The High King's Tomb (66 page)

B
y the end of the first month of winter, all who’d been sent out in pursuit of Lady Estora and her captors returned. First came Ty to report the book the king sought had been acquired by Second Empire and that they intended to break into the tombs. His mouth dropped open when the captain told him Karigan had arrived with the news well ahead of him and had helped recapture the book and round up the culprits.

The next to arrive were Willis, his Weapons, Lord Amberhill, and Beryl Spencer. They were less surprised that Karigan had arrived ahead of them, but had been pleased to hear the outcome. Lord Amberhill disappeared after telling his side of events to take care of some business in the city and elsewhere. He gave no details.

King Zachary and Captain Mapstone agreed that Beryl would not return to Mirwell Province anytime soon and they doubted Lord Mirwell would welcome back a known spy. If they had other plans for her abilities, nothing was heard of it, but she exchanged the scarlet of Mirwell for Rider green and resumed swordmaster initiate training with Arms Master Drent.

Shortly afterward, the rest of the Weapons arrived with their prisoners, including Immerez, who still had all five fingers attached to his one hand. That said, no one knew how long he would retain his head once the king was through with him. Some Weapons had gone after Colonel Birch in Mirwellton, but he’d escaped ahead of them, having sensed, or been informed, that the abduction of Lady Estora had failed and Grandmother had departed the Teligmar Hills.

Lord Mirwell had no idea as to where Birch had gone, but stated he was glad to be done with him. King Zachary would investigate Lord Mirwell’s connection to Second Empire further, but it sounded as if the young lord-governor had been an unwilling participant in their schemes.

The only ones still at large were Fergal, Lady Estora, and the Weapons who’d gone in search of them. Karigan fretted daily that she’d done the wrong thing in sending them on their way alone, no matter how much Captain Mapstone and her friends reassured her she’d made a wise and courageous decision. But whenever she saw Lord Coutre, who’d dropped considerable weight and whose face was constantly lined with worry, she wondered. Wondered if she could have done better.

And oh, how she missed her Condor.

One day, while the clouds sent sleet battering against the castle walls, Karigan glared at herself in the mirror to see how her hair was growing back. It was returning, but with a cowlick. Not only that, but the new hair was fine and blond, like a baby’s. She’d taken to parting her hair on the opposite side and combing a layer of it over the funny patch to obscure it. All her other hurts healed nicely and were fading, though there was an impressive scar down her forearm. Since it was usually covered, it did not bother her much.

Suddenly her door burst open and Yates strode into her room without knocking.

“Yates!” she cried, swinging around. “I could have been dressing or something!”

“But you weren’t,” he said with a mournful expression. “You were instead admiring your head.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “If you ever barge in here again without knocking, you’ll find yourself ‘admiring’ your head as well.”

He bowed. “My humblest of apologies. But I thought you’d want the news.”

“News? What news?”

Yates stood there with a smug grin on his face and said nothing.

“Tell me,”
Karigan commanded, “or I’ll shake it out of you.” She reached for him but he hopped back just out of her grasp.

“I know you are quite capable of hanging me out the window by my ankles should you so wish,” he said, “but I’m not going to tell you. I will tell you the captain would like you to attend her in the throne room, and I’ll even escort you.” He proffered his arm.

“Scoundrel,” she said.

“The lady is harsh,” he said, feigning hurt. “But for her I shall endure the severest of tongue lashings.”

Karigan groaned and rolled her eyes.

“The sooner we go,” Yates added, “the sooner you can find out the news.”

She really wanted to swat him, but he had a point, so she grabbed his arm and practically dragged him down the corridor, not quite the same as when he escorted her one fairy tale day in autumn when she wore a blue gown and felt a princess. She remembered how the day ended. Not in the usual fairy tale fashion, but with the throwing of her shoe at the Raven Mask.

Both Tegan and Mara remarked upon how glum many aristocratic ladies had seemed upon hearing the news of the Raven Mask’s demise. Karigan felt little pity for them and their fantasies and thought of them as a bunch of silly clucks. Nor did she pity the Raven Mask for he had abducted and endangered Estora, threatening the unity of Sacoridia. Such a one as he was better off dead.

