“Uh…”
“Of course you want to hear about what Merdigen and I chatted about all that time first,” Dale said, “but you also need me to find out what went wrong when I tried to come back, which means I have to go back and talk to Merdigen, because I sure as five hells don’t know.”
“Yes.”
Dale did not respond, but she scrutinized him from head to foot, eyes narrowed. He squirmed in discomfort. “Your boots look terrible. What would Captain Mapstone say?”
“What? I—” He glanced down at his boots. They were caked with dry mud, scuffed, and dull. Clearly they were unacceptable, but there had been more urgent matters demanding his attention. Clean boots just hadn’t seemed all that important in comparison.
“The water’s still warm.” Dale tapped her toe against a bucket on the floor beside her. “And I’ve a cake of saddle soap.” She tossed it to him and it spurted out of his grasp, and when he reached after it, his stool tipped over sending him sprawling across the tent floor. He lay there feeling undignified, the amber soap at rest next to his face. Dale looked as though she was desperately trying to suppress laughter.
“Here,” she said, reaching to give him a hand up.
Alton settled himself back onto his stool, and before he knew it, he was unwinding the bandages from his hands and pulling off his boots. He scrubbed at the grit accumulated in the creases of the leather, foamy lather dripping to the tent floor as he worked. The soap and water stung his abrasions, but the effort of cleaning worked the stiffness out of his hands and fingers. It was somehow peaceful, this task, a diversion from the worries that so often plagued his every waking thought. This was something he could accomplish, something in which he could achieve results. It was a simple act, this cleaning of boots, but satisfying to see them transformed.
Really, he thought, he should take better care of his gear, but life seemed too complicated to worry about its condition. When it came time to oil the boots, the leather drank it up as if parched. He frowned. If he had let it go any longer, he’d have cracks, and that was no good with winter coming on.
While he oiled and shined the leather, Dale recounted her conversation with Merdigen. It was disappointing. Merdigen had provided no new insights on how to fix the wall, and Dale had risked her life for nothing. And now he wanted her to do it again.
When he finished with his boots, he looked them over, well pleased with his efforts. They were black again, their shine restored. Even Captain Mapstone would have nothing to complain about. Except the boots now made the rest of him look a mess. Then he noticed Dale watching him.
“Yes,” she said.
“Yes? Yes what?” Dale was, he decided, in a very perplexing mood.
“I’ll go back into the tower to ask Merdigen what happened.”
“I don’t know. It’s not safe.” The guilt returned full measure. As desperate as he was to acquire information from Merdigen about the status of the wall, he would not forgive himself if something happened to his friend again.
“Since when,” Dale asked, “has our job been safe?”
It was true Green Riders did not have long life expectancies. Even Alton had come close to death. All Riders were aware of the dangers and accepted them. Yet what right had he to ask her to risk herself again?
Dale hopped to her feet. “All right. I’m ready.”
“Right now?”
She nodded, her expression set.
Alton followed her out of the tent. “Are you sure about this?”
“Yes, as I’ve told you already.” She gave him a sidelong gaze as they walked between tents and toward the tower. “Do me a favor?”
“Anything. You know that.” Alton couldn’t read the look that appeared in her eyes, and suddenly he was suspicious. What had he just agreed to?
“Plover needs exercise,” she said. “I’ve not been able to ride her since—since—” She indicated her bound arm. “While I’m with Merdigen, could you exercise her? You could ride Hawk and lead her.”
“I—” He came to an ungainly halt before the tower, surprised by the simple request. He had been expecting something more devious. She and Tegan were the terrors of Rider barracks, playing practical jokes at every chance. This was different, and he could only imagine how frustrated she was at being unable to care for her own horse. Keeping a messenger horse in top condition was of utmost importance. “Of course I will, but—”
Before he could finish the sentence, she stepped up to the tower wall and passed into it. He clenched and unclenched his hands, staring at the blank wall, reluctant to leave his post. What if something went wrong again? Couldn’t the exercise wait? But he’d promised. Then with a shake of his head he realized that Dale did not want to worry about him worrying about her. She was keeping him busy.
He resigned himself to honoring her request. It was the least he could do. He assigned a pair of guards to keep watch on the spot and to find him immediately at the first sign of trouble. With that, he turned his back on the tower and headed toward the pickets, realizing how long it had been since he last exercised Night Hawk. Captain Mapstone would not be happy with him. Not at all.
When Dale passed into the tower without incident, she sank to the floor in relief so profound she nearly cried. She was not as brave as she had sounded when she told Alton she’d return. Her nightmares of black wings had been replaced by the sensation of her bones being crushed and pulverized and her soul forever imprisoned in stone. The only way for her to restore her courage was to face what she most feared, like climbing back into the saddle after a fall from her horse. It was the only way.
Fortunately this passage had been as easy as her very first—no resistance, no solidifying of the wall around her. No crackling in her ears, not even any voices at all. Perfectly normal, as though nothing had ever gone wrong.
Inside the tower chamber, she fought to control her breathing and she trembled from all the fear that had been bound up in her. When finally she opened her eyes, she found Merdigen looking down at her.
