Green Rider (52 page)

Crowe made the sign of the crescent moon, fingers formed into a C, the sign of the god Aeryc. "Phaw! Don't use your dirty magic on me. I have nothing to hide."

Oh, yes, he did, and he was attempting to delay her again. The sound of footsteps running down the length of the throne room stopped an angry response in her throat. Her aide, Patrici, dusty from the road, halted before them.

"Captain, Castellan," she said panting "The king-where is he?"

"I don't know," Laren said. "Do you carry an important message?"

"The message isn't important. What I saw is: groundmites. Groundmites east of the Lost Lake."

Groundmites? So far inside Sacoridia's borders? Impossible! "Crowe," Laren said, her voice that of a captain in command. "One last time. Where is the king? If you do not tell me, I'll make sure that he is made aware of your efforts to delay me."

Crowe's knuckles whitened as he clenched his staff. Something flickered behind his eyes as if some inward struggle was going on. "Lost Lake," he said. "King Zachary is hunting at the Lost Lake."

Laren turned on her heel, no time to lose. "Patrici, are you up for another ride?"

"Absolutely."

Laren fleetingly wished for the energy of youth, to not feel any pain, like the pain that racked her body every time she rode or used the brooch too much. She glanced behind her. Crowe watched them leave, his eyes like black darts. They passed through the big double doors of the throne room and found the two guards throwing dice. She shook her head in disgust.

"Sergeant," she said, "put away your dice and take up your sword. An armed contingent may try to enter the castle and claim the throne."

"I don't take orders from any Greenie," he said, and spat tobacco just short of her boots.

Laren drew herself up and closed in on him, the tips of her boots nearly touching his, her hawklike nose inches from his. "You will take orders from any officer who outranks you, worm. My good friend, Captain Able of the guard, will not be pleased to hear of your unwillingness to take orders."

The sergeant straightened up. "An armed contingent, you say? Claiming the throne?"

"To arms, Sergeant," she said, and stalked away, Patrici trotting alongside.

"Ingrate," Patrici said.

"Patrici, I need you to send a runner to both Captain Able, and to Horse Marshal Martel. There won't be enough of us Riders to take on those groundmites by ourselves. Have the runner tell Marshal Martel that we need as many mounted soldiers, ready for combat, as possible, and to meet us at the Lost Lake. He will need to know this may mean life or death for King Zachary."

"Right."

"One more thing, Patrici, do you still keep that old horn with you?" It was an old battered thing she had picked up secondhand from a bargain shop, and carried in memory of the First Rider, Lilieth Ambrioth, whose horn, it was said, could be heard clear across Sacoridia by any Green Rider. They had all laughed when they first saw Patrici carrying it, and she had been much offended.

"It's in my room," Patrici said, with a quizzical expression.

"I'll need you to play the Rider Call as we ride through the city. Think you can manage that?"

Again, with the confidence of the young, she replied, "Absolutely. I'll rouse the First Rider if necessary."

Laren strode toward the stable. If only the First Rider really could raise herself from the ashes of Ages past to ride again.

Alton and Karigan stopped under the shade of a beech tree for a leisurely midday meal. Alton unpacked food obviously meant for a picnic, not extended travel. Freshly baked bread with honey to dip it in, and cake, meat rolls and spiced wine, peaches and plums. It was as good as any picnic Karigan had ever been on. The tension of the morning faded as they made small talk while robins chirped on a branch above. The horses cropped grass nearby.

Alton asked, "When you return to Corsa, what will you do then?"

Karigan caught a drop of peach juice running down her chin. Remembering it was not exactly polite to use her sleeve, she dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin. She had spent too many days on the road by herself, and such niceties had become less important.

"I will assist my father with the summer trade season."

Alton lay on his side in the fragrant grass, propped on an elbow, considering the golden peach he rotated in his hand. His hands were large and thick. "You are so certain? You won't return to Selium or join the Green Riders?"

"I was wrongly cast out of school," she told him.

"And the messenger service?"

"As for that," Karigan said, "I've told you and the others that I am not a Green Rider, and I never will be."

Alton shrugged and bit into his peach, and both fell silent again for a time. After a while he said, "I don't feel much like a Green Rider. My family won't permit me to ride, but I feel as if I
must
. I hear hoofbeats in my dreams sometimes, and I wake up in a sweat as if I must go, but I don't know where. It twists my stomach every time someone else goes out, and all I can do is watch them ride off. I can hardly look the others in the eye. Especially when one of them gets hurt. Or dies."

Karigan was surprised Alton chose to share his feelings with her, and she was even more surprised by the intensity with which he spoke. She supposed he did not have anyone else to confide in, not even Riders who might not understand the limitations of his status. He would be viewed as shirking his duties or, worse, receiving special treatment. His family certainly wouldn't be sympathetic to his feelings since they forbade him to ride. Maybe he could talk to Karigan because she was resisting the impulse to be a Green Rider, and she also knew what it was like to hear those hoofbeats.

"What would your family have you do?"

