flowed up the building’s side, drifting from one rooftop to the next. Before he reached the third entrance on the amphitheater’s near side, he spotted a dark form on the street below.
Shade padded ahead, hurrying out of a crowded intersection. Wynn jogged after the dog and then paused for Chane and a white- haired dwarf in an orange vestment to catch up.
Sau’ilahk held his place on the rooftop. Even here, the dog might sense him, but would not likely look upward. He let Wynn and her companions pass on.
Two other dwarves in orange vestments came down the steps from the amphitheater’s next high entrance. They fell in beside the white-haired one, and Wynn slowed, dropping back a few paces with Shade and Chane. She hung close to Chane, and her lips moved, as if she were engaged in quiet conversation beyond the hearing of their dwarven companions.
Sau’ilahk desperately wanted to hear what she said.
He stilled his mind, calling to his remaining servitors. The air around his head warped and swirled as they joined him. Banishing all but one, he focused his reserves to recommand it and fixed the image of Wynn in his mind.
Target the gray-clad one. Remain above the target. Absorb all sound. If the target reaches the temple . . .
He faltered, so tired that he was not being concise. His mindless creation would not comprehend such references.
If the target passes inside stone, then return to me. Reiterate all sound and banish.
The ball of distorted air sped over the roof’s edge and up the night street.
Once Wynn was well on her way, Sau’ilahk followed along the rooftops. At every alley or side street, he watched for her passing along the main avenue. When she slipped beyond sight again, he sped onward, staying ahead of her. He kept changing his position and orientation, in case the dog became aware of his presence.
When Wynn reached the way station, the old dwarf stepped into the crank house building, walking through it to the lift’s landing. Wynn followed through the opening in a wall . . . made of stone.
Sau’ilahk could have shrieked in rage as his servitor came rushing back. Wynn passed out of the building’s other side, boarding the waiting lift with the others. But she was no longer talking with Chane while in the close company of the three dwarves.
The servitor began to replay what it had gathered, gruff dwarven voices low and dull behind Wynn’s and Chane’s whispers.
“No, it’s too crowded!” Wynn said. “We’ll go back tomorrow night.”
“The trail will be cold,” Chane rasped.
“Shade may have found a door to their underworld. It has to be where they went . . . where they would take Hammer-Stag. We don’t need to track them. Shade can lead us there.”
“Come along, young Wynn,” a deep voice called. “No lagging on such a cold night.”
The servitor popped and vanished.
It had recorded so little, but enough. The dog had found a way to this “underworld.” Whatever it was, Wynn believed the Stonewalkers had gone there. Tomorrow night she would return to follow them.
But how had the animal gathered or relayed such information?
The answer could wait. Wynn had finally learned something useful! The cost of killing one dwarf had played out to some small satisfaction. As Sau’ilahk mulled over the best strategy for the following night, his form wavered in the darkness. Or rather the world began to dim as dormancy threatened to take him.
Sau’ilahk had exhausted his energies more than he realized. He cursed his useless excuse for a form. But if—when—Wynn located the texts, he might finally learn the secrets of Beloved’s Children. Somewhere in the world, one of the Anchors of Creation waited in hiding. Once he found it, he would have flesh again after an age of searching.
Sau’ilahk faded, and his last conscious thoughts tumbled back through centuries past. . . .
Sau’ilahk, master conjuror, first of the Reverent and high priest of Beloved, trekked up the mountain’s craggy base to a place far above the desert. The day’s heat lingered into night but never bothered him, even in his black robe.
As he passed, minions bowed their heads, from scattered packs of goblins with yellow eyes and repulsive speckled canine faces to the rare hulking locatha, reptilian abominations half again the height of man. Even his own people, from their desert tribes, showed him obeisance.
But not as much as they once had—not since the night the Children had walked out of Beloved’s sanctuary, naked and pale under the full moon.
Later,