A
CONFRONTATION
“I volunteer myself,” Laren declared, unable to cool
the heat in her voice.
Her pronouncement
was met with shocked silence.
“Absolutely not,”
Zachary said seconds later, and the others at the table murmured in
agreement.
“I will not command
my Riders to do something I’m not willing to undertake myself. I
will go in their stead. Do you not think me capable?”
Zachary looked taken
aback. “Captain, I should think Blackveil would tremble to its very
foundations just to imagine you crossing its borders, but I dare
not risk you.”
Laren thought the
heat of her anger must fairly radiate throughout the meeting
chamber. “Are my Riders so much less important that you dare risk
them in this manner?”
“Do you think I
don’t know what it means to send them into Blackveil?” Zachary
retorted. “They are my people, too,
Captain, and it is no easy thing for me. I believe, however, you
and your experience best serve your Riders here.”
“I must agree,”
General Harborough said from across the table. He was a blocky,
thick-necked man, and he needed to shift the whole of his body in
his chair to look at her. “It is the lot of commanders to send
their troops into battle.”
Laren knew they were
both right, but why did half the company going into Blackveil have
to consist of her Riders and not others? The company would only
number six individuals to match the six Eletians going in, but
still, three Riders meant half the contingent.
Of course, more than
anyone else she knew why. Green Riders were most suited for this
kind of mission, with their ability to work independently, and
their experience as scouts. No doubt their special abilities would
prove helpful in dealing with the forest. But with one of her
Riders freshly dead and her grief still raw, it was a hard thing to
choose others to head toward so uncertain a fate.
Lord Spane cleared
his throat. “Perhaps the captain does not feel her Riders are up to
the task.”
Snake! Laren thought. From the mouth of one who had
never faced an ounce of danger himself, and who would not think
twice about squandering the lives of those who served
him.
But it was Lady
Estora who reproached him. “Richmont, you speak out of turn. The
Green Riders are capable beyond your imaginings.”
If anyone should
know, it was Lady Estora, and Laren bowed her head in thanks to
her. The lady nodded gravely in return. Lord Spane’s mouth narrowed
to a thin line but he made no retort.
“Let those who go be
volunteers,” Colin said.
“They will
all volunteer,” Laren
replied.
“Then you must use
your discretion.”
This was not
particularly helpful advice from the man who oversaw the Weapons,
whose motto was Death is honor! In any
case, she’d known it would come down to her to decide who to send
on what could very well be a suicide mission. She sighed, knowing
who at least one of those Riders would be.
Old Castellan
Sperren shook himself as if waking from a nap. “What of the wall,
sire?” he asked. “You’ve got that book about its construction.
Shouldn’t we forego this expedition and use the book to fix the
breach?”
Everyone looked to
the king.
“It is not so
simple,” Zachary replied.
“Has the translation
not yet been completed, then?”
“It is done.”
Zachary pressed his hands flat against the tabletop and rose.
Everyone stood with him, but he gestured that they should remain
seated. He opened the chamber door, gave some quiet instructions to
someone outside. He remained standing, but in silence, his hands
clasped behind his back.
It was not long
before a page returned bearing a manuscript tied with a leather
thong. The boy placed it on the table and left.
“You see before
you,” Zachary said, “the translation of the book of Theanduris
Silverwood, his account of the creation of the D’Yer
Wall.”
A swell of excited
murmuring arose from the king’s advisors. Zachary raised his hands
to quiet them.
“It is the only true
account we know of that survives,” he said. “Ever since the wall
was breached, we have bemoaned the loss of secrets, the loss of
craft. Even the D’Yers could find little about the wall’s making in
their own archives. Lord Fiori of Selium was unable to find
anything useful, either. Much knowledge of the arcane was purged
following the Long War, for anything, and anyone, associated with
magic was despised and deemed evil. So while written records failed
to survive the ages, spoken histories failed as well.”
“How did this one
book survive?” Colin asked.
“Here and there
oddments of our magical heritage can be found,” Zachary replied.
