Lorr sighed heavily. He had seen the charnel pit. His eyes, hard and flinty, still shone with the horror of it all. “Mayhap you’re right. But should the warden not be given word?”
Kathryn gripped the diadem pendant at her neck. The diamond, though made of paste, still signified her position. “I am the castellan of Tashijan, second only to the warden. As some part of the Fiery Cross was involved in this most foul murder, it is right for the warden to step aside in the investigation. He’s compromised for his involvement with the Cross. So I must step forward.”
“And what do you plan on doing?”
“First, swear you to secrecy.”
Lorr glanced harshly at her.
She faced him down. “We must not alert the Fiery Cross to our knowledge or all involved will vanish into the shadows, unpunished and unknown. That must not happen, not until we are ready to snare them all.”
Lorr marched ahead, shoulders hunched. Finally he grunted a grudging assent. “I will keep silent for the moment.”
Kathryn hid her relief. If Argent knew what they had discovered, he would not let them live until the next dawn. She had to avoid the warden until she could determine some plan . . . which meant consulting with her friend Gerrod before he left.
“I must speak to Master Rothkild,” Kathryn said. “We’ll forgo delivering the letter for the moment.”
Lorr nodded.
Reaching the central main staircase, Lorr started down the wide steps, led by Barrin. The large bullhound’s hackles still bristled. A few knights and masters gave the beast a wide berth, pressing against the wall.
They wound down deep under the Citadel, leaving the last rays of the sun behind and entering the subterranean domain of the Masters of Disciplines. She prayed Gerrod was still in his chambers.
The answer stepped around the next bend in the stair.
Master Hesharian gasped aloud as he came face-to-jowl with the slavering Barrin. The man’s large bulk stumbled back a pace, tripping on a step. Before he fell, his arm was caught in the bronze fingers of his companion, Gerrod Rothkild.
“Skaggin’ monsters,” Hesharian huffed, steadying himself. He shook free of Gerrod’s grip. “What are you doing down here?” His piggish eyes took in Lorr, the bullhounds, and Kathryn.
Lorr opened his mouth to speak, but Kathryn stepped forward. “How fortunate a meeting. I had hoped to discuss a matter with Master Rothkild.”
Hesharian glanced to Gerrod, then back to Kathryn. “We’ve been summoned to the field room by Warden Fields. It seems our godslayer has made landfall.”
Gerrod’s features remained unreadable behind his bronze helmet.
Kathryn kept her own face calm. “Where?” she asked.
“Where else . . . somewhere off in Foulsham Dell.” He spoke the name with clear distaste. “Warden Fields has doubled the night’s shift and calls all leaders to the meeting. I’m surprised you did not receive a summons.”
“I’ve been away from my rooms for the past two bells. Perhaps the message awaits me there.”
“I’m sure that is so.”
Gerrod stirred. “If that’s the case, then certainly Castellan Vail should proceed directly to the field room with us.”
Hesharian glared at the two bullhounds, clearly not wanting their company. But he could not discount Gerrod’s offer.
They all continued as a group back up the stairs. No one spoke. The bullhounds grumbled, but a cuff from Lorr silenced them.
Kathryn slowed her step, allowing Master Hesharian and Lorr to drift ahead, vanishing for stretches behind the curve of the stair. Hern was their only companion, padding after them, eyes wide.
“Why have you been summoned?” Kathryn asked. It was strange that Gerrod was called to this meeting. He was not even a member of the Council of Masters, though it was rumored he was next in line for one of the seats.
“It seems,” Gerrod whispered, “that word of my departure at dawn has reached the ears of the warden. He has some duty to request of me when I travel to Chrismferry.”
Kathryn felt a chill skate across her skin. How had Argent learned so quickly of Gerrod’s plan to leave by flippercraft? And why this sudden summons?
Gerrod motioned back down the stairs. “Why were you coming down here?”
Kathryn did not like discussing this on the open stair, but she feared she might not have another chance. “Lorr and I discovered something of hideous import.” She described the body, its mutilation, the charnel pit.
“Strange,” Gerrod mumbled.
