Chapters 21-22 (and I guess 23) have been revised to give Karigan more backbone.
…
Mara awoke to heavy silence. She stirred and immediately regretted it, gritting her teeth against the resurgence of a thousand bruises. One hand pressed to her temple as though she could lessen the pounding in her head and she cracked an eye open. Dim firelight flicked across the archive shelves and the mess left by the Black Shields, who lay still against one wall. She found herself shivering as she lifted her head from her pillow—Fastion's leg, actually—and regretted once more using her coat for a purpose other than keeping herself warm.
The Weapon remained in slumber, his back against the wall, his chin on his chest. Mara stood and stepped over his legs to search for Dakrias. The old man was also asleep, seated and sprawled over the papers and books littering his desktop. He mumbled occasionally, his breath fogging up the spectacles that hung haphazardly across his face. He and Fastion had searched tirelessly with no success. Dakrias was the first to succumb to sleep and he appeared not to have moved since then. She and Fastion had lasted only a short time longer, studying the rubbings and scrolls for specks of information until the markings blurred together and she collapsed across his lap.
"We'll find nothing more here…" she remembered him saying through a yawn. "We should keep moving."
Mara peered into the hallway, igniting a small flame for light. Empty and silent. To keep moving meant returning to the danger patrolling the halls of the upper levels. As excellent a fighter as Fastion was, and as dangerous her fire could be, she wasn't sure how long the pair of them would last in this condition.
She heard shuffling from behind and turned to see Fastion rising to his feet. He steadied himself against the wall, pausing with short, shallow breaths before raising his gaze to meet hers. His eyes glistened with pain, but also defiance. She saw his jaw grind and felt a shadow drop over them. "What is it?" she asked. "Is it your head?"
"No." He began strapping on his gear. "Something is coming." With a passing glance at Dakrias, he joined Mara at the door.
"Is it an evil something?" she asked, not really wanting an answer.
Fastion smiled, but it failed to reassure her. "I don't know what it is. It's close, however, and it's strong." His smile disappeared as he looked into the hallway. If he could sense it and she couldn't, Mara thought, then it had to be something evil—something to do with that little device.
"What are you thinking?" she whispered, seeing more worry in his face than what came through his words. He stared into the darkness before answering.
"It's different now. Before, it was just emotional chaos…anger and hatred and confusion. Now it's become sharper." He paused. "I dreamt about a king. It was not Zachary, but someone from long ago. He wore animal pelts and an iron crown. His back was to me—I never saw his face, but I knew who he was." Another pause. "The king of the Sacor Clans, and how I hated him."
They stood in silence until Mara asked, "What does it mean?"
"I do not know. I also watched the device be stolen from the throne room. They're searching for it and the thief."
"Stolen?" Mara echoed. "By who?"
"The Raven Mask."
Mara waved a hand impatiently. "These are just dreams," she insisted. "The Raven Mask is dead. Your head is injured and we're both tired and hungry."
"They're not dreams," he responded quietly. "I can still see it." His brow furrowed in concentration. "I can feel the Black Shields. I feel them moving above us. I am not controlled as they are, but I see into their minds. They follow the same voice that whispers to me now."
"What voice?" She felt quite cold.
"It's…like a memory." He glanced at her, looking surprised that he was still talking. She smiled encouragingly. After a moment, he continued, "Pieces are missing, but the intention is still there. I—can't quite explain it. That device is powerful, but it's…stale. It's filled with emotion and memories, but that's all." He frowned. "They're strong memories, though, with strong emotions. They're my emotions. They're fervent and f—fan—passionate. It's not—it's just as…single-minded as…as we are. Mara—" He looked directly into her face. He whispered, "Mara, I do not understand what is happening to us, but it frightens me."
The words rendered her speechless. At a loss, she reached out and cupped his gaunt cheek in her hand. It was enough, she thought as his expression softened.
"Mara," he murmured. "If I ever—"
"I believe they're waking up," Dakrias suddenly said. Mara glanced to the side and saw the two Black Shields stirring. Fastion pulled her hand away and also turned his head, looking down at his brother and sister with a mixture of displeasure and reluctance. They each met his gaze and held it in silence. Heavy tension settled over the room until one, the man, finally spoke.
"Fastion," was all he said.
"You will stay here, Travis, Erin," Fastion answered, kneeling to undo their restraints, "for as long as you can. Keep away from the upper levels of the castle."
