“I’m surprised we even considered her,” Madrene said. “Hers is a line much cursed.”
Uxton’s booming laugh echoed down the corridor. “So cursed her father is one of the richest men in Sacoridia!”
Madrene scowled. “You know what I mean. Much cursed by us.”
Uxton rolled his eyes. “Of course, Madrene. Galadheon is much cursed by us.”
“I will continue my vigil on her,” Spurlock said, “but I do not consider her a threat, or her father, but should things change, we and our sect in Corsa should be set to eliminate any threat. In the meantime, so long as Clan G’ladheon is ignorant of its heritage, no harm should come to them.”
“Why not kill them now, like Lord Alton?” Robbs asked. “Why wait for something to happen?”
Spurlock nodded. “A good question, but we dare not act prematurely. What if we open ourselves to detection by a moment of carelessness? Wouldn’t the murders of Stevic G’ladheon and his heir draw unwanted attention? I choose caution; to not make any moves unless warranted. Are there further objections?”
No one spoke. Spurlock felt cold hands around his neck and heard a muttering near his ear.
Five hells! His gut froze as the cold passed through it. He’d be glad to get out of here.
“Let us end then. Praise be to Mornhavon.”
“Praise be to Mornhavon,” they all chanted.
They raised their hands high, exposing the tattoos on their palms to the light of their lamps, and Spurlock led the closing in the Imperial tongue: “Leo diam frante clios . . .”
Mostly unaware of the ghostly presences that swept in and around them in great agitation, Second Empire finished its meeting in ancient ritual.
Journal of Hadriax el Fex
I have returned from a bloody campaign to the north. I am tired of the fighting. How many years has it been? I’ve nearly forgotten. We of Arcosia are a long-lived race, and this has allowed us to keep fighting as though in our prime, while a clansman might be born, live to old age, and die while we barely age.
We decimated many villages on our campaign. I can no longer differentiate one village from another, one herd of slaves taken from another, or the faces of those I’ve killed. Men, women, children. Children, Alessandros says, are the future breeders of our enemy, so usually they are slaughtered unless someone desires them for slaves.
In the small country of Kmaern, Alessandros used the Black Star to wipe out its people, and to topple most of their impressive stone towers. These folk were the stoneworkers who built defenses for the clans our forces could not penetrate. They will build nothing more.
Since our troops have not been replenished by Arcosia, we’ve begun to use our captives as arrow fodder, and we discovered a people deep in the Wanda Plains—more like cattle they are, for they are dim-witted and bestial, and live in dens of mud and dirt. Mornhavon has been capturing them and changing them with his powers. Once changed, they are cunning and ferocious fighters.
The Sons of Rhove have allied themselves with the clans, for they fear invasion of their own lands. And, there are indications that the Elt in the lands north of clan territories are interested in joining the fray against us. Alessandros is confident he will overcome them as he overcame Argenthyne.
I cannot help but think that all the unholy works of Alessandros have changed him. I cannot explain it, but he is ever darker in his thoughts, as though the more he uses etherea for his experiments and plots, the more it pollutes and poisons him. Many stay loyal out of fear, though there are others who revel in his change, and feed off it.
I try not to think too heavily on it, but the perversion of etherea, which is the stuff of God, is madness. Perhaps that is the taint I sense.
WATCH HILL
The town of Childrey lay a half day’s ride east of Sacor City. Because of Karigan’s late start, she’d probably spend the night in Childrey, or beneath the stars somewhere along the road on her return trip.
As she had guessed, Condor was just as eager as she to take to the road, and as he stretched his legs in a soothing, rocking canter, her concerns flowed from her shoulders with the passing of each mile, leaving her in a state of contentment.
It was a truly fine day with a sky overhead the shade of a robin’s egg. Woodlands alternated with blueberry barrens, and she waved to laborers raking in the last of the season’s crop. They shouted back cheery greetings.
There were a couple of villages she and Condor passed through, with children watching from the side of the road to see the king’s messenger. More merry greetings were exchanged, and she was asked to pass on good tidings to King Zachary.
