Mirror Sight (42 page)

She began by welcoming those who had come and by enumerating Karigan’s deeds. She made sure they heard about her quieter accomplishments—the expert keeping of Rider accounts and the many successful messages she had delivered—in addition to the more notable and dangerous missions she had undertaken. Laren told of how Karigan became a Green Rider in the first place by completing the errand of a fallen Rider, F’ryan Coblebay, and subsequently helping to protect the king’s throne from his brother’s coup attempt. Karigan had carried the spirit of Mornhavon the Black into the future, securing time for Sacoridia to prepare for his eventual return. She had done so with the aid of the First Rider—the
First Rider!
—whose brooch she had worn.

Laren did not stint in the telling of how Karigan had helped rescue Sacoridia’s then future queen from kidnappers, a deed for which the king awarded her knighthood, the first Sacoridian to be so dubbed in two hundred years. Laren spoke of how Karigan had gone bravely into Blackveil Forest and aided the Eletian “Sleepers” who had been left behind in Argenthyne during the Long War. Once again she had defied the will of Mornhavon the Black and wounded him. Lynx had been unable to tell Laren more than that, for what had become of Karigan was a mystery even to him, and he had been there.

It was all the stuff of legends, and by Laren reiterating Karigan’s record here, the Riders would carry those stories on to the next generation of Riders, and out into the greater world, and in that way Karigan’s memory would live on.

Laren was about to say as much when from somewhere within the depths of the records room a loud thud made several of the Riders jump and look around uneasily. On the periphery of her vision, Laren saw Dakrias chewing on his nails as he glanced behind in the direction of the noise.

What in the name of the gods
was
that? It sounded like someone slamming a book on the floor. Laren stood there momentarily at a loss. She’d forgotten what she meant to say next. She patted her shortcoat, pulled out Karigan’s letter, and cleared her throat. “Uh, Karigan left a letter for the Green Riders. She knew the risk she would be taking when it came to entering Blackveil. She knew she might not return.” She broke the seal—she had not read the letter herself, feeling that they should all hear its contents at the same time.

“My dear friends,”
she began. Karigan’s handwriting had always been neat and well-practiced, the result of keeping records and ledgers in meticulous order, and this letter was no exception.
“If you are reading this, it means I have died in Blackveil.”

Thunder boomed somewhere behind Laren, somewhere beyond the nearest shelves, making everyone jump again. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling about ready to leap out of her skin. It hadn’t really been thunder, no, but maybe a whole armload of books hitting the floor with resounding force. When she opened her eyes again, she saw two Weapons peeling away to investigate. A murmur arose from the Riders.

“Don’t be troubled,” Dakrias said, raising his hands, palms outward. “It’s, uh, just the resident spirits making their presence known.” There was an aggrieved edge to his voice. It was he and his clerks, after all, who would have to clean up after the mischief.

Laren waited for silence to be restored before she started reading again.
“Most of you know it was never my intention to be a Rider—I had other plans, to follow in my father’s footsteps and become a merchant, but the call rang true. I have not regretted a moment of—”

BAM!

This time, something excessively heavy had fallen. Dakrias put his hand to his head and muttered to himself before dashing off to investigate among the shelves.

The Riders shifted uneasily. Rattled, Laren searched the letter to find where she had left off.
“I have not regretted a moment,”
she read,
“of my service to the king and Sacoridia. It has especially been an honor to serve so fine a captain, and among such courageous and dedicated people.”

From nowhere, papers, many papers, started snowing down on them from the shadowed heights above. Laren watched in disbelief.

Someone snickered.

Laren tore her gaze to her Riders and saw to her amazement, her Chief Rider, Mara, cover her mouth with her hand, her shoulders shaking. As more papers drifted downward, Tegan joined her, and then Garth let out a great guffaw. Ty looked scandalized, and the newer Riders perplexed. What had possessed them?

“Leave it to—” Mara sputtered between laughs. “Leave it to Karigan!”

Laren raised an eyebrow.

“Only at
her
memorial!” Mara then doubled over with the laughter.