"You should not release us," the woman murmured, rubbing her bleeding wrists.
"You are awake now." Fastion stood and looked at Dakrias Brown. "You, however, should find somewhere safer."
"Where?" the scribe said, choosing a few books to pile together.
"The guest quarters." Travis gestured vaguely above his head. "The Green Riders have barricaded themselves there with their captain and many of the castle inhabitants. They use their abilities to keep us out."
"Is there food?" Dakrias queried, hoisting his books into his arms.
Erin smiled. "Yes, I believe so."
Food, Mara thought, and suddenly she was hungrier than she had ever been.
"Superb." Dakrias looked at her and Fastion. "You two will be going there also, I presume? I say we travel together. For protection, you see."
Mara met Fastion's eye. "Yes, we'll be going. Ben will be there and he can help with your head," she reasoned, adding, "And I don't know about you, but I'm starving."
Worry still lined his face, but he nodded. "Yes, of course." He held out his arm to usher Dakrias out the door. He sent a stern look over his shoulder as he urged Mara into the hallway and the Weapons nodded silently. Once outside, Fastion shut the door. "Can you lock it?" he asked Dakrias. The old man looked surprised.
"Lock them in?"
"Yes."
"I suppose." Dakrias pulled a jingling ring of keys from his pocket. "Just as long as someone remembers to let them out."
"They won't stay in there." Fastion looked up and down the length of the door. "They will find their swords and escape."
Mara gazed at him. "You think they'll be controlled again?"
"Most assuredly. I sensed it, and they did as well."
"Then why did you take off their restraints?"
He glanced away. "Let's go."
Mara frowned, but said nothing. Fastion led the way, setting a quick pace that Dakrias struggled to follow. After receiving a keen glare from the Black Shield, he finally abandoned his books and hurried alongside Mara, who matched his unsteady gait despite Fastion's obvious impatience.
"Oh dear," Dakrias panted. "Is he always such a taskmaster?"
Mara chose not to answer. They had reached the staircase and Fastion stood halfway up, watching Dakrias doubtfully. "Will you be able to manage?" he asked.
"Yes, yes. I'm not a Weapon but I've still got legs."
Mara smiled. Her smile jolted away, however, when a scream came hurtling down the hallway. "It's the Black Shields," Dakrias wailed. "They've gotten out of the room and gone mad again, just like he expected."
"Mara," Fastion hissed urgently, one arm outstretched. "Quickly."
Mara and Dakrias limped up the stairs, clutching each other and unsure of whom was helping whom. They stumbled over the last step and what followed proved to be one of the most harrowing hours of Mara's life. By unexpectedly deciding on an obscure detour, Fastion saved them from Travis's sudden—and unaccompanied—reappearance; however, they tripped into a dark foyer glinting with the armor of numerous soldiers. Mara and Fastion halted abruptly and the Weapon grabbed Dakrias before he collided with them.
Mara's breath stuck somewhere in her throat. She dared not move for fear of alerting one of the guards. Fastion, however, reached out ever so slowly and took a handful of her sleeve. Their eyes met through the gloom and he tipped his head toward the way they had come. Mara nodded once, then looked at the soldiers. They appeared occupied by something in the center of their circle. As Mara listened, she heard raspy pleadings and a pathetic desperation that would soon become all too familiar to her.
Fastion nudged Dakrias backwards, one gauntleted hand clasped tightly over the old man's mouth. The Weapon's own steps were noiseless—not even a jingle from his armor escaped his careful movements. Mara found it difficult to tear her attention from whoever suffered, but a yank on one of her curls motivated her feet into action. Turning her back on the scene, she followed Fastion into the darkness of the hallway.
Twice they stumbled upon occupied hiding places, and three times they found hiding places that had been discovered previously and very obviously dealt with. Shock numbed Mara's legs, masking the aching exhaustion, but poor Dakrias, his aging body already weakened by hunger, grew slower with each step. Meanwhile, Fastion pressed on with startling energy, his own pains apparently forgotten. Disregarding his lagging companions, he changed their route again and again, his eyes developing a glassy look as he delved deeper into the minds of the soldiers surrounding them.
"We're almost there," Mara whispered at one point, recognizing the hall in which they stood.
"No…" Fastion stared out at nothing. "No, there are guards that way."
"I thought you could only sense the Black Shields," Mara said.
"No, I found them all. I know where they all are." He turned down a narrow corridor.
