James Clemens - Shadowfall

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.

She wended her way through the maze of corridors to reach Perryl’s cell. “Over there,” she said, pointing out the proper door. She glanced to make sure she had the letter and that the name upon it was not smudged. Satisfied, she crossed to the door and knocked upon it.

Barrin and Hern took up posts on either side, all but filling the hallway. Lorr kept behind her.

There was no answer. Maybe he was gone, off with friends.

She knocked harder.

A scuffle of noise sounded beyond the door. Someone was home.

“Perryl…” she called through the planks of the door.

Silence answered her.

“Perryl, it’s Kathryn.”

A moment of silence, then a muffled response. “Come inside… but be quick about it.”

Kathryn tried the door. It was unlatched. She shoved it open. A small hearth crackled to one side of the greeting room. Beyond an archway, the bedchamber lay dark.

A cloaked Shadowknight stood by the hearth, facing the flames. “Close the door. Latch it.”

She obeyed, though she knew instantly the figure was not Perryl. The shoulders were too broad, the figure sturdier of frame. Even cloaked from head to foot, Kathryn knew the stranger was far older than the young man she had come to see.

“Where’s Perryl?” she asked.

“Gone… disappeared… no one knows where… but there was blood on his bed.”

Kathryn pictured the slain knight in the Fiery Cross. Fear gripped her. If Argent knew of her letter, did he know whom she planned to send?

“Wh… who are you?”

The Shadowknight turned, his face hidden by a wrap of masklin, his stripes plain to see. “Don’t you know me?”

Kathryn stared into his eyes. The room spun, her knees weakened. Time slipped from the past to the present.

“Tylar…”

“Again?” Laurelle asked, seated by the hearth to her room. She bent over a lace stocking, darning it with silk on a silver needle. “Is your room too cold at night? If we keep bedding together, folks will begin to speak out of turn.”

Laurelle’s words were softened by a smile.

Dart felt a blush rise to her cheeks. Still, she did not retract her plea to share Laurelle’s room. Dart feared sleeping alone since waking two mornings ago, knowing someone had been in her bedchamber. Even now she imagined Yaellin de Mar leaning over her sleeping form, the streak of silver in his black hair aglow in the dark. She hid a shudder.

Laurelle must have sensed her fear. She sighed. “What is this all about?”

Dart glanced to Pupp. He lay in front of Laurelle. His fiery eyes watched with fascination as she knit a hole closed in her hosiery. Firelight danced behind him, but he cast no shadow. Dart tired of all her secrets, so many now she felt near the point of bursting.

She could stand it no longer. The secrets so filled every space inside her that she found herself unable to eat. Sleep came fitful, even while sharing Laurelle’s bed. She felt worn so very, very thin.

Laurelle stared at her with genuine concern. She set down her darning and reached over to take Dart’s hand. “You’re trembling.” She scooted over, drawing Dart closer. “What is troubling you so?”

Dart shook her head-not so much in refusal as in confusion.

Laurelle leaned until her nose was almost touching Dart’s. “You can speak to me.” Fingers squeezed. “Whatever you tell me can stay between just the two of us.”

Dart felt something loosen deep inside her, shuddering free. A sob rose to her lips and burbled out before she could swallow it back.

Laurelle pulled her into an embrace. “Dart, what’s happened?”

She shook her head, then mumbled in Laurelle’s ear, “Something horrible…”

Laurelle sat back. “Tell me. What one can’t bear alone, two may carry more easily. Share.”

Dart stared at her friend. For all her life, she had lived with secrets. She watched Pupp crawl around them, tail tucked, low to the ground, sensing her turmoil but unable to comfort. For so long, she had found security in silence, keeping her true self hidden away. What would it be like to end all that? To live her life openly? She didn’t know what distressed her more: to speak or not to speak.