Yes, she thought, their bond shone brightly as two flames entwined.
GHOSTS
“Kendroa Mor,” Siris Kiltyre said with a low whistle. He was a black silhouette with the flames of a pyre roiling behind him. The smoke plumed into the night sky, clouding the stars. The granite summit of the mor spilled off into the concealing cloak of the dark. “Lil Ambriodhe’s ride down this mor was already an established legend by the time I became a Rider. By some miracle she survived that ride, right through Varadgrim’s forces, and despite an arrow in her back. Somehow she reached King Jonaeus’ host. Because of her actions that night, most of her Riders survived when they’d have otherwise been massacred, and turned a prized prisoner over to the king, Mornhavon’s best friend and right hand.”
Karigan had known all this, of course, for she had been there, a ghost from the future forced to visit the past. She’d helped Lil reach King Jonaeus. The prized prisoner was her own ancestor, Hadriax el Fex.
The wind shifted, sending the smoke streaming through Siris and toward her. She turned away, not wishing to be touched by the smoke of a pyre, whether this was a dream or not.
“Ah, you are learning,” Siris said.
When the wind shifted yet again and the smoke cleared, she gazed at him once more. It was just them, the pyre, and the windswept summit of Kendroa Mor, which in her time was called Watch Hill.
“There are similarities of character between you and the First Rider,” Siris continued, “that have nothing to do with the fact that you share the same brooch. She was a very determined, driven person, Lil was, as are you, both of you willing to do the hard work, the dangerous work. There is the courage you have both exhibited, and the stubbornness. Lil thought she could solve most problems on the end of a sword, and in those days? Well, it was usually the only way. She was brash, and fearsome to even those who loved her.” He laughed. “The stories of the rows she and the king used to have! They were both hard-headed people, and tempestuous lovers.”
During her visit to the past, Karigan had last seen the First Rider on what appeared to be her death bed, suffering from the arrow wound that had also caused her to prematurely birth a child who had not survived. Karigan wanted to ask if Lil had lived beyond that point, for the history was clouded and no one seemed to know, though theories were argued back and forth. Karigan was so tired, however, that she could not summon the energy to ask.
“While there is much in common between you and Lil, there is much that is not. Your approach is quieter, more thoughtful. Perhaps, under the same conditions Lil faced, you might have turned out as brash as she. Alas, her lack of subtlety made her unsuitable to be Westrion’s avatar. She was a cunning strategist in battle, yes, but the mind has to find a deeper place in order to traverse the veil of death. There have only been a handful of us.”
The smoke of the pyre spiraled, and she was certain she could see grayed faces within it, shapes, ascending into the heavens.
“Go deep into your thoughts,” Siris said, “for wit will serve you when strength fails.” He glanced up at the sky. “And perhaps, do as the half-Eletian who travels with you does and listen to the voice of the world.”
The scene faded away, and she was aware of lying on the ground beneath a blanket, of the pain of her wounds. She reached out beside her but felt only the grainy surface of granite. She thought she recalled someone warm beside her. Cade? The king? How odd.
She opened her eyes to a gray morning, or maybe it was dusk, and silence, not even the sounds of birds. She shivered with a chill, thinking her companions had deserted her. Fog filled her vision, and when it cleared, she saw that she was not, in fact, alone. He lay on his side next to her, his head propped on his hand as he gazed back at her.
“Cade,” she said, gladness filling her heart.
But his eyes were dead. “You left me behind.”
“No, I—I love you. I wanted to go back, but I couldn’t.”
Nyssa’s whip appeared in his hand, and then he was not Cade, but Nyssa.
“No . . .” Karigan murmured.
“Yes,” Nyssa said, “you will learn to love me as a slave loves her master. What? You thought that because I am dead you would no longer see me?” She shook her head. “We have only just begun.”
WOUNDS LAID BARE
Karigan’s cry made Zachary’s hair stand on end, and he saw Fiori go pale. He and Enver leaped up at the same time.
“She must be quieted,” Nari said. “The enemy might hear.”
Zachary hurried to Karigan’s side. She reached out as though struggling with a phantom. He tried to grab her wrist, but she hit his hand away.
“Karigan!” he said.
Enver also knelt beside her. “Galadheon, peace.”
“It’s Nyssa!” she cried, still struggling.
“She will start bleeding anew if she continues this,” Enver told him.
Zachary captured her hands in his. “She is dead,” he told her. “Nyssa is dead.”
“The whip—”
“She’s dead, Karigan,” he said. “I killed her myself. She’s dead.”
Seemingly exhausted, she slumped into her bedding with a groan, and then looked up at him. “Hells . . . What was I thinking?”
“It must have been quite a dream.”
“I thought she was here,” she said, “real.”
“You should continue to rest, Galadheon,” Enver said. “When the dark comes, we will move to the other campsite.”
“I don’t want to close my eyes again,” she murmured.
“I will be here to keep watch so nothing troubles you,” Zachary said.
“But you could change into her.”
