murdering a good portion of the Hands that serve the gods around here. In one move, we could lose this entire Land.”
“Artful strategy,” Rogger said. “You have to respect that. They must have been planning this for years.”
“Or even longer,” Krevan said. “I fear that, like the Wyr, the Cabal’s plots are stretched over centuries.”
“And if the castellan is correct,” Rogger said, “it’s all the more reason to get Dart and Tylar free of here.”
“And what of the rogues?” Krevan asked.
Tylar rubbed at the corner of his eye, almost tracing his tattooed stripes. Kathryn recognized it as a gesture of intense concentration. She also noted the wrapped digit of the same hand. She had heard that it had not healed. Tylar had dismissed it earlier, but Kathryn feared that the Dark Graces flowing through here threatened the complicated spell that bonded naethryn to man. Yet another reason to get him clear of Tashijan.
Tylar finally spoke. “If the enslaved rogues are fueling this storm, then we can end this siege by finding and freeing them. As Eylan warned.”
“Simple enough,” Rogger said. “But that depends on two things.”
All eyes turned to him.
He held up a finger. “First, Tashijan must hold out that long.”
Kathryn nodded. That was her duty. To remain behind and rally the towers as best she could. To hold firm until Tylar could bring in additional forces-or find some way to free them. It wasn’t only rogues that were ensnared by the Cabal.
Rogger held up a second finger. “And more importantly, we must find this coven of song-cast gods.”
Tylar nodded. Here was his duty. “Eylan has offered us one clue. Hinterland.”
“Not exactly a map, now, is it?” Rogger said. “Half of Myrillia is still unsettled hinter. We can spend a lifetime or more to find them.”
“Maybe not,” Krevan said. “The skull came from Saysh Mal. The Eighth Land’s hinter is the trickiest maze of them all, and the most wild and dangerous.” The pirate glanced to Tylar. “Not one shadowknight has ever set foot in there and returned to tell about it. If you’re going to hide something from Tashijan, that would be a good place to begin.”
“And it was in that hinter that Keorn was captured,” Tylar said.
Krevan nodded. “The Wyr had tracked him there, then lost him. Only to have him appear again in Saysh Mal.”
“Then that’s where we’ll begin our search,” Tylar said.
“We may have one other ally to aid us,” the pirate said. He pointed to Rogger’s burdened satchel. “Wyrd Bennifren waits just outside of Saysh Mal, in the neighboring hinterland, for the skull. The trade still stands. We can ransom it against the Wyr’s knowledge.”
“Not a bargain I’d trust,” Rogger said.
“But we have little choice,” Tylar said. “And in some small way, perhaps it’s a debt we owe to Eylan.”
No one argued against that.
Rogger finally spoke. “I forgot one last item that stands between us and success.” He raised his hand and now held up three fingers. “Before any of this can begin, we have to get our arses out of here.”
After several matters had been settled further, Tylar stepped into the back room. They could wait no longer.
“It is time,” he told the healers.
Healer Fennis and his wife bustled on either side of the bed, shoving last bits of balms and wraps into an overstuffed pack. “Are you sure that’s everything?” Fennis asked.
His wife gave him a look that seemed equal parts exasperation and certainty.
Fennis held up a hand, acquiescing. Wise man.
Lorr crossed and picked up the pack.
“There’s extra wrappings,” Fennis said, fingering at the dressings on the man’s arm. “If you’ll need them.”
Lorr batted him away. “Don’t mind me. Get the boy ready.”
Tylar studied the wyld tracker. He had agreed to let Lorr join their search. His hunting and tracking skills could prove useful out in the hinterlands. It would be foolish to refuse such experienced service. The man hauled the laden bag with ease, little fazed by his burns.
Brant, though, looked little better, burnt as well, but on the inside, where it was harder for balms to reach. His bronze skin had yellowed and stretched thin across his bones. And though his breathing was stronger, when he tried to lift himself up on an elbow, he failed.
Tylar caught the healer’s eye.
“He’s been well-draughted,” the man assured him. “Addles a bit. By midday on the morrow, he’ll feel half his oats again.”
He nodded. Morning was not far off, but it seemed like a fanciful dream, a hope that one did not really expect to attain.
Kathryn hurried inside, slightly breathless. “I heard word. Argent has gotten wise to what we’re planning.”
Tylar clenched a fist.
“I’ll get Master Brant,” the giant said.
The loam-giant rose from a crouch on the far side of the bed and plucked away the bedsheet. He gently collected Brant out of his nest of pillows with a regretful expression.
Brant startled, clutching at the man’s neck.
“Just Mal, Master Brant.”
The boy’s eyes focused and searched the room. “We’re heading out?” he asked through thin lips.
“We must,” Tylar said and led them back to the main room. The others were already waiting.
“I’m coming with you,” Mal said.
Tylar thought to argue, but the giant’s brother had died to gain them this vantage. Plus the man was plainly strong and could prove his value. An objection arose, though, from another corner.
“No,” Brant mumbled. “The whelpings?”
“I locked ’em up in your rooms,” the giant said. He pulled a key from a pocket as proof.
“Who’s going to-?” Brant coughed away the last of his words, but the worry shone in his wan face.
Mal’s brow furrowed into deep-plowed tracks, caught between two duties.
He was saved by a hand plucking the key from his fingertips. Lorr tossed the key over to the young tracker beside the bullhound. “Kytt and Barrin will look after them.”
The young tracker bumbled the iron key, and it fell with a clatter.
Laurelle retrieved it as it bounced to her toes. “I’ll help, too.”
Mal sighed with relief. “They’ll take good care of the mites.”
Brant still wore a troubled expression, but he did not object.
With such matters settled, they set out. Dart gave her friend Laurelle a final teary-eyed hug. Then the group was on its way at a quick pace, herded close, led by Kathryn.
Halfway down the hall, a long-limbed man in blue livery, spotless and unwrinkled, blocked the way. “The warden sent word that no one is to leave this floor!” he scolded.
“Out of our way, Lowl,” Kathryn said, stiff-arming him aside. Luckily all of Argent’s forces were occupied down below, leaving only this manservant to attend his orders here. “I’ll take it up with the warden when I get back.”
Chased by the man’s objections, they hurried to the stairs and fled up toward the top of the tower. A cool wind wafted down to them. Tylar heard the pound of hammer on wood. That could not be good. With Argent below and the storm without, they had no time for delays.
Tylar found Captain Horas just inside the door that led out to the flippercraft dock atop Stormwatch. He had a stick of coal in one hand and had been calculating on the wall. Numbers and symbols lined from floor to eye. Some crossed out, others circled.
The man wore the yellow-and-white uniform of his station, but it was stained and smudged. From the smell, not all of it was coal.
