“And when you’re attending the king?”
“That’s even worse. I think he wants me there just because he, and everyone else, is used to seeing Captain Mapstone at his side. You know, someone in green, out of habit.”
Captain Mapstone a habit? Karigan stifled a smile, wondering how the captain would react to such a notion.
“I know the king depends on her as his advisor, but frankly, I don’t have her experience or knowledge to play the part. I’m completely out of my element. So, I’m more or less an ornament.”
The defeated way in which Mara described herself made Karigan laugh. Ornamental was the last word she’d use to describe Mara, who was one of the most capable Riders she knew. Mara, not knowing exactly what was so funny, smiled tentatively.
Karigan wiped her eyes. “Sorry, I think the lack of sleep is getting to me.”
“I know what you mean. Have you heard anything about the captain?”
Karigan sobered immediately. “I was going to ask you the same question.”
“All I know is that Destarion is furious with her for refusing him admittance to her quarters.” Mara rolled her eyes. “That was another tirade I had to listen to today, and all I had said was ‘good morning.’ ”
No one knew the cause of the captain’s collapse. The king, and others who were present at the time, said she’d been acting erratically for a while. Ghost words came back to Karigan: Her gift is failing. Was the captain’s collapse somehow tied to the failure of her ability? She regretted not telling the captain about her own ability’s failure when she had had the chance.
After the captain collapsed, she’d been cognizant enough to declare herself unfit for duty, demand she be returned to her quarters, and informed the king Mara was in charge until Connly returned. Once in her quarters, she slammed the door and locked it. Food was left on her step three times daily. Sometimes it was drawn inside and consumed, more often not.
“So what did you tell Destarion?” Karigan asked.
Mara sighed. “I told him I’d try to talk to her when I had a few moments. I haven’t had any time until now, and now it’s well past midnight.” She opened her mouth in a mighty yawn. “Whatever happened to the good old days?”
“What good old days?”
“The days when Ereal, and Patrici before her, did all this stuff and I was just an ordinary Rider whose only reason to stay up this late was to have a good, cold ale at the Cock and Hen. I’ve become much too serious and sensible of late.”
“The Cock and Hen?” Karigan crinkled her nose in distaste. “You’d actually set foot in that place?” It was a seedy, rundown pub on the outskirts of the city, which catered to those of questionable reputation.
“Oh yes,” Mara said dreamily. “They’ve the best, bit terest dark ale this side of the Grandgent—bitter enough to curl your hair.”
Karigan snorted. “That explains yours.”
Mara sighed long and mournfully. “Now I’m destined to wither away in meetings crowded with stablehands who haven’t bathed in months, arguing over sacks of grain.”
With that, Mara declared herself spent, and retired. Karigan finally set to clearing away her papers. Like Mara, she dreamed of all her cares drifting away, of sitting down in a pub—one much nicer than the Cock and Hen—downing cool, dark ale at her leisure. The only problem was that she couldn’t rid herself of the image of Lil Ambrioth scowling down at her, and the feeling of guilt that scowl engendered.
She stumbled down the corridor to her room, yawning. Inside, she kicked off her boots and extinguished her lamp. Too tired to change into her nightshirt, she flopped onto her bed fully dressed.
Captain Mapstone would snap out of her difficulty, she had to. Maybe Connly would return soon, and take the brunt of responsibility she and Mara now bore. Maybe she had never really seen the image of Lil Ambrioth in her mirror, maybe . . .
Within seconds, she drifted off to sleep.
IN THE WATER BUCKET
Unfortunately, by the next day, none of Karigan’s “maybes” came to pass. Captain Mapstone remained sequestered in her quarters, refusing to talk to anyone. Connly had not miraculously shown up, and she still had a schedule to untangle.
That morning, she actually looked forward to her session with Drent. She needed the outlet from all the sedentary paperwork she’d been doing, and to get her mind off Rider troubles. As usual, Drent whacked her pretty good in the practice ring, but at least the pain made her feel like she was doing “real” work.
