Firebrand

Her boots squeaked in the snow as she walked away. She decided to forget about elementals and their complicated spells. She would instead focus on simple magic that would restore feeling to her fingertips and toes.

As the old human trudged away and faded into the woods, the crow turned his keen gaze to a shimmer that grew from the snowball she had discarded. It coalesced into an icy sphere that rose above the snowdrift and hovered, pulsating with life. The crow cocked his head as he watched. He liked the shiny, but was clever enough to know that this was no treasure for him, that he must stay away, for the sphere emanated ancient power like the force of a blizzard, and predatory intent. He shook his feathers, and then settled to keep watch on it.

When the sphere rushed suddenly up into the branches, the crow squawked and, flailing its wings, leaped out of the way. He croaked his displeasure as the sphere sped off through the branches and around tree trunks in a silver streak, and set a course southward.

GHOSTS

Somewhere in the twilight between sleep and awakening, the spirits of the Rider wing gathered around her bed. Smoky figures whispered, their forms flickering and rustling in spectral currents. They fingered her hair and patted her body as she lay curled beneath her blankets. They left cold touches upon her cheek and neck.

She flailed out with a hand as if to knock away the filament of a spider web. Dreams. These were dreams. But still the incessant whispers filled her mind as ghosts told her their stories, stories of battles lost and won, of unruly children and handsome courtiers. They told her of loveless marriages and the loss of true heart mates, the latter causing her to cry in her sleep.

There were triumphs and judgments, complaints and boredom, stories of never-ending tasks lacking fulfillment, that nevertheless repeated themselves over and over. Their stories came in snatches, one crowding out the other.

From the bed beside his sleeping human, Ghost Kitty hissed and swatted at the apparitions if they annoyed him too much, shredding swaths of revenant translucence with living claws.

Under the onslaught, his human twisted and turned and murmured. Undeterred, the ghosts kept coming, drawn to the one who could hear them.

RIDER CROTCHETY

In the morning, Karigan sat alone hunched over a steaming cup of kauv in the dining hall, her head propped on her hand, oblivious to the comings and goings of others around her. Mara slipped onto the bench across the table from her with a bowl of porridge.

“You look terrible,” Mara said.

“Good morning to you, too,” Karigan grumbled, her voice scratchy.

“My, aren’t we all sunshine and kittens. Your aunts keep you up all night, Helgadorf?” Karigan stuck her tongue out at her, and Mara laughed as she dipped her spoon into her porridge. “Seriously, you look like you are on the wrong end of a full night’s carousing at the Cock and Hen.”

Karigan could only wish she’d been indulging in the Cock and Hen’s ale to make her feel so miserable. “No. If you must know, I just haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Is that why you’re drinking kauv? I thought you despised the stuff.”

“I do.” Kauv was as bitter as all five hells, but it was a stronger stimulant than tea, especially with all the sugar she dumped in it to make it palatable. It used to be difficult, or at least expensive, to acquire kauv beans, but that had all changed with a trade agreement between Sacoridia and the Cloud Islands that had gone into effect while she was away. Several of her fellow Riders seemed unable to function without it now, even though they’d never needed it before.

“Makes my hair curl,” Mara said with distaste, tugging on a springy ringlet, “and more curling isn’t what it needs.”

Karigan sipped from her mug and grimaced, and observed Mara watching her intently. Much too intently. “What?”

“I was going to ask, Rider Crotchety, why you haven’t been able to sleep.”

“I am not crotchety.”

“Really?”

Karigan glared at her.

“Well?” Mara pressed, undeterred. “Why can’t you sleep?”

“Dreams, or something.” Karigan shrugged.

Mara sobered at this. “Not surprising considering all you’ve been through. Do you . . .” She lowered her voice. “Do you dream about where you were? About . . . ?”

Karigan knew she was about to ask if she dreamed of Cade. Mara was one of the few who knew much about her experiences in the future. She’d been present when Karigan had reported all she could remember to King Zachary and Captain Mapstone. Karigan had not explicitly told anyone what Cade meant to her, but it was clear Mara had been able to guess.

She shook her head. “No, none of that.” The jumbled dreams, the scattered narratives were blurry and difficult to recall. Of what she remembered, they seemed to have little to do with her own life, as if a thousand strangers crowded into her mind every night to tell her their stories.

They sat in silence until Mara said, “Weather’s changing,” as if to engage her in conversation. “Clouds moving in.”

Karigan shrugged, not really interested. It was the same old story of their winter.

Mara shook her head and sighed in what sounded like resignation. Karigan knew her attitude wasn’t the best, and she gave her friend credit for knowing when to back off and give her peace and silence to sip her kauv. It took her several seconds to realize it wasn’t just Mara who’d grown quiet, however, but the entire dining hall. Servants, laborers, messengers, administrative staff, soldiers, all the commoners who worked in and around the castle and used the dining hall, were staring in one direction. She followed their gazes to the entryway. There stood not only a Weapon, whose clannish order possessed its own dining hall so its members did not have to associate with lesser mortals at meal times, but an Eletian, as well.