Mirror Sight (44 page)

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They did not slow down till they were far away from streetlamps and habitation. Karigan circled Raven around more than once to ensure they were not being followed. A couple of times, she could have sworn she heard something behind her, maybe a hoofbeat that was not Raven’s or the clacking of a rock, but even with her senses sharply attuned, she found no evidence of pursuit.

They proceeded more slowly now, the density of the dark and the fog challenging her night vision as they traveled the road that bypassed the Scangly Mounds. Eventually they would have to leave the road and rein in toward the base of the Old City’s mount, but she was unsure of the terrain, and it was difficult to reconcile the lines of a map with the actual landscape, especially submerged in a night fog. She paused Raven at a lightly trodden track that veered off the road to their right. She thought that this was the one that led to the Scangly Mounds. If this was the correct turning, she must travel farther along it. But how far? After they’d gone some distance, she halted Raven again and sat, indecisive. The summit of the mount she’d seen, ablaze with the lights of Silk’s excavation, had vanished from view due to tree growth and the shape of the mount itself. Not that she could make out even basic shapes; the wafting mist made everything indistinct. Though she stood still, the world streamed around her in vaporous currents.

Even had it been clear and sunny, she was not sure she’d be able to find the Heroes Portal. She had been there but once, led by a Weapon and the king, and it was well hidden. It was possible to pass very close by and never know it. She worried that her hesitation would make her late for whatever was supposed to transpire at midnight, but she worried more about becoming lost and not finding it at all.

Raven stamped and pranced, interrupting her thoughts. When she finally got him to settle, she realized they were no longer alone on the road.

Meow,
said Cloudy the cat. He sat with his tail wrapped around his feet right in front of them.

Karigan had never been so glad to see a cat.

R
aven lowered his head to snuffle Cloudy. A puff of air from his nostrils ruffled the cat’s whiskers. Cloudy tapped Raven’s nose. The stallion jerked his head up and snorted, leaving both horse and cat disgruntled.

“Right,” Karigan said. “Now that you’ve introduced yourselves, what’s next?”

Cloudy flicked his tail, rose, and strutted off with an air of righteous disdain for all horsekind. He veered off the road to their left and into some brush. Remembering the last time that she, accompanied by several Weapons, had needed to find a way into the tombs, they’d been led to a secret entrance by Ghost Kitty. Karigan reined Raven after Cloudy. It was utterly ridiculous to even consider following a cat, but what else was she supposed to do?

Maybe, she thought with some perversity, it wasn’t the gods who controlled the universe, but cats. Cats who toyed with humans as a puppeteer would a marionette. Ghost Kitty had always manipulated her into feeding him treats and giving him the greater part of her bed.

Raven plodded into the brush after Cloudy.

I am following a cat.
One part of Karigan wanted to laugh, and another part of her was resigned to the absurdity. Who was she to judge what was utterly ridiculous after all she’d seen and done and experienced?

Cloudy continued into a thatch of woods and thick undergrowth with his tail erect and crooked at the tip. Branches Karigan could not see almost knocked her off Raven’s back, so she dismounted. Cloudy hurried back and rubbed against her legs, then forged onward. She hoped he was not leading her to his favorite mouse hole. She tried to console herself with the fact that the night she and the Weapons had been so desperate to enter the tombs, Ghost Kitty led them true.

The woods only deepened the gloom, and Karigan tripped over rocks and depressions in the earth. Fortunately Cloudy’s light coloring made him visible. Occasionally, he paused with a glance back to see if she was still there. She pushed away wet tree limbs and pulled strands of spider webs off her face, wondering how far they had to go. And was this the easiest way for a horse and human to go, or just a path convenient for a cat? With Raven plowing through the woods, snapping branches as he plodded behind her, they certainly were not making a quiet approach. Anyone who might be waiting for her—friend or enemy—would hear her coming.

Karigan felt like she trudged after Cloudy forever. Would she be late? Would someone be there to meet them? She amused herself by imagining a whole glaring of cats awaiting her, led by one Supreme Cat. Such notions took the edge off her nerves. It was better than worrying about walking into a trap.

So immersed was she in her fancies of a feline greeting committee, that it took her several moments to realize the going was easier—less brush, fewer branches grabbing at her. Raven’s hooves clopped solidly on stone and the ground grew more even underfoot. Karigan’s hopes lifted—there had been the remnant of a granite-paved path leading to the Heroes Portal. If she were able to see the trees that towered overhead, would she find herself passing beneath a grove of hemlocks?

