The High King's Tomb (55 page)

Lord Amberhill nodded.

“Thank you.” Why did it gall her to say those two words? She
was
thankful, after all. She just didn’t like being thankful to
him.

“Your Rider friend Ty does do neat work,” he said, “even when you’re thrashing around. But I believe you’ll be wanting a hat for a while. Or maybe a hood.”

With that, he turned on his heel and left the tent. Karigan repressed the urge to hurl her teacup after him.

B
eryl sat at the small table, gazing at Immerez, who was securely bound to a chair. A Weapon stood on duty just outside the tent’s entrance, alert to her needs. Willis, aside from reassuring himself she was well enough, was not at all averse to her conducting the interrogation. He knew of her skills.

She fiddled with Immerez’s hook on the table, safely detached from his stump. It was sharp enough to rip out a throat. The apparatus included a rigging of leather straps and buckles used to secure the hook to his wrist, which she examined with mild interest. Also on the table lay a hatchet, the one Lord Amberhill said Immerez was going to use to chop off Karigan’s hand.

Beryl just sat there, not speaking, while Immerez glowered in defiance. He’d never been subjected to her questioning before. Lucky him—until now. She’d promised Willis she would not draw this out, but there was a craft to it, a way to go about it that varied with each individual questioned, that simply could not be rushed. She believed Immerez would cave in good time—all that defiance was a facade for his uncertainty. She’d seen it before in her other subjects.

The longer she sat there, the more she played with his hook, making the buckles jingle, the more he glowered. She was patient. She could wait. Soon he would not be able to help himself and would break the silence. Even now he tightened his jaw, setting off a tick in his cheek.

While she waited, she caught herself chanting marching cadences in her mind. It was hard to free herself of them, of their comforting, certain rhythms. They’d saved her when she was bound in golden chains, kept her sane, kept her from breaking.

Even after a good night’s rest and all the food she could eat, she felt wrung out. Tired. She could sleep for days, but she would not let anyone else handle this interrogation. There was unfinished business between her and Immerez.

She set aside the hook, folded her hands on her lap, and gazed steadily at him through her specs. She remained perfectly still, not tapping her foot or fidgeting. Her fight was to keep from falling asleep.

Immerez tested his bonds subtly by flexing his muscles, but she, of course, did not miss a thing. He clenched and unclenched his left hand. The lines of his forehead darkened into furrows. The tick quickened in his cheek. He was growing angrier by the second and she didn’t think she’d have to wait much longer.

Sure enough, he broke the silence. “Are you so pleased with yourself that all you can do is sit there and gloat?”

She did not reply, just waited.

“Should’ve killed you,” he continued, “but Grandmother had to try her little experiment.”

“For how long did you know I was an operative?” she asked.

If he was surprised she finally spoke, he did not show it. “Birch found your return to Mirwellton suspicious, but then he became as convinced as everyone else that you were as you claimed, a loyalist to Mirwell Province. Until summer. Then we knew.”

Summer. Many odd things had gone on and she received word that Rider abilities faltered. Her own ability to assume a role must have failed her as well, and Birch and his compatriots saw through it. It made sense. But it was too late to worry about it now.

“To think you were Lord Mirwell’s favorite,” Immerez said. “After all I did for him.”

Old Lord Mirwell he meant. “Still bitter?” she asked. “Still bitter I got all the promotions and his attention while he treated you like dirt? And it really turns your gut that I was a spy all that time, too, doesn’t it.”

Immerez did not reply and resumed glowering at the tent wall.

Beryl laughed. “Yet you were loyal to a fault. You loved the old fool. In your mind, you were the son he
should
have had.” Abruptly she rose and paced, allowing her boot heels to click on the tent’s wooden platform. “I, too, am loyal. Loyal to Sacoridia, to my king, to the Green Riders, and most of all, to the province of my birth. That is no lie.”

He turned his glare on her. “How can you say that when you betrayed your lord-governor?”

“I said I was loyal to my province, not necessarily my lord-governor. Tomas Mirwell was a fool.”

“He wanted to restore the province to its glory,” Immerez shouted.

“For what? Endless years of warring among the clans? By replacing King Zachary on the throne with his greedy and cruel brother? The unity between the provinces would have crumbled, not to mention your Eletian friend, Shawdell, meant for chaos to occur so he could destroy the D’Yer Wall and cultivate the power of Blackveil for his own purposes.”

Immerez clenched his jaw and remained silent.

“So now you’ve decided to help Second Empire.”

Immerez shrugged in his bonds. “Would anything I say matter? I will be hanged in the end anyway.”

