BONEWOOD
“Whoa,” Yates intoned
beside Karigan.
Karigan could well
appreciate Yates’ reaction. One Weapon alone was imposing enough,
but a whole group of them was positively formidable. She wondered
what had brought them to the Rider wing.
She did not have to
wait long to find out it was herself.
Fastion, whom she
used to think of as “granite face,” stepped forward. “Sir Karigan,
if you would accompany us please.” It was not so much a request as
an order.
“Why—” she began,
but they swiftly closed ranks around her, neatly edging out Yates.
The next thing she knew they were striding away from the Rider
wing, with her at the center of their formation and Fastion
leading.
“Karigan?” Yates
called out from somewhere behind.
“I’ll be fine,” she
answered, though a little uncertainly.
She knew each of the
Weapons around her, or she at least knew their names, but little
more. It was not easy to get close to them, to penetrate their
world, though Karigan had gotten closer than most. They considered
her an honorary member of their order.
Among those who
surrounded her was Brienne Quinn of the tombs. What was she doing
above ground? Had she been transferred? No, she wore her fur-lined
cloak that helped keep her warm in the subterranean world of the
tombs, indicating she’d recently come above.
“Where are we
going?” Karigan asked her. “What are we doing?”
“All will be
revealed shortly,” Brienne replied.
Was that a fleeting
smile from the Weapon? If so, Karigan was not terribly
reassured.
It was hard to see
around her wall of broad-shouldered escorts, but she sensed people
scrambling out of the way as the formation swept through the
corridors. She could well imagine herself doing the same if she
were in their shoes.
Eventually they
entered a large chamber and came to a halt. She’d been here before.
The room was ornamented with statues of stern warriors carved from
black onyx and somber black banners hanging on the walls. Tables
were set in precise rows. The first time she’d been here she’d
assumed it to be a meeting and dining hall of the Weapons, and
seeing the place again did nothing to change her mind.
Maybe a dozen other
Weapons awaited them there, and unnervingly they formed into one
large circle around her.
“What—” she
began.
Fastion gestured her
to be silent, but in her mind she screamed in frustration, wanting
to know what this was all about.
Yet another Weapon
stepped between Fastion and Brienne to enter the circle. Karigan
gasped in astonishment, for it was Colin Dovekey, who was not only
one of the king’s primary advisors, but chief of the Weapons,
having come to that position after serving as a Weapon since his
youth.
“Greetings,
sister-at-arms,” he said.
She’d been called
such before by Fastion, Brienne, and some of the others, but it was
somehow shocking to hear it from Colin.
“Your forthcoming
journey is known to us all and we have decided we do not wish for
you to enter that dark place without something of the Black
Shields. Donal?”
The Weapon Donal
stepped into the circle, halting beside Colin. In his hands he held
a shaft of burnished black wood that looked like a country walking
cane one would use for leisurely rambles along wooded paths and up
scenic hills. She was surprised they would present her with so
innocuous a gift, but perhaps they thought that without her horse
she’d need the support of a walking cane to make it through the
forest.
Colin must have
perceived her underwhelmed impression for he said, “Do not be
deceived by appearances.”
Suddenly Donal was
in motion, the cane blurring through the air in patterns faster
than her eyes could follow, the shaft of wood humming. All the
other Weapons remained absolutely still, but when the cane
inexplicably extended to twice its length without Donal pausing his
dance, and the iron tip whistled within inches of her chin, over
her head, and past her ear, she wanted to scream and
run.
Then Donal stopped,
became totally still, the tip of the cane-turned-staff a
hairsbreadth before her nose. She went cross-eyed staring at it.
She closed her mouth when she realized it was hanging
open.
Donal withdrew the
staff and held it horizontally before him so she might examine it.
“See here,” he said. “It’s really a clever piece of work.” He
touched an almost indiscernible protrusion just beneath the crook
of the handle and jerked the staff. The shaft retracted to its
original length. He pressed the protrusion again, thrust the cane
outward, and the shaft extended into a staff once
again.
“Motion, weights,
and counterweights allow you to lengthen or retract it,” Donal
explained. “The weights make it well balanced for
fighting.”
