The High King's Tomb
Page 165

Immerez twirled the hatchet into the air and caught it as easily as Fergal had with the throwing knives at Preble Waystation so long ago.
Please be safe, Karigan thought to Fergal and Estora. Please let this be worth it. To her shame, tears poured down her cheeks at what was about to happen.
Immerez tossed the hatchet, but this time he miscalculated his catch and leaped back when it tumbled down and hit the dirt. He picked it up.
“You took my sword hand,” he said, “but I’ve been working hard with the other so it can be just as good. Seems I need more practice, but in this case, I don’t think we need worry about accuracy.”
Karigan struggled, but Sarge and the other soldier held her securely.
Immerez pressed the hatchet blade against her wrist to set up for the cutting stroke. “Not to worry,” he told her, “the blade is sharp.”
Karigan squeezed her eyes shut, waiting, just waiting, a scream building inside her, but still the hatchet did not descend.
“Sergeant,” Immerez said, “remove the glove first.”
Before Karigan could recoil, Sarge stripped Estora’s doeskin glove from her hand, tearing off scabbing flesh and probably some gravel, too. She screamed.
Immerez chuckled. “That injury will not bother you much longer.” He raised the hatchet again and Karigan waited for it to fall.
Instead, the soldier locking Karigan’s arm behind her screamed and released his hold on her. He dropped to the ground, a knife jutting from his back. The hatchet hurtled down and buried itself into the chopping block just a hairsbreadth from her fingertips. Sarge let go of her hand and drew his sword. Immerez cried out in fury and whirled around. Men shouted into the night.
Karigan wasted no time—she crawled away from her distracted captors, crawled away from the light of the campfire and faded, leaving behind only a bloody handprint on the chopping block.
She kept crawling, always away from sources of light—other campfires, torches…Men ran by her, weapons drawn. She just kept crawling into the dark.
She started to give one tent a wide berth, for a lamp glowed dimly within, but then the wind opened the flap as if just for her to see the figure sitting cross-legged on the ground inside, dressed in a scarlet uniform.
Karigan hesitated, not sure she believed what she saw. Beryl?
She glanced over her shoulder. Whatever the disturbance was, it kept Immerez and his men busy on the other side of the encampment. She dropped her fading and crawled into the tent.
It was Beryl, sitting peacefully with eyes closed, her hands upon her knees. Strands of indigo yarn were looped and woven around her like a messy spiderweb.
“Beryl?”
Karigan’s query elicited no response, so she pulled at the yarn. Beryl’s scream made her fall back.
Beryl’s eyes shot open and she gazed about herself as if awakening from a long slumber.
“It doesn’t hurt,” she murmured. “The chains and hooks are gone.”
“Chains and hooks?” Karigan asked. “I see only yarn.”
“Yes, it’s…” Beryl looked at her, squinting. “Who are you? Where’s Grandmother? You’re not Little Girl…”
Karigan crawled closer. “It’s Karigan—Karigan G’ladheon. You know me. Look, we have to get out of here, and quickly.”
Beryl did not move, and continued to gaze at her with the dazed expression. “You’ve a face of blood.”
“I know.” Karigan wiped at it with her sleeve. It was sticky. She gave up and started pulling yarn off Beryl. It was wound in some pattern, knotted in places, but she could not make sense of it. She broke strands with her teeth when she became confounded by knots.
Beryl’s face was wan, with dark rings beneath her eyes, and her forehead creased from great strain. She was thinner than Karigan remembered, but she could detect no obvious physical wounds on her.
When finally she pulled off the last strand of yarn and threw it to the ground, Beryl looked down at herself in incredulity.
“Grandmother said she’d remove the chains and I guess she did.” She patted herself up and down. “I…I don’t hurt.”
Karigan only half listened, trying to be alert to trouble outside the tent. Soldiers still shouted outside but they sounded more distant. She doused the lamp.
“What are…?” Beryl began.
“We have to leave,” Karigan said. “Something’s distracted the soldiers and we have to escape while we can.”
“But…but where are we?”
Karigan helped Beryl rise, which was a feat considering she could hardly stand herself. “Teligmar Hills. Immerez is in charge here.”
Beryl swayed and Karigan shook her. “That’s who…” Beryl whispered. “I couldn’t think, I couldn’t…”
“Never mind all that,” Karigan said. “We’re faded out. We’re leaving.”
The dark outside was immense enough that if they avoided fires and torches they’d be hard to see even without fading, but Karigan wasn’t taking chances. The wind swirled around them as they left the tent and Karigan felt something cold and sharp alight on her cheek.
Snow.
Amberhill, feeling more like an assassin than a gentleman thief, eliminated three of the perimeter guards before they could cry out and raise the alarm in the encampment.
He planned to continue with the stealthy slayings, bide his time till he could aid the young woman, but he saw what the one-eyed man was going to do to her hand and he couldn’t let it happen. He needed to act.