The High King's Tomb
Page 193
Others who were not stoneworkers also came forward to give their lives to stone, hungry stone, and all the while one man watched, leaning on a staff, his face impassive. He was encircled by a black wall of Weapons.
As if he could see Karigan, he turned to her and said, I am Theanduris Silverwood, and this is my book.
When others were brought forward who struggled, who refused the knife, the Weapons gutted them, making sure their bodies fell over granite blocks so the stone could drink their blood.
And on the visions went, showing the placement of the granite, masons at work, the song and rhythm unceasing…
When the vision faded, Karigan found herself holding onto the edge of Estora’s sarcophagus, the others looking equally stunned, including Agemon, who adjusted his specs. No one spoke. No doubt the visions gave the Weapons present something to think about.
Karigan took shaky steps to King Zachary’s sarcophagus and peered cautiously at the book. Glimmering golden lettering, like fire writing, filled the pages. When she lifted the book away from the sarcophagus, the lettering faded. Hastily she returned it, restoring the writing to its full brilliance. She tried to read it, but realized it was in Old Sacoridian and gave up.
Agemon, to her surprise, joined her and flipped through the pages, the golden lettering reflecting against his face. He turned to the first page and read, “I am Theanduris Silverwood and this is my book; my account of the end of the Long War and the building of the great wall.”
“You can read Old Sacoridian?” Karigan asked in surprise.
Agemon gave her a much offended look. “Yes, yes. Of course I can. One must know it down here.”
It made sense, Karigan thought, when the early tombs included script in the old tongue.
Agemon turned his attention back to the book and added, “And I know Rhovan, Kmaernian—”
“Kmaernian?”
“Just because a civilization is dead does not mean its language cannot live on. Yes, yes, the Kmaernians live on through their words. And of course I know Arcosian, as well.”
“Of…of course,” Karigan said, regarding the caretaker with newfound respect.
Just then Cera returned with a man in black robes, masked and hooded so only his eyes were visible.
“Who am I to tend?” he asked in a low, dark voice.
Karigan shuddered and wanted to hide behind Fastion, but before anyone could speak, Ghost Kitty reappeared, rubbing his cheek against the corner of King Zachary’s sarcophagus, then leaping up on the lid. Confronted suddenly with the marble terrier, he hissed and swatted at it, jumped down, and tore away through the gallery.
“Must have encountered the real thing up above,” Fastion mused.
Karigan took the diversion to look around at everyone—the Weapons, the forbidding death surgeon, the marble King Zachary, and Agemon, who continued to study the book.
“I’m going to bed,” she announced.
Her words were at first met with silence, then a babble broke out around her, but she just walked away, right past the Weapons and death surgeon, retracing her steps into the main chamber of the Hillanders with its heroic statue of King Smidhe, and kept going, dimly aware of others following her. She was done. It was time for others to take care of the rest.
Brienne caught up and strode next to her. “You really ought to allow the death surgeon to—”
“I’m not dead,” Karigan said.
Fastion crutched up beside her. “Not quite, anyway,” he said. “The death surgeons are also menders down here.”
“I’m going to bed.”
“Do you know the way?” he asked.
“No, I don’t,” Karigan replied.
Brienne chuckled. “Then we’d better show you.”
“Yes,” Karigan agreed.
The environs of the tombs became a blur to Karigan. She no longer cared that she was surrounded by corpses. A few times she thought longingly of Queen Lyra’s bed, for the walk back to the corridors of the living seemed so long to a body that had endured so much in so short a time. Fastion and Brienne distracted her with questions about Estora and her role in the noblewoman’s rescue and about her remarkable journey back to Sacor City. Karigan answered like a sleeper, did not even know if the words that tumbled from her mouth were coherent.
She never even noticed when they left the tombs and was hardly aware of others appearing on the periphery of her vision, barraging her with questions. Colin Dovekey was there, and so were Garth and Captain Mapstone.
“I’m going to bed,” she told them. She perceived Brienne and Fastion explaining things that required explaining, but they did not leave her side. If people wanted explanations, they had to keep up. Her chamber was going to be crowded if they all stuck with her.
Even the king, surrounded by more Weapons, appeared in the corridor. Karigan briefly paused, and bowed. “My pardon, Your Majesty, but I must continue on.”
“She’s going to bed,” someone said. Captain Mapstone?
This time Fastion left her side to explain. One did not expect a king to follow.
Ordinarily Karigan would have desired a chance to spend a few minutes with the king, to talk with him, but not tonight. Or was it already morning?
When they reached the Rider wing, tears of exhaustion and relief ran down her face. She perceived curious Riders peering at her from behind cracked doors.
