THE GIFT
Covered in blood and drying mud, Karigan stepped into the castle’s central corridor. Her ride to the city from the battlefield had gone without incident, just the uncomfortable sensation of Torq’s head in its burlap sack bumping against her leg with each of Condor’s strides.
She had enjoyed passing on the news of victory to the gate guards as she entered the city. It was a fine thing to make people happy. People in the castle, however, already seemed to know, most likely because of Connly’s connection with Trace, and good news would have traveled fast. It was a pleasure to see faces that had once been so drawn with worry for so long, now smiling and laughing.
She ran into Fergal just as she was about to turn down the Rider wing.
“You’re back!” he exclaimed. “But maybe a little worse for wear.”
“It’s been a long day,” she said.
“How are our Riders?”
“I actually don’t know, except Hoff created a very nice illusion at the end of the battle that stopped Second Empire from escaping.”
Fergal whooped. A few courtiers looked his way, but such was the mood of the day, they smiled at his high spirits.
“Would you mind putting my things in my room?” she asked him.
“Nope.”
She handed him her saddlebags and gear, and the burlap sack with its stain of blood.
“What’s this?” he asked, with a frown.
“A gift,” she replied.
“You shouldn’t have.”
She laughed and patted his shoulder. “Not to worry. It’s for the colonel when we get her back.”
He looked at her questioningly, but she offered no further explanation and hurried down the corridor in the direction of the throne room. Normally, if her business were less important, she would clean up before going in front of her queen, but the victory in battle was too momentous to waste time, and when messages were of such import, the condition of the messenger did not matter.
Like the other parts of the castle, the mood in the throne room was lighter, more relaxed. Courtiers had once more been permitted inside and the map table pushed to the side. People gazed sidelong at her as she strode down the length of the chamber to the throne. She assumed she was the first to arrive from the battlefield, and she couldn’t begin to guess how she looked.
Estora was not seated in her throne chair, but stood before the dais, conversing with some nobles and sipping wine. Karigan halted and waited for Estora to notice her.
“Karigan?” Estora asked.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she replied with a bow. “His Majesty asked me to bring word of our victory as an eyewitness.”
She described what she knew of the overall battle, and made sure to highlight Zachary’s prowess. She ended with: “General Birch of Second Empire is no more.”
There was clapping and cheering at that pronouncement. Afterward, Estora took her aside.
“I thank you, Karigan. You are certain Zachary is well?”
“When last I saw him, he was very well.”
“No signs of the spell Grandmother placed on him?”
“I saw nothing like that,” Karigan replied. “It may be that the spell went dormant with Grandmother’s death, or has since dissipated.”
“That is good to hear,” Estora replied with evident relief. “He was quite concerned he would inadvertently do harm.”
“You would have been proud to see him today.”
“As were you?”
Karigan studied Estora’s face for a moment, trying to discern if she sought some sign that Karigan was in an illicit relationship with Zachary.
“As were we all,” Karigan replied. “He led us well.”
Estora nodded. “And you gave him the miniatures?”
“Oh, yes. He was overcome, really, so very proud and happy to see images of his heirs. He was showing them off to his advisors.”
“I do hope he will come see them soon, for they are growing and changing fast. I am afraid they will not resemble their portraits much by the time he returns. In any case, I thank you again. Perhaps you will take tea with me tomorrow?”
“As you wish, my lady.”
“Good. Now, you must go look after yourself. You’ve a wound that needs tending, and you are undoubtedly exhausted and could use some rest.”
Karigan bowed. She was exhausted and, as she left the throne room, wondered if she could get away with a nice hot bath before visiting the menders.
Common sense had prevailed and she had gone to the mending wing first. Most of the menders were down by the battlefield by now and it was quiet. To Karigan’s dismay, Aisla had been the only one available to clean and stitch her arm wound.
“You are going to be one giant scar,” the mender had told her.
Karigan had not been amused then by the comment, and still was not. Now she headed for the Rider wing, her left arm bandaged and in a sling so it could rest, and with instructions to drink willowbark tea and keep an eye on the wound. If it showed signs of festering, she was to report back to the mending wing immediately. There’d been mud and fine gravel packed into the cut.
