Now that they were warm and dry, and their stomachs full, Fergal appeared to relax. Karigan opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted.

“Are you going to lecture me?”

“What do you think?”

Fergal glowered, but then settled. “I was cold, wet, and tired. She made me mad.”

“We were all wet and tired,” Karigan replied. “The horses were drenched.”

Fergal stared straight into the fire. “I know.”

“Look, Sunny isn’t stupid.”

“They’re dumb beasts,” Fergal shot back. “That’s what my da always said. That’s what the moon priest said. He said the gods gave people dominion over beasts. That’s why we can use them, eat them. Ride them.”

Did Fergal truly believe it, or was he simply reiterating words that had been pounded into him? It wasn’t the first time Karigan had heard such words herself, but in the case of Fergal’s da, she thought it only an excuse for him to profit from butchery.

As for the moon priest? Arguing against a belief based on faith, not logic, was generally fruitless, so she didn’t even try. What she didn’t understand was why the moon priests would preach such things when some of the gods took on animal visages, like Westrion, the Birdman.

Rain lashed windows in sheets. The gloomy weather left the common room subdued, other patrons conversing in muted tones over hot drinks, or playing games. A flash of lightning illuminated the room.

“I’ll take care of Sunny,” Fergal said quietly in an afterthought, “don’t worry on that count, because if I don’t, I can’t be a Rider.”

It was good he intended to provide Sunny with care, but what kind of Green Rider would he be, Karigan wondered, if he could not see horses as more than lowly beasts? As meat?

I guess it’s not a requirement that he love horses, but she shook her head, thinking such feelings could only render a horse and Rider an ineffective team.

Despite Fergal’s attitude, she still held out hope for him. She stole a glance at him as he sat there gazing into the fire, his eyebrows drawn together as he brooded.

It wasn’t so much that he hated horses, she thought, but that he feared forming attachments. A lesson learned, no doubt, from his da.

For his sake, and that of any horse that served with him, she hoped he unlearned such lessons. She truly did.

The storm blew itself out during the night, but as brief as it was, once they set out the next morning, they found evidence of its ferocity everywhere. The countryside was littered with broken tree limbs and shingles that had been ripped off houses. A few trees had toppled across the Kingway, which they had to navigate around.

The weather, however, was perfectly calm and sunny by the time the Riders found themselves less than a day’s ride from Selium. Whenever Karigan rode this section of the Kingway, she identified a certain spot along the edge of the road that awakened memories of when her life had changed, memories of when she had become more than a mere schoolgirl or merchant’s daughter.

The place was just beyond the bend in the road ahead, and Condor’s gait slackened perceptibly for he knew it, too. Fergal adjusted Sunny’s pace to match Condor’s. He asked no questions and appeared unconcerned, probably figuring it was the rate of travel Karigan wished to set and nothing more. He rode on, oblivious to the significance of the place and she chose not to break the silence or enlighten him. This was between her, Condor, and F’ryan Coblebay.

They rounded the bend and Karigan picked out the landmarks: the tree stump scorched by lightning, the boulder with a layer of moss on it, the particular jagged line of trees…She almost expected to find F’ryan’s body lying there in the road, stiffened in death, his hand outstretched, black hair plastered against a face drained of blood.

Only in memory did she see him, for his corpse had been removed long ago, his presence erased, the blood washed away by seasons of rain and snow. Nothing remained of that day when the dying Green Rider passed on his desperate message errand, and with it his mantle of king’s messenger, to a runaway schoolgirl who had no idea of what she was getting into and what dangers lay ahead.

Anyone else riding past this spot would never know or care that a man died here, but Karigan did, and so did Condor. The chestnut gelding bowed his head as they plodded by, and Karigan closed her eyes.

Swear you’ll deliver the message, F’ryan’s lips whispered in her memory, to King Zachary…for love of country… Though weak, his voice had contained power enough to command. He had made her swear on his sword—the very same one she now wore at her side—to complete his mission. Then he had instructed her to take his Rider brooch. Little had she realized how much this act would change her life.

There had been no time to honor F’ryan properly. Her acceptance of his mission had left her in peril and she’d needed to flee lest those who impaled him with arrows come upon her. So she’d left him on the road without even a blanket to cover him, exposed to the elements and scavengers.

When Karigan opened her eyes, they were well past the place, and Condor’s stride quickened with a swish of his tail, his ears pricked forward. No ghostly presence followed, and she left memory behind.

The shadows of the Green Cloak, its southwestern fringe, gave way to farm fields and open sky. As Karigan and Fergal drew closer to Selium, they encountered more villages and people, and with this change in atmosphere, memories of a different nature surfaced as Karigan gazed upon familiar buildings and landmarks.