Green Rider (28 page)

"Foolish girl," Torne said. "You are no swordmaster. You dirty her blade by touching it, but you will die on mine."

Torne thrust without preamble and Karigan barely deflected it. She tried to remember the exercises Arms Master Rendle had drilled into her head, and the hints and tricks Sevano had taught her, but Torne was relentless and all she could manage was to duck and block the onslaught of blows. Each strike from Torne jarred her body and numbed her arms from her fingers to her elbows. If there was any time she was going to die, it was now.

Tome's speed and rhythm was a dance. Karigan had never seen anything like it, and was enthralled by his deadly skill. His feet barely shifted, he never swung the blade more than required. His economy of movement was grace itself.

After just moments of swordplay, Torne raised his sword for the death blow, but time stilled. Cold filled Karigan's body—not a chill really. It was like being a glass filled with cold water. Then there was something else… an awareness of another.

Her arms were buoyed by another's strength, and her reflexes guided by another thought process. Her own awareness grew dim, and she became a bystander in her own body. Or was it her own body? Two points of severe pain in her back twisted her insides.

The action resumed, and the would-be death blow miraculously blocked.
Raven's sweep to the side
. The voice echoed from far away in her head. The same voice that had told her to fight and defend herself. The same voice that had tried to speak to her at the settlement.

One and two and three and upthrust, five
. The voice and her body matched and countered the rhythm of Tome's attack. She recognized some of the techniques named, but many more were new to her. All of the various moves, the balance and steps, the angle of the cutting edge, fell into place within her in a way they hadn't when taught by Sevano or Master Rendle.

Was that shock registering on Tome's face as she blocked a particularly difficult thrust? Was that sweat that dampened his brow?

Oversweep, Crayman's Circle, three and four and swipe!

She watched in amazement as the tip of her sword slashed across Tome's leather jerkin. Although it only made a long cut in the leather, his face blanched as if it had been his own flesh.

"Who are you?" Tome panted, his eyes wide in… fear.

…
two and three and Raven's Sweep redoubled
!

The move threw Tome against a tree, his arms and sword tangling in the evergreen boughs.

Butcher's Block, one-two-three.

Tome barely avoided being chopped in three. Each swing of the sword caused the pain of arrows in her back to twinge, and the bleeding to start anew…

"Who are you?" Torne demanded again.

Burn, brooch, burn! By the flying horse, burn!

Torne screamed. He groped with his free hand for the brooch on his cloak. He grasped it, but jerked his fingers away with a cry. The distraction was enough.

Ice Slide now!

The blade ran through Tome's jerkin and out through his back, impaling him to the trunk of the tree. His limbs jerked and flailed. Karigan's nostrils flared with the metallic scent of fresh blood.

"Who are you?" This time it came as a whisper, barely heard over his raspy breaths.

A voice that was Karigan's spoke words that were not her own. "I am a Green Rider and swordmaster initiate. You are spared Saverill's fate, traitor." The hand that held the hilt twisted the sword, and Tome's eyes rolled into the back of his head. The presence within her turned to Jendara and reached for her dagger.

Stop
! Karigan struggled to expel the presence from her, but it was like trying to disgorge her own guts.
Leave me
.

The presence drained from her, and she sighed as warmth flooded through her body again. F'ryan Coblebay stood before her.

I saved your life
, he said.
She is a traitor and must die
.

"It is for me to decide," Karigan said, "if she should die." She gazed at Jendara lying on her back, neck naked to any blade she might draw across it. The blood was drying on the Weapon's face, but she breathed normally and looked to be asleep. Karigan remembered when Jendara made Torne let her wear her greatcoat against the cold rain. Jendara had let her keep her hidden cache of food and had never told Torne about it. She knew Jendara would have killed Garroty to keep him from hurting her.

F'ryan Coblebay's form flickered once.
You must kill her
.

"You kill her."

I cannot unless I enter
—

"I won't allow that." Karigan clenched and unclenched her hands at her sides. "I will not be used."

I saved your life
.

The night's events started to catch up with her. Her body trembled, and she felt cold all over again. The idea of someone else controlling her affairs infuriated… and terrified her. "It seems to me you set me on this course in the first place. You and that brooch."

