She moved through the thicket, detecting the occasional flare of magic—a ball of flame thrown or objects flying through the air without hands to guide them. She sought a different vantage point, trying to determine how the Riders fared, silently rooting for them, apprehensive when one succumbed and fell. This battle may have occurred sometime in the far distant history of the lands, but anxiety hounded her that the Riders would be devastated.
She came upon three of the enemy in the woods. One was without a breastplate, and he leaned over his horse’s neck as though wounded. His hands were bound behind him with black, writhing magic. Karigan remembered the pain of such magic all too well.
Sandy hair fell over the man’s face. This could only be the one Lil had come to meet, Hadriax el Fex. He hadn’t meant to ambush her, but was a prisoner himself, and undoubtedly the one who had warned her of the trap.
His two guards spoke to one another in a guttural, rolling language incomprehensible to Karigan.
Must be the imperial tongue, she thought.
One of the guards raised his sword and pricked el Fex in the arm, and burst out laughing. El Fex did nothing, his head hanging wretchedly. The guards exchanged several words, followed by more laughter.
Karigan approached closer, drawn as much by curiosity as anything. She wasn’t intimate with the politics of the day as a scholar might be, nor had she heard of Hadriax el Fex until her previous travels. And she had no stake in the outcome of this battle. The past was the past, wasn’t it?
Still, she knew Hadriax el Fex wouldn’t have been held a prisoner if he hadn’t intended to betray Mornhavon and provide the League with valuable information.
Should she intervene? Would doing so alter the course of history, for better or worse? Maybe there was a reason el Fex was not remembered. Maybe it was because he died this night before he could pass on intelligence to the League.
One of the guards stabbed el Fex’s thigh. He jerked and gasped, and his guards taunted him.
Suddenly he whipped his boot from his stirrup and kicked out sideways at the guard on his left. The guard’s horse swerved away. The other guard swung his sword at him, but he threw his leg over his horse’s neck and slid to the ground. The wounded leg buckled, and he fell to his knee.
The first guard, having gained control of his horse, came up behind el Fex and shouted orders at him. El Fex clambered to his feet with difficulty.
“Nast dritch ech, Galadheon!” the guard shouted.
Startled to hear her name, Karigan stood stock still, with eyes wide. Could they suddenly see her?
El Fex ran, but did not get far before he was run down by the mounted guards. One guard dismounted and raised his sword for a killing blow.
Without a second thought, Karigan drew her saber and stabbed it through the midsection of the guard. No blood spurted, the guard did not crumple, he didn’t even flinch. Even her sword had no effect in this time. In desperation, she picked up a rock—it worked, although she couldn’t analyze why until later—and pelted it into the face of the guard. He cried out and staggered back, dropping his sword to clutch at his bleeding face.
The second guard looked furtively about, seeking the source of the rock.
“Whuist das?” he asked. Then in a heavy accent, commanded, “Show yourself, mage.”
Maybe, Karigan thought, her own sword didn’t work because it hadn’t yet been made. She scrunched her face at the logic, but wondered if, just maybe . . .
She grabbed the first guard’s sword and swept it up in a defensive position. How must this look to the guards and el Fex? A quick glance revealed they were surprised, but not astonished. Maybe it was more common during this era to find invisible sword wielders.
Swiftly she stabbed the first guard. This time he bled. This time he crumpled.
The other guard watched the drifting blade, backing his horse away. She lunged, and he wheeled his horse around just in time to meet an arrow. He tumbled from his horse and did not move.
Lil and another Rider approached. “You lead the others to the summit,” she told him, “and I’ll take care of this one.” She pointed her bloodied greatsword at el Fex. “I’m going to sound the retreat.” Her companion nodded and reined his horse back toward the main body of the fray.
Lil raised the horn to her lips and the call to retreat blared out, resounding in an echo as it bounced off Watch Hill. Karigan carefully set down the sword. Hadriax el Fex followed its motion with his eyes.
