A PARLEY OF GHOSTS
Karigan did not know if the ghost of Rider Princess Florence looked at her, or through her, or even if she saw her at all. Perhaps she looked into another time, upon another scene very like this one. The ghost made no indication one way or the other and simply faded away like a mist evaporating with a breeze above the tips of the fallow field’s tall grasses.
Karigan released a breath and turned her attention to the business at hand. It was not the first time she’d seen a ghost, and she doubted it would be the last.
When the party reached the agreed-upon spot for the parley, they all came to a halt, and Estora rode ahead with the Weapon who bore the royal standard. She met Birch and one of his officers midway. Tension rose throughout Karigan’s body. If there was a time that anything would go awry, this was it with their queen face-to-face with the enemy. She tried to reassure herself that if Birch did not abide by the peaceful conventions of the parley, half a dozen Weapons would be on him in an instant.
Estora and Birch, astride their respective mounts, began their dialog. Karigan could hear their voices rising and falling with the wind, but not what they were saying, though she caught a few words now and then: the empire, your aggression, sovereign land, surrender or . . . She imagined Birch was making all sorts of threats should the queen of Sacoridia not comply with his demands for surrender.
Pumpkin stomped his massive hoof. Bees droned on the white and yellow flowers of late summer that dotted the field. The tall grasses waved and bent in the wind. She made sure she kept the banner of the Green Riders straight and proud so it did not droop or become tangled around its pole, the emblem of the gold winged horse unmistakable. Birch’s party, she saw, carried among them only one banner, that of the dead tree. The soldiers didn’t wear any regular uniforms or armor, but whatever they could make or scrape together. One might mistake them for some ragtag collection of cutthroats, but that would be a fatal mistake when Birch was their commander.
“My children?” Estora cried incredulously. “You are insane.”
Birch laughed, and her Weapon leaned toward her as though to whisper counsel.
A mist rose up among them, and at first Karigan thought it was some trickery of Birch’s, but he and Estora continued as before as though oblivious to it. The vapor twisted into insubstantial forms. The figure of Florence astride Swallowtail arose beside Estora’s Weapon, and a crowned figure who must be her brother, King Darien, enveloped Estora. Facing them were two unrecognizable figures. They wore headdresses incorporating antlers, but they were too blurred and shifting for Karigan to see clearly. It was as though she were looking at a mirroring between past and present.
Far off in the distance, a ghostly army waited, and near her, a group of figures sat mounted behind their king bearing banners and pennants just as she and her companions did. Their features and shapes shifted and swirled and remained undefined. No one else appeared to be aware of the presence of spirits, or even of a mist upon the field.
Then a wave of vertigo assailed her. She jerked in her saddle at the sensation of falling. While the mist rose and fell around her, everything else slowed almost to stillness, her companions, Estora and Birch, even the wind. It was like, she thought, the wild ride, in which she had traveled quickly in time with the aid of ghosts. All that was in the present had slowed to a standstill even while she surged ahead, allowing her to outrun her enemies, and even arrows. The figures of the ghosts around her grew more sharply defined. Florence remained the most clear of all, almost solid.
There was a reason the ghost of the princess appeared to Karigan. It wasn’t just that Karigan was wearing her armor, though it was likely a conduit that connected them. She could only wait and see what it was Florence intended.
King Darien gestured as he spoke, his voice distant, whispery and unintelligible. An unnaturally slow breeze rolled along the tips of the grasses. Swallowtail pranced and tossed his head. Misty figures rose from out of the grass where they’d lain hidden. It was an ambush. Florence dug her heels into Swallowtail’s sides and reined him around to shield her brother from spears the enemy threw. One, and then a second, bounced off her armor. Karigan felt buffeted as though it was she the spears hit. The impacts almost dislodged her from her saddle.
Florence grabbed the reins of her brother’s horse and spurred Swallowtail on, hauling the king along with her and leading him to safety toward the castle as his other retainers moved to engage the spearmen.
And then it started all over again. The ghost parley, with Florence beside her brother, the spearmen rising from the grass, Florence moving just in time to rescue her brother. It repeated a third time.
The fourth time, Florence glanced back at Karigan as if to ensure she was watching. When she completed the rescue of her brother, the mist whirled away and vertigo washed over Karigan once more. She grabbed onto Pumpkin’s mane to steady herself. The sounds of insects among the flowers, the snorting and hoof stamping of horses, the raised voices of Estora and Birch, assailed her ears. All was in motion once more. She did not hesitate.
“Ambush!” she cried, and she spurred Pumpkin’s sides. He leaped—leaped unexpectedly into the air in an aerial maneuver which the finest warhorses were trained to execute. She almost tumbled off his back, but by some miracle stayed her seat.
When Pumpkin landed, Estora and Birch were watching her in surprise. Pumpkin dug into the ground and charged toward Estora.
