There was no telling how far it was to Sacor City.They came upon an ancient stone marker so weathered and splotched by lichen that it was impossible to read the inscription.
They passed several teams of oxen hauling sledges piled high with logs, leaving plumes of dust in their wake, which could be seen miles away. Karigan coughed and gasped behind them, wishing she had a scarf to tie around her nose and mouth. The cargo masters paid her no heed, intent on the track ahead.
She spent sleepless nights, huddled beneath the greatcoat, the saber drawn and ready. There was no sign of pursuit, and this was somehow more disquieting. Did other Green Riders spend sleepless nights, too? Or were they used to the dangers of the road?
On the third morning out of North, logged forests gave way to farmland. Fields checkered in spring green and deep brown loam rolled away in each direction. The air freshened and was less arid. Here, birds sang in hedgerows and the occasional trees, but the land still offered no cover. Farmers plowed on distant hills with their teams in plain view. Karigan continued her rigid pace, pausing long enough only for The Horse to recover for another run.
They found an abandoned barn netted by clinging grapevine and thorns to spend the night in. The barn leaned to one side in an attitude of collapse, but the grapevine, Karigan thought, ought to hold it up for at least one more night.
Under cover and out of sight, she slept soundly, not even flinching when bats left their roosts above where she lay curled up in her bedroll. She didn’t awaken when they returned from their hunt, or to the yips of coyotes ranging the countryside. The night world moved about her, but did not disturb her.
In the morning, sunlight thrust between boards and broken windows like bright spears. Motes of dust drifted upwards in the light as she slipped tack and packs on The Horse. Both messenger and messenger horse were better for their night of rest.
Karigan peered through the old barn windows before stepping outside. If it had occurred to her that the barn was the only place that offered concealment in the area, and she had been in a less exhausted state, she would have abandoned it as too obvious. What was done was done, and no harm had come of it. No one was in sight except crows which launched into flight as she led The Horse from the barn. She mounted, and the race went on.
That afternoon, a wood came into view. It wasn’t the deep forest of the Green Cloak, but a young forest of slender birches, oaks, and maples. They had grown up in what had once been a farmer’s field—a wall of fieldstones skirted the horse track and disappeared into the wood.
Karigan approached it with both relief and apprehension. The wood offered cover, but also offered concealment for foes, the opposite of her previous problem. A breeze rustled leaves which whispered secrets among themselves.
A figure in green appeared ahead, and she stiffened. He merged with the vegetation, and disappeared. F’ryan Coblebay? When he appeared, dire things tended to happen. Karigan licked her dry, cracked lips.
The sun was high and bright, glistening on leaves, turning them into emerald jewels. The shade within the wood beckoned her out of the hot sun, would soothe the sunburn that had afflicted her since leaving North. She could think of no place less sinister than the wood. She took a deep breath and plunged in.
The shade cooled her down. It was like stepping into her father’s wine cellar on the hottest of summer afternoons. A bee droned past her ear, and she inhaled the woody scents of decayed leaf litter and earth, much different than the evergreen scent of the northern forest she had left behind.
Leaves thrashed like the sound of a bear charging through the woods. Karigan grabbed the hilt of her sword and looked wildly about. When she saw the source of the disturbance, she laughed nervously. A red squirrel! A squirrel stirring up the leaf litter!
Her imagination was getting the better of her, but what was upsetting The Horse? He sidestepped, his ears flopping back and forth.
“What’s wrong?” She had long since learned to trust his signals.
“Hello, Greenie.”
Karigan twisted around. Sitting motionless on their horses were Immerez and the gray cloaked rider. She screamed inside.
Immerez uncoiled his whip. Karigan reined The Horse around to flee, but two mounted figures rode from the woods and blocked her path. Sarge and Thursgad! Where had they come from? Immerez leaned toward the gray-cloaked rider, the Shadow Man, listening as something was whispered to him. His one eye was anchored on Karigan, and his hands worked the whip as he listened. Karigan’s hand went to her saber, but not soon enough.
“Drive her into the sunlight, boys!” Immerez shouted.
The soldiers charged her in a flurry of Mirwellian scarlet, their swords drawn. Their steeds rammed into The Horse, biting and pushing. Karigan fought to stay mounted as he half-reared and bucked, but the mere force of two against one was too much, and she found herself squinting in the sun. She reached for her brooch and wished for invisibility. The bright world became dull and heavy, and the Shadow Man faded from sight.
Immerez laughed. “I see the Greenie magic doesn’t work so well in the bright light of day.”
Karigan gasped as she looked down at herself and The Horse. They were too solid. And somehow Immerez and the Shadow Man had known this would happen. She dropped the invisibility—maintaining it would only exhaust her. The Shadow Man reappeared. What did it mean?
She veered The Horse around, but Immerez and his men crowded her. The Shadow Man stayed aloof, watching from the depths of his hood.
Bunchberry flower. Someone would come in need—Before she could even complete the thought, Immerez’s thong snarled past her face and lashed around her chest and shoulders, gashing her left arm. She cried out. The leather thong tightened, and Immerez dug his spurs into the sides of his stallion. It leaped backward, and Karigan was hauled from her saddle. When she hit the ground, all the air whooshed from her lungs. She struggled dazedly against the binding thong, fighting waves of pain from the jarring impact of her fall. The whip held her fast.