First Rider's Call

by Kristen Britain

  She darted glances up and down the road, and peered into the woods that bordered it. She expected any moment to see an Eletian emerge from between the tree trunks with bow bent, a shiny arrowhead aimed for her heart.

  How dare they? she fumed again and again. How dare they threaten me just because they think I might interfere with the wall?

  Everything she stood for, everything she would ever endanger herself for, was for the safety of her homeland and life as she knew it. The Mirror of the Moon had shown her this much. She did not want the wall to fail. How dare the Eletians suggest otherwise?

  I am not the enemy.

  One niggling doubt chewed at the corners of her confidence. She wouldn’t purposely do anything wrong, but what if—? What if she made some mistake, or accidentally—

  Condor bucked, not hard enough to dislodge her, but enough to gain her attention.

  “What?” she demanded.

  He snorted and champed his bit.

  “Oh.” He still wanted to run, and maybe he had picked up on her anxiety. She clapped him on the neck. “You’re right, my friend. Let’s forget this nonsense and get home.” She had much to tell King Zachary and Mara.

  She nudged his sides and gave him rein, and he stretched into an easy lope that helped dispel her worries.

  Feeling she needed to communicate her experiences to the king before anything else, she went directly to the castle, letting a servant lead Condor away to the stables. Her plan was thwarted, however, for the throne room was packed. It was public audience day.

  The crowd spilled out of the throne room entrance and down the corridor. She had to push to enter, getting jostled and shoved, with curses spat at her.

  Above the heads of others, she could just make out the king on the dais, his chin on his fist, eyes hooded. From all outward appearances he was calm, but Karigan wondered how he could be with all these people thronging the chamber.

  She elbowed two men out of her way, and slipped ahead of them.

  “Hey,” one of the men protested, “wait yer turn.” He made to grab her, but she jammed the heel of her boot into the meaty part of his foot, and worked her way forward, leaving behind his sharp cry of pain.

  Another look toward the dais showed Sperren banging the butt of his castellan’s staff on the floor, but it proved ineffectual in gaining anyone’s attention for it could not be heard. Colin stood before the king, more in a protective stance than one to quiet people, his training as a Weapon taking precedence over his role of advisor. Quickly she surveyed the Weapons and guards on duty, and to a one, they watched the crowd with wary eyes, their stance taut.

  Anxiety was thick in the air, and plain on the faces of several petitioners. A woman fainted away from the heat of so many bodies pressed together, and was carried away by her companion. Others quickly filled their space.

  The words “uncanny,” “strange,” and “evil magic” muttered through the crowd. Even those who had come to the king seeking his wisdom on ordinary topics were picking up on the currents of anxiety.

  Karigan saw the herald, Neff, trapped in an alcove not far from her. He wasn’t exactly shrinking away from the crowd hemming him in but he certainly wasn’t choosing to get into the thick of it either.

  She changed course to reach him. If some measure of mastery over the crowd wasn’t achieved, the petitioners would never be heard, and they’d grow more hot and frustrated until something set them off, and then there’d be danger—danger to the king, herself, and just about anyone else caught in the crush. In her estimation, the first thing needed was to quiet the crowd so the king and his advisors could get their attention.

  She worked her way to Neff’s side, perspiration beading on her forehead from the heat. Neff warily watched her approach.

  She pointed at the horn he held protectively at his side. “Sound that thing!” She had to shout to be heard.

  Neff’s eyes widened. “Wha—?”

  “Do it! Sound a flourish, or better yet, a cavalry charge.”

  “I can’t just—”

  She grabbed a handful of tabard and drew him close. “Do it, or things could get much worse in here.”

  “But the king—”

  Karigan growled and tore the long horn out of his hands. She drew it to her lips and blew. The sound it issued was akin to a dying cow.

  Some in the crowd looked about in surprise and those around the alcove moved away, but it hadn’t been enough to quiet all the people. The king peered in her direction, and when he caught sight of her, he nodded his approval.

  Karigan drew the horn to her lips again, but Neff snatched it back. He gave her a long look of disgust that let her know exactly how appalled he was, then raised it to his lips and blared the cavalry charge in high-pitched blasts. Karigan had to cover her ears.

  That had the desired effect—the crowd hushed in surprise.

  “Order!” Sperren called out in a reedy voice that had already done too much shouting. “Order!”

  The king rose from his throne chair and looked gravely upon the people. Before the babble could resume, he spoke.

  “Citizens of Sacoridia—” His voice carried strong and sure through the throne room. He looked every bit the monarch, from his tall, square stance, to the sunlight shining on his fillet. “I am here today to listen to your petitions. In order to do so, your cooperation is required. A line will reform, no more than two wide.”

  Angry voices broke out, but the king raised his hand and they quieted. “I swear to you, I shall hear every last one of you. However, those who do not cooperate will be summarily dismissed.” He nodded at the sergeant of the guard, and soldiers moved in to help organize the crowd into an orderly line. Some tempers flared, and those people were removed.

