Green Rider

by Kristen Britain

  Zachary had protested exhaustively, as he had planned to govern Hillander Province and raise dogs, while his brother did the dirty work of managing the realm. In the end, King Amigast had seen through Prince Amilton, however. He had seen how the spoiled child had grown into a spoiled man who possessed not a single iota of leadership. The prince’s mercurial temper was reflected in bruised servants, abused bed partners, and too many fine horses that had to be put down. Zachary wouldn’t let his brother near the dogs. Everyone knew Amilton’s nature, but said nothing, for his father saw only the charming side of his son. And Prince Amilton could be charming indeed.

  Then, a delegation from the Cloud Islands had come to Sacoridia to negotiate trade agreements. The relationship between the two countries had never been very secure, and King Amigast sought friendship with the Islands knowing it would make Sacoridia a leader in commerce. Prince Amilton raped the daughter of one of the delegates, a girl hardly in her teens.

  When Prince Amilton’s act was discovered, the trade negotiations fell into shambles. The king finally listened to the whisperings around him, the whisperings of his son’s indiscretions. Horrified that one of his own flesh was capable of such abuse, he began to look to his other son, Prince Zachary the workhorse, the son who, while his father was occupied fruitlessly teaching Prince Amilton the principles of kingship, excelled at his studies, learned about managing a province, and traveled to familiarize himself with the countryside and its people. When King Amigast chose Zachary to be his heir, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Almost everyone.

  Prince Amilton, soured and seething hate after the loss of the throne, had returned to Hillander Province as governor. But his indiscretions continued, the clan’s wealth dwindled, and the province suffered. Zachary, now king, exiled his brother from the province and the country. No one knew where he had ended up. Laren had her own ideas about that, and had hoped the message would confirm her suspicions.

  “Captain?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Captain.”

  Laren blinked. All of the advisors gazed at her. She straightened in her chair and cleared her throat, embarrassed to have been caught daydreaming. “Yes?”

  “What is the story behind this girl?” Sperren asked. “Would you care to explain?”

  Finally, a flicker of interest lit in the king’s eyes.

  “Karigan G’ladheon is a runaway from the school at Selium. Her father is a merchant in Corsa.” Laren described her chance meeting with Stevic G’ladheon, and his request for her Riders to search for his daughter.

  “And how did she contrive to get hold of F’ryan Coblebay’s message?” Castellan Crowe asked in that snide tone of his.

  Laren tried to conceal the annoyance in her voice. “I’m aware of the holes in my story, but I don’t believe that contrive is an appropriate term. I can only speculate about how and why Karigan G’ladheon came into possession of F’ryan’s message, and what happened thereafter.” Undoubtedly the brooch had called her, but this she wouldn’t tell the advisors. Let them believe it was pure coincidence.

  “Then why don’t we have her here for questioning?” Crowe had been a law speaker before coming to serve King Amigast, and often insisted on cross-examining people.

  Counselor Devon echoed Crowe. “Yes, why isn’t she here?” Devon was half blind with age, but immeasurably sharp. Often she was an excellent resource for how situations had been dealt with in the past. She had first served as Queen Isen’s personal Weapon, then instructed a generation of Weapons in the way of the Black Shields. She slid into the advisor’s position when her slowing reflexes and poor eyesight demanded she retire from the sword. As advisor, she oversaw the administrative activities of the Weapons, and so was not completely sundered from the profession that had once consumed her life.

  Laren rubbed the brown scar on her neck. “She isn’t in any condition for an interrogation.” Crowe perked up at the word. “Perhaps you didn’t notice, but she couldn’t even support her own weight when she arrived.”

  “Yes, but if she’s a threat—”

  “She isn’t a threat,” Laren snapped.

  “She used magic,” Crowe said.

  “Magic isn’t necessarily a threat. Look, this girl isn’t what we have to fear. She brought a message through who knows how many perils, and we should be thanking her rather than hurling suspicions at her like rocks.”

