Merdigen might shrug it off, but Alton thought anything with the power to upset the guardians more than ominous.
One by one other figures emerged from beneath the arch and joined them. They all looked at Alton who sat on the floor.
“So this is the Deyer,” said a fellow with pale, pale eyes, who could only be Itharos.
“Handsome,” said a lovely, ethereal beauty who floated more than walked. Cleodheris?
“Bit young for my taste,” said a short woman with elfin features. Definitely Boreemadhe.
Alton felt rather at a disadvantage sitting on the floor, and so stood with Dale helping him up, and greeted the tower guardians at eye level.
Another fellow emerged from the opposite arch and announced, “I’ve checked on your cat, Merdigen. He’s nervous, but fine.”
“Good, good,” Merdigen replied. “As soon as we assess the damage to the wall and the towers, we’ll see what we can fix with the help of the Deyer.”
At that point, Dale introduced the remaining tower guardians. Alton felt like he already knew them from all of her descriptions, though the giggling Mad Leaf and solemn Radiscar were new.
Dale peered upward. “It’s snowing,” she said.
Alton followed her gaze, and sure enough, flurries eddied through the hole above and drifted all the long way down into the chamber. Individual flakes alighted on Alton’s face and melted.
“I haven’t seen snow in about a thousand years,” Boreemadhe said, her expression one of awe.
Observing something as ordinary as snow impressing one who was herself a wonder made Alton grateful he had not been lost in the wall or obsession. Every moment of life mattered. Even the perfect snowflake that alighted on his palm and melted in seconds.
MENDING
Mara looked good, Karigan thought as she sipped her tea. The two Riders sat with Captain Mapstone in Mara’s chamber in the mending wing. Mara was out of bed and sitting in a chair where sunlight filtering through the frosty window fell brightly upon her white nightgown. In fact, she looked better than ever, the difference noticeable after Karigan’s time away.
Ben’s special mending ability had brought Mara through infection and illness, and reduced the scarring, though some vestige of the burn scars would always remain. Soon Mara would move into her room in the Rider wing, which she’d yet to see, and meet the new Riders who’d arrived since summer. She’d also resume her duties as Chief Rider.
Ben had helped Karigan heal, too. Mostly he used ordinary mending techniques and though she could not remember clearly, she thought he’d used his special ability to heal the festering scalp wound. She recalled lightness and coolness at his touch, a peaceful glow…Then again, it could have been a dream.
Now the stitches on her head and forearm were about ready to be removed. She was glad because the shorn bit of her head looked ghastly. She scowled at the memory of Lord Amberhill suggesting she’d want to wear a hat or hood. Unfortunately he’d been right.
She hardly recognized herself when she looked in a mirror these days, and it wasn’t just the Karigan on the outside who looked different. No, something had changed on the inside, too. It was hard to pinpoint what was different. Maybe she was finally growing up? She did feel older. She sighed. It was hard not to change a little after all she’d been through.
“That was some sigh,” Captain Mapstone said.
Karigan looked up, blinking in surprise. She’d forgotten where she was.
“And you were scowling,” Mara said.
“Did you hear anything we were saying?” the captain asked.
“I…” Karigan thought hard. “Garth. You’ve sent Garth on an errand.”
Captain Mapstone and Mara exchanged smiles. “Not just an errand,” the captain said, “but down to the wall to tell Alton the book has been found and that it’s being translated.”
How could Karigan miss mention of the wall? She resolved to pay attention to the present conversation and to stop dwelling on her own thoughts. “I take it Agemon is in charge of the translation?”
“Makes sense, as the book can’t be read anywhere but on the king’s tomb and Agemon will not permit outside scholars down below, especially after the mess you made.”
“The mess I made?” Karigan said.
“I heard something about you dressing up in garb belonging to, er, residents of the tombs,” the captain replied. “Agemon thought it very un-Weaponlike.”
Karigan had related her journey at length to the captain, except the part about Fergal jumping into the Grandgent—it did not seem appropriate to do so until he returned with Estora safe and sound. Apparently she had left out a few other details, as well. Mara stifled a snicker.
“In any case,” the captain said, “Agemon reportedly feels very put upon that he must oversee both the cleanup and the translation. He feels the cleanup is more important, but of course the king believes differently and has Brienne exerting pressure on him.”
Karigan did not envy Brienne the task, but she sensed the Weapon was well-accustomed to obtaining results from the recalcitrant caretaker.
“Agemon will be receiving new help,” the captain said. “None of the intruders of the tombs are permitted above ever again, so they’re being detained down below and interrogated by the Weapons, of course, especially about this Grandmother character. Some of the prisoners will be trained in the art of caretaking and absorbed into caretaker society. The others, the more dangerous ones, will probably be executed, but that is up to the king.”