Firebrand

He placed his finger under her chin and turned her gaze toward him. “My feelings have not changed since then, not even wavered. If anything, they have only grown. Karigan, I—”

  “No! Please don’t.” And she looked away again.

  He cursed himself. His desire to express himself only made her hurt worse. At this time, of all times, he should be able to say all he longed in his heart to say, but a wall still stood between them, a wall that could not be breached.

  “I will crush Second Empire for the harm they’ve caused you,” he said, instead of what he really wanted to say. Words made such poor tools at times. “Now, drink your tea, and that is an order.” He sat there as she drank it down. The intake of fluid could only help her, but the shaking hands that held the cup disturbed him.

  When she finished, she gave him a tentative smile and lay back down. He stood to leave, but just before he stepped outside, she said, “My lord? Zachary?”

  Startled to hear her use his name, he halted abruptly. “Yes?”

  “I do, too.”

  It took him a moment to understand what she meant, and when he did, he nearly rushed to her side again, but he saw she had already surrendered to sleep. Instead, he stepped outside, stunned and thrilled, and in mourning for what could not be. Enver was nowhere in sight, but Estral came to him.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “She drank the tea,” he replied.

  “That’s more than I’ve been able to get her to do.”

  “She is in a dark place,” he said. “She says she is broken. I don’t know what to do to reach her.”

  Estral shook her head sadly and went to her own tent, as though in defeat.

  He stood by the fire and threw a log on it. He watched the flames waver, then flare and roil as they ate into the dry wood. There had to be something he could do to lead Karigan from her place of darkness. He could continue to show her his love, but even love might not be enough. His gaze drifted across the campsite where the horses were picketed. Condor lifted his head and seemed to meet his gaze. He smiled. He would let her rest for a while; then he would try again.

  Karigan drifted. Someone else wanted into her dreams, someone who had been there before and offered guidance, the Rider of ancient times, she thought, but Nyssa would not let him pass. She could not fight Nyssa, heard only the voice that told her she was broken, of no use, selfish and cruel. She stewed in a haze of deprecations, thinking it better her companions just leave her. She was no good to them at all.

  Strangely, the clip-clop of hooves entered her awareness. She shook herself awake, and the horse came to a halt just outside the tent.

  What? she wondered.

  The next thing she knew, Condor stuck his head through the tent flaps and whickered.

  “Condor? What?”

  He stretched his nose as far as he could and lipped her feet. Even Enver’s accommodating tent could not enlarge enough to fit an entire horse. With some effort, she maneuvered around so she could pet his velvety muzzle. His breath smelled of sweet grain.

  “How did you get here, boy?” she asked.

  Her king, Zachary, for he was more to her than just her king, poked his head in, then worked his way around Condor to sit beside her. “He misses you,” he said.

  And she missed him, but now she was torn—wanted to turn away, isolate herself, but also have the comfort of their company.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Zachary came closer and her urge to turn away grew more urgent. She regretted having indicated her feelings to him, for what couldn’t be. She focused on Condor. Mercifully, Zachary did not try to engage her in conversation. He just sat quietly while she petted Condor’s nose. Sometimes, silence comforted better than anything anyone could say, but now it only allowed Nyssa’s voice to be louder.

  He just pities you, you know. It’s not because he really cares.

  Tears streaked down her cheeks, and he moved even closer as though he intended to take her in his arms, but she shook her head.

  “Please leave,” she whispered, and she turned her back on him and Condor, and lay down once more in her bedding. She was empty and exhausted, and truly broken.

  CAPTAIN TREMAN ARRIVES

  Zachary led Condor back to his picket. He was alarmed by Karigan’s dejection, didn’t know what to do. The sense of helplessness washed over him again. He was a king. He was supposed to have the power to make things better, and it ate at him that he could not even help one whom he loved.

  He decided he could use the company of a horse himself, so he cast about for Condor’s grooming kit. When he found it, he set to Condor’s hide with a curry comb. He raised clumps of winter coat that tumbled away in the breeze.

