The guardians of the wall shuddered in fear.
Journal of Hadriax el Fex
The clans have proven more resilient, more stubborn, than we believed they would. They lie in wait and ambush our patrols, and have had the upper hand in a few skirmishes. Their knowledge of the land aids them, and they can disappear into it at will.
Alessandros has taken more dire action, walking into villages, holding some of the folk as witnesses, leveling their homes, and destroying most of the population with the simple use of his powers. The etherea is strong in these lands, so he has no fear of diminishing it by such extreme use.
The example only mobilized the clans further, so Alessandros has taken yet another tack, by currying favor with certain clan chiefs who seem sympathetic to us, and with the enemies of certain other clans. Alessandros gives them many gifts and fine words, and even gives them concussives as an act of faith. He plans to turn the clans one against the other, to weaken them, and finally bring them into the embrace of the Empire. It is a worthy strategy.
THE RAIN
Karigan walked to her daily arms training session beneath darkening clouds. Finally, the long-awaited change in weather had come, and she hoped Drent would cancel the day’s training.
Cancellation, however, didn’t appear to be on the arms master’s agenda. As soon as she arrived, he barked orders at her to run fifteen laps around the practice field, a two pound weight in her left hand. She had to admit that these sessions were making her more fit overall, but after training, all she felt was achy and abused.
It started to sprinkle during her final lap. Drent called her over to one of the small practice rings, and belted her bad arm—sling and all—to her body. He’d begun doing this when the jostling of swordplay, and her natural reaction to use her right arm for balance, left her screaming in pain. It was not unusual, he informed her, for him to belt down a trainee’s dominant arm anyway, when he was working the non-dominant side.
He then handed her a wooden practice sword. When they had begun the sword training, the bouts were pure misery. Drent had worked her through the most basic of sequences, but every few seconds, it seemed, he slammed the sword out of her hand, or jabbed her in the ribs, or slapped his sword across her thigh. In a quarter of an hour, he “killed” her nearly a hundred times over.
Disgusted with her poor showing, he dropped the swordplay for a few days, and repetitively ran her through basic sword exercises. The exercises not only improved the strength and precision of her left arm, but helped her footwork and body control, too. These exercises were less grueling because Drent wasn’t constantly swatting or jabbing her.
When she improved sufficiently, he brought his practice sword back into use.
The sprinkles turned into a soft but steady rain, and still Drent did not terminate the training. He attacked her with the same basic moves, but this time Karigan found herself better able to meet his blows. She had grown quicker and stronger, and her mind and body had begun to adapt to her left side acting dominant.
Then he accelerated the speed of his blows and raised the level of difficulty. Once again, her practice sword went flying out of her hand. She clenched and unclenched her smarting fingers as she went to retrieve it. Usually onlookers watched Drent working with her for the entertainment value it presented, which Drent did nothing to discourage, as though embarrassment would force her to improve more quickly. Today, she and Drent were the only ones on the practice field, and now the rain was coming down in sheets.
When Drent overheard her grumble about her soggy tunic, he pointed his sword at her and demanded, “Do you think battle stops for a little rain? It slows troops down, it rusts steel, it makes soldiers miserable, but battle does not stop for rain.”
And so the swordplay went on. When Karigan thought she could take no more of the cold rain and the pounding she received from Drent, he kicked her feet right out from under her. As she lay there in the mud, the rain pattering on her face, Drent took the opportunity to explain to her that in real battle, swordfighting was not polite.
“If you are going to survive a real battle,” he said, “you will have to learn every aspect of it.”
Karigan was having doubts about whether or not she was going to survive the training.
The bell down in the city tolled ten hour, and Drent finally released her. He collected the practice swords and strode toward the field house, leaving her lying in the mud.
“I hate this,” she told the stormy sky. “I really hate this.”
Rider barracks was deliciously warm and dry. Karigan paused in the mud room, thinking that the only way she was going to keep the mud from tracking would be to totally strip down and proceed in the nude. Male voices and laughter from the common room made her drop that notion immediately.
She slipped into the common room, which was a cozy scene. Yates Cardell and Justin Snow sat beside the fire playing a game of Intrigue. Yates had blue pieces, and Justin the green. It appeared the blue were currently routing the green.
Osric M’Grew sat on the other side of the fireplace reading a book, a pot and cup of tea at his elbow. Tegan gazed out into the bad weather, her back to everyone.
Yates flicked his gaze to Karigan. “You up for a game of Intrigue? We could use a Triad.”
Already the mud was drying on Karigan’s cheek. “No.” She had certain negative associations with the game, and had vowed never to play it again. Besides, she inevitably lost.
“We’re playing for Dragon Droppings,” Yates said. He picked up a little paper bag and shook it, the aroma of chocolate wafting to her.
Justin clouted Yates’ shoulder. “Look at her, stupid! She’s been training with Drent.”
That brought her sympathetic groans from the other two men. Osric closed his book and stood up to steer her to his chair by the fire. He poured her tea and handed her his cup.
“Drink up while I get a bath started for you.”
Karigan smiled gratefully as she wrapped her hand around the warm cup.
“Let’s get your boots off,” Yates said.
