First Rider's Call

They were children of the empire, and no matter Lord Mornhavon’s desire to build a new empire here, something stirred in their blood as though they caught a scent or flavor of a far distant land. One day, they would return to the land of their origin, to Arcosia. He would return. In his mind’s eye, he could see the fine art and architecture of a highly cultured people, the lemon trees heavy with fruit, the furrowed fields of the rolling countryside. He would ask why the empire stranded them in these alien lands.

The upstart king of Sacoridia would be no match for the power Spurlock imagined must be awakening in Blackveil. That awakening would bring about the deliverance of the children of the empire.

The door to the blockhouse creaked open.

“I’ve brought supper for the prisoners.”

Spurlock straightened when he recognized the voice. Madrene! Had she come with some plan of escape?

“Mmm, looks good,” the guard said.

There was a slap of a hand, followed by, “Those are for the prisoners. When your shift changes, you’ll get yours.”

The guard made a disappointed noise, clomped over to the cells and opened Uxton’s first. Madrene slid a tray into the cell, and Uxton sprang upon it like an animal.

The cell door clattered shut and the keys jingled as the guard locked it. Spurlock was next, and Madrene took the tray from the boy that accompanied her. Was it her son? Spurlock couldn’t keep track of everyone’s brats.

She slid the tray into his cell and backed out with a curt nod to him, and a knowing wink. And left.

Spurlock wondered at her nonverbal message. Was it an acknowledgment the sect knew of his imprisonment and would work on a way to get him out?

He left his cot and retrieved the tray. She had brought a succulent stew of beef and vegetables, with bread. He ate absently, wondering how she passed herself off as a kitchen worker, shrugged it off, and daydreamed of Arcosia.

Eventually his spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl, and as he raised his spoon for his last bite, Uxton suddenly dropped his tray and clutched his throat, making a terrible wheezing sound. His face began to turn blue.

Spurlock dropped his spoon. “Uxton! Are you choking?”

But Uxton could not answer. His eyes rolled back into his head and he keeled over.

Even as the guard strode over to investigate, Spurlock knew the awful truth: Uxton was dead. Madrene had poisoned them before they could do too much harm to Second Empire.

As his chest tightened and he could not get a breath in or out, he realized it was a decision he would have made had it been someone other than himself in this cell. He wouldn’t have hesitated to poison that person for the good of the whole, for the good of Second Empire. They had survived this long out of secrecy, by similar acts done in the past.

His lungs felt as though they would explode, and he clawed at his throat with one hand, the other gripping his ancient medallion. As awareness dimmed, a tear leaked from the corner of his eye because he would never see the attainment of his dreams, nor the shore of his forebear’s homeland.

ARGUING WITH HORSES

Karigan left the castle feeling like one freed from a prison. She had spent far too much time in the mending wing this summer.

Once she stepped clear of the castle’s shadow, gentle sunshine enveloped her. She paused on the pathway, closed her eyes, and turned her face skyward to absorb the sun. It helped warm the last of the chill from her veins, just as the snow in the castle corridors had finally melted away.

Her memory of the previous two days and nights were vague. She did recall the attack of armor clearly, the bruises and aching muscles a painful reminder. She also recalled being pursued into the corridors through the snow, and returning to the past to Lil’s time. To Lil’s . . . death?

Had Lil survived to fight on, or had Karigan shared the last moments of her life with her?

She ambled along, not sure of where she was going and not caring. She just needed to be out in the sun. Dimly she recalled a nightmare. About spiders? Ben had heard her scream, but the images from the dream were gone.

Her feet led her to the pasture where several messenger horses cropped at the grasses. Standing among them in the center of the field was a Rider. Karigan shielded her eyes to see better who it was.

“It can’t be . . .”

The Rider shifted her stance, and with the way the sun slanted onto her red hair, there was no mistaking her identity.

“Captain.” She wanted to shout, but it came out as a whisper.

She stepped between the rails of the fence and into the pasture. She took a few strides, and stopped, hesitant. The captain would be angry with her, she thought, for all those accusations she had made. She felt a blush of shame creep up her neck.

Captain Mapstone just stood there watching the horses, or maybe gazing at nothing, as the tips of grasses glimmered at her knees and insects hovered in little clouds around her. In the distance, Karigan could hear the horses pulling at grass and munching. Bluebird grazed close to the captain, his coat glossy in the sunshine.

Karigan thought to retreat from the tranquil scene, to not intrude on the captain’s peace. She feared her reception and didn’t think she could face the captain’s anger. The shame would be too much to bear.

Before she could leave, however, the captain glanced over her shoulder and saw her. The two gazed at one another for an endless moment, until the captain smiled. She smiled!

Karigan thought she might swoon in relief, especially when the captain started walking toward her.

“So Destarion released you,” she said. 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">