James Clemens - Shadowfall

They fled silently. The two knights, Yaellin and Kathryn, led the way, utilizing the shadows. With the guards focused on the healer’s door, their party slipped past the landing without being spotted. As they descended, the crash of an ax into wood echoed behind them.

They did not have much time until their ruse was discovered.

They raced downward.

As Tylar had guessed, a few guards still manned the stairs, but Yaellin and the castellan swept down upon them, shrouded in shadows. The guards were swiftly dispatched and left sprawled on the stairs.

They had no time to mourn their acts. There was no telling the innocent from the guilty. But all of Myrillia was at stake.

Cringing at each death, Dart fled with the others, Laurelle at her side.

Rogger dropped back to Dart and held something in his hand. “You left this behind.”

Dart stared at the black blade. It was the cursed dagger Yaellin had given her. She had thought it lost forever. If she’d had it earlier… with Paltry…

Rogger winked at her. “As a thief, I know better than to leave a weapon behind.”

Dart took the blade with a nod of thanks and returned it to her sheath.

They descended floor after floor.

A shout erupted as they crossed one floor’s landing. Dart turned to see a tall man in the neighboring hall. He was dressed in the gold and crimson of the castillion guard, but from the finery of his dress, he was clearly the captain of this guard.

Before the captain could shout a second time, Rogger threw a dagger. It struck the man in the throat and tossed him back, gurgling. His fall revealed a girl behind him.

Dart and Laurelle met her gaze. The girl’s guilt was plain.

Here was the one who had alerted the guards, who had betrayed them.

Margarite.

Before a word could be spoken, Master Gerrod hurried Dart and Laurelle down the final two flights. They broke into the open courtyard. A handful of guards were posted here, but they were too few to block their escape through the back gate and out to the alleys beyond.

Shouts followed, but they quickly faded away among the maze of alleyways and side streets.

Laurelle glanced to Dart. The pain of Margarite’s betrayal still shone brightly in Laurelle’s eyes.

Friends had become enemies. Whom could they trust?

At last Laurelle reached for Dart again.

Dart took her hand, gladly, gratefully.

It would have to be enough.

Releasing hold of the scaling rope, Tylar dropped to the soil beside Kathryn and Gerrod. The tree limbs overhead creaked and shivered from the winds gusting over the crumbled wall of ancient stones. The sky had darkened with lowering clouds. The air smelled wet and heavy.

A storm was coming.

Tylar stepped aside as Yaellin flew down a second rope with the two girls. Dart carried Pupp under one arm. She had used a touch of her blood to give him substance, so the wall would not separate them again. Landing, Dart lowered her strange companion and stood. As Pupp faded, neither child looked pleased to find themselves back in the Eldergarden.

Yaellin touched Dart’s shoulder, attempting to reassure her.

With the entire upper city scouted by guards-both castillion forces and footmen brought up from the lower garrisons-it was no longer safe in the streets.

A handful of Shadowknights, in service to Chrism, haunted dark corners. But Kathryn and Yaellin had no trouble sidestepping or dispatching them. They were young, fresh to their cloaks. Still, it was lucky Chrism kept so few knights in residence, what with the city so close to Tashijan.

Kathryn looked grim as Rogger and Eylan descended the stone wall, the last of their group. Tylar knew her worry. He had also noted the patch worn by one of the knights, knocked senseless by Yaellin. It had been sewn to his inner cloak. A crimson circle bisected by a cross of flames.

The Fiery Cross.

Kathryn had grown silent since the discovery. Still, Tylar could read her fears. How far had the Cross spread? How deeply in collusion were they with all these dark happenings?

For now, Tashijan would have to wait.

Gerrod, who had been studying the gloomy myrrwood, turned to Yaellin. “You’re sure you can find your way back to where the blood ritual took place?”

The knight nodded and pointed.

Gerrod had proposed using this time, while attention was diverted to the search of the streets, to investigate Chrism’s sanctuary in the wood. His plan seemed wise. None would suspect they’d hole up in the dark woods, under Chrism’s very nose. Still, now faced with the myrrwood and knowing the corruption at its heart, doubts rose. It was plain in all their faces. Perhaps this wasn’t the safest place to hide.

But Gerrod was right. They needed to learn more about what had happened to Chrism before they confronted or exposed him. Knowledge was their best weapon.

Once gathered, the group set off into the wood, led by Yaellin.

Tylar paced Gerrod. The master’s armor whirred and one knee had begun to squeak. “What do you hope to find at that site?” Tylar asked.

“I don’t suppose to guess,” he answered slowly. “But from the story told, the blood ritual took place at the spot where Chrism first settled to this land. I think that’s significant.”

Tylar frowned. “Why?”

Like everyone else, Tylar knew the history of Chrism’s settlement of the first god-realm. In an attempt to end the ravings that plagued him, as all the gods suffered, Chrism had bled himself into the land, fully and completely, drained empty, attempting to end his life. But death did not come. Instead, as his living blood bonded to the region, he discovered peace from the ravenings. He was the first to find such solace, but word spread. Others quickly followed, staking out their own realms. Only the rogues remained unfettered, preferring madness to confinement to one realm. But even they found themselves eventually pushed and isolated among the many stretches of raw hinterland.

“Chrism was the first to settle,” Gerrod answered. “Yet at this site, he commits dark acts. He speaks of being free, of un-fettering himself from his own realm. Could such a thing be possible? Did Chrism break his bond to the land? Has he reverted back to a rogue? Is it madness or corruption? We must search this site for any answers.”

Tylar nodded. It was a chilling thought. Chrism gone rogue.

They continued the trek in silence. Winds shook the upper tree limbs. Dried leaves fell with whispery rattles, putting everyone on edge, making it seem like the forest itself gasped and wheezed. The darkness grew to a midnight gloom. The only light came from strange luminescent berries decorating thorny bushes and palm-sized butterflits resting among the branches.

After a time, Yaellin lifted an arm and waved them to an even quieter tread. “We skirt the Heartwood. Take care we don’t wake it.”

The knight led them around in a wide arc. Tylar caught glimpses of the massive bole of the tree, the heart of the wood, corrupted and ilked like the men and women who served Chrism. Very faintly, the rustle of dried wood… or bone… whispered from that direction.

No one spoke.

They slowly passed the Heartwood and continued farther into the myrrwood. A light rain began to patter the canopy, but few drops reached the ground. They might as well have been indoors.

“Not much farther,” Yaellin said.

They paused to take a short break. Bandages were checked. All of them bore wounds, except for Gerrod, who worked on the creaking joints of his armor.

Then they set off again, moving more slowly, eyes wary for any ilk-beasts still lurking here after the ritual. But the woods appeared empty. The hunt out in the streets still occupied Chrism’s minions.