Blackveil (54 page)
K
arigan and her fellow Riders set off in the predawn dark from the tower encampment and rode toward the breach. They were all of them quiet. Even Yates was subdued, the loudest noises the hoof falls and snorts of their horses.
arigan and her fellow Riders set off in the predawn dark from the tower encampment and rode toward the breach. They were all of them quiet. Even Yates was subdued, the loudest noises the hoof falls and snorts of their horses.
Karigan had slept surprisingly well after all the night’s turmoil. She’d been emotionally wrung out, and perhaps sleep had provided a refuge. In sleep, she could forget.
Now she rode beside Ard at the end of the line while Alton and Estral led. She’d spoken little to them as they readied to leave. She could tell her reticence hurt them. As the group of riders neared the main encampment, the sky grayed as the sun began to creep above the horizon—not that she could see the horizon with the wall to one side and the deep woods to the other.
They found the area before the breach ablaze with lanterns and bonfires, and what must have been the entire population of the encampment collected there, a disproportionate horde facing the handful of Eletians in their unmistakable pearlescent armor. Neither side held weapons pointed at the other, but as Karigan neared, she discerned the grim faces of the Sacoridians. Even without weapons drawn, they appeared ready for conflict at the merest spark.
The Eletians and soldiers both looked up at the party’s arrival, relief plain on the faces of the latter. With the Eletians, it was not so easy to tell their thoughts.
Alton halted Night Hawk and swung out of the saddle to greet the Eletians, but they strode right by him and made directly for Karigan instead.
“Ah, Galadheon,” Graelalea said. “You’ve arrived finally.”
Everyone looked at Karigan. Startled to suddenly be the center of attention, she hastily dismounted and found herself face to face with Graelalea. The two gazed at one another at length.
“It is the equinox,” the Eletian finally said. “Are your people ready?”
Before Karigan could answer, a scowling Grant shoved his way in beside them. “I am Lieutenant Grant,” he said, “commander of this mission.”
Graelalea ignored him, did not even seem to perceive his existence. “Who are the ones that will be accompanying us?” she asked Karigan.
By now Alton and Estral had joined them as well. Karigan felt caught in a vise between the Eletians and her own people. She could practically feel Grant’s glower burning into her. Even Condor poked his nose over her shoulder to view the proceedings. It felt odd to have Graelalea deferring to her when their very first meeting during the summer had been less than amicable, and Graelalea anything but deferential.
“To start with,” she replied, “I should introduce Alton D’Yer who oversees the work here to mend the wall.”
Graelalea finally deigned to acknowledge him with a nod. “A difficult undertaking, if not impossible, for the wall is a thing of good and evil, built with good intentions, but constructed in evil ways.”
Alton bristled at her words. It was his ancestors who had built the wall and her words could be construed as an insult, but to Karigan’s relief, he held his tongue.
“This is Graelalea,” she said hastily. “The sister of Eletia’s crown prince.”
“Welcome to D’Yer Province,” Alton said.
“This was once the north region of Argenthyne,” Graelalea said, “before it was infringed upon by your people and the darkness from Arcosia.”
Alton clamped his mouth shut as if refraining from saying something he might regret. Others among the Sacoridians grumbled and Karigan wished Graelalea would try being a little more diplomatic. Hoping to prevent an incident, she began to introduce Estral, but Graelalea turned to her of her own accord and spoke to her in flowing Eletian.
Estral cocked her head and listened intently. When Graelalea finished, Estral said, “I do not understand the words, but your meaning washed over me like music.”
Graelalea appeared pleased by her response.
“This is Estral Andovian,” Karigan supplied. “Daughter of the Golden Guardian of Selium.”
“I know,” Graelalea said. “As my words are music she understands, her presence is a song I hear. Well met, little cousin.”
Estral smiled in pleasure.
It was said there was Eletian blood in the Fiori line, and Graelalea’s acknowledgment only seemed to confirm it. Finally Karigan introduced the fuming Lieutenant Grant as the commander of the Sacoridian half of the expedition, not as the commander of
the
expedition. Grant appeared no happier when Graelalea offered him scant attention. When Karigan introduced Lynx, he presented Graelalea with a box.
the
expedition. Grant appeared no happier when Graelalea offered him scant attention. When Karigan introduced Lynx, he presented Graelalea with a box.
“A gift from King Zachary,” he said.
The label on the box indicated it was from Master Gruntler’s Sugary, which meant it contained—
“Chocolate!” Graelalea exclaimed in delight. She showed the box to the other Eletians and they murmured in approval. “Our thanks to the king for his thoughtfulness.”
By the time Karigan completed introductions, the dusk of dawn had lightened considerably.
“It is time,” Graelalea said. “Daylight begins, day balances night. It is time to enter the forest.”
Karigan’s hand went to Condor’s neck. He puffed gently into her hair. All at once she found she must say good-bye to her beloved horse and her friends. She wrapped her arms around Condor’s neck, fighting tears, and handed his reins over to Dale.
“Don’t you worry,” Dale said. “Plover and I will keep an eye on him. We’ll keep him in condition so he’s ready for you when you return.”
Karigan hugged her and the other Riders who were staying behind. When she came face to face with Alton and Estral, she hesitated, and then turned away.
“Karigan.” Alton grabbed her arm and hauled her into an embrace. “I know you’re mad,” he whispered, “but I care. About you. I want you to come back safe and sound.”
“Me, too,” Estral said, taking her turn. “Don’t take any unnecessary risks.”