  “Thought you, of anyone, would have drawn her out,” he murmured to the gelding.

  Zachary had some familiarity with despair due to his own wounding. There had been dark times when he wondered if he’d ever return to his old strength. The betrayals of his then-counselors and the situation with Estora had not helped, and it all only worsened when Karigan did not come back from Blackveil.

  He leaned into the currying, and Condor grunted with pleasure and flicked his tail.

  “You missed her, too, didn’t you, boy.”

  Only Zachary’s duty, and conflict with Second Empire, had brought him back, and there was always that fine thread of hope he’d held on to that Karigan would, in fact, return. He always felt he’d have sensed it if she’d perished, and so he never gave up, though he did come close more than once. When she did return, he finally healed fully. Sadly, it seemed his own experience with despair failed to help him with Karigan’s.

  He ducked under Condor’s neck to work on his other side, and Zachary reminded himself that if it took him so long to recover from the arrow wound—both mentally and physically—he could not expect Karigan to be all better in so short a time. She hadn’t even the benefit of Ben Simeon’s true healing ability to help her.

  He had been tortured himself at the hands of Grandmother, but with no obvious lasting wounds. He remembered pain, but no longer felt it. He could not recall much about what was done to him during that time. Perhaps one day he’d know if he’d given up any information. There was no evidence of torture upon his body. Not like Karigan, who would bear the scars for the rest of her life.

  Estral wandered over and surveyed the clumps of chestnut horse hair snagging on grasses and brush. “You make a fine groom, Your Majesty.”

  He smiled. “Spring shedding, a sure sign of winter in retreat, at last.”

  “Poor Bane looks like he wants a little love, too.”

  “I will work on him next. We could stuff a mattress with his hair.” A glance revealed that Mist looked as pristine as ever as she daintily cropped at the coarse grass.

  Estral chuckled, then sobered. “I saw what you did with Condor earlier, taking him to see Karigan. Did it help at all? Did she respond?”

  Zachary paused and picked hair off the curry comb. “Not much, I’m afraid. I—I fear that perhaps I am pushing too hard. I have never seen her so despondent. But you have known her longer . . .”

  Estral slowly shook her head. “I haven’t either. I’ve seen her angry, upset, grieving. Nothing like this, but then I don’t know how one is supposed to be after having been hurt like she was. That on top of all that happened to her in the future time.”

  Her loss of Cade, Zachary thought. He slowly worked the curry comb over Condor’s hind end.

  “I can’t help thinking,” Estral said, “that she has some battle going on inside, and it is taking all she has.”

  Zachary stopped. “That is an apt description. I have tried to help, but I am afraid I am more of a hindrance. She feels . . . she is scrupulous about not wanting to interfere with my marriage, and I am afraid my own desire to help only hurts her, makes it all the worse.” He was not afraid to speak of such things
to Estral for she had shown she already very clearly knew there were feelings between him and Karigan.

  “I can see it is difficult,” Estral replied. “She must be torn, both wanting to be comforted by you, and to be distant.”

  “I do not know what to do, if helping is hurting her.” Facing an army of Second Empire seemed easier. It was concrete, he knew what to do, it was a problem he could solve.

  “It may be,” Estral said, “it is a battle she must fight on her own.”

  Zachary thought back to his own struggles after the arrow wound. Karigan may want to be left alone, but she shouldn’t be. She may have to fight her inner battle on her own, but she needed friends to lend support. But maybe he shouldn’t be one of them.

  “I must admit,” Estral said, “she has me a bit perplexed this time around. She’s pretty resilient, but maybe it gets harder to rebound after a while.”

  “So, you’ve no advice for me?”

  “I know what I’d tell you if you were not married to someone else,” Estral said, “but since you are? It’s a little harder. Still, I don’t think love is ever misplaced.”