  Karigan hesitated. She knew what she had to tell the king was important, but if she interrupted the public audience, she risked angering all those people again to a dangerous level. It took her but a moment to decide, and she strode toward the dais in the clearing space. She bowed before the king. While the petitioners were being organized into their line, she could at least have a quick word with him.

  “Greetings, Rider,” he said. “Your intervention is most appreciated. Perhaps Neff can give you some pointers on the playing of his horn.” There was humor in his eyes, and she felt a blush creeping up her neck.

  She cleared her throat, and said hastily, “I wanted to advise you, Your Majesty, that I had a most eventful message errand. Can we speak at the end of your public audience?”

  “Of course, but you can see it will be hours.” When she nodded, he said, “In the meantime, I should like you here at my side.” He indicated the space where Captain Mapstone usually stood.

  Karigan glanced up at him in astonishment. “Me?” “I need you,” he said, “especially the way today’s audience has gone so far. You have proven yourself . . . creative.” He smiled kindly. “I would appreciate your input as necessary.”

  Karigan did not have a chance to protest or plead her lack of wisdom for so important a role, for the king began hearing petitions. She stepped into Captain Mapstone’s space to the right of the king’s dais, hoping she did not look as small and foolish as she felt.

  Soon her self-consciousness melted into interest. She found herself enjoying watching the king at work. His outward facade was unswerving and authoritative, his questioning of petitioners deft and pointed. His decisions were fair and efficient, a good thing considering the length of the line.

  She especially liked watching the way he moved his hands when he spoke, and how he leaned forward to focus on whomever stood before the dais. She liked the way the sun lancing through the windows lightened his eyelashes . . .

  He happened to glance at her just then and she caught her breath. It was fleeting, but enough for her to see he was startled by her regard. Karigan shook herself and straightened her shoulders, and decided she ought to pay more attention to the proceedings.

  To her vast relief, he seemed not to need her at all.
That is, until the petitioners brought forth complaints of a stream flowing backward, a neighbor’s hoe turning to gold, and a husband vanishing from plain sight. “What will you do?” they all implored the king. Karigan saw he was a little at a loss, and he beckoned her close to his side.

  “Do you have any suggestions of what I might say about these magical happenings without panicking everyone?”

  She supposed he asked her since she was a user of magic, but she had no magical answers, with the exception of the first.

  “The stream the man is talking about is tidal, and when the tide goes out, it seems to reverse itself.” She was glad of her coastal upbringing, and that she knew of such a stream, and had even played in one as a child.

  The king questioned the man further, learning he was new to the coast and unfamiliar with the workings of the tides. It became evident that the talk of other strange events in the countryside led him to believe the stream out of the ordinary.

  The other questions Karigan had to mull over for a few moments. From her recent conversation with Prince Jametari, she knew the disruptions of magic would continue until either the world found balance with the influx from Blackveil, or the D’Yer Wall was mended, effectively shutting it off. There was no easy way to explain this to these folk without causing the very mayhem the king wished to avoid.

  “I would handle them as you would any other petition, in terms they understand,” Karigan said, “since there isn’t much we can do about the magic, except reassure them that we’re looking into it.”

  When the king waited for further explanation, she added, “The fellow whose neighbor’s hoe turned to gold? He’s jealous. The woman whose husband vanished, well, she’s now got eight children to provide for on her own. She is, in effect, a widow.”

  The king’s features lightened. “I see what you’re getting at.”

  And so, following her inspiration, he questioned the fellow further about the golden hoe. True to the word, he was jealous of his neighbor as much as he was upset by the magic. When drawn out further, he admitted his neighbor was known for his generosity, and had planned to share his wealth with the village. Placated and reassured the king was aware of the situation, the fellow departed satisfied.

  The king ordered a widow’s dispensation for the woman whose husband had vanished, payable until such time as he reappeared. Though grieving openly for her missing husband, the “widow” left knowing her children would not go hungry.

  While the king handled other cases with similar success, there was little he could do to assuage the general anxiety among people that something magical might happen without warning, and with disastrous effect.

  Throughout it all, Colin took notes on each and every case, at once reaffirming to the petitioners their concerns were being heard, and ensuring the king and his advisors had a record of each magical incident so it might be examined later for patterns.

  As the day wore on, the king asked her once or twice for her assessment on the character of certain petitioners. Her merchant background served her well. She was able to inform him a tradesman was “hiding something,” and a horse merchant was exaggerating the quality of her stock, and thus was not so injured by the plaintiff as she claimed.

  The king agreed with her appraisals, and she had the sense of being tested, for the king was much too practiced in hearing petitions to really need her intervention. Nevertheless, he seemed pleased with her responses, and she found herself basking in his approval.

  Karigan provided her opinion when requested, with pride in herself as a Green Rider blossoming and growing as she did so. It was odd how earlier in the day she had doubted herself and feared that the duality within her might lead her into doing something that would cause the downfall of all that was good in the world. She had dissolved her doubts standing at the king’s side today. Had she not done well?

  I am still the person I’ve always been, and the words of an Eletian can’t change that.

  It was then that Lil Ambrioth appeared, a faint glimmering standing slightly behind an oblivious petitioner. There was enough of Lil to see her smile, a smile of affirmation of Karigan’s place as a Green Rider.

