One hour soon came and went. When Yates and Justin returned from the midday meal and informed her they hadn’t seen Karigan anywhere near the dining hall, she grew a little more concerned.

At two hour, she checked in with the captain, who agreed Karigan’s absence was unusual, but probably nothing to worry about.

“How much trouble can she get into on castle grounds?” the captain asked. Then they looked at one another, suddenly taking into account just who it was they were discussing. “Right,” said the captain. “Best begin looking for her.”

Mara sent Yates and Justin to search the stable and castle grounds. They trudged unhappily into the rain.

Mara decided to search the castle, though she realized it was an almost impossible task considering the size of the place.

As she stood inside the entry hall of the castle mulling over how to best proceed, she spotted the Weapon Fastion on his way in. He drew back his hood and shook the rain off his cloak. Even wet, the Weapon made an elegant form, all in black, each movement one of grace and economy. Others in the hall skirted around him. Perhaps it was the sense of mystery surrounding Weapons that caused people not to step too closely, although more likely it was the aura of razor-sharp danger they exuded.

Green Rider history might be shrouded in mystery, and they might conceal their special abilities, but Weapons lived as enigmas. Mara was convinced they liked it that way, but of course none would deign to show how pleased with themselves they were.

Some regarded Weapons as cultish, with their devotion to duty and their own kind. They were more properly titled “Black Shields,” but their skill in fighting was so deadly, so excellent and earnest, someone long ago had started calling them “Weapons,” and the name stuck. They were well known for swordmastery, but they killed just as effectively without a sword.

Fastion draped his cloak over his arm, and strode toward Mara, slicing through the crowded hall like a blade. He possessed a gaze that did not waver, yet encompassed everything. Mara had observed this with other Weapons—they watched for trouble without seeming to. Somehow Fastion had picked her out of the crowd, noticed her watching him, and sensed she wished to speak with him.

“Good day, Rider,” he said. “Is there something with which I can assist you?”

“I’m looking for Karigan.”

He blinked. Was that a flicker of surprise? “Is something wrong?”

“No. I mean, I don’t think so. Karigan came over to administration on an errand ages ago, but no one has seen her since. I’m looking for her. It isn’t like her to not report back after an errand.”

“Hmm.” Fastion tapped his chin with his forefinger. “She does have a tendency for trouble. Would you like some assistance? I think the watch sergeant would release me for a couple hours, especially if it has to do with Rider G’ladheon.”

Mara was relieved, and surprised, although she gathered Weapons held Karigan in some sort of esteem. They greeted her when they’d ignore most others, and in general were friendly to her as though she was one of their own. Mara assumed it had to do with Karigan’s efforts to save King Zachary’s life during Prince Amilton’s coup attempt.

“Yes,” Fastion said, “let me speak with the sergeant, then we will retrace Rider G’ladheon’s footsteps.”

And retrace her footsteps they did. Back out into the rain to barracks they went, to begin at the beginning. From barracks they sloshed through puddles to officers quarters, and then followed the path back to the castle. They walked the corridors to the administration wing, asking servants and clerks, including the surly chief administrator, if they’d seen Karigan. None recalled seeing her.

They visited Dakrias Brown down in the records room.

“Yes, she was here.”

Mara took in the room with wide eyes. It looked like it had been hit by a maelstrom, with papers strewn everywhere. She knew Dakrias to be meticulous and this was an uncharacteristic state of affairs for his work area. He himself appeared disheveled and quite out of sorts. She wondered what was going on.

“How long ago?” Fastion asked.

“I don’t know,” Dakrias said. “I’ve been . . . I’ve been busy. It was quite a while ago, I think.”

They thanked him and left him to his work. “What now?” Mara asked as they strode down the corridor.

Fastion walked with his head bowed in thought. “We’ve visited all the places she was meant to go. I—” Suddenly he halted by an adjoining unlit corridor. He stared a moment into the darkness. “Would you hand me a lamp, please?”

Mara retrieved one from its alcove. He took it and began to examine the floor. “Many feet have passed this way,” he said. “Most unusual.” He stepped into the corridor, continuing to gaze at the floor. “You see all the footprints?”

She did. Much of the dusty floor was covered in a stream of footprints. They were recent, for there wasn’t a layer of dust on them.

