Condor was full of himself, feeling the sun on his back and the change in the weather. He pranced and puffed and tossed his head. Karigan focused on holding him in as she traveled the city streets taking shortcuts, carefully wending her way through crowds, until finally they passed through the last set of gates.
She let him have his head and he sprang into a gallop down the road, kicking up slush and mud. She paid little attention to direction, just letting Condor run. When finally she pulled him up to rest, they had come well east of the city to a grouping of squat, rounded hills. On maps they were called the Scangly Mounds, but Mara simply called them the Pimples.
Some thought the mounds contained lost treasure and the tombs of forgotten kings, but all anyone found when they dug into them was dirt and rocks. They’d been made by nature, not the hands of people. All that Karigan knew was that they were good for riding and she brought Condor here now and then for exercise. The hills were barren, except for clumps of snow and coarse grass, and Karigan urged Condor up the nearest and tallest, which provided a good view of the odd terrain, but what drew her gaze lay to the west. Rising above the forest, wrapped in its granite walls, was Sacor City, the castle sitting at its pinnacle, its pale gray walls almost white in the sunshine.
It occurred to her she could just keep riding, run away from all obligations. The idea of traveling when and where she willed held a seductive quality, but if she were ever caught, the punishment for desertion would be severe. Besides, she doubted the call would allow her to abandon her duty. And things had changed. She had changed. There was a time when running away was her answer to everything—a way of evading responsibility or confronting difficult problems—but she had come too far, had grown up enough to realize running away was no answer. Not anymore. Not even when it meant having to enter Blackveil Forest.
She shuddered. Even on this day of sunshine, with the promise of spring not far off, a shadow touched her. She recalled little of the forest itself, but it remained a threatening presence on the edge of her awareness. And she remembered Mornhavon, the incorporeal darkness that had invaded her mind and body.
“Why me?” She had meant to shout, but it emerged as a whisper.
Maybe because she knew it had to be her. Not because the captain told her she must go to Blackveil, but because all the paths she’d been traveling were leading her there. Somewhere inside she’d known it was inevitable.
The words destiny and fate felt too weighty, and she did not like the idea of some external power directing her life. No, it was as much an internal force, like she had to see something through. Find completion. Whatever completion meant for her.
She removed her mother’s moonstone from her pocket, and even in the sunshine it cast a sharp, silver glow. Her mother had passed it on to her, and this she would take into Blackveil. It would help force back the dark. As she gazed into the light, it wavered like a flame. You must come, she thought she heard, as some distant whisper, and she shuddered. Then she decided it was only the breath of the wind blowing among the Scangly Mounds that was making her hear things.
She tore her gaze from the moonstone and looked out upon the landscape around her thinking there was a rightness to her mission, but it did not mean she wanted to go or that it didn’t frighten her. She’d have her mother’s moonstone at least, and she was not the only one doomed to go into Blackveil, yet that created another complication: Eletians.
The prince of the Eletians, Jametari, had once explained that the tainted wild magic that had burrowed into her veins created a duality within her, a capacity for much good or great evil. The prince warned her that, as a result of this conflict, there were those among the Eletians who wished her ill because she posed a possible threat to the D’Yer Wall. Some desired to just eliminate the threat. One had tried.
The wild magic was gone from her, but she feared some Eletians still wanted her dead. In the fall, while she and Fergal had traveled west on errands, there’d been that illusionary arrow in her chest she’d received like a message after Eletians had passed their campsite in the night.
How would those Eletians who thought her a threat react to her being a member of this expedition?
She supposed it was just one more danger among the many she’d be facing.
Condor shifted beneath her, and she nudged him to a walk. When they reached the base of the hill, she clucked him into a canter. She rode among the Scangly Mounds, adhering to no set path, moved only by the joy of her horse running.
INTRUSIONS
The blood hissed as it dripped on a patch of old snow. The ring of lanterns revealed the creature’s carcass bristling with arrows and weeping crimson from a multitude of sword slashes. It was a rat the size of a pony, its eyes glowing copper in the lantern light. Its jaw was lined with a row of incisors that had almost ripped off the leg of one man, but it was the claws that had taken the life of another. It was also those claws that had enabled it to climb over the repair work in the breach.
“Damn,” Alton D’Yer whispered.
It wasn’t like they hadn’t been vigilant. The breach was well guarded, and a good thing. Alton did not want to imagine the damage the creature could have wreaked if they hadn’t been so watchful.
Yet, they had not been vigilant enough. Maybe they’d relaxed a little, a little too much, with Blackveil relatively quiet and the repair work done on the breach.
Hissss, came the sound of more blood sliding into the snow.
“We’ll increase the guard,” Alton told Captain Wallace, who was in charge of the encampment at the breach. “I’ll send to my father for reinforcements. In the meantime, I’ll spare as many men as you need from the tower encampment.”
“Yes, my lord,” Captain Wallace said. “Thank you.”