Later on, she visited the quartermaster to ensure supplies were adequate for the Riders heading out on errands over the next week or so. She counted pieces of spare tack and uniforms, shelves of unused bedrolls, weaponry, tinder kits, and eating utensils. Next she visited the kitchens where the head cook patiently explained that the travel fare Riders required was available day and night—she had to but come and get it.
Karigan found she had taken for granted the role of the Chief Rider whose duty it was to see that message-bearing Riders were fully supplied and ready to go at a moment’s notice. She had always taken on an errand with Condor already tacked and readied for her, the saddlebags bulging. She never stopped to think about the fact the Chief Rider had seen to it all so she wouldn’t have to.
If the Chief Rider forgot anything, it could compromise the Rider’s errand. Karigan had never been on the road with any supplies missing, and the diligence of her Chief Rider was an example she intended to emulate. She would see to it the Riders were well taken care of.
Once everything returned to normal, she promised herself to be more conscientious about thanking Connly for his efforts.
As she crossed the castle grounds checking off errands on her list, she glimpsed Mara in the distance, doggedly trotting off to what was likely yet another meeting.
Karigan shook her head wondering if things would ever, in fact, return to normal. What was normal? She sighed and continued back to barracks, where the dreaded paperwork awaited her.
At four hour, Karigan had had enough. She couldn’t take it anymore. She set her pen down and pushed her chair away from the table.
No more paperwork, she told herself.
She left Rider barracks and crossed over to the stable. It was time for the afternoon feeding, and as she entered the stable, she was greeted by whickering horses bobbing their heads above stall doors. Others circled impatiently in their stalls, kicking the wall in emphasis, to urge their human attendants to get a move on.
Hep had already tossed down hay, and was now descending the ladder from the loft. He gave her a big grin when he saw her.
“Why don’t you start with the grain,” he said.
Obediently she went into the small room in which the grain was stored, a whole great mound of it. She loved the sweet smell of fresh grain, and in here it was almost overwhelming. She set to feeding, and soon the stable was filled with contented munching.
There were actually twenty-six horses in the stable, including her Condor. Two served as spare mounts, which were used in case a messenger horse came up lame. That meant twenty-four Riders were in residence, an unusual number.
One horse not typically seen was Lynx’s black and white piebald, Owl. Lynx rarely stayed in the city when checking in with the king, but the trouble surrounding D’Ivary Province probably required that he keep close.
There was Mara’s Firefly, and Crane who now served with Ty. Garth’s Chickadee munched away in a stall next to Dale’s Plover. When her gaze settled on Bluebird, Captain Mapstone’s gelding, she noticed immediately his forlorn appearance and dull coat, and that he did not feed as enthusiastically as the other horses.
Hep joined her and followed her gaze. “Aye, that one’s off his feed. Longs for his mistress, he does.” Shaking his head, he hefted two water buckets and headed out to scrub them down and fill them with fresh water.
Karigan walked over to Bluebird’s stall and leaned against the door. He gazed at her with liquid brown eyes.
“Po
or thing,” she said, stroking his neck. “The captain will be back soon, I know she will.”
Even as she murmured the words, she wondered if it would be so. She and Mara couldn’t keep up this charade forever on their own. They needed the captain, for they depended on her guidance and authority. They were used to her taking all the responsibility and making all the decisions.
Frankly, Karigan felt lost without her and was surprised to learn how much she craved the captain’s approval, even that which often went unsaid. She wanted to prove to the captain she was worthy of her trust and respect, and she suspected it was because of all the respect she held, in turn, for the captain.
She brushed flies away from Bluebird’s eyes, wondering if he could sense whatever it was that afflicted the captain. Maybe he had a touch of colic or some other ill bothering him, but somehow she doubted it.
