Tylar was unprepared for his reaction. He had never intended to come across her. He had planned on avoiding the upper reaches of the Citadel where the warden and castellan kept their rooms. But here Kathryn was, standing before him.
Met with those eyes, Tylar could not move. A part of him wanted to lunge out, pull her into an embrace, kiss those lips, taste the woman to whom he’d pledged his heart . . . but another wanted to simply lash out. How could she have doubted him? Hadn’t she known him better than any woman? And still even deeper down, a final part of him wanted to drop to his knees and beg her forgiveness for all he had done, all he had cost them both.
He tried speaking. “Kathryn . . .” But any further words died to ash in his mouth.
She turned her eyes away. Tylar found he could move again and stepped toward her. She stepped farther away. He relented and spoke the words that needed to be declared. “I didn’t slay Meeryn.”
“I know,” Kathryn mumbled, her back to him. “And I know you didn’t murder that family of cobblers five years ago.”
Tylar stumbled at this. “How—?”
Kathryn cut him off. “The story is long.” She glanced to the door. “It’s not safe for you here, Tylar. Why did you return?”
“To clear my name. To expose the true slayer of Meeryn.”
She glanced quickly back at him and away, but Tylar caught the flash of pain in her eyes. Her gaze dropped to the floor. Anger fired her words. “How does coming here help you?”
“A burden was placed upon me by Meeryn,” Tylar said, and he briefly recounted Meeryn’s death and her final words to him. “She cured my broken body but left me with this duty, this mystery.”
“Rivenscryr? What does that mean?”
Tylar frowned. “According to Fyla of Tangled Reef, the word is a name in ancient Littick, the god’s name for the talisman that sundered their world four thousand years ago.”
Kathryn swung back around. “You mean the Godsword?”
He nodded.
“Why mention such a dread thing?”
“That’s the answer I came here to find. Tashijan’s libraries are the best in all of Myrillia. I’ve brought others to help me search.” He motioned to the dark doorway to the neighboring bedroom. His companions appeared at his signal, stepping out of hiding, all draped in shadowcloaks. One carried a sword in hand.
“May I present Krevan,” Tylar said, “formerly known as the Raven Knight.”
Kathryn’s eyes widened in shock. Her eyes traveled to the ancient sword in his hand. Serpentfang could not be mistaken.
There was no time for lengthier introductions as the others pushed into the small room, crowding it. Tylar named each in turn. “This is Rogger, a scholar turned thief. And Delia, one of Meeryn’s former Hands.”
Delia bowed her head. “Castellan Vail,” she said formally.
“And lastly Eylan, Wyr-mistress from the Lair.” The tall woman in leathers eyed Kathryn up and down, apprising her as a threat.
Once finished, Kathryn stared about the group. She’d been so focused on Tylar, she’d not considered that their might be others hiding in the next room. “How did you all get in here? Why are you in Perryl’s rooms? And what’s become of Perryl?”
Rogger nodded to Kathryn. “The last is as much a mystery to us as it is to you, my dear castellan. As to entering Tashijan, it was not hard when you’re accompanied by a cadre of knights.” He picked at the edge of the cloak he wore about his shoulders.
“Though we can’t use the Grace in them, a cloak is a cloak. Hiding the ordinary just as well as the extraordinary.”
Tylar waved him back. “Perryl was the only person I knew I could trust here,” he explained.
Kathryn winced at these words, but remained silent.
“It took only a few discreet inquiries to find our way to Perryl’s domicile. We’d only just arrived and found him gone when you came knocking.”
“You mentioned blood on his bed.” Kathryn glanced to the back bedroom.
“Not much. A splattering of drops across his sheets. But a table was overturned. There had clearly been a struggle.”
Kathryn paled visibly. “They’ve taken him.”
“Who?”
“The Fiery Cross.”
Tylar scrunched his brow, remembering rumors of such a clandestine order within the ranks of the Shadowknights. “How do you know this?”
A knock interrupted any further words.
“Castellan Vail,” a voice said at the door.
Kathryn waved them to silence. “What is it, Lorr?”
