Green Rider
Page 130
“No,” Beryl said, watching the street ahead. “My father died in one of your bloody tourneys just before I was born. Riley Spencer was my brother. He was proud to serve House Mirwell, as our father had, but you took that away from him. The glory died. When he returned home, he lived for a few years, but a man without hands cannot plow his land. He could find no use for himself and killed himself. But he had already died, I think, of a broken heart.”
Mirwell snorted. “How does a man with no hands kill himself?”
Beryl looked at him with baleful eyes. “He threw himself off a cliff.”
“A weak man, then. It is good I removed him from service. Only a weak man would allow his infirmity to get the better of him.” Mirwell scratched at his gray streaked beard. “I suppose you want me to ask forgiveness?”
“No. I would not expect you to. I know you.”
The castle loomed upon its hill over the sleeping city. The horses climbed steadily, their hooves clacking hollowly on the empty street. The moon had begun its descent into the western sky.
Mirwell shifted uncomfortably on his horse, his bones protesting at this late night ride. “Yes,” he said. “You know me well enough. Evidently better than I knew you. I had thought you wanted to see Mirwell restored to greatness the same as I did.”
“Oh, but I do,” Beryl said. “That is why I have done what I have done. I wanted to see Mirwell become a great province once again. Everything I have done has been for the province.”
“Then I don’t understand—”
“Of course you don’t.” Beryl shook her head emphatically. “We envision two different provinces. Yours would be oversized and bloodthirsty, interested in glory only.”
“And yours?”
“Mine . . .” Her voice grew very quiet again. “I envision a province without Mirwells. Without Mirwells who seek glory from blood.”
Mirwell’s belly shook as he laughed. “What would you call the province then? Spencer Province?”
“No,” she said. “There are other clans.”
She was clearly obsessed, Mirwell decided.
As they rode by silent houses and shops empty of all light, he said, “Your visions and dreams are one thing, my dear, but if your timing is off, or if someone notices the Gray One is quite a bit shorter than he used to be, or if one of D’rang’s comrades notices he looks different, then your scheme will fail utterly and will bring about Zachary’s destruction. You will never see the province you envision.”
Beryl twisted in her saddle and smiled coldly at him. “Nor will you. Should the plan fail, I am taking you down with me.”
“You are,” Mirwell said, “more like me than you know.”
“I am a Green Rider,” she said, looking ahead at the brightly lit castle gates emerging out of the darkness. “I will do what I can to fix what you have tried to destroy. We are not alike at all.”
“How I never knew you to be a spy . . .” Mirwell shook his head.
Beryl grinned at him, amusement dancing in her eyes. “As a Green Rider, I am gifted with the ability of deception, to assume a role. You were not difficult to deceive.”
Stevic paced in agitated circles, his cloak aswirl about his ankles.
“You’ve got to stop,” Sevano told him. “You don’t want to attract his attention.”
Stevic paused and peered down the length of the throne room where Amilton sat in his chair. Another dead, or nearly dead noble, at the base of his dais was being dragged away. The ranks of those whose loyalty was to be tested was thinning rapidly. Amilton had put the Lady Estora in reserve. She had been placed in a chair next to the dais. Amilton reclined in the throne chair, his fingers pyramided as he gazed at the half dozen nobles before him. In the shadow of his chair stood the woman Jendara.
Stevic turned on his cargo master. “Sevano, I’ve got to talk to her.”
“You do not,” Sevano said.
“She said Karigan wasn’t dead. She had blood . . . blood on her sword. How do you think it makes me feel?”
Sevano grabbed his arm roughly and pulled him close. “I can guess how it makes you feel. Aye, I can. I know also that it makes you reckless.”
“Then I’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got to find Karigan. If she is somewhere here in the castle . . . Somewhere hurt . . .”
Sevano dropped his arm. “How do we get out of here?” He glanced meaningfully at the soldiers guarding the doors.
“We walk out. After all, I am but a simple merchant.”
Sevano snorted.
“We’ve got to try, old friend.”
“And bring about unwanted attention?”
“They won’t even notice us.”
Sevano rolled his eyes. “Aeryc and Aeryon have mercy on fools.”
They turned toward the entranceway as one, and with matching strides, walked down the runner. The guards watched their approach with some interest, but did not move to intercept them. Stevic thought they might actually make their way out, but just as they drew abreast of the guards, pikes were crossed in their path.
One of the guards smirked. “No one leaves but the dead. Orders of the king.”
