The High King's Tomb
Page 39
“I’ll take first watch,” Fergal offered.
“You’re welcome to watch if you like,” Karigan said, “but unless it’s a dangerous situation, there’s really no need. Remember, when you’re finished with training, you’ll be on the road by yourself, and you won’t be able to watch all the time. You’ll need to sleep.”
“Oh.”
Karigan smiled to herself as she unrolled her bedding, thinking how nice it was to be on an ordinary message errand, without outlaws pursuing her or supernatural forces influencing her. There was always the chance of encountering a bandit or the stray groundmite, but this far from the border she wasn’t too worried.
“I just thought…” Fergal began.
“Yes?”
“Well, I just thought it would be more…more exciting than this.”
Karigan wondered what stories he had heard. “Be happy when it is this ordinary and peaceful. Running for your life is not fun.” She sat on her bedding and pulled off her boots.
“Is it true…?”
“Is what true?”
“All they say about you.”
“It depends. What are they saying?”
“About how you defeated that Eletian and how you pushed Mornhavon into the future.”
Karigan sighed. “I was involved in those things. Look, Fergal, as messengers, our main job is to deliver the king’s word, and that can be dangerous enough on its own. Messengers face blizzards and have accidents and encounter cutthroats. Some have their lives cut short by angry message recipients. Others have died in battle.” When Fergal appeared skeptical, she added, “Mara lost fingers when some cutthroats tried to rob her and Tegan nearly got caught in a deadly snowstorm. Just this summer, the ship Connly was sailing on went aground on a deserted island. Don’t wish anything extra to come down on you—an ordinary errand can be hazardous enough, and remember, we’ve only just begun this journey.”
Karigan drifted off to sleep that night not sure he was convinced. It was the difference, she reminded herself, between a seasoned Rider and a green Greenie.
Maybe it was a cold breeze seeping beneath Karigan’s blanket, or maybe it was a quiet whicker from Condor that warned her, but her hand went immediately to the hilt of her saber, which she always kept beside her when she slept. Her eyes fluttered open to a dazzling array of stars piercing the heavens above, the constellations framed by the spires of jagged spruce and pine.
All was still, their campfire burned down to dull, orange embers. Fergal was a dark lump of bundled blankets on the ground across the fire ring. The horses were peaceful enough, though Condor gazed at her with shining eyes.
What woke me up?
Carefully she raised herself to her knees, her blanket falling away from her shoulders. A shiver spasmed through her body. She looked around, searching the darkest shadows of night, her senses honed to a knife’s edge as she tried to discern what had awakened her.
Then a flicker of light among the trees on the far shore caught the edge of her vision. It was gone as quickly as it came. Had she really seen it? Then there was another shimmer, this time closer, and as quick as the blink of an eye.
It was much too late in the season for fireflies.
She waited, tense, forcing herself to breathe. It wasn’t the light that came upon her again, but voices in song, achingly beautiful voices singing in a language she did not understand, though enchanting enough that she could guess who sang it: Eletians. Eletians were passing through the woods.
She drew her saber.
Light—many lights—came to life among the trees, flaring between tree trunks across the cove from where Karigan and Fergal camped, glancing on the still surface of the lake. Dewdrops clinging to the tips of pine needles glistened. Figures, some on horseback, some afoot, shone in the silvery glow of moonstones, moonstones held like lanterns on the ends of poles and shrouded by colorful shades. Some Eletians held moonstones on their palms before them, like acolytes bearing candles down the aisle of a chapel of the moon.
The moonstone lights were reflected in the black surface of the lake like stars. Karigan, unable to move from her knees, watched in wonder, a supplicant before these godly beings.
The Eletians’ passage was silent but for their song. If they knew of Karigan’s presence, none changed course to approach her.
She thought their procession solemn, but discerned laughter amid their singing. Then, with a surge that went through her heart and nearly made her lose hold of her saber, she recognized her name in the song. As she listened more closely, she gleaned some understanding of the words, an understanding in her heart, though the language was foreign.
Galadheon, Galadheon, far from home,
Galadheon, Galadheon, we’ve roused you from your dreams,
What far lands shall you roam
Beneath the stars that gleam?
Galadheon, Galadheon, put down your sword,
Galadheon, Galadheon, you must sleep,
You must carry your king’s word,
What secrets do you keep?
Karigan drew her eyebrows together. The singing grew more distant and here and there lights extinguished.
Galadheon, Galadheon, save your sword,
For the storm shall come another day,
Now we must be on our way, Galadheon,
East we must go, a-journeying we roam
Put your head down to rest, Galadheon,
Put your head down to rest…
Karigan awoke with a start to the golden light of dawn breaking through the mist that had settled over the lake during the night. Eletians. She had dreamed of Eletians passing through the woods. No, it had not been a dream. Or maybe…? She was unsure. Until her eyes focused on the arrow protruding from her chest, an arrow with a white shaft and fletching. She screamed at the sight of crimson blooming across her chest.
