Shadowfall g-1

by James Clemens

  “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.”

  “Lorr would have to come with me,” Kathryn said. “His absence would be noted. And what about you all? You can’t stay here.”

  As proof to her words, shouts sounded distantly, coming from the main stair.

  Lorr stirred. “Castellan, do you truly trust these folks?”

  Kathryn stared at Tylar. Though he wore the same face, much had changed in him-then again much had not. She looked at him now with eyes aged by years and heartache, no longer so naive. He had always been a caring and generous man. In the past, she had let herself doubt this in a moment of panic, confusion, and shock. But she was no longer that woman either.

  “I do trust him,” she mumbled and turned to Lorr.

  The tracker nodded. “Then there might be a way. But we’ll all have to go together. I can show them a passage that is surely unguarded. A passage that isn’t a passage.”

  “What about Perryl?” Tylar said.

  Kathryn clenched a fist on the hilt of her sword. She pictured the young knight’s straw hair and easy manner. She had a hard decision to make. “If what you say is true,” she said, “then there’s too much at stake. Lorr and I will search for him after you’re gone. Until then, all we can do is pray he’s safe.”

  Tylar hesitated, but finally nodded. Like Kathryn, he knew the weight of duty.

  Kathryn turned to the doorway. “Show us, Lorr.”

  Tylar and the others pulled their cloaks and hoods back up. Lorr backed Barrin and Hern out into the hallway.

  The noise of approaching boots grew louder. A call reached them. “What’s all this uproar?”

  Lorr shoved through the bullhounds to face the leader of a cadre of guards. Kathryn held her breath. What if he betrayed them?

  “Just a tussle between a couple of hungry dogs,” Lorr grumbled. “So unless you feel like joining them for dinner, you’d best clear on out.” At a hand signal from the tracker, Hern growled with a great show of teeth.

  The leader backed away several steps.

  Lorr continued. “What is it about you skaggin’ knights?” He waved back to Tylar and the other cloaked figures. “Always come running when you hear a dog bark, but you need some real fighting done and you’re nowhere to be found.”

  The guard leader scowled at the insult. “You’d best watch your tongue, tracker.”

  Hern growled again.

  “And you and your knights better watch more than your tongues.”

  The knight waved him off. “Take your beasts out of my halls.”

  Lorr sneered and shoved through his dogs. “Continue to the hall’s back stair,” he hissed as he passed Tylar. “The main stair will be too crowded.”

  “But don’t we want to get down to the Masterlevels?” Tylar asked. “Those back stairs only lead up.”

  “Exactly.”

  Tylar marched b
ehind Kathryn as she followed Lorr up the stairs. One of the tracker’s bullhounds led the way, the other trailed behind. Despite the tracker’s willingness to help, he refused to drop his guard. He kept them all pinned between his beasts.

  Rogger climbed behind Tylar. Delia kept to his side. Beyond them trailed Krevan and Eylan. Before entering Tashijan, they had left Corram, along with Krevan’s six other Shadowknights, to guard their mounts in case a quick escape proved necessary. They had dared not move too large a group into Tashijan, lest they turn too many an eye, and the other Shadowknights’ cloaks were needed to disguise Tylar, Rogger, Delia, and Eylan.

  Tylar now regretted not bringing a few more knights.

  They climbed past another three landings. Where was this tracker taking them? The muscles of Tylar’s neck ached from the strain of this night. The fetid breath of the two bullhounds filled the narrow passage. Still, the beasts did succeed in driving other knights off the stairs and out of their way.

  At last, Lorr grunted. “We’ll head out here.” The tracker checked the landing, then continued their parade through Tashijan. The halls widened at last.

  Rogger moved up to one side of Tylar, Delia the other.

  The thief nodded to Kathryn. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “So? How does it feel to see your betrothed again?”

