The High King's Tomb
Page 85
“What’s with him?” Karigan asked.
Estral shrugged. “He’s a cat.”
Then Karigan heard something, a stealthy noise somewhere in the house. The creaking of floorboards, which now, to her sensitized ears, was excruciating in the silence.
“What is it?” Estral asked.
Her voice low, but just loud enough so her friend could hear, Karigan replied, “Someone’s in the house.”
They looked at one another, Estral’s expression stricken, the break-in at the archives and assault upon the dean fresh in their minds.
THE GOLDEN GUARDIAN
“It can’t be Biersly,” Estral whispered, “he’ll be gone for hours still.”
“Shhh…” Karigan strained to listen, the silence complete and ominous. Had she imagined it? Then there it was again, a creaking floorboard, a shuffling noise. She had come to Estral’s house unarmed, believing there was no need to bring her saber on a friendly visit. She gazed about the kitchen and spotted a poker next to the cook stove. She stood as quietly as she could and grasped it.
“What are—” Estral began, but Karigan gestured her to stay quiet.
She crept out of the kitchen, motioning for Estral to stay put. She attempted to move as noiselessly as possible. It was likely the intruder would head for the kitchen once he saw the lamplight. Biersly left a lamp burning in the entry hall, making it obvious the house was occupied, and if an occupied house was not enough to deter the intruder, then Karigan must assume he was willing to harm those within, especially if it was the same person who broke into the archives and injured Dean Crosley.
The hall outside the kitchen fell into shadow and Karigan paused several moments to allow her eyes to adjust. It would do no good to go blundering into the intruder because she was light blind. She tamed her breathing and she listened. A door moaned open deeper in the house.
She set off slowly, poker clenched in her hand, aware of Estral hovering in the kitchen door behind her. She wished she knew the layout of the house better to help compensate for the darkness. She moved at a turtle’s pace, navigating furnishings and straining to hear the movements of the intruder. She should have told Estral to leave by the back entrance and seek help, but she hadn’t thought of that in time. Maybe Estral would think to do so herself.
Karigan licked her lips and pressed on. When she reached the front entry hall, Biersly’s lamp twisted and flickered wildly. The front door had been left ajar and the cold wind curled in and around Karigan’s ankles. She shivered.
Thunk.
The noises were concentrated toward the far end of the house. Karigan crept on, step by step. In daylight this walk would have taken mere seconds. Now it felt like a hundred year journey. In the parlor she smacked her knee into a chair. She covered her mouth to stop a stream of curses and hopped madly on one foot. When the pain subsided, she limped on, her senses raw to telltale sounds and to furnishings that might impede her way.
She rounded a corner in a side hall and found lamplight emanating from a doorway. The glow of light dimmed and brightened as someone moved around it.
If Karigan remembered correctly, this was the library. It made sense. If the thief couldn’t find what he wanted at the archives, then perhaps he’d find what he was looking for in the Golden Guardian’s personal library. She eased her way to the door and peered in. At first the light was too much after her eyes had become accustomed to the dark, but soon she could make out the scene.
The Fiori library was full of deep mahogany hues and rich fabrics on upholstered furniture. It was not a large library, but was filled to capacity by leather-bound volumes and scrolls. A marble-framed fireplace gaped dark and dormant. In the center of the room was the library table where a figure in a gray cloak bent over an open book. Saddlebags were strewn on the floor at his feet. Timbre the cat sat in the center of the table looking down at the open book as if he could read it, then he glanced at her with his green, slitted eyes and thumped his tail on the table. The cloaked intruder stiffened.
Karigan adjusted her grip on the poker. “Put your hands out to your sides where I can see them and turn around slowly.”
An agonizing amount of time passed in which the intruder stood where he was, unmoving. She wondered if he was considering his options, thinking of plans of attack and escape.
“In the name of the king—” Karigan began.
Immediately his stance relaxed. He obeyed and put his hands out. Hands empty of weapons. He turned around. The hood of his cloak shadowed the upper portions of his face. His chin was unshaven and golden bristles glinted in the lamplight. He was about to speak when something behind her caught his attention.
Karigan whirled and raised her poker just in time to turn a swordblade cutting out of the dark. How stupid she’d been to assume there was only one intruder in the house. A quick exchange of blows ensued, the assailant’s blade sparking against the coarse iron of the poker. She could not see him, caught as she was between the light of the library and the dark of the house. The assailant was also dressed in black and was absorbed by the formless shadows beyond.
The poker proved a crude sword, awkward to handle, poorly balanced, and lacking a guard to protect her hand. Her assailant was an expert swordsman and she knew she was in trouble with her clumsy weapon.
Clang-clang-clang-cling-clang!
Her best defense was to move quickly, to leap out of the way, to—She collided into a small side table and it smashed beneath her. She found herself sprawled atop the broken wood with a swordtip pressed against her neck. Desperately she groped for the poker, but it had rolled out of reach.
