First Rider's Call (76 page)

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Authors: Kristen Britain

BOOK: First Rider's Call
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She plowed to a stop, and glanced over her shoulder at the creature closing in. She could run herself to death, or give up. Or she could face the creature.
Her stubborn streak refused to let her give in. She cracked a limb off a tree and waited.
The creature rumbled toward her, gathering speed, taking down trees as it came. The ground trembled, or maybe it was Karigan who trembled, thinking her branch a pitiful defense against something that could uproot trees. It was like waiting for an avalanche to roll over her.
Snow swirled up into a stinging fog as the beast slid to a halt in front of her. She could only make out the dense shadow that formed it. It snorted and pawed at the snow, and she could imagine large nostrils flaring as it took in her scent.
It plodded forward a couple more steps, and still she could discern no details. It seemed to ooze through the dark as if it were part of the night itself. Did it carry itself on hooves, or sharp claws? Or did it slither through the forest as a snake would?
What are you?
Karigan wondered, shaking from cold and fear.
The thing reared up before her, reared up higher than the tops of trees, its forelegs with clawed feet stretching up against the backdrop of falling snow. It howled into the night.
Horrified, Karigan screamed, too, and plunged her branch into its underside. The creature bellowed, but her makeshift weapon did it no harm—it was absorbed into its body.
That’s what’s going to happen to me.
It was going to absorb her and consume her. She had no doubt of it.
She spun and ran, calling on reserves of strength that really weren’t there. She ran heedlessly, certain the end was near.
The beast charged after her. She could almost feel its breath on the back of her neck, and she knew she must be in range of snapping jaws or the swipe of a claw.
She did not want to die. She did not want it to end this way.
She stumbled down an embankment and her feet flew out from beneath her. She sprawled onto a hard surface, a pond sealed in glittering black ice. The wind had swept it clean of snow.
Her momentum sent her gliding and spinning away. She gazed into the ice as she went and it was like looking into the heavens whirling beneath glazed glass, for there were bright pinpoints of stars there. Spinning she went, spinning across the heavens.
Fractures marred the ice—she feared her weight would send her crashing through into the freezing water, but she glided safely over them.
The creature paused its pursuit by the pond’s edge, at first hesitant. But with its prey so close by, it tossed caution aside and dashed onto the ice, at first scrambling for purchase, then unsheathing its claws to grip the slippery surface.
Karigan tried to regain her feet in the face of the creature’s onrush, but she just kept slipping. Ice chips flew as the creature bounded toward her, its claws scoring the black ice.
This is it, then.
Karigan closed her eyes, finally finding her end.
Yet it wasn’t to be so. The splintering of ice cracked through the forest and roused her. The creature had reached the fractured patch, which gave way beneath its feet. It screamed and thrashed, fought to pull itself back onto solid ice, but only broke more ice. The creature sank beneath the pond’s surface, and did not re-emerge.
The broken ice released the heavens that had been locked beneath it. Clear, dark night, unpowdered by snow squalls, spread upward from the hole, carrying with it a galaxy of stars.
Beyond exhaustion, Karigan laid her head on her forearm and sighed deeply.
They rushed to Karigan’s side when she screamed.
“What’s happening?” Garth demanded.
Ty shrugged.
Karigan had partially thrown one of the blankets off herself. Was she dreaming? Was it a nightmare? Laren had no way of telling, but thought it a hopeful sign, better than total lack of consciousness.
Karigan thrashed some more, then fell limp, breathing heavily.
“Look.” Garth pointed at her left arm.
At first Laren thought Karigan was bleeding, but what oozed from her arm was a black, oily substance. She had seen its like before, in the castle’s throne room two years ago. It pooled onto the floor, then slithered to and fro in the cracks between the stone flagging, as if to find an avenue of escape. It could not. Then quite suddenly it evaporated with a hiss of steam.
“Gods!” Garth exclaimed. “What was it?”
The illusion, Merdigen, had come up behind them and watched over their shoulders. “Tainted wild magic. She’s better off for having expelled it.”
As if to confirm his words, Karigan sighed deeply and sank into what appeared to be a peaceful, normal sleep.
Journal of Hadriax el Fex
Alessandros has betrayed us. He has betrayed everything. His madness is destroying the ideals upon which the Empire was founded, this world, and even those who have proven themselves loyal time and again. I can barely write—my hand shakes so from outrage and grief. Tears blur the ink.
Alessandros has committed a terrible act. He made a sacrifice today—not of prisoners or slaves, not even of Elt.
I had just returned this afternoon from a campaign to the west, and my men and I had barely dismounted when we found ourselves, along with others of the town and palace, being ushered inside to the great hall by Alessandros’ guards. We were all confused and did not know what to expect.
Alessandros stood upon a raised platform—a stage, now that I think of it—before drawn curtains. He had news, he said, news of great import that would finally secure our victory in the war. A great cheer went up in the hall and the people chanted his name. He grinned and raised his hands to silence them.
When all was quiet once again, Alessandros explained he had made the Black Star immeasurably stronger, and that it was the greatest weapon the world had ever known. To do so, he had had to make sacrifices, but we shouldn’t be sad, he said. The sacrifices would save so many more lives. The assembled shifted uneasily and I wondered what he had done this time.
