The High King's Tomb
Page 114
“You’ve hardly touched your stew,” Lady said.
Her voice was quiet, but Damian nonetheless heard and turned his attention to his wife. “What is it, my lady?”
“Oh, Damian,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Sometimes you lack even the wits of your horses.” She reached over and patted Karigan’s hand. “I will give you a soothing tea and let you go to bed directly.” She turned back to her husband. “Honestly, you could have told me she’s hurt.”
“Hurt? Oh, the fall. Well, she didn’t complain…”
“Honestly.”
Before Karigan knew it, she was hustled off to a small guest chamber and settled into bed with a mattress stuffed with sweet grasses. Lady brought her tea, a compress for the bridge of her nose, and a hot water bottle for her neck.
“I’m not too bad,” Karigan said.
“Honestly. You Riders are as stubborn as my husband. A few falls from a horse and it knocks the sense right out of you. You drink that tea, young lady, then waste no time in trying to sleep.”
“Th–thank you.”
Lady left and Karigan sighed in contentment, the water bottle easing the ache in her neck. The tea was herbal and heartening, and had a soporific effect, for no sooner did she finish it and set the mug aside on a night table than she fell asleep, dreaming she stood alone in a vast, empty grassland. No great, dark horse surged across waves of rolling grasses, only the wind. She thought she could discern it speaking, but the words were unintelligible.
Then she discovered she was not alone after all. A man trudged toward her, his back humped with a pack and his long white beard swaying with the motion of his stride. He bore a long walking staff.
As he came closer, she recognized him.
“Merdigen?” she said. Why wasn’t he in his tower?
He paused and peered around as if he couldn’t see her at first, then he narrowed his eyes and gazed directly at her.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“It’s my dream,” she said. “There should be a horse.”
Merdigen huffed. “It’s always about horses with you Riders. Horses, horses, horses. You shouldn’t be here. Go away!” He trudged past her grumbling to himself. “This happens and I haven’t even crossed a bridge yet.”
Karigan watched him stride on till he disappeared into the horizon. When she turned around, she saw another figure watching her, a man standing off in the distance, the grasses undulating toward him in waves. Even this far away she discerned details. He was dressed in the ancient garb of the Green Riders, his brooch glowing golden in the sunshine, and his mail gleaming. He wore a sword and bow across his back, and a horn slung at his hip. His hair streamed away from his face in the wind.
From a world away, his voice came to her. He asked, Do you know what you are?
Karigan wanted to speak to him, to ask him what he meant, but he vanished, and the plains with him, leaving her dreams to drift into the realm of the vague and unmemorable.
DAMIAN’S HERD
The next morning Karigan awoke refreshed with no memory of her dreams but for a lingering sense of some question left unanswered. Since she couldn’t remember the question, it was going to stay unanswered. She shrugged it off, ready to begin the new day.
When she stepped out of bed and stretched, she was pleased to feel little achiness from her fall, even in her neck. Whatever herbs Lady brewed in her tea, they worked miracles. She discovered little bruising or swelling on her forehead as she gazed into the round mirror above her washstand. Maybe she hadn’t hit the eave as hard as she thought or maybe Lady’s tea possessed properties that went beyond simply alleviating pain. Maybe Lady herself possessed abilities in mending that went beyond the ordinary.
Cobwebs still clouded Karigan’s brain and she deemed it too early to speculate about Lady or her tea. She was just grateful to be spared the pain.
She washed and dressed, then went looking for people, but the house was quiet and empty. Across from her room was a large bedchamber that must belong to Lady and Damian. Down the short hall was a common living area with a fireplace. The furnishings were ingeniously made of stout branches and the cushions covered in soft hide. Deer antlers hung above the mantel. She had missed all this last night.
Adjoining the common room was the kitchen, where she found a note from Lady saying she should make herself at home and eat breakfast, then join them in the stable out back.
Karigan was tempted to skip breakfast and just go out, but her empty stomach made her think better of it. She found a kettle still warming over the banked coals in the large hearth and a jar of tea and a mug awaiting her on the table. She sniffed the crushed tea leaves, wondering if they held any special properties like last night’s brew, but though they smelled pungent and fresh, they seemed like an ordinary blend. Then she noticed the neatly written label: Breakfast Tea. She shrugged and spooned the tea leaves into her mug then poured hot water into it.
On the table was also a loaf of bread, crock of butter, and a second crock of blueberry preserves. If she looked further she would have found more, but she was embarrassed enough by having overslept that she made do with the tea and two helpings of bread slathered with butter and jam.
When she finished, she drew on her greatcoat and stepped outside. It was cold enough for her to see her breath on the air, and the weather dissipated any remnant cobwebs in her head. She strode off the front porch and rounded the house. What she had not been able to see in the dark the previous evening was a series of outbuildings and enclosures. Damian Frost’s place was a proper farm with gardens now dormant, chickens pecking the ground around their henhouse, a lean-to occupied by pigs, and a shed housing goats and a pair of cows. Beyond was a barn that Karigan assumed stabled the horses.
