Corvan struggled to roll Morgan over. The man’s eyes were closed, and it didn’t appear he was breathing. Corvan placed his hand on Morgan’s chest, but that didn’t yield anything conclusive.

The pill Tyreth had left behind was intended to make a person appear dead, but Morgan spat part of it out. He might come back around soon, or he might die without the antidote. Either way, Corvan needed to get out of the cell, find Tyreth, and let her know what had happened. Despite their argument, it seemed she still cared about Morgan.

Dragging the man a bit closer to the door, Corvan attempted to touch the man’s hand to the frame, but it did not open. Searching Morgan’s pockets for a key, he noticed a leather scabbard strapped to his leg. Untying it, he picked up the black knife. Like the hammer, it seemed to be made of a single piece of black polished stone. He slipped it back in the sheath, went to the bench, and dropped the blade into his pack.

A rustling noise in the cell caught him off-guard, and he jumped around the bench, expecting to see Morgan coming after him. Instead, two tentacles emerged from the toilet hole. Long, thin legs followed, revealing the largest spider Corvan had ever seen. Its slime-covered bulbous body was larger than his fist. A shiver ran through Corvan’s shoulders as the spider pulled itself from the hole and walked stiltedly to the wall. He watched it climb, finding minute footholds in the smooth surface, until its silhouette disappeared through the hole in the center of the ceiling.

That was the answer! His grandfather’s special rope could scale the walls, and he could use it to climb out of the cell. Buckling on his pack, he released the krypin rope from his side and stepped to the middle of the room. Releasing the soft strands, he set the disk on the floor and manipulated the control end to position it against the wall. It climbed slowly up the smooth surface and disappeared into the deep shadow where the walls met the ceiling.

It seemed the rope might be a bit too short to reach the hole, but then it stretched toward the middle of the room and became thinner. Just when he thought it was getting close, the end fell back, glanced off his head, and landed in his hood. The hole in the roof was just out of reach.

He stood for a moment with his hand on the rope before he realized it was still suspended in midair. His hood suddenly twitched as if possessed. The spider! Corvan flailed around the room, shaking his head, and leaping over Morgan’s body to dislodge the creature. Scrambling onto his head, the spider rummaged frantically through his hair. He shouted and jerked until its fat body flipped past his face and dropped to the floor with a plop like a deflated rubber ball. Pushing up on its twiggy legs, it staggered back to the toilet hole and dropped in.

A shudder ran through his body, but there was no time to waste. No doubt someone had heard him call out. He had to move fast.

The krypin rope hung near the middle of the room, so it had to be anchored somewhere close to the opening in the ceiling. Images from his nightmare of the rope slipping through his hands played out in his mind. Instead, he tied the knob end around his waist, gripped the rope tightly, and pulled himself off the ground. The rope only stretched and gently lowered him back down.

Was it coming loose? Reaching up, he gave the rope a quick jerk. It instantly tightened like a rubber band, yanking him off his feet. Air whipped past his ears and the circle of light shot past him as he rocketed out of the opening into cooler air. His ascent peaked, and he tumbled down to sprawl across the roof of his prison cell.

He lay there for a minute, catching his breath, coiling up the rope, and listening for anyone entering the cell below. It was quiet. Using the flat disk, he secured the loops back together and clipped them back on his belt. No wonder Tsarek had been so impressed with it.

He crawled forward to peer over the short parapet that curled around the top edge of the cell tower. Below him, the guardroom was empty and two red cloaks were searching the courtyard. There was no going down that way. He needed to climb onto the main building that towered over the cells behind him.

He crossed to the back wall and sent the green disk up to the top of the building. This time, after gently stretching the rope out, he gave it only a small tug. He found himself dragged and bumped upward like a sack of potatoes. Swiveling about, he managed to get his feet against the wall. The special slippers gripped the stone, and Corvan climbed effortlessly to the roof just like the spider in the cell.

Up top, the flat roof was much larger than he’d expected. This had to be the palace of the Chief Watcher. Corvan tiptoed across the roof to the left side and looked down into the stepped courtyard he had entered as Kharag’s captive. To his right, the dark statue loomed high over the city. Even without a face, it seemed to be watching him.