He passed it to her.
The wood was smooth and cool in her hands. Donal was right, it
balanced well and felt strong and sturdy enough for a fight, but
not too heavy to carry on a walking journey. The handle appeared to
have a steel core wrapped in leather. This alone could prove a
devastating weapon against an opponent. The only ornamentation was
a shield carved into the shaft just below the handle, black against
black, the symbol of the Weapons.
“With this staff,”
Colin said, “you will represent us in the forest. Since our
founding, we have fought against everything that is Blackveil
Forest, yet none of us will be journeying into the heart of that
ancient evil. Only through you, with this staff, may we remind
those dark powers we’re still here and await the day of
reckoning.”
Karigan’s mouth went
dry. She was doing what? Representing
who?
“Now give it a try,
won’t you?”
“Uh
...”
“The trigger is
here,” Donal said, “next to your thumb.”
She pressed it and
felt something release.
“Now jerk it back,”
Donal said.
She did so and the
shaft retracted so smoothly she felt only a subtle change of
balance with the moving weights and heard a snick as it locked into
place.
She pressed the
trigger and shook the shaft out to staff length again. She was so
delighted with it she continued to play with it almost forgetting
her stern audience and Colin’s words of just moments
ago.
“It’s like magic,”
she said.
She perceived a
stiffening in the attitude of the Weapons surrounding her.
Oops, she thought. They were very
uncomfortable with the topic of magic.
“Not magic,” Donal
said, “but craftsmanship. It was made by one of our own who has a
knack for figuring out how things work. He studies constantly all
our library and archives have to offer on the making of everything
from buildings to ships, as well as smaller objects like your
staff. However, it is not just the mechanism within it that makes
it special, but also the wood. It is bonewood.”
“Bone ... ?” Karigan
almost dropped it.
“Bonewood,” Donal said. “Not bone.”
“It is rare,” Colin
explained. “A member of the oak family, and very strong. It is
called bonewood by us because the only place we know that it grows
is in our cemetery at the Forge.”
“The
Forge?”
“Our academy on
Breaker Island, or as the locals call it, Black Shield Island. The
academy has become known as the Forge because it is where we forge
Weapons out of mere warriors, if you take my meaning.”
Karigan did, and it
was just the grim sort of wordplay she’d expect from
Weapons.
“Many among us
choose to retire to the island and teach, or to be of use in other
capacities, such as Geron, who made your staff. When they pass on,
they are buried there. Even those of us who do not end our days at
the Forge may choose to be interred there.”
Karigan knew she was
hearing details few outside of the Weapons were privy
to.
“May I?” Colin
asked, holding his hands out for the staff. Karigan did not
hesitate to pass it to him. Colin ran his fingers over the shaft
and gazed at it with a discerning eye. “The oaks grow straight and
strong right out of the graves. Some believe that the bones of our
dead are cradled in the roots, hence the name bonewood. The trees
grow from strength into strength.
“No one knows where
the first seedling came from or who among the earliest of Weapons
brought it to the island, but legend holds the wood deflects evil
intent. Dark magic.”
There was an almost
collective shudder that ran through the circle of
Weapons.
Colin shook the
staff so it snapped back into the cane. “Recently, with the breach
in the D’Yer Wall, we’ve taken to collecting deadfall from the
bonewood trees. This staff is made from a limb struck down two
winters ago in a storm, and it is the first of its kind. We may
have others made in due course. In the meantime, we keep a bit of
bonewood close to our hearts, as our predecessors did hundreds of
years ago.”
Donal peeled back
his leather jerkin to reveal a badge in the shape of a plain black
shield pinned onto his shirt just above his heart.
“Whether or not the
efficacy of the bonewood is true,” Colin continued, “we honor
tradition.” He handed the staff back to Karigan. “Use it well, and
may it protect you.”
“Thank you,” she
said, now overwhelmed. It was as much the immensity of the Weapons
revealing so much to her as the gift itself that awed
her.
Colin nodded and
turned as though to leave.
“There’s just one
problem,” she said.
He paused.
“Yes?”
“I’ve had very
little training in staff fighting.”
“Oh, Donal will take
care of that.”