F'ryan Coblebay dimmed and flickered. No,
not I. You were called
. He looked up at the sky, then walked away, vanishing completely in the dark, but his voice lingered like an echo…
you were called
…

Karigan sighed, feeling light headed from the whole experience. She wanted to get away from the carnage as soon as she could—Garroty's crushed face and Tome's impaled body—but she needed the brooch back, too. Jendara murmured incomprehensibly and twitched on the ground. She would have to be quick.

Torne was pinned to the tree like a cadaverous scarecrow, his arms snagged at odd angles among the evergreen branches. The brooch clung by a thread to his cloak. With a shudder, she plucked it away. It had burned a hole right through his cloak and jerkin, and had branded a red shadow of the winged horse on his flesh.

The Berry sisters had been right in a sense—the brooch would tolerate no others to handle it, except Green Riders. It had merely waited for the most advantageous moment to inflict its wrath, when commanded. She shuddered again and pinned it to her shirt.

She fled the carnage, pausing only to collect the belongings that had been taken from her. She and The Horse galloped away, disappearing as they went. If Immerez was to have met them days ago, he may be nearby. It wouldn't do to be snared again, just as she was escaping.

Jendara crawled to the edge of the clearing. Something like thunder and lightning crackled through her hurting head, but she was determined to stop the Greenie. It wasn't revenge. She applauded the end of the miserable Garroty's life. And though there had once been friendship with Torne, he had gone sour long ago, and tolerance was all that remained. It was the directive of her lord to waylay the message, which meant waylaying the messenger.

Who was this girl who could overpower men so much stronger than she? Torne, pegged to the tree with her own sword, was nothing worse than she had seen in battle, but the expression frozen on his face, an expression of utter amazement, would haunt her for some time to come.

Jen was amazed herself. Who would have thought the girl capable? And the brand on Tome's skin… Exactly who were they dealing with?

Jendara's dagger shone dully in the moonlight as she reached the edge of the road. With the throbbing in her head, standing was impossible. Her stomach knotted in nausea.

She caught a flurry of movement on the road, and the pounding of hooves. She watched the girl and horse leave at a gallop, then fade out into nothingness. Jendara curled up on the ground, resting her head on her arm.

What were they dealing with?

WAYSTATION

They galloped through the night, The Horse's hooves echoing dully on the road. The gray world passed as a blur, and Karigan relied on The Horse to find the way. Holding onto his mane and keeping her seat was all she could manage under the weight of invisibility. When the night changed to a lighter shade of gray, The Horse slowed to a walk and halted.

"What?" Karigan was unable to lift her head from his warm neck.

The Horse glanced both ways up and down the road, then with a swish of his tail, he stepped into the woods. No path existed here, not even a deer trail, yet as they passed through the woods, no underbrush or low hanging branches snagged them, and the ground was clear and level.

The Horse skirted a granite outcropping, and something snapped within Karigan. The world repainted itself in the colors of early dawn, and the weight of invisibility lifted from her and raised her spirits.

Snug against a granite ledge, a tiny log cabin, with a fenced paddock and attached lean-to shelter, came into view. She was nearly on top of it before she saw it. There was no sign of life anywhere near the cabin except the morning song of birds.

"What is this place?" Karigan asked The Horse. She dismounted, falling to her knees in fatigue. He nuzzled her shoulder reassuringly. The brooch had sapped Karigan's energy painfully, and it was some time before she could stand again, and even then, she had to lean against The Horse for support as they walked to the cabin. A winged horse was carved on the door.

"Is this a Green Rider… shelter?" she asked.

The Horse whickered and nudged her back. She unlatched the door and stumbled inside. The one room cabin was musty from lack of use, and dust swirled about her boots with each step she took. Green Riders probably didn't travel this way often.

The interior was cloaked in darkness with the shutters fastened closed, but she had reclaimed her moonstone along with her other belongings, and now used it to light the building. Silver light stretched to all corners of the cabin, and lifted some of her fatigue and heartened her as if to remind her that she was truly alive.

A straw mattress lay on a simple bed frame against the far wall, a shelf above held some candies, a lamp, and even a few books. Wood was stacked next to a stone fireplace with snowshoes propped on the mantel. More shelves held jars sealed with wax and cork.

A cedar-lined closet contained blankets, pillows, and some clothing. Karigan tore off her own shirt, stained with Garroty's tobacco juice and, now she saw in the light, flecks of blood. Throwing it to the floor, she grabbed a white linen shirt from the closet and pulled it over her head. Then she pinned the brooch on. She felt less dirty now, having broken one more thread that had bound her to the mercenaries.