All the way to the throne room, Yates joked with her and treated her like a lady and he her obedient servant. She’d shake him if she weren’t laughing so hard. Though it wasn’t exactly the “Riderly” behavior Ty would insist on, no one paid them much attention. In fact, those they met in the corridor were in high spirits, despite the gloomy weather. Something was definitely afoot.

Then she caught snatches of conversation and Estora’s name.

Karigan grabbed Yates’ arm hard enough he yelped, and pivoted so she faced him squarely. “They’re back, aren’t they.”

He nodded, and she rushed off, leaving him behind.

When she reached the throne room, she found it mobbed with courtiers and Weapons. She slipped her way between bodies, angling for the dais. She discerned the king’s head rising above everyone else’s. Excited voices drowned out the sound of sleet hammering the tall throne room windows. To Karigan it all blended into one big roar.

The crowd actually thinned out near the dais, and she arrived just in time to find Fergal on his knee, extending messages to the king, while Captain Mapstone and Connly, and the king’s other advisors, looked on. She almost cried out Fergal’s name, but waited as the king reached for the messages. He said something she could not hear amid the clamor, but she thought his mouth formed the words, “Well done, Rider.”

Concern, pride, and exasperation filled Karigan as she gazed upon the scene. Concern over Fergal’s condition, pride at his safe return with the messages, no less, and exasperation because…well, because he was Fergal.

When he rose from his knee, he turned and smiled at her. She swept a critical gaze over him. His uniform was neat, clean, and looked in surprisingly good condition for one on the run. She noticed no illness or injury, and he looked, by all accounts, well fed.

Huh,
she thought. Perhaps she had worried needlessly. But she was too overjoyed to worry about worry, and strode over to him and gave him a great hug, right there in front of captain and king and other important persons. Only later would Karigan learn that Fergal had followed her instructions so well that he confounded Immerez’s thugs who pursued him and Lady Estora, and even the Weapons who finally discovered them biding their time at an “inn” in Rivertown called the Golden Rudder. Later was soon enough for Karigan to throttle Fergal. Especially when he gave her a perfumed handkerchief as a remembrance from Trudy.

Captain Mapstone tapped Karigan on the shoulder and pointed across the room. When Karigan turned, she found Estora standing there in Rider green, looking as alive and healthy as Fergal. The two stared at one another for a moment or two, but then Estora left those friends, family members, and courtiers who thronged her and hugged Karigan. Lord Coutre came over and patted Karigan on the shoulder before moving on to pump Fergal’s hand in a hearty handshake.

The return of Estora marked the beginning of an endless stream of festivities as winter winds gusted in a fury around the castle turrets and leaked with icy fingers through windows, but despite Karigan’s involvement in Estora’s rescue, she managed to avoid a good deal of it, for there was a certain pre-wedding atmosphere to the proceedings, with both Estora and King Zachary presiding over affairs like the intended couple they were, and it all cut into Karigan’s gut no matter how she tried to dull the pain.

There were other matters vying for her attention, anyway. First, figuring was not one of Mara’s strong points and the Rider ledgers were badly in need of Karigan’s attention. Second, there was Condor who had returned from his journey as unscathed as Estora and Fergal. She spent many an hour grooming him and feeding him wrinkled apples, and even going riding on those days that were not so fiercely wintry.

And finally, there was the day all the Riders anticipated, both old and new: Mara’s release from the mending wing and official return to duty as Chief Rider. Yates escorted her from the mending wing to the Rider wing, which she had never seen before. Mara was met with applause from friends who had striven to make their quarters as warm and homey as one could make any section of an ancient castle, with bright tapestries and artwork.

Mara oohed and aahed at the appropriate moments as Yates showed her the decoration and the cozy common room, but Karigan detected a glistening in Mara’s eyes, likely of happiness, but also of loss over the Rider barracks that had been home for so long. For her, the Rider wing was a whole new experience.

