FIGHTING THE HEAVENS

Karigan staggered through the gray, swirling cloud she was caught in. She could not say where she was, or where she was going. She just kept trudging on.

She put her hand to her throbbing head and groaned. Blood loss and the abuses to her body weakened her, and the use of her special ability did not help. “I’ve got to sit,” she told Beryl, and she dropped to the ground where she was, not caring about the snow. Beryl sat beside her and said nothing, and Karigan held onto her arm as much to keep them both faded out as to remain grounded.

The black stallion awaited her on the plains. He lay on the ground with his legs tucked beneath him, but now the grasses were covered in snow. A storm was reflected in his eyes, a turmoil of snow squalls warring in shifting winds.

He wanted her to ride with him into the storm? Was that it?

She shuddered out of the vision. Her hand slipped from Beryl’s sleeve and hastily she grabbed the Rider’s wrist. Beryl was shivering, or was it she herself who shivered?

I am lost, and it will be the death of us.

Beryl remained mute and had allowed herself to be led aimlessly around. It was wholly unlike the Rider Karigan remembered. She blinked into the gray dark and against the snow blowing into her eyes. Her surroundings were indistinguishable from any other part of the small mountain. She strained to hear sounds of pursuit, but only the wind sheared past her ears.

A shape loomed out of the gray ahead of her, and before she could move herself or Beryl, it tripped over them.

“What the—?” he said as he fell.

Karigan let go of Beryl, and before the man could say or do anything, Karigan launched herself on him, pounding her stiff, sore hands on him, but he threw her off, and when she hit the ground, the gray world darkened and closed in.

T he black stallion still waited for her on the snowy expanse of the plains. He gazed at her, waited for her to make some sort of decision.

“Whad you want?” she demanded of him. Her mouth felt full of cotton.

“What is she saying?” someone asked from afar.

“Don’t know. Hold her still until I finish.”

Something, a snowdrift, yes, a snowdrift, weighed her down. She could not move toward the stallion or walk away.

Prick.

“Ow!” The piercing of flesh seared through confusion.

“Don’t move, Karigan,” said the voice from afar. “I’ve got a few more stitches to go.”

Ty? Ty was there on the plains with her? Yes. His hands were busy above her head. Ty sewing. Of course. Ty was excellent at sewing. He always carried needles and thread with him in case a tear in his uniform required mending. He was Rider Perfect.

Prick, tug. The drawing of thread through her skin.

The stallion stood and shook his mane. His black hide against the white landscape was like an open window to the heavens. She saw the stars within him, celestial bodies in brilliant colors with dust clouds swirling in storms around them.

“You’re pulling me in!” she cried.

The snow held her down. She kicked and flung out her hands.

“Keep her still!” Ty said.

“I’ll sit on her legs,” someone, a third someone, offered.

“I don’t want to go,” Karigan said. “Salvistar wants me to go to the heavens.”

“For gods’ sakes,” Ty said, “you’re not dying. It’s the shock,” he told the others.

It was too hard to fight; too hard to fight the heavens, to keep from being sucked into the blackness amid the celestial bodies and their veils of sparkling dust. Where would she end up? Would she be allowed to return home?

“So many stars,” she murmured.

Prick, tug.

“I just want to go home.”

Prick, tug.

“There,” Ty said, “I’ve made the last knot.”

Amberhill slid wearily into the chair beside the woman’s cot. Ty asked that they take turns sitting through the night with her to keep watch lest her condition worsen, and Amberhill volunteered for the second watch.

At first he had not recognized her for all the blood that masked her face, but when Ty washed it away, he found a face he could not forget. Who could forget a lady who challenged him with a sword?

“Who is she?” he demanded of Ty.

“Green Rider,” was the simple reply.

It explained her actions that day in the museum and why no one among the aristocrats had known her, but it did not answer his question by half. He learned her name and of course knew of the G’ladheon merchanting clan. Lady, messenger, merchant. Even the Weapons seemed to regard her with some esteem. But who was she?

Obviously someone born with an insane sort of courage.

As he sat there in the dark, chin propped on hand, listening to her breathing, he found himself vexed by her, but he didn’t know why. Maybe it was because she had challenged him at the museum when all other ladies would have swooned in his presence or begged for his favors. Maybe he disliked being deceived. She was a lady, then was not. She was Estora Coutre, then was not. Frustrating!

He yawned, the debate simmering, then dying, as he fell asleep.

Muted daylight through canvas.

“Strange dreams,” she murmured.

“She’s coming around,” someone said.

With her awakening came awareness of pain, her throbbing head, the strained muscles, bruises, and lacerations.

“What?” she asked the light. “Am I home?”

“No.”

“Ty?”

He stood above her, looking down at her. “That’s right.” He smiled, but it was a tired smile. “What do you remember?”

An image of a gloating Immerez rushed into her mind, his hook slashing down, blood in her eyes. “I remember everything.” She went to touch her head and was surprised to find her hand, both hands, swaddled in bandages.

“Willis picked out all the gravel and dressed them,” Ty said.

“Willis?”

“At your service.” The Weapon stepped into her vision opposite Ty.

She had yet to make sense of where she was and what Ty was doing here, much less one of the king’s Weapons. Everything was fuzzy around the edges. “Where am I?”

“You’re in the encampment,” Willis said. “One of the officer’s tents.”

“What…what are you doing here?” She started to take in more of her surroundings, the dim tent interior, the cot she lay on. She was covered in layers of blankets and it was then she realized she was very naked beneath the covers, except for bandages on her knees and elbows. She blushed and it made her head pound all the more.

“We came to rescue Lady Estora,” Willis said. “We found you and Rider Spencer instead.”