“Dreshna,” he said. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Karigan replied, though she knew he could not hear her.
She watched as the First Rider assisted Hadriax el Fex onto her horse before her, and kicked her steed toward Watch Hill.
SHADOWS OF KENDROA MOR
Andri’s grip on Lil’s hand slackened even as the life flowed out of him. His face was a ghastly hue beneath the cracking green paint.
“I—I am sorry I failed ye, Captain,” he gasped.
Lil squeezed his hand. “You did well, Andri. Very well. Don’t think otherwise, hey?”
She could only watch as life faded from him.
“Remember me,” he pleaded with a whisper.
“I will.”
By then he was gone. Lil gently closed his eyes. “Rest well,” she whispered to him.
Before he was lifted away to the pyre, she unclasped his brooch from his plaid sash and placed it in her belt pouch with all the others she had removed from the dead. She nodded to Ludriane to ignite the fire.
If they hadn’t had to ride up the mor, Andri might have survived with proper care, but the retreat was necessary. Had she left him behind, the empire’s craven jackals would have hacked him to pieces. She carried away all wounded and dead whenever possible, to prevent such desecration.
Andri was the last of the mortally wounded to pass on to the Birdman’s care. Some had to be helped along, humanely, with a sharp blade. They would now have a blazing pyre atop the mor for the dead, allowing their souls to lift easier to the heavens in the smoke, and the bright fire consuming them would bring light amid the blackness of the empire’s deeds. It was a good night for light.
Despite the deaths, the mission had been a success. Hadriax el Fex sat nearby, all alone, his wrists still bound behind his back by a tendril of wild magic. She knew it must cause him intense pain, but only a great mage could undo it, which meant he’d have to endure it until they reached the king’s army. He looked to have been tortured, with open wounds bleeding, but he’d live. Eventually Merigo would dress the wounds, as soon as she finished with the more seriously injured. El Fex did not complain, nor did he ask for help. He bore his pain in silence.
As Andri was laid beside his brothers and sisters on the burgeoning pyre, she thought Hadriax el Fex had better be worth it.
Breckett, her lieutenant, appeared at her elbow. Blood streamed down his temple, but he paid it no heed. The wound would be just one more scar among many others.
“How long do you think we’ve got?” he asked.
“Not long enough. I stabbed him three times, but it will slow him down very little.”
“Aye, he is an unnatural bastard, that Lord Varadgrim. He’s got the magic of the Black One on him, he does.”
“Next time I’ll just take his head.”
“He’d probably grow it back.” Breckett made the gruff chortle that was his laugh. “Nay, that one won’t die.”
“Hollin and Dane will gain us some time with the wards,” Lil mused. “But we dare not linger here.”
“Agreed.”
“I want you to lead everyone back toward the king’s position. Alex will bear el Fex. This will be more a contest of stealth than speed, hey?”
“I understand. Where will you be?”
“Bringing up the rear.”
Breckett gazed suspiciously at her with those dark piercing eyes of his. “And what would you be planning?”
Lil patted her horn, which always rode at her hip. “A slight diversion
.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I’m not asking you to. I’m asking you to obey your captain.”
Breckett grumbled. “Then we best make good use of our time.”
They gathered together all the Riders, wounded and unwounded, and linked hands in a circle beside the pyre. By the grace of the gods, the breeze carried the smoke and stench away from the summit of the mor.
Lil turned her face to the moon and began a litany all too familiar, one that was the Green Riders’ own: “Aeryc, receive these souls into the heavens, may they walk beside you among the stars. They’ve fought the Dark One who would usurp your eminence with his one demon god, and murder all your children on this Earth. These souls fought bravely in your name, and were loyal.
“Even as you embrace these souls, please look down upon our circle and watch and protect us so we may fight on.”
“Fight on,” the Riders repeated in unison.