Karigan did not see if Birch had given some signal, but now men arose from where they had buried themselves in the earth beneath the grasses. They shed layers of turf and strung arrows to bowstrings.
Pumpkin thundered beneath her. The Weapon who’d stayed beside Estora acted uncharacteristically confused. The others were in motion right behind Karigan, but she reached Estora first. Just like Florence, she placed herself between her queen and the enemy as a shield. Arrows exploded against the armor. The force of impact rocked her in the saddle. The din of steel arrowheads battering steel plate deafened her, but she followed Florence’s example and grabbed the reins to Estora’s horse and spurred Pumpkin into a gallop.
“What—?” Estora cried.
Karigan did not answer. She did not look back, but she was still aware of the Weapons closing in behind her and Estora. Another arrow smashed into her backplate and shoved her forward. The fine craftsmanship of Florence’s armor that Vasper had so admired continued to deflect arrows. When Estora collected herself and urged her horse on herself, Karigan let go and dropped back to shield her from behind, but Pumpkin must have been hit because one moment they were charging full ahead, and the next she was launched into the air. The last she recalled was a blur of sky and field and horse, and slamming into the ground in a great clatter of steel.
“Ung . . .” Karigan moaned. Her head was throbbing. Drops of water plopped onto her face, and there was much movement and shouting around her. A figure in black loomed over her. She blinked to clear her eyes. More drops, a light rain, splashed on her face, thunked on armor. Armor. She was wearing armor . . .
“Karigan?” said the figure in black.
That was odd, a Weapon with Trace’s voice. She touched her hand to her head. Her helmet had been removed, but her hand was still in its gauntlet. “What the hells happened? Estora! The queen, is she—?”
“Queen Estora is shaken, but fine, thanks to you,” Trace replied. “For your part, you had a pretty spectacular fall when your horse went down. Everyone was quite impressed.”
Karigan had to think for a moment to remember what had happened, and with what horse. “Pumpkin?”
Trace looked puzzled by her question.
“My horse. Is he—?”
“His name is Pumpkin? Doesn’t sound like the sort of name the king would give his warhorse.”
“The king?” This was all so confusing. She blinked rain out of her eye.
“You didn’t know? He’s one of King Zachary’s. The king suggested you ride him for the parley. He’d come up lame before the king took the army to the mountains, so he got left behind to heal up. I guess he was fine until today. He’ll be lame for a while again.”
When Karigan remembered that Trace was connected to the king through Connly, her knowledge of the horse’s origins made sense, and so did the fact that Trace had been armored as a Weapon to ride beside Estora at the parley. It meant Zachary was right there, in a manner of speaking, and Birch would have never known the difference.
“Will Pumpkin be all right?” she asked.
“They think so,” Trace replied. She didn’t say who “they” were, but explained that Pumpkin had stepped in a hole and flew haunches-over-nose. It was a miracle he hadn’t broken a leg or squashed Karigan. Even Princess Florence’s armor would not have saved her from that.
Karigan was pleased that Pumpkin would be all right. He’d been such a nice horse. She would have felt terrible if worse had befallen him.
Trace further explained that the Weapons had dragged her through the gate.
“Did everyone make it back?”
Trace shook her head. “Two didn’t, but if you hadn’t given warning . . . How did you know?”
A filmy figure formed behind Trace and gazed over her shoulder at Karigan with an inscrutable expression.
“I had help.”
Trace seemed about to ask her to explain, but then looked up. “Here comes Travis with a cart to take you up to the castle.”
“A cart? Don’t think I’m hurt.” Karigan flexed her limbs. Yes, she’d feel battered later even with the armor, and her head throbbed, but there seemed to be no serious injury.
“You don’t want to walk all the way to the castle, do you?”
“Oh. Guess not.”
Trace helped her to rise to her feet as Travis drove up with a donkey cart. It would not be as impressive a return to the castle as riding Pumpkin would have been, but Trace was right, she didn’t want to walk all the way.
She saw that she’d been placed on a corner of an intersection beside a closed shop. City defenders were running about or keeping watch on the wall. Members of the guard rode up and down the Winding Way.
Before she climbed into the back of the cart, she mouthed a “thank you” to the ghost of Rider Princess Florence Aventine. There was a quirk of the ghost’s eyebrows and the slightest of smiles before she vanished.
Karigan picked up her helmet from the ground with a groan, then crawled up into the cart. Trace deposited the banner of the Green Riders beside her, then mounted up on her black Weapon’s horse and rode ahead, leading Travis’ steed behind her.
On the bouncing, slow ride up the Winding Way, Karigan patted her breastplate. There were new dents and scratches to the steel from the impact of arrows, not to mention from her fall from Pumpkin. Agemon would not be pleased by the damage, but she didn’t care. The armor had saved her life, which in turn allowed her to lead Sacoridia’s queen to safety. It had also provided a connection with Florence’s spirit. Without her help, Karigan, Estora, and the rest of the party would now likely lie dead in the field outside the city wall.