Green Rider

“We are near the boundary,” Abram said, “but that still sounds too close.”

Without further comment, he bounded away, agile as any deer despite his bulk. Karigan watched after him for a shocked moment before urging The Horse to follow behind at a trot. Abram hadn’t been boasting when he said his long legs could match the pace of any horse.

Two men hammered at a tree with broad axes. They had already felled one tree. Two oxen stood by chewing cud, a sledge chained to their harness to drag away timber. The two men didn’t hear Abram and Karigan approach, so engrossed by their chore were they.

“Stop!” Abram bellowed.

Karigan would not have been surprised if the whole of Sacoridia stilled at his command. The very trees shivered. The two men paused in mid-strike, terror flashing across their faces when they took in Abram.

“You are on king’s land.” Abram fisted his hands on his hips. Sun glinted off the blade of his ax.

The two glanced at each other and raised their axes defensively. “King never cuts here,” one said, and he spat. “He can’t protect this forest forever.”

The second man spoke more uncertainly. “Soon the demand for paper—”

“You are breaking king’s law,” Abram broke in without hesitation, his voice strong and sure. “Poaching the king’s trees or wild beasts is punishable by death. I am commissioned to mete out the king’s justice where this forest is concerned.”

The first man glowered, but the second quailed. Karigan glanced at Abram in horror. His face was unreadable. Surely he wouldn’t—

Abram stepped forward and the first man raised his ax, this time offensively. Abram rushed him and grabbed the handle before the ax could cut him, breaking the haft over his knee. The second man dropped his ax voluntarily.

“Karigan,” Abram said heavily, “this is where we must part. North isn’t far.”

“What are you going to—”

“Farewell, Green Rider.” He nodded his head in dismissal. “It was a good meeting.”

“I—” Abram’s look told her that she had better move on. “Good-bye,” she said. “Thank you.” But he had already turned back to the two men and did not hear.

Karigan caught the first man watching her with a dark scowl as she rode away. Surely Abram wouldn’t carry out the death penalty. It wasn’t in his nature to do so. But the two tree poachers didn’t know it.

The trees simply ended. Karigan and The Horse were swathed in full sunlight for the first time since their strange journey together had begun. The Horse snorted and sidestepped, and Karigan covered her eyes until they adjusted to the light. She let out a low whistle. As far as the eye could stretch, the land was a desert of tree stumps. Only on the most distant hills, and behind her, could she find trees.

They skirted the edge of the woods until they met the road. Karigan cast a cautious eye before stepping onto it. The road was a muddy gutter of cloven hoofprints, and was rutted with gullies full of water where timber sledges had grooved the surface. They cantered as much to escape the devastation of the forest as to reach the town of North by sunset. The absence of trees exposed them to watching eyes, and left Karigan feeling very vulnerable.

As dusk deepened, a horseman approached at a quick trot. Karigan slowed The Horse to a jog, and patted the hilt of her saber to ensure it still hung at her side.

It wasn’t easy to distinguish the horseman from the shadows. He was garbed in a long gray cloak with the hood thrown over his face. A quiver of arrows was strapped to his back, and a longbow crossed his shoulder. His stallion was a tall gray, at least as tall as The Horse, but more finely proportioned. The silver of his tack jingled as he trotted.

The Horse clung to the right side of the road and laid his ears back.

“What is it?” Karigan asked, tightening her grip on the hilt of her sword. The Horse shook his head, his ears flickered back and forth.

Karigan licked her lips nervously as the gray-cloaked figure drew closer. It would not do to look frightened. The more confident she appeared, the less likely she would be attacked if the horseman was a brigand. She released the hilt of her sword, fingers trembling, and turned to the horseman.

“Good evening,” she said.

The rider turned his hood toward her, its depths vacant of all but shadows. An inexplicable dread weighed her down as the hidden gaze raked across her, holding her for some interminable time, perhaps seconds. She sensed something fair that had been tainted, something of age, but young. Something terrible.

The horseman nodded, and the gray stallion trotted on by. Karigan sagged in relief, releasing the breath she had held during the momentary exchange.

The jingle of tack and plod of hooves paused as if the rider had stopped to gaze after her. She glanced over her shoulder, but no one was there. Karigan wilted in her saddle. There was no place for the horseman to hide, yet he was gone.

“Don’t tell me I’m beginning to see other ghosts,” she murmured, but the cold dread returned when she remembered F’ryan Coblebay’s last words: Beware the shadow man.

Sunset blooded the sky behind them as she clucked The Horse into a canter, more eager than ever to reach civilization. They did not slow until they entered town, and her initial relief turned into misgiving as she took in the shamble of clapboard wooden structures with garish hand-painted signs advertising mercantiles, a smithy, inns, and pubs.

The pubs and inns were already brightly lit from within, and bodies were pressed up against the windows. Bawdy music and loud laughter drifted into the sultry dark. She passed The Prancing Lady, The Broken Tree, and The Twisted Mule, and at The Full Moon, a man staggered into the street with a woman riding piggyback. Her face was gaudily painted, she wore a corset and little else, and was covering the man’s eyes with her hands.