Dart backed a step-but she could not escape that easily.
Warden Fields waved her forward with a warm smile. “Fear not, child. I won’t bite.”
Swallowing hard, Dart drifted toward him. She could not refuse. Despite the difficulties last year, he remained the leader of the Shadowknights. She stepped across the threshold and entered his Eyrie.
Argent spoke to the knights at the door. “Have Master Hesharian and his guest indulge me a moment-when they arrive.”
Dart had noted that the large master remained halfway down the hall, greeting Balger’s Hand, wheezing and wiping a brow.
Argent closed the door, nodded to her again, and strode into the room. A fire crackled in a large hearth. The windows that overlooked a central courtyard were heavily draped against the cold. There were few furnishings. Even the back corner of the room had its rugs rolled back to bare stone, with a rack of weapons against one wall. A spot for the warden to spar and keep his skills honed. It was said he remained one of the more formidable swordsmen.
But Dart noted the layer of dust on the weapons rack.
Argent had turned his attention to other battles of late.
Keeping his place here in the Eyrie.
Though he had been voted into position with almost unanimous backing of the knights and masters, all knew by what means he had stretched to capture Tylar when the regent was an outlawed godslayer. All had seen the petrified body of the warden’s former right-hand man, Symon ser Jaklar, accidentally cursed to stone by Argent’s own hand, wielding a sword black with corrupted Graces, a forbidden weapon. The disgrace went far toward unseating the man-but seemingly not far enough.
Symon’s form had disappeared into the masters’ domain, deep under the Citadel, supposedly to seek some way to cure him, but more likely to whisk the corruption away from all eyes, to let time dull the horror.
So with the backing of the likes of Master Hesharian, high master of the Council of Masters, Argent had initially kept his perch here in the Eyrie. And now his position grew more solid with the passing of every moon. Memories ran short when all of Myrillia was holding its breath and searching over its shoulders. Rumors and stories continued to abound: of strange beasts plaguing outlying realms, of madness among gods, of disappearances across the lands.
And as this long winter stretched on, Argent found his support growing. Before his disgrace, he had founded the Fiery Cross among the knights. Over the recent centuries, the shadowknights had been dwindling in both numbers and esteem, seemingly becoming no more than couriers and sell-swords. Argent had promised to reverse that course, to return the knights to glory, to become its own force among the gods, all symbolized under the banner of the Fiery Cross.
Such a conceit found fertile ground in many hearts.
Even corruption could not fully unroot it.
And now this latest ploy: to return to Tylar his shadowcloak and sword. The offer was made more to help Argent than Tylar. But it could not be refused. Such a gesture of unification was necessary. During these dark times, Tashijan needed to be strong, for there were greater dangers than those represented by Argent ser Fields.
“Come inside. I wish to share a few private words with you.” Argent motioned her forward. “Knight to knight.”
Dart remained where she was, head bowed, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. The warden had never once even spoken to her. To all, even the warden, Dart was no more than some page scooped up by Castellan Vail, a servant and courier. The warden remained ignorant of her true role and the secret hidden in her blood and heritage.
So what could he want with her now?
Argent crossed to a small table with a silver platter of brandied nuts and dried baby plums. Fingers waved at the fare. “Please help yourself. I imagine Mistress Yuril has worn you thin and hungry.”
Dart’s belly was indeed empty, but she made no move, mumbling something that was incomprehensible even to her own ears.
Argent plucked up a plum and rolled it between his fingers. “I’ve heard from a certain squire that you seem to be lapsing in your training.”
Dart’s eyes flicked up, her face reddening.
“We can’t have that. Perhaps it would be best if I freed you from your duties with the castellan.”
“Ser,” Dart said, suddenly finding her voice, “please, no!”
“No, I don’t suppose you’d like to lose such an esteemed position. A page serving the castellan. It is a rare honor.”
Dart’s brow crinkled. What was all this about?
“I’m certain the deficit to your training could be corrected…with a tutor, perhaps a bit of fortifying Grace…but such an expense. I daresay it must be beyond your means, yes?”
Dart just bowed her head. She could not stop her knees from shaking. Across the room, Pupp wandered about, poking his nose into corners.
“But in the long run, it might be to the Order’s best suit to have such an esteemed member as yourself, one serving the castellan, to avail herself of such a boon.”
“That would be most generous,” Dart said.
Argent popped the plum between his lips and chewed for a moment, nodding as if in private conversation with himself. He finally spoke again. “Still, what is a boon if unearned? What sort of lesson would that be for a knight-in-training?”
“Ser?”
Argent sighed. “With all the tumult of late, the castellan and I have found so few moments to sit and share our thoughts on matters of Tashijan’s well-being. That is certainly not good for the Order. Perhaps as recompense for the additional expense of tutors and drips and drabs of special Graces, you, Page Hothbrin, could serve an additional duty-bringing to me Castellan Vail’s thoughts and words on matters of interest to the Order.”
“I’m sure, ser-”
Warden Fields silenced her with a stern look. “Of course, we wouldn’t want the castellan to know of your duties. I’d hate for Castellan Vail to think herself neglectful in making time for private meetings here at the Eyrie. She has enough to juggle as it is. So this would be between just the two of us.”
Dart’s mouth dried, and her heart climbed to her throat.
“If this is too burdensome, I’m sure we could find another page who might serve the castellan with more alacrity.”
“No, ser…”
Argent smiled again. The warden was asking her to spy upon the castellan, plying her with promises of boons while threatening to displace her from her position. All the while couching it as for the good of the Order.
“Fine, fine…so it’s settled.” He strode back to the door. “I won’t keep you from your duties any longer.”
He opened the door, and Dart slid through as soon as there was space enough for her. She came close to colliding with Master Hesharian.
“Mind the robe!” he called to her.
But Dart was already away, ducking from the mysterious master in the traveling cloak. She hurried down the hall to the next set of doors, those that opened into the castellan’s private hermitage. Though neighbors on this high level, the occupants of the two sets of rooms could not be further apart in stance and outlook.
She knocked on the door, keeping her eyes fixed to the tight grain of the stout ironwood planks, willing it to open.
Pupp simply ran straight through the door.
Lucky dog.
Moments later, Dart was paid for her patience.
“Uncle Rogger!”
Dart dashed into the castellan’s hermitage, cloak flagging behind her.
The door had barely been opened when she spotted the former thief. It had taken a startled second look, though, to recognize him. Rogger had shorn his usual ragged beard into straight edges, his peppered red hair was oiled and combed, and he wore the sashed purple robe of a learned scribe, those blessed with Grace to write letters sealed and coded with alchemies. Even all his fingers were dyed purple to the first knuckle. Such scribes could be found throughout Tashijan, especially of late.