Kristen Britain - Green Rider 2 - First Rider's Call

First Rider's Call

by

Kristen Britain

Journal of Hadriax el Fex

We sail into the night. The winds finally favor us with a strength to move, us more swiftly than

oars. In this way we may conserve precious etherea, and allow the artisans time to effect repairs on

the mechanicals.

At first it was disturbing not to hear the throb and thrum of the mechanicals, which have been so

constant since our departure, but now I feel utterly at peace here in my cabin, with only the creak of

timbers and the gentle sway of the ocean as backdrop. The darkness has settled in, and it is just me,

my journal, and a prism to illuminate my writing.

The continent we seek is stiff Jar off, so says Captain Verano. Alessandros is extremely anxious,

climbing to the crow's nest daily as though to espy the New Lands by sheer will. This is his

expedition, after alt, his quest to find the resources that will heal Arcosia, and to establish the

Empire's authority in the New Lands.

A son, Alessandros is, to the Emperor, and the chosen one of God to succeed him. And so it is

known to me that Alessandros organized this expedition for a reason beyond those already stated:

with his success, he wishes to prove himself worthy to God and the people of Arcosia, and

especially to the man he loves as a father.

This voyage has been good for him. His cheeks are ruddy and the sunshine sparkles in his eyes. He

has become a youth again and I can feel his excitement. For both of us, this is a grand adventure.

His excitement is so infectious, in fact, that tonight, my young squire, Renald, overhearing our talk,

nearly spilled wine on us as he served us. Alessandros laughed in good nature. Renald is a fine boy

mostly, like a brother sometimes, and I am very fond of him. This journey will be the making of

him.

As the countless days pass, I occupy myself by poring over the captain's sketchy charts of the

continent. Accounts tell of a barbaric race who inhabit these lands, and of a wealth of resources.

Such accounts cannot always be trusted, as they so often are exaggerated. Still, we are eager to see

what these lands of mystery may reveal, and none more so than Alessandros del Mornhavon.

THE RIDER CALL

The apparition's soft, otherworldly glow fell across the sleeping form on the canopy bed.

Sultry night air tinged with sea brine flowed through the wide-open window, stirring the sheet that

covered the girl. Her long brown hair was splayed across her pillow, and her chest rose and fell in

slow, even breaths. She slept unaware of her ghostly visitor, an expression of utter tranquillity on

her face.

And that was the problem.

Displeasure flickered across the apparition's smoky features. You can hear me, but you won't listen,

hey?

The apparition nudged at the girl's shoulder as if to awaken her, but her hand simply slid through it.

Cannot feel me. Cannot see me. WILL NOT listen.

The girl had become very disciplined at ignoring the call, and if there was one thing that annoyed

Lil Ambriodhe most, it was being ignored.

Lil had, in her own opinion, exercised a great deal of patience, actually biding her time during the

year the girl took to finish her schooling, thinking it couldn't hurt, and that afterward she would

finally heed the call and return to Sacor City to take her oath before the king as a Green Rider.

She did not. She defied the call and went home to Corsa instead, and for what? To count bolts of

wool on one of her father's wretched wagon trains? To balance ledgers? What was alluring about

that? Why did she resist?

Lil paced until she realized her feet no longer touched the floor, but hovered above it. By all the

hells! She tried to focus on the floor so she might at least achieve the illusion of standing on it, but

the effort bled too much energy from her. She cursed in frustration at the limitations of her current

form, and glowered at the sleeping girl who made all this necessary. If she could manage it, she

would've hauled her right out of bed. Thankfully most Riders weren't this difficult.

And even while she thought this, she observed that the floor beneath her feet was covered by a rare

Durnesian carpet, and that the carved beams overhead brought to mind the mastery of shipwrights.

The furnishings were deeply burnished and inlaid with ivory wrought with intricate ornamentation.

They had a foreign look, as though brought from across the sea. Even the mattress the girl slept on

was stuffed with eiderdown, and the sheets were of a delicate weave.

As the daughter of a wealthy merchant, the girl lived at a level of luxury incomprehensible to most

Sacoridians, and Lil could understand how trading this privileged and comfortable life for that of

the rugged, dangerous duty of a Green Rider might prove difficult.

In another sense, she could not. The Riders did important work. There were enough merchants in

the world and far too few Green Riders.

