The Lhoin'na called this the Bloodless Plain, though the origin of that name had been long forgotten. It wasn't that no blood was to be spilled here, but rather that those who'd perished here had no blood to spill. Their bones had been long buried by time and nature.

What bothered Wynn most was that glimpse of Chane, an undead, a n.o.ble Dead, standing in the dark amid the gra.s.s. A connection tickled the back of her mind between what lay in the earth and him.

Magiere had once severed Chane's head, yet somehow he'd come back from a second death. Welstiel had done something, but Wynn had gotten no more than that from Chane. Aside from wondering if he really didn't know . . .

She stared across the plain, thinking of the horrors that lay buried and forgotten here, where only a blind tradition forbade the spilling of the blood of the living upon this place.

"What are we waiting for?" Ore-Locks asked.

Wynn didn't look at him, though he sat at the bench's far end. Shade rested her head over the bench's back between them.

Yes, it was time to go, since nothing more could be learned here.

Wynn snapped the reins. The wagon lurched forward along the road through the plain before her eyes and the other one in her memory.

Chuillyon sat on a horse amid the trees far off from the road. He waited beside Hannschi and Shodh, sitting on their mounts.

When Chuillyon had requested Hannschi accompany him abroad, Gyr had fumed until Chuillyon explained. Even Gyr would want to know what some "covert" little Numan sage was up to. Not that Chuillyon would share all he learned of Wynn's pursuit.

"Why are they traveling by night?" Shodh asked.

Chuillyon put a warning finger across his lips. He still had not spotted Wynn's wagon pull out of the forest onto the road.

"Her tall guardian is likely an undead," he whispered. "Though it would seem he has some method of hiding his nature."

Hannschi, sitting on a white gelding, leaned forward to glance at him around Shodh.

"And you neglected to mention this?" she said.

Chuillyon rolled his eyes and shushed her. "Either you or Shodh can detect the others. The stonewalker will be the greater problem, if they actually locate the seatt. He can travel in ways that we cannot follow."

He waved both of them to silence as movement caught his eye.

Wynn's wagon pulled out of the trees along the road, heading slowly through the plain. Chuillyon waited until it had nearly reached the plain's far side. He could stop Wynn at any time, but he had no plans to do so-not yet.

"There's the patrol," Shodh said, pointing.

Indeed, the She'ith guards emerged from the trees to the north and galloped along the forest's edge. They pulled up in the gra.s.s, waiting. All three nodded in respect to him, and Chuillyon returned his acknowledgment as he urged his mount forward.

Formalities mattered to maintain an image of authority.

"Let them pa.s.s unimpeded," he said.

The patrol leader nodded again. "As you wish, Domin."

Chuillyon did not want to get too far behind tonight-just enough to let Wynn have her unwitting relief at being free to follow her purpose.

CHAPTER 18.

Wynn stirred in the wagon's back and sat up, feeling groggy. A whole moon had pa.s.sed since they'd left Lhoin'na lands. She rubbed her eyes and crawled out of her lean-to canvas shelter. Two facts. .h.i.t her instantly.

First, she'd overslept. It was fully dark, and they'd normally be on the move by now, traveling during Chane's waking hours. They'd made good time so far, as winter nights were longer than the days.

Second, she was alone, but this didn't worry her. The others were likely out foraging again, as their supplies were more than half gone.

Even if Wynn hadn't had her makeshift map, they couldn't have missed the head of the Slip-Tooth Pa.s.s. Once inside the pa.s.s, navigation became unnecessary; they simply pressed south by southeast between the tall ridges on both sides.

No one appeared to use this pa.s.s anymore. There was little path to speak of, let alone an actual road. Their way was occasionally interrupted by a depression, a boulder field, or having to locate a place to cross the broad stream that ran along parts of the pa.s.s's floor. Eventually this route would lead them to the northern side of the Sky-Cutter Range. Beyond the leagues and leagues of those immense mountains lay the vast Suman desert.

And they were nearing the end of the pa.s.s.

Crawling to the wagon bed's back, Wynn looked around, hoping to spot Chane or Shade returning. She didn't, and her thoughts drifted to the previous morning.

