the gods.”
Silence spread throughout the room. Kathryn still sensed something that Gerrod was afraid to speak. But before she could press him, Tylar moved closer.
“What became of the sword? Did this ancient tome say?”
A slow shake of the head answered Tylar.
“What else?” Kathryn asked, laying a hand on Gerrod’s shoulder. He shuddered under her touch. “You know something else.”
“ Know is a strong word among scholars. It is fraught with hubris. The best to describe what I will say next is suspect.” Gerrod took another few breaths. “I fear to speak it aloud.”
“Truth is often gray,” Tylar said softly. “But it’s still the truth.” He glanced at Kathryn. She understood this all too well.
“Tell us what you suspect,” she said. “It will be up to us to act or not.”
Gerrod turned to face the group. “Pryde Manthion saw a god with a sword, a blade he described as ryvan and screer, light and shadow. The gods took this name for their own, Rivenscryr. But what of the bearer of this sword, the one who came to Myrillia with it? Manthion described the figure as one of blood and bone.” He took another deep breath. “In ancient Manth, the words are krys and ymm.”
Stunned silence met his words.
“The first god seen by man,” Gerrod said. “If this god took Pryde Manthion’s name for the sword, did he take his own name, too? Krys and ymm.”
“Chrism…” Tylar said, more a moan.
Gerrod stared at Tylar. “To find Rivenscryr, you know where you must go next.”
“If Chrism arrived with the Godsword, he may still possess it.. or know where to find it.”
“But be warned,” Gerrod finished. “If Chrism arrived in Myrillia with the sword, could he also be the one who wielded it, who shattered their world?”
Tylar shook his head. “The answers will be found only in Chrismferry.”
Gerrod stepped from the fire. “Then I’ll help you get there. But first we need to draw off the wolves.”
Tylar stood two steps below the landing that separated the masters’ subterranean realm from the upper Citadel. The others gathered below him, all wrapped in shadowcloaks and masklins. A wall of Shadowknights blocked their way.
Kathryn faced them, flanked by the bullhounds and backed by Lorr.
“Castellan Vail,” the knight in charge said, a bulky fellow with porcine eyes. “All faces must be bared. None may pass from upper to lower without inspection.”
“Ser Balyn, we are not passing from upper to lower, but the reverse. Do you believe the godslayer has burrowed into the Masterlevels, through solid rock, and now rises to attack Tashijan?”
The knight hesitated. “I have my orders.”
“From Warden Fields… or the Fiery Cross?” Kathryn jabbed a finger at the badge pinned boldly on the knight’s chest.
“They are one and the same.”
“Not all follow the Cross. And those who have volunteered to protect me… against all… wish to stay anonymous. I have given my word, and I won’t let it be broken upon your stiffness.” Kathryn waved to Lorr. “I’m sure Warden Fields has informed you of Tracker Lorr’s assignation to me, by his own writ, a man loyal to the warden. If he vouches for my guardians, then that is as good as the warden’s, is it not?”
Ser Balyn shifted his feet.
Tylar grinned behind his masklin. Over his years with Kathryn, he had been the brunt of her clever tongue and sharp wit. It could tangle the best of men.
Kathryn pried the chink in the other’s armor. “We will proceed, Ser Balyn. Feel free to inform Warden Fields. But we will pass unmolested.”
She waved to Lorr. He whistled his hounds forward, wedging and forcing a phalanx through the wall of Shadowknights. The bullhounds snarled and dripped acid from their rippling lips.
Knights fell back.
Ser Balyn stood his ground.
Kathryn met his gaze, unblinking. “Would you raise a sword against the castellan of Tashijan?”
He finally stepped aside. “Warden Fields will know of this immediately.”
Kathryn strode past him. “Do your duty,” she said with an icy coldness. “And I’ll do mine.”
Tylar followed Kathryn’s lead. He and Krevan flanked the others, showing their knighted stripes above the masklin. The others kept their faces lowered from sight. They moved past the line of guards on the landing and continued up the stairs.
Glancing back, Tylar saw Ser Balyn elbow aside another knight, off to send a fast dispatch up to the warden. Tylar turned forward and continued after the others. He glanced to a high window and caught a glitter of starshine. Dawn was not far off. Timing would be critical.
Earlier, Master Gerrod had gone ahead of them, to dispatch two wyndravens, birds blessed in fire and air. The ravens would race with fire under their wings. No bird was faster, homing upon their targets with the speed of Grace. One had been addressed by Kathryn, the other by Tylar. They needed allies in the coming storm.
Tylar increased his pace to join Lorr and Kathryn.
“We should separate now. Ser Balyn will have the Warden’s Eyrie stirred up. They will be upon us like a flock of crows.”
“And we dare wait no longer in the search for Perryl,” Kathryn agreed.
Tylar reached out and took Lorr by the elbow. “Watch after her. Keep her from harm.”
Lorr nodded. “She’ll be safe. Warden Fields would not dare lay a hand on her. Now, as for you…” The tracker chuckled roughly.
Tylar knew a swift death awaited him if he was caught.
“Keep your track light and your path unmarked,” Lorr warned, using an old wyldman adage.
“I’ll do my best.”
Argent ser Fields raced with a cadre of knights, his best and most loyal. In the lead ran Symon ser Jaklar, whom many called his Wolf. Argent kept a step behind him. They all fed shadows into their cloaks, quickening their pace, sweeping through the halls, down stairs.
It wouldn’t be long.
The godslayer is here. He knew it in his bones. They would have to be swift and merciless.
Earlier, he had heard word of Kathryn and Lorr. They had broken into the Grand Court. He had dispatched men to the amphitheater, but a search turned up no sign of them. Then again, there were a hundred doors that led out from the court. It was a clever way to lose any trackers upon their tail. In one door, out any of a hundred.
But why was Lorr cooperating with Kathryn?
And just a quarter bell ago, word again reached him in his Eyrie. Kathryn had bulled her way past the guards stationed between the subterranean Masterlevels and the upper Citadel. She had been in the lower levels, but how had she gotten there? He had left word with the guards to alert him if Kathryn should leave the Citadel for the Masterlevels. He had wanted her movements under constant scrutiny. But none could say how she suddenly appeared from below.
And with a handful of cloaked knights, folks who refused to show their faces.
Argent raced with his knights. He had faced monsters and hinter-kings. But no greater glory would come to him than to carry the head of the godslayer upon a pike. After this, all obstacles to his plans here at Tashijan would fall away. He would spread the Fiery Cross throughout Myrillia. A new age would dawn… and he would lead the way.
He slid out his sword. Blessed in Dark Alchemies of loam and fire, just a poke of it would turn flesh to stone. Such a weapon was forbidden, of course, but such a transgression would be forgiven when he brought the godslayer to justice.
Ahead, a knight enfolded from the darkness of another passage. He dropped to one knee.
“She moves swiftly,” he reported. “Into the unoccupied areas of Tashijan.”
“Are all still with her?” Argent commanded.
“She and the tracker lead five knights, all cloaked.”
