The High King's Tomb

by Kristen Britain

  Immerez sweated profusely now, his bald head glistening with droplets.

  “I think among those rumors you heard about me circulating the keep,” she continued, “was that I was ruthless, pitiless, and cruel.” She bent down beside his ear and whispered, “The rumors are true.”

  She then stepped back and said, “I’ll start with the fingers on your remaining hand, and if I receive no satisfaction, I will cut off the hand and work up your arm in slices. I’ve irons heating over the fire outside to cauterize the wounds.”

  True fear finally awakened in Immerez’s eye and he strained against his bonds. “You said the king would decide my fate!”

  “And so he will. It does not, however, preclude my use of certain questioning techniques. A pity for you, for you will not be allowed to die, and you will want to by the time I’m through.”

  Immerez’s nostrils flared. “Should have killed you!”

  “Yes,” Beryl said, “you should have.” She sat in her chair, crossed her legs, and settled the hatchet on her lap. She gave him her most pleasant smile. “Ready to answer some questions?”

  ANSWERS

  When Karigan awoke the next morning, she felt about a hundred years old despite the mug of willowbark tea Ty provided her to help dull the pain. Every muscle felt wrenched and every inch of her skin was scraped raw or bruised. Ty also produced a satisfying breakfast of flatcakes and sausages he said were from Immerez’s own stores. Her stomach was about the only thing that wasn’t sore and she was happy to fill it, but it hurt just to lift the food to her mouth.

  When she finished, Ty carried in a bundle of clothes. “Try these when you feel up to it,” he said. “I’m afraid the riding habit you were wearing had to be cut off you.”

  Even blushing hurt, causing throbbing in her tender head. When Ty left the tent, however, she forced herself out of bed, groaning with every little movement. She took care of her needs, and though she’d been supplied with a warm bucket of water to wash up with, she’d been instructed not to get her bandages wet. That was hard when her hands were swathed in linens. What was she supposed to do? Stick her head in the bucket? But, no, she had bandages there, too.

  Finally she decided just to remove the bandages on her hands, so she unwound them, gingerly pulling them off where they adhered to her lacerations. Some of the scabs tore off and started bleeding again. Tears filled her eyes when she dipped her hands into the water, they stung so bad. When she finished and dried off, she had trouble rebinding her hands, but somehow managed with the help of her teeth. Willis or Ty would have to do better later.

  As for the clothing, it appeared Ty and Osric had scrounged through their saddlebags for uniform parts. From this she was able to pick out an oversized shirt, baggy trousers and a belt to tighten them with, as well as a shortcoat. Even if none of it fit just right, it was far and away better than a corset and habit, and seeing herself in green again lifted her spirits.

  When she stepped out of the tent she found herself in a new world. Snow blanketed the summit, and beyond heavy clouds cut off the view to the surrounding landscape so that she felt trapped in a shifting, vaporous fortress.

  Weapons huddled around campfires, draped in black cloaks and clasping mugs in their hands. They looked like graveside mourners, heads bowed, speaking quietly. Others stood guard over a dozen or so of Immerez’s men, who appeared to be bound hand and foot. Yet another pair of Weapons guarded a tent.

  When they saw her, a few hailed her with greetings and she smiled and waved. She was about to ask after Ty and Willis when Ty appeared from another tent and trudged through the snow toward her. His breath puffed upon the air and she shivered with the cold.

  “Glad to see you up,” he said when he reached her. “Do you feel ready for a meeting?”

  She nodded.

  “This way then.” He led her back across his tracks toward the tent he emerged from. “Osric has already left with the news.”

  “Already?”

  “It seemed best to send him as soon as possible.” He halted in front of the tent and raised his hand to keep her from entering it. “Just one moment. When you were rather out of it, you called me Rider Perfect. What…what did you mean by it?”

  Karigan’s head started throbbing again. “Um, I…I don’t—”

  “Karigan? Is that you out there?” came an inquiry from within the tent.

  She let out a breath of relief. Saved by Willis! “We’re here,” she said, and she entered the tent, very conscious of Ty right behind her.

  Inside she found Beryl, Willis, Lord Amberhill, and another Weapon Karigan knew, named Donal, all sitting around a small table in the center. They looked up when she entered, and Willis rose and rounded the table.

  “Our sister-at-arms should not freeze.” He removed his fur-lined cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders.

  She warmed quickly and her shivers subsided. “What about you?” she asked him. “Aren’t you cold?”

  “I’ve a spare. Do not worry.”

  Karigan was given a chair and she took in Beryl’s appearance. The Rider was still in Mirwellian scarlet, but also wore a black cloak over her shoulders. Her cheeks were gaunt and her face lined with care, but her eyes were alert and her shoulders square. She looked exhausted and worn to the bone, but straight as steel. This was much more the Rider Karigan remembered.

  “Are you well?” Karigan asked her.

  “Very well,” Beryl said. She looked pleased with herself.

  “She got Immerez to talk,” Ty said.

  “Immerez? Talk?” Karigan was still too befuddled by all that had happened to sound overly coherent.

  “Didn’t take much,” Beryl said. “He wanted to keep his hand.”

  Karigan could only stare. She knew what sort of work Beryl did, or at least she had an idea of it, but it was hard to reconcile a Green Rider engaging in such “interrogations.”

  “What did he say?” Karigan asked, not wanting to dwell on how the information was acquired.

  “He talked about a book,” Willis said, “that was supposed to tell about the making of the D’Yer Wall.”

