The High King's Tomb
Page 182
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He pointed to a slab of granite just to the side of a fine Durnesian carpet inscribed with the king’s name and that of fifteen horses.
“They’re all under the floor?” Karigan asked.
Fastion nodded. “According to the chronicles the caretakers keep, it was quite a trial to entomb the king and his horses.”
Karigan did not ask if the horses were already dead or brought down alive. She did not want to know.
Brienne peered out of the chamber, looking for trouble. “The way is clear,” she said in a low voice. “I see no living souls.”
Brienne, Karigan knew, was not being facetious.
She followed Brienne out of Queen Lyra’s chamber, with Fastion taking up the rear. She dreaded what other burial displays lay ahead. Her only hope was that they’d find the intruders quickly and get this journey into the tombs over with.
THE HOUSE OF SUN AND MOON
The main corridor was more brightly lit than Queen Lyra’s chamber, revealing the Halls of Kings and Queens in all its grandeur, reminding Karigan of the west wing of the castle where the king’s offices and private apartments were. Rich carpeting softened footfalls, paintings of battles and landscapes hung from the walls, and polished suits of armor stood at attention next to statues of carved marble. Finely crafted furniture that had probably never been used was clustered in comfortable groupings, as if awaiting a social gathering, and tapestries of exquisite embroidery depicting wars and victories, and legends and hunting triumphs, hung from ceiling to floor.
Where there was no other art or draperies covering the walls, glittering mosaics depicted the gods, and goose bumps raised along Karigan’s flesh as she took stock of a realistic depiction of Salvistar that looked ready to leap out of the stone.
They came to a library nook overflowing with books. A pair of cushioned chairs faced an unlit hearth.
“Queen Lyra insisted on a library,” Brienne told Karigan.
Karigan wished the fire was lit. The cold of the tombs, while not freezing, was penetrating, which accounted for the fur-lined cloaks the tomb Weapons wore year round.
Colorful banners and pennants hung from the barrel vaulted ceilings, blunting the effect of stone. This main corridor did not appear to house the dead, but glimpses down adjoining passageways and into chambers revealed sarcophagi and funerary slabs, or wall crypts both sealed and unsealed. The latter seemed to be found down more primitive, narrower corridors. And were fully occupied.
Everything, like Queen Lyra’s chamber, was immaculate—not a single spider had a chance here, and Karigan was sure the tomb cats took care of the rodent population. Just as on Heroes Avenue, the air did not smell of musty old bones or rot; fresh currents of air wisped into her face. Cold and dry. Good storage for corpses.
She marveled just at the lamps, trying to imagine how much of the population’s taxes went for whale oil to light the tombs for dead people who could not appreciate it while the Green Riders must be sparing in their use of the pittance they were allotted every year.
Not only that, but she couldn’t begin to fathom how much work it took to keep the lamp chimneys and ceilings above free of soot. For heavens sake, there were even chandeliers! She shook her head, boggled by it all.
They prowled the main corridor searching for trouble. The first sign they found was a bust of a king smashed on the floor, then the sound of weeping. Brienne charged down the corridor with Fastion swinging behind her. Karigan hurried to catch up.
The Weapons turned into a chamber filled with numerous, occupied funerary slabs, but Karigan’s gaze was not drawn to those desiccated corpses swathed in wraps, but to the fresh corpse on the floor lying in a pool of blood—he looked to have been killed by a sword thrust to the belly. A girl on her knees wept over the man. Both the girl and man were garbed in subdued grays and whites, their flesh unnaturally pale from never having seen the sun. Caretakers.
“Iris,” Brienne said, placing her hand on the girl’s heaving shoulder. “Did you see who did this to him?”
It took several moments to soothe the girl, who wasn’t more than twelve.
“I…I was coming to read to Queen Lyra,” the girl explained between sobs, “and I found Uncle Charles here.”
Brienne stroked the girl’s hair, then knelt beside the dead man, placing her hand against his face.
“He’s cool,” Brienne said, “but not cold enough to be long dead. The intruders are still here, somewhere.”
“What is this?” a voice demanded. “What’s happened?” They whirled at the sudden appearance of a caretaker in the chamber’s doorway. Karigan recognized the long white hair, the smooth face, and specs. Like the girl and dead man, he wore robes of muted colors.
“Agemon,” Brienne said.
“What has happened here?” He adjusted his specs in an agitated way, as if not believing what his eyes showed him. “What happened to Charles? I…I don’t understand.”
Brienne took his arm and said in a quiet but firm tone, “Agemon, there are intruders in the tombs.”
He wrung his hands. “I knew nothing good would come of it—I knew it!”
“Come of what?” Fastion asked.
“The king sending all our Black Shields above.” Agemon knelt by Charles and shook his head. “Preparations must be made. I must—”
“Not now, Agemon,” Brienne said. “Fastion and I need to ferret out the intruders so they can’t harm anyone else.”