She was needed, this girl. This girl who over a year ago defeated a rogue Eletian and played an

essential role in saving the king's throne. And there was more ahead for her.

A positive sign that all was not lost was the gold winged horse brooch resting on the table next to

the bed. It was the most substantial thing about this realm in Lil's vision, more solid and brilliant

than anything else. It seemed the girl

could not part with it; the bond still held. Had it abandoned her, there would be no possibility of her

becoming a Rider.

And our link would have been lost.

Lil touched her own brooch, which was clasped to the green-and-blue plaid she wore draped across

her shoulder, and drew comfort and strength from it. It had helped her come this far between the

layers of the world. Its resonance sang through her and the girl's brooch seemed to sparkle in

response.

A Rider's true heart the brooch shall seek ... Lil cocked a smile as she remembered the old tune.

Great heart, stout heart, strong and bold, the iron hearts of Riders glitter as gold . . . How could she

forget? Every self-proclaimed bard and halfwit of the lands had taken up the tune wherever she

rode, whether she sat in a great clan lord's banquet hall or in a dilapidated tavern with goats

chewing on the rushes strewn across the floor. She couldn't escape it! It was better, she supposed,

than having stones thrown at her, though some of the singers had been painfully bad.

She glanced out the window at the moon and cast off the memories like an old cloak. There was

work to do here and time was growing short. She leaned over the sleeping girl, and using every

ounce of command she could summon, she said into her ear, Karigan Galadheon, you must go to

Sacor City. Hey? You are not a merchant-you are a Green Rider. Lil watched on in satisfaction as

the girl murmured and shifted. Her satisfaction turned to dismay, however, when the girl wrapped

her pillow around her head.

Ach. Lil shook her mane of unruly hair in disgust, and wondered if the girl's lineage had anything to

do with her contrary nature.

She had but one last recourse to fall back on, and if this failed, she had no idea of how to rouse the

girl. Lil drew to her lips a twisted horn she kept slung at her side. It had been a gift from a p'ehdrose

named Maultin for a favor

rendered. It was fashioned from the tusk of a komara beast, a woolly herd animal that roamed the

arctic wastes. Maultin had imbued the horn with a special spell of use only to the captain of the

Green Riders.

Lil inhaled and blew into the horn. The notes of the Rider call rang out sure and strong. She sensed

it pulsing through the layers of the world, ringing with need and urgency. Would it reach far

enough? Would the girl hear it? Most importantly, would it reach her heart?

Lil lowered the horn, listening still as its crisp notes faded away. And she watched. At first there

was nothing and Lil's hopes plummeted, but then the pillow was flung aside and the girl-young

woman, really-sprang upright into a sitting position, eyes wide open and bright. She hurled herself

out of bed and in a flurry of sheets and nightgown sprawled across the floor in a tangled heap.

Unaware of all else save the call, she disentangled herself and scrambled to her feet. She swiped her

brooch from the bedside table and threw open her wardrobe, withdrawing a saber sheathed in a

battered black scabbard, and ran from the room as if all the demons of the five hells pursued her.

Lil listened in satisfaction as bare feet raced along the corridor then thunked down a series of stairs.

She convulsed with laughter, her feet rising a few inches more above the floor. She wondered just

how far the girl would get before she realized she was riding to Sacor City in her nightgown.

DEEP IN THE NORTHERN GREEN CLOAK FOREST

One year later. . . Condor side-stepped nervously beneath Karigan.

"Easy," she murmured. She steadied him

with the reins and caressed his neck to settle him. Condor's disquiet echoed her own, but as she

peered intently through the sunshafts and shade of the forest, she detected nothing unusual. Birds

fluttered from limb to limb twittering at one another, and a red squirrel sat on a nearby tree stump

scaling a spruce cone.

All was as it should be-quite ordinary really, but for some reason she could not shake off her

sense of disquiet.

Karigan glanced over at Ty who sat atop Flicker several paces away. His own expression was wary.

Did he feel it, too, whatever it was? He gave no indication, but hand-signaled that they should

proceed toward a clearing awash with sunlight a short distance ahead.

At first Condor balked and back-stepped at Karigan's command, but with an extra jab of her heels

he walked on, swishing his tail defiantly.