Once outside the second village, she nudged Condor back into his pleasant canter, and with a switch of his tail, they were off.
Feeling cleansed and revitalized, Karigan laughed at the breeze against her face and the wide open freedom of the ride. It had been truly too long since she’d been off castle grounds. Now she drank in the deep greens of grasses and forest, and the wavering yellow and white flowers of late summer along the road. Some plants, spent by so much summer splendor, were already turned gold and red with the shortening days.
Later, when she slowed Condor to a walk to cool off, a rocky mount called Watch Hill rose above the trees. From a distance it often took on a bluish aspect, especially at sunset. Blueberry barrens left to grow wild long ago cloaked its slopes. Its summit was bald granite except for scraggly vegetation that clung tenaciously in protected crevices and pockets of gravelly soil.
The road skirted the base of Watch Hill, and then continued steadily eastward. As she passed into the hill’s shadow, she felt a strange tug on her brooch, a resonance that called on her to climb the mount. Spooked, Karigan kicked Condor into a canter to put Watch Hill behind them. She wasn’t about to let anything untoward spoil her pleasant ride.
The shadows had grown long by the time Condor’s hooves pounded over the bridge that crossed the brook bounding Childrey.
Childrey was a prosperous little town, home to several gentlemen farmers and landowners. Some profited from the lumbering business that took place north and west, while others were merchants who specialized in crossing the Wingsong Mountains to do business with the eastern provinces.
Upon her arrival at the mayoral offices off the town green, she was treated courteously by the mayor’s servants. This was her third errand to Childrey, and Lord-Mayor Gilbradney was an ardent supporter of King Zachary.
The mayor and his staff offered her every creature comfort possible, and she was not at all disappointed when he invited her to his table for a supper of wine-roasted grouse and bowls piled high with the mushrooms that were so plentiful this time of year. There were slabs of sharp cheese, and bread just pulled from the ovens. Her cup was never empty of apple wine, and dish after dish was passed her way.
It was over a heap of blueberry-rhubarb pie swimming in warm clotted cream that Lord-Mayor Gilbradney broached a subject that was not just simple table conversation.
“Rider,” he said, “one hears all manner of strange tales emanating from across the country. As you know, we’ve a good deal of commerce here for an inland town.” Here he smiled knowing her own family’s business based on the shore of Corsa Harbor. “With our commerce, there are those who have traveled far and wide. Do you know the tales I speak of?”
The others at the table, the mayor’s wife and some town officials, waited intently for Karigan’s reply.
“I believe I do,” she said. “As you may guess, those tales have also reached the king’s ear.”
Gilbradney shifted uncomfortably. “Is there truth in them?”
Karigan nodded slowly. “Of course, I’m not sure which ones you’ve heard, but yes, some have truth in them. But more likely than not, most are probably exaggerated beyond recognition.”
“So I suspect, as well. Tell me, Rider, do you know the cause of these oddities?”
Karigan wasn’t sure how much to reveal. This was one of the hardest aspects of repr
esenting the kingdom—everything coming from her mouth would be taken as the official word of the king.
“No decisive conclusions have yet been reached,” she said carefully, “but the king is aware of the oddities, and we are being vigilant. Have you anything to report?”
The mayor and his colleagues seemed delighted to tell her of the tales they had heard. Some were familiar, some were not. She filed the latter away for retrieval later, when she reported back to Mara and the king.
The conversation turned cordial once again, the mayor apparently satisfied by her explanation.
The mayor’s wife invited her to stay the night, but Karigan had an itch to be riding again. The moon was due to be full and she couldn’t bear the thought of being stuck indoors. Also, she felt a twinge of guilt about having left Mara totally at the mercy of the “wolves.” As much as she liked being away from Sacor City, the farther she got down the road tonight, the sooner she could get back to helping Mara.
