James Clemens - Shadowfall

Kathryn faced them, flanked by the bullhounds and backed by Lorr.

“Castellan Vail,” the knight in charge said, a bulky fellow with porcine eyes. “All faces must be bared. None may pass from upper to lower without inspection.”

“Ser Balyn, we are not passing from upper to lower, but the reverse. Do you believe the godslayer has burrowed into the Masterlevels, through solid rock, and now rises to attack Tashijan?”

The knight hesitated. “I have my orders.”

“From Warden Fields… or the Fiery Cross?” Kathryn jabbed a finger at the badge pinned boldly on the knight’s chest.

“They are one and the same.”

“Not all follow the Cross. And those who have volunteered to protect me… against all… wish to stay anonymous. I have given my word, and I won’t let it be broken upon your stiffness.” Kathryn waved to Lorr. “I’m sure Warden Fields has informed you of Tracker Lorr’s assignation to me, by his own writ, a man loyal to the warden. If he vouches for my guardians, then that is as good as the warden’s, is it not?”

Ser Balyn shifted his feet.

Tylar grinned behind his masklin. Over his years with Kathryn, he had been the brunt of her clever tongue and sharp wit. It could tangle the best of men.

Kathryn pried the chink in the other’s armor. “We will proceed, Ser Balyn. Feel free to inform Warden Fields. But we will pass unmolested.”

She waved to Lorr. He whistled his hounds forward, wedging and forcing a phalanx through the wall of Shadowknights. The bullhounds snarled and dripped acid from their rippling lips.

Knights fell back.

Ser Balyn stood his ground.

Kathryn met his gaze, unblinking. “Would you raise a sword against the castellan of Tashijan?”

He finally stepped aside. “Warden Fields will know of this immediately.”

Kathryn strode past him. “Do your duty,” she said with an icy coldness. “And I’ll do mine.”

Tylar followed Kathryn’s lead. He and Krevan flanked the others, showing their knighted stripes above the masklin. The others kept their faces lowered from sight. They moved past the line of guards on the landing and continued up the stairs.

Glancing back, Tylar saw Ser Balyn elbow aside another knight, off to send a fast dispatch up to the warden. Tylar turned forward and continued after the others. He glanced to a high window and caught a glitter of starshine. Dawn was not far off. Timing would be critical.

Earlier, Master Gerrod had gone ahead of them, to dispatch two wyndravens, birds blessed in fire and air. The ravens would race with fire under their wings. No bird was faster, homing upon their targets with the speed of Grace. One had been addressed by Kathryn, the other by Tylar. They needed allies in the coming storm.

Tylar increased his pace to join Lorr and Kathryn.

“We should separate now. Ser Balyn will have the Warden’s Eyrie stirred up. They will be upon us like a flock of crows.”

“And we dare wait no longer in the search for Perryl,” Kathryn agreed.

Tylar reached out and took Lorr by the elbow. “Watch after her. Keep her from harm.”

Lorr nodded. “She’ll be safe. Warden Fields would not dare lay a hand on her. Now, as for you…” The tracker chuckled roughly.

Tylar knew a swift death awaited him if he was caught.

“Keep your track light and your path unmarked,” Lorr warned, using an old wyldman adage.

“I’ll do my best.”

Argent ser Fields raced with a cadre of knights, his best and most loyal. In the lead ran Symon ser Jaklar, whom many called his Wolf. Argent kept a step behind him. They all fed shadows into their cloaks, quickening their pace, sweeping through the halls, down stairs.

It wouldn’t be long.

The godslayer is here. He knew it in his bones. They would have to be swift and merciless.

Earlier, he had heard word of Kathryn and Lorr. They had broken into the Grand Court. He had dispatched men to the amphitheater, but a search turned up no sign of them. Then again, there were a hundred doors that led out from the court. It was a clever way to lose any trackers upon their tail. In one door, out any of a hundred.

But why was Lorr cooperating with Kathryn?

And just a quarter bell ago, word again reached him in his Eyrie. Kathryn had bulled her way past the guards stationed between the subterranean Masterlevels and the upper Citadel. She had been in the lower levels, but how had she gotten there? He had left word with the guards to alert him if Kathryn should leave the Citadel for the Masterlevels. He had wanted her movements under constant scrutiny. But none could say how she suddenly appeared from below.

And with a handful of cloaked knights, folks who refused to show their faces.

Argent raced with his knights. He had faced monsters and hinter-kings. But no greater glory would come to him than to carry the head of the godslayer upon a pike. After this, all obstacles to his plans here at Tashijan would fall away. He would spread the Fiery Cross throughout Myrillia. A new age would dawn… and he would lead the way.

He slid out his sword. Blessed in Dark Alchemies of loam and fire, just a poke of it would turn flesh to stone. Such a weapon was forbidden, of course, but such a transgression would be forgiven when he brought the godslayer to justice.

Ahead, a knight enfolded from the darkness of another passage. He dropped to one knee.

“She moves swiftly,” he reported. “Into the unoccupied areas of Tashijan.”

“Are all still with her?” Argent commanded.

“She and the tracker lead five knights, all cloaked.”

“Show me,” Argent ordered.

The knight rose and joined their party, sweeping ahead, drawing speed from the shadowed halls. All of Tashijan converged upon Kathryn. Her party was easy to follow, what with two bullhounds at their lead. Scouts were left behind, like this one, to lead Argent toward her and the godslayer.

Under orders, she and the others were not to be touched.

He would make the kill.

All of Tashijan would witness it.

Argent and his men stormed ahead. He felt the Black Grace coursing along the length of his sword. There was no greater swordsman in all of Myrillia. And not even a godslayer would survive the curse upon the blade.

They sped ahead, collecting scouts along the way, growing in size like a raging flood of snowmelt.

“She went through that way!”

“She crossed down that stair!”

“She circles back around this hall!”

Argent could almost smell her. Once Tylar was slain, Kathryn would be his. She would have a choice between the gallows and his wedding bed. And if she still refused, the blood of her friends would seal the arrangement. To save them, she would have to take his ring.

Another scout dropped to a knee ahead. “She’s stopped,” he said, voice trembling. “Trapped herself in a room without an exit. But something has excited her party.”

Argent motioned Symon ser Jaklar to his side. They both pulled up their hoods and marched down a narrow passage. Other knights followed, two score, and more filled halls and passages around them. There would be no escape.

Light appeared ahead. A flickering torch.

Voices reached them. Argent recognized Lorr’s thick cadence.

“The body were here,” he said heatedly. “A slain knight… a pit of bones. Now nothing. I can’t even scent the blood.”

“The Fiery Cross must have known of your discovery,” a gruff voice said. “Cleaned the place with curse and acid.”

“So where’s Perryl?” Lorr asked.

Argent frowned at these strange words.

With cursed blade in hand, he flowed into the room, drawing shadows to him, swelling with power. Ever his personal shadow, Symon swept to his side. More knights followed, billowing with darkness.