Just because she carried twins did not mean both would survive. Perhaps neither would. The prospect clenched his gut, and Jasper licked his hand as if sensing his distress. Estora, however, had sounded as if she had seen something positive in Karigan’s eye.
He refused to return to her sitting room to ask. It would invalidate his belief in how a monarch should conduct himself with his subjects. He did not wish to encourage her, and . . . he was not sure he wanted to know the future, good or bad.
A PRECURSOR TO TROUBLE
The days came and went, the sun lengthening its stay in small increments, the icy weather alternating with influxes of milder air. Karigan continued to receive batterings in swordmaster training, and helped Arms Master Gresia with her trainees. She saw nothing of King Zachary, which she deemed for the best, nor did Estora invite her to visit again. Garth departed for the wall, but Tegan returned from her personal leave after helping her sister with her newborn baby.
Karigan assisted Elgin daily in the records room. One afternoon as she entered, Dakrias Brown rose from his desk to greet her, and after an exchange of pleasantries, he squinted at her through his specs.
“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.
“Sir Karigan,” the girl said, “you are requested to go to the throne room.” And then she was off before Karigan could ask any questions. She shook Elgin awake to let him know that she had to go, then set off for the throne room, wondering why she had been summoned.
When she reached the throne room, she found not only the king awaiting her, but Captain Mapstone and, to her surprise, Enver the Eletian.
“Ah, Sir Karigan,” the king said. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, and she bowed.
“Greetings, Galadheon.” Enver stuck out his hand to shake.
“Hello,” she said, clasping his hand. Did this mean what she thought it meant, that it was time to go north? If so, it could be hard going as winter had not yet left them. Enver revealed nothing.
“I’ve asked Lady Estral to join us,” the king said, “as I understand she has some interest in an expedition northward.”
So, this was about searching for the p’ehdrose. The king revealed little of what he thought either in his expression or posture.
“Enver has arrived earlier than we were expecting,” the
captain said.
A ponderous silence followed until Estral hastened into the throne room. Greetings were exchanged, and the king climbed up onto his throne and sat.
“Sir Karigan,” he said, “Eletia has sent Enver as a guide in the search for the p’ehdrosians. Prince Jametari is keen that this search take place. I have come to the conclusion that it is in Sacoridia’s interests, as well. I’ve had my diplomats in other realms attempting to secure alliances against Second Empire and the probable reemergence of Mornhavon. It is time to become reacquainted with the p’ehdrose and extend the hand of friendship to them, and I wish for you to do this on my behalf. I understand Captain Mapstone has spoken to you of this.”
“Yes, sire.” She remembered well the captain explaining that she would be playing the part of an emissary.
“Lady Estral has requested to travel with you, and so long as you and Enver have no objections, I approve.”
“She is welcome, Firebrand,” Enver said. “Three is a good omen.”
“I have no objections.” Karigan flashed Estral a smile.
“Then you must prepare,” King Zachary said. “Enver says the p’ehdrose have hidden themselves well, but the Eletians have a sense of where they reside.”
“It is not marked on any map,” Enver said.
“As you will be in the north,” the king continued, “you are to take caution against Second Empire. Captain Mapstone will show you their last known positions on maps. It is, of course, possible they have shifted since our last intelligence.” He stared hard at Karigan. “Use utmost caution, Rider. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sire.”
His gaze seared into her as if to indeed make sure she understood. “You are also to aid Lady Estral in her search as you can. Lord Fiori is of importance to the realm.”
“Yes, sire.”
“Enver,” he continued, “wishes to depart in two days. You will use that time to prepare. Captain, you will see to the details.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
With that, he abruptly rose and descended the dais, and, without another word, strode for the side exit, accompanied by two Weapons.
“Two days, eh?” Estral said doubtfully.
Enver nodded. “It has been foreseen.”
Foreseen. The Eletians, Karigan thought, might like their portents, but to her, they always seemed like a precursor to trouble.
TAKING FLIGHT
Alton sneezed as Mister Whiskers, in his house cat form, twined between his legs. He stood conversing with Merdigen in Tower of the Heavens, and the cat, seeming to know his sensitivity, inflicted heaps of affection upon him.
Alton was not happy to begin with, after having received a communication from Trace, and he was explaining why to Merdigen. “Winter isn’t even over and they’re going north.”
“Perhaps it is not sensible,” Merdigen said, “but I assume they are prepared.”
“To look for p’ehdrose!” Alton nearly exploded. “Legendary, nonexistent creatures.”
Merdigen cleared his throat and pointed at Mister Whiskers, who was engaged in licking his paw. “Have you forgotten what he is? The p’ehdrose existed, and the Eletians and your king have reason to believe the p’ehdrose are still out there. Would you second-guess your king?”
Yes, Alton thought, though he would never say so aloud. Doing so could be construed as impertinent at the very least, and disloyal at worst. What he hoped was that the king possessed more information about the existence of the p’ehdrose than he was privy to. And yes, in the king’s favor, there was Mister Whiskers.
“You are just upset that Lady Estral is going with them,” Merdigen said.
And there was that. “She shouldn’t be going on this—this mission. It isn’t safe.”
