The High King's Tomb
Page 173
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“So,” Beryl said, “Second Empire will be able to learn all about the craft that went into the making of the D’Yer Wall so they can unmake it.”
“And when Mornhavon the Black returns,” Karigan said, “nothing will stand in his way.”
The remainder of the meeting consisted of logistics. Ty would take the information gleaned from Immerez to the king, though by the time he reached Sacor City, it may very well prove irrelevant. Karigan, Beryl, and Lord Amberhill would set off the next morning, accompanied by a contingent of Weapons. They’d travel swiftly, Donal told them, for there was no telling what could be happening at the castle if members of Second Empire were infiltrating the grounds and tombs. King Zachary needed his full complement of Weapons as soon as possible. The rest of the Weapons would return more slowly with their prisoners, including Immerez.
The meeting concluded, Ty ordered Karigan to get some rest as he swept by her to gather his gear and ride out immediately. Karigan intended to. Her head still throbbed, or maybe it was all they discussed that made it hurt and exhausted her. She closed her eyes for a moment, then looked up to find Willis and Donal were already gone and Beryl was on her feet.
“Did I…did I doze off?” Karigan asked.
Beryl and Lord Amberhill exchanged glances.
“You should do as Ty wishes,” Beryl said.
“I will.” It took effort to rise to her feet, and when Lord Amberhill attempted to assist her, she stepped out of reach.
“I’m only trying to help,” he said.
“I don’t need help,” she replied.
“You snore,” he said as he stepped out of the tent.
Karigan scowled, but it pulled on her head wound and hurt. She trudged toward her tent, grumbling about annoying noblemen as flurries fell softly around her, muting the world.
NO ORDINARY MESSENGER
Karigan napped through the day, rising only to relieve herself or eat some food Willis brought her. Each time she crawled out of the warmth of her cot, the chill air assailed her like icicle daggers.
She heard the activity outside, voices, horses, people tramping by. She was just as glad she didn’t have to help prepare for tomorrow’s journey. She wondered what horse she’d be riding, and with pangs of loneliness, she missed Condor more than ever, but knew he was doing his duty to bear Estora swiftly and safely home. She wondered where they were now, if Estora and Fergal had found safe haven and were warm with their feet before a fire.
She looked forward to returning to Sacor City despite all the marriage preparations and the awkwardness and pain the wedding would entail. Somehow it did not seem as important to her now. She would carry on as well as she could. She had to. They were faced now with a new problem: Second Empire was learning the secrets of the D’Yer Wall from the book.
Karigan turned over on her side, and after a time her mind quieted and she fell into a troubled slumber.
She dreamed the land quaked with such force the D’Yer Wall shook and wobbled, spreading cracks down its entire length until it collapsed, taking each tower down with it, one after the other. An immense dust cloud rose from the ruins, enveloping the lands in shadow.
Karigan stood there before the desolation, all alone, without even her saber at her side. The dust settled to a mere haze and there on the rubble and beyond massed the denizens of Blackveil Forest, groundmites and creatures winged and on foot that defied description; and behind them there was something darker, more evil, and battle ready but she could not make out this new foe clearly.
All she had to defend herself and her country with were stones, broken shards of the wall. She hurled them at the enemy, but they bounced ineffectually off scales, off armor, off shields.
She gasped to wakefulness at first hot and sweating, then turning cold. She shivered and huddled beneath the blankets, unable to warm up. What was wrong with her? She touched the bandage over her head wound and winced when she pressed too hard, but she could feel the heat radiating through it.
“Not good,” she murmured. Leave it to Immerez to give her a wound that festered.
Eventually her body found equilibrium, neither too hot nor too cold. She fell again into an uneasy sleep. The dreams were hazy and nonsensical until he walked into her mind, all starlight and night sky, tail and mane flowing like black silk. He stood on the midnight plains, stark against moon-bright snow. He gazed at her, and knelt to the ground.
Hoofbeats pumped through Karigan’s body. Or were they wingbeats? Wingbeats of Westrion trying to drive her from bed. A breeze flowed over her sweat-dampened face and she sat up, pain stabbing her head. All was darkness and silence, and she thought she might be the only soul left alive on Earth.
She closed her eyes and rubbed them, only to be visited by the vision of the black stallion awaiting her. Always waiting.
“Gah.”
She flipped the blankets aside and was at once assailed by chills. She stumbled about the tent to find the frozen chamber pot, teeth chattering the whole time, and used it. Afterward, a fumbling search turned up her clothes which, with painstaking effort, she put on.
When she was ready, she flung the tent flaps open and stepped outside. She squinted against moonlight reflecting on the snow. In the distance the watch fires and torches were drowned in it.
Maybe it was a fever that drove her, or maybe a greater impulse lured her—it didn’t matter. She knew. She knew he awaited her. She intended to have some words with him.