Karigan was torn by her anger at their betrayal and her desire to find comfort in their friendship. But she just couldn’t give in, even now as she was about to enter Blackveil. Too much pride, too much hurt. If she didn’t come back and they felt guilty? A small vindictive part of her thought it would serve them right. But as she turned away from them so they wouldn’t see the tears gathering in her eyes, she was the one feeling guilty, alone, and, frankly, afraid.
She shrugged her pack on and with a deep breath, faced the breach. Grant was issuing final instructions.
“We stay together,” he was saying. “No one wanders off.”
Soldiers leaned a ladder against the repairwork of the breach, climbed up, and lowered a second ladder down the other side. Then they took up positions staring down into the forest with crossbows at the ready.
“We’ll keep a daily watch for your return,” Captain Wallace told them.
Grant saluted and pivoted. “I’ll go over first.” Without awaiting anyone to contradict him, he strode over to the breach and climbed up the ladder.
“That one will not last long,” Graelalea observed.
Corporal Porter was right behind Grant. When both men had disappeared over the repairwork,Yates cried, “Woohoo!” and ran for the breach, scrambling up the ladder.
One by one Karigan watched her companions climb over the breach and disappear to the other side. The Eletians moved with grace, their armor no hindrance to them at all.
“I will see you in the shadows,” Graelalea told her before ascending the ladder herself.
Karigan was the last to go. She did not lag, but she did not hurry, and when she stood atop the repairwork, she gazed one last time at the verdant world she was leaving behind, and at her friends with their anxious expressions watching from below. Estral’s face was buried into Alton’s shoulder and his arms were loosely wrapped around her.
Karigan turned her back on them and began her descent into the clinging gray mist of Blackveil Forest. The dawn that had begun to brighten the day on the other side of the wall no longer touched her.
EQUINOX
I
t was, by Grandmother’s calculations, the morning of the spring equinox. The equinox brought change, not merely the change of season, but a perceptible alteration in the demeanor of the forest. She cocked her head, gazing into the murk of Blackveil at nothing, sensing the forest had turned its attention elsewhere. It was a subtle feeling, like a ripple on a still lake. What had caught its interest?
t was, by Grandmother’s calculations, the morning of the spring equinox. The equinox brought change, not merely the change of season, but a perceptible alteration in the demeanor of the forest. She cocked her head, gazing into the murk of Blackveil at nothing, sensing the forest had turned its attention elsewhere. It was a subtle feeling, like a ripple on a still lake. What had caught its interest?
Something unrelated nagged at her, too, like an itch. It emanated from the north, near the wall, and she wondered what the Sacoridians were up to. The disturbance in the etherea came to her like an inaudible whisper and she could not name it.
Grandmother was concerned. Ripples could turn to storm waves, and whispers—well, whispers were insidious, dangerous.
It was Sarat’s inconsolable crying that brought her back to the present. They’d found yet another pile of fresh entrails that had been dumped in their path. Min rubbed Sarat’s back in an effort to calm her. The men looked on unsure and uneasy. Lala, as always, was unafraid. She squatted beside the entrails and probed them with a stick.
“It’s ... it’s a curse,” Sarat said between sobs. “Someone is cursing us.”
Grandmother did not think so. The first pile had been left outside their cave, a great heap of innards that must have come from more than one creature. Days later they’d found another fresh pile in the center of the road they followed, Way of the Moon. This was the third they’d encountered, pink and bloody and glossy in the damp of the forest environs.
“I think,” Grandmother said, “these are offerings.”
“Offerings?” Cole asked in surprise.
“Yes. We have been watched since not long after we entered Way of the Moon.”
Her people darted anxious looks into the forest around them and huddled a little closer together. Lala, though, remained unconcerned, winding a length of intestine around her stick.
“Thought so,” Deglin said with a darkening expression. “I thought we were being followed.”
“It’ll be our guts on the road next!” Sarat wailed.
“I do not think we need to fear the Watchers,” Grandmother replied, hoping her calm, steady voice would prevent Sarat from lapsing into outright hysterics. Her people were correct to fear the forest, but she could not allow that fear to overcome them. “I believe the offerings to be a sign of respect from those who watch. They are primitive creatures with a certain amount of intelligence, and they find power in such things. They are honoring us.”
“Or warning us,” Deglin rumbled.
“I think not,” Grandmother said, “but it may be we have been rude, not acknowledging the gifts as we should. Even primitive creatures expect some acknowledgment in return.”
She thought it over for some moments, ignoring Sarat’s sobbing and the terrible damp that made her old bones ache. She still wasn’t entirely recovered from the spider bite and every day they trudged along Way of the Moon was torture to her body. The men carried her pack, and Lala took up the basket of yarn to relieve her of even that minor burden. Every step confirmed Grandmother’s growing conviction that she would never again walk in the world outside. Only her love of the empire and her people kept her setting one foot in front of the other, as well as her desire to please God, who commanded her to awaken the Sleepers. She would not rest until she accomplished her task.
As she gazed at the entrails at her feet, she realized they presented an opportunity, an opportunity to not only impress the Watchers, but to use the innate potency of their gift for her own purposes. Using the blood and organs of what once had been living creatures always enhanced the art.
Necromancy,
some called it, as if it were a bad thing. When cast appropriately, necromantic art proved particularly powerful.
Necromancy,
some called it, as if it were a bad thing. When cast appropriately, necromantic art proved particularly powerful.
Human remains and blood worked best, but the gift from the Watchers should serve well enough. She wondered how the infusion of the forest’s etherea on these remains would affect the outcome of her spell. It could prove risky, but this whole endeavor was full of risks. What was one more? The possible benefits outweighed the danger.
“I need a good hot fire,” she announced.
Her retainers glanced uncertainly at one another.
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