First Rider's Call

The avian’s attack had been a swift and brutal reminder of why it was dangerous to take the D’Yer Wall and Black-veil Forest lightly. This was no place for a summer holiday. It would be a long time before those who witnessed the attack would forget the image of that huge winged monster digging its talons into Valia’s back. It would be even longer before they got over the sound of her screams, which through the night had weakened until they faded to nothing.

Valia’s parents had brought a vibrant young woman to the wall for a summer holiday, and they had left with a corpse.

Alton sighed, thrusting his hands into his pockets. He let the sun beat down on his shoulders as if it could burn away the darkness of his thoughts. But he would never forget Valia’s screams. They were etched into his soul.

Nothing had ventured over the wall since, but Alton couldn’t help but think it was only a matter of time. He sensed something about Blackveil, an alertness or some kind of intelligence.

He shook his head. He couldn’t explain it. Nor was he able to explain why he couldn’t call upon the magic of the wall. It had responded to him only that once—if in fact it hadn’t been his imagination. Why should he expect it to awaken again?

Because it has to, he thought. Because if it doesn’t, we may never learn the secret of repairing the wall, and more monsters will come from Blackveil to terrorize Sacoridia.

If the wall completely failed, there would not be enough soldiers in the world to hold Blackveil back.

He could only keep trying, even if it meant he kept failing.

With new resolve, he turned toward the wall, but found Pendric standing in his path. Pendric had not spoken to him since the attack on Valia. In fact, he had hardly spoken to anyone. He ate little, and looked unkempt as if he had given up combing his hair and bathing. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes from too little sleep. Alton had begun to pity him.

“What is it, cousin?” Alton asked.

Pendric looked about for a moment as though confused, then a familiar contempt crept into his eyes.

“It’s all your fault.”

“What are you talking about? What’s my fault?”

“Look at me.” Pendric jammed his thumb into his chest. “Look at me. I have nothing—it’s always you that has gotten everything.”

Alton drew his eyebrows together, a little warning going off in his head. He knew he should just walk away, but maybe if Pendric unleashed whatever it was that gnawed at him, he’d feel better and stop being so nasty-tempered.

“What do you mean?” Alton asked quietly.

Pendric shook from whatever emotion had seized him.

“You are heir to the province, I’m not. You don’t deserve it—you’re never home to take care of the clan or our people. I am. I’m always there—I’m the one always there doing all the work, the things you should be doing. And what will my reward be? Scraping the ground before Lord-Governor Alton D’Yer.”

So this was the basis of the matter. Pendric was jealous.

“I’d be home,” Alton said, “but I’ve been called to the king’s service.”

Pendric clenched his hands into fists. “You could leave.”

“No, I couldn’t.” There was no use in trying to explain the Rider call with his cousin in such a state.

Pendric laughed harshly. “No, you couldn’t. You like being close to the king, don’t you? You can win his favor. And you like being near Lady Estora, don’t you?”

Alton shifted his stance. There was a wildness in his cousin’s eyes he had not seen before. “Is there a point to this, Pendric?”

“You turned Lady Estora away from me. You told her, ‘Don’t marry Pendric, he’s ugly, and he has nothing to show for himself.’ Isn’t that right?”

“No. That’s an outright lie.”

But Pendric ignored him. “All Valia could say was how handsome Lord Alton is, how kind Lord Alton is. You even turned her against me.”

“Look, I—”

“Handsome Lord Alton, the heir, the honored son. He gets everything. He’s the one who will save us from Blackveil. He’s the one the king looks to, the one Lady Estora listens to.” Saliva foamed at the edge of his mouth. “The only thing I ever got that you didn’t was the fever.” He dragged his fingers across his pock-marked cheeks. “Even my own mother can’t stand the sight of me.”

Alton had had no idea of the depth of Pendric’s anger and self-loathing. For whatever reason, he had twisted the truth to feed his pain. He wasn’t thinking rationally, and nothing Alton could say or do would sway him to the truth.

“You bastard,” Pendric whispered. “You killed the one thing I loved.”

Alton’s mouth dropped open.

“It wasn’t enough to turn her against me, was it. Your magic, your evil magic lured that monster over the wall and you let it kill her.”

Before Alton could overcome his shock at this accusation, Pendric landed his fist across his jaw. One moment Alton had been standing, the next he was on his back staring at the sky, wondering if his jaw was still attached to his face.

Pendric dove on him, pummeling him with his fists. Alton protected his face with his forearms, but was clouted in the ear. Pendric was as strong as any stoneworker.

Slam! A fist against his temple.

A knee in his gut.

Alton hazed out with pain, pretty sure he’d lose his dinner.

He rocked back and forth trying to dislodge Pendric, kicking, and blindly struck out. Once he thought he clipped Pendric’s chin, another time he thought he hit his nose. 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">