The High King's Tomb (10 page)

“Yusha Lewend expresses that such beauty is rare and he is honored to be in its presence. A gift of your sun goddess, no doubt.”

Estora jerked her attention back to those who stood before her. Astonishingly, Meer Tahlid started weaving back and forth, muttering, a hand held to her forehead and the other grasping her emerald. Both Zachary and Estora looked at her in alarm, but Yusha Lewend appeared unconcerned.

“The wisewoman can see many things ordinary souls cannot,” the interpreter explained. “These seeings sometimes come on her suddenly.”

Then, in a high-pitched voice, Meer Tahlid spoke in a rush. Both Yusha Lewend and the interpreter glanced at Estora. When the woman stopped weaving and speaking, she smiled again like a benevolent grandmother who had no idea of what just transpired.

The interpreter and Yusha Lewend conferred for a moment before the interpreter finally said to Zachary, “Meer Tahlid has had a seeing, Your Highness. She said you must guard your treasure well, for men are greedy and will want what does not belong to them.”

“My…treasure?”

The interpreter gazed significantly at Estora. “Meer Tahlid saw that one would try to steal your lady from you.”

Zachary gazed at Estora as if seeing her for the first time. “I will not permit that to happen.”

L
ong after most of the castle’s human inhabitants settled into their beds for a night of rest and dreaming, and most lamps along the corridors were extinguished or turned down to a low ambient glow, a white cat emerged from the dusty, unused corridor that joined the section being reinhabited by Green Riders.

At first all the activity had frightened the cat, who had watched from the shadows, around doorways, and from behind suits of armor, but being a cat, his fear soon was overcome by curiosity and so he investigated, over the course of weeks, this intriguing new world created by the Riders. Not only was it a feast to his senses of smell and hearing, but it was warm. If there were embers still burning in the common room’s hearth and no Riders in sight, he’d settle down before it on the hearth rug, stretched out to his full length.

Tonight, however, there was another sort of warmth he sought.

When he arrived at the door, he found it slightly ajar. He butted it open with his head and slipped inside, pausing, his tail in a low sweep from side to side as he looked around. A candle next to the bed was close to sputtering out, and the human was sprawled under a blanket breathing deeply, an open ledger and some papers scattered atop her chest.

The cat rubbed his full body length against the corner post of the bedframe, then lightly jumped up, walking so carefully, as only cats can, that he did not rumple the papers or inadvertently awaken the human. He curled up on the human’s long brown hair, which was splayed across the pillow. His brethren might catch more vermin down below and have full bellies by morning, but he preferred sleeping with the warm living humans rather than the cold husks of the dead.

The cat’s eyes were beginning to close when suddenly he felt a tingling along his whiskers and down the fur on his back. A spirit was present in the room. Cats were very adept at sensing spirits, and this one regularly saw them wandering the castle and tombs, the living humans remarkably ignorant of their presence. How could they fail to notice something right in front of them? Humans were, the cat decided, very limited.

Sometimes the cat saw the spirits as solid entities, and sometimes only as mere points of light. This one materialized as a smoky figure that wavered in spectral air currents. A gold brooch gleamed on his chest and he carried a bow in his hands. There was some armor and other weapons, and a horn slung at his hip. He had the look of a Green Rider, but the cat really didn’t care about any of that. To him, it was just another spirit among the many that inhabited the castle.

The spirit drifted in the air for a time, gazing down at the human in her bed, who snored away as obliviously as any of her kind in the presence of a ghost. What this one’s purpose was, the cat could not divine. What prompted any spirit to haunt the living world when they could be resting peacefully instead? It was a mystery, but not one the cat wasted time puzzling over. To his mind, it was more imperative to find his next meal and decide where to take his afternoon nap.

But then the Green Rider ghost did something unusual, something none of the other spirits had ever done: he spoke to the cat.
I think,
he said,
you know what she is.

The cat’s eyes widened in surprise, but as the words faded, so did the spirit, its smoky form seeping away until the cat’s whiskers no longer tingled.

The cat, of course, could not speak the human tongue, nor did he understand most of it, so the words of the spirit came to him as gibberish. That a spirit addressed him? Now that was curious, but not likely to change his life overmuch.

He yawned and stretched, more interested in sleep than the inscrutable ways of humans or their ghostly counterparts. All he knew was that he chose to sleep with this particular human because, though she was alive, there was something about her that was not so far removed from the dead, which made him feel right at home.

K
arigan’s breath fogged upon the crisp autumn air as she strode across the castle grounds toward the Rider stables with her saddlebags thrown over her shoulder and a bedroll and greatcoat tucked under her arm. Frosted grass crunched underfoot. The frost would melt off quickly as the morning sun rose above the castle walls.