  “The message says nothing,” Sperren said. He had been steward-governor of Hillander Province since Amigast had been a boy, only to be brought to Sacor City by the late king to advise him. Laren wondered who held that position now. “We’ve known about Lorilie Dorran living in North for months, and the king has tolerated her presence. And the two assassination attempts? Easily thwarted by Weapons.”

  “F’ryan Coblebay died because of this message.” This time Laren did not bother to conceal her annoyance. “And F’ryan was known to write important messages in code so they would remain uncoded by any enemy who captured them. I request that I be permitted to take the message, Excellency, so I might determine whether or not it is in code.”

  Zachary nodded and passed it to her.

  “What we should fear,” Laren said, “are these.” She held up the two black arrows which had lain on the floor beside her chair. She loathed touching them. They felt tainted and thirsty as if they could eat into her flesh.

  “Yes, Captain,” Crowe said. “You came in waving those arrows about this afternoon as if you knew the answers to Bovian’s Seven Secrets. Please do explain.”

  “I won’t pretend to know the answers to the Seven Secrets.” She smiled grimly. “But I have a good inkling about these arrows. I found them in Selium . . .in F’ryan Coblebay’s back. I spoke with a historian there, Master Galwin, who has an interest in relics of the ancient past.”

  “Those hardly look ancient,” Devon said. It was amazing she could see them at all.

  “I suspect they were very recently made, but in an ancient way. Master Galwin suggested that, by the way they were used to kill F’ryan—two arrows of a certain wood—that they are soul stealers.”

  “Oh, come now, Captain.” Devon waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t waste our time with mystical fancies. There is no magic of that dimension anymore, and no one can steal souls. I’m sorry for the loss of Rider Coblebay, for he was a good man, but I doubt his soul is anywhere but with the gods.”

  If Devon only knew. Oh, all the counselors knew that Green Riders had “talents,” that they could do certain tricks, but if they all even knew to what extent magic was still used . . . Green Rider magic was true magic, not just something to perform after dinner for guests. Their magic was so taken for granted by the counselors that they forgot it was magic. At least the king was aware of the capabilities of his Green Riders, capabilities he utilized often—and exhaustively.

  “Such weapons were used by Mornhavon the Black’s forces during the Long War,” King Zachary said. His aides looked at him aghast, as if he had suddenly arisen from the dead. Finder lifted his head at the sound of his master’s voice, and when he realized he wasn’t the center of his master’s attention, he dropped it down on his forepaws again.

  It’s about time he spoke up, Laren thought. My credibility has been sinking on a fast boat.

  “Soul-stealing weapons,” the king continued, “were usually arrows, but could also be spears, so long as the shaft was made of wood from Blackveil Forest.” The light flickered, as if simply naming the legendary forest held the power of the dark. Zachary combed his fingers through his beard, his eyes had grown distant again. “Strange, but I haven’t thought about Blackveil in a very long time.”

  “Your Majesty,” Devon said, “with all due respect, the Long War was nearly a thousand years ago. For all we know, the old forest has withered and died. Or a thriving green forest exists there. Who really knows what is on the other side of the wall?”

  “Who knows, indeed?” The king shrugged. “But I doubt a green, living forest has suppla
nted the evil heart of the old. I shouldn’t be so hasty to dismiss magic, Counselor. The potential for such powers never left the earth, though most of those who wielded them have. May I see the arrows?”

  Laren handed them over, and the king scrutinized them, eyes squinted as if trying to make out some fine detail. Then he glanced at Laren.

  “Captain, were you aware there were markings on these shafts?”

  “Yes, Excellency. Master Galwin looked them over with a reading glass, but he didn’t know what to make of them.”

  “They’ve the feel of Eltish script, but not. They are foul, not fair, and burn the eyes even as I try to read them. Probably some spells carved to ensure the arrows hit their mark, and to possess the soul. If they are soul stealers.” The king shuddered visibly, and gave the arrows back. “I hate to contemplate how this wood came here, and who made the arrows.”