Others who had known Karigan started laughing as well, and it spread to the new Riders. There was even a hint of a smile on the queen’s lips. At first Laren was taken aback, but then she understood. As serious as many of Karigan’s adventures had been, she’d often found herself in ridiculous situations, such as wearing a theatrical costume of Mad Queen Oddacious to the king’s masquerade ball. People still talked about the girl who had ridden her horse all the way from Corsa to a busy market in Darden wearing nothing but her own skin. Under the influence of the Rider call, Karigan had actually worn her nightgown, but the story persisted.

So Mara was right. Only at Karigan’s memorial would something so ridiculous occur as spirits lobbing books off shelves and tossing papers into the air. It couldn’t be just a normal, somber, dignified affair. Laren found herself grinning. Perhaps it was better they all remembered not just the serious parts of Karigan’s life, but those that left a lightness in their hearts. Whether the ghosts had intended to do so or not, they’d allowed the Riders to release some of their grief through laughter.

When the flurries of papers settled and the mirth mostly subsided, Laren returned to the letter. Karigan mentioned the Riders with whom she had worked, alive and dead, remembering some small detail about each of them. Some memories were humorous, such as the time Tegan and Dale had dyed Garth’s uniform yellow. Others were more serious, such as acknowledging Mara’s bravery in facing a deadly wraith in the old Rider barracks, now gone to ashes, its foundation filled in and buried. There was gentle laughter now and again, and tears. Laren herself almost lost control when she read,
“There is no finer leader than Captain Mapstone. She is brave, and fierce in her loyalty to the king and her Riders, and always my mentor, the woman I’ve admired most. I’ve tried to emulate her as a messenger and a person, but I fear I’ve mostly fallen short.”

Karigan,
Laren thought,
you have never fallen short.

She began reading Karigan’s final farewell, but was interrupted by a rattling, almost like the sounds of the earth quaking. The ground did not move, however—it was everything else: scaffolding, shelves, Dakrias’ desk and table, his piles of books . . .

More objects started to fall from shelves and crash to the floor, and as the rumble intensified, debris also dropped from the scaffolding onto the assembled. The Weapons hustled Estora from the chamber.

“Everyone out!” Laren cried after a plank of wood clattered down next to her.

She waited to ensure everyone else was clear before she exited herself. The rumble had grown into a continuous thundering clamor. As soon as she stepped across the threshold after Dakrias, it all stilled, went silent.

“They’ve never done
that
before,” Dakrias said, bemused, as he gazed back into the chamber.

Nor had the ghosts ever interfered with a memorial circle before. In times past, she’d sensed them as watchful presences, but nothing more.

Everyone milled in the corridor, voices raised in consternation.

“Silence!” Laren bellowed, Karigan’s forgotten letter fluttering in her hand as she gestured for attention. She cleared her throat, folded the letter carefully, and inserted it into her pocket for safekeeping. “The memorial circle is postponed for tonight due to . . .” Due to what? Mischievous ghosts? “Well, you saw. In any case, we will conclude the memorial honoring Karigan another evening.”

Her pronouncement was followed by the crash of what sounded like a heavy wooden crate hitting and splitting on the records room floor. Dakrias groaned.

“In the meantime,” Laren said between gritted teeth, “you are dismissed to quarters.”

As Weapons and Riders filed down the corridor, Arms Master Drent paused before her. “Interesting ceremony, Captain. Can’t say as I’ve seen the like. Fitting, somehow.” And then he moved on, his hulking figure shouldering its way through the others.

Laren sighed. Yes, it was fitting. As Mara had said, such madness would happen only at Karigan’s memorial.

Queen Estora also stopped to speak with her. “You must inform me when you decide to conclude the ceremony.” She glanced into the records room with bright eyes. “I think Karigan would have been overwhelmed by it all and not just by the unusual circumstances.”

Laren could not disagree with this, either. Karigan was often surprised when she became the center of attention, and shied from it. The queen bade her goodnight, and Laren bowed. As the corridor emptied, she caught Fastion’s arm as he strode by. “Would you mind waiting behind?”

“Not at all, Captain.” He sidled to the wall to allow others to pass.

When everyone else had left, Laren found Dakrias in the doorway of the records room peering inward. “Do you think it’s safe?” he asked.