“What do you mean?”
“The body was left there, sprawled, mutilated, and abandoned. Does that not strike you as odd? Though the rite was clearly performed in a lonely, abandoned corner of Tashijan, why not hide their crime better? At least dump the body into the pit. Why leave it to be so conspicuously placed?”
“You think it was left on purpose?”
Gerrod nodded ahead. “You said that Lorr led you to the body, he and his hounds. Maybe someone wanted it to be found.”
Kathryn shook her head. “But why? Lorr is the warden’s man. Why would Argent want to implicate the Fiery Cross in some bloody rite?” She remembered the genuine horror on the wyldman’s face.
Gerrod stared questioningly at her.
“No,” she said firmly. “Lorr had no foreknowledge about what we would find.”
“Then perhaps he was set up also. A fresh blood lure tracked in the corridors. Meant to lead him and his hounds to the site.”
“But why? To what end?”
“Maybe there is another party seeking to discredit or expose the Fiery Cross. They couldn’t operate in the open, so they led someone they could trust to the spot, either hoping you’d take on the burden or to at least warn you.”
“But who? Why the need for secrecy?”
“If we’re right about Argent’s involvement with the death of Ser Henri and perhaps Castellan Mirra, then whoever is left of their trusted circle may be trying to help you now, fearful to approach directly, but knowing you must not fall under Argent’s sway. The new warden can be convincing.”
Kathryn remembered her morning meeting with Argent ser Fields a few days back. He had an answer to every one of her concerns, calming suspicion with a ready explanation. He had argued that the Fiery Cross was nothing more than an organization of knights and masters interested in returning Tashijan to full glory during this time of world strife. It had seemed plausible.
No longer.
“What about this tracker?” Gerrod said. “Will he speak? If Warden Fields finds—”
“He’s promised to keep silent for the moment.”
“Do you trust him?”
They wended around another bend in the stairs. Ahead lay the landing that led to Tashijan’s field room. Lorr and Hesharian climbed off the stairs, following the massive bullhound. Lorr glanced back at Kathryn, his hard eyes shining. He motioned her forward, while whistling under his breath to Hern.
The bullhound behind Kathryn pushed her and Gerrod forward.
Lorr spoke as she passed him. The field room lay halfway down the corridor. “I’ll see to watering Hern and Barrin. I’ll meet you outside the field room when you’re done.”
They stepped away. Gerrod glanced askance at her, his question still unanswered. Do you trust him?
She considered, then nodded to Gerrod, surprised at her answer but still sure. “I do.”
She had seen how Lorr cared for the great wooly beasts, firm but kind, demanding but patient. She also saw the deep wound in his eyes at finding the slaughtered young man. There was a well of depth hidden behind that hard countenance. He would not break his word.
Hesharian reached the door to the field room ahead of them, clearly glad to escape the company of the bullhounds. He inspected his white robe for bits of stray fur or any hole burned by a spatter of hound saliva.
A pair of young Shadowknights stood post on either side of the door. One swept forward and opened the way.
Kat
hryn eyed the young men, picturing another, the knight slaughtered and bled. A pang of sorrow and anger fired through her. She strode into the field room.
It looked the same as when last she was there, except the far windows overlooking the tourney grounds were unshuttered, open on the twilit skies. Torches hung at each corner, well away from the racked rolls of maps and documents.
The same men stood around the scarred wyrmwood table. Keeper Ryngold of the house staff, the black-stubbled knight Symon ser Jaklar, whose sneer seemed a permanent stamp, and of course, at the table’s head, Argent ser Fields.
The warden straightened from the map of Tashijan pinned to the table’s surface. Small silver tokens marked the placement of men throughout the Citadel. His one eye took in the latecomers, settling on Kathryn.
“Castellan Vail,” he said with good cheer. “I feared you would not receive the summons in time. My man Lowl has been scouring the Citadel attempting to find you. It seemed strange that someone accompanied by two hulking bullhounds could be so hard to find.”
“Tashijan is large,” she answered, waving to the map. “Plenty of places to hide.”