  The counselors fell into a thoughtful silence as they considered the ramifications of the king’s words. Before any one of them could speak again, however, a low growl issued from Finder’s throat, then a commotion broke out beyond the throne room doors. Excited voices drifted to them from the entryway.

  “What is it this time?” Crowe muttered. “Another whirlwind?”

  The king’s herald ran full tilt down the runner, his cheeks flushed red. He skidded to a halt before the king, and gave a cursory bow.

  “Neff?” the king asked.

  The herald straightened to attention, and a stray tuft of yellow hair fell into his face. “Your Excellency.” Neff drew his ceremonial trumpet to his lips, panted, and blasted five off-key notes. The brassy notes ricocheted around the chamber for some moments before Neff could continue with his breathless introduction. “May I present—”

  The visitor was already striding down the runner. The advisors stood to their feet. Finder sat up with ears and head cocked.

  “—his Lordship—”

  The visitor glided as if on air, his cloak of many colors shimmered and floated behind him. A cowl concealed his face. The captain felt a certain thrill surge through her, a sense that something momentous was about to happen.

  The visitor halted before them, and held his perfect hand up to stay Neff’s introduction. He dipped in a graceful bow, then eased the hood away from his face and head.

  Laren was struck at once by the radiant gold of his hair sweeping his shoulders. If his hair was the sun, his eyes were full of sky, like a clear crisp winter day. With regal and fair bearing, yet a bearing of ease, the visitor gazed at the king and his advisors with a smile.

  “I greet you, King Zachary, son of Amigast. It is long since I last passed within Sacoridia’s borders, but I find it fair as ever.”

  Laren heard his melodious voice, but also reached out with her mind to see what she could read within him, this stranger. But he blocked her, and all she could discover about him was that he was well-shielded.

  “Who are you?” Devon asked. Her voice, compared to the visitor’s, was as brassy as Neff’s trumpet.

  “I am Shawdell of Eletia.” He waited for the astonished gasps to circulate around the advisors. Only King Zachary remained composed, and it was upon him that the Eletian cast his brilliant blue gaze, as if to exclude all others. “We’ve many things to discuss.”

  Karigan’s sleep was dreamless and long. She was half aware of nighttime dark softening to dusky gray; vaguely she knew someone occasionally checked in on her and left trays of food. She merely rolled over and continued to slumber.

  When her body felt restless and no longer able to contain itself, she swung her legs over the bed and stretched. She pulled the curtains away from the window, and dropped them with the shock of light. Then, slowly this time, she peeled the curtains away and allowed her eyes to adjust.

  The barracks sat on a slight rise. The ground slanted away to a pasture where horses grazed on lush spring grasses, and flicked their tails at flies. Beyond the field was a line of trees which softened a high stone wall behind it.

  In the shrubbery outside her window, chickadees and white-throated sparrows called out. She opened the window to listen, and was startled by a movement in the shadows of the barracks. Another Weapon. One to guard her from the inside, the other to guard her from the outside.

  Karigan turned her back to the window, letting the curtains fall back into place. With a sigh, she attended to washing up and eating some of the food that had been left on the table. Eventually, someone would come to question her.

  It was another hour or so before Karigan found herself pacing the tiny room, wishing for Mel or any company at all. The remnants of her meal had been swept away by a servant who was in too much of a hurry to say much more than she was sorry for the intrusion.

  Another half hour passed and Karigan stared out the window at the horses, wishing she were one of them. The life of a horse must surely be less complicated.

  Finally, a knock on the door drew her from the window. A Rider, whom she guessed to be Captain Mapstone for her red hair and hazel eyes, stepped through the doorway. She sniffed as she took in Karigan and the room, and said, “How depressing, but it would have been worse in the castle, guestroom or not.” The captain appraised Karigan without expression, her hands clasped behind her back. “You ready to talk?”

