The High King's Tomb
Page 17
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Traitor!
A need came upon him, even as he slept, to send a message to King Zachary and Captain Mapstone to warn them there was a traitor in their midst. Then as morning broke, and so did his fever, he would remember that Karigan was the one who risked herself to move Mornhavon into the future. Maybe it had really been a trick she played, part of some nefarious scheme. Maybe…
Birds squabbled in the trees outside his tent, and the crisp morning air flowing through the entry flap chilled the sweat clinging to his skin. He shivered violently, pulled his blanket over his shoulder, and laid there for some minutes, trying to work things out in his mind. Karigan confused him. He remembered so clearly that she had come to him in the forest, had soothed him and helped him find his way into the tower, yet was it really her? He’d been so very ill. Probably delirious. The power of the forest could have manipulated things, could have made him believe he was seeing and hearing things that were untrue.
He sighed. That had to be it. He could not imagine Karigan…No, she would not betray him, or her country. The forest had given him lies. He closed his eyes, remembering how angry he had been with her when they parted and she had not understood why. He could still see her bewilderment and her hurt. She had wanted to talk to him, but he had refused. What must she think of him?
They had been friends, though Alton had once hoped for more. He had probably ruined even the friendship.
He started to drift back into sleep as the blanket warmed him. His night had not been a restful one, and now peace lulled him. But just as the morning sunshine beating through the canvas walls of his tent and the bustle of camp faded away, a new clamor jolted Alton awake.
Outside, soldiers raised their voices in cheerful greeting. “Rider!” one exclaimed.
Alton rolled off his cot and, wrapping his blanket about himself, peered through the flap of his tent.
A Rider, indeed. He grinned.
Garth Bowen handed off his mare, Chickadee, to a soldier when Alton stepped out of the tent and called to him. The big man waved and sauntered over. “Alton, well met!” He reached out to shake with Alton, but Alton ruefully held up his bandaged hands. Garth swept an assessing gaze over him. “I would say you are looking well, but I’m afraid I cannot.”
Alton could only imagine how bad he looked. Then a breeze carried to him a whiff of eggs, sausages, and bread frying over a nearby fire. His stomach growled. “Have you had breakfast yet?”
“Just some hardtack on the road.”
Alton caught hold of one of his servants and requested food be brought to his tent. One of the benefits of being the lord-governor’s heir was having servants in attendance, even at an encampment. Once inside the tent, Garth’s considerable self took over one of the campaign chairs. He stretched out his legs before him and slumped comfortably in his seat.
Alton, meanwhile, pulled on a rumpled shirt and a pair of trousers that had seen much wear.
“Have you brought news from the king?” Alton asked.
“Not exactly, no. I’m here because the king and Captain Mapstone are anxious to know what progress you’ve made with Merdigen and the wall.”
Alton dropped into the chair opposite Garth’s and frowned. “None.”
“None?”
He shook his head. “I can’t even enter the tower. It’s like…it’s like it’s gone deaf on me.”
Garth stroked his upper lip and looked like he was about to say something when Alton’s servant entered with heaping platters of sausage rolls, sweet bread, and scrambled eggs. Another servant followed bearing mugs and a pot of tea. Garth rubbed his hands together in glee before tucking in. Between mouthfuls, he caught Alton up on some of the news in Sacor City.
“Several new Riders have come on,” he said. “I’ve never seen the captain so happy—she’s practically bouncing.”
Alton smiled at the improbable image. “Why so many new Riders now?” For years beyond count, the call had brought in so very few.
“She thinks the First Rider’s horn has somehow awakened them to the call.”
“Ah.” When Tegan came to Woodhaven with the king’s orders, she had told him of the Rider artifacts Karigan had found. He wished he could see them, but for now he had more important business to attend to at the wall. “New Riders—that’s good to hear.”
“Ty is in his glory, taking the new ones on, while the rest of us are left to sweep and scrub more rooms in the Rider wing.” Garth rolled his eyes. “Happy I am to get away from the dust, cobwebs, and mouse turds. Oh, and all the wedding euphoria.”
“Wedding euphoria?”
“That’s right,” Garth said. “You can’t have heard yet. King Zachary announced he is marrying Lady Estora Coutre.”
Alton dropped his slab of sweet bread in shock. “What? Really?”
Garth nodded. “King Zachary saw the necessity of appeasing Lord Coutre, what with the uncertainty of the wall and all.”
Alton laughed as he fumbled after the sweet bread. So Lord Coutre had turned down the D’Yer proposal that Alton wed Lady Estora. He found it amusing, and enormously freeing. So all along, crafty Lord Coutre had turned down every other lord in this land and others, taking a chance he’d win the ultimate prize for his daughter: the high king of Sacoridia himself.
No longer was the prospect of marriage being held over Alton’s head, at least for the moment.
“All of court is atwitter in anticipation,” Garth continued. “Heralds and some Riders have been sent to spread the news among the populace. Noblewomen are buzzing about it and all they can talk about are wedding gowns and flowers, and even the elder ones among them giggle and blush like girls.”