Fastion investigated closer to one of the walls. “May I see the bottom of your boot?”

Mara joined him, and lifted her foot. “What do you—?”

“Just as I thought,” he said. “This footprint here is very close to the shape of your boot. A Green Rider’s boot.” He pointed it out, a clear footprint not obscured by all the others. “What do you say we follow these and see where they lead?”

Mara looked hard at the Weapon. Was it her imagination, or could it be he was excited? “If you think we might find Karigan . . .”

Fastion pointed at the footprint. “I believe we might.”

He guided her deep into the nether regions of the castle. Mara had known of the abandoned corridors, but had not guessed their extent, and even now, could not. Walking into darkness, having it roll in behind you, and staving it off with only one small lamp distorted all sense of distance and time.

Fastion assured her he knew every inch of the castle, but was proven wrong when they followed the footprints into a chamber.

“The footprints end here,” Fastion said. “Fascinating, isn’t it? I’ve not been in this room before. I didn’t know it existed.”

Mara crinkled her nose, not sharing in the Weapon’s enthusiasm. It was a low-ceilinged room of rough-hewn ashlars and crude support columns, clearly a part of the original fortress-keep that had eventually grown into the present castle. Either the artistic side of Clan D’Yer’s stonecraft had not evolved when this room was built, or war-time did not permit the luxury of architectural embellishments.

Old furniture and shelving, much of it rotted beyond recognition, sat in jumbled heaps about the room, coated with dust and cobwebs. Tattered tapestries, their once intricate designs now a tangle of snarled threads of no distinguishable color, hung on the walls or had been incorporated into ancient mouse nests on the floor. Windows were shuttered.

Fastion touched the frayed edge of a tapestry and the whole thing crumbled beneath his fingers. He frowned in dismay. The lamp he carried and his black uniform had the unsettling effect of dismembering his hands and face from his body. The lamp cast gold light on his face which seemed to float in space, moonlike.

Fastion was unaccountably delighted with the discovery of this new room, but they hadn’t found Karigan. She gazed at the numerous footprints in the heavy dust. One set, the set that looked like her own footprints, simply ended at the edge of the lamplight. How could Karigan simply vanish?

Then it was like a whack in the head. How could Karigan vanish? Quite easily, as a matter of fact.

“Fastion,” Mara said, “let’s remove the shutters from the windows.”

He blinked at her as though he had forgotten she was there. Mara made a noise of annoyance and strode across the room. She tore at the rotted wood and it easily fell apart. Fastion joined her, pulling out the upper portions. In the end, it did not help them, for the window was walled in.

Fastion stood in an attitude of deep thought. “They must have added on, at the other side of the window. I’m trying to think of what’s on the other side . . .”

“That’s all very good and interesting,” Mara said, “but we’re here to find Karigan. Let’s cover every bit of this room.”

Understanding, and a certain amount of discomfort, dawned on Fastion’s face. “You mean you think she has . . . ?”

“Faded out? Maybe. If we don’t find her here, we’ll retrace our steps and look in every nook and shadow until we do.”

And if their lamp did not shed sufficient light, she had the means to call upon another source of illumination. Light would reveal Karigan if she had faded out. It would be, Mara reflected, like searching for a ghost.

“Wouldn’t she let us know if she was here?” Fastion asked.

“Who knows?”

Strange things occurred around, and to, Karigan. Mara had seen her own share of danger since becoming a Green Rider—her hewn-off fingers proved the point. But she hadn’t contended with ghosts or Wild Rides as Karigan had, and that was just fine with her. Mara had her hands full dealing with all the management necessities Ereal and Connly had once seen to, and she was more than happy with such mundane work. Let others ride with ghosts. She would see to it they were at least well provisioned.

Mara and Fastion slowly paced the chamber, their lamp starkly illuminating the space around them. It was in the deepest, darkest corner that Mara nearly stepped on Karigan. She squawked in surprise.

Karigan sat on the floor, knees huddled to her chest, so transparent Mara could see the texture of the rockwork through her. Like searching for a ghost, she had thought, and how true it was.

“Karigan?” Mara could not control the quaver in her voice. Fastion went still beside her.

Karigan stirred, looked upward, a dazed expression on her face. “Light?”

Her voice came across some vast expanse.