She couldn’t wait to ride, to escape the castle grounds, to move toward a goal and leave behind all the talk of wedding preparations. Distance would make everything easier. Distance would remove her from King Zachary and all the feelings he made roil within her. She would go away, and by the time she returned, she would be over him.

And maybe, just maybe, Alton would have come to his senses by then.

Now she wouldn’t have to concern herself about either man. She had a journey ahead and tasks laid out before her. Each task would carry her farther away, and the day-to-day needs of her journey would occupy her thoughts. She never knew what a relief a message errand could be.

She rolled her shoulders to loosen the tension in them, her stride never slackening till she reached the Rider stables. Outside she found Connly helping Fergal Duff strap his saddlebags to the saddle on an older gray mare retired from the light cavalry, who stood dozing with eyes closed and nose sinking toward the ground.

“Morning, Karigan!” Fergal cried.

Though it wasn’t terrifically early in the morning, his enthusiasm grated on her. “Morning,” she replied, more subdued.

Connly straightened and slapped the mare on her neck. “Sunny’s all ready, Fergal. Good luck on your first errand.”

“Thank you, sir!”

“What brings you out this morning?” Karigan asked Connly.

He shrugged. “Just thought I’d help see you off. Since you’ve been filling in for Mara, someone has to fill in for you.”

“True.” The job of helping Riders off on message errands belonged to the Chief Rider, but since Mara was confined to the mending wing, the task had fallen to Karigan.

“Condor’s all tacked up inside,” Connly said, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder toward the entrance to stables.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank
me,
” he said with an enigmatic smile. “I’m not the only one who came out this morning.”

Curious, Karigan headed into the stable. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the gloom, but when they did, she found Condor hooked up to cross-ties in the center aisle, all groomed and tacked. Captain Mapstone cradled one of his hooves in her hands, inspecting it. Condor gave Karigan a perky whinny of greeting, and the captain released his hoof and straightened.

“Hello,” Karigan said in surprise. It was unusual for the captain to see off any of her Riders. Usually she was too busy attending the king or sitting in on meetings.

The captain dusted her hands off on her trousers. “Good morning!”

“His hooves all right?” Karigan stroked the big chestnut’s nose and he bobbed his head.

“Perfect. He’s in fine fettle, and seems anxious for his journey to begin. Speaking of which…” And the captain smiled. “You wouldn’t happen to have some space to spare in one of your saddlebags, would you?”

Karigan did not, for she had packed extra layers of clothes to contend with the colder weather, but she’d make room, for she could guess why the captain asked.

“Certainly,” she said.

The captain’s smile brightened. “Wonderful.” She walked over to a bale of hay sitting against the wall and picked up a package bound in paper and string, as well as a message satchel. “Just a few things for Melry. Er, don’t get it too near a campfire—there’s some chocolate in it from Master Gruntler’s.”

Karigan chuckled. Melry, or Mel as the captain’s adopted daughter preferred to be called, would be thrilled. Master Gruntler was the premier confectioner in Sacor City, and Mel often spent any currency she earned in his shop. Currently, Mel was attending Selium, and Karigan would be sure to visit with her there. She took the package from the captain and rummaged through one of her saddlebags to make room. She then hitched the bulging pouches to Condor’s saddle and lashed on her bedroll.

The captain handed her the message satchel. The leather was well scarred and worn, but the emblem of the winged horse punched into its flap remained unmarred. Karigan crossed the strap over her shoulder so that the pouch fell comfortably against her right hip, opposite her saber.

“There’s a letter for Melry in the satchel,” the captain told her, “as well as the messages for lords Fiori and Mirwell, and the certificate of purchase for horses, which you will present to Damian Frost. Along your journey, Arms Master Gresia has asked that you run through some sword exercises with Fergal.”

Karigan nodded.

“He’s also written and mathematical exercises to keep him occupied during the evenings. Ty says he’s coming along fine, but he should keep practicing. He’d like you to assist as you can.”

Karigan resisted the impulse to sigh. While she knew this would be a training journey for Fergal, she hadn’t expected to play the role of instructor. She reminded herself that most Riders, unlike herself, came to the messenger service without an education of any kind. If they were to bear the king’s messages, they needed to learn courtly etiquette; to read, write, and figure; and to ride and fight. It was a lot to learn all at once, and Karigan had been fortunate to have good schooling behind her when she had finally answered the call. As she thought about it, it occurred to her that she knew nothing of Fergal’s background, not even where he was from. She supposed she now had time to find out.

“Any questions?” the captain asked.

Karigan mulled it over for a moment. “I don’t think so, but…”

“But?”

