Karigan’s head spun. The walls seemed to close in even tighter. Hoofbeats drummed in her ears. She wanted to run away, she—
“I will likely have need of my sword before the night is over,” the king was saying. He flexed his good arm. “I’m fortunate that groundmite broke my shield arm and not my sword arm.”
“I, uh . . .” Karigan said, suddenly wondering why he wanted his sword now. She lifted the baldric over her head and handed it to him.
“I shouldn’t think the First Rider would begrudge you borrowing one of her swords,” the king said.
Karigan took a sharp intake of breath. “I can’t!”
“Why not? She doesn’t need it and you do.”
“I—I . . .” She backed away until she bumped into another of the horrible slabs behind her. She jumped as if the corpse had pinched her.
“I don’t want you to go up above unarmed,” the king said. “Pick a sword.”
Karigan hooked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I—” But the king’s face was set. “Uh, all right,” she said.
She edged around the slab and gazed at the weapons. The great sword was almost taller than she. The First Rider must have been a tall and powerful woman. She reached for the saber.
The thrum of hoofbeats intensified as she did so, as if urging her to take it. The brooch sang in resonance as Karigan’s fingers closed around the hilt. The sword came off the wall easily and weighed well in her hand. The hoofbeats dissipated, and the vibrations of the brooch eased. She sighed in relief.
A bundle of gray-and-white robes, like a corpse springing to life, arose from behind one of the slabs and launched on her. They toppled to the hard granite floor and rolled. The creature tussled with her, grabbing for the sword. Karigan was so shocked she let it go. The mass of robes scurried away and huddled at the king’s feet, cradling the sword.
Rory and Brienne were there in moments, towering over the quivering heap.
“Are you all right?” the king asked Karigan. He stretched out a hand to help her rise to her feet.
The wind had been knocked out of her and her side ached, but she suffered mostly from shock. She nodded, looking curiously at the creature that had attacked her.
Brienne’s hands were on her hips and her expression was severe. “Agemon!” she said.
The ragged bundle quavered at her voice and she rolled her eyes in annoyance.
“Sheathe your sword,” she told Rory.
He obeyed without question.
She addressed the bundle again. “Agemon, do not hinder the king.”
The bundle shifted and whimpered.
“Nervous as a winter hare,” Rory commented.
“He is a caretaker,” Brienne said. “They are overwhelmed by the living.”
“Yes, yes,” the creature whined.
“Arise, Agemon,” the king said in a commanding voice.
The quivering mass stood up and turned into an old man with long gray hair and a curiously pale, unwrinkled face. His robes, though not old or worn, were of muted and dusty tones, like that of the linen-wrapped dead. He held the sword possessively to his chest, and adjusted a pair of specs on the tip of his nose.
“You need not fear us,” King Zachary said.
“Honored,” the man squeaked. “Honored to have you, great king, and your Black Shield. But these others. These blues, this green. These do not belong in the presence of the great ones. These colors do not belong unless they be heroes. Unless they are dead.”
“I tolerate their presence,” King Zachary said. “And among them are heroes worthy of traveling these avenues.”
“But they live,” the man said desperately. “They breathe. They contaminate the dead.”
Zachary placed his hand on the little man’s shoulder. “I’ve the right to bring them here. I’ve broken no taboo.”
“They must stay and be caretakers. They must never see the living sun again.”
“No,” Zachary said. “They come with me. They all protect me. They all protect the tombs.”
“As you say, my lord. As you say.” Agemon adjusted his specs again, his features full of despair. “But this one,” and he pointed at Karigan, “has touched the great Ambriodhe’s sword. She must stay.”
“No,” the king said. “You must give her the sword back, and she must leave with me. I promise the sword will be returned. I don’t think the First Rider will mind.”
“I don’t know, I don’t know.” Agemon shook his head his expression of despair deepening.
“Give it to her,” Brienne snapped.
Agemon jumped, then thrust the sword out to Karigan. Karigan took it and stepped back.
He gave her a wizened look, his eyes shifting from her head to her toes as if to deem whether or not she was worthy. “She is touched by the dead already, anyway. I guess I will not mind.”
His pronouncement was like a cold hand on the back of Karigan’s neck.
Agemon turned back to the king. “The Birdman will not be happy about this.”
“Westrion understands,” King Zachary said. He glanced at Brienne. “We haven’t the time to debate it.”
“Understood, my lord.” She took Agemon’s arm and pulled him aside. “Agemon, you must continue your duties. Do you understand?”
“Yes, yes.” He waved her off and started ambling down the corridor. “I polish the great Heath’s armor. Yes, yes. Heath the Ironhanded. I polish his armor.”