The High King's Tomb
Page 148
“Aye,” one of them replied, and he urged his horse away from the others, heading for the crossroads.
The first speaker then turned in his saddle to address the others. “Jeremy, you’re with me. Whittle, you are to stay here with the lady.” He and the rider named Jeremy left Whittle and “the lady” behind, guiding their horses toward the crossroads but halting just at the edge of the road, remaining within the cover of the woods. They sat there, apparently waiting. Waiting for what?
Karigan wondered if “the lady” seated on the white horse might be Beryl. But she didn’t think Beryl would be riding sidesaddle. Perplexed, she whispered to Fergal, “I’m taking a closer look. You stay here.”
Before he could protest, she called upon her ability to fade and stepped out from behind their cluster of boulders. She crept toward Whittle and the lady as silently as possible. When she got near enough to identify features, she almost gasped aloud. She hastened back to Fergal and behind the boulders, dropping the fading.
“That’s Lady Estora on the white horse,” Karigan told him without preamble. “Her hands are bound—she’s a prisoner.”
Fergal’s mouth dropped open in surprise.
“We’ve got to act,” Karigan told him, “and we’ve got to act quickly. That’s our future queen being held captive, and we have no idea of what’s about to happen to her. I need your help, Fergal. Will you do exactly as I ask? I’m going to be asking a lot of you.”
There was a slight hesitation before Fergal nodded. “Aye. Anything. I’ll do anything you ask.”
Karigan smiled and placed her hand on his shoulder. “You wanted our errand to be more exciting, eh? Well I guess it is now. All right, here’s what we’re going to do. The darkness will be our friend…”
In the moonlight, Estora saw before her an intersection of roads with a signpost in its center. She could not, however, read the lettering for it was too dark and too distant. Sarge ordered her and Whittle to remain several yards under cover of the woods. He sent Clay off to do his usual scouting while Jeremy waited with him just off the road. Waiting. Waiting for what? Or for whom?
Falan shook her mane, the silver of her bridle jingling. She was as restless as Estora felt.
Thunk.
Both she and Whittle glanced into the woods at the unbidden noise.
“What was that?” Estora asked him.
He scratched his head. “Nothing, most like.”
Crack. The unmistakable snap of a branch.
“Animal, I reckon,” Whittle said. He gazed toward Sarge and Jeremy, but they had not moved, had not seemed to hear the noise.
They sat and waited for a while more, then, Thump! Crack!
“Damnation,” Whittle muttered. “Better make sure it’s not your hero. You will stay here, m’lady. Do not move a muscle. Understand? You know what Sarge will do.”
Estora nodded. She knew. But there was a fluttering in her stomach as Whittle reined his horse away. Could the noise belong to an animal, or her “hero,” whoever he was?
“Shhh.”
Estora sat straight in her saddle, looking desperately around but seeing nothing. “Who’s there?” she demanded.
“It’s me, Karigan,” a disembodied voice whispered.
Estora was so startled she could not speak. Karigan? Where? And what in the name of all the gods was she doing here? She sounded so close, but Estora could not see her. And it was her voice; of that she was certain.
“Karigan—” she whispered.
“Shhh. Don’t say anything, no matter what happens,” Karigan said in a low, urgent voice. “Don’t make a sound. I’m standing at your horse’s left shoulder, but I’m faded out. Using my special ability.”
Estora peered at the location but saw nothing, and she recalled the scene in the throne room of the castle two years past and the demonstration of Karigan’s ability. She had even made King Zachary vanish from sight.
“I’ve already made you and your horse fade out,” Karigan whispered. “I’m going to lead you away. All right? No one will see you, except me. Remember, make no sounds.”
Invisible hands took Falan’s reins and turned her about, leading her deeper into the woods. Estora did not feel invisible, and when she looked down at herself and Falan, she seemed as visible as she should in the dark of morning. She could only trust in Karigan.
Then it began to sink in. Karigan was helping her escape! She was so relieved, so overjoyed, that her tears almost washed away her self-imposed dams. The hero Sarge and his fellows had worried about was actually Karigan! How could she contain herself? But she must so no one would detect their departure.
She glanced over her shoulder. Sarge and Jeremy were lost to sight, but she could still discern Whittle, standing in his stirrups, straining to see into the dark in the opposite direction. A flash of silver arced toward him, and he slumped in the saddle and fell from his horse. He did not move. Estora put her hand to her mouth to forestall a gasp. She thought she observed someone move near Whittle’s body, but then the scene fell out of sight as Falan stepped into dense growth.
They came to a stream and here Karigan led Falan into it and downstream. “There’s enough flowing water,” she explained, “to fill in the hoof prints with silt.”
At one point they traveled beneath an opening in the canopy and moonlight showered down through it, glinting on the stream and revealing a ghostly figure leading Falan, one pale hand on the mare’s neck. Estora caught her breath, but in the next instant, as they passed from the moonlight, Karigan vanished from existence once more.
