First Rider's Call (70 page)

Their fourth day out, they came to some ancient ruins, crumbling stone walls overgrown with vegetation. They decided to take a midday break there. Most of the Riders fanned out to sit in the shade and have a bite to eat.

Karigan, however, stood and gazed at the ruins. Laren took a swig from her waterskin and watched her, noting the glassy look in her eyes as if her mind traveled someplace very far away. Her expression was difficult to interpret, as though a thousand emotions moved within her.

Presently Laren joined her. “What do you see?” she asked.

“Battle. Here the forces of Alessandros del Mornhavon triumphed over insurrectionists who would not bend their knees to the empire. Burning, children screaming, arrows, magical fire . . .”

Laren drew her eyebrows together in concern. “Karigan?”

Karigan shook herself, blinked, and turned to Laren with a small smile on her face. “Yes, Captain?”

The transformation was startling. “Are you all right? If you are feeling poorly, I could send you back—”

Karigan registered surprise. “I’m fine, Captain, really. I don’t need to go back. Is that all?”

Laren nodded, and Karigan strolled over to a shade tree and dropped down next to Dale, the two starting up an animated conversation. It was as if nothing unusual had happened.

She returned to Bluebird where he grazed nearby, and ran her hand along his neck.

“I hope you knew what you were doing when you convinced us to go to the wall.”

Bluebird paused his grazing and raised his head to gaze at her. Was it her imagination, or was his expression sheepish? It certainly wasn’t reassuring.

That evening, Laren sat off by herself next to a lantern, poring over maps of D’Yer Province and the wall. It had been some time since she last traveled the region, and she wanted to refamiliarize herself with it, especially the area near the breach.

Tomorrow morning she was sending Tegan off to Woodhaven, the seat of Lord-Governor D’Yer, to let him know what the Riders were up to, and the state of affairs elsewhere. Depending on how Tegan’s meeting with him went, she would either return to Sacor City to report to the king, or catch up with the Riders at the wall.

Laren looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps, to find Ty heading over with a steaming mug in each hand. “Tea,” he said.

Laren carefully took a mug. “Thank you.”

“Checking our route?” he asked, gazing down at the map.

“It’s fairly straightforward, and I understand a horse track has been cut all the way to the wall.”

“I’ve never been to the wall,” Ty said. “Seems we’re usually bound for Woodhaven when there’s a message to deliver in D’Yer Province.” He then hesitated. “Captain, would you mind if I sit?”

“Not at all.” Laren gestured at the ground beside her. In the yellow lantern light, she discerned an apprehensive expression on the Rider’s face. “Something wrong?”

Ty set his mug aside as he made himself comfortable on the ground. He glanced over his shoulder at the other Riders, then said in a quiet voice, “It’s Karigan. She’s been acting a little strange ever since we left the city, and I’m not the only one to have noticed.”

“Oh?” Laren did not want to pass on her own thoughts about Karigan, lest she add fuel to the flames of any speculation on behalf of her Riders. She needed them to trust one another. Somehow she was not surprised it was Ty who came forward. He had been Karigan’s mentor, and likely still felt responsible for her. His personality was also such that anything out of place required being defined, and if possible, put back into place. It made him a trifle unbending and strict, and for that reason alone, she had never promoted him to Chief Rider or lieutenant, positions that required flexibility.

“Just now,” Ty continued, “she was murmuring about being abandoned. I could swear I saw a tear in her eye, and when I asked her who abandoned us, she acted confused and didn’t seem to understand what I was talking about.”

“I shouldn’t worry about it,” Laren said, despite the fact that was precisely what she was doing.

“But—”

“We’ve all been under enormous strain of late. We’ve lost Ephram and Alton, and barracks has burned. My mind wanders, too.” Laren tried to sound reassuring, even as her own concern escalated. “If you notice anything else that warrants my attention, do bring it to me.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Now, let’s take a look at tomorrow’s route.”

 

The sky clouded over and it showered the following morning. They rode off, spirits dampened as much as bedrolls, and the usual conversation was stilled to silence. When Laren tired of listening to the pitter-patter on her hood, she drew it back and let the rain fall on her head. Doing so returned her side vision, and she glimpsed the horseman.

A gray cloak had been thrown over white armor, and he blended in well with the gloom and forest backdrop. When he perceived her gaze, he vanished again into the woods.

Laren veered Bluebird around, and much to the astonishment of her Riders, kicked him after the horseman. She looked for any sign of him, and when she found nothing, she began to wonder if he were an illusion. Then she saw the slight depression of a hoofprint.

She sat there in the rain, staring into the woods. He must be an Eletian. From what she knew, or thought she knew, only Eletians could move so swiftly, and with so little trace.

If so, why would an Eletian be tailing them?

Karigan rode through the mist and rain, fogged by shadow like a dark hand in her mind—someone peering in, violating all that should remain private. It was like living in a dream, her attention drawn inward, reliving memories that were hers . . . and were not. Terrible battles raged through her sleeping dreams, and sometimes she awakened with such feelings of power, she thought she could dash away the world with the sweep of her arm—all living creatures, any structure created by the hands of humanity, all traces of civilization.

And always,
he
was there in the falling snow, goading her to come.

Yes, I am coming.
Her reply, involuntary.

As she rode, she thought she heard the muffled sound of a horn trying to break through the clouds and murk, but it was never enough.

Please help!
she cried out, but all she heard in return was,
You will come.

BLACKVEIL

Exhilarated. < That was the only way he could think of to describe how he felt.
She
was coming. She with the long brown hair and ready smile. She who was of Hadriax’s blood.

He had pried into the mind of this young innocent, a mind curiously unblocked and unprotected. He learned her loves and loathings, followed her memories. He saw much of Hadriax in her, his courage and sense of loyalty.

Mornhavon fought to contain himself, to remind himself that Hadriax was long gone. This young woman, this Karigan, he could mold her and twist her mind, make her his, as Varadgrim was his. He could bind her to him, and end his loneliness. He would have her at his side when the wall failed.

The wild magic was within her, and all he’d have to do is control it. She would shed all notions of being a Green Rider. She would be his.

Wouldn’t this be his ultimate revenge against Hadriax? To pervert one of his own blood?

You will come,
he whispered to her.

There was no sense of time within the wall. A day might have passed, or a million. The granite tried to coax Alton away from his work with its memories.

He barely remembered what it was like to live within a body of flesh, blood, sinew. He hardly remembered his name.

He did know that he must sing, that he must make the others sing with him. His voice resonated among the crystalline structures and carried through the entirety of the wall. He modulated his voice so it might overcome the others.

Sometimes when he paused, he heard their whispers around him: anxiety, suspicion, hatred. Why should they feel such for him when he was only trying to help?

Sometimes he pondered over the incongruity, but then an image of Karigan would come to him, and he knew he must continue his work for her. He could not disappoint her.

THROUGH THE BREACH