First Rider's Call

Alessandros may be vanquished, but “forever” is a very long time. And I wonder . . . could so great a power be so simply overcome? If Alessandros should arise again, I would weep for happiness for my old friend lives on, the indomitable spirit. Yet, the man who was my friend is long “dead.” I should, rather, fear for my children, and their children’s children, for Alessandros does not forget, and he will never forgive my betrayal.

I am, as witnessed by God, no longer Hadriax el Fex, but Hadriax Galadheon.

A HERITAGE OF RIDERS

Karigan leaned back into her pillow, laid the manuscript on her lap, and closed her eyes. The enormity of it . . . She had read the journal from beginning to end three times now, her horror mounting with each reading, as Hadriax gave his account of the atrocities of the empire. Atrocities he participated in.

And this murderer was the founder of the G’ladheon line? She still could not grasp it. It did not matter that he redeemed himself in the end. It did matter that he allowed the atrocities to go on for so long while he struggled with his conscience.

Who am I? she wondered. Wild magic might no longer taint her blood, but her very own heritage did. And my name means “betrayer.” She shook her head, feeling sick.

You are who you are.

Karigan looked about with wide eyes. “Lil?” A greenish glow drifted up from her washbasin. She got up from her bed and walked over to gaze into the water. Lil Ambrioth looked back up at her.

You have seen yourself in the Mirror of the Moon, Lil continued. Would someone who overcame her fears—tremendous fears—to dispel a terrible danger to her country and those she loves, be even a shadow of a betrayer? I think not. Galadheon is but a name, which Hadriax took in defiance of the empire and in acknowledgment of his own actions. He lived on for many a year with the knowledge of his crimes always torturing his mind. It was, he said, his curse.

“But—” Karigan began.

I have forgiven Hadriax his deeds of the past, Lil said. He gave up everything to help us, and saved more lives than he ever killed. A monster he had been, a man he became.

“I cannot reconcile—”

You have not known war, hey? Your perspective would be different.

“I don’t want to know war.”

And I don’t want you to. I committed my own share of bloody acts, and for those I was called a hero, just as he had been by his own people until the time of his betrayal. But it is now time for you to live in the present and not be a judge of the past.

Karigan was stunned. She didn’t know what to say.

Lil blinked, her features blurred beneath the water. Do know you have surpassed my expectations, and continue to do so.

Karigan couldn’t help but blush at the First Rider’s praise.

Continue to help the Riders, Karigan lass, they need you, and you need them. Lil sighed, and the surface of the water rippled. I must leave you now. A higher power calls on me to answer for my transgressions.

“What? No!” But Lil faded away, leaving Karigan to stare at her own reflection in the wash basin. “I didn’t even have a chance to say good-bye,” she murmured. “Wherever you’ve gone, Lil, I pray you are well, and in the good hands of the gods.”

Karigan wandered through the breezeway into the central courtyard gardens, preoccupied by the journal of her apparent ancestor, Hadriax el Fex, and the words of Lil Ambrioth. Lil’s words eased her mind, but it was still a monumental revelation for her to work through, that her blood was of the Arcosian Empire, the scourge of evil that had almost destroyed Sacoridia so long ago.

She hopped across the stepping stones of the trout pond. By the calculations of the calendar, it was still summer, yet golden birch leaves, shaped like spearheads, floated on the pond’s surface. In not so many months, the pond would freeze over and the garden would turn brown and barren till the first snowfall transformed it yet again.

Karigan marked the chill in the air and the lower angle of the sun, and wondered what the oncoming season held for her. She prayed it would be more peaceful than her summer, and that she had truly sent Mornhavon the Black far enough into the future so Sacoridia might have time to prepare for his eventual return.

She continued along the garden pathway, not really paying attention to where she was going, until she rounded a bend and saw Lady Estora seated upon a granite bench in a patch of sunshine, her golden hair radiant. A cream-colored cloak cascaded down her shoulders to drape in luxurious folds across the bench. Tall spikes of dark purple flowers with drooping blossoms, and yet taller flowers of mauve, surrounded her like a frame; and at her slippered feet, pale blue asters clustered. The scene was breathtaking, almost unreal.

At first Estora did not see her, and looked to be as deep in thought as Karigan had been, and perhaps a little pale. Concerned, Karigan strode over to her, and she looked up with a sudden smile.

“Karigan! Hello.”

Karigan bowed. “Do you wish for privacy, or would you mind a little company?”

“Please sit.” She shifted her cloak to make room for Karigan on the bench.

They exchanged quiet pleasantries, both a little distracted. Karigan was not ready to speak of her heritage or Alton just yet, nor of her recent adventures. Not even to Estora.

And Estora, who was often keenly interested in the doings of Green Riders, did not ask for the latest news. They fell into a companionable silence, each wandering in their individual thoughts as leaves rustled on trees and ravens circled the castle heights. The roses of the garden were long past, and only their fruits littered the ground. The breeze that riffled Karigan’s hair held an air of change about it. 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">