“Karigan—” Mara began.

“I am lost . . . lost. Can you hear me? Can you see me?” Even across that distance, the despair in her voice was unmistakable.

Mara reached out to shake Karigan’s shoulder, but her hand passed right through her into a cold, cold space. Mara gasped and stepped back. This was not how Karigan’s ability was supposed to work.

“Karigan,” Mara said. “I can hear you, and I can see you. Come back to us—drop the fading. Drop it now.”

Her eyes finally flickered in recognition. “Now? Is this the right time? I’ve traveled so far . . .”

Her words were nonsense to Mara. “Yes,” she said firmly, “this is the right time. Drop it now.”

Karigan sighed so unlike a ghost that Mara felt some relief. Karigan passed her hand over her brooch. It was a weary gesture. Her ghostly form solidified and immediately she dropped her face into her hand and groaned.

Mara and Fastion exchanged worried glances. “What is it?” Mara asked.

“My head—it hurts. The brooch.” Her hand muffled her words.

“The use of magic has that effect on her,” Mara explained to Fastion.

Karigan looked up at them. The lamp cast half moon shadows beneath her eyes. Her flesh was bone white.

“It’s never hurt so much.”

“How did you find this place?” Fastion asked.

“The light. I followed it.” She pressed back a loose tendril of hair with a trembling hand. “I heard the call, and I followed the light. And I saw . . .”

“Saw what?” Mara was almost afraid to hear the answer.

“The captain, but she wasn’t the captain yet. And King Agates, but he was dead. Then I saw the whisperers.”

“That explains things,” Mara muttered. She did not feel as cavalier as she sounded, however. She cleared her throat and squatted beside Karigan, scrunching her nose against the odor of her damp wool greatcoat. “Have you been hurt?”

Karigan shook her head and grimaced at what the motion did to her headache.

Mara touched Karigan’s cheek, then drew away in shock. “You’re cold!” She was stone cold, far colder than sitting damp in an old castle on a rainy day warranted.

“Cold. Yes.”

Mara removed her own greatcoat and wrapped it around Karigan’s shoulders. She passed her hand over her brooch. She did not experience the strange things Karigan did, but like every Green Rider, she possessed an ability with magic. She first discovered its form during a message errand when she fell through the thin ice of a pond. She pulled herself out, but would have frozen to death had it not been for her ability.

She summoned thoughts of warmth of flame, of campfires and hearths. Heat rushed through her body and enfolded her like a blanket. She focused it on her upraised palm. Blue flame rose flickering from her fingers as though they were on fire. They were on fire.

Yates had once suggested that this particular ability would best suit Captain Mapstone because of her red hair and temper. Captain Mapstone had overheard the remark and Yates earned a month’s worth of stall muck ing duty. Mara smiled at the memory; she smiled at the flames dancing on her palm.

She kept calling on her ability until those blue flames turned to a steady orange-gold. The heat radiated against her own face, and great joy flooded her heart at the manifestation of her ability; a joy she knew several Riders, like Karigan, never experienced.

The flames worked best on her right hand, as though the stubs of her missing fingers let them burn unhindered and more intensely.

With the warmth, the deathly pallor of Karigan’s cheeks gave way to a faint pink blush. She watched the flames on Mara’s hand in wonder, this uncommon display not lost on her.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Mara had never demonstrated her ability to the others. They knew about it, but there had never been a legitimate reason to simply call on the flames. It was too powerful a thing to use lightly. It was powerful, but even she could not imagine its depth. Sometimes she felt like some great well from which power could flow unquenchable.

“Fastion,” Mara said, “we should get Karigan someplace warm.”

“Of course.”

Mara had to admire his discipline. It was not often one witnessed raw magic. She guessed it would take a visit by the gods to shake him from his rock-solid foundation, and even then she had her doubts.

“Does it hurt?” he asked her.

Mara chuckled that his curiosity overrode that discipline. “No, but if I started off a campfire, then reached into the flames of it, it would burn me as any fire would you.”

“I see.”

They assisted Karigan to her feet. She seemed all right, if a little unsteady, and her features were drawn with the pain of her headache. Mara felt fortunate that the worst aftereffect of using her own ability was a mild fever. She extinguished the flames with a thought, and they left the chamber at a slow walk.