First Rider's Call
Page 147

If she wished to call upon it, it would work for her unimpaired. She didn’t think she would, however, not for a long while. She had had enough input from her ability of late to last a lifetime.
She turned a corner just in time to get whomped with a snowball. Some Green Foot runners had built snow forts and were engaged in battle.
Their laughter died promptly when they saw who they hit. She strode by them, brushing snow off her shortcoat.
“Carry on,” she told them.
She left behind stunned silence, which moments later erupted into high-spirited shouts. She was feeling too good to be a killjoy, and now had a different perspective on the small pleasures of life.
Let the children enjoy what they have before they become too burdened with the cares of adults.
When Laren had finally emerged from her quarters, Tegan had practically launched into somersaults of joy, and then did her best to fill her in on all that had transpired during her absence. Laren had known bits and pieces, but now many of the gaps were filled in.
The Laren Mapstone of old would have felt guilt for all her Riders had borne without her, and brooded over it till the end of her days. The reborn Laren Mapstone did feel guilt, but it was not as dark or heavy as it once might have been. No, she felt instead immense pride in her Riders, for continuing on with their duties despite adversity.
For those they had lost, there was sorrow and grief, but she knew that even if she had been well, there was little she could have done to prevent their deaths.
She halted before the door that led to the king’s study. Guards and a pair of Weapons stood at attention along the walls. So did a snowman.
“You have a friend,” Laren told Fastion.
The Weapon arched an eyebrow.
Laren glanced from Fastion to the snowman, and back. It was all she could do to keep from laughing.
“The king is expecting you,” Fastion said.
She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and tapped on the door.
“Enter,” came the king’s voice from the other side.
To Laren’s astonishment, Fastion winked at her as he held the door open for her, and murmured, “Welcome back, Captain. You’ve been missed.”
She left winter and entered summer once again. Sunshine flowed into the study, and birds twittered in the shrubbery just outside the windows. Snow crumbled off her boots and melted on the floor.
Behind his big desk, Zachary toyed with a knife, but when she entered, he immediately set it aside and rushed across the room to enclose her in an embrace.
“Thank the gods you are well,” he said. “You don’t know how I’ve missed you.”
This was a better greeting than she could have ever hoped for. He scrutinized her from arm’s length and she was reminded of the little boy he had once been, his emotions unveiled and open, his cheeks slightly flushed.
She knew he saw her gaunt cheeks and the lines around her eyes, and the pallor of her flesh. His expression was at once gentle and worried.
“I don’t think you know—” his voice quavered “—how much Sacoridia depends on you.”
She gave him a wry smile. “Oh, I don’t know. It seems my Riders have held the place together rather well without me.”
Zachary laughed. “And so they have. But I never want you to forget how much I value you as a counselor and friend; how much I depend on you. It has always been so. I also wish to ask forgiveness—”
“No.”
“Please.” His face was set and serious. “I wish to ask forgiveness for my execrable behavior, and for any harsh words I may have uttered.”
He did not set forth any excuses when it would have been easy to do so. I didn’t have any idea, he could have said, that your ability was failing you. For this she found his request all the more admirable. He waited for her response and, she could tell from his eyes, hoped.
“I forgive you, Moonling.”
Zachary laughed in genuine relief, and hugged her again. He led her to a chair in front of his desk, and took his own place behind it.
“I have been to the mending wing just now,” Laren said, “to check on one Rider who received a nasty knock on the head, and on another who was found unconscious in an abandoned section of the castle. There was also a soldier under restraint yelling like a madman about ghosts. No one, not even Destarion, could tell me exactly what happened. Can you?”
The king sighed. “We haven’t quite pieced it together yet, but here is what I know. The madman, Sergeant Uxton of the Mountain Unit, or one of his accomplices, attacked Garth, then used a Green Foot runner to lure Karigan to the new Rider wing by informing her Garth had been hurt. Once there, she was attacked as well. For what purpose, we haven’t yet determined. Karigan put up a fight, and was found only after a servant discovered Garth and informed the guard.
“Uxton was found crawling through snow in the corridor, leaving a trail of blood behind him from a stab wound to his foot.” He picked up the knife from his desktop. “Here, tell me what you think of this.”
Laren took it into her hands. It was of an archaic style, with a wider, flaring blade. It was heavy, and not as fine as the blades she was accustomed to using, but killing sharp. The hilt was made of horn or bone, and inscribed in Old Sacoridian. She glanced up at Zachary.
“This looks like a piece from the Sacor City War Museum.”
“Yes, it does, doesn’t it.”
“But it looks newly made, not worn as it should be for its age.” She weighed it in her hand.