“I will not change,” he said. It must have been part of her dream. The fever had returned, and it was difficult to say if she were awake or still moving in a dream world. He squeezed her hands. “I promise I will not change. I will stay here beside you. Enver, Nari, and Lord Fiori are here, too.”
She did not respond, and her breathing deepened. He sat intending to make himself comfortable so he could keep his promise. If it helped, it was a small thing.
Enver glanced at the afternoon sun. “The sooner we return to our campsite, the better. I have more supplies there to properly tend her.”
He had cleaned and bandaged the gouges to Karigan’s forearm. For the time being, the bandages she already had on her back, and even the shirt she wore, staunched the bleeding, and he had decided that attempting to inspect those wounds before they reached the other campsite would only cause more problems.
As for Zachary’s own wounds, Enver had cleaned and applied salve to his lacerations, but they didn’t dare build a fire to brew a tea that would be soothing for his pain. He had slept until late morning, his back and neck stiff from the cold and unforgiving ground, on top of the aches of injuries from his time with Second Empire. Awakening to the open sky above and not the rafters of Nyssa’s workshop had confused him at first; then relief washed over him. Any remaining darkness had faded when he’d found Karigan still tucked up against him, her head on his shoulder. He just lay there reveling in the closeness.
When he rose, he had spoken with the others about his experiences, about how he’d fallen into the hands of Second Empire. They already knew some of it, thanks to Nari. He in turn learned of Magged’s passing and Nari’s search for the aureas slee. They, of course, had no news of Sacor City and his queen, for they had been out of contact with the city for longer than he. Afterward, he sat and wondered how his wife fared, how her pregnancy proceeded, and he brooded over the loss of Magged, and about his subjects who remained enslaved by Grandmother. It galled him that he’d been unable to do anything for them, especially after how they had shielded him from the rocks flung by the people of Second Empire. He did not think Grandmother would allow yet another incursion onto her grounds. The Lone Forest would be more intensely guarded
than ever, and she would now know what to look for. The one person capable of slipping back into the forest undetected lay twitching and mumbling in fevered dreams beside him. Even were she well and robust, he would not ask it of her.
There was also the problem of the seal that Grandmother wanted to open. Did they just wait and hope that she failed, or was there something they could actually do to stop her?
Enver had told him a message had been sent to the River Unit, a wise move, and good thinking to use a gryphon as a courier, though he did wonder about its reliability. He needed to get word back to the castle, to Estora.
Fiori limped over and settled on a rock opposite him and nodded toward Karigan. “How is she doing?”
“I don’t really know. Quieter, now.”
“And you?”
“I am fine.”
“You were not treated well. Grandmother and Nyssa, that whole lot, they are insane.”
“To be honest, I have little memory of any of it after they figured out my identity.”
“Perhaps that is for the good.”
Zachary gazed off into the distance. The day was fine with milder breezes from the south that riffled through his hair. Then he looked at Fiori dead on. “I do not know what happened during those blank spaces in my memory. I do not . . . I do not know if I passed on critical information.” When Fiori did not respond, he demanded, “Don’t you understand? They could know all the plans for this season’s campaign. Not only that, but the complement of my troops, their locations, supply routes, weaponry, any number of secrets.”
“I understand, Your Majesty. Then you will have to alter your plans.”
Zachary stared at him in disbelief. “Alter my plans? Just like that? Plans that were in the making for more than a year?”
“I am not saying that you should scrap everything, but make adjustments that will throw Second Empire some surprises. Obviously, they will be expecting changes, now that you are free of them, but anything you do, stay the course or alter your plans, will leave them unsure.”
It was a rather optimistic view that Zachary did not share. “I need to return to Sacor City, or at least get some word there, but I can’t just leave my people enslaved in the Lone Forest.” He glanced at Karigan once more. “My Green Rider is in no condition for a message errand.”
“I could go,” Fiori said. “At least I could intercept Treman’s folk and have one of them continue on to Sacor City with a message written in your own hand.”
Zachary rubbed his upper lip. “Yes, that is a possibility, unless the gryphons would consent to carrying a message.”
As the day dragged on, he mulled over the possibilities of what a message might contain. He observed Enver and Nari keeping watch, and stayed by Karigan’s side as he had promised. Now and then he caught a few words of her otherwise incoherent mumbling. Cade came up more than once. Zachary reached over and took her hand into his.
“Shh, it’s all right,” he murmured. “You are safe, you are safe. I will not let anyone hurt you.” He continued on in this vein for a while even after she quieted.
• • •
When dusk set in, they prepared to move to their other campsite under cover of dark. Enver said he’d seen pairs of the enemy searching across the rocky plain, but none had come close enough to their illusion-concealed location to be of much worry.
Enver tried to wake up Karigan. “Come, Galadheon, it is time to ride.”
“No, don’t wanna,” she muttered.
After fruitless, gentle cajoling, Zachary told Enver, “Allow me.” He leaned close to her ear and said in a sharp voice, “Mount up, Rider.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” She attempted to rise, but crumpled with a cry of pain.
Zachary and Enver lifted her to her feet.
“We aren’t staying at the Golden Rudder, are we?” she asked in a drowsy voice.
“What is this Golden Rudder?” Enver asked.