“Careful,” Justin warned her, “he won’t want to stop with boots.”
“I beg your pardon,” Yates protested. “I have only the lady’s best interests at heart.”
“Yep, and I bet there are a few ladies who’ve heard that line a time or two.”
Karigan chuckled. She had heard all about Yates’ conquests. Whether or not the stories were true, he had acquired quite the reputation. And, she thought she knew why. He was most charming the way he bowed to her and knelt to the ground, easing one boot off with the utmost style and care.
The amount of muddy water that sloshed out of the boot appalled her.
By the expressions on Justin’s and Yates’ faces, they were appalled, too.
“Karigan,” Justin said, “why are you wearing these wrecked old things with all the cracks in ’em?”
“I didn’t want to ruin my new pair.”
Justin rolled his eyes.
Yates pulled off her other boot with similar results. He glanced inside the boot. “Is that a trout I see swimming in there?”
Karigan laughed. “It’s really rainy out.” Was it her imagination, or did Tegan flinch at her words? Oddly the Rider remained quiet, not joining in with the good-natured banter as she normally would. She just kept staring out the window, her reflection pale.
Yates pointed at the leather strap binding her arm. “Would you like that removed?”
“Please.”
He turned triumphantly to Justin. “She said ‘please!’ ”
“Don’t encourage him, Karigan.”
As Yates worked the strap’s buckle, he said, “I can only imagine what use this might have.” He waggled his eyebrows provocatively.
Karigan laughed, and kicked him in the shin.
Yates made quite a show of it, hopping on one foot, shouting, “Ow-ow-ow! The lady is spirited—I’ve been wounded!” His face was twisted in mock agony.
�
�Aw, cut it out,” Justin said, “or I’ll wound you for real.”
Yates did stop and put his hand over his heart. “I fear it is my heart that is wounded.” He sniffed, his expression piteous.
By now Karigan was laughing hard enough that she forgot how damp and clammy she was. When the laughter died down, she explained exactly what the strap was for. This brought instantaneous—and gratifying—pity. Yates gallantly covered her with his shortcoat, and Justin poured her another cup of tea.
“Forget the tea,” she said, “give me those Dragon Droppings.”
Justin grabbed the bag off the table and handed it to her. Karigan rolled her eyes in ecstasy as she bit into the chocolate, its creamy filling melting on her tongue. Master Gruntler, the city’s premier confectioner, was indeed the master of his craft.
When Yates tried to rub her feet warm, however, she almost spewed the chocolate all over him. She was terribly ticklish.
“Stop! Stop!” she cried, laughing again, with tears streaming down her cheeks.
Yates’ grin was devilish. “I love to hear a woman beg.” But he let her foot go, not wishing to torment her too much after her morning with Drent. They had, of course, heard all the same stories she had about Drent, but would never have imagined he’d work her so hard with her injured arm. Karigan didn’t even have to show them her bruises.
Osric reappeared and announced with a flourish, “Your bath awaits you, my lady.”
Justin elbowed Yates in the ribs. “He been taking lessons from you?”
They assisted her from her chair and moved with her toward the corridor.
“I can walk, you know,” she told them.
“But we wish to escort you,” Yates said.
And so, with a Rider on each side of her and Osric leading the way, the little procession set off for the bathing room, leaving Tegan behind to continue gazing out into the rain.
When they reached the bathing room, Karigan took one look at the steaming bath, stepped inside, and closed the door in the faces of her eager escorts.
“But, Karigan,” Yates called, “don’t you need our assistance?”
“Hah!” She drove the bolt home, and listened to their amusing protests as she peeled off her wet clothing. By the time she was in the tub, they left her in peace. As she sank into hot water, she was aware only of sore muscles loosening and relaxing, and the rain drumming on the roof.
A tapping interfered with her snoozing. She ignored it and returned to the dream where her bath water merged into a mirror-still lake, and falling stars etched whiskers into the night sky above.
“Mmm . . .” She sank deeper into the bath water, up to her chin. In the dream, she looked into the lake to see her reflection, but it was not her face she saw. It was a woman with leonine features and wild tawny hair . . .
“Karigan,” the reflection said.
The knocking grew more insistent. Karigan cracked open sleepy eyes. The reflection was still there in her bath water.
“Karigan!” it said with Mara’s voice.
She yelped and slapped the bath water, sloshing it over the brim of the tub. Heart hammering, completely coherent now, she realized the reflection had been just a lingering image from her dream. It had to be.
“Karigan, am I going to have to get the men to break down the door?”
Definitely Mara.
“What is it?” Karigan asked.
“Captain wants you to run some errands for her.”
Karigan groaned. That meant going out into the rain again. She sighed and glanced at the wet heaps of muddy clothes she had dropped onto the slate floor. She asked Mara to find her a dry set, and while she waited, she hauled herself out of the tub. She had been in long enough to wrinkle, but the bath did wonders for her muscles.
By the time she toweled dry, Mara arrived with a fresh uniform.
“Osric told me you got it pretty good from Drent this morning,” she said.
“I always do.”
On Karigan’s way out, she paused in the common room. Justin and Yates still sat hunched over their game of Intrigue—Justin had lost half of his infantry already. Osric was gone, and Tegan now sat in his chair, gazing into the fire, her expression bleak.
