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“Not listening,” Dralmarfillneer said. “That weren’t so. Our mammers gave us big ears. That’s all.”

“So I see. Too bad she didn’t gift you with the brains to match.”

Brant shook his head at the two giants. “Someone needs to watch the cubbies.” He dared not leave them unguarded with Liannora hovering about.

“One set of eyes is enough,” Mal said. “I’ll go and Dral can stay with them.”

“Shine my arse. The bloody nippers like you better.”

“We’ll pound for it, then.”

The two giants agreed, stepped back, and swung out with their fists, smashing them against the other. Malthumalbaen stumbled back a step. Dral kept his footing and turned triumphantly.

“Mal will stay.”

With the matter settled, the regent led them out into the hall-where a crowd had gathered, held back by the gray-cloaked woman’s sword. It seemed Sten had spread the word of the regent’s visitation. Liannora, Ryndia, and Khar stood amid a few of the captain’s guards.

“Clear the way,” Tylar demanded.

“Where are you taking a Hand of Oldenbrook?” Sten replied. “I have the right to inquire.”

Liannora stood at his shoulder. Brant suspected the inquiry and challenge truly arose from her.

“We have matters to attend below concerning the security of Tashijan. Brant has been in the cellars and his knowledge may be of assistance.”

Sten glanced between Brant and the regent. “This is the first I’ve heard of such matters.”

“And the last.” Tylar motioned for the others to head for the stairs.

Sten stumbled forward, shoved surreptitiously from behind by Liannora. “Wait!” he called. “If a Hand of Oldenbrook is to be taken from our halls, I must accompany him. The security of the retinue was placed in my charge by Lord Jessup himself. I will not shirk it, nor let it be taken from me.”

Tylar turned, face darkening, a fist forming.

Rogger stepped forward. “What’s another torch? Never hurt to have another sword, too.”

“We’ve wasted enough time here,” the tall stranger grumbled. “We’ve learned what we needed. Let us be off.”

The regent nodded. “You’re right, Krevan. Come if you may, Captain-but you’ll obey every word from here.”

Sten bowed, and Liannora smiled behind his back.

As a group, they headed toward the stairs. Brant studied the cloaked stranger’s back. Krevan. He now understood why an ash-faced member of the Black Flaggers had guarded their door.

Here was Krevan the Merciless, the leader of that black guild.

Brant also remembered the regent’s bearded friend mentioning some matter of bartering with the skull. With the Black Flaggers here, it could only mean some treachery or dark design.

Though he could not fathom what that might be, Brant knew one thing with steel certainty. No matter what the others planned, Brant would destroy the skull. Since the morning the flaming rogue had stumbled into his life, all had come to ruin.

This night, it would end.

A FIRE IN THE CELLAR

Tylar heard the shouting from down the hall. He had left the others at the landing. Ahead lay the fieldroom, where Warden Fields had set up a war council and gathered all the heads of Tashijan. The door stood ajar. Knights crowded the hall. Pages paced, ready to relay messages and commands to the various posts.

Kathryn’s voice reached him. “You’re all being stone-headed! The skull must be fetched out of the cellars!”

Tylar hurried forward. While he had questioned the boy Brant, he had sent Kathryn ahead to meet with Argent, to lay the foundation for their request. She was supposed to have softened him by the time Tylar arrived.

Plainly that was not the case.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this skull when it was first brought here?” Argent boomed. “Such a darkly Graced item threatens all of us!”

Tylar reached the door and stopped at the threshold. Two knights drifted out of alcoves to either side, ready to hold him off, but when they spotted his bared face, they recognized him and hesitated.

Inside, Kathryn stepped to the scarred table that stretched the length of the room. It was across this same board that countless strategies had been construed and treaties signed, sometimes in blood. Around the room rose the ancient Stacks, massive scaffolding and shelves, buttressed by ladders, where maps of all the Nine Lands were stored, going back millennia, some said even before the Sundering. A more current chart of Tashijan had been tacked to the broad table with daggers. Additional rolled sheaves littered the top, all but forgotten during the heated exchange.

Kathryn continued. “We didn’t understand the full power of the skull until Master Rothkild examined it and discovered the cursed Grace locked within its bones.” She leaned on the table, palms down. “Either way, now is not the time to cast blame. Best we retrieve the skull before the force below becomes entrenched or discovers such a powerful talisman within their grasp.”

Argent scowled at her. “Who would lead such a sortie?”

Tylar stepped across the threshold. “I would.”

All eyes turned to him.

“I will take a small force below, armed with sword and flame. We’ll assault Master Rothkild’s study and be out in half a bell.”

Argent straightened, his one eye narrowing.

Beyond him, the fieldroom overlooked the tourney fields at the foot of Stormwatch, but for now the great windows were shuttered tight against the blizzard, except for one narrow pane. Movement beyond revealed a knight under a heavy cloak, posted on the small balcony to maintain a watch on the whirling storm that trapped them here.

To either side, the innermost circle of Tashijan lined the table: knights of the highest station, including Swordmaster Yuril, heads of house and livery, like Keeper Ryngold, and several members of the Council of Masters, the last bolstered by the wide girth of Hesharian.

Argent finally spoke. “We thank you for your offer, regent, but surely one of your stature should best be kept with our other guests high in the tower, where you can be protected. Such a raid, if permitted, would best be carried out by knights of the Order.”

“As I recall, I was invited here to be so included in said Order, to be granted cloak and sword. Or was the offer merely feigned?”

The warden’s lips thinned to sharp, unforgiving lines.

“Also,” Tylar continued, “we know the skull, tainted by seersong, can twist Grace to its will. I’ve already proven my resistance to its corruption, so who better to lead?”

Kathryn cast Tylar a withering look. She had not wanted to further split their towers with petty bickering. And here they were, already baring teeth like dogs. While Tylar recognized the wisdom in her cause, Argent seemed to draw the bile from him like no other. And from the flint in the other’s eye, there was little hope of a peaceful settlement here.

The impasse was broken by a most unexpected ally.

A figure stepped out of the shadow of Hesharian’s moon. “I believe the regent speaks wisely, and his design should be considered.” It was the elderly visitor from Ghazal.

Argent swung toward him.

But the aged figure seemed unfazed, his eyes perhaps too clouded to note the fire in the warden’s. Tylar guessed the fortitude arose more from a steely disinterest in the warden.

Ignoring even a pinch on his sleeve by Master Hesharian, he continued, “Such a talisman, removed from below, may serve to protect us. Dark Grace is woven tightly around us-from the storm without and the daemons below. If we masters could find a way to tap in to the seersong, perhaps we could forge a weapon against the forces that gather. To turn their Grace against them.”

A calculating glint of understanding reflected in Argent’s eye. “Get them to dance to our song.”

Hesharian chimed in, now that he risked nothing by taking a position. “Wise all around. It is good fortune that I had summoned Master Orquell to attend here.”