  “That’s what the king sent you to find in Selium, wasn’t it?” Ty asked her.

  “Yes, but Lord Fiori didn’t believe it was there.”

  “It wasn’t,” Willis said. “Just where it was hidden Immerez wasn’t clear on, but one of his men went after it. Apparently this Grandmother, who is the leader of Second Empire, or at least this faction, knew how to find it. She is also the one who ordered some thefts.”

  “The Sacor City War Museum,” Karigan said.

  Lord Amberhill bowed his head into his hand when she said the words, but what really caught her eye was the ruby on his finger. It was the shade of blood, and as she had seen too much of her own of late, she shuddered and looked away, nestling into the fur of the cloak.

  “Yes,” Willis said. “Second Empire, working through Immerez and his men, hired a thief to steal a document from the museum. The thief was, or claimed to be, the Raven Mask, apparently out of retirement. In any event, he was slain in the scheme to abduct Lady Estora. Or at least that’s what witnesses say. We found no body.”

  “Yes,” Karigan said. “I’d heard that. What of the document? Did Immerez say what Second Empire wanted with it?”

  He said it contained instructions for using the book. The problem was that it was in Old Sacoridian, and no one among them could translate it. Which led to the second theft.”

  “Selium,” Karigan said. “It happened just before I arrived there.”

  Willis nodded. “Once they had the key to Old Sacoridian, they were able to translate the instructions.”

  “Why would a book require instructions?” Karigan asked. “I mean, it’s a book.”

  Willis and Donal exchanged glances, and Karigan felt silly for asking, but she’d known books to contain instructions, not require them.

  “This book was written by a great mage.” It was Donal who spoke, and his rich, deep
voice took Karigan by surprise. “It is an arcane object and likely does not obey the same rules as a book of mundane origins.”

  “Immerez gave up the instructions,” Willis said. “That the book could only be read in the light of the high king’s tomb.”

  Karigan passed her hand over her eyes, feeling tired, almost light-headed. “That’s why Grandmother wanted the tombs emptied of Weapons.”

  “Hence Lady Estora’s abduction,” Willis replied. “It was as big a diversion as they could think of.”

  Of course it was. She knew all too well how important the betrothal between King Zachary and Lady Estora was for maintaining unity among the provinces. She could only imagine all those members of Clan Coutre besieging the king with their demands for Estora’s safe return, and their threats if he failed to bring her back unharmed. If Estora were harmed, or worse, killed, not only would Coutre and its maritime allies seek vengeance, but the confidence of the people in their king would erode. All this while he and his advisors should be focusing on Blackveil.

  Naturally, to appease Coutre and to ensure Estora’s safe return, King Zachary sent his most elite warriors, his own Weapons, in pursuit of the captors. Someone needed to guard the king, so the tomb Weapons were brought above, leaving the tombs without their normal protection.

  “Grandmother had no real interest in Lady Estora,” Willis continued, “other than the distraction her abduction would cause. Immerez was more interested in obtaining ransom and committing vengeance against the king for bringing down, and executing, Tomas Mirwell.”

  Karigan was more relieved than ever Estora never had the chance to meet Immerez. She did not like to think what he would have done to King Zachary’s betrothed. “The book,” she said faintly. “Where is it now?”

  “Immerez believes it is by now on its way to Sacor City and the tombs,” Beryl said. “Immerez was most amused. He said his man should be about there by now, and that members of Second Empire in the city would aid him.”

  Karigan looked from face to face at those seated at the table. All were grim. The reason Immerez was amused was that there was not a thing any of them could do to stop the book from reaching its destination. They were too far away.

  “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.

  The stallion gazed at her with obsidian eyes. Nostrils flared to take in her scent. Somehow Karigan sensed the wings beating in the air, could feel the breezes they created curling against the back of her
neck.

  The stallion would carry her to Sacor City. She knew this. He would bear her more swiftly than an eagle and she would arrive in time—in time to do whatever needed doing.

  She shuddered at what it could mean to ride the death god’s steed, the harbinger of strife and battle. What would happen to her? What might she become? Something less than human? She wanted nothing to do with gods, wanted them to watch after their own affairs and leave her out of them.

  “Why me?” she demanded. “Why can’t you leave me alone?”

  The only reply she received was the rhythmic beat of wings—or maybe it was her own blood hammering in her ears. Many people, she thought, would be honored to serve the gods in such a way and would not protest or hesitate. Why couldn’t the gods choose one of them? Hadn’t she done enough already? All she had wanted was an ordinary message errand for once, and this is what she got.

  She put her hand to her forehead and was startled by the heat. She was shivering and roasting at the same time.

  And still the stallion waited.

  She wondered if her earlier dreams were given to her to show her what was at stake if she did not act. Surely the collapse of the wall would be catastrophic. And surely the death god’s steed would not come to her if it wasn’t important.

  “Damnation,” she muttered. And to the stallion she said, “I will not ride. If you want me to go, you’ll have to find another way.”

  The stallion rose, and with a glance at her that plainly said follow, he headed off into the night.

  “Damnation.” Karigan half hoped there was no other way, that the stallion would just leave her alone and seek out someone else to solve the world’s problems, but it was not to be. She was about to follow when she detected someone else watching. Through the haze of her ability she saw Lord Amberhill’s silhouette against her tent, his blood ruby intense in her colorless world. She said to him, with no small satisfaction, “You imagined all this.” And she hurried off to catch up with the stallion, wherever he may lead.