Sure enough, she said, “Mara and Fastion told me they found you deep in the abandoned corridors yesterday afternoon, in a room Fastion had never seen before, and he claims he knows those corridors pretty well. Mara said you were faded out—beyond faded. And that you were incoherent. What were you doing back there?”

Karigan watched a gull glide by on the thermals. She took a deep breath, and launched into her story, beginning with the day she had witnessed the disappearing footprints in the abandoned corridor. She linked it to the realization she was seeing a future vision of herself.

She almost listened to her own story in disbelief, of how she followed a tiny light into the dark, only to witness visions of the past. Standing here now in the bright, open air, she could only feel she had been overcome by some temporary madness. However, when she told of seeing the young Laren Mapstone and Zachary, the captain’s eyes widened. She stroked her neck scar.

“That . . . That actually happened. I remember that incident just the way you’ve described it. You speak truth.”

Karigan was rattled by the captain’s intensity.

“I’ve not called him a ‘moonling’ in years,” the captain murmured.

Karigan thought there was more underlying the captain’s reaction—unhappiness, distress.

Her gift is failing.

Karigan jerked her gaze about wondering who had spoken the words, but no one else was nearby.

She decided it must have been her own thought, but she wondered about the word “gift.” Did it refer to the captain’s special ability? If so, it was not a word she, or anyone she knew of, used to describe a magical ability.

Karigan shrugged and continued her tale. She described seeing the bier of King Agates Sealender and listening in on the conversation between the castellan and the priest. As she spoke, she felt strongly that someone else watched and listened, but none of the soldiers were near enough to hear a word, and none looked their way. Then she sensed a presence just beyond Captain Mapstone, and in a blink, it was gone.

“Something wrong?” the captain asked.

Karigan hadn’t realized she’d let her story trail off. She shook her head. “N-no. I—I don’t know.”

Captain Mapstone raised an eyebrow.

Karigan began to wonder if one of Dakrias Brown’s ghosts had followed her from the records room, but she shuddered it away, and began telling the captain the rest of her incredible story. The ending became a bit jumbled, as Karigan had been unable to distinguish past from present, or present from future at the time.

When she finished, Captain Mapstone turned toward the vista, folding her hands atop the crenel. She was silent for many moments.

Finally she spoke. “I’m not sure what to make of your tale, but every part of it rings true.” Here she hesitated, and Karigan thought she was about to reveal something, but instead she simply continued. “It’s extraordinary, Karigan, to see what you’ve seen, to see our history—the First Rider even.” And here she smiled. “I’d have loved to be in your boots.”

Karigan rocked back on her heels, stunned. She hadn’t looked upon the traveling as a privilege, but as an extremely strange and frightening experience.

“Tell me again,” the captain said, “what did she look like? How did she act?”

Karigan thought hard, trying to recall all the details she could, amazed by the expression of delight on the captain’s face.

After she finished, there was another long silence. The captain grew distant as she continued to gaze out to the horizon. She rubbed her chin with her forefinger.

“I cannot even begin to guess what brought this experience upon you. It has a tang of the Wild Ride.”

The Wild Ride had allowed Karigan to travel a great distance in a very short time. “There were no ghosts this time, and I didn’t really cover a distance.”

“Not a physical distance,” the captain said.

“The feeling was different. With the Wild Ride, I felt carried away by the ghosts. This time I felt pulled by . . . I don’t know.”

Captain Mapstone shrugged. “I guess we’ll never truly understand any of it, but you seem to have an extra dimension to your ability, of being able to slip between the layers of the world.”

Karigan didn’t know what to say. Whatever caused the traveling, it wasn’t something she had control over.

“Report to me,” the captain said, “if anything remotely like this ever happens again.” Then she grinned. “Perhaps you’ll be able to fill in the missing gaps of our history. I don’t ever recall hearing of Mornhavon’s friend—”

“Hadriax,” Karigan filled in. “Hadriax el Fex.”

“Yes.” The grin vanished. “I’m going to tell you that yours is not the only strange story I’ve heard recently. You may have heard some of the rumors.”

“About D’Ivary Province?”

The captain frowned. “No, that’s not what I was alluding to, though it is a matter consuming much of the king’s attention these days.”

Karigan thought she detected some deep sadness within the captain.

“No, I meant tales brought to us from folk in the countryside. One such was of an entire forest grove turned to stone in Wayman.”

Yes, Karigan had heard rumors of this, but when the captain told her of the game warden’s report, she found the rumors hadn’t been too far off the mark.

“There is also talk of something haunting the western fringes of the Green Cloak,” the captain continued, “a dark presence that freezes the souls of men and frightens the forest creatures into silence.”