The Rider wing was quiet, too, the Riders most likely out on runs or down on the battlefield, which meant she could have the bathing room to herself, and Aisla said she could bathe so long as she kept her wound out of the water.
She entered her chamber with a sigh of relief. Fergal had left her gear at the foot of her bed, including the sack. She’d have to deal with it, but not until after she—
It moved.
The sack rustled and wobbled. She jumped back with a cry, then a furry gray tail flicked out of the sack’s opening.
“Ghost Kitty! No!”
She reached in and pulled him out by the scruff. He licked his chops. Repulsed, she dropped him out in the corridor, but he scampered back in before she could close the door, straight for the sack. She grabbed it and held it out of his reach.
“MEEEOOOWWW.”
“No.”
She needed to do something with the head sooner rather than later, and she wasn’t going to stow it in her wardrobe just to keep it safe from the cat. With a noise of irritation, she put off her bath and strode out into the corridor.
Karigan accessed the royal tombs from the commoner chapel. Brienne Quinn accompanied her, it seemed, more out of curiosity than Karigan’s need of an escort.
They entered the caretaker administrative area of the tombs and went straight to Agemon’s office. When they stepped inside, the chief caretaker stared at them.
“You do not have an appointment,” he told Karigan in a querulous voice.
“Nevertheless,” Karigan said, and she set the sack on his desk with a thump.
Agemon pushed his specs up on his nose. “What is this?”
“Sir Karigan requests a favor,” Brienne told him.
“A favor, hmmph. I’m the one who should be asking favors, yes, yes, for all this green has put me through.” He gave Karigan a myopic look. “Muddy green,” he amended. “She had better not be dripping mud in my tombs.”
Karigan pointed at the sack. “Take a look.”
When he hesitated, Brienne said, “Look, as Sir Karigan asks.”
He muttered to himself and reached into the sack and pulled the head out. He was not at all taken aback or repulsed by it. After all, he lived among the dead and it was his job to care for their remains. Karigan, on the other hand, did not care to look at it again, even though she was the one who had cut it off. Instead, she gazed directly at Agemon.
“Can you preserve it?” she asked.
“Yes, yes,” Agemon replied, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. “But who is this? A great hero of the recent battle?”
News of the victory had apparently already reached the tombs, too.
“A very evil man,” Brienne told him. “The leader of the Darrow Raiders.”
Agemon almost dropped the head. “What? You brought the remains of a villain into my tombs? My sacred tombs of royalty and heroes? You must remove it at once and dispose of it. I will not have it here.” He held it out to Karigan.
“I need it preserved,” Karigan told him. She explained Torq’s connection to Colonel Mapstone.
Agemon looked a little more interested and set the head down on top of the sack. “Yes, yes, we have a special place for the heroic colonel.”
She assumed he meant a funerary slab on Heroes Avenue for when the colonel passed away. She wondered if the colonel knew about it. She had a feeling she did not.
“Sir Karigan killed this monster,” Brienne said. “The colonel didn’t get a chance to do it herself, but seeing his remains might . . . help her.”
“The head would remain here only temporarily, until the colonel decides what to do with it,” Karigan added.
“But she is missing, is she not?” Agemon asked.
“There is a mission under way to rescue her.”
“Very well, very well. I will do this thing.” Agemon gazed at the head. “It looks like an animal has nibbled on the meat of the neck where it was cut.”
Karigan was not going to let Ghost Kitty sleep with her tonight. “Please be sure the lines of the tattoo remain well defined so there is no mistaking who he is.”
“This is not a problem,” Agemon said. “I will preserve the head, and I will preserve the tattoo. You will take the head away when the colonel returns.”
“Thank you,” Karigan replied, anxious for her bath. “We’ll get out of your way now.”
“Not so fast,” he snapped. “Since you are here, there is something I must show you.”
Karigan wondered what in the hells the caretaker would have to show her in the tombs.