Firebrand

by Kristen Britain

  “But me,” he said, that wildness flaring in his eyes. “Your spirit sings to me, calls to me. Does mine not call to you?”

  She tensed. This was not a conversation she wanted to have. “We are friends.”

  “No,” he snarled. “I do not mean just friends. Does my spirit call to you?”

  There was no gentle way of saying it, so she didn’t even try. “No.”

  He turned away, shaking.

  “Enver?” She took a step after him.

  “Do not approach,” he warned her. “Do not come near. It is not safe. You should go.”

  “I’m sorry, I—”

  “Do not speak!”

  Had her answer meant so much to him? Matters of the heart could cause anguish, and she had sensed for a time he’d been attracted to her more than just a little, though it wasn’t always easy to tell with an Eletian. And of late, there’d been that intensification of his regard of her.

  He struggled with himself, she saw, quaking, and clenching and unclenching his hands. He writhed as if in pain and she wished to help him, but he’d ordered her not to.

  “Do you not see?” he demanded of her. “I am a danger to you. Go.”

  “What—”

  “My unfolding is upon me. Nari was right—I am young and a fool, and I have been too arrogant to see the truth. Please go before I—” He emitted a strangled, growling sound, his body tightly drawn and contorted in some agony. “Go before I force myself upon you. I do not wish to destroy that which I love.”

  He would force himself on her? She backed away, put Condor between them, and climbed on a rock to aid in mounting. She fumbled for the stirrup.

  “The council must have wished this upon me, us,” he continued in a tight voice. “They must have known I would lose control in your presence. What end they wish to accomplish by pairing us, I do not know, though they would value one with your ability to transcend thresholds, and have you bound to Eletia by your—our—young.”

  What the hells? She shook herself and at last managed to get her toe in the stirrup. She painfully hauled herself into the saddle. “You will explain this to me later?”

  He made a growling sound. “Go!”

  “You’ll be all right?”

  “I will be when you are away from me. Mist will prevent me from following. You will go on to Sacor City without me as you wish. Now go, please, before I lose all control and attack. Go!”

  She clucked Condor away, but when Enver howled—a gut-wrenching, wild howl—she glanced over her shoulder and saw him on his knees, his head thrown back and fists clenched. Mist lipped his shoulder.

  Karigan rode on, soon entering the Lone Forest in a state of lingering bewilderment and feeling utterly depleted. She was unsure of exactly what had happened, except that Enver had come very close to— No, she did not wish to even think about it, what could have happened.

  What was this “unfolding” of his? She swallowed hard. The council of the Alluvium had some audacity. Did they not know Green Riders could not conceive while they heard the call? Or, in their arrogance, did they believe an Eletian could overcome even that? Regardless, had Enver not sent her away . . . The danger she had been in was only just sinking in. She was under no illusion that she would have been able to stop him, had he lost control.

  She was trembling hard by the time she reached the clearing of the keep. She halted Condor beneath the fringe of the woods, her gaze taking in, but not really seeing, all the soldiers on the grounds going about their work.

  Her general lack of trust for Eletians, it appeared, was well-founded. She did not include Enver in that assessment. She still trusted him, and perhaps even more so now, but those who ruled, this council of theirs, they’d sent her and Enver to the p’ehdrose knowing they’d be breaking an oath, which could have resulted in their deaths, or at the very least, never being allowed to leave the valley again. The Eletians had also paired her with Enver, not just because they were familiar with her from past collaborations, or because she had the ability to cross over into the valley of the p’ehdrose, but for other reasons, an as-yet-to-be-determined endgame. They must have known that, as Enver put it, her spirit called to him. One day, she would put an end to their meddling in her life. Prince Jametari and his councilors would be made to atone for their interference, and the apparent agony that now assailed Enver.

  When she returned to Sacor City and reported it all . . . She shook her head, not sure she should make mention of this particular manipulation. She could not guess how Zachary would react, and she had no wish to be the cause of a rift between Sacoridia and Eletia at so crucial a time.

  She dismounted and led Condor onto the keep grounds, bewilderment and anger giving way to acute loneliness. Estral had departed for Selium, Zachary was on his way home, and now Enver would be going his own way, as well. There were many people here at the keep, but most were strangers. She might as well be alone.

  Captain Dannyn spotted her, and she halted as he picked his way across the clearing toward her. “Rider,” he said when he reached her, “welcome back. Was your mission to the p’ehdrose a success?”

  “Yes,” she replied.

  He brightened. “That is very good news. And Enver? Is he with you?”

  “No, sir. I don’t know if he’ll stop back here. I believe we’ll be traveling our separate ways at this point.”

  Dannyn nodded. “Well, go ahead and get some rest and food while you can. You’ve earned it.”

