wielded in it. So the last secret Keorn imparted to the mother of his child, his most heartfelt private shame, was that he had damaged his own sword. He built a flaw into it. He made it imperfect.”
Dart felt a sickening lurch in her stomach.
Bennifren’s sibilant voice made the final truth so much more horrible. “It was this flaw as much as Chrism’s wielding that led to the end of their world. This was Keorn’s final secret to his ravening mate, a secret he never intended be known. As much as Chrism, Keorn was to blame for the Sundering that destroyed their world.”
A stunned silence followed.
“Like father, like son,” Rogger finally mumbled.
Tylar stared down at his belted swords-Rivenscryr and his knightly blade. He looked ready to throw both aside, their two histories entwined by curse and tragedy.
“So I’d be careful how you wield that sword,” Bennifren warned. “That flaw still remains.”
“But what was it?” Krevan asked. “What did Keorn do?”
Tiny shoulders shrugged. “I don’t think the how weighed on the god’s mind as much as the end result. He never whispered that secret across a pillow. But plainly his guilt ate like a worm in the belly. We believe that is why he protected the growing child, kept the mother from raving long enough to give birth to his daughter, someone whose blood could forge the sword anew.”
“But why go through the effort if the blade was flawed?” Tylar asked.
“Because of what we found later, when we were hunting Keorn through the hinterlands,” Bennifren said. “The god lost us, but we found his trail again.”
Dart remembered the first crumb of that trail. How could she forget? She could still feel the cold of her garret as Krevan wrote the name of her father on the wall in Littick sigils, a name found at the bottom of a piece of hide tacked to an elder’s wall in a hinter-village.
“That scrabbled missive,” Bennifren continued, “inked in Keorn’s own blood. We never did reveal what those words said, only that it was signed by Keorn.”
The Wyr-lord allowed the weight of his words to hang like a raised sword. Then he finally spoke again. “His words were few, already showing a hint of seersong in his inked blood, possibly his last words before he was swallowed up.”
“What did he write?” Brant asked, speaking for the first time, suspense loosening his tongue.
Bennifren didn’t even glance his way, but he did answer his question. “‘The sword must be forged again, made whole to free us all.’”
Tylar stirred. “So there is a way to make the sword complete.”
“And he offered no word about the flaw?” Krevan asked again.
“If you’d found him sooner…before he was just skull and curse…” Bennifren shrugged.
Krevan kept his lips tight, brows hard. “The Flaggers spent much time and coin to just buy whispers and old secrets that bear little weight in the here and now.”
“I believe you’ve been paid well for a sliver of bone,” Bennifren said, his face reddening. “Do not question the honor of our word because you bargained so poorly.”
Krevan began to rise, but Bennifren waved him down.
“Then I will give you something as solid as rock to finish this deal. Something you can touch-though it may burn you.”
Tylar waved Krevan to patience. “What?”
Bennifren again turned those eyes toward Dart. “The Godsword is as much his mother’s inspiration as his father’s. If you are looking for a way to discover more about the sword, perhaps you should start there. I wager that is why Keorn fled down here after Dart’s birth.”
“Why?” she asked.
“He came looking for his mother’s counsel and advice,” Bennifren answered and pointed to the south.
Through a break in the canopy, the mountain blocked the stars. Its flanks flowed with molten streams, bright in the darkness. Fiery tears-not just for a daughter but perhaps also for a son.
“Takaminara was Keorn’s mother.”
Tylar stood up, half in shock, half to better view the volcanic peak. He rested a hand on Dart’s shoulder. He felt her tremble under his touch, her eyes fixed to the same fiery peak. He understood her distress. Buried within the mountain lay not only a god but something she must have been searching for her entire life.
A part of her family.
A great-mother.
“Then the Huntress-Miyana,” Brant said. “She was Keorn’s sister.”
Lorr mumbled, “At the end, he must have been trying to reach her.”
Dart shivered. In days, she had gained an entire family, one drenched in blood and terror. Both in the distant past…and now again.
But any further family reunion would have to wait.
The rogues had to be found.
Tylar turned to Bennifren, but his hobbled knee almost toppled him into the flame. He had been sitting for too long after the hard march.
Bennifren noted his discomfort. “I believe I’ve met my debt well and then some. But there is another debt yet to settle. You were wise in your negotiations in the past, but our bargain has long grown stale.” He eyed Tylar up and down. “And as shiteful as you look now, I fear what is owed will be lost. Especially knowing where you must venture. I believe it time you honored your word, too.”
Tylar inwardly groaned, but he kept his face calm. He walked off and motioned for Bennifren to follow. Rogger and Krevan trailed with them, but Tylar waved the others to their meal. Here was a matter he wanted settled with less of an audience.
Stepping out of the ring of firelight, he faced Bennifren. He had no intention of freely cooperating, and he stated it firmly now. “As you recall, time was a condition of our bargain. My time, my place. I see no reason to relinquish it now.”
“True and well said.” Bennifren’s eyes narrowed behind soft lashes, a wicked gleam of cunning shining through in the dark. “I would think less of you if you had settled without remapping a new bargain. So let me tell you this. We have not been idle while you’ve been traipsing about. The Wyr are well-known here in the hinterlands, valued for our purse as well as expertise. Over these past days, we’ve spent our coin and time well and discovered something that might pry that stubborn seed from your loins.”
Tylar waited. When it came to the Wyr, silence was often the best shield during any negotiations.
“For the last humour you owe us,” Bennifren continued, “we offer you a special encouragement. We offer you maps of the hinterlands.”
“We have maps,” Tylar said dryly.
“But do your maps have the location of the enslaved rogues marked upon them?”
Tylar stared, struggling not to show the depth of his desire.
“And traced upon our maps is the safest route by which to reach the gods,” Bennifren added. “All this, for a few moments of your time…”
Tylar felt the other two men’s eyes upon him. With such a map, the search would be measured in bells rather than days. He could not refuse. All of Tashijan hung in the balance.
Still, he hesitated. Off to the right, he noted Meylan leaning against the pinnacle, buried in shadow, her face lit up by the pipe she was smoking. Her sisters were spread out in groups and singly.
Bennifren misunderstood his attention. “Whichever woman you want-I’ve heard she and her sisters are quite skilled.”
Tylar went cold at that thought, but he also knew he had no choice. The bargain had to be settled, and the offer of the rogues’ location was a price he could not refuse.
He faced Bennifren. “I’ll go along with your new bargain.” He held up one finger. “A single sample for all your maps. Then our deal is finished.”
“Done and bound.” Bennifren waved a small arm in a grand gesture. “I can bring you whichever woman you’d like to help you loosen your seed. Or if you so prefer, a man-or a child.”
“That won’t be necessary,” he said coldly. “A bit of privacy will be enough.”
“This way, then.” Bennifren turned away, carried by his milk mare. “All is ready. You can use my tent. It is
