First Rider's Call (3 page)

Ty signaled a halt. “Carefully,” he mouthed.

Karigan nodded and wrapped her fingers about the hilt of her saber. A soft breeze made the tall spruce trees sway and creak.

Ty motioned forward and they rode into the clearing.

Sunlight dazzled Karigan’s eyes and she blinked furiously, then an itchy sensation crawled across her skin.

“Wha—?” she began, and then just as quickly it passed.

“Did you feel
that?
” Ty said.

Karigan nodded. “It felt like a warding.”

She took stock of the clearing. Dominating its center was a great rock cairn from which no tree, grass, or moss grew, though the edges of the rocks appeared blunted by weathering as though over a great span of time.

Along the clearing’s perimeter stood obelisks like stern fingers admonishing them to turn back. There were no groundmites or Eletians lying in wait for them, but the loathing Karigan felt increased tenfold.

Ty edged Flicker over to one of the obelisks. “These must be ward stones.” He pressed his hand against the pale stone but quickly snatched it away. Then, more tentatively, he placed his palm against it.

“Come tell me what you think of this.”

Karigan reined Condor over to the obelisk, amazed that “Rider Perfect,” as the others liked to call Ty, requested her opinion.

The obelisk was carved with runes and pictographs like those they had seen earlier on the waymarkers. Some were so worn or encrusted by green and blue lichens that they were difficult to make out. Karigan trailed her fingers across the cool stone and immediately felt a tingling swarm up her arm. A faint hum sputtered in her mind. She withdrew her hand.

“The ward is dying,” she said.

Ty nodded in approval, still the mentor, though Karigan’s days as a messenger-in-training were well past.

“Doesn’t feel like it’s going to hold up much longer,” she added.

“I agree.”

Just like anything else in the world, it seemed even magical spells had only a certain lifespan before they wore out. It made Karigan think that the wards set around Rider waystations were much newer than these, though it had been a hundred years or more since a Rider had possessed the ability to work with spells of warding. If this were the case, then the obelisks must indeed be ancient.

They explored the clearing further, stopping to examine each obelisk, each of which looked much like the ones before. There were fourteen in total. Karigan gave the cairn a wide berth while they looked about. The loathing never left her, but she sensed no immediate peril.

“Do you suppose it’s a burial cairn?” she asked Ty.

He gazed hard at it. “I can’t think of what else it might be. Long ago, important people used to be buried with all their household goods beneath such cairns.” He rode around it, apparently unaffected, or at least unperturbed, by any sense of dread that might arise from it. “Those had ornamental seals over the entrances. This has no entrance, and it’s like all the rocks were just dumped on top of it for good measure.”

“Not exactly a sign of respect,” Karigan said. What it
was
a sign of, she couldn’t imagine. Maybe to discourage grave robbers? Why else ward a burial cairn? And why wasn’t Westrion, god of the dead, pictured on any of the ward stones? Even to this day, the Birdman’s visage was a common funerary emblem.

No, not Westrion, but . . .
She passed her fingers across one of the faded inscriptions. A horse? Could it be Salvistar, Westrion’s messenger? Salvistar was the harbinger of strife and battle. It was said that wherever he appeared, battle, destruction, and death were certain to follow. She shook her head. It was impossible to know, for the figure could have meant anything to those who erected the obelisks. The pictograph of the horse might simply represent, well, a plain old horse.

Ty rejoined her, Flicker’s hooves clopping on the granite ledge. He glanced up at the high sun. “I’m afraid it’s a mystery we’ll never unravel. We should head back.”

They left the cairn behind, much to Karigan’s relief. The magic itched across her skin again as she passed between the ward stones, and a new thought occurred to her.

“Ty,” she said, “how do we know the wards were set to keep things out?”

“What do you mean? What else could they be for?”

“What if the wards were meant to keep something in?”

Ty had no answer for her.

 

The soldiers who served as outriders for the delegation had come up with the motto: “There is no road to Eletia.” And it was true. The North Road, which was the northernmost road that cut through the dense Green Cloak Forest, reached only so far, and after a certain point even the trails of foresters and trappers petered out.

