First Rider's Call (57 page)

The king stepped closer. “I fear it is so. I’m sorry, Rider—Karigan, but Alton is with the gods now. He perished in Blackveil.”

It was like the floor had collapsed from beneath her feet. It couldn’t be true! She had just seen Alton in the Mirror of the Moon. He had looked so ill . . . She shook her head, denying the king’s words.

His hand was on her arm, but she could not feel it—everything had gone numb.

“N-no,” she said. “It can’t be true. I’ll ask Mara and she’ll—”

The king cursed. “I thought you knew. I thought you’d have heard when you returned from your errand and saw Rider barracks.”

Barracks? What was he talking about? She had to go see Mara. Alton couldn’t be dead. He—

“Rider Barracks burned,” the king said. “There were intruders on the castle grounds, and all I can guess is that Mara used her ability to defend herself. She is badly burned. Ephram, alas, perished in the blaze.”

“No!”

The king drew closer to comfort her in his embrace. “Karigan—”

She pulled herself away and ran from the study.

ASHES

The young mender, Ben, splayed his body protectively across Mara’s door in the mending wing. He licked his lips anxiously, his eyes fairly bugging out of his head.

“You can’t enter!” he told Karigan. “She’s too hurt. Please, Rider, burns are tricky things. Only Master Destarion and myself—”

The saber quavered in Karigan’s hand. All she knew was rage.

Master Destarion hurried down the corridor accompanied by soldiers. Other menders huddled down at the far end, not desiring to venture any closer.

“Rider!” It was the first time Karigan had ever heard him raise his voice. “Put that sword down immediately!”

Sword?
She gazed at her hand, at her fingers wrapped around the worn leather hilt of her saber. It was as if her hand belonged to someone else entirely, someone she didn’t know. What in the name of all the gods was she doing?

She opened her fingers and the sword fell to the floor. She stared stupidly at it there on the carpet. Its nicked and scratched blade showed hard use, but it was sharp enough to split a hair. What had it been doing in her hand? Swords were for killing . . . Hadn’t there been enough loss of life already?

In the next moment, the soldiers were on her, pinning her arms behind her back. She did not struggle, but they weren’t gentle.

Master Destarion glowered at her as if she was some sort of monster. “What in five hells were you doing?” he demanded. “This is a place of healing.”

Karigan could only stare at the sword at her feet, grief stuck in her throat.

“Rider Brennyn is alive, but barely. Your intrusion could have brought her further harm.”

Pain. It was shredding Karigan’s guts. A teardrop fell to the carpet, making a dark splotch.

Destarion kept talking, but Karigan didn’t hear him. She wasn’t really even inside herself. She was somewhere else, isolated from all others, hearing but not listening, her eyes too clouded to see anything more than shapes and light. Until she heard King Zachary’s voice.

“I believe I can explain, Destarion,” he said, striding down the corridor with a pair of Weapons at his side, and his faithful terriers following behind. To the soldiers he said, “Release her immediately.”

When they obeyed, Karigan discovered she had no legs. Destarion caught her, and Ben darted from Mara’s doorway to help.

“I brought a shock upon her rather suddenly,” the king said, a tone of apology in his voice. “This after an ‘eventful’ message errand she endured. I handled things poorly.” He was very near, but as he spoke, she only caught snatches of the conversation. She heard Alton’s name, and Ephram’s, and about barracks burning, and Mara. “Perhaps a draught would help.”

“Yes,” Destarion said. “A very good idea. See to it, will you, Ben?”

When the mender left her side, King Zachary stepped in to catch her elbow.

“How is Rider Brennyn?” he asked softly.

Destarion sighed. “Clinging to life. If there is one trait these Riders of yours share, sire, it’s their fighting spirit. Sheer obstinance if you ask me. If her burns don’t fester, and if she doesn’t give up hope, she may recover, at least physically.”

“And Laren?”

Destarion snorted. “Difficult woman! I dressed the burns on her hands and then she forced me out of her quarters and slammed the door shut.”

“Captain Mapstone?”

Karigan hadn’t realized she had spoken aloud until the king explained. “She extinguished the flames burning Mara, no doubt saving her life. I do wish she would talk to us, for she’s really the only witness besides Mara who might be able to explain what happened.”

Ben returned, bearing a cup. “Drink up,” Destarion told Karigan. “It will make you easier.”

As if someone else guided her actions, she took the cup and sniffed its contents. It was wine laced with something overly sweet. Something, no doubt, to make her sleep.

“No,” she said.

“No?”

“No.
” She dropped the cup onto the floor, red wine splattering across her sword blade like blood. “No.” The word wrenched up from within. She tore away from the king and Destarion. She ran. Behind her, she heard the king commanding the soldiers not to follow.

She flung herself out of the mending wing and down stairways to the main floor. She pelted down corridors, tears streaming down her cheeks, and she didn’t care who saw.

Once she left the castle entrance, she kept running; she ran till she came to the still smoldering remains of Rider barracks, dark and ghastly against the night sky.

Little stood. The fire had greedily consumed the two-hundred-year-old building, leaving behind a few charred beams, chimneys, and ashes. The reek of smoke saturated the air.

“No,” she whispered. Had she somehow brought this upon the Riders? Was it somehow her fault? Was Prince Jametari right about her? “No.” But this time she didn’t believe herself.

Alton was gone. So was Ephram. Mara barely clung to life.