She touched her brooch—it was ice cold—and faded away. There he was, black against shades of gray, lying in the snow and waiting for her.
“And when Mornhavon the Black returns,” Karigan said, “nothing will stand in his way.”
The remainder of the meeting consisted of logistics. Ty would take the information gleaned from Immerez to the king, though by the time he reached Sacor City, it may very well prove irrelevant. Karigan, Beryl, and Lord Amberhill would set off the next morning, accompanied by a contingent of Weapons. They’d travel swiftly, Donal told them, for there was no telling what could be happening at the castle if members of Second Empire were infiltrating the grounds and tombs. King Zachary needed his full complement of Weapons as soon as possible. The rest of the Weapons would return more slowly with their prisoners, including Immerez.
The meeting concluded, Ty ordered Karigan to get some rest as he swept by her to gather his gear and ride out immediately. Karigan intended to. Her head still throbbed, or maybe it was all they discussed that made it hurt and exhausted her. She closed her eyes for a moment, then looked up to find Willis and Donal were already gone and Beryl was on her feet.
“Did I…did I doze off?” Karigan asked.
Beryl and Lord Amberhill exchanged glances.
“You should do as Ty wishes,” Beryl said.
“I will.” It took effort to rise to her feet, and when Lord Amberhill attempted to assist her, she stepped out of reach.
“I’m only trying to help,” he said.
“I don’t need help,” she replied.
“You snore,” he said as he stepped out of the tent.
Karigan scowled, but it pulled on her head wound and hurt. She trudged toward her tent, grumbling about annoying noblemen as flurries fell softly around her, muting the world.
NO ORDINARY MESSENGER
Karigan napped through the day, rising only to relieve herself or eat some food Willis brought her. Each time she crawled out of the warmth of her cot, the chill air assailed her like icicle daggers.
She heard the activity outside, voices, horses, people tramping by. She was just as glad she didn’t have to help prepare for tomorrow’s journey. She wondered what horse she’d be riding, and with pangs of loneliness, she missed Condor more than ever, but knew he was doing his duty to bear Estora swiftly and safely home. She wondered where they were now, if Estora and Fergal had found safe haven and were warm with their feet before a fire.
She looked forward to returning to Sacor City despite all the marriage preparations and the awkwardness and pain the wedding would entail. Somehow it did not seem as important to her now. She would carry on as well as she could. She had to. They were faced now with a new problem: Second Empire was learning the secrets of the D’Yer Wall from the book.
Karigan turned over on her side, and after a time her mind quieted and she fell into a troubled slumber.
She dreamed the land quaked with such force the D’Yer Wall shook and wobbled, spreading cracks down its entire length until it collapsed, taking each tower down with it, one after the other. An immense dust cloud rose from the ruins, enveloping the lands in shadow.
Karigan stood there before the desolation, all alone, without even her saber at her side. The dust settled to a mere haze and there on the rubble and beyond massed the denizens of Blackveil Forest, groundmites and creatures winged and on foot that defied description; and behind them there was something darker, more evil, and battle ready but she could not make out this new foe clearly.
All she had to defend herself and her country with were stones, broken shards of the wall. She hurled them at the enemy, but they bounced ineffectually off scales, off armor, off shields.
She gasped to wakefulness at first hot and sweating, then turning cold. She shivered and huddled beneath the blankets, unable to warm up. What was wrong with her? She touched the bandage over her head wound and winced when she pressed too hard, but she could feel the heat radiating through it.
“Not good,” she murmured. Leave it to Immerez to give her a wound that festered.
Eventually her body found equilibrium, neither too hot nor too cold. She fell again into an uneasy sleep. The dreams were hazy and nonsensical until he walked into her mind, all starlight and night sky, tail and mane flowing like black silk. He stood on the midnight plains, stark against moon-bright snow. He gazed at her, and knelt to the ground.
Hoofbeats pumped through Karigan’s body. Or were they wingbeats? Wingbeats of Westrion trying to drive her from bed. A breeze flowed over her sweat-dampened face and she sat up, pain stabbing her head. All was darkness and silence, and she thought she might be the only soul left alive on Earth.
She closed her eyes and rubbed them, only to be visited by the vision of the black stallion awaiting her. Always waiting.
“Gah.”
She flipped the blankets aside and was at once assailed by chills. She stumbled about the tent to find the frozen chamber pot, teeth chattering the whole time, and used it. Afterward, a fumbling search turned up her clothes which, with painstaking effort, she put on.
When she was ready, she flung the tent flaps open and stepped outside. She squinted against moonlight reflecting on the snow. In the distance the watch fires and torches were drowned in it.
Maybe it was a fever that drove her, or maybe a greater impulse lured her—it didn’t matter. She knew. She knew he awaited her. She intended to have some words with him.
She touched her brooch—it was ice cold—and faded away. There he was, black against shades of gray, lying in the snow and waiting for her.
