The Night Voice (14 page)

—Where . . . is . . . Chane?—

And again, Ore-Locks appeared startled, but not in the same way.

Chap turned and dashed for the aftcastle door.

• • •

In the cabin, Chane heated and reheated and visually tested and retested the concoction. Each time he poured the tiniest drop through a piece of silk as filter and into the glass, it was still clouded. He had then rinsed the glass bottle and tried again—and again.

He knew he had been down here alone for too long. Soon enough, Chap would notice and become suspicious.

If Chane was caught, he would have to explain, though Chap would not believe anything he said. There was too little—or rather no—personal trust between them.

Chane studied the next droplet in the glass flask . . . still faintly gray.

Very well, if the majay-hì caught him, so be it.

He poured as much of the droplet as he could back into the copper
bottle, stoppered it, and set it on the tripod to heat again. This time, he did not watch, dropped his head and closed his eyes, and silently counted off the time. He listened for the warning soft hiss to make certain the fluid did not come to a full boil.

A snarl and slam shuddered the cabin floor.

Chane stiffened upright as it happened again. He watched the door buck and heard its bolt rattle. Heavy bootfalls quickly grew louder in the passage outside. Then the growling, rolling snarl turned to a half howl.

He knew that sound. He had heard it more than once in being hunted by Chap.

“Enough!” Ore-Locks shouted out in the passage. “You will draw the entire crew!”

Chane snatched up the brass bottle as he rose and snuffed the burner. He could do nothing about the smell of smoke in the cabin. He heard and then felt the sizzle of his own flesh from the scorching copper bottle and swung it behind his back as he stepped to the door. Just before he grabbed the bolt, the door bucked so hard, he heard its planks start to crack.

“Please desist!” Ore-Locks snapped, and then said more loudly, “Chane, it is over. Open the door!”

Chane pulled the bolt, and the door slammed into him. He barely righted himself in retreat. Chap lunged in, fur on end, ears flattened, jowls pulled back, and teeth exposed in a long rumbling hiss. And Chane set himself for a fight.

His gaze flicked once to his swords tucked under the right-side bunk.

Ore-Locks took only one step into the doorway, and Chap looked back once with a snarl. Ore-Locks barely raised open hands in yielding, and Chap turned on Chane again. Sniffing the air and everything on the floor, Chap inched forward but never took his eyes off Chane.

Chane felt the bottle's searing heat spreading in his whole hand.

Chap's head flashed around at Ore-Locks and quickly back. Ore-Locks stiffened in a flinch and blinked twice, and looked at Chane.

“He . . . demands to know what you were doing,” Ore-Locks said.

Chane looked back to Chap. Perhaps growing pain spreading to his forearm got the better of him.

“No,” he rasped.

Chap snarled and lunged, Chane dropped to a crouch ready to counter, and Ore-Locks rushed in behind Chap.

The dwarf tried to grab Chap's tail and only half succeeded.

Ore-Locks barely closed his big hand when Chap turned and snapped. Chane almost lunged but stalled, uncertain whom to go after. Ore-Locks jerked his hand back.

He glared at Chap, stuttering, “You . . . you . . .
yiannû-billê
!”

Chane did not react. Hopefully Chap did not understand that racist comment, but when Chap's growl sharpened, Chane knew better.

Ore-Locks quickly raised a booted foot and slammed it down.

Even as Chap quickly retreated, Chane felt the whole cabin shudder.

“And what do you think
you
can do about it?” Ore-Locks snarled at Chap.

The dog must have said something into the dwarf's head. Chane could not guess what, and before he tried . . .

“I do not need to wait for port,” Ore-Locks ranted on. “All I need to do is take
my
orb and drop over the side to sink. Try to follow through stone at the ocean floor, if you can.”

That panicked Chane. He could not fail Wynn like this, even for perhaps his only other friend.

“I am tired of both of you,” Ore-Locks grumbled, and then eyed Chane. “And you need to stop baiting the majay-hì with your secrets!”

That as well frightened Chane as he looked between his cabin mates. When his gaze returned to the dwarf, Ore-Locks's narrowed eyes were not looking directly back; he was looking much lower.

