First Rider's Call

  “How do you know?”

  You bluffed often enough in the past.

  “But I wasn’t always bluffing, was I?”

  Mornhavon did not answer, he was thinking it over. She couldn’t give him the time.

  Adjusting her grip on the knife hilt, she hoped Karigan would forgive her, and she jerked the knife into her flesh.

  Pain! Lil had forgotten about pain, of how it felt when cold sharp steel tore through flesh and muscle. She gasped in disbelief, and wished urgently to flee Karigan’s body, but she could not. Not yet.

  The forest around her raged with a sudden maelstrom. Trees were shorn of their limbs, and one was uprooted and fell over behind her.

  Lil’s ploy had been a success. Mornhavon had left Karigan’s body, fearing to lose his own hold on life should Karigan die. Lil withdrew the knife, blood spreading across Karigan’s shirt.

  Mornhavon had been deposited in the future, and now it was time to return to the present.

  As she traveled, Mornhavon called after her, You cannot stop the wall from falling!

  AVENUE OF LIGHT

  The groundmites tore Tierny from her horse and she vanished beneath flailing clubs that fell with sickening thuds. Soldiers who were without horses stood their ground in formation, back to back, hacking at their wild attackers. Yates was helping Dale to stay in the saddle with him, using his legs to guide his horse, and slashing at groundmites beside him.

  Garth couldn’t seem to get mounted, for the groundmites swarmed around him, as though attracted by his size. Instead, he faced the enemy and fought, his sword in one hand and his longknife in the other. Chickadee guarded his back, a hoof cracking a groundmite skull.

  Laren whirled Bluebird around, blood streaming from her saber. Since the groundmites did not wear armor, they were, in a sense, not difficult to kill. It was just their sheer numbers that posed the problem.

  So much for a retreat, she thought. They just couldn’t break free.

  The wraith watched from its place near the breach. It did not engage in battle, but stood there as an ominous presence, a silent general over barbaric soldiers.

  Laren carved into the wrist of a groundmite, its howl echoing against the wall. Its club tumbled against Bluebird’s hocks, and he bucked, scattering others from around him.

  More soldiers fell. Justin was hauled off his horse, and he fell victim to bloodied clubs. Yates screamed, torn between getting Dale out of harm’s way, and hacking his way to his friend’s side.

  How long before the groundmites wore them all down?

  Then, with a suddenness Laren could not comprehend, their ferocious assault began to fall apart. She was not one to believe in miracles, and couldn’t even remember the last time she had attended chapel. She did make oaths in the names of the gods on a regular basis, but she just wasn’t religious. But when the groundmites stopped their attack altogether, she decided she was overdue to light a candle at chapel.

  The groundmites began to whine and howl. Some of her Riders pressed the advantage and started killing them where they stood. But when the wraith turned and ran through the breach into the forest, the groundmites fled after it, leaving Laren, her Riders, and the soldiers in stunned disbelief.

  There would be time to wonder about it later, for she must first tend to her wounded. And the dead. She took one more glance toward the breach, and wondered if she should count Karigan among them.

  Karigan’s body had grown colder than ever, a result Lil knew, of the traveling. Why it happened, she did not know. Perhaps because flesh and blood were not meant to endure the strain of passing through the ages.

  She brought them back to Karigan’s present and now pressed her hand—Karigan’s hand—against the knife wound to help staunch the bleeding. Lil hadn’t stabbed mortally deep to accomplish what she needed, but it still bled profusely and hurt like the five hells.

  She supposed she ought to return Karigan through the breach to her captain. With Mornhavon removed from this time, everything ought to be calming down.

  That’s what she thought until she heard a stampede—a stampede of groundmites crashing heedlessly through the forest. She stood in the lee of a stout tree so she wouldn’t get trampled.

  Striding through the churning mist behind them came Varadgrim. Her hand went immediately to the hilt of her saber. An old foe he was, a foe that had taken the lives of many of her Riders. He might be little more than a walking corpse, and she beyond the grave herself, but still the old hatred kindled within her.

