Revised 5/8/11
...
Mara pulled the blanket up around Connly's neck, smiling fondly at him. Despite the bruises and cuts littering his skin, he slept peacefully. "He'll recover," Master Destarion said as he wiped his hands. "He just needs time."
Mara raised pleased eyes to the mender's face, but his expression hung wearily. Feeling a pang, she rested a hand on his shoulder. "You should rest."
"No, no. There's too much to do." He stepped into the hallway and Mara followed, dodging the masses that shuffled and complained their way around the Wing. Once the terror had ceased, the shock of the night eventually faded away over the course of a few hours and every injured occupant of the castle descended en masse upon the Mending Wing, bearing one grievance or another. Once the rooms filled past occupancy, servants and nobles alike were shipped up to the guest quarters where Ben currently busied himself.
"My presence has been requested in the throne room," Destarion said, peeking into rooms as he passed. "But I don't think I'll be able to leave." He looked back at Mara. "I know you're no Green Foot runner, but could you perhaps toddle on over and let them know?"
She smiled and said, "Of course," and slipped gratefully out of the Wing.
Her smile faded as she made her way through the castle. Shadows clumped darker than she remembered. Most furniture had been righted by dedicated servants, but shattered pieces piled up occasionally in corners and along the walls. Despair dusted the surfaces and dirtied the faces of those she passed, and Mara couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for King Zachary. He survived the night only to be faced with a new battle today.
The throne room doors stood wide open and the Weapons were conspicuous by their absence. Mara stepped cautiously inside and her jaw dropped. It seemed every Black Shield in the castle stood on the dais: one mass of black and metal. Were there really that many? The occasional aristocrat added splashes of color and representatives from the other military factions stood in groups. Mara made her way toward Captain Mapstone, who paced near Colin Dovekey and Castellan Sperren. In the center of the dais, on the throne sat—no one. Mara's step faltered. The throne was empty.
Captain Mapstone looked up and offered Mara a grim smile. "Welcome to hell, Rider," she murmured.
"Where is King Zachary?"
Laren gave a small snort and an agitated wave of her hand brought Mara's eyes to the two Riders conversing softly with Sperren. Yates met her gaze and smiled half-heartedly. Ty detached himself from the conversation.
"How are things in the Mending Wing?" he inquired politely. Despite his swollen cheek and split lip, he still managed to maintain an otherwise immaculate appearance.
"Chaotic," Mara responded. She glanced at the vacant throne, and ultimately the Black Shields standing around it. "Where is the king?"
Ty exchanged a look with the captain. "We're…not sure."
"Not sure?"
"Karigan, Alton, and I helped him escape the city. Karigan and he seem to have—disappeared."
Mara let out a low whistle. "Oh." She looked up as Alton approached from the opposite side of the throne room. The guards hadn't treated him well, that much was obvious, and whatever knowledge he carried pulled heavily on his shoulders.
"What news, Alton?" Captain Mapstone asked. "Please let it be good."
Alton yanked a hand through his messy hair. "No word from the king or Karigan. The Weapons are organizing search parties." He sighed. "The Coutres are furious. Fortunately, however, the Weapons didn't go after Lady Estora. In fact, she apparently slept through the whole thing." He smiled wryly.
"How nice for her," Yates said, coming up behind Mara.
"Lord-Governor Mirwell is also furious. He did wake up but wasn't allowed out of his room. He suffered a slight – err – injury when he back-talked a Weapon."
"How nice for him," Yates repeated with a grin.
A slight commotion from the throne room doors and Tegan came striding into the chamber, dirty from recent travel, pushing hair from her face. "Captain," she said, clicking her heels together.
"A message, Tegan?"
She shook her head. "Nothing." Her decorum faltered as she glanced about the throne room. "People from the city are gathering at the gates, though. It's like a mob. They're furious. I could barely push through them." Her eyes fell on the Weapons and shock rippled across her features. "What's going on?"
"We'll explain later." Mapstone gestured in a distracted fashion. "Anything else, Alton?"
"Lord-Governor Penburn has cooked up a story." Alton glanced across the throne room. "Hopefully it will last until we figure out what is going on. He kept it as close to the truth as possible. Hendry said that an attempt had been made on the king's life and the soldiers had been searching the city for the assassin. He apologized for any untoward treatment, but it was a desperate state of affairs. The king would not be available due to this unforeseen situation, but at last report, he was perfectly healthy."
Mara bit at her lip. Not a complete lie, but still unsettling. She shifted her gaze. "What about the Weapons?"
The captain sighed. "They're set on finding the king. They're very close-mouthed about everything, however. Colin hasn't offered anything useful, of course." She threw her hand out. "And where is Destarion? I sent for him hours ago."
Mara started. "Oh! Right. He sent me to tell you he was too busy to come." She shrugged sheepishly. "There are too many patients."
"Of course there are." She gave a huff. "And he's probably working Ben to his death." She looked at Mara sidelong. "Since you're already running errands, could you go make sure my Rider is still breathing?"
Mara chuckled. "Yes. I'll go find him." She parted with the other Riders and made the journey to the lavish guest quarters. The extra space eased the crowds and she wasn't jostled as she moved through the carpeted halls. After a few inquiries, she discovered Ben bent over an elderly aristocrat whose face shifted between anger and irritation. Upon seeing Mara, Ben quickly quit the room and found shelter in the shadow of a large, potted plant.
"The man wasn't even touched during the night," he confided, peeking around the fronds. "This morning he tripped while trying to get out of bed and bruised his hip." Ben gave a quick roll of his eyes. "He calls for me every five minutes. I can't get anything done."
"Captain wants me to make sure you're not working too hard." Mara grinned at him. "Should I report that you've been turned into a slave?"