After convincing Lady Gilbradney she must be on her way, and thanking her effusively for her hospitality, Karigan nearly had to roll herself out of the mayor’s residence, she was so stuffed. Her head was a little light, too, from all the apple wine.
I suppose I’ll have another headache in the morning.
She was yawning mightily by the time they reached the stretch of road that skirted Watch Hill. It was a domed silhouette against a tapestry of twinkling stars. The bright full moon reflected a glimmering crown of light on the summit.
Pretty, Karigan thought sleepily. Magical.
It was an ironic thought for what happened next.
At first the stirring of her brooch was a gentle hum, but insistent enough to awaken her completely. Condor halted as if knowing more was to come. A force tugged at her brooch, then yanked her right off Condor and into the streaming space of the traveling.
She screamed, but the sound was ripped from her throat and left in some other time. She traveled suspended through thousands of nights, the moon changing its size and visage faster than her eyes could blink, travelers on the road but brief impressions flaring past, and then there was no road at all. She passed through winters and rainstorms, forest fires, summers and autumns, and radiant springs.
When the traveling ended abruptly, she fell from space and hit the ground with an unceremonious grunt. She sat up groaning—unhurt, but very unhappy. Who knew when she had landed this time.
Physically she was in the very same spot as when she’d been atop Condor, but he was nowhere to be seen. Her perspective of Watch Hill hadn’t changed an iota, and even the moon was full and a dazzling silver.
“Bloody hell,” she muttered. She stood and slapped dirt off her trousers.
The air was crisp, like the lands north where a nip in the summer air reminded one of which season was the mightier and dominated the longest.
“Now what?”
It seemed a pitiful question when a powerful force had just carried her across the ages. Why? And with mounting fear, would she be stranded here?
She touched her brooch, but it felt no different than it ever had. Panic swelled in her breast and she hugged herself to contain it. She was alone here with no idea of how to get back.
To calm herself, she decided to build a campfire. By the time she remembered her tinder box was still packed in Condor’s saddlebag, elsewhen, she had already accumulated an armload of wood. With a sigh, she supposed starting a fire without it would occupy her while she mulled over her situation.
She dumped the wood and went looking for more. As she walked, she caught sight of a movement beyond a thicket of trees. Startled, she halted, her heart skipping a few beats. It was a horse and rider, of that much she was certain.
She had to restrain herself from running to the rider for help. Instead, she moved forward cautiously, attempting to make as little noise as possible. Just because the people of the past had been unaware of her the last time she had traveled, she didn’t want to take the chance the rules had changed.
She passed through the thicket, thinking the shadows of the spruce would help conceal her. She knelt behind a boulder and peered out beyond to a clearing.
The moon glinted on the rider’s steel half-armor and the pommel of the greatsword strapped to her back. It was none other than the First Rider, Lil Ambrioth.
Karigan stepped out from behind the boulder and out of the shadows. “Hello,” she said.
Lil didn’t seem to hear or see her. She remained very still, sitting erect in her saddle, staring straight ahead.
Lil’s horse was more draft horse than saddle horse. It was big and bony and underfed, and tired-looking. It was slightly sway-backed, and had the look of hard use. Its large head was ugly. Not exactly the image Karigan had of the warsteed that should be carrying a great hero.
Another rider entered the clearing from the opposite side, on a sleek black stallion that was a far finer beast than Lil Ambrioth’s. The man riding it was no less impressive, in a crimson and black uniform, the like of which Karigan had never seen before. The velvet sleeves were full and slashed to reveal the crimson silk beneath. He wore a breastplate of enameled crimson, and a bal dric of black that girded a longsword at his hip. He bore himself like an elite soldier.
Of his features, she could discern little. They blurred in her vision.
“Hadriax el Fex,” Lil said.
The man nodded, his leathers creaking. “Liliedhe Ambriodhe.” His accent was different from Lil’s.
This was the meeting King Jonaeus had tried to talk Lil out of attending. This was her meeting with Mornhavon the Black’s closest friend.
Lil did not answer the man, but nudged her horse a few steps forward. Then halted.
