First Rider's Call

“Look at the inscription on the other side of the hilt.”

She turned over the blade and found more Old Sacoridian, which she wished she could read, and a crude etching of a horse with wings. A shiver traveled up her spine and she looked at Zachary with wide eyes.

“It was found,” he said, “clenched in Karigan’s hand.”

“She traveled,” Laren murmured, “and brought it back.”

“That’s what I believe.”

Laren heaved a sigh of relief that Karigan had had the wisdom to explain to him about the traveling. “Destarion didn’t say much about her condition. He was . . . harried at the time. He did say her body temperature was low. I assumed it was due to the snow and her lying unconscious.”

“She was in an old chamber where there was no snow.”

“Then she traveled. She became ill with the cold the last time it happened. Of course, I’ve no idea why it happens at all.”

Zachary filled her in on Karigan’s experiences at Watch Hill and with the Eletians, giving Laren Prince Jametari’s explanation for the traveling. His words were overwhelming.

“Why do I have the sudden urge to run back to my quarters and lock myself in?”

“Don’t you dare!” Zachary was so emphatic he half-rose from his chair.

Laren chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to. Not for anything.”

They talked more, exchanging information about all that had gone on. She spoke of Gwyer Warhein and of the help he offered.

Zachary shook his head in disbelief. “I am thankful to him, apparition or not, but it seems all I once knew as true and normal has been upended.”

There was a knock and the door cracked open. A soldier poked his head in. “Your Majesty? We’ve caught one of Uxton’s accomplices.”

“Sergeant Uxton has been giving us names,” Corporal Hill said as they approached the blockhouse. “I know the sergeant, or thought I did, and it’s like something broke in his mind.” The corporal shook his head. “He keeps going on about some empire.”

Laren and Zachary exchanged glances. The corporal opened the door and they entered the blockhouse. Within was an office and a few cells. Long ago, prisoners were locked away in dungeons beneath the castle, a horrible dark place Laren had been led to by Zachary on one of his expeditions as a boy. King Amaris II had discontinued the use of dungeons and had the blockhouse constructed. It was meant to hold those who committed acts specifically against the kingdom, but was more frequently inhabited by wayward soldiers who had gotten into drunken brawls.

The enforcement of other laws was carried out by constables and justices in various towns, cities, and provinces. It removed the king from the business of keeping a prison.

Seated within, and watched over by two strapping guards, was the most unlikely of prisoners. He sat slumped in his chair, specs sliding down his nose. He was thin, and certainly no match for either of his guards.

“Is this some mistake?” Zachary demanded of Hill.

“No, sire. Leastways, he was named by Sergeant Uxton.”

Laren was as surprised as Zachary to see the chief administrator, Weldon Spurlock. He bowed his head morosely.

“Please, Your Majesty, this is a mistake.”

Laren had dealt with Spurlock from time to time. She thought him petty and mean-spirited, but had no reason to suspect he would harm any of her Riders.

“No mistake!” Uxton hopped on one foot to the bars of his cell, his other foot wrapped in thick bandages. His eyes were wild, his hair standing straight up. He’d been stripped of his uniform and made to wear the gray tunic and trousers of a prisoner. “He’s the one who told me to get that Rider. He’s the one who told me to take her.”

“You’re mad,” Spurlock spat at Uxton.

“He’s the one who told me to take care of any problems at the wall. By any means. So I pushed Lord Alton into the forest.”

Laren stiffened. “You killed him?”

“I tried,” Uxton said. “Pushed him off the wall. Don’t know if he was dead or not when he hit the ground.” He giggled insanely. “Spurlock made me do it, and the forest took Lord Alton.”

“Murdering liar,” Spurlock said. Looking up at Zachary, he asked, “You can’t believe a murderer, can you?”

“I don’t lie!” Uxton pressed his face against the bars. “You’re our leader, aren’t you. You’re the head of the Sacor City sect.”

“The what?” Zachary demanded.

“The Second Empire,” Uxton whispered.

Spurlock’s face blanched.

Zachary crossed his arms almost casually. “Why don’t you tell me about the Second Empire, Sergeant.”

Uxton launched into a tale right out of a novel, about a secret society made up of descendants of the soldiers and others stranded in the “new lands” by the Arcosian Empire. They called themselves Second Empire, for they waited over the generations for the proper time and opportunity to revive the ways and powers of the Arcosian Empire, and to subjugate all who did not bend knee to them. Spurlock, Uxton told them, believed the time was now, because of the breach in the wall, and the reawakening of Blackveil.

“Lord Mornhavon is coming back,” Uxton said, eyes wide and his knuckles whitened from gripping the bars of his cell. “Spurlock spoke with his emissary.”

“Nonsense!” Spurlock said.

“A wraith from beyond the dead.” There was a tic in Uxton’s cheek at the word “dead.” “Varadgrim, lord of the north. He was . . . is . . . Lord Mornhavon’s lieutenant.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">