  That was all Lil’s brief appearance allowed. A smile.

  The king, true to his word, saw every last petitioner in line. The bell in the city tolling the evening hour, and the darkening sky outside startled Karigan. It was only when she knew the time that she realized how weary and hungry she was.

  When the great oak doors shut behind the last petitioner, the king sighed and stood, stretching his arms above his head and stomping his feet to awaken them. For some reason, Karigan found it surprising, and she had to remind herself that her king wasn’t a statue, but flesh and blood like everyone else.

  He glanced at her and she straightened. “Relax, Rider, you’ve been standing like that all afternoon.”

  She did as he suggested, and found herself stiff and aching.

  Sperren, looking more frail than ever, excused himself, pleading exhaustion. The king did not hesitate to give him leave.

  “Long day,” Colin said. “I feared it was going to turn nasty there for a while. Good thing Rider G’ladheon found our errant herald.”

  “Truly,” the king said.

  “Do you wish to discuss the day’s audience, sire?” Colin asked.

  “No. I shall reserve it for tomorrow. Get some food and rest, my friend.”

  Colin looked relieved and departed with a bow.

  The king turned back to Karigan, his hands clasped behind his back. “You wished to speak to me about your message errand.”

  “Yes, Excellency. It will take some explaining. I—”

  “What happened to you?” he asked suddenly, drawing his eyebrows together. “Have you been injured all this time and I didn’t realize it?”

  “Injured?”

  Before she could even guess at what he was talking about, he was down the dais and next to her, examining the slash of her sleeve.

  “Nothing I can see . . .” he said. “Just a torn sleeve?”

  Karigan recovered enough to answer, “Um, yes. In a manner of speaking.”

  “In a manner of speaking? Would this be a part of your tale?”

  Karigan nodded.

  The king sighed. “We need supper before one of us perishes from hunger. While we’re eating, you may tell me of your eventful errand to Childrey.”

  With but a flick of his hand, he was surrounded by servants who relieved him of his royal mantle and fillet, handed him a goblet of wine, helped him slip into a dusky blue longcoat, and generally fussed around him. A contingent of Weapons arrived to relieve those who had guarded the king all day in the throne room.

  Before Karigan knew it, they were off, exiting the throne room through the side door hidden behind a tapestry. The king set the pace in long strides, as if finally finding some release for all his pent-up energy.

  He was leading them to his study. As if anticipating the king’s arrival, the elderly kennel master appeared in the corridor ahead, with three terriers. Upon seeing the king, they barked joyously and strained at their tethers. The kennel master laughed and loosed them. All three dogs bounded to the king, leaping up against his legs, snuffling his feet and sneezing, their short white tails whipping back and forth.

  The king laughed, too, shedding his more serious demeanor in exchange for one of pure happiness as he patted heads and scratched behind ears. The sudden transformation took Karigan by surprise, but on reflection, he frequently surprised her.

  The Weapons and servants stood by, unruffled by the king’s display and the antics of the terriers. Once the pandemonium died down, they set off again, the terriers trotting at the king’s heels, toenails clicking on the stone floor.

  Before arriving at the king’s study, a servant whisked Karigan off into a side chamber where she was provided with a wash basin and towels, and the opportunity to take care of other necessities before she sat to supper.

  Her expression must hav
e been dazed, for the servant said, “Don’t worry, dearie, the king will treat you kindly. Why, he often supped with your captain after a day’s work.”

  Karigan smiled weakly, and set to washing up.

  A simple supper of cold goose, boiled eggs, fresh greens, and bread was laid out on a small table in the study. Weapons remained outside guarding the entrances from the castle corridor and the courtyard gardens.

  A couple of servants remained in the study to refill their cups, to carve the goose, and to see to their needs. The three terriers sat on their haunches, watching the proceedings with tongues lolling. One in particular eyed Karigan’s every move, obviously hoping she would drop some morsel on the floor. His interest was unmistakable.

  The king chuckled. “It seems Finder the Second has high hopes for you. Don’t give in, for Pyram spoils them atrociously in the kennels.” He then spoke at length about the foibles of his various terriers, much at ease.

  Karigan was not.

  “Is there something wrong?” he asked.

  She jerked her gaze to him, startled to find she had been only half listening to his words.

  “You’re picking at your food,” he said.

  “I’m fine,” she said. She had been hungry, but now she found she was too nervous to eat.

  Nervous? Well, it wasn’t every day one shared a private meal with one’s king.

  He set his fork down and leaned back into his chair, gauging her. “Is it the tale you’ve to tell me that’s bothering you?”

  “Yes,” she lied.

  “You must forgive my insensitivity for making you wait all this time, but I dared not delay the audience. It was a difficult position I imposed on you, and I hoped a respite would—”

  One should not interrupt a king, but Karigan did. “Please, it’s all right. A little wait will not change my tale.”

  “I would like to hear it now, then.”

  Karigan took a sip of wine. This was not going to be easy. “First I need to tell you I’ve—I’ve visited with, the First Rider.”