OATHBREAKERS

“This does not seem like an especially auspicious start,” Karigan said. Condor pawed the ground beneath her.

“You have an uncanny knack for understatement, Galadheon,” Enver replied.

The two of them were surrounded by shining bronze speartips wielded by rather angry-looking p’ehdrose. Some of the speartips were just inches from her heart and throat. She and Enver had used a hidden entrance to the valley of the p’ehdrose, hidden similarly to the Eletian ways, but it required her special ability to allow them to pass.

When they crossed the threshold, the lush valley opened up before them, bisected by a lake and a chain of ponds and wetlands that were segmented by beaver dams and dotted with the piles of sticks that were the beavers’ lodges. Onshore were clusters of longhouses and other signs of civilization. They had not gotten far when this group of p’ehdrose appeared. They were males and females, and large, forbidding, and silent. They towered over even mounted riders. They wore loose woolen garments over their upper, muscular, human halves. It appeared to Karigan that their human hips melded into moose shoulders. One could not say, however, that their upper halves were entirely human. Some had moose ears that swiveled to catch every sound, and brown hide that encroached as far as their necks and into their faces. Some of those faces were decidedly long with wide, flat noses. A dewlap hung beneath the jaw of one male, and nubs of antlers grew from the skulls of others.

They gazed at the intruders with large brown eyes that were fierce in their regard. At first they had looked more curious and cautious than hostile, but then one had pointed at the Black Shield insignia on Karigan’s sleeve, and that was when their attitude had changed.

She decided to try again. She raised her empty hands and said, “My name is Sir Karigan G’ladheon. I am a Green Rider from the realm of Sacoridia. My companion is Enver of Eletia. We come in friendship with greetings from our leaders. We wish to speak with your chieftain, Ghallos.” Only because of her travel into the future did she know his name.

There was movement among the p’ehdrose, and suddenly they rushed in, crowding Condor and Mist. They removed Karigan’s saber from her saddle sheath and disarmed Enver. One of the p’ehdrose placed a curly horn to his lips, much like the horn of the Green Riders, and blew three sharp notes that rang out and echoed among the hills that cradled the valley. They bumped and pushed Condor and Mist into a headlong gallop down into the valley, packed in their midst. The pounding was excruciating to Karigan’s back, and her balance was not what it had once been, but she held on, gritting her teeth all the way.

When they reached the valley floor, they were pulled back to a walk and taken into the habitation she had seen from above, a primitive village of tall huts and longhouses. More p’ehdrose, young and old, emerged to watch. Off in the distance, woolly horned creatures she believed to be komara beasts grazed on marsh grass.

The group halted. Without warning, Karigan was shoved out of the saddle and she fell to the ground with a startled cry. Enver, who had dismounted before they could force him, stepped toward her, but speartips were thrust to his throat.

Karigan perceived that the p’ehdrose valued strength and would look down upon weakness, so she rose to her feet as quickly and steadily as she could, trying to conceal signs of stiffness and pain. She and Enver were then prodded into a circular hut.

“Galadheon,” Enver said, stepping over to her. “Did they hurt you?”

“I’ll be all right,” she said, brushing dirt off her sleeve. She’d worn her dress longcoat and sash since this was supposed to be a diplomatic occasion. “Do they even understand my words?”

“I do not know. Contact with the p’ehdrose was cut off so long ago that they may have lost the common tongue.”

Karigan pried the hanging away from the door just enough to peer outside. Mostly she saw the rear haunches of their guard, but beyond she could make out guttural voices in conversation. She let the hanging fall back into place.

“My Black Shield insignia seems to be what set them off.”

“Yes,” Enver agreed.

“Do you know why?”

“I have guesses.”

When he said no more, she placed her hands on her hips. “Do you care to enlighten me?”

“They do not care for the Black Shields.”

“Well, thank you very much. That’s very illuminating.”

She paced about the hut. The ceiling, like the doorway, was quite tall, and to call it a hut was to diminish it, for it was quite spacious, large enough to admit a few adult p’ehdrose at one time in comfort. Enver sat on a rush mat on the floor, his legs crossed and eyes closed. So, he was going to retreat. It was a good way to pass the time for an Eletian, she supposed, but also a good way to avoid talking to her. She paced, which helped stretch her back after the ride. No p’ehdrose came to them, and so were clearly in no rush to deal with their visitors.

No, not visitors, she thought, but prisoners.

She kept walking, following the contours of the walls, round and round. She would have liked to have begun the journey home the previous day with the king’s party, but her back was not ready for extended riding and . . . It would have been difficult. Difficult to be with him among all those watchers as he made his way back to his wife.

She also had to prove to herself that she could complete her mission. Her loss of confidence had cut more deeply than the thongs of Nyssa’s whip. She must not hesitate, must not be fearful, but even as she thought it, she felt Nyssa scratching at her mind again, trying to find her way in.

Karigan could not say how much time passed, but the sunlight that bled beneath the door hanging retreated and she grew weary. Enver remained in his meditative state, his expression suffused with peace.

She shrugged, knelt on one of the rush mats, and lay on her stomach. She thought back to Zachary abed with fever. After all he’d endured, he’d lost much weight. The wound on his shoulder had been red and angry with black striations radiating from it. It had made her feel totally helpless as he writhed and muttered in dreams that she could do so little for him. Destarion intimated that had he not turned when he did, they would have lost him, and she would not have been able to do anything about it. Her last thought before she drifted off was to wonder why it was that she could help the dead, but not the living.

