Firebrand

He did not.

“Now don’t be ridiculous and fight us on this. It is for your own good so you don’t bite off your tongue, and so we don’t have to listen to your screams all night.”

“I wouldn’t mind it,” Nyssa said.

“I know, dear, but other people like to get their sleep.”

When he failed to obey, Nyssa, who seemed unnaturally strong for her size, forced his jaw open. Grandmother dropped a thick strip of leather between his teeth to bite on. When she swept his blanket off and she and the girl started tying knots and placing them on his body, he understood why.

A VISION OF THE AVATAR

As Grandmother walked away from the king, his body arched in pain—as much as the restraints permitted, at any rate—she reflected it was a job well done. Lala’s work was nearly the equal of her own. Nyssa had retired for the evening to sit with Immerez, who was still recovering from the blow he’d received from the king, and now Grandmother would go to her supper. She barely nodded to the guards who surrounded the workshop. They would check on the king periodically through the night to ensure his heart had not stopped, or he’d gone into shock, always a danger with spells of this strength.

She walked absently toward the keep with the braid grasped in her hand. Lala, who’d been following her, ran off to play with some children. The king would suffer this night, and she acknowledged it was all little more than retribution for the pain he had caused her people. In the morning, she would rearrange the knots, which would alter the intensity and location of the sensation that his blood was burning through his body. There were other things she had in mind for him, as well, but for the moment, seeing him in excruciating pain was quite satisfying.

Now the braid, that might help her answer a question about the Greenie and her eye. A mirror, Immerez had described it. She was curious, very curious, but that could all wait until she had some food in her stomach.

• • •

The previous night, upon learning they’d the king in their midst, they’d slain a bull for a celebratory feast. Some of the leftover meat and preserved vegetables had been served in a fine stew this evening. Grandmother, her stomach warm and full, sat before the hearth thinking in pleasure how it was she who was comfortable and well-fed this time, and not the king. The guards brought her periodic updates. Yes, he was still in the throes of agonizing pain. No savory stew for him tonight, no soft bed, only pain. Retribution was a fine thing.

She now studied the braid of hair in her hand, tied off at both ends so it would not unravel. It was really a rich gold-brown, she now saw, depending on the light. She pried out a few strands, carefully so they did not snap. Then she removed a length of undyed yarn from her pouch and started tying knots around the hair, knots of seeking, knots of learning.

Karigan G’ladheon. That was the Greenie’s name, according to Immerez, and she had been a concern to Weldon Spurlock, Grandmother’s predecessor. “G’ladheon,” derived from the Arcosian word for “betrayer,” galadheon. Hadriax el Fex, who had been Mornhavon the Great’s best friend and right hand, had taken the word as his name after he betrayed the empire by giving himself up to the Sacoridians during the Long War. Had Mornhavon’s servants killed Hadriax before he gave away the empire’s secrets, they would not be contending with his descendent now, and Sacoridia would be a much different place.

Likewise, they could have dealt with Karigan G’ladheon back at Teligmar, but Immerez’s camp had been attacked by a phalanx of king’s Weapons seeking Lady Estora, and the Greenie went on to prevent Second Empire from using the book of Theanduris Silverwood to destroy the D’Yer Wall. It seemed they were thwarted at every turn.

Where was Karigan G’ladheon now? Why did she have a mirror eye? What did it mean?

The others had been ordered to stay away so she could pour all her focus into the spell. When she was done, she gazed at her handiwork. The knots were misshapen, ungainly things, and rough compared to the delicate hairs. With one more request for the information she desired, she tossed it into the fire. The flames flared as they consumed the yarn, and she waited.

• • •

Very rarely did the visions come instantly, and this case was no different, but she remained patient. The fire kept her warm, and she sipped a cup of tea Sarat had set beside her. Soon, her patience was rewarded.

An image formed among the flames, of a young woman lying on her stomach, her back bare and ravaged. Grandmother viewed Nyssa’s work with admiration. Sweat glistened on the young woman’s skin. She appeared to be asleep or unconscious, neither unexpected from the trauma she’d endured. What Grandmother really wanted to see, however, was her eye, but she could only see one eye, and it was closed.

The vision rippled away into another and she found herself in an unusual setting, and she became cool as though someone blocked the fire. The lighting was sepulchral and glanced off hard stone and marble surfaces. As the vision clarified, she realized she was surrounded by sarcophagi. She was in a tomb, and by the statuary and other adornment, she knew this had to be the royal tombs, which lay beneath the castle in Sacor City.

Oddly, Karigan G’ladheon stood in an empty sarcophagus. Her form was . . . ghostly, and it appeared she was listening to something or someone Grandmother could not see or hear. She willed the vision to close in on the Green Rider. Such intention took great force of concentration, and even then, the power behind the spell could very well refuse her.

Her will prevailed, however, and the image of the Greenie grew closer, and Grandmother tried to steer around so she could see her face. The Rider was still ghostly, and her eye, the one Grandmother wanted to see, was covered by a patch. It was a disappointment, but it confirmed there was something about the eye that required concealment.