Elgin laughed, and they all looked at him. “That map’s forty years old. Of course things have changed. Why, when the Raiders were running rampant, people abandoned their small villages and settlements to find safety in larger towns.”

“It’s the most recent map we’ve got showing smaller villages and settlements,” Connly said.

Green Riders rarely delivered messages to small villages. Usually their errands took them to lord-governors and other nobility, and administrators of the larger towns and cities. Any villages they traveled through were on the way along major routes. Those located in the hinterlands rarely saw the passage of a king’s messenger. With just a glance at the map, however, Karigan could see a few villages that no longer existed.

“Where will you start?” Karigan asked.

Estral looked glum. “I don’t know. Maybe Lord Adolind will have some word of my father, but if my father was traveling anonymously, there may be no way of knowing if he passed that way.”

“I’m sure he’ll turn up,” Karigan said. “He always has before, though I know this time it’s been longer than usual.”

“I hope you’re right,” Estral said, “that he’ll turn up.”

Karigan deposited the captain’s reports in a basket on Dakrias’ desk. It felt strange that he was not present, but as chief administrator, his duties must extract him from his beloved records room on occasion.

Out of habit, she glanced up into the dark regions overhead. Dakrias was not the only one who occupied the records room. It was haunted, and now and then Karigan heard whispers by her ear or felt ghostly touches on her shoulder or cheek. She’d heard that when she was finally declared dead last fall, the captain had held a memorial circle here beneath the great stained glass dome, currently hidden by shadows, and that the ghosts had caused quite a ruckus.

They appeared to be quiet now, and she was just as glad. She left Estral and Connly to mull over their map, and halted at Elgin’s table. He was gazing at a yellowed manuscript through a lens to enlarge the torturous-looking script. He was not an official Green Rider, not anymore, but a veteran Chief Rider from the time of Queen Isen’s reign. Before Karigan had left for Blackveil, the captain had asked him to come assist with all the new Riders who had answered the call. As the newer ones got trained up and winter brought in no new Riders, the captain found other tasks for him to handle, such as researching old records for mention of Green Riders in time of war that might help the current generation prepare for what was to come.

He glanced up at her. “Something I can do for you, Rider?”

“The captain said I was to help you with transcription.”

A smile broadened on his grizzled face. “Did she now? That is good to hear. The young ones she had me working with—too fidgety. Didn’t have the patience for the work. Nor had they the clean hand you do.”

He patted a chair next to his. “Have a seat. The documents and books I’ve gone through are here.” He indicated a huge pile on one side of the table. “I’ve marked them with a strip of paper where there is mention of the Green Riders. I need you to transcribe the text, page, date, that sort of thing.”

Karigan gazed at the mountain with trepidation. It looked like years of work.

“Don’t faint, lass,” Elgin said. “Not all of those are marked. References to the Green Riders are frustratingly scarce.”

She sat next to him and unrolled the nearest scroll. It was fragile, cracked, and smelled of mold. She raised an eyebrow in consternation. “This is in Old Sacoridian, or something.”

“Aye,” he said. “I don’t know what it says, but I’ve a key for certain words that might indicate Green Rider activity.” He showed her a list. “There’s a caretaker down in the tombs who is versed in the old tongue, and he made this for me. He’ll also translate whatever it is we find.” He tapped the beginning of the scroll. “This is the date from very early in Rider history. Amazing it survives. See here?” He pointed to a line of gibberish. “That is the name of the captain back then. Siris Kiltyre, best as I can guess. He’d be the third or fourth captain.”

“Third,” Karigan replied.

Elgin looked at her in surprise. “How d’ya know that, lass?”

“I—I don’t know,” she replied, blinking. Memories, or what she thought were memories, rose up unexpectedly now and then, like the dream-memory she had had in Estora’s sitting room of the poet, Lady Amalya Whitewren. But how had she come by this particular piece of information? This certainty of its correctness? Had she learned it in the future?

“However it is that you know, I believe you,” Elgin said in a solemn tone.

She decided not to worry about it and dipped a pen in ink to begin copying the strange combination of letters in their old stylings. The work turned out to be more engrossing than she expected, and she found herself trying to guess words and meanings, but didn’t allow herself to become so distracted that she miscopied the material.

When she came to Siris Kiltyre’s name, she passed her finger over it. There was a subtle thrum of her brooch, and in her mind came a flash of ancient Rider garb and a bow. As quickly as it came, it was gone. She repeated the motion of touching his name, but the sensation did not recur.

She sat back in her chair after a time, exhaled a sigh, and looked up, surprised to see Connly and Estral gone.

“They said good-bye,” Elgin told her, “but you were too deep into that scroll.” He looked over her copying. “That is good work. And maybe you’ve come to a good place to stop.”