  Karigan was tired of the cramped room, tired of having nothing to do but stare out the window. “Not until I see The Horse.”

  The captain blinked. “The horse? What horse?”

  “The—Condor.”

  “I can assure you that Condor has been well cared for. Melry has taken him under her wing, herself. It’s important that we—”

  “I won’t talk till I’ve seen Condor.”

  Captain Mapstone raised a single brow. Without another word, she opened the door and gestured for Karigan to follow. Surprised the captain relented so easily, and a little embarrassed, Karigan stepped out into the corridor. Stone-faced Fastion blocked her way.

  “Stand off, Weapon,” the captain said. “This young woman and I are just going out to have a talk and check on her horse.”

  “Sorry, Captain, but I can’t sanction—”

  “This is Rider business. If you feel compelled to protect the realm from a weaponless girl, then you may follow. This room has too much the feel of a cage, and she is not a prisoner.”

  There was a turning down of the thin line that was Fastion’s mouth, but he didn’t argue. Rather, he followed them down the corridor at a discreet distance.

  The captain leaned so her words could be heard by Karigan only. “Sometimes I’m not sure if Weapons are a natural phenomenon or not.”

  Karigan chuckled, remembering what Mel said the previous night.

  “We were a little concerned,” the captain said. “You didn’t awaken for some time. I even had a mender check on you.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Near eight in the evening.”

  Karigan’s mouth dropped open. When they stepped outside, the sun was low and the grass was wet with dew. “At first I thought it was morning when I looked out the window, then I knew it must be afternoon at least. But evening?” The Wild Ride must have been more taxing than she could have known.

  The captain nodded, and left the path to walk down the slope behind the barracks to the pasture. She leaned against the fence, scanning the pasture as a sea captain might the horizon.

  “He’s in the far corner, if my sight isn’t failing me.”

  Karigan squinted her eyes. In the deepening dusk, she made out his familiar gawky figure in the distance.

  “Call him,” Captain Mapstone said.

  “What?”

  “Call him. He’ll come.”

  Karigan cupped her hands around her mouth. “HORSE!”

  He lifted his head, his ears perked forward. He cantered across the field with his tail held high, and when he reached them, Karigan slipped between the fence rails and flung her arms around his neck. He rubbed his head against her shoulder almost knocking her over.
/>   “You crazy horse,” she said, grinning. “Mel sure shined you up.”

  “Yesterday, he was nearly as gray as you,” Captain Mapstone said. “That’s why we didn’t question you sooner. We wanted to make sure you were well. But now we must talk.” At Karigan’s crestfallen look, she added, “We can talk here. You are fortunate the counselors and king are preoccupied, or they would’ve exhausted you with hours of meaningless questions.”

  They sat on the top rail of the fence as Condor grazed nearby.

  “You are Karigan G’ladheon,” the captain said.

  “Did I tell you that?”

  “No, but your father’s description was most complete, and the ring on your finger matches his.” At Karigan’s look of astonishment, she explained how she met Stevic G’ladheon in Selium, and the events that followed. “We’ve a Rider named Connly who has the ability to send messages in a most unusual way. He sends them with his thoughts.”

  Before Karigan’s adventures, she would have thought the captain’s statement absurd. But not now. She hooked a strand of hair behind her ear. “He sent a message about me to other Riders?”

  “Not exactly. He could send to only one other Rider. Joy Overway.”

  That explained why Joy had been searching for someone in North who answered Karigan’s description. “I saw Joy . . . dead.”

  “We knew, or Connly knew, exactly when she died. Joy’s talent was similar to Connly’s, only she received thought messages. They were partners, you see, who were intimately bound by their abilities even though it was those abilities that often separated them by great distances. There is no use having a sender and receiver in the same town. Despite the distances that separated them, they were closer than any couple I have ever known. I can’t tell you what it was like to experience Connly’s grief.”