First Rider's Call (25 page)

“Soldiers?” Zachary asked. “What soldiers do you speak of? D’Ivary has no militia.”

Durgan Atkins did not conceal his hatred. “Soldiers like the ones I see around here. Soldiers in silver and black.”

Sacoridian soldiers?
Laren thought.
That’s impossible . . .

The throne room had gone silent, and it was as if the air had been sucked out of the place. Zachary let go his king’s mask and no longer hid his fury.

Lynx nudged Atkins. “Tell them the rest.”

Atkins grunted. “One day the landowner comes down, looks at us as though we’re no more than cattle. Lord Nester, he was called. He picked some of the girls and women, and the soldiers took them away. They’ve not been returned to us . . . my nine-year-old girl was with them.”

Laren’s own hackles rose at this last. She had heard rumors about Nester and his appetites, but nothing had ever been proven. And no doubt he’d be well shielded by his brother-in-law, Lord-Governor D’Ivary.

“This Lord Nester,” Atkins continued, “he stood up on a block and announced to us that by proclamation of King Zachary all refugees were to be returned to the northern border.”

Zachary stood, hands clenched.

“They marched us.” The man’s voice had ground into a painful whisper. “They marched us hard to the border. Those too weak or sickly were killed outright so as not to slow the march. At night we were bunched together so there was hardly room to lay down. We were not given much food or water, just enough to keep us marching. Whatever girls or women Nester hadn’t chosen, the soldiers made use of. My wife . . .” He pointed at the king. “You brought this upon us! They were
your
soldiers,
your
words!”

He sprang up the dais steps to attack Zachary, but in a blur of motion, two Weapons were on him and dragged him away. They pinned his arms behind him, his chest heaving. He spat at Zachary’s feet.

How could this be? Laren wondered. Her ability had indicated D’Ivary spoke truth when he promised the refugees would come to no harm.

False,
her ability said, without her request.

Her attention was then drawn to Zachary slowly descending the dais to stand before Atkins. His expression had turned from fury to sadness.

“Those were not my soldiers,” he said softly, “nor did I issue a proclamation to have your people marched to the border. Regardless, I am very, very sorry.”

Atkins was unconvinced. “Apologies won’t bring back the dead, will they? Apologies won’t bring back my daughter.”

“Ellen,” the king said, suddenly addressing one of the Weapons, “will you see to it that Master Atkins is made comfortable in one of the guest suites? Ask the steward to accommodate his wishes, and perhaps have a mender look in on him.”

“I don’t want your hospitality,” Atkins growled.

Zachary simply said, “We will talk more later.”

With that, the two Weapons escorted him from the throne room.

“It’s true what he says,” Lynx said in his harsh voice. “I’ve seen those soldiers, but I figured they were mercs dressed to look like ours. I tried to convince Durgan of it, but he wouldn’t hear me. I’ve seen the trail of bodies left behind from the march, and talked to other borderers, so I guess I can’t blame Durgan for his anger. He was the only one willing to come, and I think it’s because he wanted to see the face of the king that brought so much misery upon his people.”

Disbelief warred with anger in Zachary’s face. He tore off his royal mantle of heather, tossed it on the throne chair, and started pacing. “I had thought D’Ivary understood my wishes in this matter.”

He hadn’t directed the comment at Laren, but she felt the thrust of it into her gut.

“I will need to speak with you further, Rider,” Zachary said, “but go eat and rest. When Atkins is ready to talk again, we shall resume.”

Clearly dismissed, Lynx hesitated.

“Is there something else, Rider?”

“Yes, sire. Not having to do with the refugees, but I thought I should mention it. The forest, it’s restless. The wild creatures—well, they’re spooked. They know of some darkness passing through the woods, but are vague on exactly what it is.”

Zachary sighed. Lynx’s ability was to communicate with animals—not so much as speak with them directly, but to feel the currents of mood and emotion, and understand their meaning.

Lynx departed and Zachary said, “First a stone deer, and now spooked wildlife.” He shook his head. “I’m afraid that’ll have to wait. Our refugee situation is more urgent.” He called a runner of the Green Foot to him. “Find General Harborough and tell him to attend me immediately.”

“What are you going to do?” Colin asked.

“What needs to be done.” He didn’t pause before turning to Laren. “Captain, do you care to explain to me why you felt D’Ivary could be trusted?”

She grasped her brooch.
False,
her ability offered. Why was it doing this?

“I—”

“Were you using your ability that day, or not?”

“Of course. I knew how important the truth was.”

Laren’s fingers quavered at her neck scar. “I don’t know what happened.”

“Well, I do.” Zachary pivoted away from her and resumed his pacing. Then he halted and turned back to her. “Lord D’Ivary lied to us that day. He hired mercenaries to harass and hurt refugees, but he had them impersonate our Sacoridian troops. Not only has D’Ivary given those border people more reason to hate me, but they were beaten and raped. A nine-year-old, Captain. A nine-year-old taken by Lord Nester. How could you have read D’Ivary as honest?”

Laren backed away, hurt and astonished, and fighting for control, unable to explain herself. The reading she had taken of D’Ivary couldn’t have been more clear.

She slammed her barriers down around the inner voice of her ability, but her control eluded her; slipped out of her hands like a wriggly fish.

Zachary walked away from her to speak with Sperren and Colin Dovekey, his body posture stiff as though he tried to contain intense rage.

Laren closed her eyes. She would never forget how he looked at her, and his words:
A nine-year-old, Captain. How could you have read D’Ivary as honest?

It was her fault, the rapes, the beatings, the deaths. All of it on her shoulders.

True
.

