The tall stranger edged closer, one hand on the serpent-headed pommel of his sword.
Tylar picked up the stone between two fingers. Nothing happened. He turned it around, examining all the surfaces. “Appears like a shard of rock, rough-hewn. I sense no great power here.”
“Let me see.”
Rogger shouldered up and bent down.
Tylar stepped back and to the black-cloaked stranger. “Did the Wyr mention anything about a black stone associated with the skull?”
“No,” the other intoned dourly.
“Those Wyr-lords do like to keep their secrets.” Rogger straightened, a fist resting on one hip. “But there must be a connection. I find it awful fateful that this boy ends up trapped here with us. The skull and the stone brought together again.”
“But is that a boon or a curse?” Tylar asked. “If the Huntress exiled him, banishing him away, perhaps she thought it best to keep them as far apart as possible. The way we keep Dart and the sword separated.”
“I don’t think we can place too much weight on the Huntress’s word. It sounds like the seersong had already sapped her in some way.”
Brant finally found his voice. “Is it true? The rogue’s skull? The one possessed by the Huntress is here? How…?”
Tylar nodded to his companion, permitting him to speak. “He should know.”
Rogger sighed and related his own experience in Saysh Mal. His description of the state of affairs in Brant’s former home helped push back his grief, replacing it with anger and horror. Over the four years he had been here in the First Land, ruin had settled over the cloud forest and its denizens.
All because of a cursed skull.
One Brant’s father had carried into the land.
“I would see this skull destroyed,” he said.
“Well, that’s the slippery part,” Rogger said. “We left it in a rather precarious situation. It’s down there with those daemon knights that you so kindly rooted out for us.”
Brant stood up, almost bumping the regent. “We must get it free from there!”
“We intend to,” Tylar said. “And after your tale, I think it’s even more important that we do so immediately.”
“Then you’ll destroy it?” Brant asked. There could be no question that it was riddled with black Grace.
The two men’s eyes glanced to the third, the tall stranger.
“It seems we still need the skull for a bit of bartering.”
“What?”
Tylar headed for the door. “We have no time to explain.”
“I will go with you!” Brant followed.
Tylar held out a hand. “No. You are safe here.”
“Nowhere’s safe this night.”
Rogger nodded. “The boy’s right there. And somehow he and his rock are tied to this skull’s story. It’s time we completed the tale.”
Tylar hesitated.
“Like you said,” Rogger argued. “Bringing them together is either a curse or a boon. If it’s a curse, then better it happen deep under Tashijan than up here. If it’s a boon, then the sooner we join the two the better.” He punctuated it with a shrug. “Besides, he can carry an extra torch. And right now, stone or not, that’s fine with me.”
The regent’s jaw muscles tightened. “So be it.” He forced the words out.
Brant was relieved. He would have followed them if necessary.
Others were not so certain. The back door to the room burst open and two large forms tumbled into the room.
“No, Master Brant!” Malthumalbaen shouted. “You can’t go alone. We’ll come with you!”
Tylar shared an irritated glance with his bearded friend.
“It seems someone’s been listening at our door,” Rogger said.
“Not listening,” Dralmarfillneer said. “That weren’t so. Our mammers gave us big ears. That’s all.”
“So I see. Too bad she didn’t gift you with the brains to match.”
Brant shook his head at the two giants. “Someone needs to watch the cubbies.” He dared not leave them unguarded with Liannora hovering about.
“One set of eyes is enough,” Mal said. “I’ll go and Dral can stay with them.”
“Shine my arse. The bloody nippers like you better.”
“We’ll pound for it, then.”
The two giants agreed, stepped back, and swung out with their fists, smashing them against the other. Malthumalbaen stumbled back a step. Dral kept his footing and turned triumphantly.
“Mal will stay.”
With the matter settled, the regent led them out into the hall-where a crowd had gathered, held back by the gray-cloaked woman’s sword. It seemed Sten had spread the word of the regent’s visitation. Liannora, Ryndia, and Khar stood amid a few of the captain’s guards.
“Clear the way,” Tylar demanded.
“Where are you taking a Hand of Oldenbrook?” Sten replied. “I have the right to inquire.”
Liannora stood at his shoulder. Brant suspected the inquiry and challenge truly arose from her.
“We have matters to attend below concerning the security of Tashijan. Brant has been in the cellars and his knowledge may be of assistance.”
Sten glanced between Brant and the regent. “This is the first I’ve heard of such matters.”
“And the last.” Tylar motioned for the others to head for the stairs.
Sten stumbled forward, shoved surreptitiously from behind by Liannora. “Wait!” he called. “If a Hand of Oldenbrook is to be taken from our halls, I must accompany him. The security of the retinue was placed in my charge by Lord Jessup himself. I will not shirk it, nor let it be taken from me.”
Tylar turned, face darkening, a fist forming.
Rogger stepped forward. “What’s another torch? Never hurt to have another sword, too.”
“We’ve wasted enough time here,” the tall stranger grumbled. “We’ve learned what we needed. Let us be off.”
The regent nodded. “You’re right, Krevan. Come if you may, Captain-but you’ll obey every word from here.”
Sten bowed, and Liannora smiled behind his back.
As a group, they headed toward the stairs. Brant studied the cloaked stranger’s back. Krevan. He now understood why an ash-faced member of the Black Flaggers had guarded their door.
Here was Krevan the Merciless, the leader of that black guild.
Brant also remembered the regent’s bearded friend mentioning some matter of bartering with the skull. With the Black Flaggers here, it could only mean some treachery or dark design.
Though he could not fathom what that might be, Brant knew one thing with steel certainty. No matter what the others planned, Brant would destroy the skull. Since the morning the flaming rogue had stumbled into his life, all had come to ruin.
This night, it would end.
A FIRE IN THE CELLAR
Tylar heard the shouting from down the hall. He had left the others at the landing. Ahead lay the fieldroom, where Warden Fields had set up a war council and gathered all the heads of Tashijan. The door stood ajar. Knights crowded the hall. Pages paced, ready to relay messages and commands to the various posts.
Kathryn’s voice reached him. “You’re all being stone-headed! The skull must be fetched out of the
