First Rider's Call

by Kristen Britain

  She kept calling on her ability until those blue flames turned to a steady orange-gold. The heat radiated against her own face, and great joy flooded her heart at the manifestation of her ability; a joy she knew several Riders, like Karigan, never experienced.

  The flames worked best on her right hand, as though the stubs of her missing fingers let them burn unhindered and more intensely.

  With the warmth, the deathly pallor of Karigan’s cheeks gave way to a faint pink blush. She watched the flames on Mara’s hand in wonder, this uncommon display not lost on her.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Mara had never demonstrated her ability to the others. They knew about it, but there had never been a legitimate reason to simply call on the flames. It was too powerful a thing to use lightly. It was powerful, but even she could not imagine its depth. Sometimes she felt like some great well from which power could flow unquenchable.

  “Fastion,” Mara said, “we should get Karigan someplace warm.”

  “Of course.”

  Mara had to admire his discipline. It was not often one witnessed raw magic. She guessed it would take a visit by the gods to shake him from his rock-solid foundation, and even then she had her doubts.

  “Does it hurt?” he asked her.

  Mara chuckled that his curiosity overrode that discipline. “No, but if I started off a campfire, then reached into the flames of it, it would burn me as any fire would you.”

  “I see.”

  They assisted Karigan to her feet. She seemed all right, if a little unsteady, and her features were drawn with the pain of her headache. Mara felt fortunate that the worst aftereffect of using her own ability was a mild fever. She extinguished the flames with a thought, and they left the chamber at a slow walk.

  CASTLE TOP

  Karigan awoke in a strange bed. She was buried beneath a pile of blankets, with a bunch of hard, warm lumps settled against her side. Rocks? She felt around herself. Yes, rocks. Stove-warmed rocks to stave off a winter’s chill. Winter? Had she somehow slept through the last of summer and autumn?

  Impossible.

  With a pang of fear, she realized it might not be, the memory of her journey to the past—and future—just returning. Maybe she’d been drawn too far into the future and had lost months of her life to the traveling. What if it really was winter?

  And those thoughts brought a flurry of memories of the traveling, and of Fastion and Mara flaring like beings of light, drawing her out of the dark. She had been so very cold. She remembered Fastion leading the way through dark passages, or did this belong to some older memory? In any case, she recalled little else after they had found her.

  Now here she was, in a strange bed. Drapes were drawn across a small window, leaving the chamber in a gray light that dimpled across the grainy texture of stone walls.

  Stone walls—maybe she’d been trapped in time after all. What was this place?

  She fought the layers of blankets, which shifted the rocks, making them clink together.

  Her right arm stabbed with pain at her fussing. The left was oddly stiff and cold. She laid back, breathing hard.

  Think.

  If she had been in as bad shape as she felt when Mara and Fastion found her, it wasn’t likely they’d have dragged her all the way back to Rider barracks. It would have been easier to leave her at the castle. She sniffed the air, and caught a whiff of the herby scent that usually pervaded the mending wing. It made sense.

  She nestled down into the blankets, calmer now, grimacing at a rock that had wedged itself uncomfortably into the small of her back. She didn’t feel too bad, though there was the lingering residue of a monster headache, and her gnawing stomach, not to mention a growing desire to use the chamber pot. The pull of sleep, however, proved stronger. She was so tired, drained to the core.

  She began to drift off, her eyes drooping, when she saw a tiny flutter of light at the foot of her bed. She blinked, but saw nothing, and so began to sink into sleep again.

  —hold them together.

  “Hunh?” Karigan dreamed she opened her eyes and saw the ghostly figure of Lil Ambrioth standing at the foot of her bed. An otherworldly phosphorescence defined small details of her features—the curve of her lips, a tendril of tawny hair, the glow of a golden brooch, but the gray light of the chamber absorbed far more of her than was revealed.

  Lil was speaking to her, but few of the words were able to pass whatever barrier existed between the living and the dead.