Karigan tried to convince herself that while Green Rider horses might display an uncanny

intelligence at times, they were still prey animals driven by instinct, prone to spooking at the silliest

things like the odd glint of light. Sometimes they spooked at nothing at all.

She half-smiled and whispered, "You're just an oversized meal for some hungry catamount, aren't

you?" Condor swished his tail again and stomped. Karigan chuckled, but it was half-hearted at best.

For all her rationalization, she had learned to trust Condor's instincts.

As they neared the clearing, her sense of unease heightened. She wanted to rein Condor away, but

she held firm, for it was her duty to scout ahead and seek out the safest path for Lady-Governor

Penburn's delegation. Duty often required Green Riders and their mounts to ride directly into

situations they would much rather flee, or at least avoid-as in this situation-but she had no choice

other than to forge ahead.

The hoof falls of the horses were oddly silent on the needle-packed ground. Abreast of her Ty and

Flicker wove in and around the gray trunks of spruce trees, fading in and out of shadows, ghostlike.

Maybe, Karigan thought, her apprehension stemmed from the strange reputation of the far northern

borderlands through which they now rode. Few inhabited the region, though long ago this had not

been true. During their journey, the delegation had come across the ruins of old settlements, stone

foundations, and well shafts nearly swallowed by field and forest. They had followed the remnants

of an ancient roadbed for a time, passing stone waymarkers buried beneath mounds of moss. Ty had

cleaned off one marker, finding it deeply inscribed with runes and picto-graphs no one could

decipher.

Those who did live in the remote far north told tales rife with superstition and ghosts, of banshees

that broke into homes on wild winter nights and stole children. They spoke of black wolves large

enough to drag off a full-grown man, and of witches that danced on graves. At one time,

they claimed, a great, terrible clan chief ruled the north, and his unrest spawned other evil things.

It did not help the reputation of the north that it bordered Eletia, a country cloaked in mystery. Until

two short years ago, the reclusive folk of the Elt Wood had fallen into legend as mere fairy tale

characters. No one had known if they truly existed anymore, or if they had died out.

Now it was the mission of the delegation to penetrate the cloak of mystery, to enter Eletia itself and

contact whatever power held sway over that land, for its people had been spotted in Sacoridia in

increasing numbers. King Zachary desired to know Eletia's intentions. Lady-Governor Penburn,

who represented the king, had reason to hope for the best, and reason to fear for the worst.

A raven squawked from a branch above, jolting Karigan in her saddle. Condor bobbed his head as if

to laugh at her and say, "Look who's nervous now."

Karigan licked her lips and focused on the clearing ahead. What might await them there?

Groundmites? Eletians? Which would be worse? She thought she knew. Through the trees she

glimpsed a shape in the clearing's center that did not look natural.

Ty signaled a halt. "Carefully," he mouthed.

Karigan nodded and wrapped her fingers about the hilt of her saber. A soft breeze made the tall

spruce trees sway and creak.

Ty motioned forward and they rode into the clearing.

Sunlight dazzled Karigan's eyes and she blinked furiously, then an itchy sensation crawled across

her skin.

"What" she began, and then just as quickly it passed.

"Did you feel that?" Ty said.

Karigan nodded. "It felt like a warding."

She took stock of the clearing. Dominating its center was a great rock cairn from which no tree,

grass, or moss grew,

though the edges of the rocks appeared blunted by weathering as though over a great span of time.

Along the clearing's perimeter stood obelisks like stern fingers admonishing them to turn back.

There were no groundmites or Eletians lying in wait for them, but the loathing Karigan felt

increased tenfold.

Ty edged Flicker over to one of the obelisks. "These must be ward stones." He pressed his hand

against the pale stone but quickly snatched it away. Then, more tentatively, he placed his palm

against it.

"Come tell me what you think of this."

Karigan reined Condor over to the obelisk, amazed that "Rider Perfect," as the others liked to call

Ty, requested her opinion.

The obelisk was carved with runes and pictographs like those they had seen earlier on the

waymarkers. Some were so worn or encrusted by green and blue lichens that they were difficult to

make out. Karigan trailed her fingers across the cool stone and immediately felt a tingling swarm up

her arm. A faint hum sputtered in her mind. She withdrew her hand.

"The ward is dying," she said.

Ty nodded in approval, still the mentor, though Karigan's days as a messenger-in-training were well

past.

"Doesn't feel like it's going to hold up much longer," she added.