  He watched after her as she wandered away; then he exchanged the curry comb for a stiff brush, planning to work Condor from nose to tail. Before he started, however, the gelding rested his chin on Zachary’s shoulder and heaved the longest, deepest, most heartfelt sigh ever.

  Zachary patted his neck. “I know exactly how you feel, boy.”

  • • •

  By the time Zachary finished with both Condor and Bane, he was overcome with a sense of accomplishment he hadn’t felt in far too long. He was also covered in horse and pony hair, but the two gleamed in the sun and had seemed to bask in the attention. He’d combed and pulled Condor’s mane and tail, as well, and now wound some of the coarse tail hair into a circle and inserted it into his belt pouch.

  He was trying to brush the hair off his clothes when he heard some commotion in the campsite. He left the horses at a jog, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Or, rather, Karigan’s sword.

  To his relief, Captain Treman had finally arrived, accompanied by one of his officers, as well as Fiori, and, to Zachary’s surprise, Rider-Lieutenant Connly and a pair of Weapons. Actually, one of the Weapons was a trainee in dark gray. The other, the full Weapon, was Donal. Estral and Enver had already gone forward to greet them.

  When he approached, the Weapons dismounted and bowed before him. The others followed their example. The formality felt odd after so long away from court.

  “Your Majesty,” Donal said, “we are pleased to see that you are safe. Your message, which Lord Fiori bore, has been sent on to the castle with Rider Oldbrine. Lieutenant Connly is at your disposal, should you like to send any others.”

  He glanced at Connly, who was, at the moment, speaking softly with Estral and Enver. He followed them into Enver’s tent. Good, Zachary thought. Perhaps the presence of another Green Rider would help Karigan.

  Zachary, the captain, his lieutenant, and Fiori sat beside the campfire. The Weapons stood off some distance taking up their customary watchful stances, which was a familiar feeling, and not unwelcome. Perhaps he could now put much of his ordeal as a captive behind him.

  “Lord Fiori explained to us a good deal of what happened to you,” Captain Treman said, “and how you were freed from Second Empire. It would seem the realm owes a great deal to Enver of Eletia and Rider G’ladheon.”

  “Yes,” Zachary replied. “More than you know.”

  He learned how, before Fiori had arrived at the River Unit’s encampment, the Weapons and Green Riders had shown up in search of him.

  “It was the queen’s idea to send such configurations of searchers throughout the realm looking for you,” Treman explained.

  “And she did so without leaving herself or the royal tombs unguarded,” Donal added. “As an additional benefit, our trainees are receiving some real world experience.”

  He also learned how the aureas slee had been overcome at the castle.

  “The ash girl?” he asked.

  “Yes, sire,” Donal said from where he kept watch. “Captain Mapstone says the girl has been training with Green Riders, though she has no special ability. Something of the Riders, especially Sir Karigan’s quick thinking, seems to have rubbed off on her.”

  The girl, he thought, deserved some commendation. If all his servants were so brave, Second Empire would not stand a chance. He thanked the gods, also, for Laren identifying the elemental.

  “The ash girl also helped the captain after her accident, running errands and the like,” Donal said.

  “Accident? What accident?”

  Donal explained.

  “Good gods.” Zachary shook his head. “I thought she would have learned the first time she was thrown into a fence.” He was relieved she had not been hurt worse.

  “The queen managed to salvage talks with the Rhovans,” Treman told him.

  The Rhovans. In all the crises, Zachary had forgotten about the Rhovans, and as they talked, his pride in his queen swelled, and he was humbled by her abilities and accomplishments in a time of duress.

  Connly soon emerged from Enver’s tent and joined them by the fire; his expression was disturbed.

  “How did Rider G’ladheon look to you?” Zachary asked.

  “I did not see her wounds,” Connly replied, “though Lord Fiori told us what happened.”

  “I am not speaking, precisely, of her wounds,” Zachary said.

  “She is not well,” Connly replied. “Dark, like I have not seen her before.”

