First Rider's Call (55 page)

The wind blew hair away from the figure’s face revealing her identity. Karigan looked upon herself. She opened her mouth, but no words would form.

The figure in the vision glanced over her shoulder, and then pushed on with renewed determination as if she were being hunted.

Then the vision faded and the water turned to silver again. Karigan glanced up at the prince. What did the scene portend? How was she wounded? Would she die of it? When would this happen?

But the prince told her no secrets. Instead, he said, “It is not done. Look again into the mirror.”

She did, but once again found only her reflection.

“No, look truly.”

She drew closer, seeing herself peering back. Brown hair framed her face. Her features, an echo of her mother’s, sagged a little in exhaustion. Otherwise, she looked much the same as she always had. The water simply reflected a Green Rider, the daughter of a merchant.

But as she gazed ever more deeply, she saw someone unable to admit how afraid and overwhelmed she was by the events flowing about her. She saw a young person caught up in grand things, shouldering weighty responsibilities. Perhaps too weighty.

Bright eyes reflected and counter-reflected. Those eyes had seen violence, and much that was strange and hurtful. With a heaviness of spirit, she realized a simple life as a merchant was truly lost to her.

She saw also her thin veneer of confidence that masked fear and fragility. There was so much on her small shoulders . . . Helping the Riders while leaderless, enduring supernatural visits by the First Rider, and travels to the past. And now there was all that the Eletian prince had told her. How could she carry such a burden? She had not the strength.

A current of self-doubt shook her. Her fears went deep, clutching at her heart. She feared losing her father, her one remaining parent and the foundation of her character. If anything happened to him, she would be alone in the world.

She feared meeting terrors in the night, cloaked in shadows, that spoke her name. She feared for Alton, having seen his condition, and for all the Riders. She feared losing any one of them.

And she feared love. Love that would pass, unfulfilled.

Finally, she feared changes wrought across her homeland should the darkness of Blackveil persevere.

Fear, she realized, propelled her forward, not courage, and certainly not just duty to king and country. Fear.

The mirror had peeled away all her self-perceptions, laid them raw and bare. She did not see the portrait of a confident and duty-bound Green Rider, but someone she did not like to acknowledge, someone with much to fear.

It was all there in the mirror, cradled in a fragile bowl, the essence of what drove Karigan G’ladheon, a young, frightened woman caught up in events greater than herself.

She passed her hand over her eyes. Only a patchwork of threads held her together.

“Galadheon,” Prince Jametari said in a prophetic voice, “You shall hear Westrion’s wings brush the air. To live, you must first die.”

 

Birds chattered away and whistled in the branches above Karigan’s head. The morning sun glistened on dew-laden leaves. She found herself sitting cross-legged next to a long-cold campfire, her hands on her knees. Had she been dreaming sitting up? Dreaming of a fanciful visit with Eletians?

The strange membranous leaf cloak, dappled with gems of dew, remained draped over her shoulders.

She shook her head and cobwebs fell from her mind. Condor watched her from the fringe of the woods, grass sticking out the corners of his mouth.

Karigan stood and stretched, the membranous cloak dissipating like a mist from her shoulders. Just another oddity to add to her growing list.

“So, where’ve you been all this time?” she asked her horse.

He dropped his nose back to the grass to graze.

Eletians may have their mysteries, she thought, but at least some things never changed.

ILL NEWS

Karigan rode Condor at a slow jog, he tossing his head and anxious for a run, but she was too preoccupied by all that had happened. She judged she had been away for two nights, but caught in the web of the Eletians, it could have been twenty. No matter how many nights it had been, Mara would be worried, and with good reason, for Karigan’s ordinary message errand had turned out to be anything but.

She darted glances up and down the road, and peered into the woods that bordered it. She expected any moment to see an Eletian emerge from between the tree trunks with bow bent, a shiny arrowhead aimed for her heart.

How dare they?
she fumed again and again.
How dare they threaten me just because they think I might interfere with the wall?

Everything she stood for, everything she would ever endanger herself for, was for the safety of her homeland and life as she knew it. The Mirror of the Moon had shown her this much. She did not want the wall to fail. How dare the Eletians suggest otherwise?

One niggling doubt chewed at the corners of her confidence. She wouldn’t purposely do anything wrong, but what if—? What if she made some mistake, or accidentally—

Condor bucked, not hard enough to dislodge her, but enough to gain her attention.

“What?” she demanded.

He snorted and champed his bit.

“Oh.” He still wanted to run, and maybe he had picked up on her anxiety. She clapped him on the neck. “You’re right, my friend. Let’s forget this nonsense and get home.” She had much to tell King Zachary and Mara.

She nudged his sides and gave him rein, and he stretched into an easy lope that helped dispel her worries.

 

Feeling she needed to communicate her experiences to the king before anything else, she went directly to the castle, letting a servant lead Condor away to the stables. Her plan was thwarted, however, for the throne room was packed. It was public audience day.

The crowd spilled out of the throne room entrance and down the corridor. She had to push to enter, getting jostled and shoved, with curses spat at her.

Above the heads of others, she could just make out the king on the dais, his chin on his fist, eyes hooded. From all outward appearances he was calm, but Karigan wondered how he could be with all these people thronging the chamber.

She elbowed two men out of her way, and slipped ahead of them.

