Firebrand

“Er, something wrong?” she asked him.

“Not precisely.” He darted glances about the chamber. “It’s just that . . .”

“Just what?”

He looked sheepish. “It’s the ghosts.” He spoke in an almost-whisper.

“What are they up to now?”

“I am not sure. You see, whenever you are here, pardon my saying, they seem to disappear.”

It was on her tongue to remind him that disappearing was generally what ghosts did, but then she realized he was right. When she worked with Elgin, the records room felt strangely empty and quiet. There were no ghostly whispers in her ear, no barely perceived touches upon her arm, no odd air currents circulating overhead. Now that she thought about it, she no longer sensed the spirits around her bed chamber or in the ancient corridor it inhabited. You have the command of them, Lhean had told her. He had been speaking of the ghosts, but failed to explain further.

Were the ghosts for some reason now afraid of her? Such a ridiculous notion, it almost made her laugh. The idea of her having “the command of them” was also laughable, but it had been said by an Eletian, and that gave her pause.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Dakrias.” They had plagued him enough in the past that she thought he’d be happy they were gone. He returned to his desk looking troubled. Had he become attached to them?

She found Elgin at his usual location at the table with its piles of documents. He looked up at her from around a stack of ledgers.

“Ah, just in time to see what was delivered from the tombs.”

If she hadn’t known what he was talking about, her imagination might have conjured up all sorts of ghastly visions.

He showed her a thick sheaf of papers. “We need to go through these and see what’s useful, then pass on the relevant pieces to Red.”

These were Agemon’s translations of the materials she had copied. Chances were they would find nothing useful describing the comportment of the Green Riders during times of war, but if there was something, the research would prove well worthwhile.

Karigan took her seat next to Elgin, and he split the stack in half with her. The handwriting, whether in Agemon’s own hand, or that of one of his clerks, was quite ornate and rather old-fashioned with swirls and flourishes.

“Need someone to translate this fancy lettering,” Elgin grumbled.

It wasn’t completely illegible, but it would take some time to pick through it. As she began, it appeared she’d ended up with inventories of fodder for horses, and not during wartime. Dakrias found that sort of thing interesting, but the captain wouldn’t. As she went on, she gradually grew accustomed to the handwriting style and was able to read through the pages more quickly.

There was an account of a Rider named Tannen, who’d broken his back in a fall from his horse. The description of how he’d both survived and was mended proved circumspect. There must have been a true healer among the Riders at the time—what? Four hundred years ago? Otherwise, a broken back was likely a death sentence in those days. They would not have spoken baldly of Rider abilities even back then. She set the piece aside thinking that although it had nothing to do with wartime, the captain would be interested anyway.

She went through more inventories until it felt like her eyes were crossing. Elgin appeared to be nodding off beside her, his chin dipping to his chest. She had only a few more pages left, so she rubbed her eyes and continued.

One page was from a very long time ago, from the years following the Long War, copied from one of the ancient scrolls. It appeared to be a report detailing the various errands Riders had been sent on in the month of Hannon:

On the second day of Hannon, Ornan to Lord Penburn with a message from the king.

On the third day of Hannon, Lendon to Lady Izel with a message from the king.

On the third day of Hannon, Ranson dispatched to Corsa to take ship, thence to Lord Arey with a message from the king.

On the fifth day of Hannon, Gerrim returned from Lord Adolind with a reply for the king.

Karigan found it interesting just to read the names of these Riders of old, her predecessors. She wished she could know more about them, who they were, what they looked like, what their daily lives were like. The lack of details about their errands was maddening and made their work seem simple, but she knew from experience that it could not have been so. The month of Hannon appeared to be a busy one with many Riders coming and going, but with no indication of what business the king’s correspondence held. There would not be, of course, because the Rider’s job was only to deliver the message. The contents were not the Rider’s concern unless the king made it so.

She continued down the list until she came to a curious notation:

On the twenty-third day of Hannon, C. Siris Kiltyre to Ifel Aeon (???)* to secure the Aeon Iire.

The question marks belonged to the copyist. Ifel, he or she noted, could mean a forest, a fort or keep, or a glade. Aeon could not be translated without more research, but might indicate a proper name. Even more curious was that Captain Kiltyre had been going to Ifel Aeon not to deliver a message, but to secure . . . something. Secure the Aeon Iire. The copyist suggested that Iire could refer to “stamp” or “medallion,” or “shield,” but these translations were followed with question marks, as well. Perhaps if they could figure out what Aeon meant, they could then figure out Iire. One or both, she thought, could be misspellings, as well.

What, she wondered, had Captain Kiltyre been up to? She was going to ask Elgin what he thought, but now he was snoring. She chuckled. A Green Foot runner trotted into the records room just then.