"Fastion!" Mara snatched his wrist. He avoided her gaze. "You found them? You let it in even further?"
"It's the only way we'll get there safely," he insisted. "Do not worry, Mara. It doesn't control me." He shook her hand off and continued forward. Mara let out a sharp exhale, then hurried to catch up, pulling Dakrias behind her. Not until the walls became heavy with decorations did she stop again. She looked around in shock. They were near the front of the castle—very near. Fastion looked back at her, bewildered.
"Where are you going?" Mara hissed.
He was completely baffled. "To the guest quarters."
"The guest quarters are that way. You're taking us to the throne room."
He cast his gaze about the hall as though seeing it for the first time. Shock rippled across his features. "I must have—" A hand flew to his head. "I was sure—"
Mara grasped his arms. "Fastion, whatever you're doing, please, you have to stop."
Angry, he pushed her hands away. "I can't," he snapped. Meeting her shocked gaze, he was forced to look elsewhere. "No, it's—we'll never make it. There are too many soldiers. This is the only way."
Mara shook her head. "You'll get us all killed this way. It's tricking you, can't you see? Stop using—I said—" But he wasn't paying attention. His red-rimmed eyes were locked on a suit of armor tilting crazily to one side. Mara snapped her fingers in his face, but he didn't blink. Instead, he whipped free his sword and before Mara could stop him, he hacked through the armor. The metal bits crashed against the wall, the floor, bounced off other suits, and created such thunderous pandemonium that Mara was sure it was heard all the way down in the tombs. She lunged and grabbed his hands before he could demolish anything else, struggling against his powerful swings until he looked at her again.
"What are you doing?" she cried, finally able to force down his sword.
"The soldiers—" he started, then cut off when he saw the pieces littering the floor. He gaped. "There were—the soldiers were—"
Mara grabbed his face, forcing his eyes to meet hers. "There are no soldiers," she whispered. "Fastion, what's happening? What's happening to you?"
He shook his head wordlessly, his eyes gleaming. Mara jerked one hand through his tousled hair, pulled him into a tight embrace, and murmured, "I won't let it take you again. You're stronger than it. We need you. Can you last a little bit longer?" He nodded. Mara squeezed him one last time, then pulled back. "Dakrias, how are you?"
"Alive," was the terrified scribe's response. "Barely."
"All right. Let's go then. Someone must have heard that. This way."
They set off once again. Any attempt at talking faded into silence as they dodged death again and again, as they passed familiar hallways in inconceivable chaos, and as Fastion's mental burden disintegrated into feverish muttering and quiet convulsions. Mara found herself in the lead and she didn't like it. She didn't know the castle as well as Fastion, nor was she any good at creeping about, trying to stay hidden. Glancing over her shoulder, though, she could see that he was in no condition to lead anyone anywhere. On occasion he warned her of threats up ahead that only he could sense, but otherwise when he wasn't talking to himself he stared at the walls as though they were alive.
"Perhaps we should leave him behind," Dakrias whispered.
"What?" Mara snapped, her nerves frayed, her stomach gnawing, and her patience gone.
"Well, look at him. He could break and kill us any moment."
A fiery glare forced him into silence. "We're almost there," she maintained. They would reach the guest quarters by way of the ballroom, she decided. From where they stood it was the closest route and, she hoped, the safest. She took Fastion's hand and led him and Dakrias down a servant's passage that opened up to an obscure corner of the ballroom. A tapestry hung over the exit and Mara carefully moved it aside to survey the room. Sunlight streamed through the glass windows on the opposite end of the chamber and the chandelier caught every beam, dazzling Mara's eyes. She blinked rapidly in the sudden light and pulled back. "It's bright," she said. She'd forgotten how long it had been since she last saw sunlight.
Fastion peeked around the tapestry. "It reminds me of when I was transferred up from the tombs," he mused quietly, rubbing his eyes. "I could hardly see when the king went outside."
It was the most coherent thing he had uttered in a long time and Mara barely kept herself from hugging him again. "Do you see anything now?" she asked instead, slipping beneath him to look into the ballroom.
"Guards at the entrance—" he pointed to the heavy glass doors, "—and at the top of the staircase."
"Isn't that where we need to go?" Dakrias whispered.
"They are not looking into the ballroom," Fastion continued, his eyes closed. "They're patrolling."
"How many?" Mara urged.
"Three. Regular guard."
