Through Stone and Sea - By Barb Hendee & J. C. Hendee Page 0,60

the way.

Wynn stared at the Stonewalkers as their elder paced straight to the litter upon the stone block. The amphitheater’s silence was so complete that she heard every grind of his heavy boots upon stone. He stopped directly behind the head of Hammer-Stag’s draped corpse. The five remaining Stonewalkers took places around the litter, two to either side and one at his feet. The last caught Wynn’s full attention.

His red hair was unmistakable . . . the one she’d overheard High- Tower call “brother.”

It was Ore-Locks.

Wynn took one furtive glance toward Sliver in the stands.

The smith was on her feet. She leaned hard upon the stone rail, but without eagerness in her face. Her expression twisted over and over, as if she might weep in pain, but then instantly hardened in resentment at the sight of Ore-Locks.

Wynn understood why Sliver had come tonight—to hopefully catch a glimpse of one long-lost brother. But Wynn didn’t know why hate rather than love shone upon Sliver’s face.

A roaring voice like cracking stone jerked Wynn’s gaze to the stage.

“Who brings this one to wait upon us?” called the eldest of the Stonewalkers.

“Stálghlên—Pure-Steel—brings him,” answered a white-clad shirvêsh.

There was hesitation in his voice, as if Hammer-Stag’s fate remained uncertain.

“Then he comes by virtue of championship?” asked the eldest stonewalker.

“Most certainly Fiáh’our—Hammer-Stag—was this and more,” the monk answered.

Another long silence left Wynn fearful that something had gone wrong. A shout rose from the silver-streaked elder of the Stonewalkers.

“An honored thänæ!”

The entire amphitheater erupted in shouts and cries, and the crowd’s noise pounded in Wynn’s ears. It was so loud she could almost feel it upon her skin. Warriors upon the floor before the stage unsheathed weapons, raising them in the air. Every dwarf in the place was on his or her feet, chanting that Hammer-Stag was to be taken “into stone.”

Chane’s hissing voice rose close to Wynn’s ear.

“We should slip out amid the distraction,” he insisted. “We must find out how they got in before they take the corpse. This may be our only chance to catch them.”

Wynn came to her senses. She was here for a reason, but how could she just slip away? What would Mallet say when he discovered his guests were gone? She hadn’t thought through her hopes for this night, but High-Tower’s brother was right here. She couldn’t miss the chance of getting to him.

The elder stonewalker abruptly jerked off the gray cloth, and his comrades instantly tilted the litter up. Shouts for Hammer-Stag’s acceptance turned into an incomprehensible roar.

Wynn’s gasp was drowned in the cacophony.

Hammer-Stag’s body stood carefully dressed and groomed, his armor oiled and polished. The sides of his hair were braided, the two tendrils bound at the ends by tight rings of dark metal. His arms were folded and bound across, clutching his great ax against his chest. But Wynn stared only at his face and hands.

They were ashen—almost gray beyond the mottled undertones of his people.

His features weren’t twisted as in the memory Shade had passed. But whatever attempt had been made to relax them in final repose hadn’t fully succeeded.

Hammer-Stag was as sallow as the victim of a Noble Dead.

Wynn looked up at Chane. He too stared at the dead thänæ.

A few others on the floor nearest the stage exchanged disturbed glances. Those in the stands were too far off to notice. The roar in the amphitheater continued as Wynn struggled to get hold of herself.

She grasped Chane’s sleeve.

“Say nothing!” he insisted, but his eyes flickered in rapid thought.

The Stonewalkers lowered the litter and re- covered Hammer-Stag with the shimmering cloth. They jointly hoisted the litter upon their shoulders as their elder turned toward the stage’s far exit.

“We must catch up with them,” Chane whispered, and grasped Wynn’s hand.

She half turned, following him, and then spotted a small group entering the amphitheater.

Duchess Reine Faunier-reskynna swept out of the dark tunnel onto the flagstones. A trio of the weardas surrounded her, followed by the white-robed elf so often seen at her side. Everyone standing near the tunnel’s mouth quickly stepped aside for the entourage.

“Valhachkasej’â!” Wynn cursed, and pulled out of Chane’s hold.

She grabbed the back of his cloak, jerking him halfway around as she ducked in behind him. Then she had to grab him again to keep him from turning around on her.

“Don’t move!” she whispered, and peeked cautiously around his side.

Dressed in high riding boots and a dark sea green cloak, Duchess Reine had thrown back her hood. Thick chestnut hair was pinned up with twin