“Cade?”
“You left me behind.”
“No, you told me to—”
He pointed a bloody finger at her. “You left me to suffer! You left me!”
LEAVING THE GREEN CLOAK
“NO!” Karigan flung herself into a sitting position. “No!” she cried again, and then she doubled over hacking uncontrollably and weeping.
Gentle hands held her and bathed her face with a damp cloth fragrant with soothing herbs. When she calmed and the coughing subsided, she found it was Enver who held her. Estral knelt before her, her face a mask of concern.
“That must have been some dream,” Estral said.
“I left him,” Karigan said in a hoarse whisper, tears flowing anew. “I left him to suffer.”
There was no questioning of who the “he” was that she spoke of, just comforting words. Enver tried to get her to take a drink, which she discovered was not water, but a cooling cordial. It soothed her throat, which had become so raw from smoke and coughing.
“He let you go, remember?” Estral said. “He wanted you to come home.”
As the dream lost its immediacy, Estral’s words made more sense. The real Cade would not accuse her of leaving him to suffer. Remember, came words into her mind, those of a dark nature will try to trick you and take advantage.
She shook herself, trying to find some equilibrium after so wrenching an awakening. Who was tricking her? Ghosts, she vaguely recalled.
You cannot let them control you.
Now she knew she could have prevented the smoke ghosts from trespassing on her. By using her will. She placed her head in her hands. My life is so strange.
Estral squeezed her shoulder. “You should try to eat some breakfast. I have it warming over the fire. Some tea, too.”
Karigan readied herself for the day. She still coughed from time to time as she went about her ablutions, but it was not as hard as the racking cough of before. Finally she sat down to the very welcome tea, but had little appetite for the porridge Estral had prepared. Enver offered her a Dragon Dropping, but even chocolate did not appeal.
“I am thinking perhaps we should stay here another day so that you can rest,” he said.
“No.”
Enver and Estral exchanged glances.
“I don’t want to stay here another night,” Karigan said.
“You are in rough shape, if I may say so,” Estral said.
“I am all right. I can travel.”
“Then we should discuss our path,” Enver said.
“I intend to take the path that leads to my father,” Estral said with determination. “Even if it leads to Second Empire.”
“I do not think—” Enver began.
“Estral is right,” Karigan said in her raspy voice. They both looked at her in surprise. “They were here—Second Empire. The ghosts showed me. They killed the lumbermen. Second Empire would know Lord Fiori’s fate.” She looked steadily at Estral. “You must be prepared for whatever that fate may be.”
Estral looked down at the tabletop.
“What of the p’ehdrose?” Enver asked.
“We haven’t had contact with the p’ehdrose for a thousand years. A few more days won’t hurt anything. I believe King Zachary would want to know what became of Lord Fiori.”
She also knew the king and Captain Mapstone would not be happy about her coming to this decision. She was supposed to use caution when it came to Second Empire, but that was before they had known Lord Fiori was involved. Sacor City was too far away to seek instructions, and if Lord Fiori was in Grandmother’s clutches, time was of the essence.
Across the table from her, tears glistened on Estral’s cheeks. “Thank you.”
“Do not mistake me. I am not suggesting that we go rushing into the Lone Forest on a rescue mission.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“That I scout ahead and see if Second Empire is indeed in the Lone Forest, and see if I can detect any sign of Lord Fiori from a safe distance. If the answer is yes to either, then we fall back, return to the River Unit and get help.”
Estral did not look happy. “That would take too long.”
“There are three of us,” Karigan said, “and possibly hundreds of them. It won’t help your father if we act rashly and get caught ourselves.” Her statement was followed by a coughing fit bad enough that it made her eyes water. She sipped tea, which helped.
“Enver,” she said, “this is not part of your mission. I don’t blame you if you wish to go on to the p’ehdrose without us.”
“Galadheon, I am your guide and tessari, so it is my mission, too.”
His words were of an immense relief to her.
“I would feel better, however,” he said, “if you would eat some chocolate.”
She smiled, but demurred. “We will have to establish a secure camp outside the forest. We need to go slow, and keep alert. If they see us first, we’ll be in trouble.”
On that portentous note, they set to packing their gear and readying the horses. As they rode out, Karigan took one last glance at the remains of the pyre. A fitful breeze lifted ash and whirled it into the air, then settled.
Some aspect of the men who had died here remained in her rough throat and irritated lungs, but they were at rest now. She knew it to be true, by whatever odd circumstance. She had told their restless spirits to sleep, and for some reason, they listened to her.
• • •
By midday, they left the heavy eaves of the northern Green Cloak behind and entered a land of scrub and icy bogs and stunted, wind-sculpted trees. The wind howled sharp and hard with so little to break it. A hare, in its winter white coat, dashed across their trail. In the distance, Karigan espied a pair of coyotes loping across the bog. She kept as alert as she could, more interested in spotting people than wildlife, but as the wind hissed through the brush, none were to be seen.
Soon they picked their way up onto a ridge, its spine scoured of snow except in patches protected by boulders and squat bushes.