"How will we get past them?" Dakrias moaned.
Fastion's glance was scathing. "I said they were patrolling. They're leaving now." He held the tapestry up.
"Come on," Mara whispered to Dakrias, who had slumped onto the floor to rest. The scribe forced himself up and followed Mara and Fastion past the tapestry and into the ballroom. They stole across the polished floors, their dirty feet tracking dust across the legends inscribed into the tile. Mara couldn't help but gape at the immense room. She had never been to a ball, nor had she any reason to come through here before. As they hurried up the broad stairs, her eyes swept across the enormous, vaulted ceiling, very similar to the throne room. "Wow," she murmured.
Fastion followed her gaze. "Yes," he agreed. "Ancient stonework…" His eyes shut. "A fortress."
"What do you see?" Mara whispered.
He sighed softly. "I am looking at the castle from a distance. I've never been inside." They paused in the entrance and he bent around the corner. "The patrol is just in that hallway," he breathed. "They're not moving. They're—" He drew back suddenly. "They know we're here. They've seen me. Go!" He pushed Mara forward and grabbed Dakrias's frail wrist. They ran.
"Weapon Fastion!" Voices from behind. "Traitor!"
Mara saw Fastion's hand flick to his head. She saw his fingers digging into his scalp and she felt fire ignite in her chest. She skidded to a stop, whirled around, and raised her hands. The three soldiers charged her, weapons bared. She summoned her fire. Flames whipped around her hands, around her arms. They wove between her fingers, spinning and spinning until thickening into a single flaming ball that she hurled at the center soldier. It detonated on his breastplate and fire exploded in the corridor. The roar swallowed their screams. She turned and raced to catch up with Fastion and Dakrias.
"There are more ahead, all the way to the guest chambers," Fastion hissed.
"We'll make it," she responded.
"You can't burn the hallway down in front of us," he said. "How will we get through?"
She looked at him suspiciously. "Are you being funny, Fastion?"
He turned his head just enough for her to glimpse his quirky grin.
"There!" Dakrias cried, pointing. Fastion slowed, but Mara stormed forward. That feeling built up in her chest—that delight she always felt when she used her ability. Flames whipped all around her body now and a feral grin stretched across her face as she launched a fireball at the approaching soldiers. They fell back and she rushed past them, ignoring the smoldering air that clung to her skin. She heard Fastion and Dakrias behind her and hoped they were keeping up. She couldn't feel her pain anymore—it was just fire: blazing, burning, euphoric. Any soldier that got in her way was knocked over by heat and flames.
The final staircase appeared before her. The doors at the top were shut and Weapons lined the steps. Mara came to an abrupt halt. Moments later, Fastion and Dakrias appeared at her side. Despite his earlier recovery, Fastion now clung, trembling, to the old scribe.
The Black Shields turned to look at them curiously. Travis was among them. "Fastion," one of them said, "what are you doing?" Mara recognized his voice from before—the one that was deep and thick.
Fastion raised a strained face. "I resist," he panted. "I will not be controlled, as you have allowed yourself to be."
The Weapon regarded him without affection. "Seize them."
The Black Shields—eight in all—moved down the stairs. Dakrias's prayers started anew and Fastion emitted a low moan as his head dropped. "Mara—" he started.
"There are Riders on the other side of those doors," she whispered. "If I can just get up there, they can help us." She met his incredulous gaze. "I'm not giving up yet."
He smiled weakly and told her, "They don't care about Dakrias. They will kill you and take me to be executed as Saverill was."
Mara gritted her teeth and faced the threat. The Black Shields didn't even draw their swords. Mara glared. Did she look like such easy prey? "We'll see about that," she muttered. "If you have any strength left, Fastion, Dakrias—use it now." She raised her hands, indistinguishable beneath the layers of fire, and charged.
The nearest two barely had time to touch their swords before their faces were grabbed and scalded. Mara flung fireballs at the next pair and they tripped back into the walls. Something whistled over her shoulder and she looked up to see a sword hurtling crazily through the air, a fifth Weapon clutching his bleeding wrist and the throwing knife that impaled it. Mara tripped on a stair just as the sixth lashed out at her. She hit the staircase and looked to see blood seeping from her shoulder. Boots filled her vision and she knew a sword descended to finish its work.