Beryl smiled. “Your ultimate fate is for the king to decide. Things could be made easier for you if you answer my questions. But in the end, I suppose you’re right—it does not matter whether or not you’ve always been in league with Second Empire. I have other questions.”

“I’m not in an answering mood,” Immerez replied.

“You will be.”

“I’ve been wondering when I’d see the terrible interrogator I heard whispered of in Mirwell Keep. I still don’t see her.”

“Do you remember my brother by any chance?”

“That’s your question?”

“His name,” Beryl said, “was Riley Spencer, as proud and loyal a Mirwellian you could ever meet. He served as a private in the militia. He was proud of his uniform, and I remember when he came home on his first leave wearing that scarlet uniform with its chevrons and shiny buttons. He was so excited and I looked up to him. I wanted to be like him when I grew up. Twelve years ago you were what? A young sergeant?”

“That’s right,” Immerez said warily. “I was in charge of the house guard then.”

“I know. Tell me, how has it been for you since you lost your hand?”

It took him a moment to catch up with the sudden change of topic. “How do you think?”

“I think it must have been a terrible adjustment for an officer in his prime to lose his sword hand,” she said, displaying her own in front of his face, stretching out her fingers then curling them into a fist. “All those things you were accustomed to doing, actions as natural as breathing, were no longer possible. Scratching an itch, for instance, or eating. You’ve had to retrain your mind to even just remember your hand is not there.”

“So?” Immerez said. “Lots of soldiers lose limbs in combat.”

“I think,” Beryl continued, as if she hadn’t heard him, “it sometimes feels like that hand is still connected to your wrist. You
feel
it. You can feel yourself flex phantom fingers. Maybe you feel your hand cramp or the palm sweat. But I think where you really feel it is
here.
” She put her fist to her heart.

Immerez said nothing, but he was taut, almost shaking. Yes, she knew exactly how it had been for him.

“I suppose there are practical matters,” Beryl said, “that became more difficult. Dressing and undressing, caring for your personal needs. Convincing your men you were whole and strong.”

“How would you know?” he demanded. “You’ve got both your hands.”

She picked up the hatchet from the table and weighed it in her palm. “Still don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember? Remember what?” He’d paled when she picked up the hatchet.

“Can you appreciate irony, Immerez?”

He just stared incredulously at her.

“Private Riley Spencer,” she said. “One of yours. New to your unit.”

He paled even more. Yes, he was beginning to remember.

“There was an incident with one of Lord Mirwell’s favorite saddles. It was dropped or some such, and the leather marred. Lord Mirwell was not pleased and demanded justice. Someone claimed it was Private Spencer who committed this terrible act of clumsiness.”

Immerez licked his lips. Perspiration broke out on his temple. Beryl was pleased, and pointed the hatchet at him. “It was you, wasn’t it, who marred the saddle. It was you who reported my brother. He told me this after the incident. Did you know how much he respected his sergeant? How much in awe of him he was? That was
you
he looked up to. He would have followed you into a fire or a volley of arrows if you so commanded it.

“But you betrayed him. To you he was just another private, young and expendable, but you had ambitions and could not be seen as less than perfect in your lord’s eyes. And in the end, who would the lord-governor listen to? A simple, untried private from the country, or an experienced sergeant he was grooming for greater things?”

“Lies,” Immerez sputtered.

“A dying man usually tells no lies,” Beryl replied. “I, for one should know, considering how many I’ve brought to the brink. And make no mistake, when Mirwell cut off my brother’s hands in punishment and sent him home in disgrace, he was already dying. Dying inside. There is not much a man can do without his hands. He can’t work the land, write, or hold a sword. Truly I can only guess at how it felt to him to have his mother and little sister tend to his every need, no matter how trivial or private. But worst of all, the betrayal broke his heart. Your betrayal.”

She gazed at the hatchet, turned it over in her hand. “Eventually he took his own life; jumped off a cliff because he couldn’t put a knife in his own gut.”

“It was Lord Mirwell who cut off his hands!” Immerez said.

“So it was. And you knew his pleasure at doling out such punishments, which is why you could not do the honorable thing and admit you were the one to scuff the saddle.”

“Would you?” Immerez demanded.

Beryl raised her eyebrow and smiled. “I would not have found myself in that position in the first place. I knew what kind of a lord-governor we were stuck with and I did not serve him. But this is not about me or my choices. It’s not even about my brother or the old Lord Mirwell. This is about you, some questions you can answer, and this hatchet.”

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?”

W
hen 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.