First Rider's Call

Here is the part that is difficult to believe: the snapper suddenly raised its beak though to strike the nearest man, but instead, flames roared from its mouth and scorched him. I swear, by all that I am or ever will be, that this truly occurred. The man did not survive the burns, and an ax made quick work of the snapper. When Lord Mirwell heard of it, he was furious it had been dispatched, for he would have liked to study it.

Laren looked up incredulously. “A fire-breathing snapping turtle?” If this hadn’t been Beryl—serious, pragmatic Beryl—she would’ve believed someone was pulling her leg.

“Read on,” Zachary said.

Laren did. Apparently there were other odd goings on in Mirwell. Young apples, for instance, had turned to lead and snapped the limbs of trees they were growing on. Beryl, not an eyewitness to these other occurrences, could not verify the words of the folk who came to the lord-governor to tell their stories. Beryl did add that there was much apprehensive talk among the common folk about all the strange events. Undoubtedly it gets exaggerated with each telling, she wrote, making it all the more incredible.

When it was clear Laren had finished reading, Zachary strode off.

When she caught up with him again, he asked, “What do you think?”

“I think none of it is a coincidence. There is too much of it going on.”

“Like a stone deer in Wayman.”

“Yes.” She considered telling him about Karigan’s adventures in the abandoned corridors then and there, and confiding to him the extent of her own troubles with her ability, but they turned into a more crowded corridor and she hesitated. They’d be at the throne room within moments, and it wasn’t the sort of story you told quickly. Plus, she didn’t want anyone to overhear it. She decided she’d wait until after the public audience when she might get some time alone with him.

“I don’t know what we can do about it,” Zachary said. “We don’t even know why it’s happening.”

“I—” she began hesitantly. “I believe something has gone awry with magic. The nature of magic.”

Zachary cast her a questioning glance, but by now they had reached his “secret” side entrance to the throne room. He paused before passing through the door held open for him by a servant.

“We will talk more about this later,” he said.

She nodded, more relieved than ever that finally he’d devote some thought to the problem, and maybe during the process, the rift between them would mend, too.

The audience proved to be as crowded as usual, with the typical kinds of supplicants. There was, however, an unusual buzz in the air, some layer of anxiety among the people, and it put Laren on edge. The scuffing of hundreds of feet on the floor, the whispers and murmurs among those waiting in line, and the heat and reek of all those bodies grated on her, began to make her head ache.

False, her ability told her.

She groaned inwardly. It was happening again.

False.

She tried to pull up her barriers, but they were so flimsy they would not stay in place. Her ability pronounced judgment on anyone and anything at random, often contradicting itself.

“I seek the king’s blessing on the marriage of my daughter,” a man was saying.

False.

Zachary smiled. “You do not need the king’s blessing.”

False.

“But it would mean so much to us—she is our only daughter, and it is a special event.”

True. False.

Laren must have made some audible noise of irritation, for Zachary glanced at her. “Captain?”

True.

She gritted her teeth, and waved him off, a rather disrespectful breach of etiquette, but she couldn’t focus well enough to explain.

True.

Zachary flashed her a perplexed look, finished with the man, and turned to the next supplicant in line, a woman who fretted at her handkerchief.

“My husband,” she began, “he has—he has lost his good sense.”

“How so?” Zachary asked.

“It began with the rainbows,” she said.

“Rainbows?” Colin Dovekey sputtered.

“Yes, sir. Twenty-five, at last count, crossing our land.”

“I find that a bit incredible,” Colin said.

“We counted them twice,” the woman assured him. “They arched over one another. Some were triple-arched.”

True, true, true.

Laren growled, and Zachary flicked another glance at her.

“It was the most amazing and beautiful sight,” the woman said. “We just stood in wonder gazing at it. Our neighbors and the townsfolk came to see it. Some said it was a miracle of the gods. My husband took it to mean he was the chosen one of the gods.”

Zachary appeared to be at a loss for words, but Colin was not. “Er, what is it you’ve come to ask of the king?”

False.

“Stop!” Much to Laren’s embarrassment, her voice had rung out loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. “Sorry,” she told the king. Her neck muscles were so taut her dull headache was turning into a maelstrom that made her ears ring.

The woman began to answer Colin’s question, explaining how the rainbows appeared every day in different configurations, and how the folk who traveled from miles around came to pay her husband their respects.

“They leave currency, food, flowers—whatever little they own. My husband has become unbearable to live with. What I ask of my king is—is to stop the rainbows.” 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">