The wind had kicked up shortly after nightfall, channeled down upon them by the pa.s.s's high sides. The gale was so strong that the wagon rocked and rain began pelting them. Then the rain turned into hail.

Chane spotted a stone outcrop on the leeward slope and drove the wagon in beneath it. They lost part of a night and the next day but were grateful for any shelter. After Wynn's companions had gone to sleep, she'd stayed awake past dawn, listening until the patter abated. Then she crawled out in daylight to see what lay ahead.

In the hazy distance were the vast peaks of the Sky-Cutter Range. She'd studied those mountains, so great in size that it was difficult to judge how far they had to go. Finally, she'd settled down, curling up beside Shade in the small shelter on their side of the wagon's bed, and slept away the rest of the day.

Now she'd awakened alone in the dark.

"Shade?" she called tentatively.

The dog didn't answer. Hopping out, Wynn spotted pots and pans already laid out near a lit campfire, and both horses were munching oats from their buckets. She stumbled toward the fire, stretching out her aches, and her movements loosened an odor from her clothing.

Wynn wrinkled her nose as she picked up the teapot. She could barely remember the last time she'd had a decent bath.

Chane and Shade had taken to hunting as a team. Wildlife wasn't abundant, and Wynn knew what they'd likely bring back. She should've been grateful, but she didn't look forward to yet another roasted wild hare. That's all they seemed able to catch. What she wouldn't give for an herbed lentil stew with tomatoes, celery, and a bit of onion.

She dug through burlap supply bags in the wagon's back. All the melons were long gone, though they still had some small apples and dried jerky. She was saving those for when they entered the range, where nothing else might be available. Pulling out another sack, she found their last few potatoes and a couple of limp carrots. Maybe she could try making a quick soup?

Wynn paused, pondering the fire.

It was already lit, and the horses had been fed. Ore-Locks wasn't a hunter, so he'd taken to foraging for necessities like firewood. Had he already returned and was here somewhere? Bending over, she looked under the wagon.

He wasn't resting there. Straightening, she looked about, and then spotted a flicker of light halfway up the sheer slope on the outcrop's southern side. She barely made out a hulking form by that small torchlight.

"Ore-Locks," she called. "What are you doing?"

He didn't answer. She noticed how high he held the torch, its flame well above his head, but she hesitated at being alone with him up there. Curiosity won out when he began climbing higher, and she raced for the slope and scrambled upward to follow him.

"What . . . are you . . . ?" she panted, closing as he reached the outcrop's top. "What are you doing?"

Up close, he didn't smell any better than she did. A focused intensity covered his face.

"The top did not look right," he said absently, not looking at her. "This is not natural.... Too level."

Wynn followed his gaze.

The hang of the rutted ledge they'd seen from below was indeed level on top. By torchlight, she made out a pile of huge stones near its outward end. She was still staring when Ore-Locks headed out over that unnatural level toward the stone pile near the precipice.

Chane followed a few paces behind Shade as they made their way back to camp. Though he carried a large hare from a successful hunt, he wished they could have found something-anything-else to bring back from this wild, rocky land. Wynn never complained, but he knew she was probably dreaming of lentil stew.

Creeks and streams were plentiful enough for water. A few were large enough to support fish, if he was given time for the lengthy act of catching them. Wynn normally wanted to forage and move on as soon as possible. Between him and Shade, the quickest meal they could catch was a flushed rabbit, or maybe a partridge, if they caught it asleep.

Chane was walking at a good clip when Shade suddenly stopped. Her ears p.r.i.c.ked up, and at first he thought she had lost her way.

But Shade never lost her bearings.

He followed her eyes to beneath a spa.r.s.e pine tree downslope. A downed deer lay there, and Chane stepped around Shade to check out their find.

When their supplies were still plentiful, he had replenished his stores of life with the feeding cup by dragging down a few deer or wild cattle. He had not seen either in nearly a moon. An animal this size would provide food for some time, and venison might be a welcome change for his companions. But how long had the beast been dead? Would its flesh still be safe to eat?

Shade rumbled softly.

"What?" he asked, as if expecting an answer.

She remained where he had left her and wouldn't approach the carca.s.s.