She strained her eyes looking for another sign of where she was and almost missed it. The obelisk had toppled over and broken in two at some point, and only a little of its pale stone shone in the dark. It appeared it was being claimed by the earth, swallowed by moss and leaves and pine needles. They were close now.

She picked up her pace behind Cloudy, her excitement rising, though she also tried to remain alert for trouble. Cloudy jumped up onto a rock and sat to groom himself. No, this was no simple rock. Karigan paused to glide her hand across it. This was a slab of granite shaped by the hands and tools of people. It was pocked by age and covered with forest debris and thick, sodden moss, but it had once been polished smooth. It was a coffin rest. That meant the portal was straight ahead. Not far.

Cloudy leaped down and led her on. After some time, Karigan felt, more than saw, the space closing in on them, that they were coming to a wall of rock. Sound changed as they neared, the thud of Raven’s hooves rebounding. The mineral scent of wet stone grew heavy in the air. Water trickled nearby from some height above to the forest floor. Cloudy stepped off the path and jumped onto a fallen log and sat, waiting expectantly. Karigan strained her eyes, peered into the dark, and yes, there was the tall, pale finger of stone, the second obelisk, that marked the entrance to the tombs.

Had she missed the appointed time? Would someone come out to see her, or would she have to knock on the portal? Not that anyone would hear her if she did. She thought she remembered how the door was opened that long ago night—there was a glyph of Westrion on its center. One only had to press it . . .

She took a step forward thinking to do just that. She did not feel like standing there forever in the dark, waiting for something to happen. She was about to take a second step when a low voice issued out of the dark: “Do not move.”

She froze, throttling down a scream at the sharp edge of steel suddenly touching her throat. She swallowed slowly, carefully. A trap after all! She had not even seen or heard anyone draw the sword, and now she dared not see who wielded it for fear he would cut her throat.

“Name yourself,” said a second male voice behind her.

Karigan had not been around guns very much, but she easily identified the particular
click
of the hammer being drawn back. She could feel the man boring his sight into her.

Beside her, Raven moved his head about, snuffling the scents of the two men. Were there more? He flattened his ears back and whinnied. She gripped the reins tightly.

“Your name,” the man with the gun demanded.

Karigan knew she could be giving away everything, but if these were in fact the people she was supposed to meet and not a pair of villains who’d drawn her here for nefarious purposes, withholding her real name could mean her death.

“I will not ask again,” the gunman said.

Karigan opened her mouth to answer, but Raven lunged, knocked the sword away from her throat, and lashed out with his rear hooves. Someone cursed. Karigan whirled, the bonewood extended to fighting length. She stood in a defensive posture, the entrance to the tombs somewhere behind her.

People moved about the woods farther down the trail. It sounded like a brawl had erupted, fists thudding on flesh, branches cracking, grunts of pain and muted shouts.
What in the hells?
Raven snorted beside her and dug at the ground.

Even as the fight continued, Karigan sensed someone angling toward her from the side. She turned to face him but saw little.

“Put the staff down. It is of no use against a gun.” When she paused, he added, “I will surely blow a hole through your head if you do not comply.”

She believed it. His voice was imbued with layers of threat. Slowly she laid the bonewood on the ground and raised her hands palms outward to show they were empty. Obviously he could see her better than she him.

“Now your name. Your name and that of your accomplice.”

Accomplice? “But—”

“Name.”

Karigan swallowed hard. Well, if she was going to give her name, she might as well do it right. “I am Rider Sir Karigan G’ladheon of His Majesty’s Messenger Service.” She’d have bowed, but she feared any sudden movement on her part would cause the man to pull the trigger.

He paused, most likely digesting her name and title. “Who did you bring with you? Name your accomplice.”

“I have no accomplice, unless you mean my horse.”

“You were followed,” he accused.

“I was? But I—”

“We’ve subdued him,” someone called out, this time a female voice.

The sound of the fight was replaced by that of several approaching footsteps.

“Light,” someone said.

Lanterns flared to life, and Karigan averted her face, shielding her eyes. After all that time in the dark it was like falling into the sun.

“Is it her?” someone asked.

“Hard to tell.”

Karigan blinked, willing her eyes to adjust.

“Watch the horse,” another said. “He kicked me.”

