his well wishes, yet justly firm in rebuke when affronted. As such, he had earned the respect of all, master and knight alike.
The only blemish to his striking figure was the patch worn over his left eye, a small plate of bone taken from the skull of a raving hinter-king, the same fiend who had blinded him during tortures meant to loosen the knight’s tongue. The flaming poker had taken the sight from his eye, but it never weakened his will. Freeing himself, he eventually slew the king and opened the way for victory during the Bramblebrier Campaign.
Kathryn stared at him, wondering if this same hero could truly be the head of the Fiery Cross, Ser Henri’s murderer. She began to wonder if Castellan Mirra was mistaken. Just this morning, Kathryn herself had been planning to cast a white stone in his favor.
Argent ser Fields raised a hand to quiet the crowd, but they were slow to respond. He kept his arm raised, patient, still smiling. Finally the crowd broke to his will, and quiet spread over the hall.
Argent stood straighter, lowering his arm. His smile faded to a more serious and austere countenance. “I accept this mantle with a heavy heart. For it is tragedy that brought me to stand before you, opened this seat that I must take. But take it I will!”
Clapping met his words, but he waved for silence.
“Troubled times face Tashijan, the Nine Lands, and all of Myrillia. Strange and dire tidings rise both from our neighbors and from afar. Rumors of skirmishes and raids along the fringes of the hinterlands. A surge in the practice of Dark Graces. And now one of the Hundred slain in the south.”
Argent shook his head. “We stand at a moment in history like no other. And Tashijan must be the beacon that rallies all. We must be at our strongest, at our most united. We will be the light to lead the way! The flame in the darkness!”
More clapping and cheers met his words. It was what they all wanted to hear, an end of the uncertainty, a firm path to follow.
Still, for Kathryn, those same words trailed an icy path through her: a light to lead the way… the flame in the darkness. The imagery was too strong to be mere chance. Were they hints of his ties to the Fiery Cross?
She noted Gerrod glancing back at her. The same worries had not escaped him.
Argent continued, booming over the clapping, “Tashijan will be a new beacon to the future! We cannot, will not fail!”
The crowd stamped boots and pulled swords. Argent’s name was shouted to the roof. He settled back to the seat, hands on the granite armrests. He waited for the crowd to tire itself.
Gerrod twisted toward her. She leaned in closer. “He has won them surely,” Gerrod said. “Both heart and mind. Even if what Castellan Mirra stated is true, there may be nothing we can do about it. It may be too late.”
Kathryn refused to accept that. She stared down at the man sitting in Ser Henri’s seat. Around her, the crowd slowly settled.
Argent remained seated, but he spoke again. “It seems there is an order of duty required of all new wardens. The naming of a new castellan to serve on my right side.”
There was a stirring of surprise through the Council of Masters. Such an important decision was usually made a few days after the Naming Ceremony.
Argent stood again. “We dare not delay. As the chair to my right is currently unoccupied, we should fill it this night, so we can be united from this day forward.”
Kathryn fought a sneer, struggling for a dispassionate expression. She searched the ring of masters. It was tradition for one of the Council to be picked. She wondered which had plied Argent enough to gain this coveted seat. Even Master Hesharian stirred his bulk uneasily. Though he already occupied the seat to Argent’s left, the right held more power.
Argent stared at the empty castellan’s seat for a long moment. “As we face a new time, it is time for a bold move on this first day of my service to Tashijan. We must not be blinded and ruled by the past and its conventions.”
He turned from the chair and faced the Council of Masters and its many hopeful faces. “If we are to be a beacon in the dark days ahead, let us look to a new path to the future.” His eyes drifted upward, past the ring of masters.
Kathryn tensed. What new treachery was afoot?
Argent’s eyes settled, turning her blood to ice. “I name my right hand this night. Rise and join me, my new castellan- Kathryn ser Vail!”
A hushed shock spread through the gallery. Kathryn felt herself falling back into her seat, but Perryl’s hand clutched her elbow, holding her steady.
“I don’t understand,” he whispered as tentative clapping arose and grew firmer. Her name was called out… then again and again.
She glanced down at Gerrod. His armored face was unreadable, but his eyes were bright with shock and worry.
She stared back toward the floor. Argent fixed her with a steely, one-eyed stare. There was no enmity there, only open invitation. He lifted his arm and beckoned.
“You must go,” Perryl urged at her shoulder.
Around her, others added the same encouragement, but more exuberantly. Kathryn found herself half-carried down the aisle to the stairs. Perryl followed, sheltering her as best he could. But once they reached the steps, she was on her own.
On numb legs, she mounted the stairs and began the long descent toward the floor. Her welcome among the master’s level was polite, but not nearly as enthusiastic. The castellan position was always filled by one of their members. She felt like some thief slipping through them.
But for the moment, they were the least of her concern. She reached the central floor. She had stood here only twice before: first when she had been granted her cloak and sword, then when she had given testimony against Tylar.
This final memory gave her pause. Did any of this have to do with Tylar, with her connection to him?
Before she could ponder it further, Argent crossed and grasped her hand in his. He leaned in close as if to kiss her, but he merely whispered, “Welcome, Kathryn… or should I say, Castellan Vail. It seems we have much to discuss.”
He led her to the seat that neighbored his, still holding her hand. Once in position, he raised their joined arms to the roar of the gathering. She searched for her friends-Perryl and Gerrod. They were lost in the masses. She was alone.
Finally, he allowed her arm to drop, giving her hand a final squeeze. She felt something hard between their palms, something he held. It was left in her grip as his hand slipped from hers.
She stared down at it. It was a balloting stone. A black balloting stone.
Kathryn knew it was the same one she had cast earlier. But in the firelight, she noticed it had been defaced. Upon its dark surface was etched a perfect circle, bisected by two perpendicular lines, all painted a flaming crimson.
The symbol of the Fiery Cross.
7
“We’re being hunted.”
“Have you spotted sails?” Tylar asked as he hurried after Rogger up the ladder to the open deck. It was the fourth ship they’d ridden since leaving the Summering Isles-from a deepwhaler, to a sea barge, to a limping frigate-only one step ahead of their pursuers. They’d been three days aboard the Grim Wash, a wavecrasher out of Tempest Sound.
“Not a ship,” Rogger answered as he shoved through the hatch out to the stern castle of the ship.