Metal clanged just at her ear and the deadly blade was knocked away, slicing a lock of her hair as it flashed past her face. "Mara, go!" Fastion cried from somewhere above her. She dragged herself up the staircase, and having forgotten the other two Weapons, was shocked when a boot dug into her stomach. She rolled away from a second descending blade and with a sharp kick managed to send someone toppling down the stairs.
She scrambled toward the doors. Throwing herself against them, she screamed and pounded until she was grabbed from behind. "Rider," that deep voice growled. She reached back and clutched his hair. Fire rushed into her hands and he jolted, sending both of them tumbling to the bottom. He released her as he fell and she scrambled to stop her descent. Once she regained her equilibrium, she struggled back up the stairs and smacked her hands against the doors.
"Open the doors!" she screamed. "Captain! Someone! Please!" She heard Fastion's cry and twisted to see him pinned to the stairs, held down by two of the Weapons. Dakrias bravely beat one of them with the helmet of a suit of armor, but he was soon overcome and disappeared down the staircase. A third Weapon clambered up toward her, sword drawn and expression deadly.
Like the night she killed the wraith, fire slithered over her flesh, creating a second skin. A furnace burst within her and raw, angry fire dipped into her veins like hot poison. She crouched, animal-like. The Weapon hesitated. She could see the flicker of flames reflecting in his eyes, the flush in his cheeks from the heat. A second tormented cry from Fastion and Mara sprang, tackling the Black Shield with no regards to his sword. They flew and crashed into those below. She rolled and crushed and was crushed until arriving at the base of the staircase in a tangle of bodies and weapons.
Her fire extinguished, wisping away into the air as twisting smoke. Exhausted, she moved only to find Fastion. He lay motionless on the steps, looking broken and pathetic. Dakrias, however, limped carefully through the writhing, black-clad bodies. As he crouched beside her, Mara heard it—the creak of the doors finally opening. Her gaze lifted. Captain Mapstone was first, pounding down the stairs with hair flying. She leapt over bodies and in her rush to reach her Chief Rider didn't see the Black Shield rising with sword clutched in burned hands.
"Captain!" Mara wheezed, struggling feebly to move.
Tegan burst next from the doors. She did see the threat and shouted a warning. The captain drew her saber and twisted enough to deflect the blow. She kicked the Weapon's legs out from beneath him and he dropped.
Ty soon appeared, backwards for some reason, shouting at someone on the other side of the doors. Once he reached the base of the stairs, he and Tegan slipped their arms about Mara, raising her from her place on the floor. Laren assisted Dakrias, watching the stirring Weapons warily. "Hurry," she whispered urgently, "before they recover."
"Captain—Captain!" Mara twisted in the Riders' hands. "Fastion! Please, he's good—he saved my life. You have to help him. You have to."
Laren glanced at the prone Weapon. "Mara, I don't know…"
"You have to! He's not being controlled, I promise. You know I'm telling the truth. Ask—ask Fergal. He'd know. Please!" Her voice was shrill, and her writhing wasn't helping Tegan and Ty.
"Indeed, he saved my life as well," Dakrias interjected. "He protected me as long as he could—" His voice cut off with a shout as a Weapon grabbed his leg, knife in hand. Captain Mapstone battled the attacker off and half-dragged the old man up the stairs.
"Fine," she said. "Ty, Tegan, get her upstairs. Yates! Fergal! Get down here! We've a Weapon needs helping."
The captain didn't sound pleased, but Mara relaxed. He'd be fine, now. They both would be. Yates and Fergal appeared and followed the captain's curt orders, bending over Fastion with some reluctance. As Mara was lifted up the stairs, she heard Fergal say, "He's different than the others."
"Probably 'cause he's dead," Yates answered. "Ready? One, two—"
Mara craned her neck. They hoisted Fastion up, then paused to readjust their grips. Each time they touched him, their hands came away swathed in more blood. She tried to call his name, but then she was through the doors and in a lavish hallway being stared at by many curious eyes. The attentions shifted from her quickly however, and soon she heard horrified and infuriated gasps and whispers.
"A Black Shield?"
"They're bringing in a Weapon!"
"My lord, do you see…?"
"Captain! We will talk."
"…is he good?"
"…shouldn't have opened the doors…"
"…he's a murderer…he'll kill us all…"
"…thinking? We'll just have to…"
"…take care of it ourselves…"
…
"This matter should have been brought before us," Richmont Spane declared, looking important as he sat deeply in his borrowed chair. Lady Estora sat quietly beside him. Despite her inelegantly piled hair and tattered gown, she still appeared beautiful, in a distressed, feminine sort of way. From his own chair, Timas Mirwell snorted, but his swollen mouth prevented any of his usual caustic remarks.
