Green Rider

by Kristen Britain

  “Tomorrow,” the king said, “I’m calling a council of governors. All but Adolind are here, the governor still mourns his daughter.”

  “Ah, yes. Killed in the groundmite massacre with those other schoolchildren.” Mirwell shook his head as if he had not been the one who engineered it. “A pity. I am thankful to the gods my Timas was not among them.”

  “A great loss,” Zachary said grimly. “Those children were part of Sacoridia’s future. Despite the loss among your other counterparts, they deemed themselves able to attend. We’ve a visitor in the city the likes of whom we have not seen for hundreds of years.”

  “Truly?”

  “Yes. I should like you to meet him, and judge him as you may. In the meantime, your suites in the east wing have been readied for you and your staff. I hope you will be comfortable.”

  Mirwell stood up to bow, thinking that he would like Zachary well enough if he wouldn’t impede his acquisition of power and lands. “It is always comfortable, Excellency.”

  With the formalities concluded, he hastened out of the throne room at a rate at which he surprised himself. But once he was through the doors, he clamped his hands around Beryl’s arm.

  “We shall go to our suites, my dear,” he said. “You will have a much different perspective of the place than when you were with the regular militia.”

  “I already have,” she said.

  Mirwell scrunched his brows together. “Already?” Ah, well. He would experience every moment with her. He wouldn’t let her out of his sight.

  KARIGAN ATTENDS THE KING’S BALL

  Karigan approached the grand entrance to the ballroom from a walkway that wound through the rose gardens of the east courtyard. The cloying scent of red and pink blossoms almost overpowered the still night. Luminiers flickered along the walkway with a festive radiance that might have put her in a celebratory mood if not for the choking collar of her Green Rider uniform. Once again, Captain Mapstone had seen her into the formal uniform, this time with the addition of a gold sash about her waist.

  Music and gold light, conversation and laughter, and orchestral music drifted from the open doors into the warm evening to mingle with the chirping choruses of crickets. Guests in colorful finery clustered around the entrance and Karigan wondered again what she was doing here. Like her father, she was not fond of the aristocracy and here she would be surrounded by it.

  She stood in line, tugging at her collar, waiting while two guards in king’s livery checked invitations. Her palms sweated because she had not been given one, and had nothing to show the guards. She was about to turn back, to return to the sanctuary of Rider barracks, but was just then noticed by a guard.

  “Hey, Greenie,” he said.

  Karigan swallowed and stepped forward.

  “You have an invitation?”

  “I, uh . . .”

  The other guard laughed. “Greenie’s trying to break in on the ball without an invitation.”

  Karigan furrowed her brows. “I was invited. Rather, I was commanded here by the king himself.”

  The first guard broke out laughing. “Commanded! That’s a new one. Commanded by the king to attend a ball.”

  “Greenies never pull their weight,” the second said. “King’s a magic-lover if you were invited.”

  “Begone, girl. We’ve lords and ladies to attend to.”

  Karigan put her hands on her hips. This sort of treatment she expected from aristocrats, not from fellow commoners. “Now you listen here—”

  “Is there a problem?”

  Karigan almost did not recognize Alton D’Yer. He stood resplendent in a gold silk waistcoat and a long red coat. A gold medallion, undoubtedly a family heirloom, hung from his neck, and a royal blue sash was tied about his waist. He definitely was not attired in green, though his gold-winged horse brooch was pinned to his lapel. Thunderstruck by the transformation, Karigan almost missed the two guards bowing.

  “There is no problem, my lord,” the first guard said. “This Green Rider has no invitation, therefore she cannot be admitted.”

  “Oh,” Alton said. “It has nothing to do with the king being a magic-lover, then?”

  Both guards blanched. “N-no, of course not, my lord. I mean, we didn’t mean to say . . .”

  Alton’s face grew stern. “Enough. This Green Rider is with me.” He handed the invitation to the guard and steered Karigan into the ballroom.

