Firebrand

by Kristen Britain

  The two gryphons landed atop the repairwork of the breach and changed shape into ordinary cats.

  Corporal Mannis gasped. “Did I really just see that?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Alton replied with a smile.

  The cats sat on their roost looking down upon the human beings who assembled to gape at them.

  “Welcome back, Mister Whiskers,” Alton said. “Who is your friend?”

  “Meep.”

  She was a shiny black short-haired feline with a regal demeanor.

  “I wish you could speak the common tongue so you could tell us all about your travels.”

  Mister Whiskers simply groomed his paw and otherwise ignored him. Just looking at them now, even considering their gryphon forms, he wondered if they’d be of any real use in defending the towers, or just provide Merdigen with amusement. It was rather remarkable that Mister Whiskers had returned at all.

  The two appeared content to sun themselves on their roost, the newcomer crouched and gazing into the forest, and Mister Whiskers sprawled on his side working on his other paw. Alton decided he would join them and take a look into Blackveil, after all.

  He climbed the ladder, feeling a little shaky as he always did. The man who had pushed him into the forest, an operative of Second Empire, was long dead, but the betrayal, and memory of waking in the forest, still loomed large.

  The repairwork of the breach stood only ten feet high. The rest of the wall to either side appeared to soar to the heavens. It looked and felt as solid as the granite base of the wall, but it was magic, the lost art of the D’Yers.

  When he was up far enough to look over the side into Blackveil, he stopped. No need to climb atop it. The incessant mist wafted on the other side, and he could see little but the ghostly shapes of spindly, black tree branches beyond.

  The new cat had tensed when he climbed up, but Mister Whiskers stretched and sauntered over to him to butt his face with his head. Alton sneezed. The allergy had not miraculously gone away during Mister Whiskers’ absence.

  The forest was as calm and quiet as ever, but Alton didn’t like it. It was too quiet, he thought. The kind of quiet that presaged storms. There was no telling what was going on in the rotten heart of the forest. What if the spirit of Mornhavon had recovered from whatever injury Karigan had caused him when she broke the looking mask? What if he was preparing an all-out assault?

  Both of the cats stared into the mist with him, and suddenly, Mister Whiskers started chattering as though he watched a bird. The black cat looked intently in the same direction, her hackles raised.

  “What is it?” Alton asked.

  A fetid stench preceded a black shadow that hurtled toward him on great wings. He fell back off the ladder as an enormous creature brushed over him. He hit the ground hard, maybe blacked out for a moment, his breath slammed out of him. Shouts went up from the encampment.

  A huge avian creature circled above. It had a long reptilian neck, and black oily wings, and cruel talons clenched beneath its body. Alton knew such creatures well. One had killed a young noble lady in this very encampment, and another had wounded Dale. The Eletians called such creatures anteshey.

  Arrows were loosed skyward, but the avian veered on a wingtip away from them and screeched. Two other winged creatures pursued, one tawny and one raven black. They pumped their wings aggressively to catch up with their quarry. The avian craned its head around and screeched its defiance at the gryphon pair.

  “Hold your arrows!” someone shouted. Alton thought it might be Corporal Mannis who gave the order, and he approved. Arrows might hit the gryphons instead of the intended target.

  Mister Whiskers roared and he flapped his wings harder, his mate right behind him. They skimmed the canopy of the woods beyond the encampment, tearing off treetops and scattering birds as they went. They ascended higher into the sky and stooped into dives. The aerial maneuvers were incredible, and the gryphons did not waver in their pursuit. He watched mesmerized, still lying on his back as the gryphons closed the gap, stretched out their forepaws, and grabbed the avian.

  The creature screamed, dove and rolled, and reached back with its fearsome beak to snap at its assailants, but the gryphons pursued undeterred. The black one simply caught the creature’s head in her jaw and twisted. After that, the gryphons played with their prey, tossing it back and forth between them through the air.