“Hey,” one of the men protested, “wait yer turn.” He made to grab her, but she jammed the heel of her boot into the meaty part of his foot, and worked her way forward, leaving behind his sharp cry of pain.

Another look toward the dais showed Sperren banging the butt of his castellan’s staff on the floor, but it proved ineffectual in gaining anyone’s attention for it could not be heard. Colin stood before the king, more in a protective stance than one to quiet people, his training as a Weapon taking precedence over his role of advisor. Quickly she surveyed the Weapons and guards on duty, and to a one, they watched the crowd with wary eyes, their stance taut.

Anxiety was thick in the air, and plain on the faces of several petitioners. A woman fainted away from the heat of so many bodies pressed together, and was carried away by her companion. Others quickly filled their space.

The words “uncanny,” “strange,” and “evil magic” muttered through the crowd. Even those who had come to the king seeking his wisdom on ordinary topics were picking up on the currents of anxiety.

Karigan saw the herald, Neff, trapped in an alcove not far from her. He wasn’t exactly shrinking away from the crowd hemming him in but he certainly wasn’t choosing to get into the thick of it either.

She changed course to reach him. If some measure of mastery over the crowd wasn’t achieved, the petitioners would never be heard, and they’d grow more hot and frustrated until something set them off, and then there’d be danger—danger to the king, herself, and just about anyone else caught in the crush. In her estimation, the first thing needed was to quiet the crowd so the king and his advisors could get their attention.

She worked her way to Neff’s side, perspiration beading on her forehead from the heat. Neff warily watched her approach.

She pointed at the horn he held protectively at his side. “Sound that thing!” She had to shout to be heard.

Neff’s eyes widened. “Wha—?”

“Do it! Sound a flourish, or better yet, a cavalry charge.”

“I can’t just—”

She grabbed a handful of tabard and drew him close. “Do it, or things could get much worse in here.”

“But the king—”

Karigan growled and tore the long horn out of his hands. She drew it to her lips and blew. The sound it issued was akin to a dying cow.

Some in the crowd looked about in surprise and those around the alcove moved away, but it hadn’t been enough to quiet all the people. The king peered in her direction, and when he caught sight of her, he nodded his approval.

Karigan drew the horn to her lips again, but Neff snatched it back. He gave her a long look of disgust that let her know exactly how appalled he was, then raised it to his lips and blared the cavalry charge in high-pitched blasts. Karigan had to cover her ears.

That
had the desired effect—the crowd hushed in surprise.

“Order!” Sperren called out in a reedy voice that had already done too much shouting. “Order!”

The king rose from his throne chair and looked gravely upon the people. Before the babble could resume, he spoke.

“Citizens of Sacoridia—” His voice carried strong and sure through the throne room. He looked every bit the monarch, from his tall, square stance, to the sunlight shining on his fillet. “I am here today to listen to your petitions. In order to do so, your cooperation is required. A line will reform, no more than two wide.”

Angry voices broke out, but the king raised his hand and they quieted. “I swear to you, I shall hear every last one of you. However, those who do not cooperate will be summarily dismissed.” He nodded at the sergeant of the guard, and soldiers moved in to help organize the crowd into an orderly line. Some tempers flared, and those people were removed.

Karigan hesitated. She knew what she had to tell the king was important, but if she interrupted the public audience, she risked angering all those people again to a dangerous level. It took her but a moment to decide, and she strode toward the dais in the clearing space. She bowed before the king. While the petitioners were being organized into their line, she could at least have a quick word with him.

“Greetings, Rider,” he said. “Your intervention is most appreciated. Perhaps Neff can give you some pointers on the playing of his horn.” There was humor in his eyes, and she felt a blush creeping up her neck.

She cleared her throat, and said hastily, “I wanted to advise you, Your Majesty, that I had a most eventful message errand. Can we speak at the end of your public audience?”

“Of course, but you can see it will be hours.” When she nodded, he said, “In the meantime, I should like you here at my side.” He indicated the space where Captain Mapstone usually stood.

Karigan glanced up at him in astonishment.
“Me?
” “I need you,” he said, “especially the way today’s audience has gone so far. You have proven yourself . . . creative.” He smiled kindly. “I would appreciate your input as necessary.”

Karigan did not have a chance to protest or plead her lack of wisdom for so important a role, for the king began hearing petitions. She stepped into Captain Mapstone’s space to the right of the king’s dais, hoping she did not look as small and foolish as she felt.

Soon her self-consciousness melted into interest. She found herself enjoying watching the king at work. His outward facade was unswerving and authoritative, his questioning of petitioners deft and pointed. His decisions were fair and efficient, a good thing considering the length of the line.

She especially liked watching the way he moved his hands when he spoke, and how he leaned forward to focus on whomever stood before the dais. She liked the way the sun lancing through the windows lightened his eyelashes . . .

He happened to glance at her just then and she caught her breath. It was fleeting, but enough for her to see he was startled by her regard. Karigan shook herself and straightened her shoulders, and decided she ought to pay more attention to the proceedings.

To her vast relief, he seemed not to need her at all. That is, until the petitioners brought forth complaints of a stream flowing backward, a neighbor’s hoe turning to gold, and a husband vanishing from plain sight. “What will you do?” they all implored the king. Karigan saw he was a little at a loss, and he beckoned her close to his side.

“Do you have any suggestions of what I might say about these magical happenings without panicking everyone?”