When she reached her own chamber, she pushed the door open, and disregarding the clumps of white cat fur on her blanket, she dropped into bed.
As if he could see Karigan, he turned to her and said, I am Theanduris Silverwood, and this is my book.
When others were brought forward who struggled, who refused the knife, the Weapons gutted them, making sure their bodies fell over granite blocks so the stone could drink their blood.
And on the visions went, showing the placement of the granite, masons at work, the song and rhythm unceasing…
When the vision faded, Karigan found herself holding onto the edge of Estora’s sarcophagus, the others looking equally stunned, including Agemon, who adjusted his specs. No one spoke. No doubt the visions gave the Weapons present something to think about.
Karigan took shaky steps to King Zachary’s sarcophagus and peered cautiously at the book. Glimmering golden lettering, like fire writing, filled the pages. When she lifted the book away from the sarcophagus, the lettering faded. Hastily she returned it, restoring the writing to its full brilliance. She tried to read it, but realized it was in Old Sacoridian and gave up.
Agemon, to her surprise, joined her and flipped through the pages, the golden lettering reflecting against his face. He turned to the first page and read, “I am Theanduris Silverwood and this is my book; my account of the end of the Long War and the building of the great wall.”
“You can read Old Sacoridian?” Karigan asked in surprise.
Agemon gave her a much offended look. “Yes, yes. Of course I can. One must know it down here.”
It made sense, Karigan thought, when the early tombs included script in the old tongue.
Agemon turned his attention back to the book and added, “And I know Rhovan, Kmaernian—”
“Kmaernian?”
“Just because a civilization is dead does not mean its language cannot live on. Yes, yes, the Kmaernians live on through their words. And of course I know Arcosian, as well.”
“Of…of course,” Karigan said, regarding the caretaker with newfound respect.
Just then Cera returned with a man in black robes, masked and hooded so only his eyes were visible.
“Who am I to tend?” he asked in a low, dark voice.
Karigan shuddered and wanted to hide behind Fastion, but before anyone could speak, Ghost Kitty reappeared, rubbing his cheek against the corner of King Zachary’s sarcophagus, then leaping up on the lid. Confronted suddenly with the marble terrier, he hissed and swatted at it, jumped down, and tore away through the gallery.
“Must have encountered the real thing up above,” Fastion mused.
Karigan took the diversion to look around at everyone—the Weapons, the forbidding death surgeon, the marble King Zachary, and Agemon, who continued to study the book.
“I’m going to bed,” she announced.
Her words were at first met with silence, then a babble broke out around her, but she just walked away, right past the Weapons and death surgeon, retracing her steps into the main chamber of the Hillanders with its heroic statue of King Smidhe, and kept going, dimly aware of others following her. She was done. It was time for others to take care of the rest.
Brienne caught up and strode next to her. “You really ought to allow the death surgeon to—”
“I’m not dead,” Karigan said.
Fastion crutched up beside her. “Not quite, anyway,” he said. “The death surgeons are also menders down here.”
“I’m going to bed.”
“Do you know the way?” he asked.
“No, I don’t,” Karigan replied.
Brienne chuckled. “Then we’d better show you.”
“Yes,” Karigan agreed.
The environs of the tombs became a blur to Karigan. She no longer cared that she was surrounded by corpses. A few times she thought longingly of Queen Lyra’s bed, for the walk back to the corridors of the living seemed so long to a body that had endured so much in so short a time. Fastion and Brienne distracted her with questions about Estora and her role in the noblewoman’s rescue and about her remarkable journey back to Sacor City. Karigan answered like a sleeper, did not even know if the words that tumbled from her mouth were coherent.
She never even noticed when they left the tombs and was hardly aware of others appearing on the periphery of her vision, barraging her with questions. Colin Dovekey was there, and so were Garth and Captain Mapstone.
“I’m going to bed,” she told them. She perceived Brienne and Fastion explaining things that required explaining, but they did not leave her side. If people wanted explanations, they had to keep up. Her chamber was going to be crowded if they all stuck with her.
Even the king, surrounded by more Weapons, appeared in the corridor. Karigan briefly paused, and bowed. “My pardon, Your Majesty, but I must continue on.”
“She’s going to bed,” someone said. Captain Mapstone?
This time Fastion left her side to explain. One did not expect a king to follow.
Ordinarily Karigan would have desired a chance to spend a few minutes with the king, to talk with him, but not tonight. Or was it already morning?
When they reached the Rider wing, tears of exhaustion and relief ran down her face. She perceived curious Riders peering at her from behind cracked doors.
When she reached her own chamber, she pushed the door open, and disregarding the clumps of white cat fur on her blanket, she dropped into bed.