  When they started to tear the creature apart, Alton climbed to his feet and ran for cover beneath the awning of a tent. First, oversized blue-black feathers drifted down; then bigger pieces, hunks of meat, a stray talon, fell to the ground. When it began to rain entrails, other wall personnel ran for cover, as well.

  Mister Whiskers swept low and dropped the avian’s head at Alton’s feet. A present? Maybe Merdigen had been onto something, Alton thought, when he had suggested so long ago that they needed kittens to help protect the towers. He smiled, hoping for large litters.

  TO NOT LEAVE

  Nightmares clawed at Zachary in black shapeless forms. He kept fighting, kept striking with his sword, but he could not kill the entities, he could not quell the dark.

  An awakening. He was surrounded by blurry stone walls, and he shook uncontrollably. “What’s wrong with me?” he asked between chattering teeth.

  Donal’s head seemed to float over him. “You are ill, sire, your wound poisoned. So it has been for others of our warriors and prisoners who were wounded by the dark ones.”

  “Am I dying?”

  Donal did not reply immediately. “Destarion and Varius are doing everything they can. We’ve also sent for Enver.”

  The nightmares returned in the shape of ice fists wielding ice daggers. Karigan was clutched in the grip of a giant slee. Zachary tried running through hip-deep snow to reach her, but he could not seem to fight his way through to cross the ever-expanding distance between them.

  Between nightmares, people talked around him, tried to get him to swallow water. He saw Destarion and Varius with their heads together.

  “Definitely leeches to suck out the poison,” Destarion said.

  “There is a moss that grows in the forest that can be used in a poultice to help draw it out, too,” Varius replied.

  Zachary was not sure if they were real or part of a dream, but he soon had nightmares of being buried in thick layers of moss, and he could not breathe. These gave way to giant, bloated leeches stuck to his body and sucking all his blood.

  When he was on fire, cool, wet cloths were placed on his brow. Someone spoke to him in soothing tones, rinsed the cloth, replaced it. A familiar voice . . . Karigan? It must be a dream, and a much better one than the others.

  “. . . and don’t you dare die on me,” he heard her say. “I can’t lose you, too.”

  He sensed her rising to leave, and he flung his hand out and caught her wrist. “Don’t leave me.”

  Her expression stricken, she eased back down beside him and took his hand in hers. “I’m not, and I won’t. I just needed to stand a minute for my back.”

  “Don’t leave me,” he whispered.

  Her eyes filled with tears. “I will not leave you.”

  His last awareness as he slid back into darkness was of her sitting close beside him and holding his hand. This time as he slept, the hellish nightmares stayed away. A guardian seemed to keep watch over him, she in the gleaming armor of the heavens. Had he died? But when he awoke sometime later, he felt clearer, his vision steady. He made out in the flickering lantern light that he lay on a pallet in a circular chamber. Nearby, Karigan lay prone on her bedroll, breathing deeply with sleep. He was about to speak when another stepped between them and knelt beside him.

  “Quietly now,” Enver said in a soft voice. “The Galadheon has only just fallen asleep and you do not want to wake her. She has been up long hours. Would you try some water?”

  Zachary nodded, and found
that he needed to slake a great thirst. Enver made sure he took it slowly. He asked questions between sips.

  “What happened? Why am I sick?”

  “The claws of the dark one that injured you were poisonous and caused corruption of the wound. Others have been likewise made ill and not all have survived.”

  Zachary remembered now, having been told this.

  “Destarion and Varius have done very good work,” Enver continued, “but sent for me to see if I could help.” He smiled. “The poisons of the dark ones retreat before the evaleoren of the Eletians.”

  “How long . . . sick?”

  “A few turns of sun and moon.”

  “You mean a few days?”

  Enver nodded.

  Zachary tried to sit up, his head pounding, but Enver pushed him back down.

  “You must rest, and not awaken the Galadheon. She has her own healing to accomplish, which has been delayed by circumstances. She insisted on coming when she heard you had been taken ill, and has been by your side almost constantly, no matter her own injuries.”

