Immerez swallowed.
“Well, man, what is it?”
“The message . . . it—it got away.”
“The message got away? What did it do? Sprout legs and run?”
“Yes, my lord. I mean, no, my lord.”
Mirwell rubbed his grizzled eyebrows with his thumb and forefinger. “Explain.”
“We chased Coblebay for days, and even more after we injured him. The day we thought we finally had him, he eluded us yet again. He rode like a demon, as if his horse had wings. Unnatural, if you take my meaning. He should’ve died days earlier. He rode off the trail and into the woods. We lost all trace of him, as if he’d disappeared completely.”
“How do you know he’s dead?”
“We found him eventually, on the Selium Road.”
“So where’s the message?” The governor’s voice was tinged with impatience.
“With the horse.” Before the governor could bark another question, Immerez explained, “Someone took the horse. That fool Thursgad thought Coblebay’s ghost still directed it, but we caught up with the rider, cloaked in a Greenie greatcoat, and very much of the flesh. This Rider did vanish.”
“Greenie tricks, eh? I’ve heard they have uncanny abilities, but they are close-mouthed about it. Zachary keeps that woman by his throne. You know the one.”
“Mapstone?”
“That’s the one. Mapstone.” He snarled her name. “He keeps her by his side and she looks at me like she can see right into my soul. I heard of Greenie magic when I was a boy and always knew to keep my mind clear around her, and my words honest. No sense in taking a chance, and I’m glad I haven’t. Only a Greenie could disappear like that. What do you plan now?”
Immerez released a long breath, as if relieved by the governor’s apparent understanding. “My men and the Gray One continue to track this new Greenie. I request additional help. I thought it would prove advantageous if we include a couple of Prince Amilton’s people in the chase. After all, it is for him we are treading such a dangerous path.”
“A couple of Amilton’s folk, eh? Which ones did you have in mind?”
“His Weapons.”
Mirwell chortled. “How very shrewd of you, Captain. We’ll make our would-be king feel a little vulnerable without them, eh? And how very appropriate. They are already traitors to the realm, so by necessity they will be careful. By all means, broaden the search.”
“What if the prince should protest?”
“Does he have any choice? Without our help, he won’t be able to claim the crown as his.” The fire popped, and the captain blinked. Mirwell ran his fingers through his beard where four white streaks cut through the gray like claw-marks. “You must stop that Greenie, Captain. We must prevent that message from getting through. If it does, our plans could fall to ruin, and the reprisal would be harsh indeed. We mustn’t alert Zachary to his impending assassination. Find out also who the spy is, if one exists, by whatever means necessary.”
“Yes, my lord.” Immerez started to bow, but Mirwell stopped him with a gesture.
“And Immerez, if you fail, I shall carve out your other eye from its socket myself, and display it in a jar on my mantel until it withers away.”
Immerez’s cheeks blanched. He knew it was no casual threat. He completed the bow and turned smartly on his heel, leaving the library in brisk even steps.
Mirwell chuckled. Immerez was generally a competent man, but a threat wouldn’t hurt. It was no secret the governor could have housed a museum of body parts taken from those who had displeased him.
The letter from Dean Geyer crinkled as he unfolded it for another read through. His idiot of a son had lost a swordfight with some merchant girl and had retaliated by involving the Selium Mirwells. It seemed his cousins had things under control. The girl in question was suspended from school for the fight, causing her to run away. Mirwell, never fond of merchants, grinned. Maybe his boy held some promise after all. But governing a great province, a province that was destined to become even greater once they rid Sacoridia of King Zachary, took more than simple retaliation and meanness of spirit.
The girl’s name was G’ladheon, a name of the old days, but not an original Sacor Clan, and certainly the name of a lesser clan. A merchant clan . . . he had heard of it before, he thought, but it was one that did not frequent Mirwell Province.