"Forgive me, my lord," Captain Mapstone said, her voice low with impatience. "There wasn't time to bring anything before you. You already delayed our opening the door and as a result, we almost lost one Rider and a castle citizen."
Spane heaved sigh, sounding greatly tried. "We had to be sure the risk was worth the potential price. I'm still unsure it was." He looked pointedly at Mara, who swayed tiredly beside the captain. A fever burned in her body and she'd been soundly asleep when this strange council had summoned her. Lord Spane, Lady Estora, Lord-Governors Mirwell and Penburn all sat in a half-circle, flanked by their respective entourages. Castellan Sperren was bedridden due to a broken hip, a fact which Mara knew the captain found quite unfortunate seeing how swiftly Spane had positioned himself as leader apparent.
"We are glad to see more lives saved," Hendry Penburn said softly, with a nod to Mara. "But I am concerned about the Black Shield that has been brought in. Is that wise?"
Mara liked Lord Penburn. He was sincere, or at least he acted that way in response to Spane's pompous authority. The two obviously chafed and Penburn's voice provided practical sense against Spane's self-interest. It had been his urging that finally allowed the doors to be opened, and whether he was actually concerned for Mara or if he just wanted to spite Spane, she was grateful nonetheless.
"Yes, the choice was made quickly," the captain answered, "but I trust Rider Brennan implicitly."
Spane looked at Mara once again. "She is the one who was badly injured recently, yes? And now she suffers from fever. I do not believe she is in any condition to be trusted."
Mara peered at him through streaming eyes. She doubted anyone would care if she set him on fire, and then she could go back to bed. "Weapon Fastion and I found the device in the first place," she said, her voice sounding muted to her sick ears. She hoped they could hear her. "Since then, he has done nothing but try to stop what is happening. We—" She paused to wet her scratchy throat. "We found information about it."
"Yes. Information." Spane chuckled. "A torture device from the Long War that didn't work, so they tossed it aside and somehow it ended up in the castle."
"And this happened once before, and they were able to stop it," Mara insisted. "We can stop it now!"
"How?"
She hesitated. "They separated the pieces," she replied slowly.
"What pieces? I saw only one in the throne room," Penburn said.
Spane waved a hand. "We've left the real issue," he declared. "This Black Shield. I hear he is badly injured—"
"Injuries which he received protecting Mara and Dakrias," Captain Mapstone interjected.
"All the same, he is a threat."
"He's not controlled," Mara cried. "He can't even move right now. What sort of threat is he to you?"
"We cannot take this risk." Spane stood and turned slightly to the side. "We must make decisions that are in the best interest of everyone." He looked squarely at Mara. "He must be exterminated."
Mara's head whirled and she grasped the arms of her chair. "Killed?" she managed to gasp.
"It's the best thing to do. His injuries will probably do the job anyway, we just need to pull him from the mender's care."
"Now, wait just a moment," Penburn said, rising to his feet.
Timas Mirwell also stood. "What authority do you think you have?" he lisped. "What gives you the right to execute anyone, even a Black Shield?"
"With the king missing and the castellan bedridden as he is, it naturally falls to—"
"You? Don't make me laugh." Mirwell winced then, touching his hurt jaw gingerly.
"You are not the king," Penburn said coldly. "None of us is. If something is to be decided, we all will decide it." He and Spane glared at each other.
"Have you not heard the whispers of the survivors?" Spane responded. "They want his blood, and I agree with them. We will punish him for his crimes." There was a low murmuring from those gathered in the room.
"What crimes?" Mara cried. Her head swam. "He has done nothing!" She felt the captain's cool hand on her arm.
"If you want justice, my lord Spane," Mapstone said, "then perhaps you can come up with a solution for what's happening outside this wing. We won't be safe here forever."
Spane whirled on her. "Perhaps King Zachary valued your advice, Captain, but here you have no say. Do not speak again."
Mara looked at the captain in shock, but Laren merely pursed her lips.
"We will not execute the Black Shield," Penburn proclaimed. Spane curled his lip.
"You think you have any more authority than I?" he spat.
Mara felt the captain's hand on her shoulder. "Shall we go?" Mapstone whispered. "You need rest."