Ore-Locks thrust out his hand. “Give it to me.”

Chane hesitated.

“Now!” Ore-Locks added.

Chane did not like this. He had multiple reasons for not wanting anyone else—especially Chap—to know what he had been doing. Even Wynn might not have liked it, considering he had again been using Welstiel's tools.

Ore-Locks thrust out his hand even farther.

With a soft exhale through his teeth, Chane relented and held out the copper bottle.

Ore-Locks took it, held it up, eyed it with a scowl, and then eyed Chap. He suddenly pulled the stopper and put the bottle to his mouth.

“No, do not!” Chane rasped.

It was too late, and Ore-Locks tipped the bottle slightly. He smacked his lips once, ran his tongue over them, and wrinkled his broad nose, as if he had smelled something unpleasant. He tilted his head as if some puzzled thought occurred to him, and then looked down at Chap.

“There,” he said, “I am fine . . . See?”

Chane was not so certain, though he had seen dwarves drink wood alcohol that would kill a human. The elixir had not clarified, which left him worried about unknown effects upon even one of them.

Ore-Locks slapped the stopper into the bottle and tossed it at Chane, who caught it in another rush of panic. It felt nearly full.

“You two settle this matter, once and for all,” Ore-Locks warned.

He turned out of the cabin, slamming the door.

Chane was alone with Chap. The majay-hì climbed up on the far bunk, lay down, and glowered in silence. Chane settled on the other bunk above where his swords were hidden.

“I am not the only one with secrets,” Chane said. “What were you doing when you ran off into the trees and left me to dig up two orbs?”

Chap did not move or even blink. He made no sound at all, nor did he do anything to indicate that Chane should pull out the talking hide for a response.

Chane finally dropped his gaze to the copper bottle in his hands, one of which still stung from being seared. From what he felt of the bottle's weight,
Ore-Locks had taken no more than a sip, but that still worried Chane. He bent over to pick up the glass bottle and the scrap of silk, and filtered a tiny amount of the concoction into the glass bottle.

For an instant, what he saw did not make sense, and when he had poured every bit of the mixture into the glass bottle, he could only stare.

The liquid was now entirely crystal clear.

• • •

Not long past sunset, Wynn watched as Magiere, Leesil, and Brot'an set off on another scouting trip. Dinner—or perhaps breakfast—tonight had come as a relief.

Ghassan had somehow caught and killed a sizable desert lizard. He had also been saving the best chunks of coal from previous fires, and soon had a low-flamed heat ready for cooking. And meanwhile, he dressed down the lizard. The creature provided nearly as much meat as a chicken.

Everyone was beyond tired of eating dried stores. Though none had ever eaten lizard before, it proved quite tasty—either because it was or because they were desperate for anything other than their normal rations. There was a time when Wynn ate only vegetables and fish. Now she ate whatever was available.

Once the trio passed beyond sight, she turned to Ghassan, who had remained behind with her to guard the orbs. There had been some tension between him and Magiere, as Ghassan wanted more proof of any supposed gathering of a horde before they turned to hunting their real quarry's hiding place.

Wynn wished they knew more about this Ancient Enemy—il'Samar, Beloved, and any of too many other names. All they really understood was it was a being or person of great power who had waged a great war across the world, created the first of the undead, and then for unknown reasons withdrawn into hiding.

Even this much was speculation based on what she'd gleaned from ancient texts. Now, apparently, it was reawakening after a thousand years.

Magiere was driven to find it.

And things were moving out there toward . . . wherever . . . in the east.

Ghassan urged caution until all five orbs had been brought together. He felt that more information should be gained first. Were most of the gathering servants vampires? Or were some more powerful, like the wraith, Sau'ilahk?

Magiere saw little point to learning any of this, and for her, finding the location of the Enemy was all that mattered. After a heated debate, she and Ghassan had compromised. Scouting trips would continue, but if she came across any undead heading east, she and those with her would try to trail them to their final destination, and hopefully to Ancient Enemy.