A need came upon him, even as he slept, to send a message to King Zachary and Captain Mapstone to warn them there was a traitor in their midst. Then as morning broke, and so did his fever, he would remember that Karigan was the one who risked herself to move Mornhavon into the future. Maybe it had really been a trick she played, part of some nefarious scheme. Maybe…
Birds squabbled in the trees outside his tent, and the crisp morning air flowing through the entry flap chilled the sweat clinging to his skin. He shivered violently, pulled his blanket over his shoulder, and laid there for some minutes, trying to work things out in his mind. Karigan confused him. He remembered so clearly that she had come to him in the forest, had soothed him and helped him find his way into the tower, yet was it really her? He’d been so very ill. Probably delirious. The power of the forest could have manipulated things, could have made him believe he was seeing and hearing things that were untrue.
He sighed. That had to be it. He could not imagine Karigan…No, she would not betray him, or her country. The forest had given him lies. He closed his eyes, remembering how angry he had been with her when they parted and she had not understood why. He could still see her bewilderment and her hurt. She had wanted to talk to him, but he had refused. What must she think of him?
They had been friends, though Alton had once hoped for more. He had probably ruined even the friendship.
He started to drift back into sleep as the blanket warmed him. His night had not been a restful one, and now peace lulled him. But just as the morning sunshine beating through the canvas walls of his tent and the bustle of camp faded away, a new clamor jolted Alton awake.
Outside, soldiers raised their voices in cheerful greeting. “Rider!” one exclaimed.
Alton rolled off his cot and, wrapping his blanket about himself, peered through the flap of his tent.
A Rider, indeed. He grinned.
Garth Bowen handed off his mare, Chickadee, to a soldier when Alton stepped out of the tent and called to him. The big man waved and sauntered over. “Alton, well met!” He reached out to shake with Alton, but Alton ruefully held up his bandaged hands. Garth swept an assessing gaze over him. “I would say you are looking well, but I’m afraid I cannot.”
Alton could only imagine how bad he looked. Then a breeze carried to him a whiff of eggs, sausages, and bread frying over a nearby fire. His stomach growled. “Have you had breakfast yet?”
“Just some hardtack on the road.”
Alton caught hold of one of his servants and requested food be brought to his tent. One of the benefits of being the lord-governor’s heir was having servants in attendance, even at an encampment. Once inside the tent, Garth’s considerable self took over one of the campaign chairs. He stretched out his legs before him and slumped comfortably in his seat.
Alton, meanwhile, pulled on a rumpled shirt and a pair of trousers that had seen much wear.
“Have you brought news from the king?” Alton asked.
“Not exactly, no. I’m here because the king and Captain Mapstone are anxious to know what progress you’ve made with Merdigen and the wall.”
Alton dropped into the chair opposite Garth’s and frowned. “None.”
“None?”
He shook his head. “I can’t even enter the tower. It’s like…it’s like it’s gone deaf on me.”
Garth stroked his upper lip and looked like he was about to say something when Alton’s servant entered with heaping platters of sausage rolls, sweet bread, and scrambled eggs. Another servant followed bearing mugs and a pot of tea. Garth rubbed his hands together in glee before tucking in. Between mouthfuls, he caught Alton up on some of the news in Sacor City.
“Several new Riders have come on,” he said. “I’ve never seen the captain so happy—she’s practically bouncing.”
Alton smiled at the improbable image. “Why so many new Riders now?” For years beyond count, the call had brought in so very few.
“She thinks the First Rider’s horn has somehow awakened them to the call.”
“Ah.” When Tegan came to Woodhaven with the king’s orders, she had told him of the Rider artifacts Karigan had found. He wished he could see them, but for now he had more important business to attend to at the wall. “New Riders—that’s good to hear.”
“Ty is in his glory, taking the new ones on, while the rest of us are left to sweep and scrub more rooms in the Rider wing.” Garth rolled his eyes. “Happy I am to get away from the dust, cobwebs, and mouse turds. Oh, and all the wedding euphoria.”
“Wedding euphoria?”
“That’s right,” Garth said. “You can’t have heard yet. King Zachary announced he is marrying Lady Estora Coutre.”
Alton dropped his slab of sweet bread in shock. “What? Really?”
Garth nodded. “King Zachary saw the necessity of appeasing Lord Coutre, what with the uncertainty of the wall and all.”
Alton laughed as he fumbled after the sweet bread. So Lord Coutre had turned down the D’Yer proposal that Alton wed Lady Estora. He found it amusing, and enormously freeing. So all along, crafty Lord Coutre had turned down every other lord in this land and others, taking a chance he’d win the ultimate prize for his daughter: the high king of Sacoridia himself.
No longer was the prospect of marriage being held over Alton’s head, at least for the moment.
“All of court is atwitter in anticipation,” Garth continued. “Heralds and some Riders have been sent to spread the news among the populace. Noblewomen are buzzing about it and all they can talk about are wedding gowns and flowers, and even the elder ones among them giggle and blush like girls.”