Estral shrugged. “He’s a cat.”
Then Karigan heard something, a stealthy noise somewhere in the house. The creaking of floorboards, which now, to her sensitized ears, was excruciating in the silence.
“What is it?” Estral asked.
Her voice low, but just loud enough so her friend could hear, Karigan replied, “Someone’s in the house.”
They looked at one another, Estral’s expression stricken, the break-in at the archives and assault upon the dean fresh in their minds.
THE GOLDEN GUARDIAN
“It can’t be Biersly,” Estral whispered, “he’ll be gone for hours still.”
“Shhh…” Karigan strained to listen, the silence complete and ominous. Had she imagined it? Then there it was again, a creaking floorboard, a shuffling noise. She had come to Estral’s house unarmed, believing there was no need to bring her saber on a friendly visit. She gazed about the kitchen and spotted a poker next to the cook stove. She stood as quietly as she could and grasped it.
“What are—” Estral began, but Karigan gestured her to stay quiet.
She crept out of the kitchen, motioning for Estral to stay put. She attempted to move as noiselessly as possible. It was likely the intruder would head for the kitchen once he saw the lamplight. Biersly left a lamp burning in the entry hall, making it obvious the house was occupied, and if an occupied house was not enough to deter the intruder, then Karigan must assume he was willing to harm those within, especially if it was the same person who broke into the archives and injured Dean Crosley.
The hall outside the kitchen fell into shadow and Karigan paused several moments to allow her eyes to adjust. It would do no good to go blundering into the intruder because she was light blind. She tamed her breathing and she listened. A door moaned open deeper in the house.
She set off slowly, poker clenched in her hand, aware of Estral hovering in the kitchen door behind her. She wished she knew the layout of the house better to help compensate for the darkness. She moved at a turtle’s pace, navigating furnishings and straining to hear the movements of the intruder. She should have told Estral to leave by the back entrance and seek help, but she hadn’t thought of that in time. Maybe Estral would think to do so herself.
Karigan licked her lips and pressed on. When she reached the front entry hall, Biersly’s lamp twisted and flickered wildly. The front door had been left ajar and the cold wind curled in and around Karigan’s ankles. She shivered.
Thunk.
The noises were concentrated toward the far end of the house. Karigan crept on, step by step. In daylight this walk would have taken mere seconds. Now it felt like a hundred year journey. In the parlor she smacked her knee into a chair. She covered her mouth to stop a stream of curses and hopped madly on one foot. When the pain subsided, she limped on, her senses raw to telltale sounds and to furnishings that might impede her way.
She rounded a corner in a side hall and found lamplight emanating from a doorway. The glow of light dimmed and brightened as someone moved around it.
If Karigan remembered correctly, this was the library. It made sense. If the thief couldn’t find what he wanted at the archives, then perhaps he’d find what he was looking for in the Golden Guardian’s personal library. She eased her way to the door and peered in. At first the light was too much after her eyes had become accustomed to the dark, but soon she could make out the scene.
The Fiori library was full of deep mahogany hues and rich fabrics on upholstered furniture. It was not a large library, but was filled to capacity by leather-bound volumes and scrolls. A marble-framed fireplace gaped dark and dormant. In the center of the room was the library table where a figure in a gray cloak bent over an open book. Saddlebags were strewn on the floor at his feet. Timbre the cat sat in the center of the table looking down at the open book as if he could read it, then he glanced at her with his green, slitted eyes and thumped his tail on the table. The cloaked intruder stiffened.
Karigan adjusted her grip on the poker. “Put your hands out to your sides where I can see them and turn around slowly.”
An agonizing amount of time passed in which the intruder stood where he was, unmoving. She wondered if he was considering his options, thinking of plans of attack and escape.
“In the name of the king—” Karigan began.
Immediately his stance relaxed. He obeyed and put his hands out. Hands empty of weapons. He turned around. The hood of his cloak shadowed the upper portions of his face. His chin was unshaven and golden bristles glinted in the lamplight. He was about to speak when something behind her caught his attention.
Karigan whirled and raised her poker just in time to turn a swordblade cutting out of the dark. How stupid she’d been to assume there was only one intruder in the house. A quick exchange of blows ensued, the assailant’s blade sparking against the coarse iron of the poker. She could not see him, caught as she was between the light of the library and the dark of the house. The assailant was also dressed in black and was absorbed by the formless shadows beyond.
The poker proved a crude sword, awkward to handle, poorly balanced, and lacking a guard to protect her hand. Her assailant was an expert swordsman and she knew she was in trouble with her clumsy weapon.
Clang-clang-clang-cling-clang!
Her best defense was to move quickly, to leap out of the way, to—She collided into a small side table and it smashed beneath her. She found herself sprawled atop the broken wood with a swordtip pressed against her neck. Desperately she groped for the poker, but it had rolled out of reach.