  Zachary glanced at her, at her peaceful expression. “She stayed . . .”

  “Yes, Firebrand, she stayed.”

  He saw a flash of something in Enver’s gaze then, something feral, that coldness he had seen before. Was it jealousy?

  It was a relief when Enver stepped back out. Zachary reached for Karigan’s hand, but she was not close enough. He contented himself with studying the curl of her fingers, the way her shortened hair fell across her cheek, and he fell asleep with her image in his mind, and this time it was a deep, restful slumber.

  His next awakening was to a shaft of sunshine beaming through an arrowloop in the stone wall. To his pleasure, Karigan sat at the table writing, the light a nimbus glow around her, while all else in the room fell into shadow. He watched her for a while, her concentration as she dipped her pen in ink and wrote, the nib scratching on paper. After a time, she looked up and stared into space. Then, as if perceiving his gaze, she turned to him. Her expression changed entirely, rippling with emotion.

  “You’re awake,” she said barely above a whisper, “thank the gods.”

  Before he could speak, she sprinted across the chamber and pushed a blanket aside that hung over the doorway. “Donal, he’s awake.”

  Donal replied softly, and Zachary heard footsteps on the flagstone floor hurrying away. Karigan returned and knelt awkwardly by his side.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “Better to see you.”

  She smiled tentatively. “Not half as glad as I am to see you awake. You were truly and deeply out for the last couple days, and I—we were worried.”

  He could see it in her eye, and in the line that furrowed her brow. “It would take much more than a scratch from some demon to kill me.” He reached across his chest to touch his shoulder, but felt a bulging poultice instead.

  “I should have known . . .” Karigan swallowed hard. “I should have known the touch of the dark ones would fester so.”

  He grabbed her hand. “How could you have?”

  She looked away.

  “You may be Westrion’s avatar,” he said, “but that does not mean you know all there is about the spawn of the hells.” He squeezed her hand, but she continued to look away. She would be beating herself up over this for a while, he knew.

  “I want to thank you for staying with me,” he told her. “It helped more than you can know.”

  She turned back to him, smiling again, a smile like he had not seen since they had come together in the north, the dimples he loved so much deepening on her cheeks. At that moment, Donal stepped in, followed by Destarion, Varius, and Enver. Karigan reclaimed her hand and stood, and backed away. He closed his fingers wishing to retain something of her touch. As the two menders chattered at him and Enver looked coolly on, he followed Karigan with his gaze as she collected her writing materials and left the chamber.

  • • •

  Zachary learned he was occupying Grandmother’s old chamber in the keep’s tower. He was not sure how he felt about that, but Donal had wanted to keep him separate from the other injured. Destarion and Varius poked and prodded him, chatting in delight with one another over the efficacy of their treatments and Enver’s evaleoren salve. They pushed water and soup on him, and when Donal helped him rise, he felt like a newborn colt who couldn’t get his legs under him. As the day passed and he ingested more food and drink, he began to feel much improved.

  He learned from Donal that Captain Treman had not survived and that Dannyn was now captain of the River Unit. Dannyn came to his chamber and gave him a rather dry recitation of numbers of casualties, and of those imprisoned. He explained how his people were working to secure both the keep and the forest.

  “Any sign of Birch retaliating?” Zachary asked.

  “No, Your Excellency. Our scouts have seen nothing to suggest he’s making a move, except to absorb the civilians that had occupied this keep. In the meantime, a message to the Lake Unit has been dispatched requesting reinforcements. It’s unlikely we’d be able to hold the Lone Forest ourselves in the advent of a full scale assault.”

  Zachary nodded. It was as he’d have ordered them to do himself.

  Connly reported next, and after a deep bow he said, “I am pleased to inform you that Trace and the other Riders from the wall have reached Sacor City and informed the queen that you have been found. Something of all that has befallen you has been conveyed.”

