They were children of the empire, and no matter Lord Mornhavon’s desire to build a new empire here, something stirred in their blood as though they caught a scent or flavor of a far distant land. One day, they would return to the land of their origin, to Arcosia. He would return. In his mind’s eye, he could see the fine art and architecture of a highly cultured people, the lemon trees heavy with fruit, the furrowed fields of the rolling countryside. He would ask why the empire stranded them in these alien lands.
The upstart king of Sacoridia would be no match for the power Spurlock imagined must be awakening in Blackveil. That awakening would bring about the deliverance of the children of the empire.
The door to the blockhouse creaked open.
“I’ve brought supper for the prisoners.”
Spurlock straightened when he recognized the voice. Madrene! Had she come with some plan of escape?
“Mmm, looks good,” the guard said.
There was a slap of a hand, followed by, “Those are for the prisoners. When your shift changes, you’ll get yours.”
The guard made a disappointed noise, clomped over to the cells and opened Uxton’s first. Madrene slid a tray into the cell, and Uxton sprang upon it like an animal.
The cell door clattered shut and the keys jingled as the guard locked it. Spurlock was next, and Madrene took the tray from the boy that accompanied her. Was it her son? Spurlock couldn’t keep track of everyone’s brats.
She slid the tray into his cell and backed out with a curt nod to him, and a knowing wink. And left.
Spurlock wondered at her nonverbal message. Was it an acknowledgment the sect knew of his imprisonment and would work on a way to get him out?
He left his cot and retrieved the tray. She had brought a succulent stew of beef and vegetables, with bread. He ate absently, wondering how she passed herself off as a kitchen worker, shrugged it off, and daydreamed of Arcosia.
Eventually his spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl, and as he raised his spoon for his last bite, Uxton suddenly dropped his tray and clutched his throat, making a terrible wheezing sound. His face began to turn blue.
Spurlock dropped his spoon. “Uxton! Are you choking?”
But Uxton could not answer. His eyes rolled back into his head and he keeled over.
Even as the guard strode over to investigate, Spurlock knew the awful truth: Uxton was dead. Madrene had poisoned them before they could do too much harm to Second Empire.
As his chest tightened and he could not get a breath in or out, he realized it was a decision he would have made had it been someone other than himself in this cell. He wouldn’t have hesitated to poison that person for the good of the whole, for the good of Second Empire. They had survived this long out of secrecy, by similar acts done in the past.
His lungs felt as though they would explode, and he clawed at his throat with one hand, the other gripping his ancient medallion. As awareness dimmed, a tear leaked from the corner of his eye because he would never see the attainment of his dreams, nor the shore of his forebear’s homeland.
ARGUING WITH HORSES
Karigan left the castle feeling like one freed from a prison. She had spent far too much time in the mending wing this summer.
Once she stepped clear of the castle’s shadow, gentle sunshine enveloped her. She paused on the pathway, closed her eyes, and turned her face skyward to absorb the sun. It helped warm the last of the chill from her veins, just as the snow in the castle corridors had finally melted away.
Her memory of the previous two days and nights were vague. She did recall the attack of armor clearly, the bruises and aching muscles a painful reminder. She also recalled being pursued into the corridors through the snow, and returning to the past to Lil’s time. To Lil’s . . . death?
Had Lil survived to fight on, or had Karigan shared the last moments of her life with her?
She ambled along, not sure of where she was going and not caring. She just needed to be out in the sun. Dimly she recalled a nightmare. About spiders? Ben had heard her scream, but the images from the dream were gone.
Her feet led her to the pasture where several messenger horses cropped at the grasses. Standing among them in the center of the field was a Rider. Karigan shielded her eyes to see better who it was.
“It can’t be . . .”
The Rider shifted her stance, and with the way the sun slanted onto her red hair, there was no mistaking her identity.
“Captain.” She wanted to shout, but it came out as a whisper.
She stepped between the rails of the fence and into the pasture. She took a few strides, and stopped, hesitant. The captain would be angry with her, she thought, for all those accusations she had made. She felt a blush of shame creep up her neck.
Captain Mapstone just stood there watching the horses, or maybe gazing at nothing, as the tips of grasses glimmered at her knees and insects hovered in little clouds around her. In the distance, Karigan could hear the horses pulling at grass and munching. Bluebird grazed close to the captain, his coat glossy in the sunshine.
Karigan thought to retreat from the tranquil scene, to not intrude on the captain’s peace. She feared her reception and didn’t think she could face the captain’s anger. The shame would be too much to bear.
Before she could leave, however, the captain glanced over her shoulder and saw her. The two gazed at one another for an endless moment, until the captain smiled. She smiled!
Karigan thought she might swoon in relief, especially when the captain started walking toward her.
“So Destarion released you,” she said.
There was color in the captain’s cheeks, gaunt though they were. She was too thin and there were hollows beneath her eyes. But the eyes were bright and snapping, full of life. The last time Karigan had seen her, those very same eyes had been dull and pain-filled.
“Yes.”
“How are you feeling?” the captain asked.
