run. He was nearly to the top, or so he thought, when Wynn stirred in his arms and open her glazed eyes.
“Be still,” he said. “Shade is leading us to a place where you can rest.”
“I’m so sick,” she whispered.
“I know.”
She groaned when he shifted his arms; then her eyes widened. “My pack . . . where . . . do you have