Green Rider
Page 26
The field trip sanctioned by the dean would insure that none of the aristocratic children would pose a threat to Prince Amilton’s ascension to the throne. Oh, there were others out there, thick-blooded aristocrats ready to take the throne, but they would be dealt with individually if necessary. Children were but a small sacrifice for a greater cause.
Mirwell wadded up the letter and tossed it into the fire. He watched the paper ignite and blacken around the edges, seeming to fold into itself until it was no longer there. This plan of his had to be thought through, and he had been thinking about it for decades. Only with the help of the Gray One had it seemed possible for it to become reality.
Beside his chair, a little table held an Intrigue board set with blue, green, and red pieces. Few were moved from their starting positions on the edges of the board, for only one man played this game.
Mirwell removed a green messenger from the perimeter of the red court. The pieces were ancient, at least very old, and made of enameled lead. The features on the pieces had been blurred by the fingers of generations of his family.
He laid the green messenger on its side. “You are dead,” he said.
Then he moved another green messenger into the fray. He positioned three red soldiers, two red knights, and a blue assassin behind it.
SPAWN OF KANMORHAN VANE
Several days passed, punctuated only by the occasional spring shower. Karigan and The Horse drifted between the North Road and the cover of the endless forest, backtracking several times in hopes of confusing Immerez and his men should they pick up on her trail again. Every so often, she felt as if she were being watched, and was seized by an unnerving urge to glance repeatedly over her shoulder. But she never saw any evidence of pursuit, and The Horse didn’t seem concerned at all. Could it be that the spirit of F’ryan Coblebay still followed?
At midday, she sat on a rock while chewing on a piece of dried meat. The Horse wandered nearby, cropping at grass that grew in the road and swishing his tail at flies. Karigan slapped at her own neck. The biters had emerged in abundance after all the wet weather.
After only a few days on the road since her stay at Seven Chimneys, she missed all the little comforts provided by the Berry sisters—the soft bed, hot tea, fragrant baths, and especially the conversation. It had been all very civilized. She kept the gifts bestowed upon her by the sisters close to her. The moonstone remained in her trouser pocket, and the bayberry sprig and bunchberry flower were tucked in an inner pocket of the greatcoat. Whenever she removed them, they were uncrushed and unwilted, and yet, she wasn’t surprised.
The Horse nickered and looked toward the sky, blades of grass sticking out of the corners of his mouth. Karigan followed his gaze, shielding her eyes against the glare of the sun. Far above an enormous eagle circled. His size and dull coloring indicated he was one of the rare gray eagles who lived in the Wingsong Mountains. They were seldom seen so far from their mountain realm, and never at close range. Her natural history instructor, Master Ione, would give up his master’s knot to see what she now watched.
The eagle rode the currents, rising higher and seeming to float on the air, then swooped lower as though watching something. Karigan could imagine the feathers on his wings rippling, and the wind roaring in his ears. What breathtaking sights he must see from so high up! Could he see beyond the expanse of the Green Cloak to the sea? Could he see the spires of his own mountain peak home?
The eagle’s circle widened—he was definitely searching for something—prey most likely. He hovered for a moment, as if frozen in time, before veering southward and out of sight. The Horse snorted and resumed his grazing.
At dusk they followed a deer trail to find a campsite for the night. Karigan winced at the thought of sleeping on the ground again, certain that her back would never be the same after so many nights of rocks and roots. Her precious, albeit bedraggled, blanket from Selium helped, but it was certainly no feather bed.
Biters buzzed in her ears. It was feeding time, and they chewed on any bit of flesh she left uncovered. The Horse shook his whole body to relieve himself, and almost dislodged Karigan from the saddle in the process.
She scratched at a new row of welts on the back of her neck, wishing for a jar of priddle cream, obtained from the horrible smelling priddle plant, more often called stinky weed. Despite the pungent odor, or because of it, it was by far the best repellent against biters. Wishes were as solid as air, however, and she was no more likely to come across a pot of priddle cream as she was to sleep in a feather bed.
Without warning, The Horse stopped dead in his tracks and laid back his ears. Karigan paused her scratching.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered. “I don’t see anything.”
There were any number of things in the deepening shadows of the woods that could spook a horse, though this horse was not easily spooked. Karigan waited for a moment, and when she didn’t hear or see anything, she urged him forward. He resisted and stepped backward instead.
“I still don’t see—” Off to their right, the underbrush rustled. “—anything.” The last word crept out in a whisper.
Karigan’s eyes darted from shadow to shadow, searching for the source of the noise, but silence hung thick in the woods as if all the creatures within waited with bated breath for something to happen. The reins became slimy in her sweaty hands. The Horse shifted uneasily beneath her.