“I believe you requested safe haven.”
“Yes, I did. Lord Mornhavon’s atrocities have become more than I can bear, and I want to help bring them to an end.”
“After all this time?” Lil asked. “You’ve only just discovered the various hells Mornhavon has created in these lands? You had your hand in enough of it, I daresay. Why shouldn’t I just run my sword through you right now?”
“You won’t do that.”
“You sound rather sure of yourself. I wouldn’t be if I were you.”
“You won’t kill me,” the man said, “because you know I have valuable knowledge.”
Lil laughed quietly. “So I imagine. Why should I trust anything you have to say?”
“I have given up much to come here. Risked everything I am, betrayed the man who was a brother to me.”
To Karigan’s ears, the words sounded flat. Too flat. He was lying.
The man sidled his stallion closer to Lil. She didn’t move.
“You won’t kill me,” the man continued, “because without the information I possess, your people will have no hope of winning this war, and you know it. Mornhavon will defeat you.”
Lil raised an eyebrow, a touch of amusement on her lips. “Will he now?”
“Yes.”
A throttled scream, a man’s voice, erupted nearby in the woods: “Trap!”
Hadriax el Fex grabbed Lil and tried to drag her off her horse. The fog no longer clouded his features, which were sharp and hard. His hair was black and tied back into a ponytail. Upon his brow rested a crown of lead fashioned into intertwining branches. Karigan had seen the crown before, on the wraith in the clearing, the night of the attack on Lady Penburn’s delegation.
Even as Lil struggled against the man, a hundred horsemen materialized out of nothing as though a curtain had been lifted. They all bore the black and crimson colors, the device of a black dead tree on their shields. They trotted their horses to encircle Lil and the man in their struggle.
Lil swung at him and landed a fist in his eye. He rocked back in his saddle. Like lightning the greatsword flashed into Lil’s hands, but she’d be unable to fend off the archers who now bent their bows, arrows aimed directly at her.
The man laughed. “No, no. Lord Mornhavon wants her alive.” Power
crackled on his upraised palm. It crawled up and down his forearm. Lil paused as if to consider her predicament. Karigan yearned to help, but was unaware of what she could do. A distraction of some kind?
Last time, she could handle objects even if she couldn’t make contact with people. Without hesitation, she hefted a large rock, and heaved it at the nearest horse. The horse whinnied and reared, dumping its rider. As she hoped, the soldiers’ attention averted to their fallen companion. Even the man wearing the crown was distracted enough to look.
Lil didn’t use the moment to escape. Instead, she raised her horn to her lips and blared out the notes of the Rider charge. No sooner did the last note ring out and she had dropped the horn to her side, was she slashing her sword at her would-be captor. Taken off-guard, his magic fizzled out. He concentrated on trying to reignite it and avoid Lil’s blade, but Lil’s big, ugly horse casually bit a chunk out of his leg, and swiftly whirled on its haunches to plant a well-placed kick on his high-tempered stallion’s chest.
The man’s scream, and the thrashing of his stallion, were lost to thunderous hoofbeats shaking the ground. Green Riders boiled out of the woods and charged the enemy.
A counter trap, Karigan thought, practically jumping up and down with glee.
The Riders loosed their own arrows and many of the enemy fell. The Riders did not pause after their opening volley, but drove into the enemy, whooping and swinging their sabers above their heads. Green and white paint masked their faces, giving them a wild, frightening countenance. Green handprints decorated the necks and haunches of their mounts.
Karigan stumbled back into a thicket to avoid getting trampled.
The two groups merged into smaller melees, and the battle almost became quiet, with but the clattering of weaponry and thud of hooves, and the isolated shout or cry. It was almost businesslike, and perhaps for enemies who had been at war for so long, it was business.
At its center, Lil Ambrioth and the man who had mas queraded as Hadriax el Fex still strove against each other, but much of their combat was lost to sight behind others. It was hard to say which side was winning, but Karigan thought the Green Riders were outnumbered despite their initial volley.
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