  She took his advice and napped in the tower chamber. Later, when Master Destarion examined her back one final time, he told her that Enver had returned briefly. He’d collected his gear and departed immediately. Tears welled in her eyes, which she hastily wiped away.

  “Did he seem all right when you saw him?” she asked.

  “Yes, Rider. Shouldn’t he have?”

  She did not answer.

  “He left me what remained of his evaleoren,” Destarion said, as he rubbed the aromatic salve into her wounds. “Miraculous stuff. But you are not to strain yourself on the ride home. Take it easy, go slow, take plenty of breaks. When you reach the castle will be soon enough. No sense to hurry.”

  • • •

  The next morning, Karigan readied herself for her journey, and after a hearty breakfast prepared by the indefatigable cooks of the River Unit, she rode Condor out of the Lone Forest, her saddlebags bulging with provisions. She’d left Bane behind, figuring the River Unit would have much greater need of him than she.

  She halted Condor on the rocky plain, a heavy, leaden sky hanging low over the landscape. She stretched out her hand and felt sprinkles patter on her upturned palm. Behind her was the forest wafting in morning mists, with the darkness of battle and torture hidden beneath its eaves. Ahead lay home and many days on the road where she’d be alone with her thoughts. Difficult thoughts and memories. Should she run into trouble, she still was not able to wield a sword. Weakness remained. And what if the Nyssa spirit returned to torment her? Well, she had the command of ghosts, didn’t she? And there was always retreat to the starry meadow.

  This journey would be, she realized with some surprise, her first time on her own since before her travel into the future, since before even her mission into Blackveil. But the solitude was as she wished. She would face her journey all alone, and on her own terms.

  I will regain my strength. I will and I must.

  Condor danced beneath her, anxious to run, and she laughed. No, she was not really alone, and he’d have her home before she knew it.

  MIDHAVEN HARBOR, COUTRE PROVINCE

  Rider Ty Newland, sitting at a scarred table in the Whale’s Tooth Tavern with a tankard of ale before him, watched the young man enter from the street. His baggy trousers and striped shirt indicated he was a sailor, and his dusky skin suggested he was also Tallitrean. Unlike most sailors, his features were not gruff or weathered,
but fine, almost delicate, and his body one of whipcord strength. Ty couldn’t take his eyes off him. When he caught the young man’s gaze, he smiled.

  “Ahem.”

  Another sailor dropped into the empty chair across the table from him, but this one he knew. He tried to see around her, but the young man had disappeared into another of the tavern’s rooms.

  “Admiring the pretty scenery?” Beryl Spencer asked.

  “Was,” he said, “until you came along.”

  A knowing smile crossed Beryl’s face, and it was not a particularly friendly one. She was not the usual Green Rider, but a spy that King Zachary often sent on secretive missions. Currently, she was attired as a sailor to blend in with the harbor folk. He could not remember the last time he had seen her in a Rider uniform.

  “I have a lead,” she said.

  Finally, he thought. She’d been hunting for Lord Amberhill most of the winter as a result of the information Karigan had brought back from the future.

  “Met a shipmaster of a sealing vessel who took Lord Amberhill on as a passenger last year, along with his manservant. They disembarked near an archipelago off Bairdly.”

  “What in the hells does he want with an island? Or an archipelago?” Ty asked.

  “Good question. The archipelago is uninhabited and has a bad reputation among sailors for being uncanny. Lots of stories of lost mariners and the like, and of late, sea monsters.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Tall tales, legends. Sailors are very superstitious.”

  “So, now what?”

  “I am going to take ship with this captain, and she will leave me off where she left off Amberhill. I need to buy my own skiff or sailing dory, apparently. I am sure the king won’t mind the expense.” Again, that smile. “I will investigate the islands for sign of Lord Amberhill, and if I find him?”

  “You will drag him back to Sacor City,” Ty concluded.

  “That would be optimal,” she replied, “though not expedient.”

  He could only guess what she’d consider expedient. Beryl had many skills, and he would not have been surprised if assassin was one of them.

  “What do you want me to do?” he asked.

  “I want you to return to Sacor City and tell the king and captain what I just told you, and that I will endeavor to bring his cousin back, tied hand and foot, or otherwise.”

  That, Ty thought, would solve many of their problems before they even began. He took a final sip of his ale, and when he set his tankard back down, Beryl was gone just like that. He sighed, dropped a couple coppers on the table, and left with a look of regret over his shoulder toward the room into which the Tallitrean had disappeared. Outside, a southerly breeze mixed with the harbor’s briny sea scent and hinted at a fine spring day.

  He strode toward the stables where he had boarded his horse, Crane. They were going home, back to Sacor City.

  Kristen Britain is the author of the best selling Green Rider series. She lives in an adobe house in the high desert of the American Southwest beneath the big sky, and among lizards and hummingbirds and tumbleweeds.

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