"They would have me ornament courts filled with eligible noblewomen." He grinned wryly. "I still have to do that on occasion, as at the ball the other night. If my family knew I had spent time with another Green… commoner… young woman…" He stumbled along, not quite sure how to say it without offending her. "They would haul me back to the manor house to teach me more stone craft."

Now he looked at his big hands, fingers splayed out, palms up. "It might surprise you to know that I possess calluses on these hands. From a young age, I had to learn to cut stone. It's a family tradition. You wouldn't believe the hours I spent hammering on granite, my knuckles bleeding until I became proficient enough to hit the drill dead on." He sighed. "The breach in the D'Yer Wall is a disgrace to my family."

She took his hand in hers, feeling the calluses herself, and the strength of his grip. They smiled at one another. Karigan released his hand. "But the wall was built a thousand years ago," she said. "Stone walls crumble with time."

Alton shook his head. "This wall shouldn't have. It was built of the finest craft we possessed, the rock magically bound in ways that are lost today. The wall had to be strong to keep at bay the evils Blackveil Forest. A clan disgrace doesn't heed the passage of time or generations."

This she had never heard. Of course Clan G'ladheon hadn't existed for very long, nor was it of original Sacor Clan lineage. She sprinkled water over her hands from her water skin to clean off sticky peach juice. She would have to be careful in this life not to disgrace any of her descendants.

"Will someone repair the D'Yer Wall?"

"I don't know if we can." A troubled expression crossed Alton's face. "As I said much of the craft that went into the wall has been forgotten. Something must be done, though. I can't imagine what evil has found its way through it already."

Karigan could. She had met it.

They cleaned up the remnants of their picnic and rode for another hour, the long valley still stretching below them.

This must have been some lake
, Karigan thought, listening to the rustle of meadow grass in a breeze. Bees droned on the lupine. Whether or not the lake had been drained, it was still a pleasant place.

"Look below," Alton said, pointing into the valley. "I think that is the kings hunt."

Tiny mounted figures trotted below. Smaller white spots moved just ahead of the horses.

"This should help.” Alton removed a brass telescope from a leather case attached to his saddle. D'Yer was no impoverished aristocratic clan if it possessed even one such looking piece. "The dogs seem to be on the scent of some quarry." Politely, after a brief glance, he passed the telescope to Karigan.

She took it into her hands dubiously. The last time she had looked into one was at Seven Chimneys where she had seen disturbing images of her past, present, and future. The last time she had seen a telescope was on the balcony of the castle during the ball. When Zachary had looked through, one of those future images had become apparent.

Six Hillander terriers bounded through the tall grass up front. They stopped to sniff the ground, pink tongues lolling, then sprinted off on a scent. The hunting party followed slowly behind, King Zachary in the lead with bow and arrow nocked. He was garbed in light mail, a short hunting sword girded at his side, and the silver fillet rested on his brow. His almond eyes scanned the meadow intently. Behind him rode a standard bearer in livery, holding aloft the Clan Hillander terrier banner, identical to the one that hung in the throne room.

Some well dressed men, who seemed more intent in conversation than hunting, hung behind, sipping at flasks probably filled with wine. They waved their bows about to add emphasis to whatever they were discussing. Among them was the lord-governor of Mirwell, dressed in scarlet and accompanied by his stoic aide and a guard.

Miscellaneous provincial soldiers and guards in silver and black rode with the nobles, boredom blanking their faces of expression. Weapons ranged about the group, their expressions, in contrast, wary and attentive. Karigan counted four of them, though there may have been more out of sight.

"You call that hunting?" She passed the telescope back to Alton. "It looks more like a procession to me."

Alton shrugged and looked through the eyepiece again. "The king considers this relaxing. He doesn't have any of his advisors present, there are no servants milling about, and the nobles are too drunk for rhetoric. No one is nagging him about the state of the country."

Karigan hooked a strand of hair behind her ear. When she had addressed King Zachary in the throne room that day, had her complaints been considered nagging?

"It wouldn't have been politic of him not to include a few nobles. They don't seem to be annoying him. The soldiers are a must. He is probably enjoying himself thoroughly, and his dogs are getting a little exercise."

Whatever.

Alton continued to watch through the telescope, his brow furrowing. "Now that's strange," he said. "I wonder what's got the dogs riled up. Certainly not a hare."

Karigan shielded her eyes from the sun and looked down into the valley. Without the telescope, all she could see were little white dots scattering in all directions. Barking came to her distantly. The horses screwed on their haunches, ruining the orderly formation they had been walking in. A black-clad figure fell from his mount.

Alton pulled the scope away from his eye, as if he couldn't believe what he had just seen and needed to confirm it with his bare eyes.

"What is it?" Karigan asked.

Alton handed her the scope. The scene was chaotic. Dogs were nearly trampled by rearing horses. The king shouted orders at the dogs. Weapons galloped to the king's side with swords bare. The useless guards were too busy fighting for control of their steeds to be of any help. The figure she had seen fall lay still in the grass. A Weapon. Two arrows protruded from his chest.