“A rogue?” Kathryn stirred. The gods of the hinterlands were little more than raving beasts, committing horrible acts upon those who should cross their paths. Few lived who ever met a rogue god. The Shadowknights themselves had first been established as border guards to keep the taint of the rogues from passing out of their lands and into the settled realms. Why would a rogue be contacting their enemy?
Yet even this curiosity could not keep Kathryn from watching the healer crush the root to a powder, then pour it into a cup of water. Her concern for Tylar weighed too heavily on her heart. With the elixir prepared, Eylan helped lift Tylar up while Paltry poured the contents down Tylar’s throat.
He did not resist. Half the elixir spilled over Tylar’s chin and down his chest. Once finished, Tylar was laid back to his bed.
Kathryn settled to the cot’s edge.
The talk had quieted. All watched.
“I can’t help more here,” Paltry said after there appeared to be no response. The miracle of the firebalm did not seem to be shared by the bloodroot. “He’ll have to be moved to the main physik in the Cobbleshores district. They have blessed swine in their pens for blood drafting. That’s where he should be.”
Kathryn watched Tylar’s chest rise and fall. At some point, she had taken his hand, but she couldn’t say when. Was he breathing slightly more deeply? Did his lips have a touch more color? Or was it merely her heart wanting it to be true?
“While we keep watch,” Gerrod said, turning back to Yaellin, “tell us more about this visitor to your father.”
Yaellin nodded. “The emissary came to my father’s room in the dead of night, bearing disturbing tidings. Three pieces of information that would set my father on a course that I believe has led us all here.”
Everyone gathered closer. Even the two young girls watched from the room’s corner.
“First, the rogue’s emissary was one of the Wyr,” Yaellin said, nodding to Eylan. “They of all people still occasionally made contact with the maddened ones. She came with a secret kept hidden for millennia, a secret known only to the rogues. Unlike our settled gods who are bound to their realms, unable to leave their lands, rogues still roam. It is such lack of rooting that leads to the raving found among the rogues. Their Grace burns through them. They have no outlet for release. No land in which to ground their Grace. It maddens them.”
Kathryn nodded, still focused on Tylar.
“But what the rogues have kept hidden deep in their hinterlands is a secret none suspected. Free to roam, both male and female gods, they have borne children.”
Kathryn glanced hard at Yaellin, attempting to read the man. “Impossible. Grace destroys such seeds in the womb.”
Yaellin shook his head. “In a coupling between god and man, yes. But not so with two gods. Such children do sometimes survive, though it is a rarity. Only a couple times each millennia. The last child was born over four hundred years ago. And that is the crux of the problem. Most of these children were slain at birth, first in fear, then in envy.”
“Envy?” Rogger asked.
“Such children are not like the other Myrillian gods. They are born, but they were never sundered. They are purer than either sire or dam. They are of flesh, but also carry with them those parts all others lost to the naether and aether. They are whole… in a manner.”
“Unsundered,” Gerrod whispered, dread and awe in his voice.
“Almost,” Yaellin said. “But it was enough for all such offspring to be slain. Savaged and hacked beyond healing. Then four hundred years ago, one of their children, a boy, was stolen, kidnapped, before it could be slain. It took the rogues a full year, as maddened as they are at most times, to discover the child’s fate. The boy’s desiccated and mummified remains were discovered in the hinterlands of the Fourth Lands. His heart was missing.”
“Who did this?” Kathryn asked. “Who performed such a black rite?” She could not help but picture the young knight sprawled in a circle of his own blood, his chest cleaved open.
“All the hinterland rogues could discover was a name: the Cabal.”
“What did they want with the boy?” Gerrod asked.
Yaellin shook his head. “It was never discovered for certain. But the rogue who sent the emissary had a suspicion. She believed the boy’s murder was tied back to the Godsword.”
“Rivenscryr,” Rogger said.