"I agree."

Just like anything else in the world, it seemed even magical spells had only a certain lifespan before

they wore out. It made Karigan think that the wards set around Rider way stations were much newer

than these, though it had been a hundred years or more since a Rider had possessed the ability to

work with spells of warding. If this were the case, then the obelisks must indeed be ancient.

They explored the clearing further, stopping to examine each obelisk, each of which looked much

like the ones before. There were fourteen in total. Karigan gave the cairn a wide berth while they

looked about. The loathing never left her, but she sensed no immediate peril.

"Do you suppose it's a burial cairn?" she asked Ty. He gazed hard at it. "I can't think of what else it

might be. Long ago, important people used to be buried with all their household goods beneath such

cairns." He rode around it, apparently unaffected, or at least unperturbed, by any sense of dread that

might arise from it. "Those had ornamental seals over the entrances. This has no entrance, and it's

like all the rocks were just dumped on top of it for good

measure."

"Not exactly a sign of respect," Karigan said. What it was a sign of, she couldn't imagine. Maybe to

discourage grave robbers? Why else ward a burial cairn? And why wasn't Westrion, god of the

dead, pictured on any of the ward stones? Even to this day, the Birdman's visage was a common

funerary emblem.

No, not Westrion, but . . . She passed her fingers across one of the faded inscriptions. A horse?

Could it be Salvistar, Westrion's messenger? Salvistar was the harbinger of strife and battle. It was

said that wherever he appeared, battle, destruction, and death were certain to follow. She shook her

head. It was impossible to know, for the figure could have meant anything to those who erected the

obelisks. The pictograph of the horse might simply represent, well, a plain old horse.

Ty rejoined her, Flicker's hooves clopping on the granite ledge. He glanced up at the high sun. "I'm

afraid it's a mystery we'll never unravel. We should head back."

They left the cairn behind, much to Karigan's relief. The magic itched across her skin again as she

passed between the ward stones, and a new thought occurred to her.

"Ty," she said, "how do we know the wards were set to keep things out?"

"What do you mean? What else could they be for?" "What if the wards were meant to keep

something in?" Ty had no answer for her.

The soldiers who served as outriders for the delegation had come up with the motto: "There is no

road to Eletia." And it was true. The North Road, which was the northernmost road that cut through

the dense Green Cloak Forest, reached only so far, and after a certain point even the trails of

foresters and trappers petered out.

The delegation had had to leave behind its carts and carriages in the village of North, loading all

essential supplies onto a string of pack mules. Nobles, servants, soldiers, and Green Riders alike

rode horseback, a pleasure for some, and a hardship for others unused to long days in the saddle.

The outriders had ended up being assigned the task of clearing the way for the delegation, though

often enough the delegation moved freely through the woods thanks to the expertise of the bounder

who guided them. At other times, however, deadfalls and underbrush had to be hacked out of the

way.

Over the weeks of the journey, the soldiers had modified their motto to: "There is no road to Eletia,

but there will be by the time we're through."

Upon their return, Karigan and Ty first encountered soldiers who stood guard over those who toiled

over a massive tangle of deadfall. Ty called out so he and Karigan would not be mistaken for

intruders.

The foremost guard "Hallooed" them in return. His black and silver tunic was askew over his mail,

indicating he had already taken a turn with an ax.

"Anything new since this morning?" Ty asked.

"Sign of groundmites in the area," the soldier said.

"Lady Penburn has stopped the works to decide what to do, but I've heard nothing more than that."

With this news Karigan tensed. Upon reaching the relative safety of the delegation, she had just

begun to relax a little. Scout duty was extremely nerve-racking: always having to be on high alert,

especially with the constant threat of groundmites hanging over them, and the uncertainty of the

Eletians' reception should they by chance have an encounter. She and Ty had spoken little since the

clearing, trying to ride as quietly and inconspicuously as possible through the dense woods,

maintaining that high level of watchfulness at all times.

They continued on, passing weary soldiers taking a break, and guided the horses through the narrow

clearing-in the snarl of deadfall the soldiers had hacked out.

Others stood guard here and there some distance into the forest. One knelt amid a patch of bracken

fern, and another leaned against a boulder. They all watched outward, their crossbows held at ready.