  Sensing her, Varadgrim halted and turned to her, the shreds of his ancient cloak whirling at his knees. He possessed a sword of his own, bright and shining, but thankfully it was not a soul-stealer.

  Her saber hissed from its sheath.

  Not her saber, she remembered belatedly, and not her body to do with as she wished. Yet she itched to fight. The sword felt right in her hand. Her lust to take Varadgrim fought with her desire to be a good steward of the body with which she had been entrusted.

  In the end, Varadgrim made the decision for her. “I will kill the Galadheon.”

  “I think not,” Lil said. “Do you know who it is you truly face?”

  “Liliedhe Ambriodhe is dead. The Galadheon must die.”

  Lil was a little disappointed that her presence failed to impress him more.

  He strode over to her and initiated the fight without preamble. It was unlike the Varadgrim of old who had been prone to elaborate flourishes and dramatic declarations, but she supposed a thousand years chained in a tomb might have created a lasting stoical effect.

  She eased the saber into place to block his blows. Karigan was of slighter build than she had been, and not as tall, so it took some adjustment on her part, but she was pleased to find Karigan in fighting trim.

  The ring of blades filled the forest like a hammer hailing on an anvil. Mist swirled about them as they fought. Varadgrim’s movements were unadorned, but not without purpose.

  Likewise, Lil did not allow herself any superfluous movements. She had to preserve both her own energy and Karigan’s. Out of necessity, Lil had always fought to kill, not to show off fancy footwork or some complicated move. No, for her, killing was a utilitarian skill she had put to constant use during the Long War. There was no time for embellishment or showmanship back then, and she wasn’t going to start now.

  Varadgrim moved rigidly, and it dulled his swiftness. In some ways, he turned out to be a disappointing opponent. Maybe Mornhavon’s absence sapped him of his energy. He was a fearful presence, but it held no power over her, and gave him no advantage.

  It was possible he would outlast her. Karigan’s body was weakening from blood loss, and the swordfight had only increased the flow. And Lil had her own limitations as a spirit. The swordfight had to end, and it had to end soon.

  She kept a tree to her back, and allowed Varadgrim to close in. She ducked under a blow that hacked into the trunk. In the moment it took him to free his blade, she came up and behind him, and severed his head from his body.

  He crumpled stiffly to the ground. The flesh on his body puckered and decomposed as she watched, leaving behind a pile of rags and a leering skull. His crown melted into itself and oozed into the forest floor. Wild magic had bound him to Mornhavon, and now, in a sense, he was free. The pile of rags heaved a final sigh, collapsing as his bones turned to dust.

  Long overdue, Lil thought.

  She sheathed the saber. There was no sense of triumph, just as there never had been in her own day when she took another’s life. Maybe in her early years making her first kills she had felt triumph. It was later on, with maturity, that she realized the ordinary legions of the empire were only doing the same as she: fighting for their ideals, fighting for survival, fighting out of desperation. It took the triumph out of killing.

  Lil, at great expense to her own energy and Karigan’s, wandered the forest disoriented by the heavy mist and the sameness of trees. She wished to walk the spirit path again, for Karigan’s cold
body was a weight now, a heaviness that she must drag around. But she couldn’t abandon Karigan. She would not recover on her own, and no one would find her in the forest. Lil tried calling into her mind, but there was no answer, and she worried that Mornhavon had damaged her irreparably.

  Karigan’s body kept moving because Lil forced it to, one step after another. She had ripped off the sleeves of Karigan’s shirt and wadded the knife wound with them. Finally she was able to slow the bleeding.

  Karigan! she sent with her mind. She heard nothing in response, and perceived only the damnable snow.