The delegation had had to leave behind its carts and carriages in the village of North, loading all essential supplies onto a string of pack mules. Nobles, servants, soldiers, and Green Riders alike rode horseback, a pleasure for some, and a hardship for others unused to long days in the saddle.

The outriders had ended up being assigned the task of clearing the way for the delegation, though often enough the delegation moved freely through the woods thanks to the expertise of the bounder who guided them. At other times, however, deadfalls and underbrush had to be hacked out of the way.

Over the weeks of the journey, the soldiers had modified their motto to: “There is no road to Eletia, but there will be by the time we’re through.”

Upon their return, Karigan and Ty first encountered soldiers who stood guard over those who toiled over a massive tangle of deadfall. Ty called out so he and Karigan would not be mistaken for intruders.

The foremost guard “Hallooed” them in return. His black and silver tunic was askew over his mail, indicating he had already taken a turn with an ax.

“Anything new since this morning?” Ty asked.

“Sign of groundmites in the area,” the soldier said. “Lady Penburn has stopped the works to decide what to do, but I’ve heard nothing more than that.”

With this news Karigan tensed. Upon reaching the relative safety of the delegation, she had just begun to relax a little. Scout duty was extremely nerve-racking: always having to be on high alert, especially with the constant threat of groundmites hanging over them, and the uncertainty of the Eletians’ reception should they by chance have an encounter. She and Ty had spoken little since the clearing, trying to ride as quietly and inconspicuously as possible through the dense woods, maintaining that high level of watchfulness at all times.

They continued on, passing weary soldiers taking a break, and guided the horses through the narrow clearing in the snarl of deadfall the soldiers had hacked out.

Others stood guard here and there some distance into the forest. One knelt amid a patch of bracken fern, and another leaned against a boulder. They all watched outward, their crossbows held at ready.

Karigan and Ty passed the drovers who stood with the mules and horses. Servants gossiped in small groups, and a scattering of more soldiers waited close at hand for their next order. Standard bearers in bright livery bided their time, their standards furled and packed away to prevent them from becoming constantly entangled in low-hanging boughs.

A fine delegation we make,
Karigan thought. Even the nobles had put away their finery in favor of rougher but more practical riding breeches and tunics.
The Eletians will wonder what kind of ragtag rabble we are.

She straightened her own soiled shortcoat trying to remember the last time she had bathed in something other than an icy stream. Ty, she noted with a ripple of envy, looked as fresh and dapper as the day they had left Sacor City.

Rider Bard Martin detached himself from conversation with a drover and strode over to them. No one knew his real first name, but “Bard” suited him for he had a penchant for singing and the telling of tales, an ability the Riders found most welcome.

The gold embroidery of the winged horse emblem on his shortcoat was coming unraveled, Karigan saw, then she noted a long rip in the sleeve itself.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“What?” Bard stopped short looking up at her in surprise. Then he followed her gaze to his sleeve. “Oh. A soldier nearly took my arm off when he mistook me for a ’mite. Everyone’s on edge and I should have announced myself better. I’m fine—I’ve good reflexes.” He smiled in appreciation for her concern.

“I’ll take Condor and Flicker off your hands,” he said. “No doubt Lady Penburn will want your report immediately. Ereal has been right in the thick of it.”

After Karigan and Ty dismounted, Rider-Lieutenant Ereal M’Farthon waved them over to a knot of people surrounding Lady Penburn. They were engaged in an intense discussion. Among them were select nobles: Captain Ansible, who oversaw the military aspect of the delegation; Master Banff, secretary to Lady Penburn; and the bounder Brogan, who, in his stained buckskin, was the most disreputable of the lot. Karigan crinkled her nose and moved to an upwind position.

“What have you to report?” Lady Penburn asked.

Ty stepped forward and bowed, and while he told them of their mostly uneventful scout duty, Lady Penburn listened avidly.

Karigan found she rather liked Lady Penburn. The lady was undoubtedly accustomed to every luxury accorded one of her station, but had taken the rugged nature of this expedition in stride. In fact, she threw herself into it with a girlish enthusiasm as if she were on holiday. Perhaps it was like a holiday to her, compared to her usual work of managing a province. Karigan thought she would’ve made a good Green Rider, at least in spirit.

