Through Stone and Sea - By Barb Hendee & J. C. Hendee Page 0,31
of them?”
Her speech slurred and faltered more and more.
“The fifth side street on the right,” Hammer-Stag repeated softly, glancing at Carrow in apparent concern.
“And what of my . . . com . . . panions?” Wynn said, struggling to pronounce the words, and her eyes turned glassy with threatening tears. “Magiere and Leesil . . . Chap. . . . where are they?”
Hammer-Stag shook his head. “I do not know, Wynn of the Hygeorhts. After they aided me in my own audacity, I asked about their journey. But they preferred to keep to themselves. They headed north, perhaps to one of the Northlander coastal towns.”
Chane watched a tear roll down Wynn’s cheek as she closed her eyes. She looked broken, as if something she sought, desperately needed, had turned into only a figment. She was drunk, and he feared she might crumple onto the table.
Wynn looked up at Hammer-Stag, and Chane saw desperation in her face.
“But they are alive?” she whispered.
Hammer-Stag leaned in upon her with a toothy grin. “There is slyness in those three. And yes, O mighty little one, I would barter my honor that they are still alive!”
Chane rose up. “We thank you for your assistance.”
“A little thing,” Hammer-Stag said absently, and then laughed, poking Wynn in the shoulder. “And I had the better of the barter!”
Under that one- fingered push, Wynn nearly toppled over. Hammer-Stag quickly grabbed her before Chane could, and studied Wynn with something akin to affection.
“The ale could not be helped—it is part of the telling,” he said. “You gave us much enjoyment tonight. A dark tale it was, but a fresh one we have never heard!”
“Dark?” she whispered. “Not compared to others I know.”
That was enough for Chane. He grabbed Wynn under the arms and hoisted her up. She struggled until he breathed in her ear, “Let us go . . . and find the Iron-Braids.”
What he intended was to take her straight to find lodging, but first he had to get her out the door.
“Yes, to the Iron- Braids!” she said loudly, struggling to stand on her own. She looked down at Hammer-Stag. “Good-bye, thänæ . . . and thank you.”
Before the parting dragged on, Chane turned her toward the exit, and Shade followed after. But as he steered Wynn between the tables, her story would not leave his thoughts. . . .
Or rather, Chane could not stop picturing her upon the platform, pretending to clutch the heart of an Anmaglâhk.
CHAPTER 5
Wynn sucked air, trying to clear her head of pipe smoke as she stumbled from the greeting house. That was why she felt dizzy and nauseous. She wasn’t drunk—not on a few gulps of ale.
Limestone Mainway was a dim and hazy umber in her sight. Chane still gripped her arm, and she pulled away, instantly unsteady under her feet.
“Five tunnels down . . . on the right,” she mumbled.
Shade pricked up her ears with a whine.
“No, we go to an inn,” Chane stated flatly.
“I’m fine . . . now come on.”
“You need to sleep this off.”
Wynn flushed indignantly. “Sleep what off?”
Who did he think he was? He wouldn’t even be here if not for her, and now he was acting like . . . like High-Tower—sanctimonious, overbearing, and stuffy.
“I’m fine,” she repeated. “I just need some fresh air.”
“Where would we find that, this far underground?” he rasped back. “I grew up among nobles who started drinking as soon as the sun set. I know someone drunk when I hear them!”
A pair of dwarves in laborers’ attire stepped from the greeting house and glanced at the two humans arguing in the empty mainway.
“We are going to an inn,” Chane whispered.
“No! To the Iron-Braids . . . now!”
Wynn spun about—and all the tunnel’s columns suddenly leaned hard to the right. Great crystals steaming on pylons blurred before her eyes. But no one was ever again going to order her about. Not even Chane . . . especially not Chane.
“It is late,” he said behind her, and then paused. “But we will locate their smithy, so we know where it is. Then return tomorrow evening at an appropriate time.”
Even through Wynn’s haze—from smoke and glaring crystals, not ale—this made sense. So how could she argue if he was right? She hated that. Rational counters were another ploy her superiors had used to manipulate her.
Wynn found herself leaning with the columns, until she accidentally sidled into one. She braced a hand on its gritty stone until the columns straightened.