  “What of the queen? Is she well?”

  “Yes, sire. She remains on bed rest under the watchful gazes of Master Vanlynn and Ben Simeon. Very few are allowed to approach her regarding the business of the realm. Master Vanlynn says the pregnancy is doing well, thus far, despite the stresses.”

  Zachary let go an anxious breath he had not realized he’d been holding. Thank the gods. She’d been left with far too great a burden in his absence, and when Connly relayed news of troop readiness and the results of diplomatic missions, he could not believe how much she had accomplished.

  Connly got the faraway look in his eyes that meant he was in rapport with Trace. “The queen has asked Trace to relay that she has made some organizational changes to the messenger service, as well.” He looked perplexed as he said it. “To be honest, sire, I haven’t the faintest what she’s talking about.”

  “It sounds to me like your captain has been up to something in my absence.”

  Connly, his gaze still distant, raised his eyebrows as if in disbelief. “Apparently she’s not the captain anymore.”

  “What?” Zachary sat up, seized by sudden panic. The call had abandoned Laren? After all these years? It couldn’t be! What would he do without her?

  Connly smiled. “She’s not captain anymore, but colonel. The queen promoted her.”

  Zachary laughed out loud. Why hadn’t he thought of it? It was long overdue, no matter that the Green Riders had only ever had a captain to lead them.

  “Please have Trace convey my compliments to the queen for her wisdom.”

  After a moment, Connly replied, “The queen thanks you and wishes me to express her great joy that you’ve been found and are regaining your health. She looks forward to seeing you soon.”

  “And I, her.” And he did. He was concerned for her well-being, and for that of the twins she carried. He longed to be home despite all the pressures that accompanied his position. He did regret, however, what it would mean for him and Karigan.

  The communication with the queen complete, Connly paused. “There is one more thing, sire.”

  “Yes?”

  “Karigan has asked for several messages to go out to the family and friends of the Golden Guardian in regard to Lord Fiori’s death.”

  It took Zachary a moment to make sense of the statement, for wasn’t Lord Fiori the Golden Guardian? But memory o
f Fiori’s corpse lying on the floor came back to him, a shadow on his mind. Estral was now the Golden Guardian, the Lady Fiori.

  “Karigan hopes the messages will encourage others to offer Lady Fiori support while she makes the transition to her new office during so difficult a time.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. My court must also have a major presence for his funeral.”

  Connly bowed. “I will then assign the messages when we return to Sacor City.”

  After Connly departed, Zachary was left alone to rest and ponder how surreal the idea of returning home to his former life felt after being so long away. Captive, slave, warrior, he’d been. It was time to once more be king.

  ZACHARY DEPARTS

  As one day turned into the next, Zachary saw little of Karigan, and when he asked Enver where she was, the Eletian’s reply was enigmatic: “Regaining her strength.”

  What Zachary didn’t see of her by day, he made up for in his dreams. He did not see the avatar in her gleaming armor, or even the Rider in green, but the woman in his arms, entwined with him. He could feel the softness of her skin against his, her lips on his, the thrill and release of joining. The dreams were so real he woke up with his heart pounding, his back arched, and an ache in his loins.

  “Gods,” he muttered, passing his hand over his sweaty brow.

  To his embarrassment, he was not alone. Donal stood by the entry, and Varius at the foot of his pallet, looking over a journal and squinting down at him through specs perched on the tip of his nose.

  “Weeell,” Varius drolled, “you seem to be feeling much better.”

  Heat warmed Zachary’s face.

  “No need to feel ashamed. It is a natural part of being a man.”

  Donal’s expression, as usual, was neutral. Zachary hoped he’d not spoken in his sleep, had not called out, for his sake and Karigan’s. The dream had been so very real.

  Varius checked beneath his poultice and deemed his wound was doing well enough that it required only a light bandage. “After you have some porridge, I don’t see why you can’t get out of bed and take in some fresh air outside.”