She resolved to provide him with extra attention and exercise when she could fit it into her schedule. Considering she’d neglected her own horse enough, thanks to her bad arm and new duties, she didn’t hold out much hope for spending time with him.
Schedules. She frowned, remembering the work she had left on the table in barracks. Now that there were more Riders in than she thought, it would throw a kink into—
“Arg!” She shook herself to stop thinking about it. That’s why she had come here, wasn’t it? To free her mind?
With a final pat to Bluebird’s neck, she went to Condor’s stall. She stepped inside, but he ignored her, his nose deep into his grain bucket.
“Nice to see you, too,” she said.
He didn’t even bother to flick an ear.
She maneuvered around him, kicking at his bedding and finding it fresh. She checked his hooves, which were picked clean as well. There was only a light coating of dust on his back, and she was beginning to think Hep had been just a little too good at his job by not leaving her anything to do. But she knew he was aware of how busy she was.
Condor’s water bucket caught her eye. Ah ha! Maybe Hep hasn’t cleaned that yet.
She stepped around Condor’s back end, and paused, startled by the sensation of someone’s gaze on her. She caught the movement of a shadow along the wall just before it merged into a dark corner of the stall. A hasty glance revealed no one else had entered the stable. Was it a trick of the light? It was very possible, for the stable was dim with but a few dirty windows to let in the sun.
“Did you see anything?” she asked Condor.
He tugged at his pile of hay on the stall floor.
Karigan sighed, shaking her head at His Hindness, the High Lord of Fertilizer. “Didn’t think so.” She decided to forget about the shadow. Her recent dealings with the supernatural had her seeing apparitions where there were none. The stable couldn’t have been more ordinary.
She peered into Condor’s water bucket. It was low. Bits of straw and dead flies floated on the water’s surface.
Good, she thought. She could clean the bucket and refill it, something she could do to care for her own horse for once.
But even as she gazed into the bucket, a smoky haze began to drift upward from the water.
“Wha—?”
It glowed green, illuminated by some inner light deep within it. Beneath the water, beneath the bits of hay and dead flies, a pair of blue-green eyes peered back up at her.
“N-not again!”
The eyes blinked, and with a liquidy shimmer, a face formed around them, the face of Lil Ambrioth. Her hair floated like seaweed beneath the water.
Karigan choked back a scream, but could not draw away, as if a pair of invisible hands held her head over the bucket. She became aware of Condor moving in the stall behind her, and looking over her shoulder. Warm breath sweetened with grain puffed against her cheek.
Lil Ambrioth blinked again. Things are not well, yet you do nothing.
“I—” Her breath sent ripples across the water that distorted the First Rider’s face. “Nothing?”
Nothing.
Karigan tried to tug free of the power that forced her to gaze into the bucket, but she could not. This was madness. “I’ve been—I’ve been busy.” She did not know which was stranger: talking into a bucket, or seeing the face of the First Rider in it.
More is required of you than a mere meeting of basic duties.
“Basic—! Mere meeting—!” To Karigan’s mind, it had been anything but, especially having to deal with unwelcome visitations by apparitions. She wanted to shake the water bucket to erase the image of the First Rider and rid herself of the madness, but the same power that made her gaze into the bucket also trapped her arms against her sides.
She shut her eyes. “I do not see you, I do not see you, I do not—”
But you can still hear me, hey?
Karigan’s spirits sagged. Reluctantly she opened her eyes to meet the apparition’s gaze.
You waste my time with such foolishness, and time is something of which I’ve too little.
Karigan ground her teeth wanting to make a tart reply about her own time, but she withheld it. Instead she asked, “What do you want of me?”
I have told you before, you must hold the Riders together. There is a change occurring in the world. The Riders do not understand what goes on with their gifts. They are without their captain. You must help them.
“Me? But how can—”
Lil cut her off with some ancient and exasperated invocation to the gods requesting patience. To begin with, talk to them.
“What am I supposed to tell them? I don’t know any more than they do.”