"If the king's law can get me to my other patients, please, report as much as you like." He reached up and prodded the lurid bruises around his neck gingerly. He met Mara's concerned eyes and gave her a light smile. "In all seriousness, though, I'm fine. However, if you would to help…." He moved to a table littered with medical bits and pieces, and handed her a small bottle and a roll of cloth. "Weapon Fastion is in that room there. He's actually been in there for more than an hour." To Mara's raised eyebrow, he defended, "He almost killed me. I figured he could wait. Oh, and make sure he drinks this."
Mara accepted the mug, gave Ben a grin, and knocked softly at Fastion's door before stepping inside. Like the entire wing, the bedchamber was sumptuously decorated. A massive four-poster bed stood on a raised floor in the center of the room, upon which Fastion sat, head bowed. He wore his black uniform pants, but a long white shirt—much too large for him—hung widely around his neck and drooped off his broad shoulders. Heavy shadows bagged the gaze he raised as she approached. She fancied she saw a glimmer of interest spark in his otherwise vacant eyes.
Mara raised the jar and wrappings. "I'm here to take care of your burns," she said by way of explanation, settling beside him. "Drink this, and I'll need you to roll up your sleeve."
With a soft sigh, he instead pulled his arm out of his shirt and pushed the fabric up around his neck, holding out his injury to her. Her face flaming, Mara tore her eyes away from his muscled torso, passed him the drink, and scooped out some cream. "They used this on me," she said, taking his arm in her free hand. "It'll hurt when I'm putting it on, but afterward it will feel better, I promise." His only response was to take a swig of the medicine. Mara smeared the salve over the burns in silence.
"You've left your mark on me," he finally spoke. Mara swung up her head to stare at him.
"Excuse me?"
He nodded at the burns and she looked down. Indeed, two handprints, one with missing fingers, had been blazed into his flesh. She grimaced. "I'm so sorry."
"Don't be. You saved Ben's life."
His voice grated over the words and she glanced up to surprise a miserable look in his eyes. His eyes…she had seen him only ever in uniform and all of his features seemed dark, but now, with the white shirt around his neck, she saw that they were actually a light gray—like steel, ringed with the same black that ornamented his blade.
"Don't blame yourself," she said, resuming her work on his arm, but he tore it out of her grasp and stood, his free hand a white fist at his side.
"How weak we all were," he snarled, his magnificent eyes flashing with fury. "So easily manipulated – so simple to control!" He slammed a fist into a bedpost, then fell against it. The drink fell from his hand and slopped over the carpet. Mara eased him back down onto the bed.
"Be careful," she hissed. "You aren't well."
"Do you know, Mara?" he croaked. "Do you know what we did? Have you seen the – the dead?"
"Do not blame yourself," she repeated fiercely. "It wasn't you." He looked at her. Suddenly self-conscious, she cleared her throat. "And by you I mean the Weapons. It had to have been magic controlling them – err, you. You would never betray King Zachary, for anything. I know you." He looked at her again. "You – err, all of you. The Weapons – err, Black Shields."
"No," he said softly, turning his eyes back to the floor. "There is no excuse."
"Ridiculous." She pulled his arm into her lap and slapped on some ointment. "You weren't even the only ones affected. The Light Horse and regular guard were just as controlled."
"It shouldn't have happened," he whispered. "So spineless. So weak."
Mara felt her hands grow hot with her frustration. Time to change the subject, she thought, before I brand his skin again. "You enjoy exploring the castle, don't you?" she ventured. He blinked.
"Well…yes."
"How about after I get you wrapped up, you show me some of the places you've explored?" She grabbed the linen. When he didn't answer, she looked up to meet a gaze that plainly told her he thought she had lost her senses. She raised a hand. "I'm sorry, do you have a pressing appointment? There's no king left for you to guard."
He stilled. A muscle rippled in his jaw as a thousand nameless emotions rolled in his eyes. "No…king?" he breathed. Mara felt the muscles in his arm grow taut and she released it, leaning away from him uneasily.
"Yes. I thought you knew."
"King Zachary – is – " Fastion stood slowly. His hands clenched and unclenched, his features settled into a frighteningly emotionless expression, and his chest rose and fell with increasing harshness. Mara stood also, holding the roll of cloth as though it could somehow protect her from the swelling fury that roiled from his body. "He is – "
"We don't know where he is," she said, her voice sounding small. "Only Karigan does."
Fastion's head jerked as he looked at her. "The king is alive?"
"Oh! Yes. Well, he was when anyone last saw him. Karigan escaped with him out of Sacor City. The other Weap – Black Shields have already sent out search parties."
He held her in a wide-eyed gaze that made her gulp. When he finally looked away, she felt as though he had flayed the skin from her bones. "I must assist them," he mumbled, pulling down his baggy shirt.
"Wait, no!" She rushed to grab his wrist. "You're not well. You're in no condition to do anything right now."
"There is too much to be done," he said, shaking off her grip. When he reached the doorway, however, he slumped his trembling body against it with a harsh exhale. Mara cautiously rested her hand on his shoulder and peered into his white features.
"You're no use to them like this." His eyes flashed to her face and she swallowed back the urge to retreat. "All the search parties are already out. Rest for a few hours, then you'll be fit to go and search for the king all you like."
He scowled through the open door. Mara could see Ben watching anxiously from down the hall. A few other patients, aware of the Weapon's identity, fretted themselves into other rooms and hallways.
"Fastion," Mara whispered gently. "Please."
His jaw shut with a click and he pulled himself back into the room. Mara gave Ben a quick nod before turning. Fastion settled himself on the bed, his back against a bedpost, one leg drawn up over the mattress, his eyes drifting shut. "I'll be awake in two hours," he murmured.
Mara looked down at the linen in her hands, then back up at Fastion. With a small smile, she backed out of the room.