Just when she decided she must have imagined the noise, a creature larger than her horse exploded from the underbrush, scattering leaves and branches into the air, and hurled itself at them in a silvery streak.
Mirwell wadded up the letter and tossed it into the fire. He watched the paper ignite and blacken around the edges, seeming to fold into itself until it was no longer there. This plan of his had to be thought through, and he had been thinking about it for decades. Only with the help of the Gray One had it seemed possible for it to become reality.
Beside his chair, a little table held an Intrigue board set with blue, green, and red pieces. Few were moved from their starting positions on the edges of the board, for only one man played this game.
Mirwell removed a green messenger from the perimeter of the red court. The pieces were ancient, at least very old, and made of enameled lead. The features on the pieces had been blurred by the fingers of generations of his family.
He laid the green messenger on its side. “You are dead,” he said.
Then he moved another green messenger into the fray. He positioned three red soldiers, two red knights, and a blue assassin behind it.
SPAWN OF KANMORHAN VANE
Several days passed, punctuated only by the occasional spring shower. Karigan and The Horse drifted between the North Road and the cover of the endless forest, backtracking several times in hopes of confusing Immerez and his men should they pick up on her trail again. Every so often, she felt as if she were being watched, and was seized by an unnerving urge to glance repeatedly over her shoulder. But she never saw any evidence of pursuit, and The Horse didn’t seem concerned at all. Could it be that the spirit of F’ryan Coblebay still followed?
At midday, she sat on a rock while chewing on a piece of dried meat. The Horse wandered nearby, cropping at grass that grew in the road and swishing his tail at flies. Karigan slapped at her own neck. The biters had emerged in abundance after all the wet weather.
After only a few days on the road since her stay at Seven Chimneys, she missed all the little comforts provided by the Berry sisters—the soft bed, hot tea, fragrant baths, and especially the conversation. It had been all very civilized. She kept the gifts bestowed upon her by the sisters close to her. The moonstone remained in her trouser pocket, and the bayberry sprig and bunchberry flower were tucked in an inner pocket of the greatcoat. Whenever she removed them, they were uncrushed and unwilted, and yet, she wasn’t surprised.
The Horse nickered and looked toward the sky, blades of grass sticking out of the corners of his mouth. Karigan followed his gaze, shielding her eyes against the glare of the sun. Far above an enormous eagle circled. His size and dull coloring indicated he was one of the rare gray eagles who lived in the Wingsong Mountains. They were seldom seen so far from their mountain realm, and never at close range. Her natural history instructor, Master Ione, would give up his master’s knot to see what she now watched.
The eagle rode the currents, rising higher and seeming to float on the air, then swooped lower as though watching something. Karigan could imagine the feathers on his wings rippling, and the wind roaring in his ears. What breathtaking sights he must see from so high up! Could he see beyond the expanse of the Green Cloak to the sea? Could he see the spires of his own mountain peak home?
The eagle’s circle widened—he was definitely searching for something—prey most likely. He hovered for a moment, as if frozen in time, before veering southward and out of sight. The Horse snorted and resumed his grazing.
At dusk they followed a deer trail to find a campsite for the night. Karigan winced at the thought of sleeping on the ground again, certain that her back would never be the same after so many nights of rocks and roots. Her precious, albeit bedraggled, blanket from Selium helped, but it was certainly no feather bed.
Biters buzzed in her ears. It was feeding time, and they chewed on any bit of flesh she left uncovered. The Horse shook his whole body to relieve himself, and almost dislodged Karigan from the saddle in the process.
She scratched at a new row of welts on the back of her neck, wishing for a jar of priddle cream, obtained from the horrible smelling priddle plant, more often called stinky weed. Despite the pungent odor, or because of it, it was by far the best repellent against biters. Wishes were as solid as air, however, and she was no more likely to come across a pot of priddle cream as she was to sleep in a feather bed.
Without warning, The Horse stopped dead in his tracks and laid back his ears. Karigan paused her scratching.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered. “I don’t see anything.”
There were any number of things in the deepening shadows of the woods that could spook a horse, though this horse was not easily spooked. Karigan waited for a moment, and when she didn’t hear or see anything, she urged him forward. He resisted and stepped backward instead.
“I still don’t see—” Off to their right, the underbrush rustled. “—anything.” The last word crept out in a whisper.
Karigan’s eyes darted from shadow to shadow, searching for the source of the noise, but silence hung thick in the woods as if all the creatures within waited with bated breath for something to happen. The reins became slimy in her sweaty hands. The Horse shifted uneasily beneath her.
Just when she decided she must have imagined the noise, a creature larger than her horse exploded from the underbrush, scattering leaves and branches into the air, and hurled itself at them in a silvery streak.