  As soon as they were through the entrance, Karigan quailed. She wanted to turn back and run, no matter what the guards would think. The ballroom exceeded the size of any great hall she had ever seen. It possessed vaulted ceilings like that of the king’s throne room, supported by carved granite pillars. The floor was checkered with exquisite tile illustrated with scenes from the legend of Hiroque, Son of the Clans. Large doors opened up to balconies and the night air.

  Dancers swirled around the ballroom in brilliant colors, the long dresses of ladies sweeping the floor and their jewelry sparking in the light of crystal chandeliers. The formal coats of men twirled as they swung their partners around the dance floor. Everything seemed to sparkle and shimmer, and Karigan felt very small and plain in her Green Rider uniform.

  “Oh, look,” Alton said, smiling. “Someone dug out all the old tapestries.”

  Tapestries representing each province billowed on the walls. Faded and worn tapestries of original Sacor Clans, clans that had long ago disappeared, had also been hung.

  “I suppose the king wants to remind us all of the days when the Eletians were not strangers to the Sacoridians,” Alton said. “There’s D’Yer’s.”

  Its field was gold like his waistcoat, the crest a simple sword crossed by a hammer, and bordered by a stone wall design. It matched the design etched on his medallion. The tapestry was too far away for Karigan to read the words stitched beneath the emblem.

  “The hammer of D’Yer shall break stone,” Alton quoted, as if reading her mind, “but no other shall break stone walls built by D’Yer. It is said my ancestors learned the craft of stonework from Kmaernians, and though they mastered it, they were never able to achieve what the Kmaernians had. Even so, D’Yer stonework was considered the best outside of Kmaern. The castle is built of it, and so is the D’Yer Wall. But if I’ve heard correctly, the D’Yer Wall has been breached.”

  Karigan caught herself pulling at her collar again, thinking that if her father had designed the uniforms, they would be far more comfortable. She cleared her throat when she noticed Alton gazing hard at her. Did he know she was the one who had reported the breach of the D’Yer Wall? Or, was there something else in his expression? Perspiration slid down her temple.

  “If I didn’t know any better,” Alton said, his voice barely heard above the orchestra, “I’d say that you were a bit shy of crowds.”

  “I—I—” She blushed, confirming Alton’s suspicions. “Aristocrats,” she blurted.

  “Ah, you are allergic to us.”

  Karigan crossed her arms, wishing away Alton’s patronizing smile. He wasn’t the usual aristocrat, perhaps because of his connection to the Green Riders, but there were moments. . . .

  “Look, the Eletian.” Alton pointed across the room, and there, flickering between the blur of swirling dancers, Zachary sat on a smaller replica of his throne chair, conversing with another. Karigan’s impression of the Eletian was simply of gold hair—gold hair such as she had never seen before.

  “Shall we go meet him?”

  Karigan was horrified by the very idea, especially since it would bring her in proximity to the king. “Uh, no. I’d rather stay here.” “Here” was just inside the entranceway hidden by shadows.

  “How will the king know you’re here, then?”

  Karigan gave Alton a cockeyed glance. “Are you now my keeper?”

  “No, the captain asked me to look after you.”

  Well, that explained it. Leave it to Captain Mapstone to make sure that Karigan had someone watching out for her own interests. “I have no wish to
see the king or to be seen by him.”

  Alton shrugged. “Do you want to dance, then?”

  “Dance?”

  “It is what people do.” His eyes seemed to laugh at her though his expression was perfectly sober.

  “No.” Karigan didn’t mind dancing in a family setting, but this was far different.

  “I’m off to the refreshment table, then. Skulk in the shadows if you wish, but watch out for Weapons.” He strode off along the edge of the dance floor, weaving in and among people, pausing to greet a few. Karigan stood alone, an island in the midst of a sea of strangers. She took a deep breath, then plunged after him. He handed her a goblet of wine, and a single sniff told her it was Rhovan White. “Good,” he said. “I see you’ve decided to join the festivities.”

