Green Rider

Amilton clapped his hands and a guard came forward. “Get a chair.”

“Yes, m’lord.” The soldier trotted down the runner and through the double doors.

Amilton gazed past Mirwell, his eyes settling on the gray cloaked figure. “You have brought something for me, my friend Master Gray One?”

Stevic held his breath as the gray-cloaked figure took one precise step after another, his booted feet making not a sound on the floor, the hem of his cloak swaying at his ankles. He stopped an arm’s span from Amilton and reached beneath the folds of his cloak. A gleaming circlet of silver clenched in a gray gloved hand emerged. The night, Stevic decided, had gotten worse. Much worse.

“Finally!” Amilton’s voice rang out in the stock stillness of the throne room. He reached for the fillet eagerly, but stopped himself. An impish smile crossed his face. “I would have my Lady Estora do the honor of crowning me.”

He walked to her and took her hand. Obediently she stood up and allowed him to lead her to the Gray One. To Stevic, she seemed to be walking in a trance.

“You have been a good friend, Master Gray One.”Amilton stroked the black stone at his throat as he spoke. “You have brought me gifts that have made me strong and powerful.”

The gray hood nodded, and the gloved hand held the crown out so it shone like a ring of light.

“My lady Estora,” Amilton said, “would you do me the honor?”

Lady Estora blinked as if just waking up. She glanced at the Gray One, then at the crown, and back to Amilton.

“No.” Her voice was so quiet that Stevic had to strain to hear her.

“What?”Amilton’s brows drew together, his anger aroused once again. He was as volatile as a blacksmith’s forge.

Lady Estora lifted her chin defiantly and in a louder and stronger voice, she said, “No. I’d sooner spit on you than crown you. You will never be the king your father or brother was.”

Amilton’s fist flung out, and Lady Estora dropped to her hands and knees with a cry. Mirwell’s cold officer watched impassively, and the lord-governor leered as if enjoying some private joke. They were monsters, the lot of them.

Stevic schooled himself to silence, to still his outrage and frustration at Amilton’s cruelty. He was helpless against the magic of Amilton Hillander, helpless to stop him.

As a clan chief and one of the leading merchants of Sacoridia, powerlessness was not something Stevic G’ladheon was accustomed to. He had always faced problems quickly and decisively, whether it was averting a clan feud by intervening with tact and a few well-chosen words, or defending cargo trains from thieves. Inaction, in his mind, equated disaster. This time, however, the stakes went far beyond guarding cargo and even his own life. He must exercise restraint and patience, for action could mean disaster.

Yet, he was not helpless to render aid and he crept cautiously to the woman huddled on the floor hiding her face with her arm. He knelt beside her and took her face into his hands. Her lip bled, her fair features would be bruised, but nothing worse, though this was likely the worst treatment she had ever received in her whole life.

“Can you stand?” he whispered.

His estimation of the woman surged as she steeled herself and nodded. Not a single tear threatened to spill from her eyes, though he could feel the trembling of her body as he helped her rise.

Amilton seized the fillet from the Gray One himself and held it high above his head for all to see. “I am king!” He walked among the cowering nobles, displaying the crown so there was no mistaking it.

“It is my birthright,” he said. “I would have been king if my brother had not usurped me.” He slowly lowered the crown onto his head. “Aeryc and Aeryon as my witnesses, I name myself King of Sacoridia.”

Silence. Silence and dread as palpable as the granite walls that surrounded them.

Amilton glared at the nobles, prompting them to clap with great enthusiasm.

“You had better clap,” Stevic whispered to Lady Estora.

“I cannot applaud for . . . for that,” she said, gesturing at Amilton.

“I should not like to see him get any angrier with you,” Stevic said. She reluctantly joined in.

Amilton strutted around and among the nobles, ensuring that each person got a good look at him with the crown on. He then climbed up onto the dais and stood tall and straight. “My dear Lord Mirwell,” he said, “you have served me faithfully. I grant you, as you requested, the lands comprising Adolind and L’Petrie Provinces.”

Lord Nethan L’Petrie emitted a strangled cry. Mirwell’s own response was a throaty chuckle.

“Now we are truly doomed,” Sevano whispered to Stevic.

It was one outrage after another, Stevic thought.

Amilton seemed pleased with himself for bestowing such a gift. He was likely even more pleased he possessed the power to do so.

“Master Gray One,” he said, “I see you have brought me yet another gift. I should have liked to have heard my brother’s screams as he died, but you have done well.”

The Gray One held out the basket and a hush fell over the throne room. Lady Estora groaned beside Stevic. “All hope is truly lost.”

Mirwell laughed.

Amilton snapped his head at him. “What is it?”

“Go ahead,” Mirwell said. “Look in the basket. The Gray One carried it all this way for you.”

Amilton smiled tentatively. He unclasped the basket’s fastener and opened the lid. He reached inside.