ADJUSTMENTS

Karigan concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and ignored the hundreds of sarcophagi and granite slabs encumbered with the dead that they passed. Loon might as well have been leading himself. He stuck right beside her, nostrils flaring. She wondered what he must think of it all, how he perceived the world of the tombs in that horsey noggin of his. Along the way, the horses did what horses were prone to naturally do, and out of the corner of her eye, she espied caretakers seeming to appear out of nowhere to clean up droppings. Agemon was visibly distraught, muttering to himself and tugging on his hair.

After some time passed, he apparently needed to vent at someone, and so he dropped back to talk to her. “I do not know what the king is thinking by allowing so many who are not permitted to enter the haven of the dead. And horses. Horses!”

“He is the king,” she said, “and much is going on in the world beyond the tombs.” She wished Brienne Quinn were here to provide a buffer. She seemed to have a talent and the patience required for managing the chief caretaker.

“And you,” he said. “You told us to look for a dragonfly device. We searched every corner of the tombs, our archives and storage and workshops for anything with a dragonfly on it, or that was in the shape of a dragonfly. Do you know how much time and effort this cost? Hmm? And then I get a note from the king: Agemon, Sir Karigan does not think it is a dragonfly, this thing, but a flying dragon.”

“I am sorry you had to go to so much trouble,” she replied, “but I gave you all I had to go on at the time.”

“Now we must tear apart this domain,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard her, “this sepulcher of serenity, the final resting place of the great and royal ones, to find this flying dragon device on a shield. Do you know how many there are? Hmm? Hmm?”

Karigan had no idea, of course, and then she recalled her vision of Beryl. “Look for one that is a device of not only a flying dragon, but one that breathes fire, too.”

“Yes, yes, breathes fire.” Agemon sounded anything but mollified.

Karigan hoped that that one detail of a fire-breathing dragon would help narrow the search somewhat. “Remember,” she told him, “it could nullify the effects of Mornhavon the Black’s great weapon and avert destruction and disaster.”

“What of the destruction of my tombs to find it, hmm?”

Having had his say, Agemon wandered off among the funerary slabs to straighten a shroud. Karigan sighed. Did he not understand that the tombs would likely also suffer if they were not able to overcome Mornhavon’s great weapon, whatever it was? She shook her head and focused on walking again. It was easier than riding, but she looked forward to getting off her feet. Trace continued to be sunk in her own thoughts, or perhaps she was conversing with Connly.

“Ah,” Harris said, “here we are.”

They arrived in a rotunda from which other corridors spoked, very like the chamber in which they had started, but much more ornate. Solemn statues of kings and queens watched them, and down the corridors lay the sarcophagi of the royal dead. Harris guided them to a set of doors that Karigan knew led to another chamber. It was a warming room for the Weapons and a transitional space between the outer world and the tombs, the receiving room for the newly dead who were to be interred either along Heroes Avenue or the sections reserved for royalty.

They entered through a pair of doors into the receiving room with its somber decor of heavy hangings, velvet and brass, and the blazing fireplace. Karigan finally felt like she could breathe easier, that she was no longer hemmed in by the dead. Even more so, when they were all inside and the doors to the tombs were closed. She was further pleased to find a pair of familiar faces there waiting for them—Weapons Brienne and Lennir.

“Welcome back, Sir Karigan, Rider Burns, and Weapon Travis,” Brienne said. “I am sorry I was not able to meet you myself down by the portal. I hope there were no issues?”

She meant Agemon and the passage of Trace and the horses.

Trace smiled. “Well, your chief caretaker didn’t make me stay for the rest of my life, though he clearly wasn’t happy.”

“To be honest,” Brienne said, “he is never truly happy unless there is someone of prominence to inter.” She paused before adding, “You may also be interested to hear the death surgeons are giving Weapon Erin their best care and are cautiously optimistic about her chances for full recovery, but this first night will be critical.”

Travis nodded, but gave no other indication that he cared beyond that. Karigan assumed he did, but all Weapons wore stony countenances.

“Shall we?” Brienne said.

There were two sets of doors that led out. One pair led to the castle’s royal chapel of the moon, and the other to the commoners’ chapel. Lennir opened the door to the commoners’ chapel. It was quite plain with a coffin rest that also served as an altar, and wooden benches for congregants to sit on. Two Riders awaited them there—Anna and Gil.

Happy greetings were exchanged among the Riders.

“I’ve missed you,” Anna told Karigan, a little shyly.

“And me, you,” Karigan replied. “I’ve heard very good things about how well you’ve been doing.”

Anna smiled and blushed. She and Gil took command of the horses, and after saying farewell to Harris and Gord, Karigan, Trace, and Travis followed Brienne and Lennir from the chapel. The queen awaited them in the throne room, Brienne said. It meant more walking, starting with a flight of stairs. Karigan glanced back at Anna, Gil, and the horses, and wondered how well the horses would manage the stairs.

The pain in her back was expanding. She was overdue for liniment and Bertine’s tea concoction, but it had to wait. She strode on doggedly, and it seemed to take forever to reach the throne room. Brienne, meanwhile, described the current situation with Second Empire as they walked.

“They have arrayed themselves in a siege pattern,” she told them. “They appear to be constructing siege engines, and in the meantime, they have made some feints to test our defenses and the strength of the city gates.”

“All of those soldiers against so few of us and civilians,” Trace murmured.