•   •   •

The entrance of a pair of p’ehdrose startled her out of a dream, some nonsense of being a gryphon merchant trying to sell winged kittens. A speartip was shoved in her face, while the other p’ehdrose held Enver at bay.

“Stand,” she was ordered. So, at least one of the p’ehdrose had something of the common tongue.

She obeyed, again trying to show that it was no difficulty to do so. The two p’ehdrose grabbed her under her arms and lifted her off her feet. They carried her outside between them, while a third blocked the doorway so Enver couldn’t dart out after her.

She was dropped before a bonfire, and she gave a throttled cry at the pain that ripped through her back. Many p’ehdrose crowded in around her. They smelled of the earth, and a strange mixture of animal musk and human odor. The westering sun had cast the valley in shadow, and firelight limned the grim faces that surrounded her. Once again, she climbed to her feet, trying to retain some semblance of dignity.

She turned to the one who had ordered her to stand in the hut. “I demand to see your chief. This is no way to treat a king’s envoy.”

At first there was no reaction, then an old, grizzled p’ehdrose stepped forward. “The only reason you are not dead yet,” he said, “is that you wear the green of Lil Ambriodhe’s Riders.” He took another step forward. “I am Yannuf, chief of the Fforstald Clan, and your trespass into this valley carries the death penalty. You broke an oath by coming here.”

“I do not know of any such oath.”

“It was made by Lil Ambriodhe, King Santanara, and our great chief, Braaga, long ago. It allowed the p’ehdrose to vanish into obscurity for their services rendered during the Long War.”

A long time ago, indeed, Karigan thought. Clearly no one in Sacoridia had remembered it, just one more detail lost from that ancient time. She fumed, thinking that the Eletians would have remembered it. What of Enver? Had he known?

“We let you live because we owe a debt to Lil Ambriodhe,” Yannuf continued. “She aided us in a time of persecution.”

“The Scourge,” Karigan murmured.

“It was called that by some, yes. The Black Shield on your sleeve represents a great darkness that occurred after the Long War, when there were those who would stop at nothing to eliminate magic from the lands and exterminate those who were different. Like my people.”

Karigan had gathered hints that the Weapons had been an instrument of those who sought to destroy magic following the Long War, but this was the most concrete statement she’d had of it. She thought about the Chamber of Proving, which had dampened her ability. Brienne had said it was used after the Long War during the Scourge. Had the Weapons of ancient times used it to suppress those with magical abilities as a form of punishment, or for some other purpose?

“It was not my intention to break any oath,” Karigan said. “Many, many years have passed since the Long War, and much has been forgotten. Likewise, many generations of Black Shields have come and gone, and whatever their roots in the old days, they no longer suppress magic.” If they did, she certainly knew nothing about it. They had done nothing to persecute the modern Green Riders.

“We thought it curious,” Yannuf said, “that a Green Rider would bear the symbol of the Black Shields, unless the Black Shields had successfully eliminated magic from the Green Riders.”

So, Yannuf put the blame for the persecution of magic users directly on the Weapons. That was interesting. “The Black Shields have made me an honorary member of their order,” she said. She did not dare address the question of Rider magic directly. “They have caused the Riders no harm. They accept me, and they have my respect.”

“It is long since any of my folk have ventured into the outside world. I agree the Long War was many generations ago. Perhaps you can give us news of the lands.”

“Yes, but my king—”

“News first, Green Rider; then we will discuss what has brought you here.” He clapped his hands. “We need food and wine for our guest.” Several of the p’ehdrose peeled off to obey.

This, Karigan thought, appeared to be a positive change of attitude on their behalf. “My companion should be present as well, so you may have the Eletian side of things.”

Yannuf studied her with his dark brown eyes, and smiled. “Your Eletian friend should have known of the oath. But no matter, we will hear him, too.”

A mat was produced for her and Enver to sit on since the p’ehdrosians had no use for chairs or stools, and earthenware pitchers of wine, and platters of food that contained tubers, watercress, cheese, cold-smoked salmon, and flatbread were brought out to them. The wine was good. It had a wild flavor to it she could not place, and between sips she tried to answer Yannuf’s questions about the past to present. Enver helped fill in some gaps. She espied young, leggy p’ehdrosians peeking beneath the bellies of their mothers to get a look at her and Enver. She could only guess that having two-legged people in their midst was a very strange sight to them.

“And so you say Mornhavon has reawakened,” Yannuf said.

She was surprised to realize it had grown full dark. The stars were slightly different here, as if the valley wasn’t just hidden, but slightly askew from her own world.

“Yes,” she replied, and she and Enver described Mornhavon’s return and the rise of Second Empire.

“I assume,” Yannuf said, “it is why you have come here seeking us. You remembered your old allies.”

“An image of the p’ehdrose was recently found in a panel of stained glass depicting the Long War.”

Yannuf turned his gaze to Enver. “You mean the Eletians did not tell you?”

“Our people knew yours had gone into seclusion,” Enver replied. “We did not know if you persisted.”

Yannuf squinted his eyes as if he didn’t quite believe him. “Your people should have remembered, even if hers didn’t, not to break the oath. Especially your king.”

Karigan saw that Enver looked disturbed. Had he even known? It would be like the Eletians to send them into a situation even if they knew better.

“King Santanara Sleeps,” was all Enver would say.

One of the p’ehdrose whispered into Yannuf’s ear. Now he turned his sharp gaze back on Karigan. “How is it you know of Ghallos?”

There was some pushing and shoving among the onlookers as a p’ehdrose burst to the front. Karigan recognized him immediately.

“Yes,” Ghallos said, “I would like to know, too.”