First Rider's Call (14 page)

“Which I supported,” Ansible growled. “I supported her decision to use that clearing. It is easy to say aught else after the fact.”

Everson put up his hands. “No offense intended, Captain.”

The truth was that Lady Penburn’s death was a blow to Zachary when so many supporters among the old bloods had perished at his brother’s hands. Now Penburn Province, Laren’s own home province, would have a new lord-governor, the lady’s first-born son. Where would
his
loyalties lie?

“What became of the bounder?” Colin asked. “It may be useful to question him.”

“Died of his wounds,” Karigan said. The haunted look returned to her eyes. Then she gazed directly at Major Everson. “The decision to camp in the clearing was unfortunate for the delegation, but even if we had not, it wouldn’t have prevented the wraith’s escape.”

A silence built up in the throne room again. Zachary stood at the end of the table gazing down at Ansible and Karigan. The anger left him and something like pity softened his features.

“We have detained you here long enough,” he said. “There is time enough to answer questions later after you have had sufficient rest from your terrible journey.”

Ansible started to protest, but Zachary cut him off. “You have done your duty this night, Captain.”

As Karigan and Ansible slowly made their way out of the throne room, Laren watched the king watching after them. Another monarch might not prove so compassionate, instead retaining them to be questioned long into the night. She could read the concern etched into his features as he watched them. This compassion was one reason Laren was so fiercely loyal to him. She would fight to the death to ensure his reign continued.

She would also, in her role as advisor, see to it that this same compassion never jeopardized the peace of Sacoridia, or Zachary himself.

Laren wished to follow Karigan out. She wanted to question her further without the others present, but she couldn’t leave yet, and of course the king had excused Karigan so she might find rest—not get interrogated by her curious captain. It was just that she sensed something had been left unsaid, and it nagged at her. She sighed. No doubt Mara would see that Karigan was comfortably settled into her room at barracks.

As if to contradict her thoughts, Karigan reappeared at the throne room entrance. She strode back toward them with purpose, now unhindered by having to keep in step with Captain Ansible.

“Forgive me, Excellency,” she said, bowing her head. “I meant to leave some things in Captain Mapstone’s care.”

“There is no reason to ask forgiveness, Rider,” he said.

“Thank you.” Karigan rounded the table and stood before Laren. She rummaged in her message satchel and withdrew an object which she clasped tightly in her hand.

“Captain,” she said, “this was Ereal’s.” She pressed cold metal into Laren’s palm. Ereal’s brooch. The gold of it winked in the lamplight.

“She died trying to bring my sword to me,” Karigan said. “She was always watching out for me during the journey. Two arrows took her. Even while she lay dying, she tried to ‘carry’ the sword to me.”

The expressions of the others, except Zachary, were baffled. They could not see the brooch as a Rider could, nor would they know that Ereal’s special ability had been moving things with her mind. Laren swallowed as she looked at the brooch cradled in her hand, her throat constricted. She saw also what it cost Karigan to do this. She had gone pale, fighting memories.

Karigan reached into her satchel again and there was a flicker of gold when her hand re-emerged. “This was Bard’s.” But when she handed it over, it was not a brooch perfectly shaped as a horse rising into air, wings outstretched for flight. No, it was a formless blob of melted gold.

“The eruption of the wards killed him,” Karigan said. “The magic of the wards did this to his brooch.”

Before Laren could reply, Karigan bowed again to Zachary and hastened from the throne room as fast as her sore feet could carry her.

Laren gazed down at the brooch and the melted gold in her hand. The brooches always found their way home when a Rider met his or her end. It was astonishing, really. The Rider might be gone, but the brooches always returned home to carry on the mission of the messenger service. It had been this way for a thousand years.

We are mortal and fleeting in our time on Earth,
she thought,
but these endure.
She closed her fingers around them. The brooches may return, but there were too few who heard the Rider call these days. She had far more brooches than Riders. Would someone one day hear the call and wear Ereal’s, as had generations of Riders before her? Or, would it remain untouched in the coffer in Laren’s quarters with the others as the messenger service dwindled out of existence?

And what of Bard’s brooch? Could it be reforged? How could an ordinary blacksmith see it to reforge it? Even if it could be reforged, where was the mold that was used in the original making of the brooches? Would Bard’s lump of gold even retain its magic?

Laren shook her head. In this Age, there were many questions, for the answers had been lost. Like the secrets of the D’Yer Wall . . . Things that must have been common knowledge at one time were unknown to the current generation.

If I had some of that old knowledge,
she wondered,
would Bard and Ereal still be alive?

It was impossible to say, and of no use to even consider, for it would change nothing. She would never hear Bard sing again, nor would she ever watch on in satisfaction as Ereal and Crane once again crossed the finish line of a Day of Aeryon race far ahead of every other competitor.

No, she had but her own experience and wisdom to rely upon, and often those seemed paltry enough. Her shadow was growing heavy, indeed.

“Laren?”

She started, not realizing the king had come to her. He touched her wrist.

“It is eleven hour and we’re all tired.”