“They’re all under the floor?” Karigan asked.
Fastion nodded. “According to the chronicles the caretakers keep, it was quite a trial to entomb the king and his horses.”
Karigan did not ask if the horses were already dead or brought down alive. She did not want to know.
Brienne peered out of the chamber, looking for trouble. “The way is clear,” she said in a low voice. “I see no living souls.”
Brienne, Karigan knew, was not being facetious.
She followed Brienne out of Queen Lyra’s chamber, with Fastion taking up the rear. She dreaded what other burial displays lay ahead. Her only hope was that they’d find the intruders quickly and get this journey into the tombs over with.
THE HOUSE OF SUN AND MOON
The main corridor was more brightly lit than Queen Lyra’s chamber, revealing the Halls of Kings and Queens in all its grandeur, reminding Karigan of the west wing of the castle where the king’s offices and private apartments were. Rich carpeting softened footfalls, paintings of battles and landscapes hung from the walls, and polished suits of armor stood at attention next to statues of carved marble. Finely crafted furniture that had probably never been used was clustered in comfortable groupings, as if awaiting a social gathering, and tapestries of exquisite embroidery depicting wars and victories, and legends and hunting triumphs, hung from ceiling to floor.
Where there was no other art or draperies covering the walls, glittering mosaics depicted the gods, and goose bumps raised along Karigan’s flesh as she took stock of a realistic depiction of Salvistar that looked ready to leap out of the stone.
They came to a library nook overflowing with books. A pair of cushioned chairs faced an unlit hearth.
“Queen Lyra insisted on a library,” Brienne told Karigan.
Karigan wished the fire was lit. The cold of the tombs, while not freezing, was penetrating, which accounted for the fur-lined cloaks the tomb Weapons wore year round.
Colorful banners and pennants hung from the barrel vaulted ceilings, blunting the effect of stone. This main corridor did not appear to house the dead, but glimpses down adjoining passageways and into chambers revealed sarcophagi and funerary slabs, or wall crypts both sealed and unsealed. The latter seemed to be found down more primitive, narrower corridors. And were fully occupied.
Everything, like Queen Lyra’s chamber, was immaculate—not a single spider had a chance here, and Karigan was sure the tomb cats took care of the rodent population. Just as on Heroes Avenue, the air did not smell of musty old bones or rot; fresh currents of air wisped into her face. Cold and dry. Good storage for corpses.
She marveled just at the lamps, trying to imagine how much of the population’s taxes went for whale oil to light the tombs for dead people who could not appreciate it while the Green Riders must be sparing in their use of the pittance they were allotted every year.
Not only that, but she couldn’t begin to fathom how much work it took to keep the lamp chimneys and ceilings above free of soot. For heavens sake, there were even chandeliers! She shook her head, boggled by it all.
They prowled the main corridor searching for trouble. The first sign they found was a bust of a king smashed on the floor, then the sound of weeping. Brienne charged down the corridor with Fastion swinging behind her. Karigan hurried to catch up.
The Weapons turned into a chamber filled with numerous, occupied funerary slabs, but Karigan’s gaze was not drawn to those desiccated corpses swathed in wraps, but to the fresh corpse on the floor lying in a pool of blood—he looked to have been killed by a sword thrust to the belly. A girl on her knees wept over the man. Both the girl and man were garbed in subdued grays and whites, their flesh unnaturally pale from never having seen the sun. Caretakers.
“Iris,” Brienne said, placing her hand on the girl’s heaving shoulder. “Did you see who did this to him?”
It took several moments to soothe the girl, who wasn’t more than twelve.
“I…I was coming to read to Queen Lyra,” the girl explained between sobs, “and I found Uncle Charles here.”
Brienne stroked the girl’s hair, then knelt beside the dead man, placing her hand against his face.
“He’s cool,” Brienne said, “but not cold enough to be long dead. The intruders are still here, somewhere.”
“What is this?” a voice demanded. “What’s happened?” They whirled at the sudden appearance of a caretaker in the chamber’s doorway. Karigan recognized the long white hair, the smooth face, and specs. Like the girl and dead man, he wore robes of muted colors.
“Agemon,” Brienne said.
“What has happened here?” He adjusted his specs in an agitated way, as if not believing what his eyes showed him. “What happened to Charles? I…I don’t understand.”
Brienne took his arm and said in a quiet but firm tone, “Agemon, there are intruders in the tombs.”
He wrung his hands. “I knew nothing good would come of it—I knew it!”
“Come of what?” Fastion asked.
“The king sending all our Black Shields above.” Agemon knelt by Charles and shook his head. “Preparations must be made. I must—”
“Not now, Agemon,” Brienne said. “Fastion and I need to ferret out the intruders so they can’t harm anyone else.”