Lady Penburn’s enthusiasm was contagious enough that it kept the other members of the delegation moving forward without too much grumbling. She kept their minds on birdsong and wildflowers, or the latest court gossip, rather than oppressive heat or the occasional sudden downpour. Still, there was no mistaking who was in charge, for her leadership was straightforward, and her orders sometimes sharp.

When Ty described the clearing with its warding, Karigan saw some decision click in Lady Penburn’s eyes.

“Thank you, Rider Newland,” Lady Penburn said. “You are certain there was no sign of groundmites?”

“Yes, my lady.”

She sighed. “Your lieutenant here saw a band of the creatures moving west of us, and Brogan found fresh sign of them to the east.”

Karigan inhaled sharply. Thus far Lady Penburn’s scouts had found the occasional old sign of ’mites, but nothing to suggest they were near enough to endanger the delegation. Lady Penburn’s use of extreme caution, however, was well warranted, for long, long ago groundmites had been bred by Mornhavon the Black to be ferocious killers, and they had been harrying Sacoridia’s borders very hard of late. Settlers were forced to flee the northern territory for more tame and populated lands, causing problems for provincial lords who suddenly had to contend with refugees.

“It’s certainly not safe for us to set up camp here,” Lady Penburn said. “Although I expected we’d eventually find ourselves in this situation, I wish we’d find signs of Eletians instead.”

Karigan suspected that Eletians would leave signs of themselves only if they wished to.

“We daren’t go west or east,” Lady Penburn said. “And south would be backtracking. Therefore we shall continue due north, and try to reach Rider Newland’s clearing by nightfall.”

Dread washed over Karigan at the announcement. Brogan, who had seemed to be in his own world during much of Ty’s report, shook himself to life.

“I wouldna do that, m’lady,” he said.

“And why not?”

Brogan licked his lips and squinted at her from beneath heavy eyebrows. “Begging pardon, m’lady, but there are some places you just want to avoid in this territory. Places of evil.”

“We’ve encountered numerous ruins and you’ve not had any complaints about those.”

“This is different. I’ve heard of this place, and I know trustworthy bounders who’d swear on their mothers’ graves it was ill-omened.”

“What makes it so? Are demons going to rise out of the earth and murder us while we sleep? Or is this just another bit of northern superstition?”

“No, m’lady. Not superstition.” Brogan groped for words. “It’s just . . . it’s just bad.” He looked at his boots, knowing how ridiculous it sounded.

Lady Penburn turned on Ty and Karigan. “Did either of you feel there was anything wrong with this place?”

“No,” Ty said.

When Karigan hesitated, Ty glanced at her, raising an eyebrow.

“Rider G’ladheon?” Lady Penburn’s voice was tinged with impatience.

Heat rose up Karigan’s neck and flooded her cheeks as everyone, from Captain Ansible to Lord Clayne, stared at her. So many eyes on her was a tangible, uncomfortable force that pressed on her from all sides.

And still she hesitated, fearing how very foolish she would sound if she told them of her feelings.

Lady Penburn’s eyebrows narrowed. “We haven’t all day, Rider.”

Ereal placed her hand on Karigan’s shoulder. “If you observed anything unusual in that clearing, we need to know about it.”

Karigan licked her lips. The silence that engulfed the group grew more immense as seconds passed and they waited for her to speak. If Lady Penburn hadn’t liked hearing of Brogan’s “superstitions,” then she certainly would find no merit in Karigan’s feelings. Yet duty required her to answer, and it was not in her nature to lie. What if her instincts meant danger for the delegation and she had failed to warn them?

“It was a feeling I had,” she said.

“A feeling?”

“Yes, my lady. A feeling of wrongness.” There. She had said it.

“A feeling, but nothing more?”

What else could Karigan say? “That’s correct, my lady.”

“Is it—” Lady Penburn cleared her throat and shifted, looking immensely uncomfortable, “—something you detected with your special ability?”