“You would prefer she went looking for her father and the voice thief on her own?”
“No, of course not. I just wish she didn’t feel she had to go.”
Merdigen looked askance at him. “How does she put up with you, boy?”
Alton smiled feebly. “I haven’t the slightest.”
“Well, then. I guess there is no more delaying the inevitable. I will have a final word with Mister Whiskers, and you will go prepare your people.”
Alton nodded, rubbed his itchy eyes, and walked through the tower wall into the outside world. He squinted though the sky was hazy with a ceiling of clouds. It had been spitting flurries all morning off and on. He called to the nearest soldier and sent him to collect all of the encampment’s personnel to assemble before him at the tower. The encampment at the breach, and the smaller camps at each tower, had already been notified about Mister Whiskers and that they were not to loose arrows at him.
When all the soldiers, cooks, hostlers, menders, laborers, and smiths were arrayed before him, he said, “We live in interesting times, where legends once again walk the lands. It was not so long ago Eletians had fallen into myth, only to reappear after hundreds of years. And we all know what lurks beyond the wall. Now, I have spoken to you before of the gryphon that has been inhabiting the tower. Today we release him so perhaps he may find a mate and bring her back. Kittens could be raised to protect the towers from within.”
He paused, taking in the skeptical expressions on the faces around him. “I know it sounds mad, but such are the times we live in. I want you to meet Mister Whiskers, er, the gryphon. I want you to see him so he can come to no ah-ah-ah—” He sneezed explosively. When he blew his nose, he noticed everyone was gazing at the ground near his feet.
“Meep.”
There sat the fearsome Mister Whiskers in the snow, wearing his house cat form, his orange-striped tail wrapped around his feet. He looked at his incredulous audience with curiosity.
“Yes, this is, uh, the gryphon,” Alton said. “Mister Whiskers, would you change so everyone can see your true form?”
The cat just stared back at him. Members of his audience started to snicker and laugh.
“Please?” Alton asked, wondering if the cat knew just how ridiculous this was making him look.
“Meep?”
Would he have to grovel?
“You don’t want them to fill you with arrows when you return in your true form, do you? They won’t know it’s you.”
The cat blinked, then before his eyes, enlarged, elongated, transformed. His snout turned into a beak, and feathers replaced the fur on his head. His orange coat grew more tawny and wings sprouted from his back. He flapped them, then tucked them to his sides. He was even more fearsome and large than Alton remembered. The crowd had stepped back murmuring in consternation. Yes, they had seen a few “things” while stationed at the wall, but this was certainly something new occurring right before their eyes. Alton did not blame them for their disquiet.
“This is Mister Whiskers’ true form,” he said. “You are not to target him, or any other gryphon that may return with him. Is this understood?”
There was a jumble of uncertain Yes, m’lords and Aye, sirs. Then, to his surprise, Leese, the encampment’s chief mender, came forward for a closer look.
“Hello, Mister Whiskers,” she said. “You are a magnificent creature, aren’t you.”
Whiskers curved his neck as though inviting closer inspection. She stepped up to him and started to scratch his neck where fur met feather. Thunderous purrs rumbled out of him and vibrated the ground.
“What a nice kitty, er, gryphon,” Leese said, her expression one of delight. “You are handsome.” The crowd watched in awe, and, if anything, the purrs only increased in intensity.
Alton cleared his throat. “Mister Whiskers has a mission, don’t you, Mister Whiskers.”
The gryphon glared at him with his sharp eagle’s eyes. He was enjoying Leese’s attention.
“Leese,” Alton whispered, “mission.”
“Oh, of course.” She scratched Mister Whiskers
beneath the chin, so close to his raptor’s beak that Alton felt queasy; then she returned to her place with the rest of the crowd. “Good-bye, Mister Whiskers.”
The gryphon ruffled his feathers, gave Alton another look, then spread his wings, which knocked Alton over into a snowdrift. By the time Alton had righted himself, Mister Whiskers had launched into the air, the downbeats of his amazing wings gusting hats off heads and tousling hair. His shadow glided over them. For all his size, he gracefully arrowed high into the sky and grew smaller and smaller. He circled once, then twice, before darting northwestward.
Alton had never thought to see the like. “And that is Mister Whiskers,” he concluded lamely.
Soon the assembled began to disperse, but Leese joined him, still looking to the sky. “I wonder if they lay eggs, or have live births.”
“I’ve no idea,” Alton replied.
Leese smiled. “Maybe we’ll find out if his mission is successful. Professional curiosity, of course, and I do love kittens.”
In addition to caring for human patients, Leese often treated the four-legged variety, as well.
“Let’s hope this all works.”
• • •
Alton reentered the tower to find Merdigen dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief. Was the cantankerous great mage crying?
“So, it is done?” Merdigen asked.
Alton nodded.
“It is not a safe world out there,” Merdigen said. “So many dangers. People kill what they do not understand.”
It was true, of course. “If anyone attempts it, it won’t be anyone from our encampments or the castle.”
“There are a lot of people between here and there, and beyond.”
“I think,” Alton said, surprised to hear himself trying to comfort the mage, “that Mister Whiskers will use his best judgment as to whether or not he will approach within arrow range of human habitation.”