Only then did Tylar perceive a whisper of words from the boy’s pained lips. “‘Come, sweet night…steal the last light…so your moons may glow.’”
Below, Eylan lifted an arm, trembling, confused.
“The seersong’s grip is loosening,” Rogger said, rising with the skull under one arm.
Krevan slipped down to join them. Kathryn went to the boy, kneeling and lifting his head into her lap. She stroked back the lanky hair that had plastered to his forehead with sweat.
He whimpered, then continued, thready and weak. “‘Come, sweet night…hide all our worries…so our dreams will flow.’”
“He’s burning up,” Kathryn warned, glancing to Tylar.
“But it’s working,” he countered.
Eylan lifted her head toward them. Ice still clouded her eyes, but the depth had melted. Lips parted and cracked. Blood flowed.
“No…” she moaned. “Stop…”
Hands rose to her ears. But against whom was she warding? Her new masters out in the storm or their attempt here?
Eylan took another step in their direction. Cakes of frost fell from her arms and legs. “Must stop…”
Blood dripped from her chin and splattered to the ice, steaming and hot. The seersong’s hold was plainly melting, releasing her.
“Eylan,” Tylar said. “Tell us about the storm.”
“Must stop them…”
He was still unsure whom she meant.
Behind Tylar, the boy continued his tinny whisper. “‘Come sweet night…protect all the children…’til the cock’s first crow.’”
Eylan’s eyes found his. Tylar read flinty glimpses of clarity. Her face twisted in a rictus of agony, baring too many teeth.
“Help them,” she keened out at him. “Free them…”
The words echoed Brant’s earlier words, when he’d held the skull down below. Tylar glanced back to the boy, remembering the strange discourse.
HELP THEM…FREE THEM…FIND THEM.
The boy had no memory of what he had been saying. Tylar turned back to Eylan. But here was someone who might know.
“Find them…” Eylan gasped out, finishing the same chorus.
“Who?” Tylar shouted out to her.
She fell to one knee on the ice. Blood now poured from both nostrils. The war for her mind was tearing her apart.
“It’s killing her.” Rogger confirmed it at Tylar’s side. “The seersong has its hooks deep in her mind and spirit. Ripping them out is destroying her.”
Out on the floor, she sank to one buttock, supported by an arm on the ice, weakening rapidly.
“The boy’s almost gone,” Kathryn said behind him.
He had no choice.
“Who?” he called again to Eylan. “Who are we supposed to find?”
She lifted her face. “The rogues… find the other rogues…chained and forced…” She suddenly coughed, spewing crimson across the ice.
“Forced to do what?”
Eylan opened her mouth to speak, but only blood flowed. Tears streamed down her face. She lifted her arm and pointed toward the wrecked gate.
“The storm?” he asked quietly.
Her only agreement was the sagging drop of her arm. Her head sank heavily, too.
“Where are they? How do we find them?”
Eylan did not stir, seeming deaf to him now.
“The boy’s stopped breathing!” Kathryn gasped out and stood. She hauled the boy up in her arms and faced Rogger. “Cover the skull!”
Hesitating, Rogger glanced to Tylar. Both of them knew they needed more answers.
“He can’t speak any longer!” Kathryn screamed at the both of them. “Rogger, cover the skaggin’ skull!”
Recognizing the truth of her words, he finally obeyed and whisked the sailcloth back over the skull. He shrugged an apology at Tylar.
A scrape drew Tylar’s attention back out on the ice.
Eylan’s fingers scratched at the ice. Her head lolled like a broken doll. Then an arm pushed, a leg shifted. She began to rise.
“The song is claiming her again,” Rogger said.
White frost climbed her calves and scrawled up from her wrists, coating her again, collecting up its lost puppet.
She lifted her head. Her eyes found Tylar. He read the clarity before it drowned away. Her lips moved and one word escaped, an answer to his last question.
“Hinterland…”
Then her eyes iced over.
Before he could grieve, a sharp twang startled him.
From Eylan’s forehead, a small puff of feathers bloomed-then seeped blood. A crossbow bolt. Her head fell back, followed by her body. She crashed to the ice.
Dead.
Tylar turned.
Krevan lowered his crossbow. He matched Tylar’s stare-then turned and climbed the stair. It was a cold act, but the right one.
For Tashijan, for Eylan.
Still, Tylar remained silent as Krevan left. He had noted how much the pirate’s arm shook as he lowered the bow.
Kathryn led the others, sweeping up the stairs toward her hermitage. Behind her, Krevan carried Brant. The boy had begun breathing again, but it remained shallow, and he’d yet to wake.
Fury helped fuel her course. She had cradled the boy as he had come within a hair of dying. Though she understood Tylar’s desire for every bit of information, there were lines between necessity and cruelty. To use the boy so harshly bordered on as black an art as those they fought practiced.
Still, he breathed now-and none had noted her tears as she’d held him. A part of her felt foolish, and a good amount of her anger was directed at herself. Had she not seen enough death? Why did this boy’s life warrant tears when the loss of so many others had not? But she knew the answer. She knew the source of those hot tears.
They rose as much for the son she had lost long ago as the boy here this night, churned up by her fury at Tylar for risking Brant. That anger stoked embers within Kathryn that she’d thought had long gone cold. But a fire remained, a buried resentment toward Tylar for his role in the loss of their child. He had willingly plied with the Gray Traders, opening himself up to accusation and misuse. A path that eventually led to a bloody bed and a tiny body in her palms.
Brant moaned in Krevan’s arms. A hand rose. At least this boy would live.
She took a shuddering breath and continued onward.
As if sensing some dam had broken inside her, Tylar pushed up to join her. “Argent will be furious,” he said.
“I’ll deal with him,” she said coldly.
And for the moment, the warden was anything but furious. Jubilant was more the word to describe him after he discovered that Eylan had been slain. He had been more than willing to allow them all to flee up into the highest levels of Tashijan, their duty done. With the storm’s deadly emissary gone, the ice had melted and receded from the lower hall.
But for how long?
They needed to be prepared.
Argent took over the refortification of the first level. Fires had to be relit, stations posted, and the broken main gate repaired. He had Master Hesharian leading a group of masters to discern some defense against another attack. They didn’t know how long a respite was bought with Eylan’s life, but all knew the war was not over.
“Have you heard any further word from Master Gerrod?” Tylar asked.
She shook her head. “I sent a runner up to let him know our urgency. Dart should be ready as well.”
“We’ve shaken them up,” Tylar said, referring no doubt to the powers that wielded the storm. “But it won’t last long. We must take advantage of it.”
She nodded.
As they rounded another landing, a booming shout rose to their right. “Master Brant!” From the hallway, a massive shape pushed out on the stair. A loam-giant. “What have you done with Master Brant?”
There was an equal amount of threat as grief in his voice.
Tylar held up a palm. “He lives. We’re taking him to the healers up in the castellan’s hermitage.”
“I’ll take him, then.” The giant pushed toward Krevan.