She stood forlornly there, in front of Rider barracks, stray tears tracking down her cheeks. She needed answers. The king thought the captain might have answers—the captain who should be bearing this, not Karigan. How could the captain desert her in her time of need?

She wanted answers, and she wanted them now.

At officer’s quarters, she pummeled Captain Mapstone’s door. A light flickered within, so she knew the captain was there.

Karigan wasn’t sure how long she yelled and beat on the door, but when it creaked open, she stumbled back in surprise. The captain stood there in the doorway, backlit by a lamp that filled the hollows of her cheeks with shadows. Her usually neat braid was a mess of crazed strands. She wore an old, very rumpled shirt. She looked ravaged by illness.

At first Karigan could not speak, but when she found her voice, all she could say was, “Alton.” It was like a recrimination.

The captain’s silence stoked Karigan’s anger. “What about Mara? What about Ephram? Why? How could you let this happen?”

She carried on, unleashing her rage. The captain swayed in the doorway, as if being physically battered.

“Why?” Karigan demanded. “Why did you let it happen? Why did you leave this all for me?”

The captain brought her bandaged hands to her face as if to fend off blows. By then, the fire in Karigan was quenched, and she felt as burned out as Rider barracks. She sank to her knees on the captain’s step.

The captain receded into her quarters and closed the door.

Karigan did the only thing she could do: she went to the stables. But even Condor could not soothe her. She climbed up to the loft and curled up on a pile of hay, holding herself; too numb, too shocked to do anything more than stare into the dark, with only the shifting and scraping of horse hooves down below to disturb her.

Someone entered the stable with a lantern.

“Karigan?” King Zachary called.

She buried her head in her arms, angered by the intrusion. Why couldn’t he just let her be?

Another part of her craved him to lend her comfort.

The light flickered and moved down below as the king searched for her. She should be flattered, she thought, that the king of Sacoridia thought enough of his Green Rider to seek her out.

He paused at the bottom of the ladder. She prayed he would go away, and she prayed he would climb up and find her.

The ladder creaked as he stepped on the bottom rung, the light rising and growing brighter as he climbed. When he stood upon the loft, she covered her eyes.

“Karigan,” he said, “I am terribly sorry. For everything, and more than I can ever express. I know you and Alton were close.”

He sat down beside her, and she willed the grief away, but his presence only seemed to incite it.

“I am sorry,” he said again.

Before Karigan could entertain another thought, the grief engulfed her, racking her body with sobs that came from deep down. She didn’t know when it happened, but the king had given her his shoulder in which to bury her face. He held her as the sobs took over.

“I can’t believe he’s gone.”

“Shhh . . .” the king soothed.

When she ran out of tears, she leaned into him, her cheek against his throbbing heart.

 

The king held her until she exhausted herself into oblivion. Dimly she remembered him settling her into a deep nest of hay, and covering her with a blanket, and after that, she’d fallen asleep. She did not know how long he had lingered there by her side. Perhaps it had been a dream.

She smoothed her hand over the blanket. It was soft velveteen. She cracked open swollen eyes that ached from all the crying, and discovered it wasn’t a blanket at all that covered her, but King Zachary’s longcoat of dusky blue. She pulled it up to her chin, inhaling his pleasant scent. It brought her some peace as though he were embracing her again.

Gray light filtered through chinks in the stable’s siding into the gloom of the loft. Down below the horses shifted, and she recognized Condor’s distinct snore. Soon Hep would arrive for the morning feeding, and the castle grounds would bustle with the new day, as if Alton was not gone.

More tears wanted to come, some trickled down her cheeks, but she was so wrung out, she had little left inside her.

It’s an old story,
said Lil Ambrioth.

Her voice and presence ceased to startle Karigan. The apparition sat a short way away on a pile of hay, the hazy morning light lending some substance to her features.

“Because you had to,” Karigan said.

Lil nodded.
Because we had to. We had to work to defeat Mornhavon, otherwise something worse than death awaited all who remained: loss of free will. To give up would have been to dishonor those who had perished fighting for the good of all the lands. In their deaths we found the spirit and courage to go on. It gave us new purpose.

On a rational level, Karigan understood Lil’s words, but the wound upon her heart was too raw.

I expect other Riders will return only to find shock and sorrow as you have,
Lil said.
They will need comfort and guidance, just as you did through the night. Who will be here for them? Who will lend them strength?

“I have no strength left to give.”

No? I suppose your king shall have to do it then.
Lil’s tone was tinged with sarcasm.
Or, would he do it for only one special Rider?

Karigan closed her eyes, remembering the king’s embrace and soothing words.
One special Rider.
He had done it for
her,
Karigan G’ladheon, not just for one of his Riders. The concept took her aback.

How about your captain?
Lil asked.
Do you suppose she’s in any condition to support her Riders?

The image of her suffering captain came back to her all too vividly, and she wilted in shame as she recalled how she had railed at her.

There was no one else.

Lil began to fade, leaving but the faint pigment of a cheek and the twinkle of eyes.

What had become of Lil’s Riders when
she
passed on? Did they continue to fight, or did they stagger without her leadership? Karigan was again struck by the feeling of a story left unfinished.

“Tell me,” she said, “did you die of the arrow?”

There was spectral blurring as Lil stood. She strode across the loft in agitation, then looked down upon Karigan, and as she faded away, she spoke.
How did
you
die?

Karigan sank back into the hay stunned, and found comfort only in the king’s longcoat.