  —always in bed, Lil said, with what sounded like a note of exasperation. Dreams were funny that way, causing the characters within the dream to do and say things that made little sense.

  The door will close shortly, Lil continued. —must be quick. The Riders are—You must hold them together.

  When Karigan did not respond, Lil began sweeping back and forth across the room in agitation, a luminous blur. She spoke rapidly, and Karigan could not understand any of it. Moments later, like a candleflame blown out, Lil faded away.

  Some final words emerged from nothingness: Hold them together, hey?

  The dream ended, and Karigan closed her eyes, falling asleep for real this time.

  Sometime later, Karigan awoke again, overheated and sweating from all the blankets piled on her. Her need to use the chamber pot was overwhelming her. She kicked off the blankets and attended to her needs.

  Afterward, she padded about the room checking out her surroundings. A more golden light suffused the drapes now. She threw them open, squinting her eyes at the day, wondering exactly what day it was. At least it wasn’t winter! Whatever the answer, the rainstorm was long gone, and had left behind a brilliant blue sky.

  The window looked out upon the north castle grounds. Down below were the kennels, more stables, and out-buildings. Guards moved upon the wall that surrounded the castle grounds, and beyond on the horizon, the Green Cloak Forest rose up on rounded hills and tucked into deep green folds of valleys.

  Someone had dressed her in a short, rough gown, and she plucked at it with distaste. She felt fine, though hungry, and she wanted to get on with her day. Maybe it was the blue sky outside her window pulling at her.

  She searched the tiny chamber for her uniform, but it was nowhere to be found. There was a stand with a pitcher, washbowl, and towel, and after splashing her face with water, she went to the door and flung it open.

  Standing there in the doorway with his hand poised to knock was a young man in the pale blue smock of a mender, a journeyman’s knot on his shoulder. He goggled at her in bewilderment, clearly not expecting her to be up and about.

  “Where are my clothes?” Karigan demanded. “It’s time I got ready to leave.”

  Hand still upraised, the mender said, “Um, sorry. Wrong room, I think. Wrong patient.”

  He reached for the door to close it, but she grabbed his wrist. He glanced at her hand in surprise.

  “I am not a patient,” Karigan said, “and I want my clothes.”

  “I can’t—I’m not allowed—”

  “I don’t care,” Karigan said. “Just show me where my clothes are.”

  “Now, now, what have we here?” The voice belonged to Master Mender Destarion. He ambled up the corridor, appraising the scene with narrowed eyes. The young journeyman stepped away from the doorway with obvious relief.

  “Rider G’ladheon, there is no reason for you to trounce on poor Ben here. He is only newly made a journeyman and on his first rounds today. Furthermore, you are a patient here, and you may not leave without my permission.”

  Karigan thought up an angry retort, but took a deep breath to suppress it. “When will you give me permission to leave?”

  “That is not known until I have had a chance to examine you.”

  “But—” Destarion’s stern look made her clamp her mouth shut.

  “Now, Ben,” the master mender said to the journeyman, “you need to hold your ground, hmm? You cannot let troublesome patients have the upper hand.”

&nb
sp; “Yes, sir,” Ben said.

  “Troublesome!” Karigan sputtered.

  “Green Riders are notoriously troublesome,” Destarion continued, as though lecturing a class. “They come in injured and mangled, we put them back together, then they stand in my halls making demands. A thankless lot to be sure.”

  Karigan’s cheeks heated with outrage. “But I’m not mangled!”

  Destarion ignored her outburst. “And our most notorious patient is that captain of yours.”

  Karigan blinked in surprise, and nearly burst out laughing. Destarion, noting the change in her attitude, smiled warmly.

  “Ben,” he said, “see if you can find Rider G’ladheon here biscuits and broth, and a pot of tea.”

  “Yes, sir.” The young man hastened off.

  Destarion gestured for Karigan to return to her chamber and followed her in. “What I’ve asked Ben to do is an apprentice’s duty—fetch and carry—but I don’t suppose he’ll mind just this once.”

