The High King's Tomb
Page 30
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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.
DEPARTURE
Karigan’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.
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.
DEPARTURE
Karigan’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.