“Immerez—” Karigan said.

“He is under restraint,” Willis replied. “He will be questioned.”

“Tombs! Grandmother wanted the tombs beneath the castle emptied.”

“Grandmother? We haven’t seen any grandmothers here,” Ty said. “And what would anyone want with all those corpses?”

“Not the corpses,” Karigan said. “Emptied of Weapons.”

Both men fell silent and gazed at one another.

“The tomb Weapons are guarding the king while the rest of us are here,” Willis said in a quiet voice. “The tombs are essentially empty of Weapons but for a minimum contingent.”

“Why would this Grandmother want such a thing?” Ty asked.

“She’s Second Empire,” Karigan replied.

Silence again.

“Karigan,” Willis said, “you will have to tell us everything you know, both about Lady Estora and what Second Empire is up to.”

“First,” Ty said, “let her have this. Sit up carefully, Karigan.”

The banging in her head intensified as she did so. When she was securely propped up, Ty passed her a warm mug of broth and a hunk of bread to dip in it. The broth was heartening, and she hadn’t realized how famished she was until it was all gone. Ty fetched her another mugful and more bread, and as she finished this serving, someone else entered the tent. He stepped right up to the side of her cot beside Willis. His jaw was covered with stubble and he wore a shabby cloak. A lock of black hair fell over one of his eyes and through it he stared hard at her.

“Who’s this?” Karigan asked Willis.

“Lord Amberhill,” he replied. “He was in Lady Estora’s party when it was attacked, and tracked her all this way. He’s the one who found you and Beryl.”

“Tripped over you,” the man said.

“Oh.” What else could Karigan say?

“How did you do it?” Lord Amberhill demanded, still gazing intensely at her. “How did you assume Lady Estora’s place? I followed her all the way to the crossroads, but then she became you.”

“Stand down, my lord,” Willis said. “Karigan was about to tell us everything, but she’s only just awakened.”

“Tea?” Ty asked her.

Karigan started to nod, but regretted it for the pain. “Yes, please,” she said.

Ty left and the tent remained in uneasy silence until he returned. While the tea cooled, Karigan recounted everything from her stop in Mirwellton to the point where Lord Amberhill tripped over her. She did not, in the presence of this unknown man, speak of her fading ability. She figured Ty and Willis guessed at her using it.

“You do not know where the lady is now?” Willis asked.

“No. All I know is that she and Fergal are heading east to Sacor City as secretly as possible. Lady Estora is riding under the name of Rider Esther.”

Willis placed his hand on her shoulder. “You are truly a sister-at-arms. You’ve done well.”

“Th–thank you,” Karigan said at the unexpected praise.

“I am now going to order half a dozen Weapons to search after them,” Willis said, and he left the tent.

“Beryl is anxious to question Immerez herself,” Ty said, “and once she finishes, Osric or I will ride east, as well, with the news.”

“Osric? How many of you are here?”

“Two Riders and a phalanx of Weapons. There wasn’t much of a battle,” Ty reflected. “Immerez’s men, those still alive, were quickly rounded up.”

Karigan could only imagine the scene of all those angry Weapons swarming the summit. It would have been terrifying.

“What is Second Empire?” Lord Amberhill asked.

“Descendants of Arcosians who came to this land with Mornhavon the Black,” Ty explained. “Through all these centuries, they have retained a secret society with the dream of eventually restoring the empire to power.”

“Madness,” Lord Amberhill said.

“That’s usually what it takes,” Ty replied.

Karigan sipped at her tea, her eyelids sagging, the weight of exhaustion settling back down upon her.

“I’m going to fetch some more linens to redress your head wound,” Ty said, “and a fresh poultice. I did a good job if I do say so myself, though, uh, I had to cut some of your hair. I’m afraid it will look odd for a while.”

Karigan was sure Ty’s stitching was very fine, and she was equally sure that beneath the bandage, her head looked terrible. It would be a while before she had any desire to look in a mirror.

Lord Amberhill cleared his throat and she jolted, spattering tea on her blankets. She’d forgotten he was there.

“There is more to your story,” he said. “I tripped over nothing.”

Karigan did not feel like speaking to this man. She was tired and did not possess the energy to fence around her special ability. “It was dark.”

“I know what I saw. Or didn’t see. I have excellent night vision.”

“Not excellent enough.” She yawned, wondering if Ty slipped something into her tea to help her rest.

“I thought you were a lady,” Lord Amberhill murmured.

“Excuse me?”

He scowled at her. “You’re a Green Rider and you deceived me. It explains a few things, but not your…your invisibility.”

Karigan wished she did not feel so vulnerable, tired and hurting, and naked beneath her covers. The air of superiority he exuded irritated her.

“I think I understand,” she told him, “what is bothering you.”

“And what would that be?”

“You were denied the rescue of Lady Estora by a common messenger. Your glory was stolen from you.”

His face reddened. She did not attribute it to embarrassment, but anger.

“I did not pursue the lady and her captors for glory,” he said. “And I didn’t climb this mount for the pleasure of a hiking excursion. I came to help the brave soul who effected the escape of Lady Estora.”

Heat warmed Karigan’s cheeks, and for her it was embarrassment. “That was your knife that took out Immerez’s man?”

Lord Amberhill nodded.

“Thank you.” Why did it gall her to say those two words? She was thankful, after all. She just didn’t like being thankful to him.

“Your Rider friend Ty does do neat work,” he said, “even when you’re thrashing around. But I believe you’ll be wanting a hat for a while. Or maybe a hood.”

With that, he turned on his heel and left the tent. Karigan repressed the urge to hurl her teacup after him.