“Yup,” he said. “I recognize ye, but yer not looking too good.” Then he crinkled his nose. “Not smelling too good neither.”

He called up to his fellows in the tower above, who in turn called down to the guards on the other side of the gate. They opened the pedestrian door in the gate and ushered her through, locking the door behind her, keys chiming on a huge ring.

“Cold night,” the guard with the keys said. Then he snuffled. “You smell something rotten, Rider?”

Karigan shook her head and hurried over the drawbridge that crossed the moat. At one time, King Zachary had kept both gates open as a symbolic gesture to his people, but that had changed when the grounds were infiltrated by undead wraiths over the summer. She did not think a closed gate would have deterred them, but Colin Dovekey insisted at least the outer gate remain closed during the night as a precaution.

Guards challenged her several times as she made her way to the main castle entrance. When she reached it and was admitted into the castle, she stood some moments just inside, both relieved to have made it back so quickly, even if by unconventional means, and unsure of what to do next. Report to Captain Mapstone, she supposed. That meant venturing back out into the snow and cold and trudging to officers quarters.

She’d just rest a minute, she decided. She was weary and everything was a tad hazy. She slid into a nearby chair, oblivious to the guards grimacing and fanning their noses. One cracked the doors open to let in fresh air.

Feverish and chilled, shivering and sweating, Karigan dozed off where she sat.

When someone prodded her shoulder, she awoke in mid-snore, and an inrush of awareness—the foul odor, her sore head, lamplight glaring in her eyes—assailed her. Before her stood a Weapon. Or somewhat stood. He leaned on crutches.

“Rider?” he queried.

“Fastion?”

He inclined his head.

Then it all came back to her, the reason for her extraordinary journey; its urgency. And she’d been sleeping! “The tombs—” she began.

Fastion nodded down a corridor. “This way. There is no time to lose.”

Karigan stood, feeling like every bone ached. “You know?”

He gave her that stony look that once caused her to nickname him Granite Face. “Of course I do not know, but you arrived without a horse, or so the guards say, and without your saber. You are wearing a Weapon’s cloak, which is curious in itself. And where you are concerned one may expect trouble.” Fastion led the way down the corridor, swinging along rapidly and with ease on his crutches.

“You aren’t going to say anything about how I smell?” Karigan asked as she hurried to catch up.

Fastion merely spared her a look of disdain. When she asked him about the crutches, he said he’d acquired his wound during the ambush on Lady Estora.

“She’s fine,” Karigan said. “At least she was when I saw her in Mirwell.”

That brought Fastion to a halt and he squinted at her. Then he muttered something unintelligible and set off again.

He took her deep into the west wing to a chamber she had never seen before, a long room lined with black banners and black onyx statues of stern warriors. There were tables set in orderly rows and she took the place for the dining and meeting hall of the Weapons. Five awaited them as if anticipating their arrival. She recognized Brienne Quinn, though it had been a while since she had seen the tomb Weapon, but the others were unknown to her. They formed a half circle around her and Fastion.

“Rider G’ladheon has come to speak of the tombs,” Fastion said.

What? she thought. No “how are yous” or an offer of tea? She repressed a sigh and decided to get straight to the point and leave the Weapons to it so she could find her own bed and rest. It seemed a very good idea just then to let someone else shoulder the kingdom’s problems.

“The book the king has been seeking to fix the D’Yer Wall,” she said, “has been acquired by Second Empire. In order to read it, they must put the book in the light of the high king’s tomb. If they decipher the book, they may use the information to destroy the wall. They kidnapped Lady Estora to empty the tombs of its Weapons and make their task easier, and they may be here even now.”

She fully expected the Weapons to launch into action, but they stood as still as the statues lining the wall.

“Food and drink for Rider G’ladheon,” Fastion ordered and one Weapon peeled away. “And a uniform and sword.”

“One of mine should fit,” Brienne Quinn said.

“What?” Karigan asked, but her query went unheeded as servants were summoned.

“Lennir, see to the tombs,” Fastion said, and the third Weapon strode from the chamber.

Meanwhile, the fourth Weapon—she didn’t give her name—removed Karigan’s odorous cloak and started stripping off bandages to examine her wounds.

The fifth Weapon departed to seek out other available Weapons, but with the possibility of intruders on the grounds, few would be able to leave the king’s side. Soon servants arrived with cold sausage rolls, cheese, and tea.

“She’s feverish,” the Weapon tending her informed Fastion. “The head wound appears to be festering.”

He gazed at Karigan with some intensity, then told the Weapon, “Do the best you can with it. She can go to the mending wing later.”

After fresh dressings were wrapped around Karigan’s wounds, she said, “Don’t you want to hear about Lady Estora?”