“I miss you already,” he whispered, so quietly that no one else could hear. “And I’m sorry. I will find the ones who did this. You will be avenged.”
Having said his goodbyes, Relam straightened, waiting for his father to finish. The king took a little longer, but he said nothing. He merely stared down into the coffin, grief-stricken and inconsolable. Eventually, Narin stepped forward and gently led the king and prince off to one side.
“What now?” Relam asked the commander of the guard, looking around.
“Now, the queen is taken to the royal crypt,” Narin murmured in reply. “Where she will rest undisturbed forever.”
As soon as Narin finished speaking, he stepped forward with his eight guards. He moved to the stone table and knelt there, head bowed, for a long moment. Then, he rose and pulled an iron-shod black staff from the midst of the flowers and vines. The staff ended in a silver ferrule at its base, and was surmounted by a glistening silver representation of the crown Relam’s father wore on his head.
Narin raised the staff high overhead, then smashed the ferrule into the paving stones under his feet. The resultant crack carried throughout the gardens, causing some to jump in surprise. As the sound faded, the eight palace guards stepped forward and slid four blackthorn staffs through carefully designed slots in the base of the casket. The staffs protruded for a half meter on either side, resulting in eight handholds for the bearers. Narin stepped behind the coffin and carefully closed the lid, sealing the queen inside forever. Then, he cracked the staff against the paving stones again and the guards stooped to lift the casket.
As soon as the casket was up on the shoulders of the eight guards, Narin stepped in front of the coffin and led the guards back through the crowd. Relam and his father fell in behind the guards. After them, the mourners began following in a loose column, turning to join the procession after the casket had passed.
After a short walk, they came to a metal door at the base of a short ramp leading down into the earth. At the top of the ramp the procession halted. Narin went to the door by himself, and struck it with his staff. An echoing boom rolled back up the ramp and over the crowd.
The metal door swung open and two palace guards in black and silver armor emerged. “Who comes to the royal tomb?” one asked in a carrying voice.
“It is I, Narin, commander of the guard, bringing our sovereign queen to rest within.”
The two guards inclined their heads and stepped to the side, standing to attention. “Enter, commander, and commend the queen to our care. She will rest safe with us.”
Narin bowed deeply and the procession started forward again. Relam and his father followed, but the mourners stayed where they were, clustered around the ramp down to the crypt, bowing their heads.
The guard commander and the casket vanished into the crypt, and Relam and his father followed. As soon as he entered, Relam felt the temperature drop drastically. While the day outside was warm and humid, the crypt was nearly frigid. Relam shivered slightly and drew his half cape closer about him.
They walked down a short tunnel, lit by silver lanterns hanging from the ceiling every five meters. At last, the procession came to a wide archway and they emerged into a cavernous space.
Relam could not help but be awed by the sight, despite his grief. The crypt was larger by far than any of the halls in the palace, or any hall he had ever seen for that matter. The ceiling was not high, only two stories or so, but the room stretched as far as Relam could see to the left and right, the ceiling supported by squat black pillars at regular intervals. Stone platforms, a meter and a half wide by three meters long, were laid out in a grid stretching in every direction with three-meter walkways in between.
Narin led the procession down the center aisle, deep into the crypt. On all sides were empty platforms, each a half meter high and unadorned. Hundreds of them, all empty, all waiting for the day when they would hold royal remains.
Finally, after walking for a full minute, Relam was able to see a few full platforms in the distance. Each was surmounted by a casket, similar to the one his mother lay in. At the foot of each casket was a statue bearing the likeness of the occupant. The statues were an equal mix of kings and queens, stretching even further into the darkness. All of them preserving a royal memory for eternity.
Narin abruptly turned left, down the first row of filled platforms. The guards followed a little more slowly with the queen’s casket. Relam and his father brought up the rear, careful not to tread on the soldier’s trailing cloaks.
At last, they came to a halt in front of an empty platform. To the right was a statue of a bearded king, a battle axe resting against his carved throne, the eleven-pointed crown on his head. This was Relam’s grandfather, the previous king to rule the Sthan. He had died when the prince was very young, and Relam did not remember him at all.
Relam quickly turned his attention back to his mother’s casket as the guards lifted it and slid it onto the stone platform. Then, everyone formed a loose semicircle and gazed at the queen’s resting place. Relam took a long shuddering breath and blinked back tears.
Narin rested a heavy hand on the young prince’s shoulder. “Courage, your highness,” he whispered. “Stay strong. For your father.”
Relam nodded and straightened, shaking his head slightly. Beside him, his father stood slightly hunched over, staring fixedly
