Tylar frowned at them all.
Rogger placed an arm around Dart. “She’s more like a god, actually. A very tiny god.”
Dart stared, gaping at the massive bullhound. It looked capable of swallowing her in one bite.
Krevan’s brow bunched. He studied the group for answers.
“There’s too much to tell,” Tylar said. “First, we must reach Chrism.”
“I have enough men and women to form a phalanx,” Krevan said. “We might be able to forge a path to the castillion.”
“Gather them,” Tylar ordered.
Krevan led them back to the flippercraft, trailed by the bullhound.
They met Lorr on the way back. The tracker bowed his head toward Kathryn. “The big kank still has a nose for you,” Lorr said, cuffing Barrin by the ear. “As soon as he got ground under his paws, he was mewling and drooling. I knew he had your scent.”
Krevan spoke. “When we saw the fire spreading in the woods, we figured you all were somewhere in the gardens. We had planned to land after off-loading our men and search for your group.”
“We landed a bit harder than we intended,” Corram said.
They reached the stoved flippercraft. Krevan sent Corram to gather a dozen knights. A sharp cry erupted from the lee side of the grounded ship.
Tylar turned.
A shape flew at him. He barely got his sword out of the way in time.
Delia threw her arms around him, hugging tight, all but climbing atop him. “Tylar… I knew you still lived.”
He carefully returned her embrace. He felt the tears on his neck.. and her lips. Tylar met Kathryn’s eyes over the young woman’s shoulder. She glanced away.
Delia finally seemed to collect herself, shedding from him like water. She smoothed her cloak and backed away. “I’m sorry…”
Tylar had no words. He still felt her lips on his neck, the heat of her tears. He was saved from responding to Delia’s apology or Kathryn’s silence by Corram’s arrival with a shadowed mass of knights.
“The weakest flank is off by the southeast tower,” Corram said. “We may be able to break through there to the keep.”
Tylar prayed he was right. He stared across at the others. “There’s no need for all to go. The remaining knights here can protect you.” It was no surprise that Eylan stepped forward. The Wyr-mistress had an interest in his surviving… or at least part of him.
Rogger followed her. He pointed to a bare spot under his elbow, among the branded sigils of the gods. “I still have Chrism’s sigil to collect.”
Kathryn joined them. “Tashijan must be represented.”
“As should the Council of Masters,” Gerrod said, stepping up. “And I know the castillion well. It’s easy to get lost.”
The last stood alone, arms tight around her chest, trembling. “The sword may need to be replenished,” Dart said.
Tylar knelt down to meet her eye. “Brave words, but it’s best you and your friend stay here.”
“Mayhap we’ll need her,” Rogger said. “That sword of yours might need a bit more blood.”
He shook his head. “No. It’s risky enough to bring the sword near Chrism. If something goes wrong, I won’t hand him the girl, too.” He stared across the group. “I have Meeryn’s Grace and daemon. You have your swords and shadows. That will have to do until we reach Chrism. If I can’t take him out in the first stroke of the sword, I doubt I’ll ever have a chance for a second.”
Rogger slowly nodded.
“Dart stays here,” Tylar said. With the matter settled, he turned to Delia and Lorr. “Keep the girls safe. No harm can befall them.”
They both nodded.
Dart fell back with the others. Laurelle wrapped her in an embrace. They had seen too much horror. Tylar prayed it would end now.
He faced his knights and companions. “Let nothing stop us.”
Dart watched them set off, sheltered in the lee of the crashed ship. Its fires had been put out. For the moment, it offered security. But Dart knew how tentative such safety could be.
Across the way, the knights formed a wedge of shadow and sword. The godslayer and the others sheltered between, ready to aid with dagger and blade. They moved swiftly away, a black arrow sweeping low across the gardens, skirting ponds and walls, aiming for the southeast tower.
She followed their strike into the flank of the besieged ilk-beast legion. All that could be discerned were a few flashes of silver, like lightning on the ground.
The muzzled man, plainly a wyld tracker from his leather and double belts of knives and daggers, drew alongside Dart. He held something out for her. It was a spyglass. He had a second for Laurelle.
Laurelle shook her head, backing up a step.
Dart took the glass and raised it to her eye. She wanted to watch. It took a moment to center on the fighting. Though drawn closer to the battle, it was still difficult for her to see. Shadows obscured detail as knight fought beast with blade and darkness. She was surprised to hear words whisper at her ear. She heard Tylar’s voice ring out clearly.
“Make for the terrace! We’ll hold them there, then at the door!” Screams and shrieks drowned the rest.
Dart lowered the glass to study it. The din of battle diminished.
“Air blessed,” Tracker Lorr said. “The lens brings both sight and sound closer. Great for hunting dark woods.”
Dart nodded, lifting the glass again.
The woman who had hugged Tylar earlier joined them. Lorr turned to her. “This child here is not much older than you were, Delia, when your father sent you away.”
“He may regret that now,” she answered. “The soothmancers will be running their bloody hands over him for days before they’re done with him.”
Dart followed none of this. Instead, she concentrated on the fighting. Sounds again reached her. Strangled cries, death rattles, and the clash of steel. But it appeared Tylar and the others had broken through the ranks. A clutch of knights burst from the writhing bulk of ilk-beasts, flying up the steps to the terraces below the southeast tower. They were a ragged bunch compared to the orderly wedge of before-but they had escaped. The group reached the door.
“Krevan!”Tylar again shouted. “Hold here! Let none pass!”
The party filtered through the door, leaving behind a knot of shadows at the threshold.
The others vanished away.
“They’re inside,” Lorr said.
Dart glanced to him, lowering her spyglass. The tracker had watched without the need of a lens.
The woman Delia stared, too, but Dart sensed she watched more with her heart than her eyes. Her embrace with Tylar had been a close one.
“I expect the castillion has been emptied out,” Lorr said to Delia. “They’ll make for the High Wing.”
Dart lifted her glass again. She searched the castillion. She sought out the centermost tower, the one over the river.
The High Wing.
Dart wondered what had befallen the other Hands: the rotund Master Pliny, the diminutive Master Munchcryden, the twins Master Fairland and Mistress Tre. Not to mention Matron Shashyl. Had they all been ilked? Were they among the legion?
She heard the cries of the beastly army, punctuated by racking booms of thunder. The storm fell worse atop the castillion. Rains spattered into their shelter now, whipped up by growing winds.
The flippercrafts were forced to retreat, drifting away to settle in neighboring fields or elsewhere in the Eldergarden. The storm drove them to ground.
Droplets struck her lens, sparkling and watering her view of the highest tower of Tashijan.
Still, a voice reached her, dreadful and familiar. “The godslayer comes with the sword,” Mistress Naff said.
“You know what you must do.” The voice still sounded as warm as sun-baked loam. It invited one to listen. It reminded Dart of when she first met Chrism, here in the same gardens, mistaking him for a groundskeep. And though she had witnessed it with her own eyes, she could not balance that memory with what had transpired off in the myrrwood. “Is all in readiness to welcome the godslayer?”