“Captain, I’m—I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? For what?”
Karigan thrust a strand of hair behind her ear. “The things I accused you of. I shouted at you, and you weren’t well. I don’t know what got into me. I—”
“That’s true enough.” The captain gazed off into the distance for a moment, stroking the scar on her neck, as if recalling the unpleasantness. “However, I left you and Mara in a very difficult situation. In fact, more difficult than usual, and I would have to say you’ve done very well under the circumstances.” Her eyes twinkled. “I’ve never seen the Rider accounts look so good.”
Karigan glanced down at her feet, glad of the captain’s approval.
“In fact,” the captain mused, “I don’t see why handling Rider accounts shouldn’t be one of your permanent duties.”
Karigan stifled a groan.
“Were I you,” the captain continued, “I’m not sure I’d have done so well with all you had to contend with, especially at your level of experience. Yes, I was ill, but you were correct to seek help from me.”
“But the accusations, the shouting—”
“I wish they had shaken me from the despair, but that took a different kind of intervention.” The captain smiled slightly. “I also know the kind of strain you were under at the time. Think no more of it.”
“But—”
“Rider.”
“Yes, Captain.” Karigan peered back up and couldn’t help grinning. She wanted to jump up and down in happiness—the captain was back!—but managed to retain decorum.
“So,” the captain said, “let me tell you what happened to me, then you can catch me up on your doings.”
They strolled through the pasture as the captain explained her illness and the visit by Gwyer Warhein. Karigan found herself perversely relieved she wasn’t the only one being visited by ghosts.
A monarch butterfly crawled onto the captain’s hand from a cone flower as she spoke, and stayed there for some moments before fluttering its wings and flying away. There was a serenity about
the captain Karigan had not seen before, and she was glad.
When it was Karigan’s turn to talk, she found the captain knew most of what had been going on, but was missing some pieces.
“I don’t remember much after being pursued into the abandoned corridors, and especially after the traveling. I don’t know why that sergeant was after me. He said something about the empire, and that the wraith had come looking for me.”
“Uxton was captured,” the captain said. “He was part of a group called Second Empire.” She described the group’s origin and purpose. “Uxton gave us names of some of the members, including their leader, the leader of the Sacor City sect, anyway: Weldon Spurlock.”
“The chief administrator?” He was unpleasant, but she never expected this from him.
The captain nodded. “But a few names is all we got. You see, Uxton and Spurlock are dead, murdered, we think, by one of their own. Poisoned.”
Karigan shook her head in disbelief.
“While we don’t know exactly why, we do know they wanted to take you to Blackveil.”
Images of dark, spindly tree limbs reaching for her came back to her, of someone talking to her in the snow . . .
The captain stopped abruptly and placed her hand on Karigan’s shoulder, her eyes searching.
“Uxton,” she said quietly, “admitted pushing Alton off the wall and into the forest.”
The news, Karigan thought, ought to upset her, but it was more like being jerked awake.
“He’s alive.” She babbled it before she could stop herself.
The captain’s eyes widened. “You know this for certain?”
Karigan told the captain her theory about messenger horses and how they knew of their Rider’s welfare. She told her of the image she had seen of Alton in the Mirror of the Moon.
“We have to find him. Now that you’re well, the king will let me go.” Karigan spotted Condor in a far corner of the pasture, and started away from the captain as though to catch him and ride straight away for the wall.
The captain grabbed her wrist. “Hold on. There’s a catch to your plan.”
“What?”
“Me.”
Karigan bit her lip in embarrassment. What had gotten into her? All she knew was that she needed to find Alton, and she knew he was alive somewhere near the wall.
“Not to mention,” the captain continued, “you are the last person who should go there, considering that’s where Uxton planned to take you.”
Karigan felt constricted, thwarted, as though she would never get to take action. Her mind raced, trying to think of ways she could convince the captain to let her go. Maybe she would have to go against orders after all . . .
And then a curious thing began to happen, at first unnoticed by either Rider. Bluebird plodded over to them, shaking his mane with a snort. He bumped the captain’s shoulder with his nose, and she patted him absently. The other messenger horses moved in as well, casually cropping grass as they came, and flicking their tails at flies.
In short order, Karigan and the captain were surrounded.
“What do you suppose they’re up to?” the captain asked under her breath, glancing wide-eyed at the horse faces around them.
“I—I have no idea.”
Condor lipped Karigan’s sleeve, then clamped his teeth on it. He started to drag her away.
“Condor!”
Even if she ripped her sleeve from his teeth, the other horses were butting her from behind with their noses. Captain Mapstone was being similarly prodded.
Condor led Karigan across the pasture to the wall that skirted the castle grounds. Guards watched curiously from above. The captain joined her a moment later with an emphatic shove from Bluebird.
“I do believe we’ve been herded,” she said, tugging her shortcoat back into place. “But to what purpose?”
They gazed at the horses without a clue to their strange behavior, and the horses gazed guilelessly back.
“Well?” Captain Mapstone demanded of them.