“The guard has been, at the queen’s behest, recruiting the able-bodied among the refugees to help in the city’s defense, whether that means training with the guard, making and repairing weapons, joining the fire brigade, or assisting the menders. Many have been eager to help.”

Well, that was something, Karigan thought, but would it be enough to hold off Second Empire until the king arrived?

Finally they reached the throne room. The walls fell away, and the chamber’s tall windows and the lofty ceiling gave it an airy feeling.

Estora stood within at a table with what appeared to be maps unrolled atop it, very much like Karigan had seen of Zachary at the encampment. She was dressed in a gown the cobalt of her clan. It was a stern color, but elegant on her. Her advisors surrounded her, including Castellan Javien and General Meadows of the guard. Mara was there, too, and her face lit up when she saw them.

Karigan and her companions bowed before Estora. Karigan grimaced at the sharp pull in her back.

“Welcome home, Riders, Weapon,” Estora said. “What news do you bring?”

When Trace and Travis appeared to wait for Karigan to respond, she cleared her throat. “Your Majesty, we bear messages for you and your advisors from the king.” She dug through her satchel and passed the messages to the appropriate recipients. Then she waited with the others as the messages were read. At one point, Estora raised her eyebrows and looked at Karigan in surprise before continuing on with her reading.

When Castellan Javien finished his message, he said, “It is clear the king did not know Second Empire was so close when he wrote this message.”

“No, sir,” Karigan said, “but we encountered Rider Newland on the road and he told us, and Rider Burns passed the news on.”

“Are you in communication with the king now?” Mara asked Trace.

“Yes, Lieutenant, and he has questions, but first he sends his heartfelt regards to the queen and, of course, greetings to everyone else. The army is now two days west of Oxbridge.”

There was some murmuring among the advisors, and then a conversation ensued between Zachary and Estora, relayed through Trace’s connection with Connly. Soon advisors at both ends interjected with opinions and questions. Someone thought to have a goblet of wine brought to Trace to moisten her throat, and a chair as her ability began to tire her. It was probably much the same for Connly on the other end. At length they needed to take a break. The ache of Karigan’s back was giving life to a stiff neck and pounding head, and she longed to lie down. Perhaps they wouldn’t notice if she stretched out in one of the alcoves beneath a window.

“Your Majesty,” Travis said.

“Yes, Travis?”

“Sir Karigan has recently reinjured her back. She needs to see a mender. Perhaps you would wish to excuse her?”

Karigan could have hugged him at that moment, and was grateful for the ability of Weapons to read the language of bodies.

“I did not know,” Estora said. “His Majesty requested that I ensure she visits the menders for examination, but I did not realize it was more urgent.”

“She strained her back when we confronted the Raiders,” Travis said.

“You encountered Raiders?”

He explained.

“Then she must go see the menders,” Estora said.

“I will ensure she reaches the mending wing.”

Karigan sighed. They knew her too well. She just wanted to go to her own chamber and collapse, maybe see the menders at some other time.

“One more thing before you go,” Estora said softly to Karigan. “I am made aware of your new station, my lady. Adjustments will have to be made.”

“Adjustments?”

“New quarters, for one,” Estora said. “We cannot have the high nobility of another nation living in common quarters.”

“Please, don’t move me,” Karigan said. “I like my quarters. I don’t want any fuss.”

“We shall discuss it later when you are feeling better. Now you must go to the menders. In the meantime, I am very pleased to have you back, Lady Winterlight.”

Those nearby who overheard looked her way in surprise. Karigan twisted the birch leaf ring around her finger, then hastily half-bowed and turned to leave.

When Mara started to join her, the queen said, “Lieutenant, I will need you here.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” To Karigan, Mara added, “I will check on you when I can, and maybe you can explain your new . . . station.”

Karigan gave her a brief nod before following Travis out of the throne room. That was not how she’d wanted her friend to hear about her Eletian status, but it was done, and there wasn’t anything more she could do about it at the moment.

When they reached the central castle corridor, she paused. It wasn’t as crowded as usual, but those who used it strode purposely on business of their own. She was sorely tempted to disobey orders and head to the Rider wing to her own chamber. She could cuddle with Ghost Kitty, and there was Condor to visit, too.

Travis placed his hand gently but firmly on her shoulder. “This way, Sir Karigan.” And he steered her in the direction of the mending wing. After a couple steps, she halted and planted her feet. Here was her opportunity, after all, to address the protection that the Weapons seemed to be offering Lady Winterlight.

“I’m going no farther until you explain why you are acting like my bodyguard,” she told Travis. “Did the king order you to? Trace was right—I can’t do my job with a bodyguard hanging around.”

He regarded her with classic Weaponish impassivity. “No, Sir Karigan, the king did not order me to be your bodyguard.”

“He didn’t?” she said in surprise.

“Aside from helping to ensure his messages reached the queen.”

She rubbed her knuckles into her aching back. She’d been so sure it had been Zachary being overprotective of her.

“Then why,” she asked, “have you been so particular to protect Lady Winter—ow!” Sharp pain jagged through her back. “Ow ow ow . . .”

“It is time we got you to the menders,” he told her. “Lean on me.”

She hated to admit she needed his help, but she took his arm. She was too immersed in pain to pursue her questioning of his motives, or to even think about it. Weapon mysteries would have to be solved at another time when it did not feel like her back was being torn apart.