  Captain Treman, who had been listening, asked, “Should I have our mender come?”

  Zachary knew who that mender was since he had assigned him to the River Unit himself. His immediate inclination was negative, to not let a traitor near Karigan, but that mender had been one of the finest in the realm. Still, Enver had done very well by Karigan.

  “Firebrand,” the Eletian said, “I have done all I can for the Galadheon. Perhaps the mender has lore that I do not that will help her.”

  “Very well,” Zachary said.

  The captain nodded. “Lieutenant Connly, head back to our intermediate position and bring Destarion to us.” Most of Treman’s complement had hung back in the cover of the Green Cloak as Zachary had wished, but he’d also set up a small intermediate camp about halfway from there.

  Connly rode out immediately. Zachary was relieved that the River Unit had arrived at last and he could take action—no more waiting or wondering. He turned back to Captain Treman to talk strategy.

  EXTRACT OF POPPY

  When Destarion arrived in the evening, Zachary hardly recognized him. In Destarion’s time with the River Unit in the northern wilds, he’d become trim, and his face was stubbled with beard growth. Rough attire had replaced his mender’s smock and tailored city garb.

  “Your Majesty,” Destarion said, going to his knee. “It is good to see you and learn that you are well.”

  Zachary, still not past his anger at those who had betrayed him, answered coldly. “Rise.”

  Destarion obeyed, could not look him in the eye.

  “Rider G’ladheon has not been well. You have heard what has befallen her?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “Enver thought it would be beneficial to have another set of eyes on the situation.”

  “I will do whatever I can to help.”

  Destarion looked like he had more he wanted to say, but Zachary turned away to resume talks with Captain Treman. From the corner of his eye, he watched Destarion pick up his mender’s satchel and follow Enver into the tent. He tried to concentrate on what the captain was saying, but his attention kept straying toward the tent.

  Estral, who had been sitting with them and adding any details about Second Empire’s encampment that she could think of, said, “I believe, Capta
in, it is perhaps past time to start preparing that brace of grouse you so kindly brought us.”

  “Ah, yes—we were lucky on that count,” the captain said. “The birds are just starting to thrum with the season, and Lieutenant Rennard here has an excellent eye with bow and arrow.”

  Rennard rose to help Estral with the grouse, and Fiori engaged the captain and Connly in conversation, leaving Zachary to rise and pace. While the young Weapon trainee, Rye, kept watch somewhere on the perimeter of the campsite, Donal stood near the entrance to Enver’s tent, which was a little odd. Did Donal not trust Destarion? As much as Zachary was still angry with Destarion, he did not believe he would do anything to worsen Karigan’s condition, much less actively harm her. Besides, Enver was there with her. But, then, the Weapons had a very curious relationship with Karigan, and he couldn’t say he entirely understood it himself.

  “Do you know what’s going on in there?” he asked Donal, indicating the tent.

  “Master Destarion has expressed approval for Enver’s work, and they’ve been discussing herbs and remedies. Sir Karigan has remained largely quiet.”

  Zachary listened for a moment, and indeed, Destarion was describing the efficacy of something-foil versus the many healing qualities of lavender.

  “Sire,” Donal said, “if you wish a change of garb, I’ve spare uniforms with me, though your buckskin is fitting in this setting.”

  “I would give you my kingdom for a change of clothes,” Zachary replied.

  “No, thank you, sire,” Donal replied, as stoic as ever. “No kingdom necessary. I’d rather leave that in your hands.”

  It turned out that Donal’s uniform fit Zachary rather well. By the time he had changed, Enver and Destarion had emerged from the tent.

  “Well?” Zachary asked.

  Destarion was decidedly solemn. “I have tended flogging wounds before, administered to wayward soldiers and the like, but nothing like this. Nothing so purposely brutal. More lashes and Rider G’ladheon might have bled to death or been crippled. As it is, no sane person would cause such mutilation, and I do not know if she will ever recover the full range of her back muscles.”