voices beyond the door. She was to meet this morning with representatives of the retinues from the various realms. It was her current role here in Tashijan. No more than innkeeper, settling disputes and addressing concerns of those under their roof.
Warden Fields had even banned her from the strategies in the fieldroom. If you see little reason to keep me abreast of your plots and plans, then there is little reason for me to do the same. Normally a castellan could not be so easily cast aside. As they usually arose out of the Council of Masters to fill that high seat, a castellan had the backing of all the masters with their alchemies and knowledge. No warden would dare treat a castellan so dismissively.
But Kathryn did not have the support of the Council of Masters. If anything, she had gained their enmity as well. Especially Master Hesharian. He had been more purple of face than even Argent, and had offered no objection to her being shut out of the fieldroom.
Still, it could have been worse. She could have been locked up for treason. After Tylar and the others departed by flippercraft, she had stood behind her decision. If the storm gods wanted the Godslayer, then better Tylar be sent away. His flight might draw off attention. She justified her secrecy by relating what Tylar had found in their cellars, evidence of some collusion between Tashijan and the daemon army below. It was beyond mere chance that Mirra nabbed the skull shortly after those in the fieldroom learned of its existence. Even Argent had glanced around the table then. He was no fool.
So she managed to keep herself free of bars and locks.
But little else.
In fact, she had been the last to learn about the emptying of the town that huddled outside Tashijan. Argent had sent a good portion of his knightly force beyond the walls to shepherd the people inside. The townsfolk swelled into Tashijan with stories of the storm closing down upon their homes, whispers of strange beasts seen behind swirls of snow, of bodies found frozen and ripped.
Upon hearing this, Kathryn had gone under cloak to see for herself. The storm had tightened down upon the shield walls of Tashijan, swallowing up the outer village. There was a savagery and fury in the winds, almost tasted on the tongue. And despite the additional burden and loss of life, the raging uplifted her spirits.
The anger here could mean only one thing: Tylar and the others had escaped. The storm god tore into the town in his fury, closing tighter around Tashijan.
But so far that was the only change. Over the past three days, the siege had stretched with a deceptive calm. Argent had fires blazing again throughout the lower levels of the tower. He had even bricked up the tunnel behind the Shield Gong in the Grand Court as it stretched down into the Masterlevels. Yet there had been no further move by Mirra.
It was as if both sides were holding their breath, preparing for a final assault. But how would it strike? In what form? Or would they be merely starved out? Pondering this worry…
“How are we doing on food and fresh water?” she asked the keeper of the towers.
“Lucky the warden had planned a grand series of feasts for the regent’s knighting,” Keeper Ryngold said with a tired grin. “Our ice lockers and foodstores were heavily fortified prior to the attack. We’ll make do for the moment, but the townsfolk will stretch us thin.”
“We’ll have to manage.”
“Of course,” he said with a nod to the door, “you’ll have to convince our esteemed guests inside there that the heft and variety of their meal boards may be less than they are accustomed to enjoying.”
She sighed. “I’ll do my best.”
With a slight bow, Keeper Ryngold departed. She watched him move down the hall, admiring the man’s fortitude. In many ways, here was the true warden of the towers.
And at least he was still speaking with her.
She turned back to the door, took hold of the latch and her patience, and pushed into the crowd inside. The gathering room was one of the teaching halls, lined by two long tables, with an elevated stage at the front. Lamps flickered along the walls.
She spotted Delia near the front of one table and nodded. Kathryn still felt a certain discomfort around the younger woman, still picturing the stolen kiss with Tylar. She knew such resentments were petty and unfair, and over the past days, they had begun to fade as the two women were forced to work closely alongside each other. Delia had proven herself as adept as Keeper Ryngold in maintaining some degree of control over the various households of the gods. Kathryn had come to rely on her calmness in the face of strife, on her evenhanded decisions. She was surprised how relieved she was to find Delia already at work today. It was good to have one ally.
There certainly were enough here with complaints.
The leader of the disgruntled fronted the second table: the lithe, snow blond Hand from Oldenbrook. Alongside her sat a swarthy slug in purple, the sole Hand dispatched from neighboring Foulsham Dell. Despite their plain dislike for one another-and more disparate appearance and manner-they had joined forces to plague Kathryn for the past two days.
Filling the rest of the boards, divided almost equally into the two camps, were the other heads of the retinues trapped at Tashijan. With Delia sat the representatives from Mistdale, Snowfox River, Crooked Wood, Fitz Crossing, and surprisingly the embittered crook-backed Hand from Moor Eld. The other table bore the hard faces from Akkabak Harbor, Five Forks, Wintering Isles, and Martyrstone.
Liannora rose to her feet before Kathryn even reached the teaching dais. “Thank you for attending to our grievances.”
Kathryn mounted the single step to the raised stage. She ignored the woman.
“Castellan Vail,” Liannora continued, “we understand the dangers that have beset Tashijan, and we all here want to help in any manner we can. Toward that end, what we propose-”
“Propose?” Kathryn snapped as she turned. “What I propose, with all respect, Mistress Liannora, is that you take your seat. This meeting was not called to listen to your arguments but for you all to better understand the plight of your situation. While Tashijan values your knowledge and skills in regards to handling humours, there are no gods here. It is skill with sword, or mastery of alchemy, that is most needed.”
Liannora’s features brittled even harder. She kept her feet. Perhaps for no other reason than that she might snap in half if she sat. “Warden Fields has given me his word that we would be heard here.” She glanced down her table. “Is that not so?”
Murmurs of agreement acknowledged the same.
So the woman had been a plague not only upon Kathryn. Argent must have been equally assaulted, but the warden had somewhere to push the complaints-back at Kathryn.
“What is it that you propose, then, Mistress Liannora?”
“We believe that as representatives of gods that bless the First Land and its distinguished neighbors we should be more involved with the defenses here. Not left to languish in our rooms. We have no desire to hide, or worse yet, run from our duty to Myrillia…like craven cowards.”
She stressed this last word. Kathryn had heard the same word being spread by the Fiery Cross. Tylar’s flight from Tashijan was seen by many as abandonment, or worse yet, outright spinelessness. It was plain on which side of the fence Liannora had decided to stand. The woman had an uncanny ability to sense the flows of power and to bend them to her advantage. Kathryn remembered her earlier flatteries; those had turned to insolence at about the same time Kathryn had been banned from the fieldroom. Liannora had recognized the ascendancy of the Fiery Cross and sided with their arguments and slights.
“I have yet to hear your proposal,” Kathryn said. “Do you wish to take up swords yourself and defend the stairs?”
Liannora dismissed her words with a flutter of an arm. “Certainly not. Our strengths lie in our keen experience and expertise. We would wish no more than to be ready with a suggestion, to act as counsel to those that wage our defenses. To be represented and involved in the stratagems.”
Kathryn’s brow crinkled.
“I’ve discussed it with my fellow Hands,” Liannora continued, nodding to her table. “And we think it only best that we cast stones amongst ourselves and proffer one of our own to join those in the fieldroom who truly defend these towers.”
A slight cocking of the woman’s eyebrow accentuated the insult, directed at both Kathryn and the departed