“You came back,” he said in a soft voice. “I did not think you would after—”
“I didn’t think I would either. Do you know what happened? Why the wall trapped me?”
Merdigen fingered his beard. “The guardians have grown more unstable. I argued on your behalf to make them release you. Fortunately they weren’t entirely unreasonable when I convinced them you represented no harm. I should think they’ll give you safe passage…for the time being. I wouldn’t trust them entirely.”
Well, that’s reassuring, Dale thought.
Merdigen stood in silence for a while, gazing at nothing. When he sprang back to life, he startled Dale. “I must arrange for the care of my cat!”
“What?”
“I am going on a journey. It could be perilous, it could be fruitless, but I think it’s necessary and I can’t put it off any longer.”
“You’re what?”
Merdigen strode across the chamber and between a pair of columns into the center of the tower. Dale rose to her feet and followed. She’d never get over the transition from stone chamber to open grasslands. Above, heavy clouds that reminded her of winter scudded across the sky.
Merdigen rubbed his hands together. “It is time the tower guardians all woke up. We will need a council. We need solutions! I shall first contact the towers eastward.”
Dale watched in amazement as he withdrew a dove from his sleeve and whispered to it. He tossed it into the air, and with a fluttering of white wings, it circled them once, twice, and then darted through the east archway, flying madly till it became nothing but a speck in the sky and was at last beyond her sight. He repeated this five more times.
“One of them should be willing to watch the cat,” Merdigen said.
“Cat?” was all Dale could say.
But now Merdigen was pulling other items out of the air. First a warm cloak he threw over his shoulders, then a pack that bulged with provisions…illusionary provisions? What could h
e possibly need? The last object he snaked out of his sleeve was impossibly long—a walking staff.
“The way to the west is broken,” he said. “There are three towers that have been cut off from us by the breach. I cannot send a message the conventional way.”
“Conventional…the doves?”
“I will seek bridges,” he continued, “and hope I find the right ones. I should have dared this when I was first aware of the breach, when the Deyer first awakened me, but I hoped he could repair it. Now I only hope it’s not too late and the towers have not been sundered from us.” He adjusted the straps of his pack on his shoulders. “Check in now and then to see if I’ve returned, or if any of my colleagues have arrived. If a long time as you reckon it has elapsed, well, we can assume I’ve crossed a bad bridge.”
“Bad…bridge?” Not that Dale expected an explanation.
“Don’t despair,” he said, “I shall be very prudent. No unnecessary risks. Farewell, Rider Littlepage.” And he set off.
“You’re leaving?”
He halted and turned back to her, his cloak billowing around him, and she thought she saw in him not the peevish illusion to whom she’d grown accustomed, but a vestige of the great mage of old with unthinkable powers at his disposal. “My dear child, results sometimes command immediate action, no matter the danger that may lay ahead. To not leave could condemn us to even greater peril.”
Dale watched as he strode through the west archway. She kept watching as he trudged through hip-high grasses, becoming smaller and smaller until he vanished against the horizon.
A RIDE IN THE COUNTRY
“I’m sorry, my lady, but His Majesty’s instructions were clear.” The Weapon put his hand on the stall door to block her.
Estora drew herself up. “You must let me go. I command it.”
She could see the discomfort in his face no matter how he tried to conceal it. “I’m sorry, my lady, but we’re responsible for the safety of your person, and His Majesty has not deemed it safe to allow you off castle grounds.”
Only years of training to retain a calm facade prevented Estora from screaming her frustration. She hated feeling so trapped, so…so kept. All she wanted was a ride in the country and a peek at the Eletian encampment. This morning she had dressed in her black riding habit and made for the stables, determined to take a ride no matter what obstacles arose. The ubiquitous Weapon Fastion had dogged her every step and now barred her way. Her hunter was so close, almost within reach.
“What danger is there if you’re with me?”
“I’m sorry, my lady.”
If she heard him say he was sorry one more time, she really would scream. And short of her being able to pick up the man and move him aside, she was not going to gain access to Falan no matter how determined she was. She flexed her riding crop in her hands. If only she were a Green Rider! Then she could ride away from this place and her keepers, but such was not her fate in life.
She turned on her heel and left the stable, the sound of Fastion’s boots close behind. She strode out onto castle grounds. There was only one person who could release her from this prison and she intended to see him now. She did not care what he was in the middle of.
She was so intent upon her goal, the skirts of her habit flaring out behind her, that she did not see Amberhill till she was almost upon him. He appeared to be strolling in a casual manner, hands clasped behind his back, gazing at the castle heights, or maybe at the leaves twirling down from trees. He was the epitome of an idle noble with no responsibilities to fill his day.
He grinned when he saw her and swept into a low bow. “My lady, you are in a hurry today.”
Yes, she thought, and you best not hinder me. “I’m on my way to see the king.”
“Oh,” he said. “By appearances you look rather ready for a ride.”
She sighed. “That is what I wish to discuss with him. This one—” and she pointed her crop at Fastion “—won’t let me take a simple ride in the country.”
Amberhill barely gave the Weapon any notice. “I see. It is most unfair, though I know Zachary has your best interests in mind.”
