"Those Wyr-lords do like to keep their secrets." Rogger straightened, a fist resting on one hip. "But there must be a connection. I find it awful fateful that this boy ends up trapped here with us. The skull and the stone brought together again."

"But is that a boon or a curse?" Tylar asked. "If the Huntress exiled him, banishing him away, perhaps she thought it best to keep them as far apart as possible. The way we keep Dart and the sword separated."

"I don't think we can place too much weight on the Huntress's word. It sounds like the seersong had already sapped her in some way."

Brant finally found his voice. "Is it true? The rogue's skull? The one possessed by the Huntress is here? Howa?"

Tylar nodded to his companion, permitting him to speak. "He should know."

Rogger sighed and related his own experience in Saysh Mal. His description of the state of affairs in Brant's former home helped push back his grief, replacing it with anger and horror. Over the four years he had been here in the First Land, ruin had settled over the cloud forest and its denizens.

All because of a cursed skull.

One Brant's father had carried into the land.

"I would see this skull destroyed," he said.

"Well, that's the slippery part," Rogger said. "We left it in a rather precarious situation. It's down there with those daemon knights that you so kindly rooted out for us."

Brant stood up, almost bumping the regent. "We must get it free from there!"

"We intend to," Tylar said. "And after your tale, I think it's even more important that we do so immediately."

"Then you'll destroy it?" Brant asked. There could be no question that it was riddled with black Grace.

The two men's eyes glanced to the third, the tall stranger.

"It seems we still need the skull for a bit of bartering."

"What?"

Tylar headed for the door. "We have no time to explain."

"I will go with you!" Brant followed.

Tylar held out a hand. "No. You are safe here."

"Nowhere's safe this night."

Rogger nodded. "The boy's right there. And somehow he and his rock are tied to this skull's story. It's time we completed the tale."

Tylar hesitated.

"Like you said," Rogger argued. "Bringing them together is either a curse or a boon. If it's a curse, then better it happen deep under Tashijan than up here. If it's a boon, then the sooner we join the two the better." He punctuated it with a shrug. "Besides, he can carry an extra torch. And right now, stone or not, that's fine with me."

The regent's jaw muscles tightened. "So be it." He forced the words out.

Brant was relieved. He would have followed them if necessary.

Others were not so certain. The back door to the room burst open and two large forms tumbled into the room.

"No, Master Brant!" Malthumalbaen shouted. "You can't go alone. We'll come with you!"

Tylar shared an irritated glance with his bearded friend.

"It seems someone's been listening at our door," Rogger said.

"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 halla"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, Captaina"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.

12.

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 usa"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."

The ancient mage seemed little moved. He kept his focus on the warden. "And with such a ward against black Grace in our hands, who knows what other black acts might be reversed?"

Argent met the other's gaze. Tylar knew the Ghazalian master had been summoned in an attempt to break the dark spell that had frozen Argent's swordsworn brother to stone. Here the master offered one more argument for securing the skull, one with a more personal stake for the warden.

Tylar knew the matter was settled before the warden turned back to him.

"You believe you can get below and back again with the skull?" Argent asked.

"If we are delayed no longer."

Argent's eye narrowed. "I'll send you with enough knights to guard the door below, to keep a fire blazing. You'll have a single bell. Longer than that, we'll know you're corrupted. The way will be sealed."

It was as much of a concession as Tylar could hope for from the warden. He stared at Argent in his one eye and nodded.

Kathryn turned from the table. Tylar was the only one to note her relieved sigh. She followed him back to the door and out.

Behind them, Argent barked orders, staging his end of the assault.

They would have only a moment of privacy.

Kathryn stopped him halfway toward the stair. "Be careful. I don't trust that new master."

He nodded. "We'll have to worry about that after I retrieve the skull."