Chane dropped to his knees and found that the carca.s.s was still warm to the touch. That gave him hope that it had not yet spoiled, but it felt boney and gaunt. He could not see it clearly and grabbed its hind legs to drag it out beneath the moonlight. It weighed almost nothing.

Once Chane saw it clearly, disappointment set in.

At first, he thought the creature had died of old age. Its skin was shriveled and stretched tight over its rib cage. Then he noticed that its antlers were short, barely nubs, where tines would eventually grow. The deer could not have been much more than a yearling, yet it looked old.

He rose to his feet and backed away. He had no reason to fear disease, but he did not want to carry any taint back to camp.

"Come. We're late," he told Shade, and she loped ahead as he stepped onward.

Even as he reached camp, something about the carca.s.s still bothered him-until he realized the camp was empty, and all thoughts of the deer vanished.

"Wynn?" he rasped.

The black gelding nickered, and he saw that the horses had been fed and the fire was lit. He leaned down to look under the wagon. Ore-Locks's bedroll was empty, though his iron staff still lay there. Shade growled, and Chane straightened.

Shade sniffed the air, perhaps searching for Wynn in her own way, and Chane grew tense as the dog began ranging about the camp and peering out into the dark. Had Ore-Locks decided to drag Wynn off on his own in search for the seatt? Then why leave the wagon, horses, and weapons behind? Why bother building a fire?

"Wynn!" Chane called.

His maimed voice didn't carry far. Shade threw back her head and howled once.

"Up here!" Wynn shouted. "Come quick."

Chane looked up and saw light above the outcrop's top, perhaps thirty or more yards overhead. His relief faded under annoyance. What was she up to now?

He dropped the hare by the fire and ran to catch Shade scrambling up the slope along the outcrop's southern side. When he ascended to a height where torchlight reached his eyes, Shade was beside Wynn and Ore-Locks out on the outcrop's strangely level top. They were climbing over a pile of large stones-practically boulders-near the outcrop's end.

Chane was about to call Wynn back, not caring what brought her up here, when Ore-Locks dropped to a crouch beside one large, erect stone.

"Get over here," Wynn called, waving.

Exasperated, Chane stepped outward, but his curiosity did not take hold until Ore-Locks stood back up. The stone next to the dwarf was about his height and half that in width. Roughly weathered, it seemed too square. It was raggedly sheared at an angle, as if it had once been quite tall, but had broken off.

"What is it?" Chane asked.

Neither Wynn nor Ore-Locks answered at first. Perhaps they had not yet discussed this.

"A pylon?" Wynn suggested. "Like the ones in Dhredze Seatt, used to show directions?"

Uncertain as he was, her notion made him uncomfortable. By its worn and shattered state, it was very old, perhaps ancient.

"Why?" Ore-Locks ventured, for once so focused that he seemed open to discussion. "My people do not need pylons outside our own seatt."

"Unless . . ." Wynn began, "unless it's from a time when there was more than one seatt."

Ore-Locks's frown began to fade. "Or when more of my people once traveled well-used ways."

Reluctantly, Chane asked, "Is there writing?"

Wynn and Ore-Locks exchanged a look, and then both crouched and pawed at the erect stone's surface.

Chane hoped they found nothing-hoped Wynn might have grown weary by now and notions of giving up were in the back of her mind. When they reached the great range, and perhaps after days and nights on foot in those peaks with no sign of a "fallen mountain," he might finally take her home to relative safety. There were fewer threats that would risk following her among her own kind.

"Here!" she breathed.

That one word almost extinguished Chane's hope. Ore-Locks crouched beside Wynn near the squared stone's base.

"Can you feel them?" Wynn asked. "There's not much, but these might be worn traces of old engravings."

"Perhaps," Ore-Locks said at first. "Perhaps, yes . . . yes."

He rose again, torch in hand, and peered southward in the direction of the stone's face. Wynn looked up at him, her dust-smudged face faintly hopeful.

"This must mean we're on the right track," she said.

Ore-Locks tilted his head, appearing thoughtful now. "If the seatt is on the range's southern side, this marker is much too far away. Pylons, as you call them, point to the next closest location or subsequent marker in the direction from an engraved surface."

"Like what?" she asked.

Ore-Locks fell silent for a moment. "Perhaps the seatt is not as far as we thought."