“Find your sights, wait for my mark,” the soldier commanded.
Karigan pounded across the bridge and headed straight for the Anti-Monarchy Society. She could imagine the archers, poised between the crenellations atop the wall, holding their bowstrings taut. It would be slaughter. The Anti-Monarchy Society was grouped at an easy arrow’s flight from the wall, and the streetlamps made them visible targets.
Karigan dropped her invisibility as she charged them and no few mouths fell open.
“Run!” she shouted. “They’re going to—”
“Loose arrows!” The command rang through the night.
Arrows rained from the sky, impaling members of the Anti-Monarchy Society and the crowd, skidding along the paving stones of the street, or sticking in the ground. Screams and cries surrounded Karigan. The terrified living stampeded the wounded and dead. Karigan was jostled from every side by the panicked onrush of people.
And again, the command rang out: “Loose arrows!”
People dropped on either side of Karigan. An arrow skimmed her shoulder. When she came to the first building beyond the castle wall, she veered around it to safety. A dozen or so other people had done likewise, Lorilie Dorran among them. She was on the ground, an arrow jammed in her thigh. She gasped in pain. Two of her followers hovered solicitously over her.
“King Zachary would never have done this,” Lorilie said.
Karigan strode over to her. Her own side was stinging from her desperate run. When her shadow fell across Lorilie, the charismatic leader of the Anti-Monarchy Society looked up at her.
“Perhaps you should support King Zachary rather than malign him,” Karigan said. “What you’ve got now is a real tyrant claiming the throne.”
Lorilie squinted through her pain. “I remember you, sister. North. You were there. You . . . you are a Green Rider?”
Karigan shook her head. “I am not your sister, nor am I a Green Rider.”
“All monarchy is tyranny.”
Karigan glanced over her shoulder at the bodies bristled with arrows lying in the street. Some people were trying to drag themselves along, others knelt on the ground wailing.
“Is this worth it?” Karigan asked her, gesturing at the wounded and dead.
“Yes,” Lorilie whispered fiercely. “Yes. They died for me; they died for the cause. Their sacrifice will only strengthen it.”
The woman was despicable. “Believe what you will, then.” Karigan whirled around and ran, disappearing into the shadows as she went.
HEROES AVENUE
Karigan rode Condor through the city, vanishing only if she saw Mirwellians or mercenaries, but otherwise heedless of others who might see her. Some in the city spoke of seeing the restless spirit of the First Rider rush by on her fiery steed. The First Rider, they said, was angered by the overthrow of King Zachary. Some heard only pounding hooves and a passing breeze. Others saw the Rider’s ghostly figure, or a streak of green.
Karigan blew through the final gates of the city, riding across the countryside like a demon until she reached the thicket of woods where she had left the others. As she pulled up on the reins, a single figure stood there, cloaked and hooded in gray.
“No!” Karigan cried. The Shadow Man! If he was here, that meant the others must be in danger. She drew the king’s sword and ran Condor straight at the figure. The Shadow Man jumped to the side just in time.
Karigan reined Condor around for another pass, but the figure cried out, “Karigan! Stop! It’s me.” Captain Mapstone pulled back the hood, revealing her bandaged head.
Karigan dismounted, relieved but weary, and led Condor toward her.
“I’m sorry,” Captain Mapstone said. “I wasn’t expecting you just then. Connly found this cloak in the city while you were gone, and we thought it might prove useful for Beryl’s plan.”
The others emerged from the woods.
“At least we know it works,” Beryl said.
The king looked Karigan up and down. “You’ve been hurt,” he said. He took her elbow apprehensively.
Karigan then realized she was on her knees. A line of blood had seeped through Fastion’s bandage. Helping hands lifted her to her feet, and led her into the woods.
“It looks worse than it is,” she said. “It’s the brooch. . . . I’m exhausted.”
The mender pushed between Captain Mapstone and the king. “I’ll be the judge of that,” she said.
They sat Karigan down on a blanket, allowing her to lean against the trunk of a tree. The mender checked her wound with gentle hands.
“I have a terrible headache from the brooch,” Karigan said.
“I’ve roots for you that should help the pain.” The mender rebandaged the wound and said, “It is not deep, but if you keep riding around the countryside, it won’t knit together.”
“Couldn’t help it,” Karigan said.
The mender rolled her eyes. “You Riders are all alike. You make the worst patients. Next to other menders, of course.” Then she gave Captain Mapstone a stern look. “I know you have questions to ask, but she is in need of rest. Don’t push her.”
Karigan eased herself against the tree trunk, glad at least, to be visible and among friends again.
“Do you feel able to talk?” the king asked. His eyes were wide with concern as he gazed down at her.
I must look beyond redemption, she thought with some amusement. The exertion of battle and having walked through those old, dusty castle corridors made a hot bath seem a heavenly dream. “I have a lot to report,” she said.