Green Rider (12 page)

Karigan smiled as she took the bayberry. The freshly cut branch was fragrant.

Miss Bunchberry had a shy smile on her face. She held in her palm a flower with four white petals. "Bunchberry is my namesake. There is a small patch in the woods behind the house just pushing up out of the ground with the spring. If you are in need of a friend, pluck a petal from the flower and let it drift in the wind. Perhaps you will also think of me. It won't wither soon, child, as a good friendship should not."

"One more thing, child," Miss Bayberry said. She pressed something cool and smooth into Karigan's hand. Thin slivers of light beamed through her fingers, even in the bright sunshine.

"The moonstone!" Karigan cried in awe. "I can't take this. It was your father's."

"Don't be silly," Miss Bayberry said. "It has taken to you. I daresay it never lights up for Bunch or me. And as for it being Father's… well, I'm sure he would have wanted you to keep it."

Miss Bunchberry nodded in agreement. "Take it. It will light your way and keep you warm. It was the moonstones, they say, that held back the dark forces during the Long War. It should serve you well. May the moon shine brightly on your path."

"Thank you… thank you." Karigan's eyes grew moist. "Is there anything I can do for you? Take word of you to kin in Sacor City?"

"My, but she's taken to the part of being a messenger, hasn't she, Bay?"

"Definitely, but I'm afraid that we have no kin in Sacor City. Just a cousin down south and you wouldn't want to meet her."

"Miss Poppy is very cranky," Miss Bunchberry said.

"And that doesn't even begin to describe her. Child, you need do nothing for us, for you've done so much by giving us a little company, and as I mentioned before, Green Riders assisted our father in his search for knowledge. We are simply returning the favor. If you are back this way, do visit. Just watch out for brigands and thieves on the road."

Karigan didn't think the sisters had gotten the better end of the deal, but this wasn't one of her father's bargaining sessions. She looked the manor house over, at the windows reflecting the woods, and at the chimneys puffing smoke. "Why," she asked, "do you call this place Seven Chimneys?"

"You mean when there are more than seven chimneys?" Miss Bunch asked. Karigan nodded. "Why, seven is a magical number. Nine is not, and Father wouldn't use a name for his home that wasn't magical."

Karigan chuckled and mounted The Horse. "I don't even know how to get to Sacor City from here."

"East by north, child," Miss Bayberry said. "East by north will get you there."

When it was apparent no further information was forthcoming, Karigan reluctantly turned The Horse down the road. Glancing once over her shoulder, she saw the two sisters standing side by side as they watched her leave. She waved, and they waved back. She wished, with a sigh, she could linger.

All too soon, Seven Chimneys and the sisters disappeared behind a bend in the road, and shortly after, the road turned into a deer trail. She reined The Horse around, but found that the road was really gone, as if it had never existed. She circled around in the underbrush, but could find no evidence of it.

"A road can't just vanish," she muttered. But then again, neither could a girl and a horse.

MIRWELL

Tomastine II, Governor of Mirwell Province, sank wearily into his worn, hide-upholstered armchair, facing a stone hearth large enough to walk into. The fire would do his bones good. It would relieve his joints of aches accumulated over an active lifetime of hunting and warring.

Blast the cold damp
, he thought.

The Great Arms of Mirwell, two war hammers crossed over a mountain crazed with cracks and fissures, on a field of scarlet, drew one's eye above the massive mantle. The creation of the Arms, according to the family chronicles, coincided with the formation of the Sacor Clans before the Long War. Clan Mirwell's ancient roots were imbued with crushing opponents, of possessing the strength to strike down the very mountains. The Mirwells had never governed their province with a bejeweled scepter of gold, but with an iron hammer of war.

Even so, over the generations, the province had grown quiet, almost sleepy. Two hundred years ago, however, it had not been that way. The clans had torn at each other's throats for land and the glory of the family. Clan Mirwell had absorbed more land into its borders than it had lost, and acquired a reputation for savage brutality. Ah, the glory, when you knew what a man thought and he expressed it with his blade, instead of today's spineless politicking of court eunuchs who stabbed you from behind with words.

The high king of old was no more than a clan lord himself, sitting in a pretty throne watching all his liege lords— the clans chiefs—gut each other. The clan chiefs had eminent control over their lands and all those who lived within their borders. Once a year, in the rare display of peace, the chiefs swore their fealty to crown and country, paid their taxes to the realm, and that was that. Although the chiefs of Mirwell were often the close confidants of the kings, and served as advisors.

Then King Agates Sealender, the last of his line with no heirs born to him, died of old age, and clan chief Smidhe Hillander, of Clan Hillander, ascended the throne. That's when history went awry. Mirwell combed his fingers through his lank gray hair. Yes, everything changed with Clan Hillander.

King Smidhe tamed the lands with his own forces, created permanent boundaries, and decried bloodshed between clans. He proclaimed the clan chiefs brothers and sisters, and said that the country of Sacoridia could never survive if it did not stand as one. There were other ways, he said, than bloodshed, to find glory.