“But the Silverwood book? It is hard to know its history, except
that if you were to look at the actual volume, you would find its
pages blank, and it would have appeared as nothing more than an
unused journal. But despite appearances, the book does contain
copious writing, and it speaks not only of magical things, but is
itself an object of magic. There is only one place, for instance,
where it can be seen for what it truly is and be
read.”
He did not mention
that the only place the book could be read was in the light of the
high king’s tomb. The tomb of the current high king, who was Zachary. Down below, in
the halls of the dead, a sarcophagus already awaited
him.
“And so in this one
place, our translator strove with the words of Theanduris
Silverwood to draw the story out of the book. As a thing of magic,
the words were often volatile, and our translator found himself in
the care of menders more than once.”
Poor Agemon, Laren thought. Agemon was the chief
caretaker of the tombs and fluent in many archaic tongues,
including Old Sacoridian. Since the tombs were forbidden to all but
royalty, Weapons, and caretakers, the duty of translation fell to
Agemon.
“I don’t
understand,” Lord Spane said. “How could words injure
someone?”
“It is not easy to
explain,” Zachary said, “except that there are spells woven into
combinations of words or letters, or in the ink, or even in the way
a letter is written. Just reading a sentence can create an
unpleasant reaction. And not all words are read, precisely. They
are presented in a very ... visceral manner.
“A great mage of
Theanduris Silverwood’s caliber might have read the book without
harm, but it still would have taken a while to decode the spells.
Our translator did this at great personal risk in service to his
king and country. The copy he made for us—” Zachary tapped the
manuscript “—retains nothing of the magic from the original, and so
is safe to be read. It is ordinary paper and ink.”
It was just as well,
Laren thought, that if the original was so dangerous it could not
be read anywhere but in a forbidden place like the
tombs.
“It is impossible to
know what became of the book,” Zachary continued, “after Theanduris
Silverwood died, except that it eventually made its way into the
private library of a collector of arcane objects, a Professor
Berry. He himself is long dead, and his estate obscure, located
somewhere in the depths of the Green Cloak Forest. It was from his
library that Second Empire found the book and stole it. They
brought it here in hopes of translating it
themselves.”
“Please, sire,”
Colin said, “do not keep us in suspense any longer. Have you read
the translation? What does it say?”
Zachary smiled.
“Yes, I have read it. More than once. More than twice. I learned
much about the construction of the D’Yer Wall.”
Laren felt the
excitement building in the chamber, her own hope
surging.
“I have learned from
my reading,” Zachary said, “that it was perhaps a good thing that
all other records of the wall were purged so such a feat could not
be duplicated.”
Excitement turned to
confusion.
Zachary placed his
hand on the manuscript. “Not only were the words written in the
book volatile to readers, but as mere language, they describe a
bloody time in our history. The book corroborates what Riders Alton
D’Yer and Dale Littlepage have been able to find out about the
wall’s construction. Thousands upon thousands of magic users were
sacrificed to the wall. Each granite block, every mortar mixture,
was fed the blood of people, and their souls sealed in the wall to
remain guardians of it for as long as it stood.”
This revelation was
met with silence, and Laren could tell the others didn’t quite
grasp the enormity of it, except maybe Lady Estora, who paled.
Laren had been privy to Alton’s and Dale’s reports, but
nevertheless shuddered to hear that the book confirmed all those
sacrifices took place.
“It required the
destruction of so many lives,” Zachary said, “during a time when
the realm’s population of magic users was already hit hard by war
and plague and persecution. In fact, for those opposed to the
existence of magic, the building of the wall served the dual
purpose of protecting the lands while ridding the world of even
more magic users.
“If we wished to
reconstruct the breach using the same methods, we’d have to
sacrifice those with magical ability and bind their blood and souls
to granite and mortar. We’d also need a great mage of Theanduris
Silverwood’s power to do the binding.”
Most at the table
were aghast, but Lord Spane shot to his feet. “We must find a great
mage then! Surely one with that power survives somewhere in the
lands.”