Karigan and Ty passed the drovers who stood with the mules and horses. Servants gossiped in small

groups, and a scattering of more soldiers waited close at hand for their next order. Standard bearers

in bright livery bided their time, their standards furled and packed away to prevent them from

becoming constantly entangled in low-hanging boughs.

A fine delegation we make, Karigan thought. Even the nobles had put away their finery in favor of

rougher but more practical riding breeches and tunics. The Eletians will wonder what kind of ragtag

rabble we are.

She straightened her own soiled shortcoat trying to remember the last time she had bathed in

something other than an icy stream. Ty, she noted with a ripple of envy, looked as fresh and dapper

as the day they had left Sacor City.

Rider Bard Martin detached himself from conversation with a drover and strode over to them. No

one knew his real first name, but "Bard" suited him for he had a penchant for singing and the telling

of tales, an ability the Riders found most welcome.

The gold embroidery of the winged horse emblem on his shortcoat was coming unraveled, Karigan

saw, then noted a long rip in the sleeve itself.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"What?" Bard stopped short looking up at her in surprise. Then he followed her gaze to his sleeve.

"Oh. A soldier nearly took my arm off when he mistook me for a 'mite. Everyone's on edge and I

should have announced myself better. I'm fine-I've good reflexes." He smiled in appreciation for her

concern.

"I'll take Condor and Flicker off your hands," he said. "No doubt Lady Penburn will want your

report immediately. Ereal has been right in the thick of it."

After Karigan and Ty dismounted, Rider-Lieutenant Ereal M'Farthon waved them over to a knot of

people surrounding Lady Penburn. They were engaged in an intense discussion. Among them were

select nobles: Captain Ansible, who oversaw the military aspect of the delegation; Master Banff,

secretary to Lady Penburn; and the bounder Brogan, who, in his stained buckskin, was the most

disreputable of the lot. Karigan crinkled her nose and moved to an upwind position.

"What have you to report?" Lady Penburn asked. Ty stepped forward and bowed, and while he told

them of their mostly uneventful scout duty, Lady Penburn listened avidly.

Karigan found she rather liked Lady Penburn. The lady was undoubtedly accustomed to every

luxury accorded one of her station, but had taken the rugged nature of this expedition in stride. In

fact, she threw herself into it with a girlish enthusiasm as if she were on holiday. Perhaps it was like

a holiday to her, compared to her usual work of managing a province. Karigan thought she would've

made a good Green Rider, at least in spirit.

Lady Penburn's enthusiasm was contagious enough that it kept the other members of the delegation

moving forward without too much grumbling. She kept their minds on bird-song and wildflowers,

or the latest court gossip, rather than oppressive heat or the occasional sudden downpour. Still, there

was no mistaking who was in charge, for her leadership was straightforward, and her orders

sometimes sharp.

When Ty described the clearing with its warding, Karigan saw some decision click in Lady

Penburn's eyes.

"Thank you, Rider Newland," Lady Penburn said. "You are certain there was no sign of

groundmites?"

"Yes, my lady."

She sighed. "Your lieutenant here saw a band of the creatures moving west of us, and Brogan found

fresh sign of them to the east."

Karigan inhaled sharply. Thus far Lady Penburn's scouts had found the occasional old sign of

'mites, but nothing to suggest they were near enough to endanger the delegation. Lady Penburn's use

of extreme caution, however, was well warranted, for long, long ago groundmites had been bred by

Mornhavon the Black to be ferocious killers, and they had been harrying Sacoridia's borders very

hard of late. Settlers were forced to flee the northern territory for more tame and populated lands,

causing problems for provincial lords who suddenly had to contend with refugees.

"It's certainly not safe for us to set up camp here," Lady Penburn said. "Although I expected we'd

eventually find ourselves in this situation, I wish we'd find signs of Eletians instead."

Karigan suspected that Eletians would leave signs of themselves only if they wished to.

"We daren't go west or east," Lady Penburn said. "And south would be backtracking. Therefore we

shall continue due north, and try to reach Rider Newland's clearing by nightfall."

Dread washed over Karigan at the announcement. Brogan, who had seemed to be in his own world

during much of Ty's report, shook himself to life.

"I wouldna do that, m'lady," he said.

"And why not?"

Brogan licked his lips and squinted at her from beneath heavy eyebrows. "Begging pardon, m'lady,

but there are some places you just want to avoid in this territory. Places of evil."

