...

Karigan drug her feet through the thick mud, vocally cursing her rotten luck. Of course it would be raining. Of course everybody would be inside their homes. Of course the gods would lead her to some godforsaken…somewhere.

She glanced back. Condor gazed at her miserably. Night Hawk blinked. And King Zachary still didn't move. She jerked her head around and trudged on, forcing down her rising panic. Don't think. Stay calm. Stay calm, Kari. Focus – focus!

She had come across a few houses earlier, but either there was no one home or they were ignoring her. Obviously they had no idea who was DYING on the BACK OF A HORSE.

"Calm!" she shouted, but her voice was swallowed up by a clap a thunder. She didn't think it was possible, but she swore the rain came down harder. A sob welled up in her chest, but she dashed that away too. No time to cry.

A tall building loomed up ahead, candles flickering in all of the windows. She charged forward. The building was fenced, with a healthy-looking stable to the side. An inn? Oh please, let it be an inn.

She led the horses into the yard and bolted up the rickety staircase. She threw her panic against the door, pounding and yelling at the top of her lungs. When it finally opened, she almost fell into the arms of the woman standing there. "Please," she begged, her voice torn. "Please, you have to help me. He's – dying. I don't know how much longer – "

The woman pulled her into the fragrant lobby. "Husband!" she called, barreling into a side room. Karigan's legs threatened to fail beneath her, but soon the woman reappeared, followed by a red-faced man and what could have only been his two red-faced sons. They hurried outside while Karigan was forced into a chair by the good matron.

"I get you hot cocoa," she said in a thickly accented voice. Hot cocoa? Karigan didn't want hot cocoa. As she stood, however, the round backside of the husband appeared in the door. He backed slowly into the room, holding the king's legs. His first son became visible, as well as a bloodstained Rider shirt, and finally the third, his thick arms wrapped around the king's torso. Karigan's legs finally did give out and she plopped back into her chair.

"Upstairs, upstairs," the woman commanded, thrusting a steaming mug into Karigan's shaking hands. "Big bedroom."

Clutching the cocoa, Karigan followed them as they crept carefully up the narrow staircase. Her view of the king was blocked, but she was very aware of the bloody raindrops that shed off of him onto the polished wooden floors. They shuffled down a hallway and squeezed into the 'big bedroom.' It wasn't much larger than her room had been in the barracks, but it was clean and neatly kept.

A stressed moment passed as the men considered the best way to place the king, then Karigan watched in agonized torment as they awkwardly laid him on his side, then rolled him onto his stomach.

The woman pushed her way into the cramped room and gasped. She raised a finger at one of the boys. "You, son, you go fetch midwife. Run fast."

He nodded curtly and slipped from the room.

"Can't do much about these knives," the husband spoke in a surprising tenor (and Sacoridian) voice. "But it's no good letting him get sick. Help me with these clothes, Trev."

They bent over the king and Karigan was bustled from the room. "I prepare bath for you, yes?"

"No – no, thank you, I'd rather wait here."

"No. You take bath." Karigan was shoved down the hallway. "Was to be husband's bath, but now yours."

Never before had Karigan bathed so quickly. Her skin was scrubbed in seconds, her hair took a little bit longer, but soon she was standing beside the tub, wrapped in a towel. To her chagrin, the woman had taken her clothes but seemed to have forgotten to give any sort of replacement.

She was contemplating the consequences of just going as she was when the woman returned. "I am Rena," she declared. "Here, nightgown. Was mine when I was young woman."

Karigan pulled it on carefully and her mouth twisted. By 'young woman' Rena must mean when she was ten. The lace hem barely reached past Karigan's knees and the top was a bit too tight for her preference, but who was she to complain? "Thank you," she said, and meant it.

Rena nodded, then reached out and stroked Karigan's cheek. "Will be all right."

Tears welled up in her eyes and she felt her lip tremble. Hastily, she jerked her head away from the woman's work-worn hand and mumbled, "Yes, of course."

Voices drifted up, accompanied by the opening and closing of the front door. Karigan hurried out into the hall, her appearance forgotten. A woman hidden beneath the folds of a traveling cloak rushed up the stairs, a bag slung over her shoulder. A midwife? How…uncomforting.

"Where is he? Which room – oh, hello, dear." She shook Karigan's hand briskly. "Don't look so distressed. I'll take care of him. Now, where is he?"

She was directed into the bedroom and she shut the door smartly behind her. Karigan, who had begun to follow her, frowned, her nose inches away from the wood.

"You drink now."

Karigan turned and accepted the new cup of cocoa with a weak smile. She began to pace. She paced until the cup was empty. She paced until her feet hurt. She paced until she wanted to hock the cup down the staircase. The cotton nightgown was horribly wrinkled by the wringing of her hands by the time the door opened.

The midwife smiled kindly at her.

"Is he – ?" Karigan began, barely allowing herself to hope.

"He is asleep."

"And will he – ?"

"That I cannot say. But go to him, let him feel you near. But do not wake him. Excuse me." She slipped past and treaded softly down the stairs.

Karigan took a steadying breath. Offering a silent prayer, she stepped into the room.

King Zachary lay on his stomach, his breathing shallow, ragged. She crept nearer. The blanket was tightly tucked around his legs, leaving his bare back exposed. There was no linen wrapped around the injuries and she could see the two knife wounds, neatly stitched, but still angry red. A third long gash glared at her, along the back of his head and over his spine. Not deep enough to be stitched, but still glistening with some sort of ointment. When had that happened?

She perched on the edge of the bed, as there was no other place to sit. He gave a soft moan, but didn't wake. Her eyes moved to a side table, where the knives rested. Blood still stained the blades and rage surged as memories rushed into her mind. Were Ty and Alton alive? Were any of the Riders alive, for that matter? Her hands clenched around her nightgown. And the Weapons? And…Fastion. That sob from before rose into her throat. Her hands began to shake as a tear rolled down her cheek.

Zachary suddenly jerked and cried out, gripping the bedding. She reached and took his hand in one of hers, and touched his face with the other. Hot. What nightmares must be tormenting him? Her fingers trailed away from his forehead and over his shoulder, across the smooth skin and muscles of his back. She traced down his spine, then paused at the knife wound. It blurred in her vision as the sob broke through her restraints. Bringing her legs up onto the bed, she curled around his hand, succumbing to her exhaustion and her pain.