“I just wanted to make sure you were secure.”
“I’m fine, Lorr. Perryl and I are just finishing up.”
“Very good.”
Kathryn backed farther into the room. Her voice lowered. “I have no time to explain more. We have to get you away. I’ll see to Perryl, but I know who might help you with your research into the Godsword.”
“Who?”
“Master Gerrod Rothkild. A friend. I can give you directions to his rooms and will leave a note bearing my seal introducing you.” She turned to a table by the hearth and found a piece of parchment. She quickly scribbled a note.
Tylar watched over her shoulder, making sure what she wrote wasn’t a betrayal. The content of the note was brief with a promise to explain more. It asked the master to extend his trust of Kathryn to Tylar’s party. She sealed it with melted wax and impressed the castellan’s seal into it using her ring.
She handed the note to Tylar. “Stay hidden. I’ll leave first and take my guard and his hounds away.”
“Hounds?” Rogger asked. “What hounds?”
Kathryn glanced to the thief. “Warden Fields knew Tylar was coming here. He mistook his intentions. He thought . . . that Tylar was coming for me.”
Rogger grinned. “Baiting a trap.” He glanced to Eylan. “It seems everyone’s been doing that lately with Tylar.”
“Yes,” Kathryn mumbled, “but I guess the bait here wasn’t attractive enough for the godslayer.”
Before Tylar could respond, Kathryn headed to the door. “Wait a quarter bell to be sure,” she said. “Then follow my directions down to Gerrod’s room.”
Tylar met her at the door, stopping her from leaving. He whispered his words. “We’re placing all our trust in you.”
“You did that once before . . . and look what happened.”
Tylar stared again into her eyes. He saw none of the doubt of a moment before, just sorrow.
“Keep hidden,” she repeated. “And move swiftly. All of Tashijan is alerted.”
Tylar fell back behind the door as she pulled the latch.
With the release, the door flew open, throwing Kathryn back and knocking Tylar against the wall.
Across the threshold, a great shaggy beast lunged into the room, as tall as a man and as massive as a bull. It roared, claws digging, hackles raised. Saliva sizzled through the threadbare rug.
On the floor, Kathryn crabbed out of its way, but her cloak tangled her.
Heart pounding, Tylar leaped off the wall, dagger in hand, and flew to stand between the beast and Kathryn. It snapped at him. Tylar twisted to the side. It caught the edge of his cloak, yanking. Before losing balance, he raised the dagger and plunged it into the hound’s eye.
The beast howled and tossed its head, ripping the dagger from his fingers and whipping Tylar away. He struck the wall again, hard, hitting his head. Lights dazzled. He sank to the floor.
Krevan appeared along with Eylan at the bedroom door, swords in hand. At the door, a beastly looking man stepped behind the haunches of the hound. He bore daggers in both hands, his eyes aglow with Grace.
A wyld tracker.
Head aching, Tylar watched Kathryn rise to her feet, arms out, warding away both friend and foe.
“Stop!” Kathryn shouted, her voice firm with command. She had to end this.
The man claiming to be the Raven Knight kept his wary stance, as did the Wyr-woman at his side.
“No one move!” she ordered.
Barrin crouched low to the floor, lips rippled back, baring fangs in pain and fury. The dagger’s hilt still protruded from his left eye.
Lorr’s features matched the ferocity of his wounded bullhound, but he kept his stance at the door. “Castellan, come to me,” he said through gritted teeth.
Kathryn held her place. “Lorr, call off Barrin and Hern.”
The tracker’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Lorr, do as I say!”
With an angry grunt, he coaxed Barrin to drop to his belly. The bullhound moaned, rubbing its impaled eye with the edge of a paw, but the blade had been embedded deep, into bone and nerve. A whimpering flowed from it as the pain worsened.
“Wait,” said Tylar. He pushed up from the wall and rubbed the back of his head. He moved toward the bullhound. “There’s no reason to continue its suffering.”
Lorr stepped toward Tylar. “If anyone is to end Barrin’s misery, it will be me.” He raised a dagger.
“No,” Tylar warned sharply. “That’s not necessary.”