Some ears flickered, a few tails switched. Robin yawned, and Sparrow rubbed the side of his head on Condor’s rump.
“Enough,” the captain said, rolling her eyes. She started to stride away, but Bluebird swiftly blocked her. She grunted as she walked into his shoulder.
Karigan decided to try and walk away, too, but Condor nudged her right back to the wall until she was flat against it.
“Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me?” she asked him.
Condor, of course, didn’t say a thing.
“So,” the captain said, “what is it you think he’s trying to tell you?”
Karigan’s fingers brushed across the rough texture of the granite wall, a wall also built by Clan D’Yer. “The wall,” she said. “They want me—us—to go to the D’Yer Wall.”
There were a few satisfied snorts among the horses as they turned around and dispersed at a leisurely plod.
The captain rubbed at her neck scar. “Zachary isn’t going to like this.”
“Are you well?” the king asked Karigan.
“Yes, sire.”
“I’m very glad.” His voice was soft, and his gaze lingered on her for a few moments as if to make sure with his own eyes. Then abruptly he started pacing the room. He was attired in riding breeches and shiny black boots, with a short-coat of midnight blue. To Karigan he looked stormy, but strong and unbending.
“I have been out riding through the city and countryside,” he said, “to see for myself what the breach in the D’Yer Wall has wrought.”
He told them of people frozen in time—turned to stone—down on the Winding Way, while grieving mothers, husbands, sisters, and children left flowers at the feet of these all-too-lifelike statues. He told of the village of Merdith, which no longer existed. The buildings, the people, everything had vanished.
“The work of the wild magic,” he said, “was far more widespread than just the armor coming to life in our corridors, or the falling of snow. That’s why,” he continued, pausing to stand before the captain, “I would like you to take your Riders to the wall. I need information. I have heard nothing from the wall in too long.”
Karigan and the captain exchanged incredulous glances. Here they had been expecting a fight. They had put their heads together conspiring a way to convince the king to let them go to the wall, and now he was handing them the opportunity.
“Your Riders,” he said, “are trained observers, and know how to prepare a report that would be useful to me. They have experience as scouts, and in the use of magic. I had planned to send but one Rider. However, in light of recent occurrences, I think several should go. Take all who are available. This way you can send me messengers with reports should conditions warrant.”
“Very good,” the captain said, as though she had expected such an assignment from him all along. “I will assemble what Riders are here, and leave on the morrow.”
The king nodded. “I am . . . reluctant to send either of you.”
“We both need to go,” the captain said.
“I know.”
“Will that be all, sire?”
“Yes.” Before they could leave, he stepped forward and touched Karigan’s sleeve, softly, with only his fingertips. “Take care. Come home safely.”
Although he addressed them both, his fingertips lingered on Karigan’s sleeve, and she thought he gazed at her longer and harder, but the moment was quickly over, and she did not know what to think. As she hurried after the captain down the corridor, she was aware of him watching after them, and she absently caressed her arm where he had touched her.
A Green Foot runner hurried past them on his way to see the king. Karigan glanced back in time to see him bow before the king. “Lord Coutre has arrived with the other eastern lords, Your Majesty.”
The expression on the king’s face seemed to fall, but then Karigan turned a corner and saw no more.
In the darkness of the stable, the greenish glow of the apparition refle
cted in the eyes of messenger horses.
I certainly hope you know what you’re about, Lil Ambriodhe chided them.
Most of the horses were half-asleep, unimpressed by the presence of the First Rider.
I won’t deny that a Rider must face danger in the course of her duty, Lil continued, but you are delivering them right into the hands of the enemy. The enemy that is blocking me from communicating with the Galadheon. She paced, her feet hovering just above the hay-strewn floor.
A few of the horses began to wake up. Condor scraped his hoof against the floor.
It’s not my fault, Lil retorted. It’s a power at work greater than mine. I’m dead, after all.
Condor whickered.
I’ll keep trying to reach your Rider, but it may be too late. I fear Mornhavon, or what was Mornhavon, already has his hooks in her.
Condor began to circle in agitation in his stall.
Sorry, Red, Lil said. You shouldn’t have put the notion in their heads to begin with, hey? But it’s done and now we have to make do.
The apparition’s glow dimmed and the horses fell into shadow.
Whatever happened to old-fashioned stupid horses? Lil wondered. As she faded away into the netherworld of spirits, she reflected that her various Brownies had never argued with her.
RIDING TO THE WALL
Laren quickly understood what had so disturbed Zachary. People along the Winding Way had been caught, unsuspecting, turned to stone as they went about simple, everyday activities, activities that would never be completed. A man gazed perpetually into a fishmonger’s window, his fingers cupped around his chin as if he still deliberated the choice of fish displayed on hooks and the prices posted for them. Two women leaned toward one another as if sharing a secret, the laugh of one frozen in time. Their lines and details were as true to life as Laren’s butterfly had been, but their edges were hard and sharp, their visages cold and gray.
A carter bore a sack over his shoulder, his stride seemingly purposeful, but going nowhere. A boy gazed into the street holding a ball over his head that would never be thrown . . .
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