Through Stone and Sea - By Barb Hendee & J. C. Hendee Page 0,48

meal hall, and three shirvêsh looked up as she entered.

She couldn’t tell whether they were acolytes or otherwise; all shirvêsh dressed the same, in simple orange vestments. Others must have finished breakfast already, and only this trio remained at the table with pots and plates of food. The dark-haired woman who’d first helped her locate this place looked up and smiled.

“Feeling better?” she called. “We heard of your adventure.”

Wynn blushed, and the two others at the table chuckled. It was all good-natured, and the woman waved her over.

“I am Downpour,” she said. “Anything here look appetizing . . . as yet?”

“Best she stick to oats and bread for a day,” warned a younger male across the table.

His high, flat brow was capped by frizzy brown hair and only the barest matching beard showed on his blunt chin. He filled a bowl from a cast-iron pot while the third, an older male with creased features, nodded in silent agreement.

“Thank you,” Wynn said.

In truth, something plain sounded best, but she felt uncomfortable under all this attention. She took the bowl and settled next to Downpour.

“This is Held-All, and that is Scoria,” Downpour said, pointing first to the younger male and then to the rough-featured one.

Shade pushed her head in under Wynn’s arm, nearly knocking the bowl over, and snuffled at its contents. Then she backed out with a grumble, craning her head to peer over the table.

“Ah, your wolf,” Downpour said.

Before Wynn even asked, all three dwarves were scrounging about the table, lifting lids and peeking into pots.

“Salt-fish!” exclaimed Held-All. “Would she like that?”

Scoria snatched a stiff piece of dried fish from the pot. Wynn tensed as he rose and leaned across the table toward Shade.

“She’s very shy of strangers,” Wynn warned.

Scoria grunted in seriousness. “Very wise,” he said, then rumbled down at Shade, “Mind your manners . . . you hear?”

He reached out, lowering the fish with two fingers.

Shade reared and clacked her jaws on the morsel, and Scoria snatched back his empty hand with a start.

“Shade!” Wynn scolded.

Held-All snickered, trying to stifle himself.

“Not funny!” Scoria growled at him.

“That depends,” Held-All forced out with a faked cough. “Did she get any meat with that fish?”

Scoria frowned, slowly opening his hand as if counting fingers.

“A’ye! ” Downpour sighed. “Stop being a bother—both of you!”

After having dealt with the greeting house and Sliver, Wynn sat silent at their quick and friendly acceptance. Dwarves took harsh offense when insulted with intent, but otherwise, nothing rattled their good nature, not even Shade’s poor table manners.

Shade licked her jaws, all signs of the fish gone, and Wynn scooped a spoonful of oats.

She listened to her companions’ chatter, and even answered a question or two about what it was like to be a sage. She took no offense at their perplexed glances over the human obsession with writing everything down. Finally, she paused at one more spoonful of boiled oats.

“Where is Shirvêsh Mallet this morning?” she asked. “I need to speak with him as soon as possible.”

Downpour shook her head. “He is in private conference. Two elder shirvêsh from the temple of Stálghlên—um, you might say Pure-Steel—came at dawn. He has not come out since.”

Wynn slumped. Something serious held Mallet’s attention if he was occupied this long.

“We hate to leave you to eat alone,” Downpour added. “But we have duties to attend.”

Wynn put her spoon down, for she’d had enough.

“One more thing,” she asked. “Do you have anything here like a records room? I mean, for whatever is worthy of being written down. May I be permitted to do some research?”

She knew this was an outside chance.

Scoria blinked twice, probably uncertain how to answer without insulting a “scribbler of words.”

“Something . . . like it,” Downpour answered. “But there may be a better place to start. We call it . . . well, you might say the Hall of Stone- Words. Come, I will take you there.”

Wynn quickly gathered her bowl and spoon to carry them off to the kitchen.

“No, no, leave those,” Downpour instructed, rising to stop her. “Others will attend the cleanup.”

Downpour stood no taller than Wynn, but of course twice as wide. Shade whined, and Wynn glanced down.

The dog sat with her muzzle resting on the table’s edge, gazing hopefully at the lidded pot of dried fish.

“Should I give her more?” Scoria asked, though he didn’t sound too eager.

“No, she’s had enough for now,” Wynn replied.

Shade grumbled in clear disagreement, but Scoria nodded and ushered Held-All on his way. Wynn was more curious about