Kathryn joined them. “Lorr, do as he says.”
Tylar crept slowly up to the wounded side of the bullhound. He reached toward the dagger’s hilt. Barrin snapped at him, coming close to taking off Tylar’s arm. A slather of tossed saliva struck Tylar’s cloak, burning holes clean through.
“Can you hold him still?” Tylar asked Lorr.
“Be quick.” The tracker swore under his breath but moved to Barrin’s other side. He bent and whispered in his ear. Barrin’s head rolled toward Lorr, wanting reassurance.
Tylar used the moment to dart forward. But rather than driving the dagger into the hound’s brain, he snatched the dagger free and jumped back.
Barrin jerked his head up and pawed again at his eye. Kathryn expected blood and ichor to pour from the pierced globe. But when Barrin stared back at Lorr, his eye was unharmed, as if it had never been stabbed.
“How could this be?” the tracker gasped.
“A bale dagger,” Tylar said. “A gift from Lord Balger. It heals as fast as it cuts. There should be no lasting harm.”
Lorr’s eyes remained narrowed, but their edge of fury slowly faded. Still, he kept both daggers in hand and his beasts at ready. The bullhounds fully blocked the only exit, waiting for their master’s whistle to tear into those trapped here.
“You are the godslayer,” Lorr said, staring hard at Tylar.
“I slew no god,” he said with exasperation.
“He speaks the truth,” Kathryn said.
Doubt still shone there. Tylar’s compassion had bought them a moment, but nothing more. Kathryn sought some way to convince the tracker, but they didn’t have much time. With all the commotion here, word would soon reach Argent or one of his cronies. But how to convince Lorr to let them all go?
Help came from an unusual source. A figure pushed between the Raven Knight and the Wyr-woman. It was the handmaiden to Meeryn. A slim young woman. Kathryn had forgotten her name.
Lorr had not. “Delia . . .” He stumbled forward a step. “It can’t be . . .”
“We are ill-met here, Tracker Lorr.”
“How did you . . . ?” He glanced to Tylar, then back to the handmaiden. “What are you doing here?”
“Helping my friends,” she said with a sad smile. “Like I did with you and your wolf pups when I was a child. I still remember the one named Eyesore, the runt with the twisted back leg.”
Something between a smile and a grimace formed on the tracker’s face. “The tough old ranger died four years back. During a campaign with your father.”
“Oh, no . . .” Genuine sorrow echoed in her voice.
Kathryn glanced to Tylar.
“She’s Argent’s daughter,” he said.
Kathryn studied the slip of a girl. Brought to her attention, she now noted the similarity in features.
Lorr continued. “Delia, you were a chosen of Meeryn. I remember, when I first heard, I was right near to bursting with pride.”
Now it was Delia’s turn to widen her eyes in surprise. “How . . . You knew?”
“Though your father may have forgotten you, I have not. Not my little wolf girl.”
Tears rose and brimmed the maiden’s eyes.
Lorr seemed uncomfortable by the raw emotion. He glanced around the room. “But now you serve those accused of Meeryn’s death.”
“Falsely accused.” Delia wiped at her eyes brusquely. “The true murderer is whom we seek to expose.”
Lorr stared hard at the handmaiden, as if he were trying to use his keen sight and altered senses to read the truth, to search for enchantment upon the girl he once knew.
Kathryn knew she’d best press the matter. “Lorr, we must be away. They came for information that I think Master Gerrod might supply. We must not keep them.”
Lorr shook his head. “They’ll never make it. All the passages down to the master’s levels have been barricaded tight with guards. None can pass from the upper levels to the lower without a full search.”
“What if Kathryn goes herself?” Tylar asked. “She can inquire about Rivenscryr from her friend.”
“Lorr would have to come with me,” Kathryn said. “His absence would be noted. And what about you all? You can’t stay here.”
As proof to her words, shouts sounded distantly, coming from the main stair.
Lorr stirred. “Castellan, do you truly trust these folks?”