Indeed, the clans had never seen such unity since the Long War. King Smidhe said the founding clans of Sacoridia, when they created a high king, had never intended the chaos beset by the Sealender line. Mirwell snorted. King Smidhe pacified the clans. The chief of Clan Mirwell had fought the new way, but the king's soldiers had come to him and Clan Mirwell was pacified, too. Mirwell's soldiery had been decimated or run into the Teligmar Hills until they surrendered. The honor of the clan had never been clean since.

King Smidhe bestowed the clan chiefs with new titles— they became lord-governors, and new industry was encouraged. Commerce blossomed as timber was harvested and granite quarried. Eventually the paper-making process was discovered and the printing press invented. King Smidhe even encouraged good relations with neighboring Rhovanny and trade developed among lesser clans whose merchant fleets plied coastal waters, elevating Sacoridia's reputation as one of the wealthiest countries on the continent.

The old high king was called the Great Peacemaker, and Province Day was established as a national holiday celebrated throughout the country in the summer to commemorate Sacoridia's unity, and the man whose words were carved into his tomb in Sacor City. They read:
There is greatness with unity. Only if we lift ourselves above our base and bestial natures shall we stand as one
.

The fire hissed and steamed with rain that seeped down the chimney, and Mirwell shook his head. The raging blood of his clan had never been truly gentled. Tournaments and hunting diverted some of the blood lust, but there wasn't the same glory to be had. Oh, there were occasional forays into the Under Kingdoms. Mirwell had been on a few himself. But even now ties had been forged with those savages, and there was nothing. Nothing until now.

The governor was determined to raise his clan to its former glory, to once again attain a place in concert with Sacoridia's kings, to expand forth its boundaries that now felt too crowded. He would control commerce and the distribution of wealth. And he would do it the old way: by force.

Mirwell sighed, glancing at the crumpled letter on his lap sealed with the dean's mark. Before shaking the very foundations of Sacordia, he would first have to deal with his son, his only progeny despite a succession of wives and mistresses. Actually, he would deal with his son second. Someone was here to see him.

"Report."

Captain Immerez stepped into the flickering light. It gleamed off his bald head. He had spent no small amount of time waiting for his lord's notice. Mirwell was perfectly aware of this. Immerez's face remained neutral, however, and his bow was deferential, despite the misery his wet, muddy uniform must have caused him.

Immerez was young yet. He could stand it. The youngsters could traipse through the wilderness in all weather conditions, none the worse for wear. Mirwell had paid his dues in that way. The bear head mounted on the wall attested to his strength in the old days, and he was now content to manage his province by his fireside and let the young ones do the work, just as his father had before him.

"My lord-governor," the captain said. "We've killed the messenger."

"Good." The captain could always be depended on to carry out his directives. He had been hand picked from hundreds of young soldiers years ago to help in raising Mirwell Province back to glory. "And what did you find out about a spy?"

Immerez shifted uncomfortably. His one eye darted to and fro, and he licked his lips. Rain pattered against the window. "We were unable to extract that information before he died."

"What? I don't find that satisfactory."

Immerez held his chin up. "The only way to stop him was to kill him."

Mirwell drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair, which was carved in the likeness of a catamount's head, and rubbed smooth by the years. "Meanwhile, someone may be loose within my household, imparting information of my plans to the king. Where's the message?"

Immerez swallowed.

"Well, man, what is it?"

"The message… it—it got away."

"The message got away? What did it do? Sprout legs and run?"

"Yes, my lord. I mean, no, my lord."

Mirwell rubbed his grizzled eyebrows with his thumb and forefinger. "Explain."

"We chased Coblebay for days, and even more after we injured him. The day we thought we finally had him, he eluded us yet again. He rode like a demon, as if his horse had wings. Unnatural, if you take my meaning. He should've died days earlier. He rode off the trail and into the woods. We lost all trace of him, as if he'd disappeared completely."

"How do you know he's dead?"

"We found him eventually, on the Selium Road."

"So where's the message?" The governor's voice was tinged with impatience.

"With the horse." Before the governor could bark another question, Immerez explained, "Someone took the horse. That fool Thursgad thought Coblebay's ghost still directed it, but we caught up with the rider, cloaked in a Greenie greatcoat, and very much of the flesh. This Rider
did vanish
."

"Greenie tricks, eh? I've heard they have uncanny abilities, but they are close-mouthed about it. Zachary keeps that woman by this throne. You know the one."

"Mapstone?"

"That's the one. Mapstone." He snarled her name. "He keeps her by his side and she looks at me like she can see right into my soul. I heard of Greenie magic when I was a boy and always knew to keep my mind clear around her, and my words honest. No sense in taking a chance, and I'm glad I haven't. Only a Greenie could disappear like that. What do you plan now?"

Immerez released a long breath, as if relieved by the governor's apparent understanding. "My men and the Gray One continue to track this new Greenie. I request additional help. I thought it would prove advantageous if we include a couple of Prince Amilton's people in the chase. After all, it is for him we are treading such a dangerous path."