Stevic and Sevano turned on their heels and headed back.
“So much for that,” Sevano said.
“It was worth a try,” Stevic said.
Instead of returning to their half hidden alcove, Stevic walked past it and approached the throne more closely.
Mirwell snorted. “How does a man with no hands kill himself?”
Beryl looked at him with baleful eyes. “He threw himself off a cliff.”
“A weak man, then. It is good I removed him from service. Only a weak man would allow his infirmity to get the better of him.” Mirwell scratched at his gray streaked beard. “I suppose you want me to ask forgiveness?”
“No. I would not expect you to. I know you.”
The castle loomed upon its hill over the sleeping city. The horses climbed steadily, their hooves clacking hollowly on the empty street. The moon had begun its descent into the western sky.
Mirwell shifted uncomfortably on his horse, his bones protesting at this late night ride. “Yes,” he said. “You know me well enough. Evidently better than I knew you. I had thought you wanted to see Mirwell restored to greatness the same as I did.”
“Oh, but I do,” Beryl said. “That is why I have done what I have done. I wanted to see Mirwell become a great province once again. Everything I have done has been for the province.”
“Then I don’t understand—”
“Of course you don’t.” Beryl shook her head emphatically. “We envision two different provinces. Yours would be oversized and bloodthirsty, interested in glory only.”
“And yours?”
“Mine . . .” Her voice grew very quiet again. “I envision a province without Mirwells. Without Mirwells who seek glory from blood.”
Mirwell’s belly shook as he laughed. “What would you call the province then? Spencer Province?”
“No,” she said. “There are other clans.”
She was clearly obsessed, Mirwell decided.
As they rode by silent houses and shops empty of all light, he said, “Your visions and dreams are one thing, my dear, but if your timing is off, or if someone notices the Gray One is quite a bit shorter than he used to be, or if one of D’rang’s comrades notices he looks different, then your scheme will fail utterly and will bring about Zachary’s destruction. You will never see the province you envision.”
Beryl twisted in her saddle and smiled coldly at him. “Nor will you. Should the plan fail, I am taking you down with me.”
“You are,” Mirwell said, “more like me than you know.”
“I am a Green Rider,” she said, looking ahead at the brightly lit castle gates emerging out of the darkness. “I will do what I can to fix what you have tried to destroy. We are not alike at all.”
“How I never knew you to be a spy . . .” Mirwell shook his head.
Beryl grinned at him, amusement dancing in her eyes. “As a Green Rider, I am gifted with the ability of deception, to assume a role. You were not difficult to deceive.”
Stevic paced in agitated circles, his cloak aswirl about his ankles.
“You’ve got to stop,” Sevano told him. “You don’t want to attract his attention.”
Stevic paused and peered down the length of the throne room where Amilton sat in his chair. Another dead, or nearly dead noble, at the base of his dais was being dragged away. The ranks of those whose loyalty was to be tested was thinning rapidly. Amilton had put the Lady Estora in reserve. She had been placed in a chair next to the dais. Amilton reclined in the throne chair, his fingers pyramided as he gazed at the half dozen nobles before him. In the shadow of his chair stood the woman Jendara.
Stevic turned on his cargo master. “Sevano, I’ve got to talk to her.”
“You do not,” Sevano said.
“She said Karigan wasn’t dead. She had blood . . . blood on her sword. How do you think it makes me feel?”
Sevano grabbed his arm roughly and pulled him close. “I can guess how it makes you feel. Aye, I can. I know also that it makes you reckless.”
“Then I’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got to find Karigan. If she is somewhere here in the castle . . . Somewhere hurt . . .”
Sevano dropped his arm. “How do we get out of here?” He glanced meaningfully at the soldiers guarding the doors.
“We walk out. After all, I am but a simple merchant.”
Sevano snorted.
“We’ve got to try, old friend.”
“And bring about unwanted attention?”
“They won’t even notice us.”
Sevano rolled his eyes. “Aeryc and Aeryon have mercy on fools.”
They turned toward the entranceway as one, and with matching strides, walked down the runner. The guards watched their approach with some interest, but did not move to intercept them. Stevic thought they might actually make their way out, but just as they drew abreast of the guards, pikes were crossed in their path.
One of the guards smirked. “No one leaves but the dead. Orders of the king.”
Stevic and Sevano turned on their heels and headed back.
“So much for that,” Sevano said.
“It was worth a try,” Stevic said.
Instead of returning to their half hidden alcove, Stevic walked past it and approached the throne more closely.
