First Rider's Call

A few of the horses began to wake up. Condor scraped his hoof against the floor.

It’s not my fault, Lil retorted. It’s a power at work greater than mine. I’m dead, after all.

Condor whickered.

I’ll keep trying to reach your Rider, but it may be too late. I fear Mornhavon, or what was Mornhavon, already has his hooks in her.

Condor began to circle in agitation in his stall.

Sorry, Red, Lil said. You shouldn’t have put the notion in their heads to begin with, hey? But it’s done and now we have to make do.

The apparition’s glow dimmed and the horses fell into shadow.

Whatever happened to old-fashioned stupid horses? Lil wondered. As she faded away into the netherworld of spirits, she reflected that her various Brownies had never argued with her.

RIDING TO THE WALL

Laren quickly understood what had so disturbed Zachary. People along the Winding Way had been caught, unsuspecting, turned to stone as they went about simple, everyday activities, activities that would never be completed. A man gazed perpetually into a fishmonger’s window, his fingers cupped around his chin as if he still deliberated the choice of fish displayed on hooks and the prices posted for them. Two women leaned toward one another as if sharing a secret, the laugh of one frozen in time. Their lines and details were as true to life as Laren’s butterfly had been, but their edges were hard and sharp, their visages cold and gray.

A carter bore a sack over his shoulder, his stride seemingly purposeful, but going nowhere. A boy gazed into the street holding a ball over his head that would never be thrown . . .

The Riders left the city in relief, but in the countryside they found other disturbing evidence of magic gone awry. Once-healthy crops lay blackened and withered in the fields, and there were empty places where houses had once stood.

Laren rode at the head of a dozen Riders, her sword slapping at her side. Through every village they rode, terrified folk came up to her asking what the king was going to do to make things right.

Laren had no answers, but reassured them as she could.

The farther they traveled from Sacor City, the quieter Karigan grew. She participated very little in campfire banter, as though preoccupied, and during the night she babbled nonsense in her sleep, or perhaps spoke in a tongue Laren did not understand. Although her behavior wasn’t outlandish, it was different enough for Laren to take note of and watch her carefully.

More of an immediate concern was the discovery that they were being followed. Laren glimpsed a mounted figure on the edge of her vision, like a brief flash of white, but when she turned in her saddle to look full on, he was gone, vanished into the woods. Since the horseman did nothing to threaten them directly, she did not bring up his presence to her Riders, not wishing to alarm them unnecessarily. He seemed content to follow and watch them. For now.

Their fourth day out, they came to some ancient ruins, crumbling stone walls overgrown with vegetation. They decided to take a midday break there. Most of the Riders fanned out to sit in the shade and have a bite to eat.

Karigan, however, stood and gazed at the ruins. Laren took a swig from her waterskin and watched her, noting the glassy look in her eyes as if her mind traveled someplace very far away. Her expression was difficult to interpret, as though a thousand emotions moved within her.

Presently Laren joined her. “What do you see?” she asked.

“Battle. Here the forces of Alessandros del Mornhavon triumphed over insurrectionists who would not bend their knees to the empire. Burning, children screaming, arrows, magical fire . . .”

Laren drew her eyebrows together in concern. “Karigan?”

Karigan shook herself, blinked, and turned to Laren with a small smile on her face. “Yes, Captain?”

The transformation was startling. “Are you all right? If you are feeling poorly, I could send you back—”

Karigan registered surprise. “I’m fine, Captain, really. I don’t need to go back. Is that all?”

Laren nodded, and Karigan strolled over to a shade tree and dropped down next to Dale, the two starting up an animated conversation. It was as if nothing unusual had happened.

She returned to Bluebird where he grazed nearby, and ran her hand along his neck.

“I hope you knew what you were doing when you convinced us to go to the wall.”

Bluebird paused his grazing and raised his head to gaze at her. Was it her imagination, or was his expression sheepish? It certainly wasn’t reassuring.

That evening, Laren sat off by herself next to a lantern, poring over maps of D’Yer Province and the wall. It had been some time since she last traveled the region, and she wanted to refamiliarize herself with it, especially the area near the breach.

Tomorrow morning she was sending Tegan off to Woodhaven, the seat of Lord-Governor D’Yer, to let him know what the Riders were up to, and the state of affairs elsewhere. Depending on how Tegan’s meeting with him went, she would either return to Sacor City to report to the king, or catch up with the Riders at the wall.

Laren looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps, to find Ty heading over with a steaming mug in each hand. “Tea,” he said.

Laren carefully took a mug. “Thank you.”

“Checking our route?” he asked, gazing down at the map.

“It’s fairly straightforward, and I understand a horse track has been cut all the way to the wall.”

“I’ve never been to the wall,” Ty said. “Seems we’re usually bound for Woodhaven when there’s a message to deliver in D’Yer Province.” He then hesitated. “Captain, would you mind if I sit?” 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">