CONSEQUENCES
Laren watched the scene with some amusement. The rest
of the Riders had finished their lesson and were now cooling their
mounts at a walk around the outdoor arena. Ben, meanwhile, hadn’t
even gotten in the saddle, as usual. He faced Robin, and Robin was
doing his scary horse act by staring right back and flicking his
tail, more like a cat than a horse.
Elgin leaned against
the fence beside her. “Don’t know what we’re going to do with that
one.”
“Ben or Robin?” she
asked.
Elgin grunted a
laugh. “Either one of them. Ben’s got himself worked up before he
ever gets out here for training, and that Robin, he’s too smart for
his own good.”
“He is that,” Laren
agreed, “but no one else has had this degree of trouble with
him.”
“I’ll warrant none
of your other Riders were ever afraid of horses.” Elgin stroked his
chin. “Have you tried a pony with Ben?”
“A pony? They can be
pretty mean-tempered.”
“I know,” Elgin
replied. “They’re clever little beasts, but Ben probably doesn’t
know that, and if it’s the size of horses that might be bothering
him, then a pony might be the answer. An old, sleepy pony might be
less cantankerous.”
“Hmm.” If size were
the issue, it was worth considering. Off in the center of the
arena, Horsemaster Riggs followed their gazes and
shrugged.
“Riggs has tried
everything else,” Elgin said. “She’s at her wit’s
end.”
“Then we’ll find a
pony. A nice, shaggy little mountain pony, sturdy enough to carry a
man, and elderly enough not to care.” Laren turned her gaze to the
other Riders sitting with relaxed postures upon their horses as
they cooled. “Everyone else looks as though they’re coming along
fine.”
“That they are.
Riggs says she’s going to raise the jumps next
lesson.”
“Excellent.” Laren
was pleased, for it meant this batch of Riders was nearly ready for
training runs. Several had gone on short-range errands with senior
Riders already, but now longer runs were possible. The sooner this
group was fully trained up, the sooner she’d have more people out
and about the realm. It had been difficult to give up several of
them to go to the wall, not to mention the three entering
Blackveil. It had required some contortions in
scheduling.
Among the group was
a girl of the lower aristocracy, Sophina. Laren picked her out from
her classmates. She was less relaxed than the others and wore a
perpetual pout on her face. Mara said the girl had airs and
actively sought ways to make everyone else miserable. She was not
the first aristocrat called to the messenger service, nor would she
be the last. Alton, as the heir to D’Yer Province, was of far
higher standing than Sophina, but he’d never ever shown any
resentment at being called. Sophina would adapt in time, learning
that her status would have little bearing on her life as a
Rider.
Laren smiled. It was
the various temperaments of her Riders that made them such an
interesting group. One’s strengths filled in for another’s
weaknesses. They became stronger as a whole. She was, as ever,
proud of them. Even her greenest of Greenies who had yet to prove
themselves.
“So you have the
afternoon off,” Elgin said. “What will you do with
it?”
“Off? I would say
that my day of meetings with the king were canceled, but I’ve
reports awaiting me back at my quarters, not to mention a pony to
acquire.”
“I think I could
handle the pony for you,” Elgin said. “I know a—”
A scream cut through
the afternoon peace like a scythe. Laren’s heart thudded as she
looked for its source.
Elgin pointed.
“Sophina!”
The girl rocked in
her saddle and wailed, clutching her chest. Her horse spooked, and
she toppled off its back to the ground.
“Five hells!” Laren
ducked between the fence rails into the arena with Elgin right
behind her. They charged across the dirt to where Sophina lay.
Horsemaster Riggs and Ben closed with them. Laren knelt beside the
girl who writhed on the ground, still clutching at her chest. Tears
ran down her cheeks.
“Sophina?” Laren
asked gently. “What’s wrong?”
“The king!” the girl
cried. “The king!” And she fell unconscious.
Ben placed his hand
on her forehead. “I can take care of her.”
“No.” Laren stood,
blood surging through her like a swarm of bees. “Chief! You deal
with Sophina. She’s come into her ability.” Elgin nodded, gathered
the girl into his arms, and carried her away.
“But I can—” Ben
started to protest.
Laren pointed at
Merla, who was still seated atop her lesson horse. “You go to
Connly or Mara, whomever you find first, and tell them there’s been
an incident with the king. They’ll know what to do.”
