Green Rider

  Bats, drawn to the insects hovering above their heads, careened in the air around them.

  “I brought Joy’s brooch with me.”

  “Yes. The brooches do have a way of finding their way home.” Captain Mapstone rubbed the dark scar on her throat. “You brought it here among other things, including a very curious crystal. Tell me Karigan G’ladheon, how a schoolgirl managed to get herself involved in Green Rider affairs. I don’t want any omissions.”

  Karigan sighed, but The Horse, Condor, she had to remind herself, nuzzled her knee in encouragement. She started with the beginning, all the way back to the fight with Timas Mirwell and the private sessions with Arms Master Rendle.

  “I met Rendle,” Captain Mapstone said. “Before I left Selium, he spoke with me—at your father’s behest—to urge me to do my utmost to find you.” The captain smiled briefly. “Your father had already persuaded me to do so, but I guess he thought that adding Master Rendle’s voice to the cause would ensure my cooperation without a doubt.”

  Karigan smiled faintly in return, knowing just how persuasive her father could be.

  “Rendle was very concerned about you,” the captain continued. “Said you were the brightest student he had had in a long time. You would do well to continue lessons with him. He also believed you were innocent of mischief in that swordfight with young Mirwell, and has since been trying to clear your name.”

  Karigan was surprised and touched by this, wishing suddenly to be sitting in Selium’s field house, sewing together pieces of worn fighting gear, and listening to Master Rendle’s advice and tales.

  She continued her own narrative, jumping on the ground when the railing grew too uncomfortable to sit on. Captain Mapstone sat silhouetted against the night sky, as unmoving as a Weapon, and watching her with an intensity that was disquieting. Every so often she touched her winged horse brooch, and Karigan had the feeling of being tested, especially when she told of communicating with the ghost of F’ryan Coblebay. She described the Berry sisters, and recounted her fight with the creature of Kanmorhan Vane, and the help provided by the gray eagle Softfeather and the Eletian, Somial.

  “Curious you should mention an Eletian,” the captain murmured. Then she motioned for Karigan to continue.

  She told of Immerez, and Jendara and Torne, and of her flight to the waystation in North. She paused and stared at the captain. “You’re alive! You’re the Mapstone mentioned in the book at the waystation. You survived.”

  “I’m no ghost, if that’s what you mean.” The captain actually chuckled. “Close calls come to all Green Riders. So far in your story, you’ve had as many as some.”

  Karigan spoke of Abram Rust, the forest, Joy’s body in a horse cart, Lorilie Dorran, the gray-cloaked Shadow Man, and the Wild Ride.

  “The Wild Ride,” the captain said. “They—the guards and the counselors—didn’t know what you were when you arrived. A blur, a twist of wind, they said. Sacoridia has not heard the like of it for a thousand years. How did you do it?”

  “I—I didn’t do it,” Karigan said.

  “Are you so sure?”

  “The ghosts—”

  “Ghosts. I don’t know.”

  The scent of grass was heavy in the damp air, crickets chirruped in the distance, and fireflies left behind tiny blind spots in Karigan’s eyes.

  “Yes,” Captain Mapstone said as if to herself. “You are fortunate the king and his counselors are busy with their guest. Let me see your wrists, Karigan.”

  They had healed so quickly that she hadn’t needed to dress them the last few nights, but the burns had left scars of melted flesh that shined in the moonlight.

  “The burns were from the blood of a creature from Kanmorhan Vane?” Captain Mapstone asked.

  Karigan nodded.

  “Interesting. Those black arrows were made with wood from Kanmorhan Vane. Your Shadow Man works with very old and evil magic. I can only guess what torment they caused F’ryan and Joy.”

  “I think they’re still in pain,” Karigan said. Two black-shafted arrows protrude from a blood-dampened back that will not dry, Miss Bunchberry had said.

  “I fear that our troubles are greater than I already thought,” Captain Mapstone said. “I begin to wonder how this gray-cloaked character is connected to Mirwell.” Then she looked at Karigan with a grim smile. “You outran two black arrows on the Wild Ride. Karigan, you are no ordinary schoolgirl.”