“You would know better than anyone,” she replied.

Dakrias appeared to steel himself, settling his administrator’s gowns about him and straightening the specs on his nose. With a curt nod he stepped into the records room. When nothing ill happened, he took a few more cautious steps. Laren and Fastion followed him, surveying the damage.

“I will assign some Riders to help clean up this mess in the morning,” Laren told Dakrias.

“I thank you,” he replied, “and my clerks will, too. I’ve not the faintest idea of what got into the, um, spirits tonight, but it was rude conduct on their part during so solemn an occasion.” He projected his voice upward as if to ensure the ghosts heard his remonstration.

Who could know what had stirred up the ghosts? She might have to finish Karigan’s memorial elsewhere for safety’s sake.

“Fastion,” she said, “I’d like to see the glass dome to make sure it hasn’t been damaged.” Since it was not the actual chamber that had trembled, she was optimistic no damage to the glass had occurred, but she had to make sure.

“Of course. I will light it up for you and check for damage up top, while you inspect it from below.” Without another word, he strode from the records room.

Laren waited, hearing muttering from Dakrias who attempted to straighten the mess on his desk. She turned at the sound of footsteps entering the room. It was not a ghost, or one of her Riders, but none other than Zachary, accompanied by a pair of Weapons and three Eletians. After her initial surprise, she bowed to her king.

Zachary looked about, baffled by the mess. “Tell me, Captain, exactly what kind of ceremony is it you conduct here?”

Laren refrained from making a sarcastic reply. “We have decided to conclude our memorial for Rider G’ladheon on another night when there is, er, less turbulence.”

The mention of Karigan’s name in the same breath as the word “memorial” brought a flash of pain to his eyes, but he revealed no more of his true feelings. As for the Eletians, she had met none of them before, two males and one female, but they held the beauty all Eletians possessed that made it so difficult not to stare at them. One of the men, the younger male, was somehow muted in his looks compared to any other Eletians she had ever met. He was still striking, but his inner light was less intense. There was a more earthly quality about him. But why had they come? And why had Zachary brought them to the records room, of all places?

“Allow me to introduce our guests,” Zachary said. “This is the leader of the
tiendan.
His name is Somial.”

The foremost Eletian nodded, silvery hair flowing about his shoulders.

“Somial,” Laren said. “I have heard that name. Karigan met an Eletian named Somial.” It had been before Karigan was officially a Rider, at a time when Eletians were little more than legend.

“Yes,” Somial said in a pleasing voice. “We helped her along the road after her most heroic battle with a creature of
Kanmorhan Vane.
It brings us great sorrow that she . . .” He paused as if searching for the correct words. “It is difficult for us to know what to say as we deal so little with mortality. Perhaps I should just say we have sorrow that she is not here with us.”

“Thank you,” Laren said quietly. They hadn’t come just to offer condolences, had they? If that were the case, wouldn’t their prince have sent one who knew the proper words?

“My companions,” Somial said, “Idris—” The woman nodded gravely. “—and Enver.”

The young man came forward and presented his hand. When Laren got over her surprise, she clasped it and shook.

“How do you do?” he asked in a practiced cadence.

“Well, thank you. And you?”

He smiled, his eyes alight. “I am fine.”

“Enver,” Somial explained with an indulgent smile, “has been studying the customs of your people. He is very pleased to use what he has learned.”

“Somial and his people have come to us,” Zachary said, “at the behest of Prince Jametari. Specifically, they wish to see you.”

“Me?” In a night of surprises, this was the biggest.

“Yes, Captain,” Somial replied. “He wishes you to send a message.”

Laren glanced at Zachary, who shrugged, their purpose as much a mystery to him as it was to her. “Surely Prince Jametari has his own messengers?”

“Yes.” Somial looked amused. “We tiendan serve that purpose, but our prince has had a vision. The message must be written in your hand. In fact, three messages.”

When Somial told her what she must write and what she must do with the messages, she thought the Eletians and their prince positively mad. Something like hope lit in Zachary’s eyes though he attempted to conceal it. Laren thought the scheme not only foolish but also cruel. If nothing came of it, it would only compound and extend their pain at losing Karigan.