“Sit, Richmont,”
Lady Estora said in a soft voice, and she pulled at his
sleeve.
He gazed about the
chamber in confusion, but at last he complied and sank into his
chair.
“It may be there is
a great mage somewhere out there the likes of which we’ve not seen
in three ages,” Zachary said. “And it may be there are enough
individuals in our population with remnant magical ability in their
blood to accomplish the task, but I am doubtful. Even if there
were, I would not sanction the slaughter of my own citizens, or any
others, for this purpose. I can only imagine what forces were at
work when King Jonaeus decided he must take this course. His was a
young kingdom almost destroyed by war, with factions attempting to
wrest power from him and one another.” He shook his head. “Dark
times. I cannot help but think that all records, except this one,
were destroyed to prevent another wall from being
built.”
“So it is
worthless,” Lord Spane said.
“Perhaps, perhaps
not.” Zachary slipped back into his chair. “It contains a measure
of music.”
“Music?” Spane said
in disbelief. “What does that have to do with it?”
“Just as words have
power, so may music. The souls who remain as guardians within the
wall sing a song to maintain the binding. This music, too, may have
some application in maintaining the wall. Theanduris Silverwood,
however, did not explain its purpose.”
“Music,” Spane
muttered. “Words and spells. It seems we are being pushed backward
in time to our primitive past.”
“Primitive?” Zachary
mused. “It is our history for good or bad. In any case, I have sent
Lord Fiori a copy of the musical notation to see what he makes of
it. In the meantime, a second copy of the Silverwood book will go
to Alton D’Yer down at the wall. He may see something in it I do
not.”
“Our only hope is a
bit of song?” General Harborough said in incredulity. “To maintain
the wall? Maybe?”
“Maintenance is
important,” Zachary replied. “The wall has deteriorated since the
initial breach. Alton D’Yer has managed to halt much of it, but if
those affected parts can be strengthened further, it is all to the
good.
“We must not
forget,” he added, “that had the book remained in the hands of
Second Empire, they would have learned what they needed to destroy
the wall. It was a Green Rider, as you may recall, who rescued it.”
This last was directed at Spane. “Alton D’Yer will be instructed to
burn his copy once he has read it. This one,” and he thumped the
manuscript, “will be hidden away, and no others shall read
it.”
It was not uncommon
for Laren to linger behind after a meeting to speak with Zachary,
in much the same way her Riders tried to catch up with her between
meetings.
“May I have a few
words?” she asked.
The others conversed
among themselves and collected their papers and coats. Zachary
hesitated, then gestured they should go into an adjoining chamber.
It was set up with a few chairs for smaller conferences, but they
did not sit.
“What is it?”
Zachary asked. “You are not going to plead with me to allow you on
the expedition, are you? That was well done, but I’ve already
expressed my feelings on the matter.”
“Yes, you have,”
Laren replied.
“Then
what?”
She took a deep
breath. It was now or never, and she would likely incur his anger,
but it had to be done. She should have addressed this long
ago.
“I saw you out on
the practice field before our meeting. You were observing a
bout.”
“Yes?” His
expression was guarded.
“You were watching
Karigan.”
“Do I not have the
right to observe the training of those who serve me?”
“Certainly, but it
is Karigan I’m specifically concerned about since you hold her, I
believe, in a good deal of esteem.”
Zachary said
nothing. In that forbidding silence was an implicit warning that
she not cross the line regarding his “esteem” for
Karigan.
Laren cleared her
throat, “She will be, of course, one of the Riders I choose to send
into Blackveil.”
“No!”
“No?” she asked,
unsurprised by his flash of anger.
He turned his back
to her as if to collect himself. When finally he faced her again,
his demeanor was neutral, but Laren knew him too well not to
perceive how rigid his posture had become.
“No,” he said with
deceptive mildness. “Has she not done enough for us?”
“It is precisely
because of what Karigan has done, what she’s been through, that I
must choose her. She’s been in Blackveil before, though she recalls
little of the experience, and she has faced some of its denizens in
battle. She’s also dealt with Eletians more than anyone else, and
has faced the supernatural. Despite all the dangerous situations
she has found herself in, she has somehow managed to survive time
after time. Shall I go on? Do you need more reasons?”