“The old Littick name for the sword,” Yaellin agreed. “The emissary revealed a second black secret concerning the Godsword. The weapon that shattered their world had been forged in their own blood. According to the rogue, the sword, once wielded and spent, needed fresh blood, the blood of an intact god, a god from their original kingdom, someone unsundered. Blood from a sundered god lacked something vital to enliven the sword. So after the Sundering, when the gods came to Myrillia, the weapon proved useless. No sundered god could whet it back into existence. It became a weapon without substance.”
“A sword of light and shadow,” Gerrod intoned, repeating the words Pryde Manthion used to describe and name the great weapon.
Yaellin nodded. “The rogue who sent the warning believed that the Cabal had stolen the infant godling in an attempt to forge anew the Godsword. The boy’s body had been drained of all blood. Such blood could bring Rivenscryr back into this world, a weapon that could shatter worlds.”
Silence settled over the room.
“But there was a last warning from this rogue god,” Yaellin continued, voice lowering. “A new babe had been born to the rogues, a babe born to the same god who sent the emissary. She could not see her child slain. Although half-maddened by wild Grace, she was still a mother. She feared for her infant’s safety. So she asked my father to come for her baby. To steal the child away before anyone knew of its existence. To keep her baby safe among the settled god-realms of Myrillia.”
“And he did that?” Kathryn asked, aghast.
“He took a cadre of knights and a woman who knew the hinterlands well, my own mother, the mistress of this school. They had a harrowing journey. It seemed word had leaked to the Cabal. My father and mother barely escaped with the child, losing all their guards to the fell beasts of the Cabal.”
“What became of the child?” Gerrod asked.
Yaellin turned and faced one of the two girls, the smaller of the two, with straw-colored hair. Her eyes were wide with dawning horror. “My father hid her here.”
Dart stared back at Yaellin. No… it was all a lie… impossible.
Laurelle stepped from her side, stumbling back.
“I’m only a girl,” Dart answered in a squeaky tight voice.
Yaellin came to her, dropping to a knee. “Yes, you are.” He took her hand. She barely felt his touch. “You are flesh like any other girl.” He squeezed to emphasize it. “Never let anyone tell you otherwise. But I’m afraid you must know deep in your heart that you’re different. Not worse, not better even. Just different.”
She attempted to pull her hand free-not so much to escape him as his words. But she couldn’t so easily escape her heart. He was right. She had always known she was different. And it wasn’t just the presence of Pupp, her ghostly companion. She always felt the outsider, the girl looking in through a window at the simple lives of the other girls. Still, how could she be a god?
Yaellin continued his explanation. “Dart was hidden at the school, in plain sight. Only two folks ever knew about her. My father and mother. I don’t know when they were planning on revealing her true heritage to her.” He glanced at Dart with sorrow. “Ser Henri did not reveal himself to be my father until I was about your age. I suppose he was not very good at… revealing difficult truths. I’m sorry you had to learn of your own parentage in such an ill manner as this.”
Dart simply shook her head, still denying, waiting to wake up from this unending nightmare. A tear rolled down her cheek. Then fingers wrapped around her hand. She turned. It was Laurelle, returned to her side. Fingers squeezed. She drew great comfort, but the tears flowed
heavier.
Yaellin continued, facing the others again. “Knowledge of the girl’s identity and location died with my mother and father. But when I heard of the explosion of the illuminaria during the testing of Dart, I knew the girl must be someone special. None but a god could cause such a reaction. So I investigated with dream alchemies and discovered the truth.”
Master Gerrod stirred from his station. “And I suspect you were not the only one investigating the incident.” He glanced to Healer Paltry. “Another’s curiosity was aroused.”
Paltry had been standing near the back, watched by the tall swordswoman. He seemed to shrink in on himself.
The bronze figure stepped toward the healer. “You sent her blood to Tashijan, to Castellan Mirra. You came in the thick of the night, in secret. Why?”
Paltry had a sick pall to his face by now. “I… I made inquiries after what happened here. I dared not be too bold because.. because…”
“Because of your complicity in raping young children,” the master said bluntly.
Dart felt a surge of raw fury, drying the flow of her tears. One hand still held Laurelle’s, but her other fell to the hilt of the dagger Yaellin had given her.