  Tylar had no desire to discuss such matters with Rogger-not until he could sort out his own feelings. But he was also conscious of Delia’s presence at his side. She had avoided his eye ever since Kathryn had walked through the door. He remembered Delia’s whispered words back in the Lair. It’s no oath that binds me…

  Though neither of them had firmed their feelings beyond tentative motions, he owed Delia an honest answer to Rogger’s question as much as himself. “I… I don’t know.”

  Before more could be said, Lorr waved. “Hurry now.”

  All had noted the many eyes following their passage. The bullhounds were difficult to miss. Someone would surely raise some inquiries. Word would eventually rise like smoke to the warden’s chambers far overhead.

  The hall ended a short ways ahead at a set of double doors.

  Tylar recognized where they had been led. He frowned in confusion.

  Beyond the doors lay the Grand Court of Tashijan, the giant amphitheater that served as the major gathering place for both knight and master.

  Kathryn shook her head. “How does this help us? There’s no exit to the Masterlevels through here.”

  Lorr ignored her and tried the door. He tugged without success. “Locked…”

  “All the doors into the court will be,” Kathryn said. “The last they were opened was for Argent’s naming ceremony.”

  Lorr tried the door again, finally kicking it in frustration.

  The doors were made of stout oak, banded in iron, strong enough to blunt even an ax blade. The bronze lock required a key from Keeper Ryngold.

  Rogger moved from Tylar’s side. “Allow me.” He slipped a slender pick knife and a bent fork from an inner pocket. Using his tools, he tinkered with the lock’s inner workings.

  At the entrance to the hallway, a group of knights and house staff had stopped to watch. Kathryn nodded to them, arms crossed. As castellan, few would question her actions directly. At the door, Rogger’s labors were hidden behind the bulk of the bullhounds. The thief finally proved his skill. A tumble sounded from the doors. Rogger stood and pulled the latch. The wide doors easily swung open.

  As the few knights at the other end of the hall moved on, one tarried a bit longer, eyes narrowed. Surely everyone had been alerted to watch for anything suspicious… and their activities, along with the presence of the bullhounds, were certainly out of the ordinary.

  Word would spread.

  Lorr grabbed one of the oil lamps from its hanger in the outside hall and swung it toward the door. “Inside… hurry.”

  Tylar and the others pushed into the dark amphitheater.

  The dome of the roof stretched far overhead, beyond the reach of the lone lamp. Closer at hand, rings of tiered seating spread outward and climbed forty levels, disappearing into the gloom.

  Lorr led the way down the few stairs to the main floor. His two bullhounds spread to either side, moving low to the ground, suspicious of the giant open space.

  Tylar gaped upward. He remembered gatherings here in the past: the raucous crowd of knights, the laughter, the arguments. The empty hall now seemed haunted, and with the darkness closed around them, somehow smaller. But more than anything, Tylar felt how little he belonged here now. It wasn’t just the stripping of his knighthood. What had once filled him with pride and a sense of purpose, now seemed pale and false. He had seen too much to ever wear the cloak as easily as he once had.

  Kathryn glanced at him. Did she sense that about him? Did more than time and pain separate them? On the way up the stairs, Kathryn had briefly told him about her fears concerning the Fiery Cross, about Argent’s connection, about some bloody sacrifice she had stumbled upon, pointing toward the Cross’s involvement in some dark rites. Did her cloak still rest well on her shoulders?

  Ahead, a dim glow shone from the floor, the only other source of light. Tylar knew what it marked. The Hearthstone. The heart and hearth of Tashijan. The flames of the fire pit had lit ceremonies dating back to before the coming of the gods, to the barbarous times of human kings. Grace kept its fires always glowing. It was quiet now, waiting to be stoked again.

  Reaching the central dais, they circled around the Hearthstone. Kathryn eyed it with a sickly look on her face. Clearly she was remembering another pit, full of knights’ bones, charred and broken. Tylar also felt a twinge of unease. Was Perryl already among those bones?

  Lorr led them past the arch of seats on the dais and continued to the back wall.

  “Where are we going?” Krevan asked, irritated at the tracker’s reticence to explain.