“I do not wish to
send her.”
Zachary was very
rarely an obstinate man. Usually he would hear reason, but this was
not one of those times, showing just how deep his feelings for
Karigan went. Laren could only try to convince him of the wisdom of
her choice.
“She is the one
Rider with the best chance of returning from Blackveil alive.” She
paused, realizing how tense she was, how tightly she clenched her
hands at her sides. Zachary moved to the cold hearth and gazed up
at the painting of a hunting scene above the mantel, but she
doubted he really saw it.
“I know how you feel
about Karigan,” Laren said.
Zachary glanced
sharply at her, but she did not quail from him.
“I know that it
isn’t just ‘high esteem’ you feel for her. You love her and that is
the reason you do not wish her to go into Blackveil.”
He faced her dead
on, and she could feel the storm emanate from him.
“I believe it is my
duty to bring this up,” Laren hastily continued, “as Karigan’s
captain and as your advisor, but mainly as your friend. I realize
feelings are difficult to tame, especially when they move in a
direction contrary to duty, but you must not allow your heart to
cloud your judgment. Our country needs your strong marriage to Lady
Estora. I can’t tell you not to love Karigan, but you must let her
go. Let her go.”
“I think I have
heard enough, Captain.” And that was all he said. He strode out of
the room, through the larger meeting chamber, and out into the
corridor. She cringed when he slammed the door behind
him.
She’d expected his
fury, but it didn’t make it any easier to be on the receiving end
of it. If it was any consolation, his vehemence indicated to her he
knew she was right. Perhaps, with time, he’d come around and allow
what was only sensible, that Karigan should be one of the Riders to
enter Blackveil.
She’d needed to
confront the issue of his feelings for Karigan before someone with
ill intentions caught wind of it. The political repercussions, the
danger to Karigan ... It had to be done, and as his friend and
confidant, she was the best one to broach the touchy
subject.
She could live with
his wrath if it meant she’d averted larger problems. After all, it
wouldn’t be the first time.
Richmont Spane fussed with his papers and his coat as
all the others filed out of the meeting room. He watched as Captain
Mapstone and the king stepped into the adjoining chamber to have a
few words. He’d another appointment to attend, but he was extremely
curious and one never knew when a bit of eavesdropping might
provide some useful intelligence.
With another glance
to make sure the rest had departed, he crept to the doorway of the
adjoining room. The door was ajar, so it was easy to hear the king
and the captain speaking, though it was the captain who did most of
the talking.
“Certainly,” the
captain said, “but it is Karigan I’m specifically concerned about
since you hold her, I believe, in a good deal of
esteem.”
Richmont grew still,
listening with great interest to the exchange that followed. When
finally the king said, “I think I have heard enough, Captain,”
Richmont scuttled from the chamber and into the corridor just in
time. He watched as the king emerged and slammed the door shut
behind him. There was a wild look in his eyes as he stormed off,
his Weapon peeling away from his post at the door and following
briskly.
Richmont rubbed his
chin. From the king’s behavior, he deemed the captain had been
right on the mark: the king was in love, in love with a Green
Rider.
Richmont struck off
in the opposite direction, thinking the captain was also correct to
believe that love could cloud the king’s judgment in terms of the
betrothal, and that would be a disaster for the alliance with Clan
Coutre, for the country, and most important, for Richmont’s own
ambitions. The Green Rider was a threat.
If this particular
Rider was indeed going to Blackveil, it was quite possible she
wouldn’t survive, and that would solve any potential
problem.
It was also possible
she’d return alive and well. He’d have to ensure the odds were in
his favor. He smiled and hastened his step so he could set his plan
into motion at once. This was, after all, what Lord Coutre wished
him to do, wasn’t it? To make certain the marriage moved forward
unhindered. He would do his duty to clan and country and eliminate
any threats to that marriage.