Green Rider

Abram stood up, his head brushing the rafters. His hand went to the haft of his ax. “How can this be?” His eyes glinted dangerously. He was like a rearing bear: bristling, wrathful, and immense. His presence overpowered the room.

Frightened by this sudden transformation, Karigan tried to fade out again, but pain lanced through her head. The effort was too much.

“Who are you?” Abram demanded. “You dress like a Green Rider and use Green Rider magic. Who are you?”

“I am Karigan G’ladheon. I’m finishing a mission for a dead Green Rider.”

Abram looked at her askance, then let his hand drop from the ax to his side. “It sounds an interesting story. Tell me, and I will decide.” He sat again, but rigidly, his eyes still suspicious.

Karigan started with her flight from Selium and finished with her arrival to the waystation. “I am not a Green Rider,” she said, “but I’m helping one.”

Abram’s eyes softened considerably, and he relaxed in his chair. “A long journey you’ve had, a brave one. I met F’ryan Coblebay once. About two years ago he passed through my domain. A lively lad, very cheerful. I’m sorry to hear of his demise. I understand now, how I mistook you for a Rider. I did think you young, though I know they will accept young people.”

“I must reach Sacor City before the Mirwellians find me again.”

Abram muttered something under his breath—it sounded more like a growl—and tapped his fingers on the flat of the ax head. Smoke rings drifted to the rafters one after the other. “Strange things certainly have been happening. King’s men have been in the region of late, hunting out groundmites, so I understand. But a breach in the D’Yer Wall? That bodes evil. Mornhavon the Black perverted the trees of Blackveil, and they’ve never recovered.”

“So the Eletian told me.”

Abram’s eyes brightened. “I’d hand over my ax to meet an Eletian. I knew in my heart they weren’t legend. A sylvan folk they are, dwellers of the Elt Wood, just as I’m a dweller of this forest. And to think they were wandering through Sacoridia’s Green Cloak! It’s an honor.”

Karigan pulled the moonstone from her pocket, certain that Abram would like to see it. The shadows of evening vanished in silver light, bringing to mind dancers in a forest clearing and moonstones glimmering on evergreen boughs.

Abram’s eyes opened wide. “What is it?”

“A moonstone. A real moonstone.”

“Now that I thought a legend. The Eletians gave it to you?”

“Uh, no. The Berry sisters I told you about. They gave it to me.” She explained the professor’s predilection for magical artifacts.

“A most unusual hobby,” Abram said.

Karigan didn’t hear him. Whatever it was the sisters had said about North, it was nagging her again. And then, like a bright flash of sunlight, it came to her. East by north, they had said. East by north. Karigan sat up straight.

“What is it?” Abram asked.

“I told them I didn’t know how to get to Sacor City, and they said to go east by North.” She had a sudden urge to giggle. When they had first told her to go east by North, she had thought it pure nonsense.

“That would make sense.” Abram puffed on his pipe as if she had said nothing unusual. “The road ends in North. To reach Sacor City, you must travel east, and then south. If you were traveling from Selium, you certainly went out of your way.”

“The Horse refused to put one hoof on the Kingway.”

“Yes, messenger horses are a strange breed. A trifle uncanny. They’ve more common sense than most.”

“I need to get to Sacor City. I suppose that means going through North.”

“Yes, but you best do so with utmost caution,” Abram said. “As I said, North is lawless and wild, and these are strange times with strange folk traveling. Why, you’ve already met up with brigands. I avoid North, myself.”

“What kind of strange folk?” Karigan wanted to know. “You can find brigands anywhere, even in Selium.”

“There is a woman from Rhovanny, an exile, stirring up trouble. Wants to rid all the lands of monarchs and let the people rule.” Abram stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Anarchy, I call it. Yet there are many who follow her and believe the rumors of new taxes on lumbering. Supposedly the taxes will go toward fortifying Sacor City and the royal house. Folks tied up in the paper and ship building trades are infuriated.

“Other rumors circulate. The king turned down a proposal to marry a princess of the Cloud Islands which would have fostered a profitable alliance. Now the queen of the Islands is insulted and may refuse to trade with Sacoridia altogether. The Cloud Islands bring fruit, spices, and whale oil.

“It is said that King Zachary still believes the old magic should be put into use again. Most folk believe that using magic will summon the evil of Mornhavon the Black. When you go to North, you must be quiet about the abilities of your brooch. The least magic will provoke suspicion.”

“One can only hope these rumors are isolated—” Karigan knew they would not be, however. Her own father was suspicious of anything remotely related to magic.

“If rumors are to be believed, there have already been assassination attempts on King Zachary. Others are calling for his brother to take the throne.”

Jendara’s “rightful king” was Zachary’s brother, she was sure, and would explain the swordmaster’s devotion as a Weapon. But what did Mirwell have to do with it?