He rang the bell at his side and presently his aide, Major Beryl Spencer, joined him. Her bow was crisp, but elegant. Ah, if he were only twenty years younger, maybe the two of them could have bred a robust, intelligent son. But he had grown too crusty, and another heir now would not only ruin all his hard work with Timas, but would complicate things inordinately.
“My lord?” Beryl perched on the edge of a chair and held a quill and paper ready to record his command, or to script a letter.
“I’ve an assignment for you, Spence,” he said, using his pet nickname for her. “My son has gotten into trouble with a girl of a lesser clan.”
“Shall I offer the clan reparation on your behalf, or shall we acknowledge the child?”
“Child? What? Oh, no, not that kind of trouble.” It was an amusing thought that made him chuckle, and almost erupt into a belly laugh. Beryl’s perplexed expression prolonged it. “No, I doubt the runt is capable of siring a child. I’d like you to find out about a merchant clan called G’ladheon. Find out who they are and what their home province is. I want to know how powerful they are should they seek retaliation.”
“Yes, my lord. Anything else?”
“Send word to Dean Geyer that I need dates, not just names. I thought the man to be intelligent, as scholars are supposed to be.”
Beryl’s eyes were questioning. “In regard to . . . ?”
“He’ll know what it’s about, and tell our messenger he must reply immediately. Dismissed, Major.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Beryl bowed and left him. An efficient woman, that Beryl. Mirwell liked to surround himself with efficiency. Efficiency meant competence, and competence meant that his goals would be achieved. He had but to command. He glanced at Dean Geyer’s letter again. There was a natural history class full of high-blooded children at Selium, some of them the sons and daughters of clan chiefs. Interesting that the G’ladheon girl’s name should be on the class list. In an odd way, Timas had saved her life by causing her to run away.
The field trip sanctioned by the dean would insure that none of the aristocratic children would pose a threat to Prince Amilton’s ascension to the throne. Oh, there were others out there, thick-blooded aristocrats ready to take the throne, but they would be dealt with individually if necessary. Children were but a small sacrifice for a greater cause.
Mirwell wadded up the letter and tossed it into the fire. He watched the paper ignite and blacken around the edges, seeming to fold into itself until it was no longer there. This plan of his had to be thought through, and he had been thinking about it for decades. Only with the help of the Gray One had it seemed possible for it to become reality.
Beside his chair, a little table held an Intrigue board set with blue, green, and red pieces. Few were moved from their starting positions on the edges of the board, for only one man played this game.
Mirwell removed a green messenger from the perimeter of the red court. The pieces were ancient, at least very old, and made of enameled lead. The features on the pieces had been blurred by the fingers of generations of his family.
He laid the green messenger on its side. “You are dead,” he said.
Then he moved another green messenger into the fray. He positioned three red soldiers, two red knights, and a blue assassin behind it.
SPAWN OF KANMORHAN VANE
Several days passed, punctuated only by the occasional spring shower. Karigan and The Horse drifted between the North Road and the cover of the endless forest, backtracking several times in hopes of confusing Immerez and his men should they pick up on her trail again. Every so often, she felt as if she were being w
atched, and was seized by an unnerving urge to glance repeatedly over her shoulder. But she never saw any evidence of pursuit, and The Horse didn’t seem concerned at all. Could it be that the spirit of F’ryan Coblebay still followed?
At midday, she sat on a rock while chewing on a piece of dried meat. The Horse wandered nearby, cropping at grass that grew in the road and swishing his tail at flies. Karigan slapped at her own neck. The biters had emerged in abundance after all the wet weather.
After only a few days on the road since her stay at Seven Chimneys, she missed all the little comforts provided by the Berry sisters—the soft bed, hot tea, fragrant baths, and especially the conversation. It had been all very civilized. She kept the gifts bestowed upon her by the sisters close to her. The moonstone remained in her trouser pocket, and the bayberry sprig and bunchberry flower were tucked in an inner pocket of the greatcoat. Whenever she removed them, they were uncrushed and unwilted, and yet, she wasn’t surprised.