"We've encountered numerous ruins and you've not had any complaints about those."

"This is different. I've heard of this place, and I know trustworthy bounders who'd swear on their

mothers' graves it was ill-omened."

"What makes it so? Are demons going to rise out of the earth and murder us while we sleep? Or is

this just another bit of northern superstition?"

"No, m'lady. Not superstition." Brogan groped for words. "It's just. . . it's just bad." He looked at his

boots, knowing how ridiculous it sounded.

Lady Penburn turned on Ty and Karigan. "Did either of you feel there was anything wrong with this

place?"

"No," Ty said.

When Karigan hesitated, Ty glanced at her, raising an eyebrow.

"Rider G'ladheon?" Lady Penburn's voice was tinged with impatience.

Heat rose up Karigan's neck and flooded her cheeks as everyone, from Captain Ansible to Lord

Clayne, stared at her. So many eyes on her was a tangible, uncomfortable force that pressed on her

from all sides.

And still she hesitated, fearing how very foolish she would sound if she told them of her feelings.

Lady Penburn's eyebrows narrowed. "We haven't all day, Rider."

Ereal placed her hand on Karigan's shoulder. "If you observed anything unusual in that clearing, we

need to know about it."

Karigan licked her lips. The silence that engulfed the group grew more immense as seconds passed

and they waited for her to speak. If Lady Penburn hadn't liked hearing of Brogan's "superstitions,"

then she certainly would find no merit in Karigan's feelings. Yet duty required her to answer, and it

was not in her nature to lie. What if her instincts meant danger for the delegation and she had failed

to warn them?

"It was a feeling I had," she said.

"A feeling?"

"Yes, my lady. A feeling of wrongness." There. She had

said it.

"A feeling, but nothing more?"

What else could Karigan say? "That's correct, my lady."

"Is it" Lady Penburn cleared her throat and shifted, looking immensely uncomfortable, "-something

you detected with your special ability?"

Lady Penburn referred to Karigan's Rider magic, and while the lady had been briefed on the

"special abilities" of each Rider attached to the delegation, Karigan knew that among the few who

were aware of Rider magics, most failed to comprehend their limits. They only recalled the stories

of the terrible mages who had wreaked havoc and destruction during the Long War; mages who

possessed immeasurable powers. This was so ingrained in their minds that magic in any form was

regarded with suspicion. They did not differentiate between the great destructive magics of the past,

and the humble abilities Riders possessed.

"No, my lady," Karigan finally answered, "my ability does not run along those lines."

Lady Penburn looked pleased by the answer and she turned back to Ty. "And you felt nothing,

Rider Newland?"

"Nothing unusual. The place was odd because of the tomb, but nothing more than that."

Lady Penburn nodded in satisfaction.

Karigan sighed. It was only natural, she supposed, that Lady Penburn should dismiss her words and

support Ty's. Ty was a senior Rider, and Karigan was still perceived as the most inexperienced of

the four who accompanied the delegation. She was even beginning to wonder if her feelings about

the clearing had been just a bout of nerves.

Ereal squeezed her shoulder. "Well done," she whispered. "It was good of you to speak up."

"Brogan," Lady Penburn said, "I appreciate that you bounders have your hands full in this

wilderness. It is true these lands have a long past. We've seen the relics of that history, and this

clearing appears to have yielded yet another.

"However, I will not tolerate any member of this delegation falling prey to fear wrought by

superstition." Her eyes seared those around her, and lingered on both Karigan and Brogan for what

seemed like hours rather than seconds. "We have enough of what could be a truly dangerous

situation to concern ourselves about. That clearing sounds defensible to me should we find

ourselves attacked by groundmites, a rallying place where we could stand shoulder to shoulder in

strong lines rather than being scattered throughout the forest. That is where we shall set up camp for

the night."

"M'lady," Brogan said, "you brought me along as a guide, and I feel it my duty to warn you about

such a places"

"Enough! I have heard your warning and made my decision." Lady Penburn's expression brooked

no argument.

"We've much to accomplish before nightfall. I will hear not another word of superstition or bad

feelings. Captain Ansible, I want you to get this delegation moving. We've long hours ahead of us."

As the group dissolved, each to his or her own duty, Karigan grabbed Ty's arm. "Are you sure you

didn't feel anything in that clearing?"

