Barrin hunched over a mound in the room’s center.
Kathryn held a fist to her throat as Lorr’s approaching torch revealed a sprawled body, naked, white as bone, arms out wide, legs together. The head was blocked by Barrin’s shaggy shoulder. Lorr circled the body, eyes on the form.
Kathryn could wait no longer. Castellan Mirra…
She hurried into the room. Hern shambled after her, always her shadow.
She rushed to the body on the floor. She quickly saw her mistake. The bared loins revealed the slaughtered figure was a man, not a woman, not Castellan Mirra.
Kathryn stumbled to a stop, aghast.
The man’s throat had been cut, his chest cleaved open. A trough, hacked crudely from the stone floor, circled his body. His wrists, also slashed, hung over the trough to either side.
Lorr lowered his torch.
Blood, crusted and dried, caked the trough.
“They bled him like a pig,” Lorr said, spitting to the side.
Barrin hung back. The great beast mewled softly, almost fearfully. What could scare such a monster? What did its sharpened senses discern that theirs did not?
Kathryn crossed around and knelt by the man’s head. Three stripes darkened his features, from the outside corner of the eye to each temple. A knight. She did not recognize the young man, but he must be new to his third stripe. It appeared freshly tattooed, which meant he had just been gifted with the full Grace of a Shadowknight, his blood freshly blessed, ripe and potent. Such knights were often quickly placed among the Hundred, to bend a knee and serve one of the gods. His disappearance could be easily hidden.
She stood up. Hern made a gruff snort off to the side.
Lorr and Kathryn moved together to one side of the room.
A well opened in the floor there, an old hearth, similar to the Hearthstone in Tashijan’s Grand Court. Only this hole did not dance brightly with flame.
Lorr leaned his torch over the pit. It was filled with broken branches, cracked and charred. Kathryn blinked as a flicker of torchlight revealed a leering skull, blackened by soot, one cheekbone crushed, peering out among the branches.
She instantly saw her mistake.
It was not branches that filled the pit, but…
“Bones,” Lorr said, almost a moan.
Kathryn swung away, her stomach churning. Whatever fire had been lit in this pit had been fueled with flesh. She stared at the prostrate, slaughtered young man. Knights. The pit was full of the bones of murdered knights.
“A lair of Dark Grace,” Lorr said with a fierce growl. “Here in Tashijan. We must tell the warden.”
Kathryn eyed the dead knight. His arms had been forced wide, legs together, forming a cross, encircled by a ring of blood, once surely aglow with fresh Grace.
A ring of fire.
Horror iced her heart.
The symbolism of the body’s position and ring was plain. A similar insignia was worn on many a knight’s arm following the ascension of Argent ser Fields. It was the new warden’s badge.
The Fiery Cross.
Kathryn hurried with Lorr back into the inhabited sections of Tashijan. Both were glad to escape such a foul place. Barrin still led the way; Hern followed.
“I won’t keep my tongue,” Lorr continued his tirade, stalking down the halls. “I’ve hunted with Ser Fields since his earliest campaign. I will not listen to your suspicions.”
Kathryn kept pace with the man. “That dark work back there was done by someone in the Fiery Cross. You know I’m right. I can see it in your eyes. Maybe Argent… Warden Fields was not involved.” She had to force out those last words. She had no doubt of Argent’s complicity. “But someone in the Fiery Cross… his group… led that rite. And it wasn’t the first.”
Lorr sighed heavily. He had seen the charnel pit. His eyes, hard and flinty, still shone with the horror of it all. “Mayhap you’re right. But should the warden not be given word?”
Kathryn gripped the diadem pendant at her neck. The diamond, though made of paste, still signified her position. “I am the castellan of Tashijan, second only to the warden. As some part of the Fiery Cross was involved in this most foul murder, it is right for the warden to step aside in the investigation. He’s compromised for his involvement with the Cross. So I must step forward.”
“And what do you plan on doing?”
“First, swear you to secrecy.”
Lorr glanced harshly at her.
She faced him down. “We must not alert the Fiery Cross to our knowledge or all involved will vanish into the shadows, unpunished and unknown. That must not happen, not until we are ready to snare them all.”
Lorr marched ahead, shoulders hunched. Finally he grunted a grudging assent. “I will keep silent for the moment.”
Kathryn hid her relief. If Argent knew what they had discovered, he would not let them live until the next dawn. She had to avoid the warden until she could determine some plan… which meant consulting with her friend Gerrod before he left.
“I must speak to Master Rothkild,” Kathryn said. “We’ll forgo delivering the letter for the moment.”
Lorr nodded.
Reaching the central main staircase, Lorr started down the wide steps, led by Barrin. The large bullhound’s hackles still bristled. A few knights and masters gave the beast a wide berth, pressing against the wall.
They wound down deep under the Citadel, leaving the last rays of the sun behind and entering the subterranean domain of the Masters of Disciplines. She prayed Gerrod was still in his chambers.
The answer stepped around the next bend in the stair.
Master Hesharian gasped aloud as he came face-to-jowl with the slavering Barrin. The man’s large bulk stumbled back a pace, tripping on a step. Before he fell, his arm was caught in the bronze fingers of his companion, Gerrod Rothkild.
“Skaggin’ monsters,” Hesharian huffed, steadying himself. He shook free of Gerrod’s grip. “What are you doing down here?” His piggish eyes took in Lorr, the bullhounds, and Kathryn.
Lorr opened his mouth to speak, but Kathryn stepped forward. “How fortunate a meeting. I had hoped to discuss a matter with Master Rothkild.”
Hesharian glanced to Gerrod, then back to Kathryn. “We’ve been summoned to the field room by Warden Fields. It seems our godslayer has made landfall.”
Gerrod’s features remained unreadable behind his bronze helmet.
Kathryn kept her own face calm. “Where?” she asked.
“Where else… somewhere off in Foulsham Dell.” He spoke the name with clear distaste. “Warden Fields has doubled the night’s shift and calls all leaders to the meeting. I’m surprised you did not receive a summons.”
“I’ve been away from my rooms for the past two bells. Perhaps the message awaits me there.”
“I’m sure that is so.”
Gerrod stirred. “If that’s the case, then certainly Castellan Vail should proceed directly to the field room with us.”
Hesharian glared at the two bullhounds, clearly not wanting their company. But he could not discount Gerrod’s offer.
They all continued as a group back up the stairs. No one spoke. The bullhounds grumbled, but a cuff from Lorr silenced them.
Kathryn slowed her step, allowing Master Hesharian and Lorr to drift ahead, vanishing for stretches behind the curve of the stair. Hern was their only companion, padding after them, eyes wide.
“Why have you been summoned?” Kathryn asked. It was strange that Gerrod was called to this meeting. He was not even a member of the Council of Masters, though it was rumored he was next in line for one of the seats.
“It seems,” Gerrod whispered, “that word of my departure at dawn has reached the ears of the warden. He has some duty to request of me when I travel to Chrismferry.”
Kathryn felt a chill skate across her skin. How had Argent learned so quickly of Gerrod’s plan to leave by flippercraft? And why this sudden summons?