  Karigan held the goblet tightly, her hand shaking. The entrance was now many lengths away. Aristocrats fairly jammed the place, and over the scent of her own wine, she could smell their perfumed bodies as well as the underlying sweat. A breeze tickled her as the dancers swept by. Their long gowns brushed against her. Excited voices chatted over the orchestra, their words an indistinct babble. The colors of different clans sprinkled the crowd. More gold of D’Yer, the purple of L’Petrie, the cobalt of Coutre. The scarlet of Mirwell. She started, spilling wine on her hand.

  Alton passed her a cloth napkin. “On nights like this,” he whispered in her ear, “there are no enemies. It is part of the intrigue.”

  Karigan shivered despite the close heat of the room. She did not recognize any of the Mirwellians present.

  The orchestra music ceased, as did the dancing, as if only the music controlled the motion on the ballroom floor. The dancers, some panting, some fanning themselves, laughed and clapped with gloved hands before converging on the refreshment table. Karigan watched with wide eyes at the tide of people descending upon her, and was edged toward the dance floor by Alton.

  She nearly panicked in the crush of swarming, moving bodies which flowed by her like the torrent of a river. She turned round and round and bumped into a stout old man. The beard looked vaguely familiar. Then it dawned on her: the old man with the bear pelt at the throne room entrance the other day, only now he wore . . .

  Karigan jabbered something unintelligible, and the old man glared at her. “Humph. Manners lacking, eh?” he said. “I don’t know what kind of training they give you messengers these days. Spence! This person has spilled wine on me.”

  A woman in the uniform of Mirwell Province was instantly at the man’s side, dabbing his scarlet surcoat with a cloth. The woman was tall and attractive, but expressionless. Then her winged horse brooch caught the light. Karigan opened her mouth in exclamation, but a subtle shake of the woman’s head stopped her short.

  “S-sorry,” Karigan mumbled.

  “You will be sorry,” the old man said, “if you bump into me again.” He sniffed. “At least you have good taste in wine.”

  Alton reappeared, and before she could consider the significance of a Mirwellian wearing a Rider brooch, he grabbed her by the sleeve and hauled her onto the dance floor. The music piped up again, and a mischievous look crossed his face. He took her goblet and placed it on the tray of a passing servant. He held both of her hands in his and steered her around and around the floor at a breathless rate, magically synchronized with the music and other dancers. Karigan stumbled, but Alton helped her find her footing.

  The dance was similar to the reels she knew from clan celebrations—the music was just fancier here. Her stomach muscles loosened, the dance releasing some of her nervous tension. She fell into the rhythm of the dance, the surroundings all a blur like the Wild Ride, so dizzying that she thought she might lose her bearings and fly across the room.

  “Look at me,” Alton said, “and you won’t get so dizzy.” He grinned at her as he led her through the circular motion of the dance.

  Instead, Karigan closed her eyes and imagined herself on horseback, the swishing of long gowns sounding of wind, her heartbeat the rhythm of hoofbeats. The hoofbeats. She shook her head, yet she could not rid herself of the rhythm which meshed with the dance, speeding ever faster.

  Alton released her hands, and she spun to another partner. She found herself face-to-face with the Eletian. He nodded to her with a smile as if he knew something she did not, and carried on the rhythm of the dance.

  Karigan’s heart pounded harder, hard enough, she was sure, that everyone else could hear it, especially the Eletian. His pale blue eyes, eyes like the winter sky, met hers only briefly before turning elsewhere, taking his secret with his gaze.

  The music ended, and he dropped her hands. She watched breathlessly as he bowed away, the spectators watching both of them, the women with envy. Karigan’s cheeks burned as she strode quickly off the dance floor in as dignified a manner as possible. She followed a current of fresh air to a balcony. No one else was there, and she walked directly onto the parapet, her hand over her thrumming heart, willing it to slow down.

  The moon sat in the sky like a fat silver coin with a halo radiating around it. In one corner of the balcony, a brass telescope sat propped on a tripod, pointed toward the moon. She placed her hands on the balustrade and ran them along the smooth granite craft of Clan D’Yer.

  “You dance well.” Alton stood behind her.

  “I didn’t hear you come out,” she said.