Paltry looked away. “After the girl was chosen, I sent word to the Council at Tashijan, asking the masters a theoretical question about what might have happened. I was surprised to hear back from the castellan. But then again, she was once a master herself. She asked me to bring a test of the girl’s blood. So I stole one of her soiled undergarments. The girl claimed she was bleeding from her menstra, but
… but…”
“You knew better,” Gerrod said. “You knew of the harm done to her.”
Dart’s fingers tightened on her dagger’s hilt.
Paltry ignored the accusation and spoke to the floor. “I took the soiled garment to Castellan Mirra, following her order of secrecy.”
Master Gerrod turned to the woman seated beside the godslayer. “It is no wonder I could not match the blood to any of the Hundred, yet it tested like that of a god.”
His gaze fell upon Dart’s figure. Though he was cased in bronze, there was a kind concern in his eyes. She wanted to run into his arms, to have those armored arms protect her. Or maybe it was just that his bronze form reminded her of Pupp, of his security. The loss of her friend ached inside her.
But Gerrod was not done with Paltry. “What happened after that?”
“I… I heard back from Castellan Mirra. She claimed the girl was an abomination. She expressed fear of some plot against Chrism.”
“If Henri had not informed her of the girl,” Master Gerrod said, “I could see Mirra making that mistake, the same as I did with the blood. And with Henri’s recent death, she must have assumed the worst.”
Yaellin stirred. “So you attempted to kill Dart. Why?”
“I was so ordered. Castellan Mirra sent gold and names among the blackfeet. She asked me to stay my hand until she could investigate further. She seemed to fear some faction at Tashijan.”
“The Fiery Cross,” Castellan Vail mumbled.
Gerrod fixed Paltry with a cold stare. “Did Mirra ever contact you again?”
“No, she disappeared… vanished at Tashijan. I assumed something had happened. I had no choice but to continue with her plan to kill the abomination. It was for the good of Myrillia.” Paltry puffed up at this last bit.
The master made a rude noise. “Rather, it fit your plans just fine. You didn’t want the young girl’s rape being discovered. What if she talked? So you carried forward the assassination anyway.”
Dart’s head spun with the stories being told.
“But she lived,” Yaellin said. “And the story of the illuminaria did not escape the attention of Mistress Naff. She must have told Chrism of the incident. They must have started to suspect the truth.”
“And they didn’t know before this,” the bearded man said, turning toward Dart. “Seems strange that a child Ser Henri hid from the Cabal ends up back on their doorstep, and they’re none the wiser.”
“Perhaps not so strange,” Master Gerrod said. “Remember, it was an Oracle that chose her. Such men and women are tied to the deepest desires of the gods they serve. The one who chose Dart must have made his choice based on Chrism’s deep-seated craving for the blood of a godling. The Oracle must have blindly sensed something about the girl with his Grace-blessed senses. Especially as it was the Hand of Blood for which she was picked. A very appropriate choice, considering the circumstances and his master’s desires.”
Again a heavy silence weighed upon the room.
The man with the beard tugged at his whiskers. “According to Master Gerrod’s ancient texts, Chrism arrived here with the Godsword. And we came here hoping he still had it or knew where to find it. But now we discover he’s corrupted, a part of this Cabal, if not its leader.” He turned to Yaellin. “When did you begin to suspect Chrism?”
“Only seven days ago. He hides himself well. But over the past few moons, I had noted strange happenings at the High Wing. Hands seemed to be burning faster, aging quicker. Strange dreams plagued us all. At first, I attributed it to the same malaise spreading over Myrillia. But then I discovered more and more Cabalists appearing near the castillion, acting more boldly, hardly hiding their allegiances. They seemed to be focused on the Eldergarden. Fearing some foul mischief, I ventured into the deep wood, all the way to the Heartwood. As the Hand of Black Bile, it was an easy thing to anoint myself with nullifying alchemies and move past Chrism’s wards unseen. There, to my horror, I discovered the corruption. With my father dead and Castellan Mirra gone, I didn’t know whom to trust.”