As the son and heir of the lord-governor of D’Yer Province, Alton was the ranking person at the wall to whom the officers came for major decisions. Alton was also a Green Rider, whose mission was to solve the mysteries of the wall and fix it. If he’d not been the son of the lord-governor, he’d be just another cog in the wheel of the encampment, which consisted of both Sacoridian soldiers and members of the D’Yer provincial militia.
Mostly Alton was able to leave the administrative tasks to the military and concentrate on his own work. Occasionally his position proved useful because it allowed him to get what he wanted and when—for the most part—but it was times like this that made his stomach clench and left him wishing he possessed no rank whatsoever.
Hissss.
“Drag this thing away from the encampment,” Alton told the captain. “Burn it. But be careful of the blood.”
“Yes, my lord.” Captain Wallace turned and commenced issuing orders to his underlings.
Dale Littlepage, a fellow Green Rider who’d been assisting Alton at the wall since autumn, appeared at his elbow. “Gruesome,” she said, looking down at the creature.
The two Riders backed off a few paces to allow the soldiers the space they needed to prepare the carcass to be dragged away.
“Leese thinks she can save the one man if his wound doesn’t fester,” Dale said, speaking of the encampment’s chief mender. “But he’ll lose his leg.”
Alton sighed. Both men were Sacoridian troopers. He’d have to write a report to the king. The widow of the dead man would receive some reparations, and so would the injured man. However, the military had little use for someone with only one leg and he’d have to find another way to support his family if he had one. It would not be an easy life.
Alton glanced at the wall. Except where lanterns illuminated it, it vanished into the night, blotting out the stars. The actual stonework rose only ten feet, but magic extended it seemingly to the heavens, a bulwark that was impenetrable to the denizens of the forest and protected Sacoridia and its neighbors.
Until the breach.
Repeatedly Alton and his people had tried to repair the breach, even reopening the same quarries that had been used centuries ago to build the wall, but it was only s
tone. There was so much more to the wall’s strength. Thousands of souls were bound to it, and their song, a song he now felt reverberate through his bones, created the magic and strength that made the D’Yer Wall what it was.
A masterwork. A thing of magic. An artifact of monstrous slaughter.
He watched as the soldiers lashed ropes around the dead rat creature. Until he could figure out how to extend the magic to the stonework of the breach, they could expect more incursions of this kind from Blackveil. The one hope he’d had, the book of Theanduris Silverwood, only confirmed that the magic used to strengthen the wall required the sacrifices of thousands of magic users.
Since Daro Cooper, a newish Rider Alton hadn’t met before, delivered the translated manuscript of the book days ago, he’d pored over it time and again. Daro had also brought the news of Osric M’Grew’s death at the hands of Second Empire and he’d spent time, along with Dale, in mourning. Was still in mourning.
Now his grief only hardened his determination to solve the problem of the breach.
A soldier ran toward them, his buckles and mail glimmering in lantern- and firelight.
“Sirs, our perimeter guards just caught an unauthorized person approaching the encampment.”
Alton and Dale exchanged glances. First the creature and now an intruder? It was turning into a long night.
Their intruder was seated beside one of the watch fires, the soldiers who guarded her fully alert, their hands gripping sword hilts. She hardly looked dangerous, but after the incursion of the creature, he didn’t blame the soldiers for their tension. And in these unsure days, one never knew in what guise danger would appear.
She rose as they approached, but it was difficult to tell much about her except that she was of a similar age to both Alton and Dale. She was plainly cloaked. If she carried any weapons, the soldiers would have confiscated them.
At first no one said anything and they gazed at one another across the fire.
“Greetings,” the young woman said in a pleasant voice, finally breaking the silence.
“Who is she?” the captain demanded of his soldiers.
They all started talking at once, but no one seemed to know.
The woman’s voice rose above the fray. “If someone asked me directly, I’d be more than happy to introduce myself.”
“Please do so,” Alton said.
She leveled her gaze at him and Alton discerned a smile. “You would be Lord Alton D’Yer,” she said.
“You know me then.”
She nodded. “I’ve heard much about you.”
Now Alton frowned. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage then. I do not know you.”
“No? I am a minstrel of Selium.” She bowed with hand to temple.
Hand to temple? A minstrel who was high born?
“My name,” she said, “is Estral Andovian, daughter of Aaron Fiori, the Golden Guardian.” She held her hand out so they could see her ring with the sigil of the gold harp on it.
Estral Andovian—Karigan’s best friend. As the Golden Guardian’s daughter, she was indeed high born. And as Karigan’s best friend, he did not doubt she had heard a bit about him, leading him to wonder just what she’d been told. Thinking of Karigan made him frown once more. No letter from her had arrived with the packet Daro carried from Sacor City. There were many reasons one might not have come. She could be out on a message errand, or hadn’t had time to write, or, he’d just been too pushy, scared her off.
“My lady,” Captain Wallace said, “you must know the wall is off limits to civilians. It’s dangerous.”
“I’m aware of the dangers,” Estral Andovian replied. “I also know civilians are discouraged.”
“Then what brings you, my lady?” Alton asked.
She gazed at him and now he saw in the firelight her eyes were a translucent green, like the hue of the sea with the moon behind the waves.