Keeper Ryngold chuckled, a strange sound among so many dour and black-cloaked figures. His purple surcoat and the silver baldric of his station stood out brightly. “Such is the problem we face now,” he said. “How to guard a place with so many secret corners?”
Symon ser Jaklar’s sneer deepened.
Warden Fields merely sighed. “But we do have new allies.” He stepped aside to reveal a figure limned against the twilight skies, half lost in the darkness, easy to miss. A Shadowknight. He turned to face them, his masklin lying around his neck, exposing his face, as was custom in this room.
Kathryn flinched at the man’s appearance, his bone-white features, snowy hair, eyes a silvery red.
“May I present Darjon ser Hightower,” Argent introduced. “Formerly of the Summering Isles, now here to lend his service and counsel to the capture of Tylar de Noche.”
Kathryn waited for the introductions to finish. Hesharian nodded to the stranger, his arms folded into the long sleeves of his robe. Kathryn used the time to study the newcomer. His expression remained stern and unwelcoming. He seemed disinterested in the proceedings. Something about the man’s eyes disturbed her—not the odd color, but something deeper, a coldness that went beyond an absence of warmth.
But more important, what held her transfixed was the absence of stripes on his face. Yet he wore a Shadowcloak and his eyes clearly shone with Grace.
This did not escape the notice of Master Hesharian. “Why are you unmarked, Ser Hightower?”
“It is a long story,” the knight said. The only emotion was a crinkling of a brow, irritation.
“He is indeed a sworn and accepted knight,” Argent insisted. “It was a mishap at birth, a blessing went awry, that left his skin unable to bear any pigment, natural or otherwise.”
Darjon gave Argent a baleful look.
“But enough of these introductions. We have plans to settle now that we know the godslayer has made landfall here.”
“In Foulsham Dell?” Kathryn asked.
“So word has come from one of our knights in the Dell. There is some confusion. Tylar de Noche apparently attacked Lord Balger, actually absconding with the god’s hand, so the story is told. Balger attempted to apprehend Tylar in the swamps but with no success. The search continues there, but we must not assume the godslayer is still among the swamps. His appearance at our borders confirms his goal. To come here.” Argent’s eyes fell upon Kathryn. “To come for you.”
Kathryn felt another pair of eyes fix to her. Darjon’s attention felt like a wash of icy waters.
“But we will be prepared,” Argent affirmed. “We have knights coming in from surrounding realms to aid in the capture of the godslayer. Our numbers have swelled to two thousand.”
Kathryn now understood why the hallways seemed so crowded of late. It was becoming such that one couldn’t turn a corner without bumping into another knight.
“Before we get down to details here . . .” Argent turned his attention to the last member of this council who had yet to be addressed. “Gerrod Rothkild, it has come to my attention that you will be leaving us, to proceed to Chrismferry on a research trip, is this not so?”
Kathryn forced herself not to react. She and Gerrod had decided only earlier in the day to search for clues in Chrismferry. How had Argent known? Kathryn noted Master Hesharian seeming to take particular attention in the dirt under one of his nails. Gerrod also glanced to the head of the Council of Masters. Plainly he must have informed the council to get permission to leave, and word had reached Argent through his fat puppet.
Gerrod bowed his head. “I am indeed heading to Chrismferry at dawn. I wish to consult the ancient library of Nirraborath and to obtain a few alchemic items.”
“Good . . . very good. I was wondering if you’d be willing to do a favor for the Citadel. Master Hesharian has assured me you’d be most cooperative.”
“If it is in my capacity to comply, I certainly will.”
“I have a parcel that I wish carried by a most trusted hand to Chrism’s castillion. It may be delivered to the keeper of the house there. Keeper Ryngold has already dispatched a raven to announce your coming. I hope that wasn’t presumptuous.”
“Not at all. There is an alchemy shop I wish to visit in the shadow of the castillion.”
“Thank you. Visit Keeper Ryngold’s chambers before retiring to obtain and secure the parcel.” Argent’s attention swung away, as good as a dismissal. His gaze again fell upon Kathryn. Argent smiled but the warmth did not reach his one eye. “Am I to understand that you need a courier to dispatch a message to Chrismferry? Mayhap Master Rothkild could deliver that also?”