"I'm sure." He tugged his arm free of her grasp and straightened his sleeve. "Karigan, I honestly

think you ought to heed Lady Penburn's words about superstition. People are worried enough by the

threat of groundmites. Whatever lies beneath that cairn is dead and buried."

Karigan watched his back as he strode off, feeling somehow betrayed. Maybe he was right, and

maybe she was suffering from nerves. But still. . .

Brogan sidled over to her, perhaps finding in her a kindred spirit. "I don't like this one bit." Worry

lines furrowed across his weathered features. "If people were meant to be near that clearing, why

place stones of warding around it?"

A CAMPFIRE, A NIGHTGOWN, AND A SONG

Karigan watched in dismay as Lady Penburn's tent went up beside the cairn, soon followed by those

of the other nobles. The entire delegation could not fit within the clearing, so the rest set up nearby

in the surrounding woods.

I am not superstitious, Karigan kept telling herself as she walked away. I am not superstitious . . .

And she was not - far from it in fact, but the sensation of dread had come over her again when they

arrived at the clearing, and she found it rather disturbing to be the only one bothered by it. Not the

only one, she amended. Brogan the bounder stayed well away from the clearing, making the sign of

the crescent moon before disappearing into the woods to find his own camping place.

She carried her gear as far from the clearing as she dared, while still remaining within the guarded

perimeter. She chose a place considered undesirable by most near the horses and pack mules. It

might be smelly, she thought, but it was far more comfortable than being next to the clearing.

She started a cheerful little fire for herself. Others sparked up around the encampment as dark

settled in. One fortunate aspect of the whole undertaking was the availability of deadwood so that

no one in the delegation was deprived of warmth and light during the night.

"Not a bad fire for a merchant."

Karigan looked up surprised and pleased to see Bard with his bedroll slung over his shoulder,

bearing two steaming bowls. "Mind if I join you? I bring food-if you can call it that."

"Yes, please," Karigan said, gratified by his show of support.

Bard passed her a bowl. She peered into it and sniffed dubiously. "Gruel. Again." And with a burnt

wedge of pan bread sticking in it. She nibbled on the coarse bread, frowned in distaste, and set the

bowl aside.

Bard dumped his bedroll on the ground and sat across the fire from her. "Lady Penburn's people

talked about doing some hunting for fresh meat tomorrow morning, though as far as I can tell the

nobles are eating well enough."

Karigan had been under the impression that on a well provisioned delegation the meals would prove

far better fare than what she was accustomed to when on an ordinary message errand, but she'd been

wrong. The Green Riders, the king's own special messengers, had been lumped together with

common soldiers and servants, and were served accordingly.

The two Riders spoke quietly of inconsequential things while Bard ate his gruel. Karigan itched to

ask him what he felt or did not feel about the clearing, but she gave him his peace while he ate.

When he finished, he took out a sewing kit and attempted to thread a needle by firelight so he might

fix the rip in his sleeve.

"You're going to burn off your eyebrows if you get any closer to the fire," Karigan warned him.

"Match the top of my head then, I expect." He patted the thinning spot at his crown and smiled.

"Bard," Karigan said, deciding to broach the subject that had been plaguing her, "what do you think

of the clearing?"

It was some moments before he spoke, so focused was he on trying to find the eye of the needle

with his thread, his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth. Karigan waited in suspense, seeking

some validation of her feelings.

"Can't say I much care for the idea of camping next to some old tomb, though I'm sure it would

make for a good embellishment in our report."

Bard, Karigan knew, tried to make all his reports as entertaining as possible for Captain Mapstone.

His philosophy was that since the captain rarely left the castle grounds these days, she ought to at

least have the vicarious experience of being on a message errand. Karigan wondered if it had the

intended effect, or made the captain miss the open road all the more.

Lines formed across Bard's forehead and he squinted at the needle. Suddenly he smiled in triumph.

"I did it!" He showed her the threaded needle to prove it, then took up his shortcoat and jabbed the

needle into the sleeve. "As for my sensing anything about the clearing as you seem to, I don't know.

I don't like it, but I don't feel it as strongly as you do. That doesn't mean your feelings are wrong

about this place.

"I'd guess," he continued, "that there are all manner of strange magical relics like the clearing

throughout the lands, and maybe Lady Penburn was onto something when she brought up your

ability. Maybe the wards resonated with your magic for some reason, the way the wards around

Rider waystations dampen our magic."

