“You have no idea,” she continued in a harsh tone, “what was sacrificed so I could return to bring back this one hope that might save our people.”

“Of—of course I do not wish this. Not upon my tombs or my people.” Agemon fiddled with his specs. “Not upon my king or country.”

“Good,” Brienne said. “I, for one, am relieved to hear it. Frankly, I was beginning to wonder.”

Karigan staggered back then, Brienne steadying her. She felt drained, addled, unsure of what had come over her. Both Brienne and Agemon looked at her like they’d seen one of the tombs’ corpses rise from the dead.

“Long day,” she murmured.

“Hmm,” Brienne said. “Well, I think this interview is over.”

Agemon stood and rounded his desk. He looked up at Karigan with a contrite expression. “It is my turn to apologize, yes, yes. I did not mean to disregard your sacrifices, and I assure you, we will seek the dragonfly device until we find it, wherever, and whatever, it may be.” Then he leaned toward her and whispered, “You speak with the voice of the Birdman, yes, yes. You are his, and you are welcome in the tombs.”

Karigan stepped back, disturbed. The god of death? What was he talking about? The next thing she knew, he was ushering them out of his office, and he slammed the door behind them.

Brienne’s expression was both inscrutable and annoyed as she stared back at the closed door, like she wanted to say something, but only training stayed her tongue. She turned and led Karigan back down the corridor with quick strides. When they emerged into the tombs, she carefully closed the secret door behind them.

Brienne gazed at her. “I do not know . . .”

“Know what?” Karigan asked.

“I do not know what happened back there.” Brienne peered at her as if to divine something about her that lay beneath the surface. Apparently not seeing what she sought, she said, “Whatever it was, you got Agemon to come to his senses.” She started walking again. Karigan hurried to catch up. “He is not a bad person, just very focused, short-sighted even, and often he forgets about the living. He takes a lot of patience to deal with.”

“I noticed,” Karigan said, keeping pace along the rows of sarcophagi.

“Yes, well, somehow I am the one who has been given the duty of liaising with him over the years. You did well, apologizing and bowing to him like you did. It disarmed him. And the rest?” Whatever else was on her mind, she did not speak it, but rapidly led Karigan out of the tombs and into the living world above.

By the time she reached the castle’s main hall and heard the bell for five hour, all Karigan knew was that she was sore from her session with Drent, and maybe a hot bath would not only soothe her muscles, but tease out the chill that had overcome her in the tombs.

AUREAS SLEE

The aureas slee drifted as an ice vapor upon the arctic winds as it had since it lost the battle among the humans. Slee nursed its wound, where the female had hacked its limb off. The limb would re-form just as winter’s snow replenished the great ice fields of the far north, but it was still grievous to be wounded, and even more so to suffer defeat.

Slee remembered, from long ago interactions with the humans, that they fought savagely to protect their own, especially in defense of their young. Slee should have been more subtle, but the compulsion, the calling for the attack, had been strong—a calling Slee resented, as it resented being ordered about by any mortal being.

Now that Slee had seen the irresistible prize that was the beautiful queen and her unborn children in the large dwelling of the humans, however, the desire to return was great. Yes, soon, soon, Slee would return to claim what was Slee’s, and to seek vengeance. This time there would be no defeat.

TRAINEES

When Karigan arrived at the field house the next morning to assist Arms Master Gresia with sword training, she’d been expecting the trainees to be a group of the newer Riders, not her captain, lieutenant, and chief.

“Well,” Captain Mapstone said, “isn’t this interesting.”

An understatement, Karigan thought.

“Are you here for remedial training, too?” Connly asked.

“She’s a swordmaster,” Mara said. “Drent beats up on her regularly.”

“I know. I was trying to make a joke.”

“Ah, very good,” Arms Master Gresia said, emerging into the weapons room. “Everyone choose a practice sword and let’s warm up. You, too, Sir Karigan.”

Karigan picked out a wooden sword and followed the others out into the main training room and started stretching. One thing was certain, if she kept working with Gresia in addition to her own training with Drent, she was bound to be in better condition than ever. She was still stiff from her first training as a swordmaster, but already, with the stretching, she was loosening up.

When it came to running and other exercises, the captain lagged, which was not surprising since her work required that she spend so much time sitting. She also had a few years on the rest of them. Gresia ran with her, not pushing her, but encouraging her, and allowing her to stop before everyone else.

They did some basic exercises with the swords, Karigan demonstrating as necessary while Gresia explained the finer points of various defenses and offenses. She soon realized she had also been requested to assist so they could pair up for bouts; otherwise, one of the three would have to spend time just watching, which was not efficient.

She was relieved to be paired up with Mara. The idea of trying to fight her captain was rather intimidating—not because the captain would best her, but because the captain was the captain. Inevitably, they’d end up switching partners and they’d have to face one another at some point, which she did not look forward to.