Kathryn stood very still, attempting to keep from letting any sign of shock showing. No one knew about the letter except Gerrod, herself . . . and Lorr. She pictured the tracker. Moments before she had professed her trust in the man. Was it misplaced? But she had only told Lorr about the letter and her wish to visit Perryl when she was ready to leave her chambers. The tracker had not been out of her sight after that.
So how had Argent found out?
She cleared her throat. “That is most kind, Warden Fields, but Master Rothkild and I have already discussed the matter in private.”
Then again, did she have any privacy? Argent clearly was enjoying this moment. Was that all the purpose of the show here? To illustrate to Kathryn how much a stranglehold Argent had on her comings and goings, on her most intimate moments and plans? He must have spies everywhere.
She refused to let him rattle her. “This matter is best handled by a Shadowknight.”
Argent nodded and waved away the question. “So be it. You are the castellan of Tashijan.”
Master Hesharian wore a thick smirk at these words.
Argent began to turn away, then swung back toward Kathryn. “If that’s the case, mayhap you’d best deliver your letter without further waste. We can handle matters from here on our own. It’s all a tedious matter of shuffling knights anyway.”
Again she was being dismissed, shut out of the proceedings here. She did not protest this time. She had only to picture the young knight, naked and bloody, to want to flee as fast as she could from the warden’s presence.
They spent another few moments bowing out, but soon Gerrod and Kathryn were free of the field room. She found Lorr already awaiting her with Barrin and Hern. The pair of bullhounds sat on their haunches. Stubbed tails wagged at the sight of her.
Lorr straightened with a curry brush. He had been combing down Barrin. “That was nigh quick. Hardly worth the long climb.”
Kathryn frowned at him. Argent had only been pulling her string, making sure his puppet would still respond.
“Are you off to your chambers?” Lorr asked, nodding down the hall.
“It is late,” Gerrod said. “I could deliver the letter to Ser Corriscan.”
�
�No, I’d prefer to see Perryl myself.” Kathryn was in no spirit to be ensconced in her hermitage. The day had been too bloody, too disturbing. She wanted nothing better than to go to the stable, saddle the fastest horse, and ride until she could forget all this. But she’d settle for a bit more walking. Besides, she needed to explain all to Perryl, to see if he knew of any strange disappearances among his young knights. It was a place to begin her own investigations. “I’ll accompany you as far as his floor, then,” Gerrod offered.
Kathryn smiled her grateful thanks.
They continued back to the stairs, Barrin and Lorr in the lead again. Kathryn felt an odd comfort in the presence of the two hulking bullhounds.
They walked in silence for a long stretch.
Gerrod finally spoke, whispering to keep their words private. “You know what that was all about, don’t you?”
Kathryn nodded. “He’s flexing his muscles.”
A nod. “Our warden grows bolder, more assured of his position and security. And rightly so, I’m afraid. Tashijan bows at his feet.”
“Not all of Tashijan,” Kathryn said fiercely. “There’s us . . . and whoever might have led us to that bloody chamber. You mentioned before that a shadowcloak hid more than just a knight’s face. I think there are more folk on our side than is plain to see.”
“You may be right, but to fight for Tashijan, it can’t all be done in shadows.”
Kathryn knew the truth of his words. Eventually swords would have to be raised and sides chosen.
At last they reached the landing to Perryl’s floor. It was one of the lowest of the Citadel’s boarding levels, for the knights new to their cloak. Gerrod said his good-byes as he continued down to the subterranean levels of the masters.
Once Gerrod was out of sight, Kathryn and Lorr exited the stair and followed through the warren of narrow passages and low doors.
Kathryn remembered her first years in these halls. It had been a happier time, free of subterfuge and heartache.
She heard laughter from some of the rooms and the rattle of bone cups. The characteristic sour stench of stale ale persisted, soaked into the very stones of this hall. Somewhere farther down the hall a brief scuffle of swords, knights challenging one another, testing, competing.
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