Kathryn stared at Tylar. Though he wore the same face, much had changed in him—then again much had not. She looked at him now with eyes aged by years and heartache, no longer so naive. He had always been a caring and generous man. In the past, she had let herself doubt this in a moment of panic, confusion, and shock. But she was no longer that woman either.
“I do trust him,” she mumbled and turned to Lorr.
The tracker nodded. “Then there might be a way. But we’ll all have to go together. I can show them a passage that is surely unguarded. A passage that isn’t a passage.”
“What about Perryl?” Tylar said.
Kathryn clenched a fist on the hilt of her sword. She pictured the young knight’s straw hair and easy manner. She had a hard decision to make. “If what you say is true,” she said, “then there’s too much at stake. Lorr and I will search for him after you’re gone. Until then, all we can do is pray he’s safe.”
Tylar hesitated, but finally nodded. Like Kathryn, he knew the weight of duty.
Kathryn turned to the doorway. “Show us, Lorr.”
Tylar and the others pulled their cloaks and hoods back up. Lorr backed Barrin and Hern out into the hallway.
The noise of approaching boots grew louder. A call reached them. “What’s all this uproar?”
Lorr shoved through the bullhounds to face the leader of a cadre of guards. Kathryn held her breath. What if he betrayed them?
“Just a tussle between a couple of hungry dogs,” Lorr grumbled. “So unless you feel like joining them for dinner, you’d best clear on out.” At a hand signal from the tracker, Hern growled with a great show of teeth.
The leader backed away several steps.
Lorr continued. “What is it about you skaggin’ knights?” He waved back to Tylar and the other cloaked figures. “Always come running when you hear a dog bark, but you need some real fighting done and you’re nowhere to be found.”
The guard leader scowled at the insult. “You’d best watch your tongue, tracker.”
Hern growled again.
“And you and your knights better watch more than your tongues.”
The knight waved him off. “Take your beasts out of my halls.”
Lorr sneered and shoved through his dogs. “Continue to the hall’s back stair,” he hissed as he passed Tylar. “The main stair will be too crowded.”
“But don’t we want to get down to the Masterlevels?” Tylar asked. “Those back stairs only lead up.”
“Exactly.”
Tylar marched behind Kathryn as she followed Lorr up the stairs. One of the tracker’s bullhounds led the way, the other trailed behind. Despite the tracker’s willingness to help, he refused to drop his guard. He kept them all pinned between his beasts.
Rogger climbed behind Tylar. Delia kept to his side. Beyond them trailed Krevan and Eylan. Before entering Tashijan, they had left Corram, along with Krevan’s six other Shadowknights, to guard their mounts in case a quick escape proved necessary. They had dared not move too large a group into Tashijan, lest they turn too many an eye, and the other Shadowknights’ cloaks were needed to disguise Tylar, Rogger, Delia, and Eylan.
Tylar now regretted not bringing a few more knights.
They climbed past another three landings. Where was this tracker taking them? The muscles of Tylar’s neck ached from the strain of this night. The fetid breath of the two bullhounds filled the narrow passage. Still, the beasts did succeed in driving other knights off the stairs and out of their way.
At last, Lorr grunted. “We’ll head out here.” The tracker checked the landing, then continued their parade through Tashijan. The halls widened at last.
Rogger moved up to one side of Tylar, Delia the other.
The thief nodded to Kathryn. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “So? How does it feel to see your betrothed again?”
Tylar had no desire to discuss such matters with Rogger—not until he could sort out his own feelings. But he was also conscious of Delia’s presence at his side. She had avoided his eye ever since Kathryn had walked through the door. He remembered Delia’s whispered words back in the Lair. It’s no oath that binds me . . .
Though neither of them had firmed their feelings beyond tentative motions, he owed Delia an honest answer to Rogger’s question as much as himself. “I . . . I don’t know.”
Before more could be said, Lorr waved. “Hurry now.”
All had noted the many eyes following their passage. The bullhounds were difficult to miss. Someone would surely raise some inquiries. Word would eventually rise like smoke to the warden’s chambers far overhead.
The hall ended a short ways ahead at a set of double doors.
Tylar recognized where they had been led. He frowned in confusion.
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