Eleven hour? Only then did Laren register the dreadful bell clanging again down in the city. When had ten hour passed them by?

Old Sperren finally stirred. “What have I missed?” he demanded of Colin. “I see food here. What have I missed?”

“It is my wish,” Zachary said quietly to her, “that you return to your quarters and rest. You’ve been standing by my side all day. We all shall retire, and perhaps when we are refreshed by a night’s sleep, we can examine things anew.”

Laren was so relieved to be dismissed, she could have kissed him on the cheek, but professional restraint held her back. It might have been all right when he was but a boy and she his “big sister,” but not now, and not here.

As she started away, Major Everson rose from the table and called after her.

“Yes, Major?”

“That Rider of yours,” he said, “young G’ladheon. Should you ever feel inclined to release her from the messenger service, I’d be more than happy to sponsor her into the light horse.”

Laren was so taken aback she almost laughed in his face.

“What do you think?” he asked.

Never,
was what she thought, but what she said was, “You may ask Rider G’ladheon herself, and I shall respect her decision should she choose such an opportunity.” Laren felt safe knowing it unlikely the Rider call would release her.

“Perhaps I shall. She comported herself well and without complaint through the duration of our travels, helping with the wounded and camp duties. I had my doubts, her being the daughter of a merchant and all, but frankly I could use more like her.”

Laren raised an eyebrow. If the Rider call did not prevent Karigan from joining the light horse, her distaste for the sort of elitism exhibited by its members would.

Laren walked away thinking she could not afford to lose another Rider, but feeling secure Karigan would not, could not, switch over to the light horse no matter the enticements and privileges that might accompany it.

 

“Look at these.” Rider Mara Brennyn raised a pair of muddy boots to eye level. There were cracks in the soles and gaps where sewn seams had gone loose.

“Karigan’s?” Laren asked.

Mara nodded vigorously. “She practically walked all the way home because of Condor’s injury.”

“Injury?” Laren groaned inwardly at her own dull responses, but it was late and she was very tired. After taking leave of the king, she had crossed the castle grounds to Rider barracks to ensure Karigan had been settled in. Mara, who now so often filled in as her second, had met her at the door, boots in hand.

Now they stood in the Rider common room, a comfortable place with a stone fireplace and a long table smoothed and notched from use by generations of Riders. It had probably been here since the days of Gwyer Warhein, the Green Rider commander who had ordered the barracks to be built two hundred years ago. There were worn, overstuffed chairs facing the fireplace, a rocking chair or two, and shelves stocked with a few books and games. A single lamp on the table splashed a yellow glow across Mara’s face.

“Condor got cut across the fetlock joint,” Mara was saying, “during the battle. It is healing quite well, thanks no doubt to his Rider who walked most of the way.” She rolled her eyes.

Laren was incredulous. “There was nothing else for her to ride?”

“Remember Ty had said many of the beasts were slaughtered by groundmites?”

“Yes, yes, of course.” How could she forget? She closed her eyes, and saw again Ty sitting on Ereal’s Crane, not his Flicker.

“What I got from Karigan is that the surviving beasts were used to bear the injured. It wasn’t until some of the injured died that she had a mule to ride.”

“She is settled in, then?”

Mara nodded. “She about collapsed on her bed. It was all Dale and I could do to pull off her boots and shortcoat.”

“Excellent. Let her rest as she will. I will speak to her when she is ready and able.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Laren left barracks, moving slowly toward officers quarters to savor the quiet of the dew-laden night. The scent of horses came to her as she passed Rider stables, and the lush smell of the pasture grasses beyond. A crescent moon shone sharply in the sky. She discerned guards standing high up on the wall that wrapped around the castle grounds. They were dark silhouettes against a field of stars.

Seemingly everything was normal and as it should be, but she knew this was not so. Talk of the battle and the loosing of the wraith had shaken her. If ancient, dark powers were awakening into her world, how could anything be normal?

Her only hope was that they would be prepared when the time of need was upon them.

BACK TO BARRACKS

Mara Brennyn, burdened with a platter of steaming food and a pot of tea, tapped lightly on Karigan’s door with the toe of her boot. There had been no sign of life here all morning, and Mara was reluctant to awaken her. But now, as it neared early afternoon, she figured hunger pangs might have surpassed Karigan’s exhaustion.

When there was no response to her initial tapping, she tried again, more soundly. When this elicited no response either, she nudged the door open with her foot and found, to her astonishment, the room empty.

Fresh air curled through the open window, and with it the sweet scent of grasses from the pasture. Mussed sheets on the bed indicated Karigan
had
slept here—her arrival last night hadn’t been simply a dream of Mara’s despite the late hour.

She lowered her burden to the table and blew a crinkled tendril of hair from between her eyes, feeling a bit put out after having carried the platter all the way from the castle kitchens to Rider barracks, only to find Karigan gone. If Mara had been in Karigan’s place, she reflected, she’d still be in bed, sleeping for a week or more. And that’s where Karigan should be—in bed, recovering from her horrendous journey.

Mara moved to the window, which looked out over the pasture, and then she knew.