  Karigan did not know whether or not to take it as a compliment. This Captain Mapstone was difficult to read, an admirable trait in a merchant, but otherwise frustrating. “What now?” she asked.

  The captain jumped from the fence to her feet, and slowly stretched her back with a grimace. “This damp is getting to my bones,” she said. “What now, indeed. The counselors have dismissed the message you carried through such peril.”

  “What?” It was unthinkable! “People tried to kill me . . . The Mirwellians . . .”

  Captain Mapstone nodded. “The message speaks of events that have long since passed. The counselors refuse to take it seriously. Gods be cursed!” She pounded her fist into her other hand. “I expected the message to bear news of some Mirwellian plot and the whereabouts of Prince Amilton. From your story, it sounds as if my suspicions are on track, but I’ve nothing to back it up with. The counselors must hear how the Mirwellians were so intent to stop you. F’ryan and Joy were effectively stopped. There is much to indicate a plot, but they won’t listen to me now that their attention is focused on their visitor. I’ve some Riders working on the message to see if it’s in code. It seems straightforward, however.”

  Dumbstruck, Karigan hardly heard the captain. “I can’t believe the message said nothing important.”

  Captain Mapstone sighed deeply and slapped Condor on the neck. “Some Riders never see, in the duration of their careers, as much as you did in one ride. Your courage to carry F’ryan’s message, essential in content or not, is more than admirable. Karigan, I’ve believed every word you told me of your incredible story because my talent is detecting honesty.” She touched her winged horse brooch. “I want you to talk with the king. I want you to tell him your story—he will be interested in hearing about Immerez. And I think he trusts me enough that he will grant you an audience without his advisors present.”

  Me? Karigan cried from inside.

  “Oh, Fastion,” the captain called out sweetly. “You can come out from whatever shadow you’ve been lurking in. We’re done now.”

  Karigan perceived a great weariness in the captain as they bade Condor good night. The captain moved stiffly, and her features seemed pulled back in some sort of pain.

  The brooch? Karigan wondered.

  INTRIGUE AND INVITATION

  Karigan did not hear from the captain again the next day, or the day after that. Mel, however, provided her with companionship, a friend amidst stony-faced Weapons who guarded her door. Eventually she was allowed to accompany Mel to the stable to help with chores and visit Condor, but always with a Weapon in tow. The normalcy of the activity, the drone of flies, stomp of hooves, familiar smells of leather and manure, and Mel’s earthy personality, helped ease her nerves despite those who shadowed her.

  Mel pitched muck out of a stall into an overflowing barrow, and Karigan propped her elbows on the stall door. “I must say,” Mel said, “the castle folk are abuzz about that visitor. I’m certain they’ve forgotten all about you.”

  “What visitor? Captain Mapstone mentioned something the other night.”

  Mel leaned on her pitchfork and raised her brows. “You haven’t heard? But then again I don’t expect you would have. The day after you arrived, one of those Eletians rode right up to the castle.”

  “An Eletian?” Karigan asked incredulously.

  “Yeah, like the old stories. Have you heard those?”

  “I have. What’s an Eletian doing here?”

  Mel paused to wave away a phalanx of flies buzzing around her face. “Well, that’s what I would l
ike to know. Captain says no one’s seen one for so long, no one knew if they were still real. And all of a sudden one comes looking for King Zachary.”

  “I met an Eletian,” Karigan said.

  “Oh, go on.”

  “It’s true. But I was sick at the time and didn’t notice much. If you don’t believe me, ask the captain.”

  Mel let out a low whistle. “She’d know if you were lying or not. Say, I wonder if this is the same one.”

  “Did he give a name?”

  Mel scratched her head and thought for a moment. “Shaw . . . Shawsomething, Shawdale. No, wait a moment. Shawdell. That’s it.”

  Karigan shook her head in disappointment. “No, not the same one.”

  “Captain said she’s never seen hair like his before. Like spun gold, she said. And she can’t read him, you know, for honesty. She says he knows how to shield his thoughts.”

