The High King's Tomb
Page 76
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He turned to his side, breathing hard, fist opening and closing even as he slept.
Go away, cousin, the voices said. Stay away. Die, cousin, we hate you.
Alton cried out, his own voice lost in the storm. The maelstrom raged on.
The residue of Blackveil’s poison flamed in his blood, bringing on the fever and the dream that haunted him. Karigan came to him in the ivory dress, her brown hair sun-touched with gold. His head rested on her lap and she caressed his temple, her touch warm and soft.
Behind her the limbs of trees swayed and groaned, turned black and snarled, reaching around her for him. Karigan’s hair fluttered in the breeze, and she began to transform into a loathsome creature with yellow eyes and claws that scratched his cheeks.
Betrayer! Alton screamed. He launched from her lap, fell from his cot onto the tent platform. A peal of thunder extended his scream.
He knelt there, panting, sweat dripping down his face. He was insufferably hot and the storm without only seemed to fuel the storm within. The wall hated him, and he hated it back.
He stood, kicked over his chair, swept a pile of books off his table. He staggered out of his tent without even donning cloak or pulling on boots, lightning illuminating the way.
Outside rain pelted his face and instead of quelling his fever, it empowered him. As the storm ripped tents from their ties around him and snapped branches, Alton reveled in his own power and screamed at the wall, screamed in fury at Blackveil and Mornhavon the Black.
“I hate you!” he yelled. “I’ll find a way! You can’t defy me!”
He then cursed the gods and lightning filled the sky above him, but he continued his tirade, no longer conscious of his words or the destruction the storm wrought around him.
Even when Dale rushed out to him, her greatcoat draped over her shoulders, and tried to drag him out of the rain, he didn’t stop his cursing or shaking his fist at the heavens.
“Idiot!” she cried at him, and she slapped him.
He hit back.
The world clarified around Alton. He saw the devastation as if for the first time, and all he felt was cold and tired, his inner storm spent. A flash of lightning revealed Dale in the mud at his feet, struggling to rise, but obviously hurting.
“What have I—?” He bit off his own question and helped Dale up, then, supporting her, led her through the rain back toward her tent, its flaps whipping in the wind.
“I’m sorry,” he told Dale.
“I know,” she replied.
TO SELIUM
A torrent of wind and rain forced Karigan and Fergal to seek shelter at an inn a couple days out of Rivertown. They blew into the courtyard of the Cup and Kettle amid broken branches and deep puddles. The inn’s proprietor ushered them into the stable and Karigan sighed in relief to be out of the storm and in the relative warmth and dryness that four walls and a roof provided. She had lived near the coast long enough to recognize a sea-driven storm, even this far inland, and this one was as bad as any she remembered.
They were all soaked to the skin. Condor was one wretched-looking, drenched horse, with his mane and tail hanging limp and straggly, and water runneling down his sides. She slapped his neck splattering drops everywhere. He gave a pathetic, deep-down sigh that made Karigan laugh.
Condor nudged her shoulder with his nose as if to say, “Look at yourself if you want a good chuckle.” It only made her laugh harder.
In the gloomy light, she saw Fergal gazing her way with a slight scowl on his face, observing her interaction with Condor. Since the Golden Rudder, he’d been remakably cooperative, and she noted he continued to be dutiful in his care of Sunny.
Dutiful. And that was all. She still saw no growing affection for Sunny on his part, and suspected he put as much energy into horse chores as he did only because it was his duty. He did not do it to please Sunny. He must regard her in much the same way he regarded his boots: He needed them to perform his job, they required some care, but beyond that, they did not inspire love. They were useful, and that was that.
It saddened Karigan, even as Condor playfully nibbled at her braid, that anyone could regard a living, breathing creature as no more than a useful object. She hoped Fergal would grow to—if not love Sunny—at least like and appreciate her.
“Hey!”
Fergal’s cry jolted Karigan from her thoughts. He had just removed Sunny’s saddle, and the mare was enjoying a full-body shake, showering him with water.
Karigan started to laugh, but stopped dead when she saw the anger on his face. He rammed his saddle down on the stall door, and turned to Sunny and yanked on her reins.
“Stupid animal!” he shouted.
Sunny jerked her head up and skittered backward.
“Fergal!” Karigan’s voice rang sharp in the stable.
He loosened his hold on the reins, but his posture was stiff, almost quivering.
“Are you going to order me to apologize to her?” Fergal demanded.
“Wipe her down and she won’t shake all over you,” Karigan said, forcing herself to keep her tone mild. “She doesn’t understand your anger.”
“I know—she’s stupid.”
Karigan ground her teeth, keeping an eye on Fergal even as she grabbed a handful of straw to wipe down Condor. He nudged her shoulder again, telling her he knew she was troubled. She rubbed and patted and whispered to him. He was her comfort. If only Fergal could understand how it could be.
Later, Karigan and Fergal sat in front of the hearth of the Cup and Kettle’s common room, with mugs of warm spiced cider in their hands. Fergal had been sullen all through supper, speaking little. Karigan did not try to draw him out, guessing she’d only antagonize him. She’d experienced his volatile behavior before and did not want to relive it.