“You’re welcome to watch if you like,” Karigan said, “but unless it’s a dangerous situation, there’s really no need. Remember, when you’re finished with training, you’ll be on the road by yourself, and you won’t be able to watch all the time. You’ll need to sleep.”
“Oh.”
Karigan smiled to herself as she unrolled her bedding, thinking how nice it was to be on an ordinary message errand, without outlaws pursuing her or supernatural forces influencing her. There was always the chance of encountering a bandit or the stray groundmite, but this far from the border she wasn’t too worried.
“I just thought…” Fergal began.
“Yes?”
“Well, I just thought it would be more…more exciting than this.”
Karigan wondered what stories he had heard. “Be happy when it is this ordinary and peaceful. Running for your life is not fun.” She sat on her bedding and pulled off her boots.
“Is it true…?”
“Is what true?”
“All they say about you.”
“It depends. What are they saying?”
“About how you defeated that Eletian and how you pushed Mornhavon into the future.”
Karigan sighed. “I was involved in those things. Look, Fergal, as messengers, our main job is to deliver the king’s word, and that can be dangerous enough on its own. Messengers face blizzards and have accidents and encounter cutthroats. Some have their lives cut short by angry message recipients. Others have died in battle.” When Fergal appeared skeptical, she added, “Mara lost fingers when some cutthroats tried to rob her and Tegan nearly got caught in a deadly snowstorm. Just this summer, the ship Connly was sailing on went aground on a deserted island. Don’t wish anything extra to come down on you—an ordinary errand can be hazardous enough, and remember, we’ve only just begun this journey.”
Karigan drifted off to sleep that night not sure he was convinced. It was the difference, she reminded herself, between a seasoned Rider and a green Greenie.
Maybe it was a cold breeze seeping beneath Karigan’s blanket, or maybe it was a quiet whicker from Condor that warned her, but her hand went immediately to the hilt of her saber, which she always kept beside her when she slept. Her eyes fluttered open to a dazzling array of stars piercing the heavens above, the constellations framed by the spires of jagged spruce and pine.
All was still, their campfire burned down to dull, orange embers. Fergal was a dark lump of bundled blankets on the ground across the fire ring. The horses were peaceful enough, though Condor gazed at her with shining eyes.
What woke me up?
Carefully she raised herself to her knees, her blanket falling away from her shoulders. A shiver spasmed through her body. She looked around, searching the darkest shadows of night, her senses honed to a knife’s edge as she tried to discern what had awakened her.
Then a flicker of light among the trees on the far shore caught the edge of her vision. It was gone as quickly as it came. Had she really seen it? Then there was another shimmer, this time closer, and as quick as the blink of an eye.
It was much too late in the season for fireflies.
She waited, tense, forcing herself to breathe. It wasn’t the light that came upon her again, but voices in song, achingly beautiful voices singing in a language she did not understand, though enchanting enough that she could guess who sang it: Eletians. Eletians were passing through the woods.
She drew her saber.
Light—many lights—came to life among the trees, flaring between tree trunks across the cove from where Karigan and Fergal camped, glancing on the still surface of the lake. Dewdrops clinging to the tips of pine needles glistened. Figures, some on horseback, some afoot, shone in the silvery glow of moonstones, moonstones held like lanterns on the ends of poles and shrouded by colorful shades. Some Eletians held moonstones on their palms before them, like acolytes bearing candles down the aisle of a chapel of the moon.
The moonstone lights were reflected in the black surface of the lake like stars. Karigan, unable to move from her knees, watched in wonder, a supplicant before these godly beings.
The Eletians’ passage was silent but for their song. If they knew of Karigan’s presence, none changed course to approach her.
She thought their procession solemn, but discerned laughter amid their singing. Then, with a surge that went through her heart and nearly made her lose hold of her saber, she recognized her name in the song. As she listened more closely, she gleaned some understanding of the words, an understanding in her heart, though the language was foreign.
Galadheon, Galadheon, far from home,
Galadheon, Galadheon, we’ve roused you from your dreams,
What far lands shall you roam
Beneath the stars that gleam?
Galadheon, Galadheon, put down your sword,
Galadheon, Galadheon, you must sleep,
You must carry your king’s word,
What secrets do you keep?
Karigan drew her eyebrows together. The singing grew more distant and here and there lights extinguished.
Galadheon, Galadheon, save your sword,
For the storm shall come another day,
Now we must be on our way, Galadheon,
East we must go, a-journeying we roam
Put your head down to rest, Galadheon,
Put your head down to rest…
Karigan awoke with a start to the golden light of dawn breaking through the mist that had settled over the lake during the night. Eletians. She had dreamed of Eletians passing through the woods. No, it had not been a dream. Or maybe…? She was unsure. Until her eyes focused on the arrow protruding from her chest, an arrow with a white shaft and fletching. She screamed at the sight of crimson blooming across her chest.
