The men and women gasped and let out small screams. They fell to the soil, on their sides, backs, facedown. They writhed and racked. Dart could hear bones breaking. Cries turned to howls. Across the glade, men became beasts, rising up on misshapen legs. Women crouched and hissed, faces stretched into bestial visages. All eyes, now aglow with wicked Grace, stared toward Chrism.
“As your flesh has changed, so will the world.”
There was only one figure untouched by the transformation.
Mistress Naff climbed the hill to join Chrism. She slipped an arm around his naked waist and pulled him down into a kiss. It was a savage, bloody kiss, less passion than violence. As they parted, a dark smoky tendril connected their lips, a black umbilicus. It pulsed and roiled, seeming to almost take form, but not quite.
From that mass of darkness, fiery eyes opened and stared toward their hiding place. A keening wail filled the glade, sounding like the scream of slaughtered rabbits.
Laurelle pushed back into the wood. A misstep snapped a branch.
The noise was as loud as a clap.
Eyes… all eyes swung in their direction: beast, god, daemon.
Dart stood up, knowing they were found. She turned and fled with Laurelle. But in three steps, shadows swept down from the branches above, falling about them like water. She was blind, choked, panicked.
From the heart of the darkness, words reached Dart. “If you wish to live, move swiftly.”
Dart knew the speaker.
Yaellin de Mar.
18
Tylar kept his back to the fire, but he felt none of its heat. He stared at Kathryn. Her auburn hair had been plaited into a single braid. Her form was clothed in black. A shadowcloak lay swept behind one shoulder and draped to her ankles. He stared, unblinking. She hadn’t changed. How could that be? Even now her blue eyes carried the same mix of doubt and confusion as when last he had seen her, seated before Tashijan’s court.
Tylar was unprepared for his reaction. He had never intended to come across her. He had planned on avoiding the upper reaches of the Citadel where the warden and castellan kept their rooms. But here Kathryn was, standing before him.
Met with those eyes, Tylar could not move. A part of him wanted to lunge out, pull her into an embrace, kiss those lips, taste the woman to whom he’d pledged his heart… but another wanted to simply lash out. How could she have doubted him? Hadn’t she known him better than any woman? And still even deeper down, a final part of him wanted to drop to his knees and beg her forgiveness for all he had done, all he had cost them both.
He tried speaking. “Kathryn…” But any further words died to ash in his mouth.
She turned her eyes away. Tylar found he could move again and stepped toward her. She stepped farther away. He relented and spoke the words that needed to be declared. “I didn’t slay Meeryn.”
“I know,” Kathryn mumbled, her back to him. “And I know you didn’t murder that family of cobblers five years ago.”
Tylar stumbled at this. “How-?”
Kathryn cut him off. “The story is long.” She glanced to the door. “It’s not safe for you here, Tylar. Why did you return?”
“To clear my name. To expose the true slayer of Meeryn.”
She glanced quickly back at him and away, but Tylar caught the flash of pain in her eyes. Her gaze dropped to the floor. Anger fired her words. “How does coming here help you?”
“A burden was placed upon me by Meeryn,” Tylar said, and he briefly recounted Meeryn’s death and her final words to him. “She cured my broken body but left me with this duty, this mystery.”
“ Rivenscryr? What does that mean?”
Tylar frowned. “According to Fyla of Tangled Reef, the word is a name in ancient Littick, the god’s name for the talisman that sundered their world four thousand years ago.”
Kathryn swung back around. “You mean the Godsword?”
He nodded.
“Why mention such a dread thing?”
“That’s the answer I came here to find. Tashijan’s libraries are the best in all of Myrillia. I’ve brought others to help me search.” He motioned to the dark doorway to the neighboring bedroom. His companions appeared at his signal, stepping out of hiding, all draped in shadowcloaks. One carried a sword in hand.
“May I present Krevan,” Tylar said, “formerly known as the Raven Knight.”
Kathryn’s eyes widened in shock. Her eyes traveled to the ancient sword in his hand. Serpentfang could not be mistaken.
There was no time for lengthier introductions as the others pushed into the small room, crowding it. Tylar named each in turn. “This is Rogger, a scholar turned thief. And Delia, one of Meeryn’s former Hands.”
Delia bowed her head. “Castellan Vail,” she said formally.
“And lastly Eylan, Wyr-mistress from the Lair.” The tall woman in leathers eyed Kathryn up and down, apprising her as a threat.
Once finished, Kathryn stared about the group. She’d been so focused on Tylar, she’d not considered that their might be others hiding in the next room. “How did you all get in here? Why are you in Perryl’s rooms? And what’s become of Perryl?”
Rogger nodded to Kathryn. “The last is as much a mystery to us as it is to you, my dear castellan. As to entering Tashijan, it was not hard when you’re accompanied by a cadre of knights.” He picked at the edge of the cloak he wore about his shoulders.
“Though we can’t use the Grace in them, a cloak is a cloak. Hiding the ordinary just as well as the extraordinary.”
Tylar waved him back. “Perryl was the only person I knew I could trust here,” he explained.
Kathryn winced at these words, but remained silent.
“It took only a few discreet inquiries to find our way to Perryl’s domicile. We’d only just arrived and found him gone when you came knocking.”
“You mentioned blood on his bed.” Kathryn glanced to the back bedroom.
“Not much. A splattering of drops across his sheets. But a table was overturned. There had clearly been a struggle.”
Kathryn paled visibly. “They’ve taken him.”
“Who?”
“The Fiery Cross.”
Tylar scrunched his brow, remembering rumors of such a clandestine order within the ranks of the Shadowknights. “How do you know this?”
A knock interrupted any further words.
“Castellan Vail,” a voice said at the door.
Kathryn waved them to silence. “What is it, Lorr?”
“I just wanted to make sure you were secure.”
“I’m fine, Lorr. Perryl and I are just finishing up.”
“Very good.”
Kathryn backed farther into the room. Her voice lowered. “I have no time to explain more. We have to get you away. I’ll see to Perryl, but I know who might help you with your research into the Godsword.”
“Who?”
“Master Gerrod Rothkild. A friend. I can give you directions to his rooms and will leave a note bearing my seal introducing you.” She turned to a table by the hearth and found a piece of parchment. She quickly scribbled a note.