"No, we can't—Fastion!" Mara hissed back. "What if they decide to kill him? Captain, we can't—"
"I assure you," the captain said as she helped Mara stand, "they won't decide on anything. We'd be of more help to your Weapon if we're nearby, in case of—trouble." She looked steadily at Mara and she realized that conditions were no better in here than they were in the hallways. Despite their efforts at a council no real control existed, only the desire for self-preservation. They all stood on a string, teetering over anarchy and death and she found herself suddenly needing to find Fastion.
"Take me to him," she whispered, glancing behind to see all eyes following her as she left the room. Feeling exceptionally vulnerable, she peered at passing faces with suspicion and resentment. The sentiment was returned each time.
Ben had placed Fastion in the rear of the wing where he wouldn't be disturbed (or couldn't disturb others), in what usually served as a valet or maid's room. When the door opened, Mara broke from the captain's grip and tripped through the gloomy dark until she collided with the bed. She dropped to her knees beside it and leaned over the sleeping Weapon. His face was turned the other way, but she could see his exhausted body trembling in the deep mattress. Clean bandages sheathed his head, torso, and the one leg that peeked from beneath the blanket.
"Fastion…" Mara whispered, touching his hair.
"How is he?" Captain Mapstone asked. Mara was confused, until she heard Ben's voice.
"His skull is healed," the mender murmured from behind, "although the skin is still bleeding. He has two dangerous sword wounds from your fight on the staircase." He paused before adding, "It probably wasn't much of a fight in his case, though. I doubt he could defend himself at all."
"He can't defend himself now," Mara murmured, but neither of them heard her. Fastion jolted and she leaned nearer to him. Sometimes wheezing, sometimes gasping for breath, he whimpered like a child trapped in a nightmare.
"But that's not what worries me the most." Ben appeared beside her. "With time and proper care, he will recover from his injuries. But this—" Ben's hand swept over the bed. "This…fever that's not a fever, I don't know."
Mara sighed. "It's the device," she said quietly.
Ben looked alarmed. "You said he wasn't being controlled."
Mapstone crossed her arms. "My ability didn't tell me whether or not you were speaking truth on the staircase. Is this why?"
Mara leaned closer to the Weapon's head. "It isn't controlling him, but it's still connected to him somehow. He's dreaming about it, I think." She tried to smooth his furrowed brow, but he flung his head away, his eyes suddenly wide open and bright. He began to talk—rapid, harsh mutterings that sounded like gibberish to Mara's ears. His body writhed and convulsed and Mara grabbed him before he could roll off the bed.
"Whatever's wrong with him," Ben grunted as he joined Mara in holding the thrashing Weapon, "it isn't going to let him heal." Mara, clutching Fastion's torso, felt warm blood soak through her sleeves.
"What can I do?" Captain Mapstone demanded, watching the fit with increasing apprehension.
"Switch with me," Ben ordered. "I'll make something for him." The captain slid into place and Ben hurried out of the room.
"Fastion—" Mara said, "Fastion—shhh, shhh…" She dropped her weight onto his chest, felt his lungs heaving for breath, felt him struggling to move. He continued to rave, still nonsensical, but patterned somehow, slow and thick. "What language is this?" she whispered.
"What?" Mapstone said, occupied with avoiding the Weapon's kicking legs. "Where's Ben?"
"Here." Ben reappeared, swishing the contents of a jar. He knelt at Fastion's head.
"Isn't he already asleep?" Mara said.
"It's more of a poison, actually. Help me hold his head." Mara did so. "In high doses it's lethal, but this should be just enough to stop his movements."
"You're going to paralyze him?" Mara exclaimed, horrified.
"Calm him, Mara. I'm going to calm him." Ben tipped Fastion's head back and carefully poured the draught into his open mouth. The Weapon coughed and spluttered, fighting against Mara's hold to fling his head away. Mara watched the process in dismay, breathing only when the last of the drink was swallowed. Gradually, Fastion's ravings stilled until he lay quietly asleep.
"He's so pale," Mara said.
"Too much blood…" Ben was looking at the soiled bandages. He cursed and stood. Meeting Mara's inquiring gaze, he heaved a sigh and said honestly, "I don't know how much I can help him. I'm low on supplies as it is, and I have other patients that are—well, they're more—"
"They're not Black Shields?"
"I'm sorry, Mara. I'll do what I can."