When Yates took Mara to her room, he explained the trouble Garth had gone to in order to find just the right furnishings, and told her Garth was sorry he could not be there to show it all to her himself. When the door was opened, Mara was met with not only the best furnishings, but a painting by her favorite artist, a replacement set of books for those that had been lost in the fire, warm hangings and quilts, and more.

Finally Mara’s tears flowed in full, and Karigan thought the deep healing of her friend had finally come full circle.

L
aren stood before the door to Lady Coutre’s parlor. The Weapon Willis guarded it, so she knew Lady Estora was within. She’d not been looking forward to this conversation, but it was time. Time before anymore crises arose and this problem was once again brushed aside. She tugged her shortcoat straight and knocked.

After a brief moment, a maid opened the door and admitted her. She was greeted by the domestic scene of Lady Coutre sitting with her three daughters before the fire, engaged in needlework and sipping tea. Laren bowed.

“Good afternoon, Captain,” Lady Coutre said, looking up from her embroidery. “This is a surprise.”

“I apologize for the intrusion,” Laren said.

“Have you a message for us?”

Laren smiled. It was a long time since she had carried messages. The lady’s two younger daughters, focused on needle and thread, paid her scant attention, but Lady Estora’s regard was rapt, and even hopeful.

“No,” Laren said. “I bear no messages. However, I wonder if I might have some words with Lady Estora.”

“Certainly, Captain. Won’t you join us? I’ll have Priscilla fetch you some tea.”

Laren shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Thank you, but I wish to speak with your daughter alone. It is Rider business in regard to her forthcoming role as queen.” It was certainly the truth.

“I see,” said Lady Coutre. “We can—”

Lady Estora stood, setting her needlework aside. “No reason to trouble yourself, Mother,” she said. “Captain Mapstone and I can speak elsewhere. Besides, I feel a need to stretch a bit.”

Her mother looked ready to object, then smiled. “As you wish, dear.”

Lady Estora preceded Laren out of the parlor and waited for her in the corridor. Laren joined her after taking leave of Lady Coutre.

“Thank you,” Lady Estora told her once the door was shut.

“For what?” Laren asked in surprise.

“For the excuse to leave. Make no mistake, I am grateful to be with my family and in safety once again, but I am bored unto tears. Needlework! I can’t bear it.”

“Ah,” Laren said. “That will happen after you’ve been riding with Green Riders. Nothing is the same again.”

“Exactly!” Lady Estora’s smile was radiant. “And I’ve wanted to thank you and your Riders, especially Karigan and Fergal, for their courage and help. They were wonderful. I don’t know what would have become of me if they hadn’t put themselves at great risk.”

“They were doing their job,” Captain Mapstone said, nevertheless feeling a surge of pride for her Riders.

“Yes, but I wish they’d receive some official recognition for their service.”

“Oh,” Laren said with a knowing grin, “no need to worry about that. However, there is something else that has been on my mind for some months now. We need to talk, and we need to do so someplace where we won’t be overheard.”

Lady Estora’s pleasure at seeing Laren faded from her face. “I see. I know of a place we can speak freely.”

And frankly,
Laren hoped.

Lady Estora led her to Zachary’s old study, which was now a queen’s solarium, though it remained barren of furniture or ornament, and was freezing. Footsteps and voices rang hollow, and the light that flowed through the windows was winter cold.

The two women stood there, speaking as frankly as Laren could ever wish, and speaking together as only two women could, about Lady Estora’s future, the king, the country, and—most of all—F’ryan Coblebay.

Lady Estora proved to be a mix of nobility and humility, grief and despair. But she was strong, and Laren expected no less of her.

Finally, after the exchange of many words and some well-spent tears, Lady Estora said, “It would be a relief to get this over with.”