“An inn,” Zachary replied. It was a well-known brothel in certain circles, but he wondered how Karigan knew of it. There was a story there, and he thought it would be amusing to ask her about it when she was more coherent. He told her, “No, Sir Karigan, we are not going to the Golden Rudder.”
“Where—where am I?”
Enver explained.
“Oh,” she said. “I remember now.”
“You will ride Mist with me,” Enver told her.
Zachary wanted to protest, wanted her to ride with him. Had he not sat by her side all day to offer comfort? But he caught himself and merely nodded. Mist was Enver’s horse, and smoothly gaited for carrying one who was injured.
It was decided that he and Nari would double-up on Condor, and Fiori would ride Coda. Enver, with Karigan wrapped in a blanket and sitting slumped before him, led the way into the dark. Zachary had, of course, never ridden Condor before and was impressed by the gelding’s confident strides and alert demeanor. He stuck close to Mist as though wanting to keep an eye on his Green Rider.
Nari remained silent behind Zachary. No one spoke. There was just the wind and the clip-clop of hooves on stone. Despite his day of rest, he was still weary after his ordeal with Second Empire, and he dozed in the saddle. He was unsure of how much time had passed when Nari placed her hand on his shoulder.
“We are here, Zachary.”
He awoke just in time to experience walking through a wall of stone, which was just air, another of Nari’s illusions. Beyond, a pony whickered in greeting, and there were two tents and a small campfire. He would have never guessed the campsite’s existence from the other side of the illusion.
A figure emerged from the smaller tent and launched at Fiori just as he touched ground beside Coda.
“Father!” Estral Andovian cried, throwing herself into his arms. “They got you out!”
“Yes, yes they did,” Fiori murmured.
“Family,” Nari said before she slipped off Condor’s back, an echo of Magged.
“Yes,” Zachary replied softly.
Estral did not seem to know which direction to go, torn between a hasty bow to her king and checking on Karigan, or returning to her father.
“No formalities with me,” he told her.
She nodded and hastened to help Enver walk Karigan into the larger tent. Zachary busied himself with tending the horses, and when he was done, he paused at the large tent’s entrance just as Enver stepped out.
“Is Karigan all right?” he asked.
“She is weak and in pain, but with some rest she will heal.”
“I would like to see her.”
Enver glanced over his shoulder at the tent, then gazed back at Zachary. “She requests that you do not.”
Zachary was taken aback. “Why?”
Enver shrugged. “She does not wish for you to see her in her present condition.”
“But I have.” Zachary raked his hair out of his face. “I sat with her all day, and last night . . .”
“It is her wounds laid bare,” Enver said. “She does not wish you to see her that way.”
Oh, Karigan. Did she think he would judge her in some way, besides thinking how brave and resilient she was, because of how she appeared?
“Firebrand,” Enver said, “it would be well for you to rest, too. Know that you are safe and you can truly sleep after all you have endured.”
Safe. He sat before the welcome fire, not sure if he could ever sleep well again. He glanced at the tent, the silken fabric that stood as solid as any stone wall between him and Karigan. If he did sleep, it would be, to his sorrow, without her by his side.
SEEKING COMPLETION
Zachary slept soundly through the night and deeply into the day. He awoke to a fair afternoon. At first he saw no one about, and the only movement was laundry hanging from branches to dry, namely the light blue shirt Karigan had been wearing. The blood stain o
n the back had not come completely clean, and the right sleeve was punctured and torn. Strips of stained cloth also fluttered from the branches.
Bandages.
Estral arrived into the campsite with her arms filled with wood. “Good afternoon, Your Majesty. I hope you are feeling a little rested?”
“I am. Stiff, but a bit better.”
She set her wood aside and moved a kettle over the fire. “I’ll get some tea and porridge heated up for you then.”
“Where is everyone?” he asked.
“Well, my father is bathing. There’s a hot spring a short distance from here. Nari is—I don’t know where Nari is. Enver is in his tent checking on Karigan. The gryphons? I don’t know where they are, either.”
“How is she? Karigan?”
Estral found a mug and spooned tea leaves into it. “As well as can be expected. I am thankful that Nyssa is dead. What she did . . .” She shook herself and poured hot water into the mug and handed it to him.
“Thank you.” He cupped his abraded hands around the mug to absorb the heat. As he sipped the tea, it tasted like the best thing he’d ever had. The porridge proved heartening as well, topped with nuts, and wrinkled winter berries the birds hadn’t gotten. Nari, he was told, had scavenged them. By the time he finished, he was feeling much better than he had in a long while.
Estral then presented him with a message tube.
“What is this?” he asked.
“Mister Whiskers arrived with it this morning.”
He opened the tube and drew out a rolled piece of paper, its seal cracked. Someone had already seen its contents. It was from Captain Treman saying that he was preparing the River Unit to march on the Lone Forest in order to rescue Sacoridia’s sovereign.
“He must be apprised of developments,” he murmured.
“Would you like to write a return message?” Estral asked.
“Yes, I would. But I also need to send a message to the queen. Do you think the gryphons would convey both?”
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