The Horse nickered and looked toward the sky, blades of grass sticking out of the corners of his mouth. Karigan followed his gaze, shielding her eyes against the glare of the sun. Far above an enormous eagle circled. His size and dull coloring indicated he was one of the rare gray eagles who lived in the Wingsong Mountains. They were seldom seen so far from their mountain realm, and never at close range. Her natural history instructor, Master Ione, would give up his master’s knot to see what she now watched.
The eagle rode the currents, rising higher and seeming to float on the air, then swooped lower as though watching something. Karigan could imagine the feathers on his wings rippling, and the wind roaring in his ears. What breathtaking sights he must see from so high up! Could he see beyond the expanse of the Green Cloak to the sea? Could he see the spires of his own mountain peak home?
The eagle’s circle widened—he was definitely searching for something—prey most likely. He hovered for a moment, as if frozen in time, before veering southward and out of sight. The Horse snorted and resumed his grazing.
At dusk they followed a deer trail to find a campsite for the night. Karigan winced at the thought of sleeping on the ground again, certain that her back would never be the same after so many nights of rocks and roots. Her precious, albeit bedraggled, blanket from Selium helped, but it was certainly no feather bed.
Biters buzzed in her ears. It was feeding time, and they chewed on any bit of flesh she left uncovered. The Horse shook his whole body to relieve himself, and almost dislodged Karigan from the saddle in the process.
She scratched at a new row of welts on the back of her neck, wishing for a jar of priddle cream, obtained from the horrible smelling priddle plant, more often called stinky weed. Despite the pungent odor, or because of it, it was by far the best repellent against biters. Wishes were as solid as air, however, and she was no more likely to come across a pot of priddle cream as she was to sleep in a feather bed.
Without warning, The Horse stopped dead in his tracks and laid back his ears. Karigan paused her scratching.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered. “I don’t see anything.”
There were any number of things in the deepening shadows of the woods that could spook a horse, though this horse was not easily spooked. Karigan waited for a moment, and when she didn’t hear or see anything, she urged him forward. He resisted and stepped backward instead.
“I still don’t see—” Off to their right, the underbrush rustled. “—anything.” The last word crept out in a whisper.
Karigan’s eyes darted from shadow to shadow, searching for the source of the noise, but silence hung thick in the woods as if all the creatures within waited with bated breath for something to happen. The reins became slimy in her sweaty hands. The Horse shifted uneasily beneath her.
Just when she decided she must have imagined the noise, a creature larger than her horse exploded from the underbrush, scattering leaves and branches into the air, and hurled itself at them in a silvery streak.
The Horse reared, dumping Karigan out of the saddle.
Karigan groaned. The whole world moved and bumped in her head . . . her aching, groggy head. The greatcoat and her shirt were bunched up beneath her shoulders, and the ground scraped and dug into her bare back. There was a terrible pain in her ankle. Her arms trailed behind her in the forest litter. Trailing, moving, bumping. No, the movement wasn’t in her head at all. Her foot must be caught in a stirrup and The Horse was dragging her.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she had to crane her neck to see. A huge pincerlike claw, not a stirrup, clamped her ankle. The claw was attached to a saucer-shaped body armored by a metallic carapace supported by six jointed legs. A flat tail arched over the creature’s body, a stinger oozing with venom the size of a dagger protruding from its end. Two black orbs glinted in the moonlight, moving on the end of eyestalks. A mandible worked where its mouth was, and two slender antennae felt the path ahead as the creature ambled crablike deeper into the woods. A second claw snapped at The Horse, forcing him to keep his distance.
Karigan almost lost consciousness again, but she fought it off. Oblivion, no matter how inviting, was not going to help her. Instead, she screamed.