  After giving Karigan a cursory exam, he said, “You certainly seem in fine fettle, considering yesterday. How does your arm feel?”

  Karigan tried to flex her right arm. Threads of pain shot through her elbow, but it wasn’t the dagger-grinding pain of before. “Getting better, I suppose.”

  “Actually, I was wondering about the other arm.”

  “My other—?”

  Destarion nodded. “When you were brought in yesterday, you had the body temperature of one who had been caught in a blizzard. Your left arm showed signs of frost-bite. I am not even going to hazard a guess as to how you got into such a condition in the midst of summer.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ll leave that to your captain.”

  “It—it feels fine.”

  Destarion looked her arm over critically. “So it is.” He pronounced her fit, but would not allow her to leave till she finished off the broth and biscuits Ben brought.

  Karigan was pulling on a boot when Captain Mapstone appeared in the doorway.

  “Glad to see you up and about.”

  “Thank you,” Karigan said. “I was just about to come report to you.”

  “Do you feel up to a little walk?”

  The question surprised Karigan, but it took her only a moment to respond. “Yes.”

  She draped her greatcoat over her arm and followed the captain into the corridor. They passed through the mending wing, Captain Mapstone asking her a few polite questions about how she felt. The mending wing had a subduing, sober atmosphere. It was very quiet, with thick carpets underfoot to muffle sound, and many hangings on the walls featuring pastoral scenes. They encountered a few menders in the corridor, and a soldier hobbling along on crutches.

  To Karigan’s surprise, the captain did not turn down the stairway that led to the main floor of the castle. Instead, she turned right as they exited the mending wing.

  “Where are we going?” Karigan asked.

  Again, the half-smile. “Since you have spent so much time in dark abandoned corridors, I thought you’d like to see the castle from a new perspective.”

  Intrigued, Karigan gave the captain a sideways look, but she seemed content to keep their destination to herself.

  As they walked, the carpeting grew more plush, with intricate designs that could only be Durnesian. Large portraits hanging on the walls depicted fine noble ladies and gentlemen, some wearing armor and royal crowns. Along the walls were chairs with velvet cushions, and small tables with fresh-cut flowers arranged in vases. Lamp fixtures were golden and glittering. There were marble busts, too, of princes and princesses, kings and queens.

  This was the west side of the castle they had entered, which contained meeting rooms and offices for the king’s personal staff, all hidden behind ornate oak doors. Guards stood at attention at intervals along the corridor, their leather and metal gear at high polish.

  Well-dressed persons passed them, some in earnest discussion over some matter, others hastening on to wherever they needed to go. A few military officers mixed in with the civilians, nodding to the captain as they passed by.

  Karigan had never been in this section of the castle before, though she had heard enough about it from Mara, whose recently acquired duties had her here on occasion. Captain Mapstone appeared very familiar with it.

  They came to a pair of grand doors. Carved in relief upon them was a crescent moon hanging above the spires of evergreens. Two Weapons guarded the doors.

  “The king’s apartments lie beyond,” Captain Mapstone said.

  To Karigan’s disappointment, they weren’t going through those doors, but past them. She found herself imagining what those halls must be like—they had to be far more luxurious than even this corridor they now walked. She wondered what it was like for the king having all that space to himself. Was he lonely? There must be a great hall for dining and gatherings, a nursery for children, parlors and dens, probably a personal library, not to mention sleeping chambers.

  Perhaps much of his private apartments was like the abandoned corridors—left in darkness by lack of need. Karigan found herself feeling sorry for the king, that he hadn’t any close family members with whom to share all that space.

  Soon the king’s doors fell well behind them, and Captain Mapstone turned a corner into a stairwell and started climbing. They kept climbing, spiraling to the highest floor of the castle, of which there were five levels, if one didn’t count the tombs far beneath.