Karigan wondered what was eating at her when Garth burst through the door, sopping wet. His hair was plastered down his face, and rainwater dribbled off his chin. He shook water from himself like a drenched bear.
He slicked his hair back and sloshed into the common room. When he espied Tegan, he pointed at her and roared, “You!”
Tegan’s eyes went round and wide.
“Sunny and fair, eh?” Garth demanded. “Thanks very much, Rider. I have ridden hours in the rain without my greatcoat because you said sunny and fair.”
Justin and Yates snickered, believing Tegan had pulled off yet another very fine—and funny—practical joke on her favorite target.
When Tegan was in residence, she was much sought after by other Riders because of her special ability to sense and predict weather. It allowed the Riders to head out on errands well prepared for the weather.
Her ability had emerged, as it so often did for Riders, in time to save her life. She had been on a midwinter errand when her ability warned her of a devastating blizzard that would soon descend. She was able to seek safety in a Rider waystation just as the first snowflakes swirled down from the heavens.
Though Garth might believe she had provided him with misinformation for the sake of a practical joke, Karigan wasn’t so sure. Tegan had blanched at Garth’s arrival, and all her ordinary buoyancy was lacking.
“If this is how you treat fellow Riders when they go out on the king’s business,” Garth said, “I will never trust you again.”
Tegan put her hands over her face and ran from the room, sobbing. Garth, mired in wetness and anger, seemed not to notice or care. Justin and Yates simply shrugged and resumed their game, probably attributing her behavior to it being “that time of the month.”
Karigan drew the hood of her greatcoat over her head and walked out into the rainstorm, believing that what she just witnessed was very wrong.
A LIGHT IN THE DARK
Lightning flashed across Captain Mapstone’s face, highlighting her features in harsh planes. Rain drummed on the slate roof of officers quarters and a downdraft stirred the flames in the fireplace, scattering sparks and ashes onto the stone floor.
Karigan stuffed the documents into a message satchel to protect them from the weather, and pulled up her hood.
The captain sat slumped over her work table, her chin propped on her fists. She gazed down at some papers, a fresh cup of tea Karigan had brewed for her steaming forgotten at her elbow. Karigan wasn’t sure what it was the captain read, if she even read at all.
A cascading roll of thunder heralded another flash of lightning.
“I’m off to the castle,” Karigan said. “Anything you need from there?”
Captain Mapstone looked up, as though surprised to see her still standing there. “No, I don’t need anything. Just those requisitions sealed, and the reports dropped off.”
Karigan hastened from officers quarters into the deluge, which had turned the castle grounds into a sodden quagmire. She clutched the satchel close to her and splashed through flooded pathways.
Lately the captain seemed more distant than usual. Karigan had heard pieces of the stunning news out of D’Ivary Province, and she wondered if this is what preoccupied the captain. Being in the king’s inner circle, she was privy to any plans he might carry out against Lord-Governor D’Ivary. No doubt the captain was playing a role by advising him in the matter.
Lightning streaked across the sky, followed by an ear-splitting peal of thunder.
That was close! If Tegan had indeed predicted a sunny and fair day, she couldn’t have been more wrong.
That gave Karigan pause. Could it be she wasn’t the only one who had experienced difficulties with her special ability? She made a mental note to speak with Tegan as soon as she f
inished Captain Mapstone’s errands.
Lightning ripped down from the heavens in a jagged blue-edged bolt that exploded on the tip of a castle turret that bore the Sacoridian banner. Karigan winced at the blast and squeezed her eyes shut, still seeing a crooked blue after-image of the bolt. Her hair fairly stood on end and a prickling sensation traveled all the way down to her toes. It stirred within her, awakened something, but the sensation passed quickly.
I hope that wasn’t an omen of some kind.
She burst into a run, wanting to reach the castle entrance before the next flash of lightning.
Karigan’s greatcoat dripped all the way down the corridor to the administrative wing. The dark and damp pervaded every corner of the castle. In the main passageways, all who she encountered were subdued in tone and mood, as though the weather dampened even their spirits.
On her way to the records room, she paused at the entrance of the abandoned corridor where she had seen the disappearing footprints. She peered into the darkness, but nothing stirred. She shivered, but whether from the damp or thoughts of apparitions, she wasn’t sure.
She entered the records room clearing her throat so she wouldn’t startle Dakrias Brown. She found him picking up papers scattered all over the floor, but he straightened and set them aside to come greet her.
“Hello,” he said, his voice pitched just a notch too high. “What can I do for you, Rider?”
“Hello.” Karigan may not have startled him this time around, but he plucked nervously at his sleeve and looked pale. His hair was mussed as though he’d been caught in a whirlwind. “I have papers—”
From somewhere deep within the chamber came the sound of copious amounts of paper falling to the floor. Dakrias closed his eyes and moaned.
“Is everything all right?” Karigan asked.
Dakrias absently set her bundle of reports aside on a table. “It’s been—” Suddenly he cocked his head, listening.
Karigan discerned a grating, scuffing sound, as of something very heavy being shifted.
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