“There is the Lone Forest,” Enver said, pointing into the distance.
Down beneath the ridge lay an expanse of evergreen amid the bleak gray and brown of the rocky plain. Karigan wished she had a spyglass to get a closer look.
“Perhaps we should get off the ridge,” she said, feeling uneasy. “We could be visible for miles.”
“And maybe get out of this wind,” Estral muttered.
The bitter air irritated Karigan’s lungs, and she pulled the scarf her aunts had made over her mouth and nose.
They picked their way down the ridge into a fold of land through which an ice-rimed stream flowed. It blunted the wind, and they paused to rest the horses and eat. Karigan picked at a piece of dried meat and hardtack, still not interested in food, but determined to keep up her strength.
“Are we still following the Eletian ways?” she asked.
“Yes,” Enver replied, “but they veer off from the Lone Forest, north northwest, and then . . .”
“And then?”
“I am not certain.”
“Right,” Karigan murmured. “The way to the p’ehdrose is not found on maps.” She doubled over, seized by another fit of coughing.
“Perhaps,” Enver said, “we should consider spending the night here.”
Karigan stood. “We still have half a day left. Let’s use it.”
“You should have chocolate first,” Enver said.
This time she accepted a Dragon Dropping and tried to enjoy it. She was too tired to argue.
They rode through the afternoon, Karigan muffling the occasional coughing spell with her scarf. Condor’s ears swiveled, and he even glanced back at her, as if in concern. She patted his neck and assured him all was well, though it was not. The smoke had hurt her worse than she thought and she did not know what
kind of scout she was going to be if the hacking kept up.
Finally they halted in a copse of spruce that helped block the wind. There was a depression in the rocky ledge like a small natural amphitheater that offered further shelter.
“I am going to place wards around our campsite,” Enver said, “since we are so close to the Lone Forest.”
As he went about doing just that, Karigan and Estral tended the horses. When they finished, Karigan dropped her gear and lowered herself to the ground beside it. Staying at the lodge would have been warmer, but she was just as glad to be away from the remains of the pyre. She pulled her hood over her head and huddled out of the wind.
“I think we should chance a fire,” Enver said.
Karigan opened her eyes to find him standing before her. Had she dropped off for a few minutes? Estral was struggling with their tent. Karigan knew she should help her, but she just couldn’t make herself move.
“No fire,” she said. Speaking tickled her airway and she coughed again.
“I need to brew you a tea,” he said. “I will limit the smoke. I would rather you did not inhale anymore, anyway.”
Me, too, she thought.
Enver was as good as his word, building a small, warming fire. The depression they sat in protected it so that the smoke did not blow into their faces. Karigan was glad of the tea and being able to inhale the herb steam that Enver prepared for her. He watched her from across the fire.
“Galadheon, did you intend to do this scouting of the Lone Forest tomorrow?”
She nodded.
“Hmm.”
“Hmm, what?”
“I believe you should wait a day to rest your lungs.”
Estral stiffened beside her.
“Maybe more steam would help,” Karigan said.
Estral moved to put the pot back over the fire.
“Perhaps, but I believe both of us would prefer that you did not aggravate your condition into lung sickness.”
No, she did not need to be sick. “I hate to delay, but if I coughed at an inopportune moment, I’d give myself away.”
“Perhaps Enver could go,” Estral said.
“No,” Karigan replied. “This is outside his responsibility.” He started to speak, but she cut him off. “My decision.”
“I could try,” Estral said, resolve shining in her eyes.
Karigan had a feeling this conversation was going to exhaust her more than the actual scouting. “I know you are worried about your father, but you haven’t been trained as I have been for this sort of thing.”
Estral did not argue, but glared at the fire.
Karigan sighed, not sure she was getting through to her friend. “Riders have died on scouting missions looking for Second Empire.” She shuddered, remembering how they’d returned the corpse of poor Osric M’Grew to the king as a “message.” “And you remember what Captain Treman said about losing his own people to Second Empire? The River Unit is one of the most highly trained units that serves the king.”
“I understand,” Estral said, her gaze downcast.
Karigan was not sure that she did. The reminder of those who had perished in pursuit of intelligence about Second Empire only served to cause Karigan to doubt the course she had chosen.
“We’ll see how I’m doing in the morning,” she said. “Then we’ll decide when I go.”
A WORTHY SACRIFICE
Grandmother eased her aching bones beside the fire. The chair was hard, but at least it had a backrest, unlike the benches that Birch and his officers sat upon. This was one of several meetings they were having regarding the forthcoming campaign season, strategy and the like. She’d left Terrik in charge of the keep, and Immerez had already returned to assist. More likely, she thought, to keep Nyssa company.
She knitted while they talked, with undyed woolen yarn, what looked like a deranged blanket, or a clotted, sickly web. Birch’s maid, a girl of maybe thirteen or fourteen forced to serve him, brought them cups of weak wine. Her family had been killed when Birch’s troops took the settlement. The men had spared some of the folk for work, mostly females to cook and perform other services. The girl’s face was marked with bruises, both old and new, and she kept glancing at Grandmother with imploring eyes, as if she hoped Grandmother would help her.