  “The music is starting again. Do you want to dance?”

  “I’ve had enough for one night.”

  “Karigan, the Eletian . . .”

  “I—I don’t want to talk about him.” She shivered remembering those cool hands and whatever secret his blue eyes held.

  “All right.” Alton’s expression clearly said that he did not understand, but he would not press her. The two stood at length, not speaking. After a time, Alton cleared his throat. “I’m sorry I pulled you into the dance like that.”

  “The dancing was fine,” she replied. “It’s the aristocrats I don’t—” She stopped, remembering who she was talking to. “I’ve got to leave.”

  Alton caught her arm. “I uh . . . was . . . I would . . .What I want to say is . . .”

  Karigan raised a brow as blood flooded Alton’s cheeks. Suave Lord Alton had turned into a fumbling schoolboy, and it served him right, too, for dragging her into the dance. “What is it you want to say?”

  “I . . .” Now Alton pulled at his collar. “Would you consider . . .Would you . . . I mean—”

  “Lord Alton, how good to see you.”

  They both turned as King Zachary strolled onto the balcony, his hands clasped behind his back.

  Alton released Karigan’s arm and bowed hastily. “Sire, how may I be of service?”

  “By allowing me to have a private conversation with Rider G’ladheon.”

  With a crestfallen look, Alton bowed again and returned to the ballroom. Karigan had a time holding her tongue. Imagine the king presuming to call her Rider G’ladheon!

  “My apologies for interrupting your conversation with Alton,” the king said, misinterpreting her expression. When no response was forthcoming, he added, “I am pleased you made it to my ball.”

  “It has been very nice, and I’ll thank you now, but I must be off.”

  “Hold one moment if you please. Could we talk for a bit?”

  Karigan couldn’t exactly turn down the King of Sacoridia no matter how much she wished to flee, could she?

  He stepped up to the balustrade beside her, and gazed at the moon. “It is a night an Eletian would appreciate, don’t you think? A silver moon out of legend, yet our fine guest lingers within the stone walls of the castle.”

  In the ballroom, where the gold light glared, the orchestra was on break, the courtiers surrounding the Eletian. He spoke and nodded to his admirers, his smile most charming. Karigan had imagined all Eletians, especially after meeting Somial, to be above such earthly concerns. It was a night to walk beneath the moon, a night to chase silver moonbeams.

  Zachary clenched an
d unclenched his hands. “He offers us ties with Eletia, something that faded shortly after the Long War. And he offers me . . . great things. Powers that have not been seen since the First Age or the beginning of the Second. Powers, he says, that I can use to keep order in unruly towns like North, or to prevent folk in Adolind from starving the next time winter lasts longer than their food stores. Can you imagine? He offers me powers that would make your Green Rider brooches look like no more than trinkets.”

  “Do such great powers still exist?” Karigan asked.

  “He says that strong powers emanate from Blackveil Forest, and if Sacoridia keeps the breach in the D’Yer Wall open, Eletia will filter and purify them using its own powers.” Zachary removed the silver fillet from his brow and began to comb his fingers through his hair. For a moment, years fell away from him, and he appeared a youth not yet hardened by rule: young, afraid, and alone. Vulnerable.

  “He offers me much,” Zachary said. “Too much, I think, though it has not been my experience to know what Eletians are like.”

  “So you have to figure it out for yourself.”

  Zachary smiled grimly. “One is used to listening to advisors. All of my court counselors are entirely charmed by Shawdell the Eletian. I suppose I should be, too.” He drummed his fingers on the granite surface of the balustrade. “Here I am assured no one listens, and I’ve posted Weapons by the doorway so that no one drifts out here. I fear that in my own throne room others can somehow hear what I say, though it appears the room is secure. Thus, the game of Intrigue yesterday. You must have found it quite strange.”

  Karigan nodded, relaxing a little. “You thought that if I had something important to say, it would be overheard by the wrong people.”

  “Yes. I am particularly concerned about the Mirwellian aspect of your journey. Do you have a few moments to share that with me?”