  Karigan plowed through the snow, hugging her arms around herself in an effort to keep warm. It piled up on her shoulders and head, and dripped an icy finger beneath her collar. She could not remember why she was here, or how she had gotten into this wintry wilderness in the first place. Blood oozed from a wound to her midsection, freezing in red crystals. She had lost feeling in her fingers and toes. All she knew was that she wanted to lay down and sleep.

  No, she thought. Must not do it. But she couldn’t figure out why.

  She thought she heard her name shouted in the distance, but decided it was only the wind rushing through the forest.

  Dusk was settling in when Lil stumbled upon the ancient road, a road built and once used by Eletians before the coming of Mornhavon. She had never seen Argenthyne in its full glory, for it had fallen before her birth, but like all children, she had heard tales. Yes, even in the war-ravaged orphan camps, there was the magic of stories, and the most magical were those about lost Argenthyne.

  A gruff veteran named Ansel visited the children and told them the tales. He was missing an arm, and a patch covered one of his eyes, but he never failed to mesmerize them with his descriptions of Laurelyn’s shining castle of moonbeams. The children, famished in mind and body, had hung on to his words as if they were physical sustenance.

  She stumbled over a loose cobble, painfully jarring the knife wound, but at least managed to prevent Karigan from falling. She paused to rest, her eyes drawn to the side of the road. A statue stood there gazing back, arms upraised. A mage who had worked on the building of the wall claimed these statues had once held globes that collected the rays of sun, moon, and stars, and showed the way through the night. Lumeni, he called them. This statue no longer possessed a globe, nor did she have hands with which to hold one.

  Lil had not known Argenthyne, but she was not unfamiliar with this road. The old mage had called it the Avenue of Light. She was unsure of the Eletian name for it. She had traveled upon it before, and it only looked more decrepit, more overcome than ever. Perhaps in the old days, some vestige of the goodness of the Eletians had lingered before Mornhavon had perverted the forest wholly.

  She now knew where she was, and where the road would lead her. She would seek the tower, and even if there was no help for Karigan there, she could reach the other side of the wall through it.

  She forced the body forward, realizing with alarm her fingers and toes had gone numb. She shoved her hands beneath her armpits.

  “C’mon, Karigan, lass,” she murmured. “Stay with me.” She decided to sing. Whether it was the novelty of using a real voice, or a way to amuse herself, she wasn’t sure. She did hope a bit of the song found Karigan.

  Great heart, stout heart

  Strong and bold,

  Molten and fiery

  Cast in a mold

  The winged horse emerges

  Iron and cold,

  The mage smith bids it

  To choose and hold

  Lil paused singing and considered the racket she was making. Karigan was completely tone deaf! It should, she thought, scare off any of Mornhavon’s beasts that might be lurking about.

  Inspired, and warmed by the singing, she took a deep breath and continued the song.

  A Rider’s true heart

  It shall seek,

  Great heart, stout heart

  Strong and bold . . .

  Karigan wasn’t sure what inspired her to sing the inane song. She could barely move her frozen lips to form the words, and the cold air stole her breath away. Was it a song Estral had taught her? She hardly remembered who Estral was. A musician?

  She sagged against a tree trunk and took up the words once again. They were more croaked than sung, the effort pulling painfully at her wound.

  Worn with honor

  Worn with pride,

  Worn by Riders

  Of the Sacor Tribes

  Humble brooch

  Iron brooch,

  Strength it provides

  Against the evil tide

  “Too humble is this iron brooch,”

  The great Isbemic said,

  “for the hearts of Riders bold

  shine as pure as burnished gold.”

  From cold iron he made gold

  Molten and fiery,

  Cast in a mold

  The mage smith Isbemic made it so

  Great heart, stout heart

  Strong and bold,

  The iron hearts of Riders

  Glitter as gold

  The iron hearts of Riders

  Glitter as gold . . .

  Lil liked shouting the song into the forest, hearing her voice—Karigan’s really—echo, even though it was off key. She hoped all of Mornhavon’s creatures were cowering at the sound. Truly, she was trying to send a message: A bold Rider walks here. Beware.