The first speaker then turned in his saddle to address the others. “Jeremy, you’re with me. Whittle, you are to stay here with the lady.” He and the rider named Jeremy left Whittle and “the lady” behind, guiding their horses toward the crossroads but halting just at the edge of the road, remaining within the cover of the woods. They sat there, apparently waiting. Waiting for what?
Karigan wondered if “the lady” seated on the white horse might be Beryl. But she didn’t think Beryl would be riding sidesaddle. Perplexed, she whispered to Fergal, “I’m taking a closer look. You stay here.”
Before he could protest, she called upon her ability to fade and stepped out from behind their cluster of boulders. She crept toward Whittle and the lady as silently as possible. When she got near enough to identify features, she almost gasped aloud. She hastened back to Fergal and behind the boulders, dropping the fading.
“That’s Lady Estora on the white horse,” Karigan told him without preamble. “Her hands are bound—she’s a prisoner.”
Fergal’s mouth dropped open in surprise.
“We’ve got to act,” Karigan told him, “and we’ve got to act quickly. That’s our future queen being held captive, and we have no idea of what’s about to happen to her. I need your help, Fergal. Will you do exactly as I ask? I’m going to be asking a lot of you.”
There was a slight hesitation before Fergal nodded. “Aye. Anything. I’ll do anything you ask.”
Karigan smiled and placed her hand on his shoulder. “You wanted our errand to be more exciting, eh? Well I guess it is now. All right, here’s what we’re going to do. The darkness will be our friend…”
In the moonlight, Estora saw before her an intersection of roads with a signpost in its center. She could not, however, read the lettering for it was too dark and too distant. Sarge ordered her and Whittle to remain several yards under cover of the woods. He sent Clay off to do his usual scouting while Jeremy waited with him just off the road. Waiting. Waiting for what? Or for whom?
Falan shook her mane, the silver of her bridle jingling. She was as restless as Estora felt.
Thunk.
Both she and Whittle glanced into the woods at the unbidden noise.
“What was that?” Estora asked him.
He scratched his head. “Nothing, most like.”
Crack. The unmistakable snap of a branch.
“Animal, I reckon,” Whittle said. He gazed toward Sarge and Jeremy, but they had not moved, had not seemed to hear the noise.
They sat and waited for a while more, then, Thump! Crack!
“Damnation,” Whittle muttered. “Better make sure it’s not your hero. You will stay here, m’lady. Do not move a muscle. Understand? You know what Sarge will do.”
Estora nodded. She knew. But there was a fluttering in her stomach as Whittle reined his horse away. Could the noise belong to an animal, or her “hero,” whoever he was?
“Shhh.”
Estora sat straight in her saddle, looking desperately around but seeing nothing. “Who’s there?” she demanded.
“It’s me, Karigan,” a disembodied voice whispered.
Estora was so startled she could not speak. Karigan? Where? And what in the name of all the gods was she doing here? She sounded so close, but Estora could not see her. And it was her voice; of that she was certain.
“Karigan—” she whispered.
“Shhh. Don’t say anything, no matter what happens,” Karigan said in a low, urgent voice. “Don’t make a sound. I’m standing at your horse’s left shoulder, but I’m faded out. Using my special ability.”
Estora peered at the location but saw nothing, and she recalled the scene in the throne room of the castle two years past and the demonstration of Karigan’s ability. She had even made King Zachary vanish from sight.
“I’ve already made you and your horse fade out,” Karigan whispered. “I’m going to lead you away. All right? No one will see you, except me. Remember, make no sounds.”
Invisible hands took Falan’s reins and turned her about, leading her deeper into the woods. Estora did not feel invisible, and when she looked down at herself and Falan, she seemed as visible as she should in the dark of morning. She could only trust in Karigan.
Then it began to sink in. Karigan was helping her escape! She was so relieved, so overjoyed, that her tears almost washed away her self-imposed dams. The hero Sarge and his fellows had worried about was actually Karigan! How could she contain herself? But she must so no one would detect their departure.
She glanced over her shoulder. Sarge and Jeremy were lost to sight, but she could still discern Whittle, standing in his stirrups, straining to see into the dark in the opposite direction. A flash of silver arced toward him, and he slumped in the saddle and fell from his horse. He did not move. Estora put her hand to her mouth to forestall a gasp. She thought she observed someone move near Whittle’s body, but then the scene fell out of sight as Falan stepped into dense growth.
They came to a stream and here Karigan led Falan into it and downstream. “There’s enough flowing water,” she explained, “to fill in the hoof prints with silt.”
At one point they traveled beneath an opening in the canopy and moonlight showered down through it, glinting on the stream and revealing a ghostly figure leading Falan, one pale hand on the mare’s neck. Estora caught her breath, but in the next instant, as they passed from the moonlight, Karigan vanished from existence once more.