You do know more. If a submerged apparition in the bottom of a bucket could look annoyed and impatient, Lil had certainly achieved the effect.
You spoke with an Eletian, and you reported his words to your king. He spoke to you of the breach stirring powers on both sides of the wall, and that the warning was before you.
Karigan recalled a stone funerary slab in a flooded tomb. Only it wasn’t a tomb, but a prison. A wraith had broken its chains and arisen to walk the world again. Powers were stirring . . . Powers, magic. And finally she made the connection.
“You’re telling me that the breach is causing . . .” She dropped her voice into a whisper. “. . . my ability to fail?”
Yes, among other things that have gone awry. Magic is out of kilter.
“But how?” “But how?”
My time is too brief to explain it all. The door will close at any moment. For now you must hold the Riders together.
“You put this on me, but you won’t explain it to me?” Karigan licked her lips. “Why do you keep coming to me? Why do you think I can do as you ask?”
A bit of hay drifted over Lil’s face. You are a Rider, and that should be enough, but I see it is not. You are a Rider because you have intense loyalty to your country and your king, and an innate gift of magic. This is true of all Riders, but you’ve also the ability to bring them together, if only you would accept the responsibility.
“I never even wanted to be a Rider.”
Ta! Such a stubborn girl. You would not have answered the call if it wasn’t in your spirit.
“That doesn’t explain why you keep haunting me. Mara could do as you ask.”
Lil’s head turned, as though she were checking over her shoulder. The door begins to close.
“Explain it to me now!”
The First Rider sighed. We share the brooch.
Karigan blinked, startled. “You mean—?”
Lil nodded. Made for me, it was.
It was too incredible to believe, thought Karigan, that she should wear the same brooch the First Rider had once worn. The weight of history, the very idea of it, sent shivers down her spine.
This is why I come to you, hey? We are linked, you and I. And there is much struggle ahead. The Riders must be ready. There is something else important . . .
Karigan found herself lowering her face deeper into the bucket as if to ensure she didn’t miss a word.
You are of
interest to the darkness in Blackveil. Shield yourself well, keep your wits about you. Lil’s voice and face began to fade. The darkness seeks you . . .
And she was gone.
Released by the power that had held her, Karigan grabbed the bucket and shook it vigorously. “What do you mean it seeks me?” she shouted. “Why is the darkness interested in me?”
But the green glow was gone, and there was no reply. She had only managed to churn up the water and cause the dead flies to whirl in circles.
Condor nosed her aside so he could get a drink, and a dazed Karigan looked up only to find Hep and Mara staring at her in astonishment from across the stall door.
“Are ya well?” Hep asked, his eyes wide.
“Um . . .”
Mara raised an eyebrow.
“Mara, we need to talk.”
“I was going to suggest the very same thing.”
The two Riders stepped outside and leaned against the paddock rails. The late afternoon sunshine felt good to Karigan—it seemed to chase away the shadows of apparitions and madness. All was tranquil, the late afternoon light glowing a bright yellow-green on the tips of grasses. There was a soft drone of bees visiting clover and lighting on the yellow and white asters that grew so prolifically in these waning days of summer.
Karigan told Mara everything, about how her ability had failed during the groundmite attack on Lady Penburn’s delegation, the details of her “traveling” through the abandoned corridors, and even spoke of Lil Ambrioth’s visitations.
She did not hold back as she had with Captain Mapstone. She now knew there was something much bigger going on than simply her own problems. She would not make the same mistake with Mara as she had with the captain: she would not hide the truth.
Mara took it all in calmly, interrupting only to ask for occasional clarification.
By the time Karigan finished, her throat was dry and the sun much lower, but she was glad to have it out. She no longer had to hide her madness; it was no longer her burden to bear alone.
Mara squinted as she gazed across the paddock. She twisted a curl of hair around her forefinger, and it was a while before she spoke.
First Rider's Call Page 27
