She did not have to wait long to find out it was herself.

Fastion, whom she used to think of as “granite face,” stepped forward. “Sir Karigan, if you would accompany us please.” It was not so much a request as an order.

“Why—” she began, but they swiftly closed ranks around her, neatly edging out Yates. The next thing she knew they were striding away from the Rider wing, with her at the center of their formation and Fastion leading.

“Karigan?” Yates called out from somewhere behind.

“I’ll be fine,” she answered, though a little uncertainly.

She knew each of the Weapons around her, or she at least knew their names, but little more. It was not easy to get close to them, to penetrate their world, though Karigan had gotten closer than most. They considered her an honorary member of their order.

Among those who surrounded her was Brienne Quinn of the tombs. What was she doing above ground? Had she been transferred? No, she wore her fur-lined cloak that helped keep her warm in the subterranean world of the tombs, indicating she’d recently come above.

“Where are we going?” Karigan asked her. “What are we doing?”

“All will be revealed shortly,” Brienne replied.

Was that a fleeting smile from the Weapon? If so, Karigan was not terribly reassured.

It was hard to see around her wall of broad-shouldered escorts, but she sensed people scrambling out of the way as the formation swept through the corridors. She could well imagine herself doing the same if she were in their shoes.

Eventually they entered a large chamber and came to a halt. She’d been here before. The room was ornamented with statues of stern warriors carved from black onyx and somber black banners hanging on the walls. Tables were set in precise rows. The first time she’d been here she’d assumed it to be a meeting and dining hall of the Weapons, and seeing the place again did nothing to change her mind.

Maybe a dozen other Weapons awaited them there, and unnervingly they formed into one large circle around her.

“What—” she began.

Fastion gestured her to be silent, but in her mind she screamed in frustration, wanting to know what this was all about.

Yet another Weapon stepped between Fastion and Brienne to enter the circle. Karigan gasped in astonishment, for it was Colin Dovekey, who was not only one of the king’s primary advisors, but chief of the Weapons, having come to that position after serving as a Weapon since his youth.

“Greetings, sister-at-arms,” he said.

She’d been called such before by Fastion, Brienne, and some of the others, but it was somehow shocking to hear it from Colin.

“Your forthcoming journey is known to us all and we have decided we do not wish for you to enter that dark place without something of the Black Shields. Donal?”

The Weapon Donal stepped into the circle, halting beside Colin. In his hands he held a shaft of burnished black wood that looked like a country walking cane one would use for leisurely rambles along wooded paths and up scenic hills. She was surprised they would present her with so innocuous a gift, but perhaps they thought that without her horse she’d need the support of a walking cane to make it through the forest.

Colin must have perceived her underwhelmed impression for he said, “Do not be deceived by appearances.”

Suddenly Donal was in motion, the cane blurring through the air in patterns faster than her eyes could follow, the shaft of wood humming. All the other Weapons remained absolutely still, but when the cane inexplicably extended to twice its length without Donal pausing his dance, and the iron tip whistled within inches of her chin, over her head, and past her ear, she wanted to scream and run.

Then Donal stopped, became totally still, the tip of the cane-turned-staff a hairsbreadth before her nose. She went cross-eyed staring at it. She closed her mouth when she realized it was hanging open.

Donal withdrew the staff and held it horizontally before him so she might examine it. “See here,” he said. “It’s really a clever piece of work.” He touched an almost indiscernible protrusion just beneath the crook of the handle and jerked the staff. The shaft retracted to its original length. He pressed the protrusion again, thrust the cane outward, and the shaft extended into a staff once again.

“Motion, weights, and counterweights allow you to lengthen or retract it,” Donal explained. “The weights make it well balanced for fighting.”

He passed it to her. The wood was smooth and cool in her hands. Donal was right, it balanced well and felt strong and sturdy enough for a fight, but not too heavy to carry on a walking journey. The handle appeared to have a steel core wrapped in leather. This alone could prove a devastating weapon against an opponent. The only ornamentation was a shield carved into the shaft just below the handle, black against black, the symbol of the Weapons.

“With this staff,” Colin said, “you will represent us in the forest. Since our founding, we have fought against everything that is Blackveil Forest, yet none of us will be journeying into the heart of that ancient evil. Only through you, with this staff, may we remind those dark powers we’re still here and await the day of reckoning.”

Karigan’s mouth went dry. She was doing what? Representing who?

“Now give it a try, won’t you?”

“Uh ...”

“The trigger is here,” Donal said, “next to your thumb.”

She pressed it and felt something release.

“Now jerk it back,” Donal said.