The Fiery Cross.
Kathryn pictured the slain young knight on the stone floor. His heart cut out, his blood spilled. She smelled again the burned bones of the charnel pit.
Lit by the fires below, the belly of each flippercraft opened above the towers. Ropes tumbled out, uncoiling, snaking to battlements and terraces.
Figures flowed down the ropes, ravens in a storm.
“Tashijan must have been summoned,” Gerrod said.
Kathryn slowly nodded.
And the Fiery Cross answered.
24
The six flippercrafts emptied over the towers and battlements. Shadowknights flew down scores of ropes, dropping to stations throughout the castillion and grounds.
Tylar lost count of the number. Over two hundred.
“The Fiery Cross has come to defend Chrism,” Gerrod said.
Lightning crackled in a mighty arc across the belly of the clouds, threatening the airships. It was foolhardy to ride a lightning storm. But such was the determination of Tashijan.
The winds gusted harder. Rain pelted like hail. One flippercraft brushed too near a tower. Starboard skimmer paddles snapped, sheared away. The ship hove up on its side, fighting for balance.
The damaged flippercraft swung away from the castillion-toward them. It wobbled. A pair of unlucky knights fell from the dangling ropes, jostled loose by the sudden canting. The two plummeted into the gardens, wings of shadow billowing out. They disappeared, their fates unknown.
The ship fared no better, dropping swiftly. It belly crashed through an old garden wall. The cracking splinter of wood sounded like thunder.
“Seems a bad day for flippercrafts,” Rogger mumbled at Tylar’s side.
The ship skidded between their party and the castillion, rolled half on its side, port aeroskimmers high. Bluish fires spat up from the stern end. Rain turned to steam, shrouding the craft.
But not enough to hide the rush of knights and crew escaping the ship.
Behind Tylar, another of the myrrwood trees erupted, gouting flames high. The heat rolled over them. Too near. Fiery branches rained down around them and out into the main gardens.
They had to move or be burned.
“This way,” Tylar said and led them from the flaming forest. “Stay low.”
“Where are we going?” Rogger asked as they headed into the gardens.
“To the stoved ship,” Tylar said. “We’re too few. We need to convince those others to aid us.”
“And how are you going to do that?” the thief asked. “Your face isn’t that pretty.”
Tylar nodded to Kathryn. “She’s still castellan of Tashijan, second only to Argent. Shaken up, the few knights here may listen to her.” He lifted his sword. “And if they don’t, we have this.”
Rogger shrugged. “Don’t mind me if I hide behind you, then.”
Tylar took the thief’s words to heart. Their chances were poor.
The group marched through the gardens, trudging a direct route through bushes and flower patches. The rain continued to pour, turning dirt to mud. The crashed flippercraft towered ahead of them.
Tylar stopped by a low stone fence. There was no reason to risk all. “Everyone else stay hidden here. Kathryn and I will go forward alone.”
No one objected. Only Eylan met his gaze.
“Keep the others safe,” Tylar said to her, letting his concern for them ring clear. “That will serve us all best.”
Eylan glanced to the two girls, then nodded. The others had already sunk down and leaned against the wall, seeking some shelter from the wind and rain.
Tylar glanced to Kathryn. She nodded her readiness.
They set off down a gravel path, bordered by hedges and pocked with dancing pools of rainwater. They moved swiftly, falling into an easy rhythm, as if this were any rainy night and they were returning from some engagement together. Still, Kathryn fingered her diadem, the symbol of her station. It might be all that stood between them and a sword through the heart.
She glanced to Tylar, eyes shining with powers drawn from the shadows. There were words behind that gaze.
Tylar feared for them to be spoken aloud and turned away.
He gripped his sword. Its hilt remained warm, flowing to fit his fingers, throbbing slightly under his palm like a heartbeat. He stared down at it. What was he carrying? What was this Godsword?
Lightning crackled brilliantly, drawing his attention. The gardens flashed in stark silver. Darkness shifted. A shadowy shape rose, as if from the path itself, blocking them. A sword threatened.
“Hold!” Kathryn boomed out.
Tylar jumped, surprised at her firm authority.
The knight’s sword lowered slightly.
“I am Castellan Vail,” she continued, not letting the other collect himself. “Take me to your foreknight or whoever’s in charge.”
The sword lowered farther.
But before more could be managed, a deep growl erupted from the left. Something huge ripped through a thorny tangle of elderwytch.
Ilk-beast.
Tylar flew back, sword ready.
It crashed through the neighboring hedgerow, thrusting right through it, hardly slowing. Nothing could be discerned but its dark muscled bulk.
Tylar lunged out with his sword. No matter its size, the Godsword would surely kill it. But before he could strike, a clang of steel knocked his sword high.
Caught by surprise, Tylar stumbled.
Lightning burst overhead, revealing the beast, limned in silver. It was a steaming, slavering monster-but a familiar monster.
“Barrin!” Kathryn called.
The bullhound skidded to a stop, paws sliding in the mud. Its tongue, as wide as a hearthside rug, lolled out. Its rear end wiggled with all the enthusiasm of its stumped tail.
The knight who had blocked Tylar’s sword shed his shadows. He reached to his masklin and let it drop.
“Krevan,” Tylar said, relieved.
The other knight on the path stepped nearer. It was Krevan’s right-hand man, the older knight, Corram.
Kathryn joined them. “I don’t understand.”
“Come see,” Krevan said.
He walked them through the ruined hedge. The view opened again. The smoking flippercraft was a mountain to the right, but an arrow’s shot ahead rose the castillion. Its battlements still glowed with torches, as did the terraces and windows. It blazed in the stormy gloom.
In the bright illumination, Shadowknights swept along parapets and flew from terraces down to the garden grounds. The dark wave struck the mass of ilk-beasts in the gardens. Wails and shrieks erupted. A pitched battle began.
“More knights still come by windmares,” Krevan assured them. He turned to Tylar. “We come to aid the godslayer.”
“How… the Warden… the Fiery Cross…?” Kathryn seemed unable to rein in her thoughts. She waved at the other flippercrafts and their flags.
Tylar frowned, no less confused.
“Warden Fields was convinced to listen,” Krevan said. The knight lifted his sword, Serpentfang. “Even someone as well regarded as Argent ser Fields is no match for the Raven Knight returned.” This last was spoken sourly.
Tylar stared up at the flippercrafts. Krevan must have used his notoriety to sway Tashijan to his cause. There must certainly be more story to tell, but it would have to wait.
On the far side of the gardens, screams pierced the low thunder, rising from both beast and knight.
“While we were flying here, a raven arrived from Lord Chrism,” Krevan said. “He warned of a curse that had transformed his troops into monstrous beasts. He claimed the guards were still loyal. Only their appearances had been altered by the curse. A curse placed upon him by the godslayer… and some daemon child.”
“No daemon,” a voice said behind them. Rogger stepped out of hiding. Plainly the thief had been trailing after them, abandoning his hiding place. He waved an arm, and the others appeared, too.