  “Eletians are different,” Karigan said, and she could almost catch the rhythm of the soundless song she heard long ago in a clearing she would never find again. “Childlike, ancient, magical, and beautiful all at once. Of course, I only really saw the one and who knows what the rest are like. Just like there are good Sacoridians and bad Sacoridians.” Immerez, for one, came to mind. She shrugged. “How strange one would come here, though, after all this time.”

  “He wants to reestablish ties with Sacordia.” The Rider Alton D’Yer stood silhouetted between the great sliding doors of the stable entrance. Then he strode toward them, his features defining as he walked into the shadows of the stable. His shoulders were thrown back in a confident way. Gauntlets hung neatly folded over his belt, and not a speck of dust deigned to settle on his boots. Nor did he exhibit any outward signs of past injury as so many Riders seemed to.

  He was the only Rider who dared approach Karigan and speak to her directly, unintimidated by the Weapons, or rumors of her strange arrival. At least, she hoped it was the Weapons who caused the others to keep their distance and not something about herself.

  He touched his forehead and bowed gracefully. “Alton D’Yer at your service.”

  Karigan raised her eyebrow.A formal greeting. She put her hand to her heart and bowed in return. “Karigan G’ladheon of Clan G’ladheon at yours.”

  “Ah,” he said, “a merchant clan.”

  Karigan nodded, expecting the usual sarcasm, but none was forthcoming. He was a D’Yer, a very old family, a bloodline directly descended from the original Sacor Clans. If the Hillander Clan died out, the other old lines would vie for the throne, marking Alton as a possible heir. It was surprising his family allowed him to be a Green Rider, especially with the danger the occupation entailed.

  “I see you keep stern company,” he said.

  “My shadow.” Karigan glanced over her shoulder at the Weapon who stood planted in a dark cobwebby corner, her back ramrod straight, and her arms crossed. She did not so much as blink an eye or shift her weight, her mouth a tight, grim line.

  “The Eletian,” Karigan prompted him.

  Alton shrugged. “I saw him from a distance, but I’ve heard that the Eletians are planning to leave their seclusion. With all the groundmite activity, I’m not surprised.”

  Karigan sucked on a piece of straw. The dusty haze of the stable softened Alton’s features. “But why come to Sacoridia and not, say, Rhovanny?”

  “Why not?” Alton countered.

  Why not. Karigan considered, but she could find no reason why the Eletian would have chosen one kingdom over the other, except that Sacoridia was directly south of the mysterious Elt Wood. Whatever the case, the Eletian’s arrival had taken the focus off her. Maybe they would forget about her completely and she could go home.

  A bell clanged, cutting off further discussion.

  “Rider coming!” Mel dropped her pitchfork and sprinted from the dark stable, Alton on her heels. Karigan followed more slowly.

  A stablehand rang the bell which was mounted on the outside of the building. A Rider galloped up the hill trailing a cloud of dust, and dismounted as his horse skidded to a halt. Alton grabbed the horse’s reins, and without a word, the Green Rider strode away toward the castle with message satchel in hand.

  “Got to fetch a fresh horse,” the stablehand said, “in case he’s gotta go out again.”

  Alton and the stablehand ducked inside to tack another horse. Mel loosened the girth on the messenger’s puffing horse, and proceeded to walk him in a large circle to help cool him down.

  “I wonder what’s so important,” Karigan said, keeping step with Mel.

  “Not much, I’d say,” the girl replied. “If it was real important, he would have ridden right up to the castle. Also, he walked fast, but didn’t run toward the castle.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m real used to how things work here,” Mel said. “So is Alton.”

  “When does he ride?”

  Mel slapped the neck of the sweaty horse and whispered something to his flickering ears. “He doesn’t.”

  “What?”

  “Alton doesn’t. His parents won’t permit it. Pure D’Yer blood, you know. Rubs him like a saddle sore to see everyone else ride while he sits here.”

  “But why is he a Rider in the first place?”

  “The brooch accepted him.”

  “Accepted him?”