  Perhaps she was taking an unnecessary risk by drawing attention to Karigan, but she couldn’t help herself. There was nothing so empowering as walking nonchalantly through the enemy camp. Besides, Karigan’s body was warming a little with the singing. She launched into it again.

  Great heart, stout heart

  Strong and bold . . .

  By the time Lil reached the wall and had begun walking in the direction of the tower, she had sung Karigan’s voice hoarse. It had helped pass the time at least, and helped her keep a steady pace. She had come this far even before the forest turned an inky black with nightfall.

  When she finally came upon Haethen Toundrel, she wondered belatedly whether or not it would admit her, as it always had during her life.

  I suppose there is only one way to find out.

  She grasped the brooch, and pressed her other hand against the stone. The brooch tingled beneath her fingers, and the stone absorbed her.

  She emerged into the central chamber of the tower, a place she had not laid eyes on for three ages. She gathered the keepers hadn’t maintained their vigil from the towers in many a year, so it was with a little surprise that she found the chamber brightly lit, and a figure pacing back and forth across it, his long beard bristling. He halted when he noticed her.

  “Well, well, well,” he said, “as I live and breathe. I can see you, Liliedhe Ambriodhe.”

  “You do not live, nor do you breathe,” she said.

  “Hmph! Neither do you, for that matter.”

  “At least I’m accepting it.”

  Merdigen grumbled to himself. “Then what, may I ask, are you doing possessing the body of this young woman, hmm?”

  “I’m not possessing it, I’m just borrowing it—to help save this Rider’s life.”

  “Hmph.” Merdigen tugged on his beard and drew his bushy brows together. “Well, don’t bother.”

  “Hey? I don’t believe I heard you correctly.”

  “I said, don’t bother. The wall is going to fall and all will be lost.”

  At Lil’s incredulous silence, he added, “One of those Riders of yours claimed he intended to mend the wall. Instead, he’s undermining it.”

  Lil wanted to speak, wanted to say it couldn’t possibly be so, but just then, her energy began to falter and fluctuate, straining her bond with Karigan. As she felt Karigan slipping away, across the chamber a hand grew out of the stone wall, followed by another. Then there was a face molded into stone, molded around a figure. Finally a person emerged into the chamber, an Eletian in white armor.

  PENDRIC

  At
first, after Pendric’s father was killed in Blackveil, the soldiers tried to watch over him. Captain Reems offered him an escort if he wished to accompany his father’s remains back to Woodhaven.

  He’d have liked nothing better than to leave, but traveling away from the wall, he knew, would only shred his mind. The voices were ever more persistent, ever more desperate as they clawed away inside his head.

  So Pendric stayed. Initially the soldiers deferred to him because of his rank, but he had nothing to offer them, no leadership, no wisdom, nothing. He had nothing but the voices in his mind.

  He entered the encampment only for food and wine, and the soldiers began to look upon him as something strange, a feral beast, and they kept their distance.

  The voices screamed at him for help, pleaded him to come.

  “I am mad, I am mad!” He banged the heels of his hands against his head trying to dislodge the voices.

  It was all Alton’s doing—he knew it. Alton had always hated him, and now Alton was making him go mad. It wasn’t good enough he had killed Lady Valia and Landrew. Now he had to destroy Pendric’s mind, too.

  Suddenly there was a voice he recognized twining through his mind. A calm, rhythmic voice from which all the others recoiled.

  Alton!

  If the other voices recoiled from Alton, then surely they were not the evil ones. And they were calling for help. Yes, all they had wanted all along was his help.

  He allowed the voices to lead him along. He walked until he came to a tower embedded in the great stone wall. He blinked in surprise to find Alton’s horse standing beside it, its dark coat dull and tail snarled with burdocks. Its ribs were sharp against its sides.

  Alton, Pendric determined, was somehow in the tower wreaking his evil. He had no choice but to enter and stop him.