Lil turned her face from the moon and looked over each of her Riders in turn. Born in war, born for war. None of them cried, for there were no longer enough tears in the world to be shed for the fallen. Nearly a hundred years of war had devastated their people, destroyed their way of life. No one, not the smallest of children, was left untouched.
Children were quickly orphaned, as Lil had been herself, as both her parents marched off to war. Young orphans and children went to work at smithies and fletcher shops, to make the tools of war. Older children bore the tools they made to the battlefield. No, this was not a world for children.
Disease and starvation had wracked the Sacoridians, and Lil was convinced it was only by pure tenacity to survive that the clans had not given in to Mornhavon the Black. Of all the lands, besides Argenthyne, Sacoridia had been the most devastated.
She glanced at Hadriax el Fex. He had done much of the work himself as Mornhavon’s right hand. She saw him lead the slaughter of thousands, his own blade dripping with blood. He spared not the young or the old, the infirm or the simple. He ordered prisoners to be tortured at will, even knowing they possessed no useful information. If he was not the key to turning the tide of the war, she’d take him apart layer by layer, piece by piece, rubbing salt crystals into his wounds as she went. Oddly, the fates had now made her his protector.
He didn’t look so mighty just now, bent over and bleeding, sandy hair hanging in his eyes.
Turning back to her Riders, she said, “It is time for remembrance. I remember Andri.”
“Andri,” they responded.
As they went around the circle, each named a fallen Rider, and as a group they repeated his or her name. The lack of tears did not mean each death didn’t hurt like a spear hurled into one’s chest. Each Rider would handle each death in his or her own way.
“I remember Telan,” Breckett said.
“Telan.”
Breckett’s back was to the pyre, and it seemed to Lil that someone walked behind him and into its light, and watched. It was a shadow figure, like an apparition, more night than substance. She kept her eye on it, warily, fearing it might be a trick of Varadgrim’s.
The flames flared, and she had the impression of a woman’s form.
Daron squeezed her hand. “Your turn,” she whispered.
Lil blinked. She’d been so intent on the apparition, she hadn’t realized they’d gone full circle with the remembrances.
She cleared her throat. “Riders, remember the names, for they are names of honor. Let us carry our fallen comrades in our hearts forever.”
“Forever.”
“Remember, Riders, so long as a few of us stand together, our circle shall never break.”
“Never.”
They raised their clasped hands above their heads.
“Aeryc, be our witness! We serve you, and so long as a few of us stand, our circle shall not break!”
They all whooped and yelled deprecations off the mor, all intended for the ears of Varadgrim and his warriors.
Even when the Riders went back to work preparing for their escape down the mor, Lil kept an eye on the apparition. No one else was aware of her.
The apparition watched all that went on around her, and when Lil strode toward her, a startled expression crossed her face.
Odd behavior for an apparition, she thought. Not that I’d know . . .
As Lil approached the figure, warmth rippled outward from her brooch. Surprised, she touched it, and it seemed to her the apparition grew sharper in her vision. She emanated a silver-green sheen, and wore her hair in a single braid down her back. Most astonishing of all, she wore a Rider brooch.
“Who are you?” Lil demanded. “Are you a demon spirit sent to haunt me?”
The apparition spoke, though Lil could not hear the words. If this one had been in life a Green Rider, Lil did not remember her, and that would be impossible. She remembered every Rider that served with her. It had to be some trick of the enemy, some illusion. The apparition licked her lips, then tried to communicate again.
A Rider galloped his horse onto the summit.
“It’s Hollin,” Breckett called to her.
The young man spotted her and rode right up to her, passing through the apparition. He did not see it. The apparition gazed at herself up and down, as if checking to see if she remained whole.
“Cap’n,” Hollin said, gasping for breath, “Varadgrim is remounted. He’s snuffing out our wards like candles.”
Lil frowned. Time had just grown even more precious. She swept away from the apparition.
“Breckett! Get everyone mounted and ready to ride on my word.”
He grunted in assent and did as she bade. Merigo was hurriedly staunching el Fex’s wounds, a green glow of mending flowing from her hands.