At the feet of the statue, thick fog rolled about behind the circular stone wall he had seen from then cliff when Tarran had died. It rose in waves, sending tendrils out through an arched gate at the front of the wall. A larger eruption of white vapor overflowed the wall, creating waves of luminescent fog that swept down into the plaza and surrounded the round pots with their bare metal trees. From here, he could see that the metal rings were the same as Tsarek’s lumien holder under the Castle Rock. At some point in the past, each of the curved posts below must have had a lumien attached to each ring on its branches, resembling a complex living streetlamp. A few of the rings on the ends had been broken off and he wondered if this was where his grandfather had found the one now at home in his bedroom.

Across the open area, a peaked roof rose high above the courtyard walls—the priest’s building that Tsarek had told him to find. Now he just needed to get out of the Chief Watcher’s complex and over to the other side. He searched the ground below. If he used the green rope to drop down on this side of the palace courtyard wall, he would still need to get past the guard at the palace gates.

The guard at the small door below coughed. Above the man’s head, an iron girder had been bolted onto the wall to reinforce the main gate. If he could cross that beam over to the courtyard wall, he could walk along its top, navigate around the perimeter, cross the main gate into the courtyard, and gain access to the priest’s buildings. He often walked along the fence rails on his way to school. He and Kate would compete to see who could go the farthest without falling. It was the only contest he occasionally won. The fence rails back home weren’t forty feet off the ground, but the courtyard wall itself was wide enough and his slipper shoes gripped well.

Easing himself over the lip of the roof, he felt his feet touched down on the narrow iron rail. He stepped forward and worked his way into the center. The guard coughed again, and Corvan stumbled. A shower of dust floated down toward the unsuspecting guard’s head.

Corvan tensed to leap forward when a shout came from around the corner of the palace building in the direction of the cells. As the guard ran off, Corvan scurried across to the main courtyard wall.

He was just past the guard house below when he discovered a flaw in his plan. Soldiers were now rushing about in the prison compound below, and he would be easily spotted against the dim blue glow of the lumiens overhead. Now the shouts below were being answered by lights flickering in the windows of the palace directly across from him. If anyone glanced his way, he would be caught.

Forcing himself to look straight ahead, Corvan concentrated on walking the wall as quickly as possible. Wisps of fog climbed up the side of the courtyard wall, swirling around him to partially obscure him from view. By the time he rounded the corner near the main arch, the thick cotton of rolling mist had risen to the full height of the wall and was squeezing like toothpaste through the arched gate at his feet. The back eddy from the other side swirled higher, making it tough to see where to put his feet as he climbed up and over the main entry into the courtyard.

Nearing the priest’s side of the terraced courtyard, he noticed that the pointed roof was set back from the main courtyard wall. He was about to get out the rope to climb down when he made out a thinner wall surrounding an enclosed area in front of the priests’ building. Corvan lowered himself onto the narrow stone ledge and picked his way carefully to the peaked roof. Overhead, a soft light shone through triangular skylights. His slippers gripped the slate tiles, and he tiptoed up to the light. The glass was crusted with droppings from some sort of birds or bats—enormous ones.

Corvan wiped the bottom corner with the edge of his cloak, and the skylight swiveled silently open. Inside, a large lumien hung from a thick metal ring suspended from the center of the high peaked ceiling. Its thick vines twisted outward to the corners of the walls.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

An angry voice echoed from the floor below. Silently, Corvan slipped over the sill and onto the wide ledge that encircled the room. Removing his pack, he crawled to the edge and peered down.

A bearded old man in an embroidered green robe stood alone at the far side of a large table in the center of the room. The angry voice came from under the same pale blue cloak Corvan had seen earlier that night in the prison cell.

“I had no choice, Father,” Tyreth said, her voice laced with bitterness. “If I hadn’t given my word, Morgan would not have let me see him.”

The old man slammed both hands down on the table. “That ceremony is an abomination—the opposite of everything we believe.”

Tyreth tossed her head in frustration. “What other choice did I have? You told me that we must play this out carefully. Besides, Morgan hinted at an alliance.”