  They passed through a wrought iron door into a small chamber, and another flight of stone stairs appeared, leading upward to yet another door. Karigan glanced questioningly at the captain, but the captain merely jogged up the steps to the door. When Karigan joined her, she smiled and opened it. Sunlight and fresh air rushed in, and Karigan took in a deep breath, sighing.

  “Welcome to the top of the castle,” Captain Mapstone said.

  They stepped out onto the battlements. A soldier on guard near the door greeted the captain when he saw who it was.

  “They don’t let just anyone up here,” the captain informed Karigan with a smile.

  Karigan, reveling in the freedom of the open air about her, whirled around and around. She took in the network of battlements and guard towers, busy with soldiers. It was almost like a whole other city up here in the sky. The castle sat atop a high hill, and being on top of the castle was like standing among the clouds.

  Captain Mapstone followed along as Karigan explored, her curiosity leading her to look over the edge of the battlements to gaze down at the west castle grounds, and southward into Sacor City. The city’s buildings sprawled out before her, edged by avenues that ran between them. The Winding Way curved away from the castle entrance through shops and homes and passed between the city walls.

  As the city had expanded over the generations, new walls were built to protect the population, so now there were three walls, including the one that encircled the castle. Their gates were deliberately not aligned, for defensive purposes, just as the Winding Way traveled a circuitous route to confound an invading army.

  Carts and carriages and people down on the Winding Way were very much toy-sized, and in the distance, ant-sized. Captain Mapstone had brought her up here for a different perspective, and it certainly was. Usually Karigan only got to look up at the castle, but here she got to look down on the world.

  She saw features of the castle up close that she had only viewed from a distance, such as the waterspouts carved into shapes of fierce catamounts and bears, eagles and fish. Rainwater flowed along a miniature canal system of gutters on the battlements, and drained through the mouths of the stone animals. From there the water poured into catch-basins down below, where yet another drainage system of underground aqueducts allowed the water to empty into the moat. In times of siege, the flow could be diverted to the castle’s cisterns if other sources of water dried up.

  The drainage system was as ingenious as it was intricate, and with good reason. Alton had once told her that a stone structure’s greatest enemy was water, especially
when it froze and thawed. With a nod to Alton, she made sure she looked over the drainage system with admiring eyes.

  The strangest structure atop the castle was an enclosed dome on a platform. “What’s that?” Karigan asked, pointing.

  “The king’s observatory. It houses a large telescope so he may watch the stars.”

  Karigan glanced at the captain incredulously. “Have you ever looked through it?”

  Captain Mapstone chuckled. “I’ve been invited, but I never liked the idea of coming eye to eye with Aeryc or one of the other gods peering back at me. The king often hosts star masters to watch the night sky and chart the movements of the heavens.”

  Invigorated by the fresh air and sunshine, and vastly impressed by this uppermost level of the castle, Karigan leaned contentedly against a crenel and looked down into the city and toward the green patchwork of farmland beyond.

  Captain Mapstone turned her back to the vista, and leaned upon a crenel of her own, gazing at Karigan. Karigan gathered that the leisurely aspect of this little expedition was over, and that Captain Mapstone was ready to hear explanations.

  Sure enough, she said, “Mara and Fastion told me they found you deep in the abandoned corridors yesterday afternoon, in a room Fastion had never seen before, and he claims he knows those corridors pretty well. Mara said you were faded out—beyond faded. And that you were incoherent. What were you doing back there?”

  Karigan watched a gull glide by on the thermals. She took a deep breath, and launched into her story, beginning with the day she had witnessed the disappearing footprints in the abandoned corridor. She linked it to the realization she was seeing a future vision of herself.

  She almost listened to her own story in disbelief, of how she followed a tiny light into the dark, only to witness visions of the past. Standing here now in the bright, open air, she could only feel she had been overcome by some temporary madness. However, when she told of seeing the young Laren Mapstone and Zachary, the captain’s eyes widened. She stroked her neck scar.