  “Yep. The brooches are attracted to people who will be able to use them. People who have talents.” Here Mel faltered, as if she was not sure how it worked herself.

  Karigan nodded slowly, recalling a conversation in the parlor of the Berry sisters. The brooch has accepted you, Miss Bay had said. It wouldn’t permit you to wear it if it didn’t perceive you as a Green Rider.

  “And what talent does Alton have?”

  “No one knows. He’s never been on a ride, so he hasn’t found out.”

  Karigan fingered her brooch. Had the brooch accepted her for her talents, or by default because its previous owner had died and willed it to accept her? Maybe it was because she was the only one around stupid enough to take it.

  “Karigan?” Captain Mapstone had walked up to the stable as quiet as a Weapon. She stood in the entrance, leaning against the doorway. “The king will see you now.”

  The captain insisted that she change immediately, saying that what she presently wore was covered with too much horse dust, and that would not be acceptable in front of the king. Karigan dressed in the full uniform of a Green Rider, her black boots highly polished, collar stiffened and wrapped with a black stock, and gauntlets folded over her belt. The winged horse brooch was clasped to her shortcoat, no matter that the king wouldn’t even be able to see it. All that was missing from her ensemble was the saber.

  The uniform was pressed with razor-sharp creases, and formally cut. Captain Mapstone, Karigan decided, must be trying to make some sort of point by having her wear it. It was painfully uncomfortable, not in the way it felt on her, but in the way she was certain everyone who looked at her would see through her, as if she tried to pass herself off as someone she was not. A fraud. Of course, she had worn the field uniform before, but that was different. All of her clothes were rags, and it was either wear green, or wear nothing at all.

  “I don’t see why I have to wear this,” Karigan said. She followed slightly behind the captain as they passed through the castle courtyard. She avoided the glances of other folk, though in truth, most did not notice her. She was one uniformed commoner in the midst of many. A few Green Riders hastening to and fro, however, caught her eye and smiled encouragingly.

  “Appearance is nearly everything in court,” Captain Mapstone said. “The first time the king saw you, you had just arrived under remarkable circumstances which prevented you from appearing polished. Of course, he expects that when a message is being delivered, but at other times, a professional appearance is in order.”

  Karigan wanted to protest that she was not a professional Green Rider, but already they were in the throne room and she was looking down the chamber where
a solitary man sat in an ornate chair, a dog at his feet. No counselors were in attendance, as the captain had desired, though the everpresent Weapons hugged the shadows.

  As she started toward the king, the captain at her side, the white Hillander terrier trotted down the runner wagging his short tail. He jumped up on Karigan in greeting, and forgetting where she was, she bent down to pat him on the head. The captain nudged her and they proceeded forward, passing through columns of sunlight that streamed through the west side windows. The dog ran alongside them.

  Karigan copied the captain’s bow, rather plain and straightforward in her mind, compared to the traditional bows of the clans. The king was young for a king, or at least for what Karigan thought a king should be. He was no more than ten or fifteen years older than herself, though an amber beard made him appear more mature. He reminded her of a younger version of someone she had once seen, but could not place who or where.

  And his eyes. The almond-shaped brown eyes of the Hillander region where one could look out to sea, look out to the horizon and find nothing between land and sky but the constant undulations of waves. It was said that the folk of Hillander bore more saltwater in their veins than blood. And here the king sat trapped in his stone castle, in the stifling static air. He had the look of a young shipmaster stranded inland, brooding under heavy weather, yearning for free air and the open expanse of water, the rhythmic curl of waves on the shore.

  The king sat slumped and tired on his throne chair, his head propped on his hand. His lids hung low over his eyes as he listened to Captain Mapstone begin an introduction.

  “Dismissed, Captain.”

  The captain stopped in mid-sentence, her mouth hanging open until she remembered to close it. “Yes, Sire.” She flicked a warning look in Karigan’s direction, bowed, and left the throne. The terrier began to follow her out.

  “Finder!” the king snapped, and the dog reluctantly stopped in his tracks, tail wagging, and watched the captain’s retreating back for a moment before curling up at Zachary’s feet.