Then he made the curtain vanish.
Seated in perfect rows upon the stage were the revered warriors of the Lion regiment. Our best and bravest soldiers, the pride of the Empire. They wore tunics of purest white trimmed with gold. Lions embroidered in red and gold thread roared upon their chests. Beneath the tunics they wore their golden parade armor, glittering in the light of the prisms. Their golden helms were placed at their feet, and bared swords across their knees.
Renald sat in the front row with the other officers, his tunic adorned with glistening medals of valor, medals of service, and medals of merit. About his waist was the gold-embossed belt I had had crafted for him when he made captain. The belt buckle was a lion’s head.
My squire, my young man, the brave warrior.
They were dead. All of them.
Crude stitches lashed together the gashes of flesh at their throats. They’d been drained of blood, and their skin was as white as their tunics. Mouths gaped open grotesquely, lips curled back, and their eyes had rolled to the backs of their heads showing only the whites. Corpses dressed up and propped up like macabre dolls; parodies of what these men had once been.
It took several moments for the enormity of it all to sink in. At first everyone was too stunned, then wailing exploded in the chamber as the assembled recognized loved ones and friends among Arcosia’s Lions. Brothers, fathers, sons, and husbands.
I have never known better men, especially Renald. Merciful in battle, loyal to the core. They had sworn their hearts and lives to Arcosia. Not to this.
Even as the whole of my body numbed in shock, Alessandros walked among the corpses, gazing fondly at them, putting his hand on a shoulder here, gripping an arm there. He made the sacrifice, he explained, for the good of Mornhavonia. It had been the choice of the soldiers to willingly give up their lives thus, to strengthen the Black Star. They were now renowned martyrs, he said, and should be praised.
The hall smelled of bitter sickness and there was much weeping, but many seemed to want to believe Alessandros, as though it would soothe their pain. I did not believe him. I could not.
Later on, he called me to his apartments and confided that the Lions never knew what was coming, that they’d been brought before him one at a time, and he slaughtered them systematically like a line of cattle. The words tumbled shakily from his mouth, and his foot twitched in nervous fashion.
He was confessing to me, as though I were a priest, to alleviate the burden of his sins. I think more that he wanted to justify his actions.
“I am god, after all,” he said, “and it is my right to give or take life.”
All I had seen was the taking, but I said nothing. He watched me carefully for my reaction.
After some moments I ventured, “You sent me away on that campaign so I wouldn’t know.”
“My dear, dear Hadriax, you comprehend me all too well. I couldn’t take the chance you’d talk me out of it. I know how much you loved Renald, and the esteem you held for him. I am sorry for your loss, for he was a good young man, but it was necessary.”
I could only swallow hard and will my tears to stay back.
“Think of it!” Alessandros said. “With the sacrifice of the Lions, the Black Star is stronger than ever. It now embodies their strength of heart, fighting spirit, and strategic skill. All of them live on in the Star. With it we will conquer the New Lands, and then take our war to the Empire itself. The Emperor will pay for abandoning us.”
I wanted to kill him right there. I wanted to wrap my fingers about his throat and choke the life out of him. My fingers opened and closed even as the rage fired up in my heart. But I knew I could not do it. He had been using so much etherea and he was protected by the Black Star. He could not die by such ordinary means.
I could bear no more and so left. I now know, after this latest atrocity, that my alliance with the Green Riders is inevitable; that my pact with Lil Ambriodhe is sealed. Alessandros’ betrayal has brought me to this.
May it bring him to his death.
THE KING’S DECISION
They were doomed.
Three of Laren’s Riders would never return to Sacor City, and others were badly injured. Dale, with her grave wounds, remained in Woodhaven where she could receive care without being moved more than necessary.
Alton stayed in Woodhaven, too, to discuss matters with his father, and then he’d return to the wall to see what more he could learn from it, and to investigate the unusual properties of
Haethen Toundrel.
His wounds appeared more psychic than physical. He would not talk to Karigan, would not even look at her. Some breach greater than the one in the wall divided them, and both Laren and Karigan were at a loss to explain the cause.
And now, after all their trials and losses, their sacrifices in service to their king and country, that same king was about to doom the country by splitting it asunder, by alienating the one lord-governor he needed most on his side.
All the lord-governors, except Lord D’Yer, ringed the long table in the council chamber. Most were attended by an aide of some sort. Lord D’Ivary, though not technically a prisoner, was closely watched by guards.
The lords Adolind, Mirwell, Penburn, and Wayman were there, as well as L’Petrie, Oldbury, and Steward-Governor Leonar Hillander, Zachary’s cousin. Representing Lord D’Yer was his own steward, Aldeon Mize. One side of the table was occupied by the eastern lords as a block, as if to separate themselves from all others, just as they were geographically separated from the rest of Sacoridia.
They were proud and independent in spirit, attributes that lent them an air of superiority, and allowed them to survive isolation and the harsh conditions of sea and mountain.

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