Most at the table were aghast, but Lord Spane shot to his feet. “We must find a great mage then! Surely one with that power survives somewhere in the lands.”
“Sit, Richmont,” Lady Estora said in a soft voice, and she pulled at his sleeve.
He gazed about the chamber in confusion, but at last he complied and sank into his chair.
“It may be there is a great mage somewhere out there the likes of which we’ve not seen in three ages,” Zachary said. “And it may be there are enough individuals in our population with remnant magical ability in their blood to accomplish the task, but I am doubtful. Even if there were, I would not sanction the slaughter of my own citizens, or any others, for this purpose. I can only imagine what forces were at work when King Jonaeus decided he must take this course. His was a young kingdom almost destroyed by war, with factions attempting to wrest power from him and one another.” He shook his head. “Dark times. I cannot help but think that all records, except this one, were destroyed to prevent another wall from being built.”
“So it is worthless,” Lord Spane said.
“Perhaps, perhaps not.” Zachary slipped back into his chair. “It contains a measure of music.”
“Music?” Spane said in disbelief. “What does that have to do with it?”
“Just as words have power, so may music. The souls who remain as guardians within the wall sing a song to maintain the binding. This music, too, may have some application in maintaining the wall. Theanduris Silverwood, however, did not explain its purpose.”
“Music,” Spane muttered. “Words and spells. It seems we are being pushed backward in time to our primitive past.”
“Primitive?” Zachary mused. “It is our history for good or bad. In any case, I have sent Lord Fiori a copy of the musical notation to see what he makes of it. In the meantime, a second copy of the Silverwood book will go to Alton D’Yer down at the wall. He may see something in it I do not.”
“Our only hope is a bit of song?” General Harborough said in incredulity. “To maintain the wall? Maybe?”
“Maintenance is important,” Zachary replied. “The wall has deteriorated since the initial breach. Alton D’Yer has managed to halt much of it, but if those affected parts can be strengthened further, it is all to the good.
“We must not forget,” he added, “that had the book remained in the hands of Second Empire, they would have learned what they needed to destroy the wall. It was a Green Rider, as you may recall, who rescued it.” This last was directed at Spane. “Alton D’Yer will be instructed to burn his copy once he has read it. This one,” and he thumped the manuscript, “will be hidden away, and no others shall read it.”
It was not uncommon for Laren to linger behind after a meeting to speak with Zachary, in much the same way her Riders tried to catch up with her between meetings.
“May I have a few words?” she asked.
The others conversed among themselves and collected their papers and coats. Zachary hesitated, then gestured they should go into an adjoining chamber. It was set up with a few chairs for smaller conferences, but they did not sit.
“What is it?” Zachary asked. “You are not going to plead with me to allow you on the expedition, are you? That was well done, but I’ve already expressed my feelings on the matter.”
“Yes, you have,” Laren replied.
“Then what?”
She took a deep breath. It was now or never, and she would likely incur his anger, but it had to be done. She should have addressed this long ago.
“I saw you out on the practice field before our meeting. You were observing a bout.”
“Yes?” His expression was guarded.
“You were watching Karigan.”
“Do I not have the right to observe the training of those who serve me?”
“Certainly, but it is Karigan I’m specifically concerned about since you hold her, I believe, in a good deal of esteem.”
Zachary said nothing. In that forbidding silence was an implicit warning that she not cross the line regarding his “esteem” for Karigan.
Laren cleared her throat, “She will be, of course, one of the Riders I choose to send into Blackveil.”
“No!”
“No?” she asked, unsurprised by his flash of anger.
He turned his back to her as if to collect himself. When finally he faced her again, his demeanor was neutral, but Laren knew him too well not to perceive how rigid his posture had become.
“No,” he said with deceptive mildness. “Has she not done enough for us?”
“It is precisely because of what Karigan has done, what she’s been through, that I must choose her. She’s been in Blackveil before, though she recalls little of the experience, and she has faced some of its denizens in battle. She’s also dealt with Eletians more than anyone else, and has faced the supernatural. Despite all the dangerous situations she has found herself in, she has somehow managed to survive time after time. Shall I go on? Do you need more reasons?”
“I do not wish to send her.”
Zachary was very rarely an obstinate man. Usually he would hear reason, but this was not one of those times, showing just how deep his feelings for Karigan went. Laren could only try to convince him of the wisdom of her choice.
“She is the one Rider with the best chance of returning from Blackveil alive.” She paused, realizing how tense she was, how tightly she clenched her hands at her sides. Zachary moved to the cold hearth and gazed up at the painting of a hunting scene above the mantel, but she doubted he really saw it.