“His best interests,” Estora muttered.
Amberhill rubbed his chin. “Yes, I can see how the restriction chafes at you. Perhaps I can put in a good word on your behalf?”
His words calmed her. She had no idea if this young noble had any influence with his cousin, but she appreciated the offer of help and wasn’t about to turn down an ally.
“Would you care to accompany me?” she asked.
He bowed again and offered her his arm. “It would be my honor.”
He kept her laughing all the way across the castle grounds and into the castle itself and she almost forgot her troubles. A page informed her she would find Zachary in his new study in the west wing. By the time they reached his door, her mood had altered favorably, but now she must face Zachary.
“I wish to see the king,” she told the Weapon at the door.
He bowed, “I’m sorry, my lady, but he’s meeting with—”
“I am very tired of hearing ‘I’m sorry, my lady,’” she said.
“But—”
Bolstering her resolve with a deep breath, she reached past the Weapon, knocked on the door, and admitted herself without waiting for permission to enter. Zachary and his counselors stared and met her with flabbergasted silence. Colin Dovekey was first to respond and rose from his chair with a bow, followed by Captain Mapstone and Castellan Sperren.
“My lady,” Zachary said. “And Xandis?”
Amberhill swooped into a bow, a roguish smile on his face.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” said the Weapon at the door. “I tried to—”
“It’s all right, Willis. Carry on.”
“Yes, sire.”
Willis and Fastion withdrew into the corridor, closing the door behind them. Zachary sat on the edge of his desk, waiting expectantly for Estora to speak. She glanced around, trying to collect her thoughts, her resolve turning to embarrassment. The chamber was barren but for the necessary furniture. Zachary’s possessions from his old study had not yet been unpacked.
“What is it, my lady?”
He asked politely enough and she could not read whether or not he was annoyed by her intrusion. Her gaze darted to his counselors, her determination flagging even more in front of this audience. She supposed she ought to get used to this trio, for they were his closest advisors, and if they were a part of his life, they were to be a part of hers as well.
She cleared her throat. “I wish to go for a ride into the country,” she said. “I need off castle grounds or—or I shall go mad.”
Zachary nodded slowly. “Yes, and as you understand from our previous conversation, we are as yet unsure of what threat, if any, our Eletian visitors pose. I do not wish to place you at risk.”
“If I may intercede,” Amberhill said, placing his hand over his heart, “the Eletians have been here a while and have not proven aggressive toward you or your people. They are carefully watched by your soldiers, and my lady is well guarded by your Weapons. It seems unfair to stifle the lady’s desire to ride into the countryside that she will soon be ruling jointly with you. What will the people think if they perceive her to be hiding in the castle?”
A silent hurrah rose up within Estora, for Amberhill stated what was in her heart and she found herself grateful for his presence and persuasive voice. His was a logical argument, as opposed to the emotional one she was sure to have used. He made her plight sound not a trivial complaint, but a matter of importance to the welfare of their country.
Their audience followed the exchange with interest, especially Captain Mapstone who, with a smile on the edges her mouth, appeared amused by the situation Zachary now found himself in, and maybe not displeased that Estora chose to assert herself.
Zachary shifted against his desk. “Lady Estora is our future queen and her safety is not to be taken lightly.”
“If it would ease your mind
, assign her additional guards, and I will personally vouch for her safety and accompany her.” Amberhill bowed again.
“I will think on it,” Zachary said. He was not pleased, but he also sounded like he had run out of arguments. “I’ll have an answer for you in the morning.”
It was clearly a dismissal, and when Estora and Amberhill stepped into the corridor and the study door was shut after them, Amberhill said, “Be ready in the morning, my lady, for if I read my cousin right, we shall be cleared for a long day’s ride in the countryside.”
He sounded as eager as she felt.
Amberhill took his leave of Lady Estora as swiftly as courtesy permitted. He must head down into the city and warn Morry of what was afoot. Then Morry must make contact with the plainshield. Plans and possibilities engulfed his thoughts as he strode through the castle corridors. This was the opening the Raven Mask had been waiting for.
In the morning, Amberhill walked to the stables attired in riding breeches, snug where it counted, his supple black boots unrolled to his thighs. He wore one of his better longcoats of rich blue velvet with matching gloves. Underneath was his canary waistcoat and a new linen shirt with a black silk stock. His hair was tightly drawn back with a black ribbon that blended into his hair. His hand rested casually on the hilt of his rapier.
He knew very well what effect the ensemble had on women. He knew how their gazes followed him, lingered on him, young and old, poor and rich. Some men would regard him as foppish, dismiss him as less than manly or incapable of using a sword. He preferred they underestimate him.
When he arrived at the stables that housed the horses of the nobility, including his own steed, he was not surprised to find numerous other courtiers milling in the stable yard, mostly ladies, including Lady Estora’s sisters. Word of her ride into the country must have spread quickly through the noble wing. Once the word was out, it would have been impossible for her to leave castle grounds without an entourage, whether she desired one or not. Nobles rarely traveled alone, and for someone of Estora’s rank to travel without an entourage would have been shocking.
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