Why?”
“Like I said before, some secrets Henri would not divulge. All he would say was that his son was set to guard something, to serve as Henri’s eyes and ears at the castillion, a duty that tied back to that journey to the hinterlands.”
“And Henri offered no reason for such a journey or why he had ensconced his son in Chrism’s court?”
“He would speak no further. But now I wonder. If Meeryn’s dying mention of Rivenscryr guides us to Chrism, perhaps Yaellin might know more. We’ll have to hope he gets the raven I sent to him.”
Tylar nodded and turned to face her. “I hope-”
Kathryn heard the characteristic snap of bowstring. The crossbow bolt grazed Tylar’s shoulder and struck the back wall of the flippercraft.
Reacting on instinct, she cast her shadowcloak high, protecting both Tylar and herself. But she was too late. Another two bolts struck Tylar square in the chest, knocking him back. He made a small coughing noise. A third cut his ear, intended for his eye. Her cloak had blocked this killing shot.
From behind them, darkness flowed. Kathryn discerned three shapes, all Shadowknights. One with a sword, flanked by two bearing crossbows.
Tylar had fallen back against the rail, holding himself up by his arms. Feathered bolts sprouted from his chest and shoulder like bloody flowers. His eyes were fixed on the centermost knight, the one with the sword.
“Darjon…” he gasped.
At long last, the wall appeared ahead. The end of the Eldergarden. The myrrwood spread to the ancient bricks. Roots dug at the wall’s foundation, while branches shadowed its top.
Dart and Laurelle stumbled up to it, exhausted, worn, bleeding from a thousand scrapes. Dart stared up at the immense wall. How could they climb it?
Laurelle gently started to sob.
Yaellin appeared behind them, sweeping out of the gloom. “They know we escaped the Heartwood. We must not tarry.”
Off in the distance, a howl echoed to them.
Dart wished she could sprout wings and fly. She wanted nothing more than to wing over the walls, past Chrismferry, out of the First Land. Her world, hardly secure and safe before, had never seemed so dark and full of menace.
“To me,” Yaellin said and opened his arms.
Dart allowed Yaellin to hook an arm around her waist. Laurelle did the same. Still, Dart felt strange to have the man holding her. He had been such a source of personal terror and worry for so many days. A tremble of that fear iced her skin. Or maybe it was the sudden intimacy, his fingers digging deep into her chest, mingled with the long night’s terror. It all harkened back to the horrible day in the rookery. Dart fought against thrashing from Yaellin’s grip. He was not Master Willet.
“Hold fast,” he said.
The cape of his cloak fluttered upward, fringed in shadows. Those shadows found purchase in the pitted, crumbling wall. Yaellin drew them upward, scaling the giant bricks. They flew up the wall with the speed of shadow.
Down below, Pupp glowed in the gloom, a tiny ember. He watched Dart fly away. He raised up on his hind legs, paws on the lowest brick, clearly distressed. While Pupp could pass through almost anything, he had one weakness. Stone. If Dart crossed over the wall, Pupp could not follow. The wall would block him.
“No,” she moaned.
From out of the woods, two forms… then a third… burst forth, striking the wall with claws and nails. Ilk- beasts. They yowled and sought to climb the stone, but quickly fell back. The wall was too steep and high.
Pupp raced among them, unseen, invisible, insubstantial.
Yaellin reached the wall’s top, perched there a breath, then swung his legs over and descended the far side. As Dart’s view of Pupp vanished, she felt an immediate panic strike her. Always her companion, Pupp had never been far from her side. Her heart thudded heavily in her chest. Her fingers tightened on Yaellin.
They swept down the wall.
Desperate and frantic, Dart’s gaze searched for some answer. The city of Chrismferry spread out before her. Though the skies glowed with dawn, the city was mostly illuminated by the many lamps and torches of the waking city. Its breadth spread to all horizons, split by the silvery shine of the Tigre River. The waterway disappeared under the span of the massive castillion. Closer, Dart spotted the towers of the Conclave. A few lights glowed from its many windows. Her life there seemed another world.
She glanced back up the wall.
Pupp…
In moments, Yaellin dropped and landed lightly on the cobbles of High Street. His cloak fell about him in liquid ripples, settling to his shoulders and ankles.
Dart and Laurelle were released.
“What now?” Laurelle asked, teeth chattering slightly. She held her arms snugged tight to her chest. She seemed to have also shrunken into herself, grown smaller.
Dart felt shaky herself. Her knees wobbled like winterfest pudding. The morning breeze chilled her heated skin. Goose-flesh pebbled her arms. Even her breathing seemed out of step. She had to force herself to draw air in and out, like she had forgotten her natural rhythm.
Yaellin answered Laurelle’s question. “We must find a place to hide, where neither hound nor tracker can find us. With the coming of the sun, all manner of guard will be searching, surely with a concocted tale of some villainy committed by our persons. We must be away.”
He started off down High Road, heading toward the river. He stuck to the deeper shadows beneath the Eldergarden wall.
“We must tell someone what we saw,” Laurelle said, following.
“Tell them what?” Yaellin asked. “That Lord Chrism has gone mad of mind and heart? That he has taken to Dark Arts and plans to wreak havoc on all? We’d be hung and gutted before the first accusation could be made. Chrism has hid his corruption well. None will believe the impossible.”
Dart walked, grazing a palm along the wall to support her. “Believe what? What have we witnessed?”
Yaellin stared back toward the cliff of bricks as if his vision could pierce it. “My father sent me here as a spy against the Cabal. I was sequestered here as a secret defender to the Godsword. To keep it from the clutches of the Cabal. Only in these last days had I come to suspect Chrism had been corrupted, a part of the Cabal himself.”
Dart recalled the name. The Cabal. She had heard it spoken both in the grove and in her recent dream. “What is this group… this Cabal?”
Yaellin studied her. “It is a story best told after we’re secure. I’ve friends in the city, those loyal to my father. For now, let it be known that all of Myrillia is threatened. And you, little Dart, may be the key all seek.”
Dart stumbled. “What do you-?”
“This way,” Yaellin said and darted across High Street. He aimed for one of the side streets, a narrow course between rich homes.
They had no choice but to chase after him. A wagon trundled up the road, rising from the river streets below. Not wanting to be seen, they hurried.
Yaellin kept a fast pace, twisting one way, then another. The narrow upper roads and stairs outlined the villas, terraced homes, and palacios of the city’s nobility and rich gentlefolk. All sought homes close to the first god’s castillion, and over the millennia, such land had become crowded and stacked with residences. The homes were tall and narrow. Some sections of the streets were even spanned by wings of various palacios, creating tunnels through the jumble of buildings.
With each step, Dart felt the terror of the long night begin to weigh on her, the toll finally striking. Her breath gasped. Her legs shook. She found herself needing support against the walls.
“Dart,” Laurelle asked, “are you all right?”
Dart licked her lips, finding them too dry, her tongue thick. She shook her head and waved onward.
Laurelle drew to a stop. “Yaellin, she… we can’t continue like this.”
Yaellin drew to them. He studied their faces, then nodded. “It’s probably best to get our feet off the streets
