Mirror Sight
Page 121

Laren was about to say as much when from somewhere within the depths of the records room a loud thud made several of the Riders jump and look around uneasily. On the periphery of her vision, Laren saw Dakrias chewing on his nails as he glanced behind in the direction of the noise.
What in the name of the gods was that? It sounded like someone slamming a book on the floor. Laren stood there momentarily at a loss. She’d forgotten what she meant to say next. She patted her shortcoat, pulled out Karigan’s letter, and cleared her throat. “Uh, Karigan left a letter for the Green Riders. She knew the risk she would be taking when it came to entering Blackveil. She knew she might not return.” She broke the seal—she had not read the letter herself, feeling that they should all hear its contents at the same time.
“My dear friends,” she began. Karigan’s handwriting had always been neat and well-practiced, the result of keeping records and ledgers in meticulous order, and this letter was no exception. “If you are reading this, it means I have died in Blackveil.”
Thunder boomed somewhere behind Laren, somewhere beyond the nearest shelves, making everyone jump again. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling about ready to leap out of her skin. It hadn’t really been thunder, no, but maybe a whole armload of books hitting the floor with resounding force. When she opened her eyes again, she saw two Weapons peeling away to investigate. A murmur arose from the Riders.
“Don’t be troubled,” Dakrias said, raising his hands, palms outward. “It’s, uh, just the resident spirits making their presence known.” There was an aggrieved edge to his voice. It was he and his clerks, after all, who would have to clean up after the mischief.
Laren waited for silence to be restored before she started reading again. “Most of you know it was never my intention to be a Rider—I had other plans, to follow in my father’s footsteps and become a merchant, but the call rang true. I have not regretted a moment of—”
BAM!
This time, something excessively heavy had fallen. Dakrias put his hand to his head and muttered to himself before dashing off to investigate among the shelves.
The Riders shifted uneasily. Rattled, Laren searched the letter to find where she had left off. “I have not regretted a moment,” she read, “of my service to the king and Sacoridia. It has especially been an honor to serve so fine a captain, and among such courageous and dedicated people.”
From nowhere, papers, many papers, started snowing down on them from the shadowed heights above. Laren watched in disbelief.
Someone snickered.
Laren tore her gaze to her Riders and saw to her amazement, her Chief Rider, Mara, cover her mouth with her hand, her shoulders shaking. As more papers drifted downward, Tegan joined her, and then Garth let out a great guffaw. Ty looked scandalized, and the newer Riders perplexed. What had possessed them?
“Leave it to—” Mara sputtered between laughs. “Leave it to Karigan!”
Laren raised an eyebrow.
“Only at her memorial!” Mara then doubled over with the laughter.
Others who had known Karigan started laughing as well, and it spread to the new Riders. There was even a hint of a smile on the queen’s lips. At first Laren was taken aback, but then she understood. As serious as many of Karigan’s adventures had been, she’d often found herself in ridiculous situations, such as wearing a theatrical costume of Mad Queen Oddacious to the king’s masquerade ball. People still talked about the girl who had ridden her horse all the way from Corsa to a busy market in Darden wearing nothing but her own skin. Under the influence of the Rider call, Karigan had actually worn her nightgown, but the story persisted.
So Mara was right. Only at Karigan’s memorial would something so ridiculous occur as spirits lobbing books off shelves and tossing papers into the air. It couldn’t be just a normal, somber, dignified affair. Laren found herself grinning. Perhaps it was better they all remembered not just the serious parts of Karigan’s life, but those that left a lightness in their hearts. Whether the ghosts had intended to do so or not, they’d allowed the Riders to release some of their grief through laughter.
When the flurries of papers settled and the mirth mostly subsided, Laren returned to the letter. Karigan mentioned the Riders with whom she had worked, alive and dead, remembering some small detail about each of them. Some memories were humorous, such as the time Tegan and Dale had dyed Garth’s uniform yellow. Others were more serious, such as acknowledging Mara’s bravery in facing a deadly wraith in the old Rider barracks, now gone to ashes, its foundation filled in and buried. There was gentle laughter now and again, and tears. Laren herself almost lost control when she read, “There is no finer leader than Captain Mapstone. She is brave, and fierce in her loyalty to the king and her Riders, and always my mentor, the woman I’ve admired most. I’ve tried to emulate her as a messenger and a person, but I fear I’ve mostly fallen short.”
Karigan, Laren thought, you have never fallen short.
She began reading Karigan’s final farewell, but was interrupted by a rattling, almost like the sounds of the earth quaking. The ground did not move, however—it was everything else: scaffolding, shelves, Dakrias’ desk and table, his piles of books . . .
More objects started to fall from shelves and crash to the floor, and as the rumble intensified, debris also dropped from the scaffolding onto the assembled. The Weapons hustled Estora from the chamber.
“Everyone out!” Laren cried after a plank of wood clattered down next to her.