Her voice was quiet, but Damian nonetheless heard and turned his attention to his wife. “What is it, my lady?”
“Oh, Damian,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Sometimes you lack even the wits of your horses.” She reached over and patted Karigan’s hand. “I will give you a soothing tea and let you go to bed directly.” She turned back to her husband. “Honestly, you could have told me she’s hurt.”
“Hurt? Oh, the fall. Well, she didn’t complain…”
“Honestly.”
Before Karigan knew it, she was hustled off to a small guest chamber and settled into bed with a mattress stuffed with sweet grasses. Lady brought her tea, a compress for the bridge of her nose, and a hot water bottle for her neck.
“I’m not too bad,” Karigan said.
“Honestly. You Riders are as stubborn as my husband. A few falls from a horse and it knocks the sense right out of you. You drink that tea, young lady, then waste no time in trying to sleep.”
“Th–thank you.”
Lady left and Karigan sighed in contentment, the water bottle easing the ache in her neck. The tea was herbal and heartening, and had a soporific effect, for no sooner did she finish it and set the mug aside on a night table than she fell asleep, dreaming she stood alone in a vast, empty grassland. No great, dark horse surged across waves of rolling grasses, only the wind. She thought she could discern it speaking, but the words were unintelligible.
Then she discovered she was not alone after all. A man trudged toward her, his back humped with a pack and his long white beard swaying with the motion of his stride. He bore a long walking staff.
As he came closer, she recognized him.
“Merdigen?” she said. Why wasn’t he in his tower?
He paused and peered around as if he couldn’t see her at first, then he narrowed his eyes and gazed directly at her.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“It’s my dream,” she said. “There should be a horse.”
Merdigen huffed. “It’s always about horses with you Riders. Horses, horses, horses. You shouldn’t be here. Go away!” He trudged past her grumbling to himself. “This happens and I haven’t even crossed a bridge yet.”
Karigan watched him stride on till he disappeared into the horizon. When she turned around, she saw another figure watching her, a man standing off in the distance, the grasses undulating toward him in waves. Even this far away she discerned details. He was dressed in the ancient garb of the Green Riders, his brooch glowing golden in the sunshine, and his mail gleaming. He wore a sword and bow across his back, and a horn slung at his hip. His hair streamed away from his face in the wind.
From a world away, his voice came to her. He asked, Do you know what you are?
Karigan wanted to speak to him, to ask him what he meant, but he vanished, and the plains with him, leaving her dreams to drift into the realm of the vague and unmemorable.
DAMIAN’S HERD
The next morning Karigan awoke refreshed with no memory of her dreams but for a lingering sense of some question left unanswered. Since she couldn’t remember the question, it was going to stay unanswered. She shrugged it off, ready to begin the new day.
When she stepped out of bed and stretched, she was pleased to feel little achiness from her fall, even in her neck. Whatever herbs Lady brewed in her tea, they worked miracles. She discovered little bruising or swelling on her forehead as she gazed into the round mirror above her washstand. Maybe she hadn’t hit the eave as hard as she thought or maybe Lady’s tea possessed properties that went beyond simply alleviating pain. Maybe Lady herself possessed abilities in mending that went beyond the ordinary.
Cobwebs still clouded Karigan’s brain and she deemed it too early to speculate about Lady or her tea. She was just grateful to be spared the pain.
She washed and dressed, then went looking for people, but the house was quiet and empty. Across from her room was a large bedchamber that must belong to Lady and Damian. Down the short hall was a common living area with a fireplace. The furnishings were ingeniously made of stout branches and the cushions covered in soft hide. Deer antlers hung above the mantel. She had missed all this last night.
Adjoining the common room was the kitchen, where she found a note from Lady saying she should make herself at home and eat breakfast, then join them in the stable out back.
Karigan was tempted to skip breakfast and just go out, but her empty stomach made her think better of it. She found a kettle still warming over the banked coals in the large hearth and a jar of tea and a mug awaiting her on the table. She sniffed the crushed tea leaves, wondering if they held any special properties like last night’s brew, but though they smelled pungent and fresh, they seemed like an ordinary blend. Then she noticed the neatly written label: Breakfast Tea. She shrugged and spooned the tea leaves into her mug then poured hot water into it.
On the table was also a loaf of bread, crock of butter, and a second crock of blueberry preserves. If she looked further she would have found more, but she was embarrassed enough by having overslept that she made do with the tea and two helpings of bread slathered with butter and jam.
When she finished, she drew on her greatcoat and stepped outside. It was cold enough for her to see her breath on the air, and the weather dissipated any remnant cobwebs in her head. She strode off the front porch and rounded the house. What she had not been able to see in the dark the previous evening was a series of outbuildings and enclosures. Damian Frost’s place was a proper farm with gardens now dormant, chickens pecking the ground around their henhouse, a lean-to occupied by pigs, and a shed housing goats and a pair of cows. Beyond was a barn that Karigan assumed stabled the horses.