Grandmother ignored her as Birch recounted the losses they’d experienced over the winter, from exposure, accident, and illness. She was pleased by the low number. Undoubtedly, occupying the settlement, with its existing buildings and stored foodstuffs and livestock, had proven an advantage. Some of the other encampments had not been so lucky.
He also revealed he’d engaged in negotiations with raiders in an effort to form an alliance. It was true that Second Empire needed help where it could get it, but she didn’t exactly approve of dealing with cutthroats and degenerates.
“They will terrorize the common folk,” Birch explained, “keep the king and his folk busy and second-guessing, while we make our own moves.”
“And what do these raiders get out of an alliance?”
“Whatever they can steal, and autonomy when the empire prevails. Revenge also plays into it after what was done to them years ago.”
Grandmother had misgivings, but she must show confidence in Birch’s leadership in front of his officers. “Be very careful in your dealings with them,” she warned him. “Men of that ilk are not to be trusted.”
“I know, Grandmother. I will keep them in line.”
She certainly hoped so.
The girl approached with a cup and stumbled. Wine spilled on one of the officers, and Birch jumped to his feet and backhanded her. She sprawled onto the dirt floor with a cry and curled up to protect herself when he started kicking her.
“Get up!” he roared. He kicked her again. “Get up, you stupid wretch!”
“She will not get up if you keep kicking her,” Grandmother said as she tied off a knot.
Birch stepped back, his face red. He was a controlled, disciplined military man, but that meant he must find release in other ways, such as the occasional violent outburst. No doubt the girl received the brunt of it.
He straightened his coat and pointed a finger at the girl, and said in a tight voice, “Bring another cup for the lieutenant.”
The girl crawled away. Birch seated himself once more. “The little bitch is in heat for the first time, and it has made her exceedingly stupid and clumsy.”
The girl hauled herself to her feet at the table in the center of the cabin and poured wine. More spilled than went into the cup with the trembling of her hands. She returned to the lieutenant carrying the cup with great care. Her lower lip bled; her face was smeared with tears. She gave Grandmother an imploring look.
Grandmother paid her little heed. She had no pity for Sacoridians, but she was practical. Beating up a servant and rendering her useless was not practical. At least the girl would get some peace from the men while she was unclean.
“About those ice creatures,” Birch said, “that Immerez told us about. Does this mean your spell worked, Grandmother? I thought you were of the opinion it had not.”
“It was a most difficult spell,” she replied, “and I’d seen no evidence that it had.” Immerez’s report of the attack, which had allowed him to escape prison, had brought her great pleasure.
“What of the king and queen?” Birch asked. “Did they survive?”
“There is no way to know. I’ve had no visions, but with winter waning, one of our people will come with news of the city. In the meantime, we can only pray to God that the elemental reached the king and queen and killed them.”
“That would leave Sacoridia in chaos and make it very easy for us.”
“Yes,” Grandmother replied, “but we cannot count on it.”
“You have seen nothing?”
“My visions have been few, and G
od has not spoken directly to me since I left the accursed forest.” Something had happened in Blackveil to take His voice from her. “My faith is such that God will speak to me once more when He sees fit, and perhaps when I ensnare the avatar of one of the false gods.” She raised the spellwork to show them. Even unfinished, it radiated malignancy, such was the intent she put into each stitch and snag, each loop, each precisely knotted snarl. The men did not laugh or ridicule her art, for they knew well what she could do with even just an inch of yarn. “A worthy sacrifice to please God, don’t you think?”
The men nodded and made affirmative noises. They were, she could tell, in awe. It did not take one gifted with the art to see what a monstrous thing she was creating.
Their talk shifted to strategy once more, Grandmother’s knitting needles clacking in the background. Birch already had his troops preparing for war, training and stocking up on weaponry. They discussed supplies and logistics and communication among their different bases. Birch moved stones and twigs on a rough map he had scored into the dirt floor. Ready or not, war was coming to them.
By the time they had finished for the night, Grandmother was spent. Just traveling to Birch’s encampment in the cold had been exhausting; then there was her spellwork as they talked, which took its own toll. Now as she reckoned things, it was quite late. Birch had given his cabin over to her, with its rush-filled pallet drawn up to the fire, and blankets and furs to cover herself. Like most of the northern settlers, the one who had lived here had done many things to subsist, including the hunting and trapping of furbearers.
She folded her knitting into its basket. The slave girl lay in a heap in the corner with only a tattered cloak to keep her warm. Indeed, the men had left her alone in her unclean state this night.
Grandmother uttered a short prayer and made a sign of warding, and hunkered down to sleep.
• • •
At some point, she was awakened by a scuffling sound. She blinked, trying to clear the sleep from her eyes. The fire was down to low, lazy flames and embers, and the orange light glowed against the figure of the girl hunched over the yarn basket.
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