  The tracker reached the wall and held up his lamp. It shone off a plate of bronze that stood the height of a man.

  The Shield Gong.

  It was struck to summon all of Tashijan to the court. Its voice traveled throughout Tashijan.

  Tylar finally understood Lorr’s purpose.

  Of course…

  The gong covered the opening to a funneling tunnel. This narrow passage was not meant for the tread of knight nor master. Its maze of corkscrewing channels echoed the gong’s ringing throughout Tashijan.. from the tower tops to the subterranean warrens of the masters.

  Lorr grabbed an edge of the bronze gong and pulled it back, exposing the unguarded tunnel.

  Rogger nodded with respect. “A passage that isn’t a passage,” he said, repeating Lorr’s earlier cryptic message. “How did you think of this?”

  “Before undertaking Castellan Vail’s guardianship,” Lorr said, “I studied the maps of Tashijan. The first thing a tracker learns is the lay of the land, whether forest, mountain, or castle.”

  Without further ceremony, they all pushed into the tunnel. Krevan and Lorr shoved the gong back with their shoulders, raising it enough for the bullhounds to enter. They dared not leave the hounds behind. If anyone should come to investigate, the presence of the bullhounds would expose them.

  Taking care, Krevan and Lorr lowered the gong back in place. It would not serve them to have the gong sound now, awaking all of Tashijan.

  Lorr squeezed ahead with the lamp. The low ceiling kept them all crouched. He led the way. The echo tunnel twisted and turned, branching and forking. They had to trust Lorr’s sense of direction and memory, but wyld trackers were well known for their ability to keep to a trail.

  No one spoke, and they all walked as softly as possible, fearful that their tread or voice would echo outward.

  Lorr continued his determined pace. Finally he took a left fork and followed its spiraling path. Light appeared ahead, and they soon found themselves at a grate. By now the tunnel had squeezed to the point that they were half-crawling. The bullhounds slunk on their bellies.

  “This s
hould be the third descended level of the masters,” Lorr said.

  Tylar helped the tracker lift the grate free and set it aside. They all gladly stumbled out into the regular hallway.

  “I know where I am,” Kathryn said, sounding surprised. “Master Gerrod’s quarters are down another level. It’s not far.”

  Kathryn now led the way, moving swiftly. The halls were thankfully all but empty. The masters were sticking to their quarters. With a godslayer afoot, the guarding of Tashijan had been left to the knights. Still, a few maids and the occasional baldpated master did widen their eyes at their passage. Kathryn nodded in a perfunctory manner.

  At last, they reached a door. Kathryn knocked.

  A small peek window opened in the door. All Tylar saw was a flash of bronze.

  “Kathryn?” a muffled voice said.

  “Gerrod, open the door.”

  The small window closed and a bar was thrown back. The door swung open.

  Tylar stared at the squat, bronze figure. It took half a breath to hear the whir of the mekanicals. An articulated suit. All he could see of the man inside were a pair of moist eyes that surveyed the party with Kathryn, then settled to Tylar.

  “I think you all should come inside,” the master said, stepping aside.

  Kathryn took comfort from the familiar surroundings and the stolid companionship of her friend. The room’s braziers-sculpted into eagle, skreewyrm, wolfkit, and tyger-all burned brightly. Myrr and winterroot scented the air.

  Gerrod offered her his chair by the fire, but she refused, still too agitated to sit.

  Lorr kept watch with the bullhounds outside. Tylar and his four companions stood warily.

  Gerrod paced the length of his room. “The Godsword,” he said after hearing Tylar’s story. “It is indeed named Rivenscryr, but only in the most ancient of Littick texts. If Meeryn used this word, then she meant you to know the truth behind the sword. Its oldest stories and legends.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Gerrod sighed-or maybe it was just his mekanicals-as he faced Tylar. “Most stories say that Rivenscryr was destroyed when the home of the gods was sundered. This is not true.”

  Tylar frowned. “It still exists.”