“I came as a minstrel,” Estral said. “I am a journeyman, and at this stage of training, if I’m to ascend to master, I must travel, offering my services of song wherever I go.”
“This is a strange destination for you to choose,” Captain Wallace said.
“I do not think so. I imagine those here would appreciate a little entertainment to break up the monotony, or to take their minds off other concerns.”
“True enough,” Captain Wallace replied. “But the risk to yourself—”
“There are other reasons I came,” Estral said. “I come as a representative of the Golden Guardian, as a witness if you will. This,” and she gestured in the direction of the wall, “is where history is happening. It needs to be recorded and remembered and that is also the duty of the Golden Guardian and his minstrels.”
“History, my lady?” Alton’s voice was sharp. “The dangers here are very real, not a footnote in some dry old tome. People have died here. Tonight. I will show you this ‘history.’ ”
He took her by the elbow and led her toward the wall where the soldiers were trying to hitch the rat creature to a horse, but the horse was having none of it, bucking and whinnying.
“The horse has good sense not to go near that carcass,” Alton said.
Estral stumbled back from his grip with a little cry when she saw the creature.
“This,” Alton said, “came out of Blackveil. It killed one man and savaged another. This is why I am going to insist you leave us and take your journeyman training elsewhere. This is no place for a ... a musician, whether she is the daughter of the Golden Guardian or not.”
“I ... I am sorry about your men,” Estral said.
She didn’t run away, and after the initial shock, collected herself better than some of the soldiers had. Weren’t most females terrified of rats? This wasn’t even a normal-sized one. Outside the Green Riders, his experience with women led him to believe they were all a bit squealy. Estral actually gazed hard at the beast as if committing its appearance to memory.
“You’re not going to cast her out tonight, surely,” said Dale, who had tagged along.
Captain Wallace and his soldiers had also followed. “It is the dark of night. No moon.”
“What?” Alton said. “I—”
“She can stay in my tent,” Dale said. “There must be another cot floating around the encampment somewhere.”
“But—”
“There is risk here,” Dale said, “but it isn’t very hospitable or safe to send her out into the woods at night either.”
Alton looked at Captain Wallace for some sort of support.
“I’m in agreement with Rider Littlepage,” the captain said. “I’m sure tomorrow morning will be soon enough for Lady Estral to depart.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Alton combed his fingers through his hair. What kind of oaf must she think him for insisting she leave right now? He espied a glimmer in those sea green eyes and glanced away. “Tomorrow morning will be soon enough.”
“Very well,” Estral said. “My thanks to you, Rider Littlepage.”
“Call me Dale.”
“Dale it is. And none of this ‘my lady’ stuff from anyone, please.”
Dale and Estral strode off, arms linked and chatting like old school friends.
“I will play tonight,” he heard Estral say.
“Entertainment will help take our minds off tonight’s troubles,” Captain Wallace told Alton.
That night, Estral did sing, backing herself with a small traveling lute, her voice clear and unwavering. She sang songs that were soothing and did not bring great sorrow upon the encampment’s inhabitants. She also sang songs of strength, recalling heroic deeds and great warriors of eons past.
Alton found her singing and playing was heartening and realized he’d gone far too long without hearing such quality music. He also had to admit it was intriguing to meet someone from Karigan’s “other life,” someone she had known well before becoming a Green Rider. What had she been like in those days? Oh, he’d gotten the hint she wasn’t the best or most compliant of st
udents while at Selium, but what details might Estral Andovian reveal if asked? What details that only a best friend could know?
It was tempting to allow Estral to remain. The gods knew they could all use the musical entertainment she would provide and the tales she could tell, but he could not allow these desires to cloud his judgment. No, Estral must leave. The wall was no place for civilians, musical or otherwise.
In the middle of her performance, Alton retrieved his horse, Night Hawk, for the ride to the secondary encampment at Tower of the Heavens. When he mounted, he could not say what ballad Estral sang, but the tone of the lute blending with her voice stirred something in him. Resonated. Not only that, but it was almost as if the voices in the wall hummed with it.
He shook the sensation off and reined Night Hawk away, the music fading behind him.
KARIGAN SAID
The next morning after a private breakfast in his tent, Alton stepped outside, stretching his back and shoulders. The weather was fine, and if it kept up, there would soon be no snow left at all. The late winter chill freshened the air and he breathed deeply. Most inhabitants of the encampment were up and about attending to their various duties which brought to Alton the sound of an ax splitting wood for cook fires and the clink-clink-clink of a farrier working a horse shoe over by the pickets. He caught snatches of conversation from guards on duty by the wall and heard the sloshing of a bucket being emptied somewhere behind the row of tents.
He decided the plan for this morning would be to enter Tower of the Heavens and comb once again through the book of Theanduris Silverwood. He feared missing something vital, some clue that could help him repair the wall.
On the edge of his vision he caught someone strolling toward him. He’d almost forgotten about Estral Andovian.
“Good morning,” she said in her pleasant voice.
“Morning,” Alton replied. When she halted before him, he noted daylight deepened the green of her eyes.
Blackveil: Book Four of Green Rider Page 19