Yaellin glanced to Castellan Vail. “And when Argent ser Fields, my father’s enemy, chose you as the new castellan, I feared you might have been corrupted. I was seeing Cabalists everywhere. So instead, I pursued my dead father’s wishes. To protect the Godsword from the Cabal. I watched Chrism closely, dogging his steps in secret. I hoped to discover where the Godsword might be hidden. To steal it if I could. I’ve even searched his rooms twice.” He shook his head. “To no avail.”
Dart remembered Yaellin sneaking out of Chrism’s chambers. He had been seeking the sword. If they hadn’t followed him…
Master Gerrod paced around the circular room, slowly, methodically. “Which brings us to the death of Meeryn. She must have learned about Chrism. He must have sent that black naether-spawn to slay her, to silence her. But how did it kill her?”
The answer came from an unexpected source. “With the Godsword,” the man in the bed said, pushing up on one elbow. He opened eyes a startling storm-gray in color. How long had he been feigning sleep?
Dart took a worried step backward.
“Tylar…” Castellan Vail said with relief.
He held her back with a nod, a silent assurance that he was all right. “The beast had a weapon,” he continued. “I saw it. A lance of silver that seemed ghostly yet potent.”
“Rivenscryr,” Yaellin said. “Chrism must have been able to forge it.”
“With the blood of the infant boy,” Tylar said, demonstrating how much he had overheard. “They must have a small cache still left.”
“But the source is too meager for them to show themselves,” Master Gerrod said. “They still move in secret.”
“For now.” Tylar’s gray eyes found Dart. “I think that was why Ser Henri kept this child alive… in secret. He could’ve slain her to keep her blood from ever falling into the Cabal’s hands, but he knew eventually a war would arise, a new War of the Gods here on Myrillia. And he wanted our side to have a way to wield the Godsword. So he placed a guard upon the one god who had knowledge of the sword.” Tylar nodded to Yaellin, then turned to Dart. “And he locked away a source of blood to fuel the sword.”
Dart felt a growing horror at his words. Tylar continued to stare at her, sorrowfully yet fiercely.
“So what do we do?” Castellan Vail asked.
“We do what we all must. I was named
a godslayer. Now I must become one in truth.” He finally faced the others. “We must kill Lord Chrism.”
FIFTH
WAR OF THE GODS
“There came a grate splitting of the sky. A thunderclap felled all to their knays. The rott’d trees cracked. The birds of the aer did stryke the ground, which did shake and growl like a beast in payn. Waters flooded their banks and drown’d the land. The sun did flare with grate fyre and fury. And the blue sky went the black of a bruise.
“And in that trembling light, he fell to the mount, to his knays, a grate lord of blood and bone, bearing a sword of light and shadow. He sayd unto me, ‘Lo, all is at an end.’ ”
— Pryde Manthion, the last human king Shadowfall [Book of Fyre, lin. 103–104]
22
UNDER THE RAVEN’S EYE
Tylar sipped the draft of bloodvine, bitter but sweetened with honey. It was his third dousing. He held the mug with two hands, needing both. A shiver from his bones threatened to shake his frame, but he contained it.
Kathryn sat on the neighboring bed. He felt her eyes on him, a steady watch, as if expecting him to swoon at any moment. Upon his waking, she had tried to comfort him with her soothing hands and whispered words, but it grew too difficult for them both. Such intimacy was still beyond them, confused by old familiarity and new awkwardness.
And for the moment, more important matters had to be settled.
It was nigh on midday and a plan had yet to be worked that held any chance of victory. They had debated and strategized. How did one reach Lord Chrism with untold legions of ilk-beasts guarding his grounds and an entire castillion garrison roused to alert? And once cornered, how did one slay a god corrupted by Dark Grace and wielding untold power?
Tylar studied the room over his mug. They were too few: a thief, a warrior woman, a wise man in bronze, two Shadowknights… and two frightened girls.
Gerrod knelt with Dart. He peered into her eyes with a dark lens. Earlier he had pricked her finger and dabbed her blood upon a crystal wafer. He, with the assistance of the healer, had tested the girl as bell after bell chimed the passing morning.
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