Karigan squinted at Raven who tensed up at her side again, then she turned her gaze on those who stood arrayed before her. The light was aimed into her face so it was not easy to see past the glare. She guessed there were a half a dozen of them, and they were dressed darkly, probably in black. The cut of their clothes—their
uniforms
—was very familiar. So was the way they held themselves: Weapons.

She wanted to cry out in joy at finding something so familiar in this unfamiliar world, but her reaction was tempered by wariness. Were these Weapons like those of her own time, or had they and their loyalties changed?

Raven bunched up beside her, preparing for another lunge. “No!” she cried, and grabbed the reins. He half-reared, but she coaxed him down.

“We do not attack Weapons,” she admonished him.

At this statement, the tension of all concerned diminished a notch. Raven nudged her, seeking reassurance. Absently she patted his neck.

“At least I presume you are Weapons,” she told them. “I received a message to be here at midnight.”

One of the black-clad warriors stepped forward, lowering the lantern so it would no longer glare in her eyes. Raven tensed again.

“Enough,” she told the horse.

The man halted before her. “I am called Joff. Yes, we are of the Order of the Black Shields. If you are not who you say you are, you will not leave this place.”

“Never to see the light of the living day again, eh?” she replied.

“It appears you know the law,” he murmured, bemused. “I would like to believe you are who you say, but we must make sure. Before we do that, will you identify this man who followed you?”

Two Weapons, not in the immediate group, shoved a figure forward, guns pointed at their captive.

“Cade?” Karigan said in astonishment. “What in five hells?”

He gazed in her direction, looking dazed. Blood trickled from a split lip. “Miss Goodgrave? Are—are you all right?”

“Apparently better than you.”

“They jumped me, otherwise I’d have had the upper hand.”

Joff gazed harshly at her. “Why does he call you by another name?”

“For my protection,” Karigan replied. “To keep me hidden from the empire.”

Joff nodded, accepting her explanation. “Who is this Cade to you?”

“He is Cade Harlowe, a student of archeology who studies under the man who shelters me.” She would tell no more until she was very sure of these Weapons. It was one thing to give herself away, but Cade and his connection to the opposition? Not yet.

“He will not be permitted to leave,” Joff said.

Then there was that, the law of the tombs. The Weapons had their own interests to protect. She would deal with Cade later. Now she had to know why she’d received a message written by her captain telling her to come to this place at the midnight hour.

“We need to have Chelsa come out now,” said the female Weapon. “Chelsa can tell us if this person is who she claims.”

“Agreed,” said Joff. “Dash?”

One of the Weapons strode past Karigan to the rock wall. With the light of the lanterns, she could make out the rocky overhang and the round, iron door embedded into the granite wall with its glyph of Westrion barely visible. It was as she remembered that night of Prince Amilton’s coup attempt, the door large enough to admit a coffin and pall bearers.

Dash pressed the glyph and pulled the door open a crack. It did not creak or groan, nor did it look difficult to move. Again, just as Karigan remembered. She noticed, as he spoke to someone beyond the door, that Dash wore a sword sheathed on one hip and a gun on the other. A quick glanced revealed that Joff and the others were likewise armed. Not all things had stayed the same.

Dash paused in his conversation and opened the door just wide enough to allow a small cloaked and hooded woman to slip out. Karigan could see nothing beyond the door before Dash securely closed it, but she remembered the long, rounded corridor with its smooth granite walls that led to the avenues of the dead.

The woman clutched what looked like a portfolio to her chest. She walked boldly up to Karigan. The light revealed a young face beneath the hood, younger than Karigan, but estimating the age of a caretaker was difficult for they lived out their lives underground, and their faces remained curiously pale and unlined. The light gray cloak the woman wore was as much a uniform marking her as a caretaker, as the black uniforms designated Weapons.

Cloudy pounced off his perch on the log to rub against the caretaker’s leg and purr loudly.

“Well, hello, Scruffy. Who have you brought us?”

Scruffy? Cloudy’s real name was
Scruffy?
It seemed so undignified.

“I am Chelsa,” the young woman said, “chief caretaker. Dash tells me you claim to be Rider Sir Karigan G’ladheon.”

“Yes,” Karigan said. “I am she.”

“I tend to believe it is true due to the circumstances. Who else would know the Heroes Portal? And Scruffy would not have brought the wrong person, but we must be sure.”

Chelsa untied the string that bound her portfolio and removed a piece of paper.