“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.”

GHALLOS

Karigan stared wide-eyed at Ghallos. He was large even among the p’ehdrose, and so alive. She’d last seen him as a stuffed specimen on display in a museum in the future. His moose half had been well-preserved, but his human half had been poorly executed. She shuddered as she remembered someone telling her how difficult it was to preserve human flesh. His skin had appeared old parchment, puckered and yellowed, his hair and beard like dry straw. The living Ghallos radiated energy and looked nothing like old parchment.

“Well?” he demanded. “How do you know my name?”

“It’s, uh, a long story,” Karigan said. “My pardon, Chief Ghallos.” She bowed.

There were murmurs among the assembled, and when Karigan looked up, the p’ehdrose was staring hard at her.

“I am not the chief,” he said. “Yannuf is, and any of my kind would be punished severely for suggesting otherwise.”

“Again, my pardon.” The sudden appearance of Ghallos had shaken her, and she should have guessed that some of the things she had understood in the future to be true might not have yet come to pass in the present.