Night after night, Magiere came across only a few bodies.

Wynn was nearly always left behind at camp. With her shorter legs, she only frustrated Magiere and even Brot'an with their long strides. Lately, Ghassan had been the other one most often to remain in camp.

Wynn had grown more and more concerned about Leesil. He never joked or teased her anymore. He'd become even quieter than Brot'an, and that by itself was the most disconcerting change.

Now Ghassan sank down cross-legged before the tent he shared with Brot'an. Wynn knew he preferred being out under the night sky unless he was asleep. She looked up, for though it was full night, the desert was clear to see beneath a brilliant silvery moon.

“Ghassan,” she began slowly, “do you think we would need all five orbs, should Magiere find the Enemy?”

She expected resistance, but she thought she saw him stiffen where he sat.

“Why do you ask?”

Wynn hesitated, wondering how far to take this. “Magiere has only opened the orb of Water, and not fully. I wasn't with her, but I know what happened. All moisture in the area rushed into the orb in a storm. The
potential destruction . . .” She faltered, uncertain how much farther to go. “It barely started before the spike was slammed back into the orb, closing it. And I know something of how the orb of Earth was used to bring down Bäalâle Seatt.”

“And what are you suggesting?” Ghassan asked.

This was something she wouldn't dare say to the others.

“We have the orbs of Air and Spirit in our possession,” she began again. “I don't know what Spirit will do when it's opened, but Air could create a similarly destructive storm to Water. If—if we trap the Enemy, and one of us gets close enough to open the orb of Air . . .”

She couldn't say it aloud. Knowing Ghassan, she didn't have to. Yes, that suicidal move might be enough to either kill or trap the Enemy again . . . along with whoever tried to use the orb of Air.

“I am surprised to hear such a notion from you
,
” Ghassan said.

His abrupt dismissal annoyed Wynn. She shifted where she sat near the dying coals of the fire to look right at him. She could not see him clearly, but she saw enough by the moon's bright light. He was watching her intently but calmly.

“Why?” she asked.

His head tilted down, one of his hands moved slightly, and a whisper of some kind escaped his lips.

A faint glow caught Wynn's eyes halfway between herself and him. A stone first appeared to have a glimmer around it, as if dust-mote fireflies began to swarm. The glow grew, softly at first and then brighter and brighter—from the stone itself.

Wynn inched back a little. How had he done this?

“Listen!” Ghassan commanded. “We do not go recklessly stumbling into the lair of the Enemy and attempt to open one orb. If one can cause cataclysmic destruction by itself, do not assume five would be fivefold worse. The Enemy created the five anchors for a reason. That is the answer we must uncover first, before any needless rush or wasted life—yours and others'.”

“And who will use all five, if we learn how? You?”

“Unless you would like to try.”

At the start of this journey, they had intended to gather the orbs as a last option, should the Enemy be proved to be reawakening. If that terrifying reality came, she had envisioned at least a few careful experiments to see how the devices might be used together. Now she wasn't sure at all if anyone should know that secret . . . and live to tell it.

And she hadn't known how set Ghassan was on the original, final option.

“What if Chane and Chap fail?” she asked. “Or they don't return at all?”

Ghassan lifted his head and fixed on her in the half dark under the moon. “Chap and Chane have not failed.”

Wynn balked for a moment. Ghassan appeared to close his eyes and bowed his head, and he remained that way for too long. This gave Wynn further pause before she asked anything more.

“How could you—?”

“The same way that I knew you were in the alley behind the sanctuary . . . on the night I needed your help to persuade the others to hunt the specter.”

Wynn swallowed in confusion and almost challenged him again. Then she knew how
he
knew that Chane and Chap had succeeded. Relief flooded her in knowing they were safe.

“The pebble, the one you gave Chane.”

Ghassan raised his head again and nodded once.

“You could know this? From so far away?” she asked.

“Even now they are on a ship nearing Soráno. And they have the final orb and its stonewalker guardian as well.”

“Ore-Locks? He's coming with them?”

Ghassan nodded again. “You understand my reason for checking on them?”