The bearded man glowered at her from beneath thick eyebrows. “Morgan can no longer be trusted. Why are you even listening to him? That relationship—”

“Is over, Father. Do not be concerned. I had to listen to Morgan to pass on the message to that … that boy.”

“You are referring to the Cor-Van.”

“All I saw was a boy, a child not yet of the age to even grow out his hair!” There was no denying the irritation in her rising voice.

The old man pointed toward the door at the far end of the hall. “Rayu said he came from the outer passages. How could anyone come from the outside unless he is the Cor-Van?”

Tyreth shook her head firmly and her hair swished across her face. “If this one is the Cor-Van, it will be a long time before he is mature enough to lead anyone.” She threw up her hands in exasperation. “He was so afraid he was almost crying.” She dropped her hands to her sides. “I pity that boy if the Chief Watcher gets hold of him.”

Corvan slumped lower on the ledge. She was right about his fears but wrong about him being a leader. He didn’t even want to be here anymore. He wanted to find Kate and get as far away from this awful place as possible.

“We must give him a chance,” the old man insisted. “With Tarran dead, my plan to seize control of the palace and the city council has failed. The Chief Watcher is onto our plans. All of the priests are in grave danger, and Rayu says this boy is our only hope. I need your support in this.”

Tyreth shook her head slowly. “If he is the Cor-Van for you’ve been seeking, why did he allow Tarran to die?”

“What makes you so sure he was there when Tarran died?”

“I felt my brother die.” Tyreth said softly, twisting the tassels that hung from her hood. She looked up at the man. “But where is Tarran’s body? You know what those creatures do to the dead.” She sank into an ornate chair and a tear slipped down her face.

Tyreth’s father studied her a long moment. “We will need to ask the boy once he is here. Are you certain he understood the message? Does he have it with him?”

Tyreth fiercely wiped the tear away with the sleeve of her cloak. “I did my best. Morgan was near the doorway, listening to every word. We can be glad they thought he was Tarran and didn’t bother to search him.” A frown creased her brow. “Even if that boy has the hammer, as Rayu claims, it is obvious he doesn’t know how to use it. We should rally the priests and follow through with Tarran’s plan to take over the palace. We can rescue the boy and use the hammer ourselves.”

“And risk alerting the dark ruler to the return of the Cor-Van?” Tyreth’s father asked. “Risk putting the hammer into his hands instead? If your brother’s death did nothing else, it at least gave us the opportunity to get the boy out of the cell without anyone discovering his true identity.” He looked toward the door. “Why is this taking so long? We’ve already heard the signal for the changing of the guards.”

The old man strode to the main doors and peered into the hallway. A few wisps of fog coiled around his ankles. He shook them off and shut the door. Returning to the table, he fixed his gaze on Tyreth. “Why was someone of Morgan’s rank on guard duty?”

She looked up and rolled her eyes. “Because he knew I would be coming. He believes you have misjudged him and wants you to give him another chance.”

The old man grunted and moved in front of a large tapestry hanging on the wall. His gnarled fingers traced the intricate markings in its center.

Both jumped as the door burst open and a young man with shoulder-length brown hair and sharp features ran into the room, dropping onto one knee before the old man.

“Something has gone wrong, sir,” the young man said, breathing heavily. “They have found a guard dead in a cell, and the one they believe is Tarran has disappeared.”

Tyreth stood and smoothed out her cloak. “You see, Father? Your new Cor-Van has no sense whatsoever. He can’t even follow simple instructions.”

The old man pointed at Tyreth. “He eliminated his guard and was able to escape. He sounds more promising than your description of a mere boy. If we can locate him, I can prepare him for leadership along with his counterpart.”

Tyreth glared at him. “Do not think I am unaware of your schemes, Father. You can dismiss any thoughts that I would become the counterpart to your young Cor-Van. I am not willing to let you set me up for yet another marriage.” She flicked the silver tassels on her hood. “When these are gone, I will be making my own choice. I will not be your pawn.”

The young man stood to face her. “Tyreth, the Chief Watcher has issued a warrant for your arrest and is on his way to personally carry it out.”

“What?” the old man exclaimed.

“Tyreth’s scarf was found on the body of the dead guard.”

Corvan groaned to himself. How could he have been so careless?