“I understand.” Then, moved by Lady Estora and her situation, Laren took the noblewoman’s hands into her own. “My lady, I know Zachary very well. I knew him when he was a young terror in these halls, keeping me on my toes constantly; and he’s grown into a thoughtful and compassionate man. Yes, he has a temper that flares now and then, but honestly, I have met no finer man than he. He listens and judges fairly, and he thinks very highly of you.”

“He does?” Lady Estora seemed genuinely surprised.

Laren gave her hands a gentle squeeze, and nodded. “This sort of thing is never easy, but he will not be rash in his judgment. You must trust me on this.”

She arranged for them to meet with Zachary the very next day. She was glad he agreed to it so soon, because she did not know how well Lady Estora’s nerves would hold up if the wait was a prolonged one.

The two women arrived at the solarium at the appointed time and Laren saw that she shouldn’t have worried about Lady Estora, for her entire demeanor was resolute.

It had snowed overnight, and the gardens outside the windows had turned into a fairyland of lumps and drifts and soft shapes, unsullied so far except by the tiny tracks of birds and squirrels. Snowflakes whirled down in gentle flurries, muting the light.

The two waited in silence for Zachary to arrive. When the knock finally came, they both turned toward the door.

“Please enter,” Laren said.

Zachary stepped into the solarium leaving his attendants outside. She watched him assess the two women standing before him and the barrenness of the room in one swift gaze and saw that he was curious and perhaps a trifle nervous.

They exchanged courtesies and Zachary said, glancing at the unlit hearth, “It is cold in here. I could have—”

“No, thank you,” Lady Estora said.

He looked from her to Laren, and back again. “Is the solarium not to your liking? I could have Cummings arrange for—”

Lady Estora raised her hand in a gesture that requested his silence. “We do not wish to discuss the solarium, my lord, but know it is a gift that is most welcome and appreciated.”

Zachary stroked his beard. “Then what do you wish to discuss?” He gave an uneasy half smile. “Singly you are each formidable women, but I must admit that facing both of you here together, you are more intimidating than an opposing army.”

Laren tried to reassure him with a smile of her own. “We are not opposing you. Do not worry on that count! But do keep it in mind for the future when you are married.” She meant it in jest, but if this meeting in fact went well, and the wedding proceeded as planned, she suspected he’d continue to find Lady Estora a formidable woman, one who would not bend to his every wish. One who would not break the moment difficulty struck. She would stand by his side even if Mornhavon the Black himself stood on the castle steps with all his hordes behind him. She was a gentlewoman, but one with much hidden strength. One who should not be underestimated.

“I shall keep it in mind,” he said with a nod of his head. “But please, what is this about? I am not sure I can take the suspense much longer.”

“It’s about a secret,” Laren replied. “A secret that my Riders and I have been honor-bound to keep for some years now.”

“What? Laren, you have never kept anything from me. At least so I supposed until now…”

She saw his hurt, and a touch of anger. “We’ve not been keeping it from just you, but from everyone.”

“They’ve done so to protect me,” Lady Estora said before he could interject.

“I don’t understand,” Zachary said. “What is this secret?”

“It begins with my arrival to court,” Lady Estora said. “Your father was still regnant, though near the end of his illness. I was here for his funeral and for your coronation.”

“I remember,” he said.

Lady Estora was plainly surprised. “You do?”

Again, the uneasy half smile. “Forgive me, my lady, but there were few young men who wouldn’t.”

She nodded slowly as if she’d heard such things often enough. “You must also guess I was terrified being at court for the first time. Timid, shy. I had never traveled far from home and my parents left me here with only my old nurse and cousin as guardians. My cousin’s job was to show me off as bait for a proper suitor.”

This last held an underlying tone of bitterness, but she only spoke truth.

Lady Estora glided over to the windows and gazed out to the garden beneath its blanket of snow. She spoke as if to herself. “I was lonely. More lonely than you can imagine. Here I was in a strange city, with customs that were, frankly, different from those at home. Many believed Coutre a backward province, and that I must be an ignorant bumpkin, hence unfashionable and uninteresting. Others, those among my rivals, were perhaps jealous of the attention I received from the suitors they desired for themselves. I was not accustomed to the games played in court, the machinations, the blades thrust into one’s back, and so I withdrew. Sought solace elsewhere, away from the social world of court. It all would have been intolerable if not for F’ryan Coblebay.”

