The Horse gave the giant little more than a cursory glance before sticking his nose into the grain bucket.

The weight of invisibility wore on Karigan, chafing against her like an old wound. “Who are you?” she asked, not willing just yet, to reveal herself.

The man turned in the direction of her voice, but looked through her. “I am Abram Rust, King’s Forester.” He moved aside his damp cloak and revealed the emblem of an evergreen embroidered on his leather vest. “I mean no harm.”

Karigan dropped the invisibility and staggered against a fence post.

“You really shouldn’t use your magic here,” the man said, his tone matter-of-fact.

Karigan’s eyes widened. Was she the last person in all of Sacoridia to know that people still used magic?

“Those who built this waystation wanted to ensure it remained hidden. They set spells around the area. Strong, old spells, I’ll wager. When you use your own magic, it conflicts.”

Karigan raised a brow. “How do you know all this?”

“I’ve known a great many Green Riders, and they’ve told me things. You look pale. Won’t you let me help you back inside?”

Karigan clung fiercely to the fence post as he stretched out a bear paw of a hand. “Let me tell you, Forester, I’ve killed an evil creature from Kanmorhan Vane, a mercenary, and a swordmaster.” The latter claim was somewhat dubious; it had been F’ryan Coblebay, using her body, who had defeated Torne, but it would serve to impress the giant.

He nodded solemnly. “I’m sure you’ve done a great many things, even as young as you are. Perhaps you can tell me of your adventures. It’s been a while since a Green Rider has passed this way. Please let me help you in. I promise I won’t harm you.”

Abram’s quiet voice was sincere. “Fine,” Karigan said,“but I won’t put up with anything. You make a wrong move, and I can’t promise you’ll live through the night.” She wasn’t sure, but Abram might have been smiling. It was hard to tell with all his whiskers, but crinkles deepened beneath his eyes. She took his hand and allowed herself to be led into the cabin.

Assured that Karigan was comfortably propped on the bed, Abram Rust sat in the chair by the fire. The chair creaked as if it might fall to pieces under his weight, but it held. Abram’s bulk crowded the cabin. Silence reigned as he gazed about speculatively, every movement deliberate, as if he thought it out before he did it, even the blinking of his eyes.

“This cabin does not change, but the Riders do.” His bass voice startled Karigan. “Rarely do I see the same two Riders pass through here.” His whiskers drooped.

“Why is that?”

“They move on to other routes or other jobs. Many die. I visit the cabin when a Rider is present to seek news. Often they tell me that a previous occupant has died in the line of duty.”

Karigan could believe it. “How long have you been coming here?”

He chuckled—it was a low throaty sound. “Years beyond count, young one. I’ve been roaming these woods long before the Riders decided to put a waystation here. I’ve roamed these woods before Zachary became king, even before his grandmother ruled. I’ve seen seedlings grow into mighty trees, then burn to the ground only to start the cycle anew. Through all the changes I am still Forester. I protect my domain as well as I can, though ever more it is threatened.”

“Threatened?” Karigan looked around the cabin as if brigands would break through the rough-hewn log walls.

“The mills. The need to clear land to farm and settle. The need to build fleets of ships to sail the seas; and the need to warm homes during our savage winters.” Abram leaned toward her, his features earnest. “There is even a growing need for paper these days. Acres of forest around here have been toppled. So far, this has been outside my domain, but they do not replant and carve ever deeper into the forest.”

“But surely your job is to cut trees.” Karigan looked at his ax meaningfully.

“You are correct, but this is king’s land. I’m the guardian of Zachary’s forests here, as I have been for three generations of his family. I am selective in my cutting. A few white pines here for ship masts, a few cedars there for shingles, and I always replant. As other forest is laid waste, my ax is used more to defend the boundaries of my domain. The folk of North are ever pressuring King Zachary to open his lands to lumbering. Some attempt it without seeking permission.”

“This North is a lumber town?”

“Mostly.” Abram pulled out a pipe and tobacco pouch from his cloak. He stuffed the pipe with tobacco and drew a flame on some kindling from the fire and lit it. “It began as a small settlement about a hundred years back. But with all the demands for timber nowadays, the population swelled.”

Abram blew smoke rings toward the ceiling, an amused twinkle in his eyes. When the rings dissipated, the twinkle faded. “North is a lawless town now. Most of the folk descended from the original settlers left, sold their claims. Some stayed to see what wealth they could make themselves. Others opened mercantiles and inns. The fur trade is growing, too, and now I must protect the creatures within my domain, as well as the trees.”

“I’ve never heard of North.” Or had she? Something the Berry sisters had said nagged at the back of her mind.

“This must be a new route for you,” Abram said. “Or maybe you are just new.”

Karigan grimaced. “I’m not really a Green Rider.”