Tylar watched over her shoulder, making sure what she wrote wasn’t a betrayal. The content of the note was brief with a promise to explain more. It asked the master to extend his trust of Kathryn to Tylar’s party. She sealed it with melted wax and impressed the castellan’s seal into it using her ring.
She handed the note to Tylar. “Stay hidden. I’ll leave first and take my guard and his hounds away.”
“Hounds?” Rogger asked. “What hounds?”
Kathryn glanced to the thief. “Warden Fields knew Tylar was coming here. He mistook his intentions. He thought… that Tylar was coming for me.”
Rogger grinned. “Baiting a trap.” He glanced to Eylan. “It seems everyone’s been doing that lately with Tylar.”
“Yes,” Kathryn mumbled, “but I guess the bait here wasn’t attractive enough for the godslayer.”
Before Tylar could respond, Kathryn headed to the door. “Wait a quarter bell to be sure,” she said. “Then follow my directions down to Gerrod’s room.”
Tylar met her at the door, stopping her from leaving. He whispered his words. “We’re placing all our trust in you.”
“You did that once before… and look what happened.”
Tylar stared again into her eyes. He saw none of the doubt of a moment before, just sorrow.
“Keep hidden,” she repeated. “And move swiftly. All of Tashijan is alerted.”
Tylar fell back behind the door as she pulled the latch.
With the release, the door flew open, throwing Kathryn back and knocking Tylar against the wall.
Across the threshold, a great shaggy beast lunged into the room, as tall as a man and as massive as a bull. It roared, claws digging, hackles raised. Saliva sizzled through the threadbare rug.
On the floor, Kathryn crabbed out of its way, but her cloak tangled her.
Heart pounding, Tylar leaped off the wall, dagger in hand, and flew to stand between the beast and Kathryn. It snapped at him. Tylar twisted to the side. It caught the edge of his cloak, yanking. Before losing balance, he raised the dagger and plunged it into the hound’s eye.
The beast howled and tossed its head, ripping the dagger from his fingers and whipping Tylar away. He struck the wall again, hard, hitting his head. Lights dazzled. He sank to the floor.
Krevan appeared along with Eylan at the bedroom door, swords in hand. At the door, a beastly looking man stepped behind the haunches of the hound. He bore daggers in both hands, his eyes aglow with Grace.
A wyld tracker.
Head aching, Tylar watched Kathryn rise to her feet, arms out, warding away both friend and foe.
“Stop!” Kathryn shouted, her voice firm with command. She had to end this.
The man claiming to be the Raven Knight kept his wary stance, as did the Wyr-woman at his side.
“No one move!” she ordered.
Barrin crouched low to the floor, lips rippled back, baring fangs in pain and fury. The dagger’s hilt still protruded from his left eye.
Lorr’s features matched the ferocity of his wounded bullhound, but he kept his stance at the door. “Castellan, come to me,” he said through gritted teeth.
Kathryn held her place. “Lorr, call off Barrin and Hern.”
The tracker’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Lorr, do as I say!”
With an angry grunt, he coaxed Barrin to drop to his belly. The bullhound moaned, rubbing its impaled eye with the edge of a paw, but the blade had been embedded deep, into bone and nerve. A whimpering flowed from it as the pain worsened.
“Wait,” said Tylar. He pushed up from the wall and rubbed the back of his head. He moved toward the bullhound. “There’s no reason to continue its suffering.”
Lorr stepped toward Tylar. “If anyone is to end Barrin’s misery, it will be me.” He raised a dagger.
“No,” Tylar warned sharply. “That’s not necessary.”
Kathryn joined them. “Lorr, do as he says.”
Tylar crept slowly up to the wounded side of the bullhound. He reached toward the dagger’s hilt. Barrin snapped at him, coming close to taking off Tylar’s arm. A slather of tossed saliva struck Tylar’s cloak, burning holes clean through.
“Can you hold him still?” Tylar asked Lorr.
“Be quick.” The tracker swore under his breath but moved to Barrin’s other side. He bent and whispered in his ear. Barrin’s head rolled toward Lorr, wanting reassurance.
Tylar used the moment to dart forward. But rather than driving the dagger into the hound’s brain, he snatched the dagger free and jumped back.
Barrin jerked his head up and pawed again at his eye. Kathryn expected blood and ichor to pour from the pierced globe. But when Barrin stared back at Lorr, his eye was unharmed, as if it had never been stabbed.
“How could this be?” the tracker gasped.
“A bale dagger,” Tylar said. “A gift from Lord Balger. It heals as fast as it cuts. There should be no lasting harm.”
Lorr’s eyes remained narrowed, but their edge of fury slowly faded. Still, he kept both daggers in hand and his beasts at ready. The bullhounds fully blocked the only exit, waiting for their master’s whistle to tear into those trapped here.
“You are the godslayer,” Lorr said, staring hard at Tylar.
“I slew no god,” he said with exasperation.
“He speaks the truth,” Kathryn said.
Doubt still shone there. Tylar’s compassion had bought them a moment, but nothing more. Kathryn sought some way to convince the tracker, but they didn’t have much time. With all the commotion here, word would soon reach Argent or one of his cronies. But how to convince Lorr to let them all go?
Help came from an unusual source. A figure pushed between the Raven Knight and the Wyr-woman. It was the handmaiden to Meeryn. A slim young woman. Kathryn had forgotten her name.
Lorr had not. “Delia…” He stumbled forward a step. “It can’t be…”
“We are ill-met here, Tracker Lorr.”
“How did you…?” He glanced to Tylar, then back to the handmaiden. “What are you doing here?”
“Helping my friends,” she said with a sad smile. “Like I did with you and your wolf pups when I was a child. I still remember the one named Eyesore, the runt with the twisted back leg.”
Something between a smile and a grimace formed on the tracker’s face. “The tough old ranger died four years back. During a campaign with your father.”
“Oh, no…” Genuine sorrow echoed in her voice.
Kathryn glanced to Tylar.
“She’s Argent’s daughter,” he said.
Kathryn studied the slip of a girl. Brought to her attention, she now noted the similarity in features.
Lorr continued. “Delia, you were a chosen of Meeryn. I remember, when I first heard, I was right near to bursting with pride.”
Now it was Delia’s turn to widen her eyes in surprise. “How… You knew?”
“Though your father may have forgotten you, I have not. Not my little wolf girl.”
Tears rose and brimmed the maiden’s eyes.
Lorr seemed uncomfortable by the raw emotion. He glanced around the room. “But now you serve those accused of Meeryn’s death.”
“Falsely accused.” Delia wiped at her eyes brusquely. “The true murderer is whom we seek to expose.”
Lorr stared hard at the handmaiden, as if he were trying to use his keen sight and altered senses to read the truth, to search for enchantment upon the girl he once knew.
Kathryn knew she’d best press the matter. “Lorr, we must be away. They came for information that I think Master Gerrod might supply. We must not keep them.”
Lorr shook his head. “They’ll never make it. All the passages down to the master’s levels have been barricaded tight with guards. None can pass from the upper levels to the lower without a full search.”
“What if Kathryn goes herself?” Tylar asked. “She can inquire about Rivenscryr from her friend.”