There was a
collective gasp among the Riders who had grouped around
them.
“Move!” Laren bellowed.
Merla did not
hesitate. She did not stop to open the arena gate. Instead she dug
her heels into the flanks of her horse, galloped straight for the
gate, and sailed over it. It was probably three times as high as
anything Riggs had taught them to jump, but Merla and her horse
landed smoothly on the other side and galloped off.
Laren pointed at
Carson, older than many of the other new Riders. “Go to Master
Destarion. Tell him to grab his kit and hurry down the Winding
Way.” Without another word, Carson reined his horse around and
headed for the gate. This time others had opened it so he didn’t
have to jump it.
Next she picked out
Kayd, a boy whose father was a laborer on the castle grounds and
knew the castle layout well and how things worked within. “You will
seek out Colin Dovekey and tell him there is an emergency. He is
acting castellan and should be meeting with the kitchen staff about
now.”
Kayd nodded and he
and his horse pounded from the arena just as the others
had.
Laren turned to
Riggs. “You’ll take care of the rest of them?”
Riggs clapped her
hands to gain the attention of her students and started shouting
orders at them.
That left Ben, who
did not seem to know which way to turn. “You are with me,” Laren
said. “Robin! Come!”
The horse obeyed
immediately and trotted right up to her.
Ben shrank away, but
Laren caught his sleeve. “Something bad has happened to the king,”
she said. “Sophina, it appears, is a seer. She saw something happen
to the king. There is no time to lose.” She placed her toe into the
stirrup and mounted. “Now get up behind me.”
When Ben dithered,
she leaned down and stared hard at him. “Sophina passed out before
she could tell us exactly what she saw, but if she had such a
strong reaction to the vision, it can’t be good. Do you understand?
The king has come to great harm and if he’s not dead yet, he may be
soon unless you help him. Understand?”
Ben’s face paled. He
nodded.
“Then mount.”
This time he did not
hesitate and she pulled him up behind her. He circled his arms
around her waist, clutching her for dear life.
“Loosen up,” she
gasped. He complied and she clicked Robin into a gallop out of the
arena and across castle grounds.
She rode bent for
all five hells down the Winding Way using cut-throughs all the
Riders knew, and she stampeded through front gardens pushing Robin
mercilessly with two adults on his back, but he was game, fearless,
even, his strides unflagging. A true messenger horse. She was sure
her Bluebird would forgive her the necessity of grabbing the
nearest mount available.
As they careened
around a cartload of bleating sheep, she imagined all kinds of
scenarios—that Zachary was dead, or maybe he’d just fallen off that
high-strung stallion of his and bumped his head. Maybe Sophina had
actually seen something that had yet to happen and Laren would
arrive in time to stop it. But somehow she knew
better.
She could not give
in to worry. She must keep her wits about her, for if the worst had
happened to Zachary, there would be consequences for the entire
realm. She loved Zachary, the little boy he had been and the man he
had become, but the consequences for the country were bigger than
even his life.
The ride took
forever, pedestrians screaming and running to get out of her way,
dropping sacks of onions beneath Robin’s hooves and snatching
children from danger. Zachary’s party could not have had time to
leave the city yet, could it? She tried to calculate the time in
her head, but there were too many thoughts ramming into each
other.
Robin skidded and
almost lost his footing around a curve slick with melting ice.
Laren was so numb with worry that she could no longer feel Ben
clamped to her, but she could hear his whimpers and
prayers.
Pray for Zachary, she thought. Pray for Zachary.
Near the second city
gates, more people on foot and on horseback dashed to the sides of
the street—not to get out of Laren’s way, but to escape something
else coming toward her.
A wagon burst free
of the crowd with two cart horses running full out and a Weapon
gripping reins and lashing a whip. Four other mounted Weapons
thundered alongside.
“Fastion!” Laren
cried, but it was clear he was not going to stop for her. The wagon
surged past her and she had to wheel Robin on his haunches to catch
up with it. Ben emitted a muted scream and started asking every god
in the pantheon for deliverance. Laren did not think Goltera,
goddess of fertile swine, would be of much help, but it couldn’t
hurt.