“If something should happen, if Mornhavon should return and magic were to become unreliable again…” The thoughts ran continuously in the back of her mind.
When
would he return? What would they do?

“The king and I trust your judgment, Karigan. If something does go awry, whether it’s Mornhavon or something else entirely, and you feel it necessary to abort your mission and return, we will support your decision. Never fear that.”

Karigan nodded, pleased by the implicit trust in her words. She unhitched Condor from the cross-ties and started to lead him out when the captain stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“One more thing. I realize you’ve been involved closely with all that has happened with the wall and Blackveil, but I don’t want you to think of it as your personal responsibility. You’ve done this kingdom an astonishing service by securing us the time to prepare for Mornhavon’s return. Free your heart of the weight of such concerns. If Mornhavon returns, he returns, and we will cope with it best as we can. In the meantime, you are a Green Rider with tasks set before her. Think only of those tasks, for others are shouldering the responsibility of coping with the threat Mornhavon poses.”

It was an unusual speech from the captain, and only after hearing it did Karigan realize how much of the problem of Mornhavon and ending the threat he represented she had taken upon herself. The captain’s words reassured her she wasn’t alone, easing the burden. She could be an ordinary Green Rider for once with delivering messages as her sole duty. And looking after Fergal, of course.

“Thank you,” she said.

“It was never really yours to worry about in the first place—it’s the responsibility of your king and his advisors. Trust me, one day when you’re an officer, you’ll have more than enough to worry about.”

Karigan couldn’t tell from the captain’s expression whether or not she was joking. It had never even occurred to her to contemplate becoming an officer…

“You’d better get going,” the captain said, gazing through the stable doors. “Fergal is mounted and looks ready to ride off without you.”

Karigan led Condor outside where, indeed, Fergal sat astride Sunny, and in his eagerness, was trotting her around in circles.

“Leg up?” the captain offered.

Karigan dared not refuse the honor, and with the captain’s help, swung up into the saddle.

“Safe journey,” the captain said. “May Aeryc and Aeryon watch over you.”

“Thank you,” Karigan said, “and…and good-bye.”

She reined Condor away from the stables and onto the pathway that led to the gates of the wall that surrounded the castle and its grounds. “Let’s go,” she told Fergal.

“Let’s go” translated to Fergal as “let’s gallop.” He whooped in delight and dug his heels into Sunny’s sides. The old cavalry horse’s head jolted right up and she sprang down the path as though to charge the enemy on the field of battle.

“Oh, dear,” the captain said behind Karigan.

Oh, dear
was right. Karigan ground her teeth, and with a final wave to the captain and Connly, she urged Condor into a slow jog after Fergal. One did not gallop across castle grounds under any circumstances except in a dire emergency, and her first duty as Fergal’s mentor would be to explain this to him. Or maybe the guards at the gate would chew him out for her. With that pleasant thought in mind, she smiled, pleased to be finally on her way.

L
aren watched thoughtfully after Karigan and Condor. It seemed almost a waste to send one of her most capable Riders on so simple an errand, but the potential was there for it to turn out to be more complex than either she or the king anticipated, and they wanted Karigan on the errand because of her experience. If anything came up, she was confident Karigan could handle it, and look after Fergal, too.

And there was another reason she wanted Karigan to go on a long distance errand, one she hadn’t mentioned to Zachary. Her gaze picked out a solitary figure atop the wall that surrounded the castle grounds, his cloak billowing out around him. He watched Karigan’s progress, she knew.

Over the course of the summer, she had pieced together that the “mystery woman” who had been distracting Zachary from his kingly duty of signing Clan Coutre’s marriage contract was one of her very own Riders and not some nameless mistress tucked away in the countryside of Hillander Province.

She didn’t care if Zachary had a dozen mistresses, just so long as love did not divert him from doing the right thing: marrying Lady Estora and producing heirs. And just so long as one of those mistresses wasn’t one of her Riders.

From what Laren could tell, the attraction was dangerously mutual, and she had observed Karigan struggling with herself. For Karigan’s sake, it was best to send her away; a kindness. It would also give Zachary a chance to settle into his role of future husband to Lady Estora.

The country could not afford Zachary to be distracted by his love of a commoner—it could wreak havoc politically, and prove dangerous for Karigan. There were those who would stop at nothing to protect the Hillander-Coutre alliance. Were a commoner to interfere, there was no telling what harm could come to her no matter what her position in the king’s court. Laren would do all in her power she could to keep them apart.

Then, if that wasn’t enough, there was another matter she must address with Lady Estora—the secret they shared. The secret the Riders kept. It put Laren in an awkward position, caught between the wishes of her slain Rider, F’ryan Coblebay, and the trust of her liege lord.

She shook her head, wondering why everything had to be so bloody complicated.