The old priest grabbed the young man’s shoulder and spun him around. “Are you certain?”

“Yes. I was in the barracks when the orders came through.”

“Then you must take Tyreth and hide her in the settlements.” The old man walked to the tapestry and pulled on a looped cord. The wide cloth rolled up tight against the wall.

Tyreth stepped forward. “That won’t work, Father. If I dissapear, the Chief Watcher will tear the compound apart looking for me. Many more of our priests will die.”

Her father tied the tapestry in place and pressed his palm against the wall. A section slid back to reveal a narrow passage. “The Watcher knows the law prohibits civilians from entering the priest’s area. This hall is as far as they may go.”

Tyreth shook her head firmly. “The Chief Watcher decides which laws must be obeyed and by whom. He has plotted to break your power for some time, and this is the perfect opportunity. He will not let an old tradition stand in his way.” She turned to the young man. “Tell him, Jorad.”

The young man faced the High Priest. “Tyreth is correct, sir. We have reports of the Chief Watcher’s men inside our compound during the night.” His jaw clenched as he turned back to Tyreth. “But I will die before I let them take you to the palace. I vowed I would never let that happen again to someone I—” He pulled a long knife from within his robe. “If it’s a fight they want, they shall get one. Let us quickly gather all the priests we can find. Even with all his power, the Chief Watcher won’t be able to get the soldiers to move across the courtyard until the fog lifts.”

Tyreth touched the young man’s hand and pushed the knife back down. “No, Jorad. You have told me many times to choose my battles wisely. Now you must do the same.” She stepped past him and approached her father. “The Watcher will not dare sentence me without a trial. This young Cor-Van must be somewhere in the city. You need to find him and ask him to help us. Now he truly is our only hope.”

Corvan wiped a hand over his brow. He should do something, at least show his face so they wouldn’t need to look for him.

As he pushed himself up on the ledge, Rayu appeared in the open doorway. “Sir, the Chief Watcher and a group of soldiers approach our gate.”

“Soldiers? Out in the fog?” Jorad asked.

Rayu nodded. “The Rakash drive them forward.”

Tyreth’s face twisted in disgust. “Rakash? He brings those hideous creatures to the temple?”

A heavy pounding rocked the room. The old man pointed to the secret passage. “Jorad, get inside before they break the gate down. Find this young Cor-Van and do whatever he asks of you.”

Jorad did not move. “Instead, let me hide behind the door and kill the Chief Watcher when he enters.” He waved his knife in the air. “It is the only way Kadir will ever have peace again.”

The High Priest pointed again to the passage. “Priests do not take lives Jorad. If you were to murder the Chief Watcher, you would forfeit all your rights in Kadir, including the right to marry.”

The pounding grew louder.

“That law applies only to killing other humans,” Jorad snapped back, glancing over at Tyreth.

Tyreth’s father shook his head. “It applies to all sentient beings. It was through our own devices that the Watchers have become like us, so now our laws apply to them as well.”

Tyreth put her hand on Jorad’s back. “I understand how hard this must be for you, but we cannot change the past. Now you must look to our future.”

The knife dropped to his side. “You are the only future I have left.”

A splintering crash shattered the air, and the old man seized Jorad’s arm. “Swear to me you will teach the boy to be a Cor-Van, even if it means leaving Tyreth to face the palace alone.”

Jorad wrenched his arm free and stepped back. Tyreth moved in close and place her hands on Jorad’s shoulders. “Do as he tells you,” she said softly. “If you help this young Cor-Van, we may yet see each other again.”

The walls shook with another round of blows. The old man pulled Tyreth away. “Swear to me, Jorad. Fulfill your vow to me and the priesthood or relinquish your priest’s cloak.”

Jorad’s eyes flashed as he growled out the words, “I so swear,” and stalked into the secret passage. The door slid shut behind him, and the old man dropped the tapestry back into place.

Rayu gasped. “Sir, you have brought out the great tapestry. Why?”

The old man waved him off. “I thought the Cor-Van would be here tonight. I hoped he could tell us what it means. Besides, I doubt a Watcher can read the Old Language.” He straightened his robes. “I am ready. Go open the gate.”

Rayu nodded and retreated. A moment later, the pounding ceased.