Then like a frightened animal snared in a trap, she squirmed and thrashed and snarled, but the claw held her fast, and in fact tightened and cut into her ankle. She moaned with the pain. She sat up even as she was being dragged, and tried to loosen the giant claw with her hands. The shell was as hard as a knight’s plate armor, and the claw wouldn’t budge. Her toes began to feel numb. She fell back, puffing from the exertion, letting her hands trail in the leaf litter. Her head throbbed so and she felt as though she might vomit. Where was the creature taking her?
Gods . . . She stifled a helpless sob, her breathing ragged. Her heart thumped against her rib cage. Calm down, calm down. Think. She forced herself to take deeper, longer breaths, to relax her muscles as much as possible, just as Arms Master Rendle had trained her. “Caving in to fear will be your death,” he once said. “There is no room for it on the battlefield. Being afraid is healthy, but fear is an enemy.” She continued with the breaths and thought about how she could help herself.
Her head bounced on a rock and sparks of light burst before her eyes. She groaned and felt the back of her skull. She winced as she touched one egg-sized bump—from when she fell off The Horse, she guessed—and a small one from the rock. Rocks and roots continued to scrape her back as she was dragged along. Would this nightmare never end? How could she help herself?
Her hand trailed along another rock and she fumbled with it, but she couldn’t get it firmly into her grasp. She searched for other rocks, but they were too small to have any effect, or too lodged in the ground, or too big for her to handle. She grappled with another that seemed right, and almost lost it when she ripped a fingernail on it. But she didn’t give up till it was firmly in her hands.
It was not easy to aim, being hauled along the ground on her back as she was. Using the strength of both arms, she heaved the rock at the creature, issuing a grunt as she released it. It glanced harmlessly off the creature’s carapace and dropped to the ground with a thud. She succeeded only in drawing the creature’s attention to her. It swiveled its disk body about to look at her directly. The eyestalks bobbed above her, then the feelers swung over and probed her midsection.
“Stop it!” Karigan cried.
The jabbing was painful, and at times, ticklish. She grabbed one of the feelers and the other whisked away. It was rough and cold in her hand, and as thick as a broom handle. The creature considered her for a moment, then shook her till she was certain her foot would be severed from her ankle. She dropped the antenna, tears of pain slipping down her cheeks.
The Horse took advantage of the diversion and met the creature head on, rearing up and pounding his hooves onto the hard shell. He moved deftly out of the way of the stinger to evade the snap of the claw. When he came too close to the creature’s eyes, it was alarmed enough to drop Karigan’s foot and pay full
attention to the annoying mammal that threatened it. How astonishing, Karigan thought, that The Horse hadn’t run off, much less had stuck around to defend her.
A moment passed before she realized she was free, and that her foot was still attached to her body. She tried to stand on it, but fell back to the ground with a cry. Too much feeling flooded into her foot all at once. She stood up again, this time hopping on her left foot, and not daring to put weight on the right.
“Horse!”
The Horse was too preoccupied with fighting for his own life to help. The creature, unburdened of Karigan, moved quickly from side to side, and swiveled to stop him. The Horse’s hooves thudded the ground as he turned and swerved, bucking at the creature, then rounding on it and snapping his teeth. His efforts could have killed a man or woman, but proved futile against the armor plating of the creature. He was showing signs of exhaustion, his breathing labored, and foamy sweat dripping on the ground, and he stumbled with increasing frequency.
Karigan hopped away in an attempt to keep ahead of the two combatants. If The Horse failed, there was nothing to stop the creature from getting her.
She hopped and loped heedlessly, pushing through underbrush, and checking over her shoulder to see how The Horse fared. As the moon fell behind some clouds, an almost palpable darkness took hold of the forest and she could discern little about her. Maybe the blow to her head contributed in some way, by darkening the edges of her vision.
With her uncertain footing and dim sight, she stumbled into something sticky, like a giant cobweb. She tried to walk out of it, but it clung to her, and snapped her back, entangling both legs and most of her body. She struggled, but the stuff only stuck to her more.
What is this?
The moon began to edge out from behind the cloud and she saw a white, weblike filament stuck to her arm and legs. In fact, it was tautly woven between several trees.