She nodded and tried to stand, but her fever suddenly gusted through her body. She dropped onto her knees and gripped the mattress for balance.
"You're one of those patients. Can you help her back to her room, Captain?"
Laren was already slinging Mara's arm about her neck. "Come on, Mara. Time for you to finally get some rest."
"No—no," Mara protested. "I want to stay with him—please."
The captain glanced at Ben, who nodded. "There's an empty room across the hall," he said, leading them to the door and pointing. "Right there. You'll be right next to him."
"Thank you." With the captain's assistance, Mara limped into the room that was even smaller than the one in which Fastion now slept. As she slipped beneath the bedcovers, she looked to the door and was surprised to see Lady Estora standing in the hallway. The noblewoman, who had remained silent throughout all of Mara's interrogation, spoke quietly with Ben. They glanced often at Fastion's shut door, then Ben bowed and left. Estora lingered in the hallway, however, and as the captain closed Mara's door, the queen-to-be glanced in and met Mara's eye. Something strange was in the beautiful face, skulking behind her pure eyes. Then the door was shut and Mara was soon asleep.
She awoke after some indeterminate amount of time to a room mottled with shadows. Her fever still burned, but that wasn't what had roused her. She sensed something else—something wrong. Something had changed. She left the warm cocoon of blankets and crept out of her room. Moonlight ghosted the hallways: night had finally fallen and the guest quarters were quiet. After pausing to listen—and hearing nothing—she stole to Fastion's room. He lay unmoving on the bed, his deep breathing steady as it stirred the otherwise still air. Mara frowned and tugged a hand through her hair. What had woken her?
She thought to hear her name, but so softly it seemed almost to be a memory. She squinted at Fastion. He hadn't moved. Then he called her name again, hardly any louder than the first time. She shut the door and hurried to him, kneeling at the bedside. "Fastion?" she inquired softly.
"Mara…" His eyes glimmered. One hand rose and she seized his cold fingers, holding them tightly against her own hot skin.
"Are you better?" she asked.
"It's stronger," he breathed. "It's so much stronger than before." His other hand slid down his chest, clawing feebly at the bandages. "It's everywhere." His fingers tightened around hers. "Mara, I can hear him," he grated. "I can hear him. Both of the pieces—they're here."
Both of them? She clasped her hands over his ears, as though she could block out its voice. "Don't listen to it," she urged. "Listen to me. You're strong enough." She pressed her forehead against his and repeated in a whisper, "You're strong enough."
His thin sigh warmed her mouth. "It's his memories. Mornhavon's. It's his—" He cut off with a grimace.
"Shhh…" She pressed her fingers to his lips. "Don't think."
"Mara—"
"Shhh…"
"Mara, the king—"
"The king you saw before?"
"No. King Zachary."
"What about him?"
Fastion's hand found her face and he pushed it away to see her better. "He's here. He's come back."
Mara stared, then asked in a breathy whisper, "How do you know?"
Fastion's face creased with pain. "I see him," he uttered, "through their eyes."
"How—"
Pounding at the doors, someone shouting her name. Mara lurched from the bedside as the door flung open. Tegan stood there, looking terrified in her disheveled clothing. "Mara! We need you. Can you use your fire?"
"I-I don't know—"
"They're breaking in. They're breaking down the doors." She gripped her arm. "We need your help or they'll kill us all."
Mara looked helplessly at Fastion as Tegan hauled her into the hallway. The Weapon held her gaze until she was gone.
"Is there—Mara! You've come! Go there—Alton is holding these doors. Tegan, stay here."
Mara saw Alton, looking as exhausted as she felt, sitting with his back against the wall, eyes shut in concentration. Fergal stood above him, holding a trembling saber at the doors. He's so young, Mara thought as she was pushed down the corridor past bystanders peeking from their bedrooms.
"Are there only Riders here to defend?" she asked whoever guided her—Captain Mapstone.
"We're the only ones left."
Ty and Yates leaned against another set of doors. Rhythmic pounding came from the other side.
"If they get through," the captain said, "burn them."
"King Zachary is here at the castle," Mara blurted. "The Weapons have him."
Captain Mapstone stood as if paralyzed. "How do you know?" she eventually demanded.
"Fastion saw them."
She continued to stare. "Then I pray that he is mistaken, or all is lost." She whirled around and hurried back down the hall. Mara watched her go, then turned to the doors. With a deep, steadying breath, she summoned her fire once more.