Go away, cousin, the voices said. Stay away. Die, cousin, we hate you.
Alton cried out, his own voice lost in the storm. The maelstrom raged on.
The residue of Blackveil’s poison flamed in his blood, bringing on the fever and the dream that haunted him. Karigan came to him in the ivory dress, her brown hair sun-touched with gold. His head rested on her lap and she caressed his temple, her touch warm and soft.
Behind her the limbs of trees swayed and groaned, turned black and snarled, reaching around her for him. Karigan’s hair fluttered in the breeze, and she began to transform into a loathsome creature with yellow eyes and claws that scratched his cheeks.
Betrayer! Alton screamed. He launched from her lap, fell from his cot onto the tent platform. A peal of thunder extended his scream.
He knelt there, panting, sweat dripping down his face. He was insufferably hot and the storm without only seemed to fuel the storm within. The wall hated him, and he hated it back.
He stood, kicked over his chair, swept a pile of books off his table. He staggered out of his tent without even donning cloak or pulling on boots, lightning illuminating the way.
Outside rain pelted his face and instead of quelling his fever, it empowered him. As the storm ripped tents from their ties around him and snapped branches, Alton reveled in his own power and screamed at the wall, screamed in fury at Blackveil and Mornhavon the Black.
“I hate you!” he yelled. “I’ll find a way! You can’t defy me!”
He then cursed the gods and lightning filled the sky above him, but he continued his tirade, no longer conscious of his words or the destruction the storm wrought around him.
Even when Dale rushed out to him, her greatcoat draped over her shoulders, and tried to drag him out of the rain, he didn’t stop his cursing or shaking his fist at the heavens.
“Idiot!” she cried at him, and she slapped him.
He hit back.
The world clarified around Alton. He saw the devastation as if for the first time, and all he felt was cold and tired, his inner storm spent. A flash of lightning revealed Dale in the mud at his feet, struggling to rise, but obviously hurting.
“What have I—?” He bit off his own question and helped Dale up, then, supporting her, led her through the rain back toward her tent, its flaps whipping in the wind.
“I’m sorry,” he told Dale.
“I know,” she replied.
TO SELIUM
A torrent of wind and rain forced Karigan and Fergal to seek shelter at an inn a couple days out of Rivertown. They blew into the courtyard of the Cup and Kettle amid broken branches and deep puddles. The inn’s proprietor ushered them into the stable and Karigan sighed in relief to be out of the storm and in the relative warmth and dryness that four walls and a roof provided. She had lived near the coast long enough to recognize a sea-driven storm, even this far inland, and this one was as bad as any she remembered.
They were all soaked to the skin. Condor was one wretched-looking, drenched horse, with his mane and tail hanging limp and straggly, and water runneling down his sides. She slapped his neck splattering drops everywhere. He gave a pathetic, deep-down sigh that made Karigan laugh.
Condor nudged her shoulder with his nose as if to say, “Look at yourself if you want a good chuckle.” It only made her laugh harder.
In the gloomy light, she saw Fergal gazing her way with a slight scowl on his face, observing her interaction with Condor. Since the Golden Rudder, he’d been remakably cooperative, and she noted he continued to be dutiful in his care of Sunny.
Dutiful. And that was all. She still saw no growing affection for Sunny on his part, and suspected he put as much energy into horse chores as he did only because it was his duty. He did not do it to please Sunny. He must regard her in much the same way he regarded his boots: He needed them to perform his job, they required some care, but beyond that, they did not inspire love. They were useful, and that was that.
It saddened Karigan, even as Condor playfully nibbled at her braid, that anyone could regard a living, breathing creature as no more than a useful object. She hoped Fergal would grow to—if not love Sunny—at least like and appreciate her.
“Hey!”
Fergal’s cry jolted Karigan from her thoughts. He had just removed Sunny’s saddle, and the mare was enjoying a full-body shake, showering him with water.
Karigan started to laugh, but stopped dead when she saw the anger on his face. He rammed his saddle down on the stall door, and turned to Sunny and yanked on her reins.
“Stupid animal!” he shouted.
Sunny jerked her head up and skittered backward.
“Fergal!” Karigan’s voice rang sharp in the stable.
He loosened his hold on the reins, but his posture was stiff, almost quivering.
“Are you going to order me to apologize to her?” Fergal demanded.
“Wipe her down and she won’t shake all over you,” Karigan said, forcing herself to keep her tone mild. “She doesn’t understand your anger.”
“I know—she’s stupid.”
Karigan ground her teeth, keeping an eye on Fergal even as she grabbed a handful of straw to wipe down Condor. He nudged her shoulder again, telling her he knew she was troubled. She rubbed and patted and whispered to him. He was her comfort. If only Fergal could understand how it could be.
Later, Karigan and Fergal sat in front of the hearth of the Cup and Kettle’s common room, with mugs of warm spiced cider in their hands. Fergal had been sullen all through supper, speaking little. Karigan did not try to draw him out, guessing she’d only antagonize him. She’d experienced his volatile behavior before and did not want to relive it.