“F’ryan Coblebay?” Zachary said in surprise. “Your Rider?” he asked Laren. “The one whom Karigan—”

“Yes, F’ryan Coblebay,” Laren replied. “
Your
Rider, and one of the best. And yes, Karigan completed his final mission. He died trying to bring you information about your brother’s intention to steal your throne.”

“Yes,” he said quietly, “I remember.”

“Do you remember
him?
” Lady Estora asked.

“I do,” Zachary replied, “though I did not know him well. It is impossible for me to know well all who serve me.”

Lady Estora left the windows to once more stand before him. She held her back straight and her gaze was unwavering. “Then I wish to tell you about F’ryan Coblebay.”

Zachary remained silent, but Laren could not discern whether he was confused, upset, or just being polite. In any case, Lady Estora began her story, of a chance meeting with F’ryan in the gardens, and how this first encounter led to other intentional meetings.

“F’ryan offered me friendship and companionship,” Lady Estora explained, “when I could find it nowhere else. He made me laugh, took me on rides into the country, and strolled with me in the gardens. Because of him, the Riders allowed me into their world. We played card games and sang songs in the common room of the old barracks.” She smiled faintly in memory. “My nurse was really quite ancient, so it was not difficult to steal away.”

Zachary did not comment or ask questions. He simply listened.

“F’ryan was a wonderful man,” Lady Estora continued. “Always he saw the good in people. He could be serious if the situation warranted, but he was much the jester as well. The stories he told made me blush! And they’d leave me in tears from laughter. He was reckless and daring, but also the first to nurse an ill barn kitten back to health.”

Laren found herself immersed in her own recollections of F’ryan. He’d been a damn fine Rider, dispatching messages in record time, charming the nobles, taking on some of the most difficult errands with seeming ease, and escaping one impossible situation after another without apparent effort. Tall, strong, and clever, and not to mention a swordmaster initiate, he seemed to defy the gods and death. Until the arrows.

Until the arrows…

She could not forget—would not forget—the sight of his arrow-pierced body in the back of an undertaker’s cart. Her Rider, the living, breathing man who beat her at Knights, who always had a cheerful word for her, who ardently loved his country and fellow Riders. He’d been so strong, so
alive.
How could he have become that body, that corpse of putrefying flesh lying in that dirty cart?
How?

And so she wondered about all the Riders who perished under her command. How could such life simply be snuffed out like a candle?

“Without your Rider, F’ryan Coblebay,” Lady Estora told Zachary, “I would not have survived my first months in court. As you may guess, as time went on, we fell in love.”

At first Zachary did not react, but then nodded slowly, as if it was what he expected all along. “I’m sorry I did not know him better. I can certainly understand how you came to love a…this Rider, and I am sorry for the grief you’ve suffered at his loss.”

“Yes,” Lady Estora murmured. “I grieve for him still. I knew his job as a king’s messenger was perilous, but I thought him…I thought him invulnerable. And yet, somewhere deep within, I must have known. I must have known that Westrion hovered not far from him.” She paused.

Laren waited. Zachary waited.

Lady Estora tilted her chin up and gazed steadily at Zachary. “I must have sensed death awaited him. Before his final errand, I gave all of myself to him, and more than once, and I do not regret it no matter what shame it may bring me.”

The three stood there, as silent and still as statues. The wind tossed eddies of snow against the windows. The cold of the room reached up through the floor, numbing Laren’s toes in her boots, and crept up her spine so that it ached.

The air was ripe with potential, but whether that potential held an outburst of anger or simple acceptance, she could not predict. For all that Laren knew Zachary well, matters of the heart were tricky and he rarely gave her insight into his own feelings on the subject. Only her powers of observation allowed her to recognize his feelings for Karigan. That was a topic for another meeting some other time, and she did not look forward to it.