“Merigo!” Lil snapped. “You are exhausted and the night is not yet done.”
“But—”
“Bandage him if you must, and make it quick. Don’t use your gift. He is our prize, but he won’t be for long if you don’t get a move on.”
“Yes’m.”
As Lil moved among her people, encouraging the wounded and yelling at the others to hurry, she was peripherally aware of the apparition walking with her, absorbing the scene. She had stopped trying to speak.
When finally everyone was mounted, Lil placed her fists on her hips and said to them, “You will go down the west ridge. Varadgrim will not expect it, for it is steep. Traverse it with stealth and care, but quickly. A few shall go at a time, hey? Follow Breckett. He knows the way.”
“What of you, Cap?” Olin asked.
“I’m going to be leading a charge.” And that’s all she would tell them. “Pensworth? I need an illusion. The rest of you will go. Now.”
“Aye,” said Breckett, “this way then.” He led the Riders toward the west ridge of Kendroa Mor. Lil prayed none of their horses would stumble. She prayed Varadgrim truly did not expect them to use so hazardous a route. She prayed he would fall for her ruse.
“What d’ya want, Cap?” Pensworth asked, reining his horse over to her.
“The appearance of Green Riders fortifying the summit, as though we intend to make a stand here.”
Pensworth’s brow crinkled in thought, and she knew he was considering whether or not his gift was strong enough. He scrubbed at his chin, eyed the moon, and brightened perceptibly.
“Silhouettes,” he said. “Much less taxing than full-bodied.”
She clapped his leg. “Good man! Do you think you can make them, eh, noisy?”
Pensworth smiled craftily. “I’ll have ’em spouting every curse known at ol’ Varadgrim. It’ll make his face turn purple.”
Lil laughed until she remembered the apparition. She wondered if it would flit off to Varadgrim to warn him of her plans. But no, the apparition stood there, hands clasped behind her back, watching curiously.
Lil turned back to Pensworth. “Set those illusions now, and as soon as you’re done, you ride after the others, hey? No hesitation. You will be rear guard till I catch up.�
�
“Aye, Cap.”
Lil set off to unhitch her own horse, Brownie, who she had tied to a low growing, twisted pine. All her horses had been named Brownie. A long time ago she had lost track of how many Brownies she had gone through. She couldn’t afford to get attached to the beasts, so they all got the same name regardless of their color. She did have to admit that her current gelding was one of her more sensible, if uglier, Brownies.
Before she mounted, the apparition picked up a rock and dropped it at her feet. The apparition wanted her attention, and got it.
“I can’t hear a thing you are saying,” Lil said, “and I’ve no time for the likes of you.”
The apparition’s eyebrows narrowed and she looked none-too-pleased. Then she extended her hand.
Lil regarded the outstretched hand warily. Obviously the apparition wanted her to take it, but what would happen if she did? If this was one of Varadgrim’s ploys, might she be whisked away to Blackveil and imprisoned? No, she decided, for her brooch tingled, not in warning, but in encouragement.
Lil grunted, and reached for the hand. Their hands merged, and a shudder rippled down Lil’s spine, for she felt as though she were reaching across the ages. The apparition grew more solid.
I’m Karigan, the apparition said. Karigan G’ladheon.
Lil almost jerked her hand away in shock at hearing the imperial word.
You don’t know me?
“I do not,” Lil said. “You wear a brooch, demon girl. A brooch you should not be wearing. You dishonor us. Are you a slave of Varadgrim’s?”
No!
Cries and shouted insults erupted on the summit making Lil jump. She turned to find Pensworth’s illusion at work. Flat, parchment-thin figures of black leaped about the summit waving swords and nocking arrows to bows. There were even a few horse silhouettes. One particularly large female silhouette, endowed with Lil’s voice, screamed a phrase so foul about Varadgrim’s mother that the real Lil’s toes curled in her boots.
First Rider's Call Page 33
