The Hero's Tomb by Conrad Mason

tell our fellow lords that the blade my son is wielding is the legendary Sword of Corin.’
    Blackmail – who would have guessed the old walrus could be so bold?
    So bold, and so foolish.
    Brindenheim did not take the sword because he has guessed what the Duke is planning. He did not even take it so that his prancing fop of a son has something pretty to fight with. He took it to prove that the Duke is no more powerful than him.
    That they are equals.
    They are not.
    ‘Your son is most welcome to it,’ the Duke says softly. ‘I am only sorry he will not be borrowing it for very long.’
    Brindenheim’s grin falters, as though he has an inkling of the mistake he has made. Yes – soon enough, he will be sorrier than he can imagine. No man stands against the Way of the Light.
    The words of the rhyme run through the Duke’s head, as they have so often since his return to Azurmouth.
    At the call of the sword, twelve stones shall sing, Twelve seraphs rise, in a golden ring …
    He turns back to the courtyard, where Lucky Leo has lowered the blade above the heads of the crowd nearest the platform. They reach up like lambs begging to be fed, desperate to lay their fingers on it.
    They have no idea what it is they are touching.

Chapter Ten
    Tabitha flung open the door to Master Gurney’s rooms, panting heavily. The magician was bent over his desk, peering at a chicken, which sat on a pile of books, ruffling its feathers as though it didn’t have a clue what it was doing there.
    ‘You managed it, then?’ asked Frank. ‘Bravo.’
    Master Gurney looked up sharply. ‘Managed what? Oh yes, I see. No, my good fellow, turning an egg into a chicken turned out to be rather troublesome. So what I am now attempting to do is to turn this chicken into … er …’
    ‘An egg?’ said Tabitha. She pulled off her bandana and dropped it on a pile of books. They’d run almostthe whole way back from the docks, and her clothes were sticky with sweat.
    ‘Quite right! Yes, you’ll go far, young lady.’
    The door swung open again and Paddy wrestled Derringer into the room. The elf had been stubbornly silent since the fight on the docks. His make-up was peeling off, and his hat was lopsided, but he still glared at them as disdainfully as he had when he wore his official Dockside Militia uniform. Ty took off from Tabitha’s pocket to settle on top of a bookcase, watching the elf suspiciously as Paddy settled him in a chair.
    ‘And who, pray, is this gentleman?’ asked Master Gurney, examining Derringer over the top of his spectacles.
    ‘We’re so sorry for the interruption, Master,’ said Hal, mopping his brow. ‘This is Colonel Cyrus Derringer, of the Dockside Militia.’
    ‘I see. And what is he doing here?’
    ‘Good question,’ said Frank. ‘How about it Cyrus? What are you doing here?’
    For a moment Derringer looked like he was going to keep playing dumb. Then his lip curled. ‘You’re all under arrest.’
    Ty giggled from his bookcase. ‘Maybe I heard that wrong.’
    ‘You’re not supposed to be here,’ snapped the elf. ‘None of you! Governor Skelmerdale has ordered me to take you back to Fayt at once. Did you really think that after the Battle of Illon, you could simply sail straight into the League’s greatest port? If the Duke of Garran caught you he’d execute you as spies and send another fleet over the ocean.’
    ‘Well, personally, I’m flattered,’ said Frank. ‘Never knew old Skelmerdale cared about us so.’
    ‘What about Joseph?’ Tabitha cut in. ‘Do you know where he is? Did you see him anywhere on the docks?’
    ‘Who in Thalin’s name is Joseph?’
    Tabitha slumped onto a pile of spell books, sending up a cloud of dust. So far so bad. They’d barely escaped the whitecoats with their lives. Their only lead had been the griffin owner, and he was long gone by now. And where was Newton? He was supposed to be leading them, not sneaking off on mysterious missions all by himself.
    We’ll find