INNER VOICES

Alton surveyed the empty field that had once been a thriving, busy encampment. There were no longer colorful striped tents pitched here, no wandering minstrels plucking a tune, no merchants shouting out the virtues of their wares. Nor were there fine ladies gossiping beneath pavilions with servants scurrying about with refreshments.

The field was barren of life. Only the refuse that littered the ground, and the beaten paths made by feet and hooves, indicated there had once been tremendous activity here.

Beyond the field, precise rows of military tents remained, and among them, Landrew D’Yer’s. He had shifted his base of operations as far from the wall as possible.

After the avian’s attack on Lady Valia, all the nobles and common folk had hastily packed up and left—some that very day. Much to Alton’s relief, his little brother and cousin had been immediately sent home, too.

The avian’s attack had been a swift and brutal reminder of why it was dangerous to take the D’Yer Wall and Black-veil Forest lightly. This was no place for a summer holiday. It would be a long time before those who witnessed the attack would forget the image of that huge winged monster digging its talons into Valia’s back. It would be even longer before they got over the sound of her screams, which through the night had weakened until they faded to nothing.

Valia’s parents had brought a vibrant young woman to the wall for a summer holiday, and they had left with a corpse.

Alton sighed, thrusting his hands into his pockets. He let the sun beat down on his shoulders as if it could burn away the darkness of his thoughts. But he would never forget Valia’s screams. They were etched into his soul.

Nothing had ventured over the wall since, but Alton couldn’t help but think it was only a matter of time. He sensed something about Blackveil, an alertness or some kind of intelligence.

He shook his head. He couldn’t explain it. Nor was he able to explain why he couldn’t call upon the magic of the wall. It had responded to him only that once—if in fact it hadn’t been his imagination. Why should he expect it to awaken again?

Because it has to,
he thought.
Because if it doesn’t, we may never learn the secret of repairing the wall, and more monsters will come from Blackveil to terrorize Sacoridia.

If the wall completely failed, there would not be enough soldiers in the world to hold Blackveil back.

He could only keep trying, even if it meant he kept failing.

With new resolve, he turned toward the wall, but found Pendric standing in his path. Pendric had not spoken to him since the attack on Valia. In fact, he had hardly spoken to anyone. He ate little, and looked unkempt as if he had given up combing his hair and bathing. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes from too little sleep. Alton had begun to pity him.

“What is it, cousin?” Alton asked.

Pendric looked about for a moment as though confused, then a familiar contempt crept into his eyes.

“It’s all your fault.”

“What are you talking about? What’s my fault?”

“Look at me.” Pendric jammed his thumb into his chest. “Look at me. I have nothing—it’s always you that has gotten everything.”

Alton drew his eyebrows together, a little warning going off in his head. He knew he should just walk away, but maybe if Pendric unleashed whatever it was that gnawed at him, he’d feel better and stop being so nasty-tempered.

“What do you mean?” Alton asked quietly.

Pendric shook from whatever emotion had seized him.

“You are heir to the province, I’m not. You don’t deserve it—you’re never home to take care of the clan or our people.
I am.
I’m always there—I’m the one always there doing all the work, the things you should be doing. And what will my reward be? Scraping the ground before Lord-Governor Alton D’Yer.”

So this was the basis of the matter. Pendric was jealous.

“I’d be home,” Alton said, “but I’ve been called to the king’s service.”

Pendric clenched his hands into fists. “You could leave.”

“No, I couldn’t.” There was no use in trying to explain the Rider call with his cousin in such a state.

Pendric laughed harshly. “No, you couldn’t. You like being close to the king, don’t you? You can win his favor. And you like being near Lady Estora, don’t you?”

Alton shifted his stance. There was a wildness in his cousin’s eyes he had not seen before. “Is there a point to this, Pendric?”

“You turned Lady Estora away from me. You told her, ‘Don’t marry Pendric, he’s ugly, and he has nothing to show for himself.’ Isn’t that right?”

“No. That’s an outright lie.”

But Pendric ignored him. “All Valia could say was how handsome Lord Alton is, how kind Lord Alton is. You even turned
her
against me.”

“Look, I—”

“Handsome Lord Alton, the heir, the honored son. He gets everything. He’s the one who will save us from Blackveil. He’s the one the king looks to, the one Lady Estora listens to.” Saliva foamed at the edge of his mouth. “The only thing I ever got that you didn’t was the fever.” He dragged his fingers across his pock-marked cheeks. “Even my own mother can’t stand the sight of me.”

Alton had had no idea of the depth of Pendric’s anger and self-loathing. For whatever reason, he had twisted the truth to feed his pain. He wasn’t thinking rationally, and nothing Alton could say or do would sway him to the truth.

“You bastard,” Pendric whispered. “You killed the one thing I loved.”

Alton’s mouth dropped open.

“It wasn’t enough to turn her against me, was it. Your magic, your evil magic lured that monster over the wall and you let it kill her.”

Before Alton could overcome his shock at this accusation, Pendric landed his fist across his jaw. One moment Alton had been standing, the next he was on his back staring at the sky, wondering if his jaw was still attached to his face.

Pendric dove on him, pummeling him with his fists. Alton protected his face with his forearms, but was clouted in the ear. Pendric was as strong as any stoneworker.

Slam!
A fist against his temple.

A knee in his gut.

Alton hazed out with pain, pretty sure he’d lose his dinner.

He rocked back and forth trying to dislodge Pendric, kicking, and blindly struck out. Once he thought he clipped Pendric’s chin, another time he thought he hit his nose.

And then suddenly Pendric was off him. Some soldiers restrained Pendric, and there was shouting and running feet. Sergeant Uxton gazed down at him.