The mounted Weapons
permitted her into their formation. She pushed poor Robin alongside
the wagon and glanced in the back. There, stretched out on his side
with an arrow in his gut was Lord Coutre, gasping for breath and
his eyes wide open.
Beside him was
Zachary, an identical arrow in his chest. His eyes were closed, his
body moved limply with every bump of the wagon. Donal sat between
the men, paying no attention to Lord Coutre, but pressing a
blood-soaked cloth around Zachary’s arrow wound. It was impossible
to know if Zachary lived.
“Arrows are still
in,” Ben murmured in her ear. “Good.”
Laren had almost
forgotten about Ben, so focused on Zachary was she, but she didn’t
now. She jammed her heels into Robin’s sides to press even more
speed out of him.
“Fastion!” she
cried. “Mender! I’ve got Ben. Mender!”
Fastion did not
appear to hear over the clatter of cart wheels and hooves, but one
of the mounted Weapons understood and reached from her mount for
the reins of the cart horses. Fastion whipped his gaze around,
ready to draw his sword.
“Mender!” Laren
screamed. “I’ve got Ben!”
This time he heard
and pulled the horses up. Laren hauled Robin into a sliding halt
beside the wagon. The escorting Weapons arranged themselves around
it looking menacing.
“Hurry,” Fastion
said.
Shaking, Ben
dismounted, his face white as bone, and clambered into the
wagon.
“The king,” Donal
told him. “Never mind Lord Coutre. The king needs your full
attention.”
Before Ben could
settle entirely, Fastion flicked the reins and snapped the whip.
Ben fell back, but Donal helped him up.
“Destarion should be
up ahead,” Laren shouted at Fastion.
She dropped back
into place beside the wagon, asking Robin to keep up the grueling
pace, to please keep up. Though Ben glanced a couple times over his
shoulder at Lord Coutre, he worked on Zachary as Donal had ordered.
The truth was, though Coutre was a lord-governor and the future
queen’s father, his life was not as important as Zachary’s.
Zachary, she knew, would not view it in the same way, but in the
scheme of the realm, the truth was the truth.
Laren could not see
all that Ben did, with Donal assisting him, but one moment the
arrow was there, then it was out, tossed into the bed of the wagon
and Ben had his hands around the wound as blood bubbled up around
his fingers. He closed his eyes and a bluish glow spread out from
his hands. It was peaceful, like a clear summer sky and Laren felt
herself calm a notch. The bleeding slowly ebbed, but Laren saw no
change in Zachary.
The blue glow
sputtered out and Ben gazed at his bloody hands, blinking
stupidly.
“Ben!” Laren cried.
“Ben!”
He slumped and was
caught by Donal who shook and tried to revive him to no
avail.
Damnation. Ben must have expended too much of his
energies healing Sperren, giving an old, old man the hip of a
twenty year old.
Oh, Ben, she thought. How could they have known
this would happen to the king? Had he been able to heal Zachary
before passing out, or was their king already gone from
them?
The ride back to the
castle grounds was a nightmare. Donal made no indication whether or
not Zachary lived, and Ben did not regain consciousness. All she
could do was consider the next step for the realm and her Green
Riders if Zachary was dead. If he’d named an heir to the throne,
such a document would be locked away in a box of secrets guarded by
the Weapons, and called the Royal Trust. If Zachary had a child,
the heir would be obvious, but he hadn’t even gotten as far as
marrying Estora.
Even if an heir was
named within the Trust, they’d have to wait until there was an
assembly of all the lord-governors to open the box and reveal the
name. As soon as word got out about Zachary, the lord-governors
would be upon them like vultures, for they were princes of the
realm, next in line for the throne if there was no direct
descendent. Even if one of them was legitimately named, the others
would contest it, fight over it. She prayed it would not come to
civil war. They could not afford it with Second Empire building up
its forces and the D’Yer Wall breached.
She could well
imagine the enemy taking advantage of Sacoridia in its sudden
weakness and turmoil. It wasn’t as if they could keep Zachary’s
wounding a secret, for the Winding Way was the busiest street in
all of Sacoridia, and the story of great harm befalling the king
would travel the length and breadth of the lands in no time at
all.
Who had loosed those
arrows in the first place? How had this assassination attempt
proved so successful?
Laren pushed back
the rising tide of tears. All the dire consequences for the realm
she could think of did not diminish the loss of one who was so dear
to her.