"This is different," Karigan said.

Bard shrugged. "I'm not surprised. Likely the magic is different, but if it sets you at ease, look at it

this way: that tomb has lain quietly for several hundreds of years at least. I doubt anything will

change by the time the encampment has picked up and moved north by tomorrow morning."

Bard was right, Karigan thought. She was letting it all get to her far too much. It still did not

explain, however, why she was more sensitive to it than the others.

"Ouch!" Bard sucked on his index finger. "I am far too clumsy to be using such a sharp object."

"That's what Arms Master Gresia keeps trying to tell you about your swordplay."

"Hah! A point for you, my dear, and no pun intended. Are you any good at this?" He thrust his

sewing at her, and she saw his stitches were rather haphazard.

"Sorry," Karigan said. "My aunts tried to teach me to sew, but I'm afraid I was hopeless."

"What? You the daughter of a textile merchant and surrounded by all that cloth-and you can't sew?"

"I was much too busy getting under the cargo master's feet or playing down by the wharves in Corsa

Harbor. My friends and I liked to look for crabs under rocks or sea stars on the pilings."

Bard snorted. "That's a good place for a child. Corsa Harbor is as rough as any waterfront I've ever

seen."

"Oh, my father's people kept me out of trouble, but my unladylike behavior scandalized my aunts."

Karigan sat tall and prim to take on the demeanor of one of her aunts. " 'Child, you are the heir of

the premier merchant of Sacoridia, not some urchin to be running barefoot about the docks among

sailors and other riffraff.' That's what my Aunt Brini would say."

"And what did Aunt Brini think of you becoming a Rider?"

"Not much." It was as though someone had lit a fire beneath a hornet's nest when all four aunts

heard of her decision. "My aunts and father grew up dirt poor on Black Island, helping my

grandfather haul fish. It was a rough life, so I've been reminded time and again. Now that they're

living very well under my father's roof, they see me only as childish and ungrateful, spoiling their

expectations that I should create a respectable marriage alliance with another powerful merchant

clan."

She closed her eyes against the memory of the bitter arguments. For all her aunts' upset, facing her

father had been the hardest.

"Your mother?" Bard asked. "She died when I was very little."

He nodded. "Mine, too. In childbirth, actually. I think she would have been rather proud of me

working in the king's service."

Karigan brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen into her face. She had so little recollection of

her mother, Kariny, that she had no idea of what Kariny would think of her being a Green Rider.

Karigan only knew that it was not at all what she had intended to do with her life, and for all her

aunts' angst, their vision of her future had been more like her own from a very young age: to follow

in her father's footsteps and carry on the name and work of Clan G'ladheon. She wasn't, however,

too sure about the marriage alliance part of it.

"The calling to be a Rider can force upon you a path in life not of your own choosing," Bard mused,

as if an echo of her thoughts. "After years of hard work as a cooper, I had finally hoarded away

enough currency for a term's tuition for minstrel training at Selium . . . and then I heard the call." He

chuckled and shook his head at the irony. "Even though the king has since promised me a place in

Selium when my time with the Riders ends, it still has been a delay to achieving my dreams." He

paused, falling into deep thought. Then quietly he added, "Despite it all, I do not regret this life."

Karigan had struggled against the call for a very long time so she might continue in the life she had

chosen for herself, but the call had chipped away at her will, almost torturously, the hoofbeats

always like a rhythm in the deep regions of her mind and heralding visions of the freedom of the

ride. She would awaken some nights sweating and feeling as if she must saddle Condor

immediately and heed the call to ride, as if her life depended upon it.

To fight the call, she had tried ridding herself of her brooch, knowing it somehow bound her to the

messenger service, but whether she hid it deep in a drawer or tried burying it in the woods, she

inevitably found herself wearing it by day's end without memory of having pinned it on. Magical

objects, she had once been told, often had minds of their own.

As time wore on, her behavior grew more eccentric. The color green came to dominate her

wardrobe by no intention of her own, and it led her father to the conclusion that she was

inordinately fond of the color. The struggle also left her irritable. "What's eating at you?" her father

had asked in exasperation after she lost patience with a servant one day. She never yelled at

servants. Normally.

Kristen Britain - Green Rider 2 - First Rider's Call

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