It's just over this magical bridge of hope and wonder, Charrrlliiiieeee…

…

It was just as he remembered. Silent, save for the crunch of grass beneath their horses' hooves; so bright he wished for darkness, and thick with enormity. His wide eyes swept over the colorless horizon and he distinguished pale blotches in the distance—bridges, if he recalled correctly. Bridges to unknown places and unknown times in worlds he couldn't understand. He glanced at Karigan. Her initial shock—presumably at this guess actually working—had dispelled and resolve now pulled her brow heavily over her eyes. The king saw the shadows persisting around her stubborn mouth and, although darkness did not seem to exist beneath this strange, sourceless light, midnight speckled her gaze. Despite it, he fancied he saw Black Island's sunshine clinging valiantly to the blonde strand that escaped her binding braid.

"When we arrive," she said over the hoof beats, "I don't know where we'll be, but we'll have to be careful. If the castle is still like it was when we left—well." She tossed him a weak smile.

"I remember," he murmured, though she didn't hear it. Disquiet stirred in his chest. "Impossible." He could hardly hear his own whispered word. In his mind, his Weapons thrust their swords deep into his bed and Fastion shook Karigan in a dim, stone passageway. Now, a man willing to murder three Green Riders and burn his own children added an Arcosian device to chaos that rivaled Amilton's coup. Something unpleasant dropped through the king's stomach. The dream was truly over, then.

They approached a bridge. The landscape beneath it didn't alter—no pits or cliffs yawned at him, and beyond it he was unable to distinguish any changes. "How do you know where you are going?" he called.

Karigan halted Condor and squinted at something at her left. Zachary followed her gaze. It was another bridge. Perhaps she was lost.

"What is that…?" Karigan mumbled, turning Condor about.

The king looked again at the bridge and as they drew nearer to it, he caught glimpses of color. Shapeless, it winked at him like a reflection on a bubble. It seemed harmless to him, but Karigan dismounted in one quick, wary move. Zachary followed suit. Colors shimmered across the stone, fading and pooling like water. Enchanted, Zachary crouched near the stone and reached one hand out. "You have never seen this before?" he asked. Vibrant purple gathered on the stone beneath his fingers as though waiting for his touch.

"No." Karigan tentatively placed a foot on the bridge. Deep blue pooled beneath her boot. She tapped her toe a few times, then pulled her other foot onto the stone. The color melted into red. She set her hands on her hips and turned in a circle. The pool of color followed her steps.

"How odd." Zachary walked onto the bridge. "If it wasn't so suspicious, I would say it was lovely—"

The colors plummeted into black. Cracks rushed out from beneath their feet and the pool seeped through them to form a gaping pit below the bridge. Karigan shoved Zachary over the crumbling stone onto the grass. He turned to grab her outstretched hand and yanked her to safety.

"Go!" Karigan shouted as she heaved herself into Condor's saddle. Night Hawk was running before Zachary could establish his seat and so he clutched the horse's neck, his free foot hunting for the stirrup as the white world fell into pieces around them. The black pit ripped the ground apart like paper. It devoured the grass between Karigan and the king and zigzagged far ahead of them before splitting into two. One branch cut directly in front of Karigan, and Condor's muscles bunched in preparation to jump.

Night Hawk came to a wild halt. He bucked and whirled and Zachary was tossed like a doll across the horse's back. He thwacked against the ground, felt his arm snap beneath his weight, then Night Hawk shot off once again. One foot trapped in the stirrup, Zachary was carted along, limp with pain and shock. He gazed bleary-eyed at the patchy sky, at the strange colors and textures that bled through the holes like wet paint, running together to form familiar stone walls, tapestries, and frescoes. The grass that raked his exposed back hardened into stone, the blinding white faded, and he was in a dimly lit chamber that he knew very, very well.

Night Hawk's hoof beats echoed around the throne room as the horse pranced about in a panic. He towed the king down the carpet and around the dais. Zachary was resigned to where he had arrived until he found himself being hauled past a heap of corpses. Horrified, he lurched and quickly became reacquainted with his broken arm.

When Night Hawk finally halted, it was a moment before Zachary noticed the hands at his ankle. A painful interlude passed, then his leg was free and it dropped heavily to the floor. He craned his neck to see his rescuer. A woman—a Weapon…he knew her, but she seemed out of place somehow. She strode to stand above the king, the expression on her attractive face unreadable. Zachary blinked. Beryl Spencer…dressed as a Black Shield? Confused but nevertheless relieved, he held out his good hand as she reached down.

"Forgive me, Excellency," the Rider whispered, genuine regret in her eyes. With that, she grabbed Zachary's shattered arm and pulled. Pain ripped through the king's body and he screamed. Someone else took hold of his other arm and dragged him down the carpet. Eyes flashing, head wheeling, Zachary tried to locate Karigan, but all he saw was black.

He was dumped unceremoniously at the foot of the throne. Zachary groaned and lifted his head. Two muddy brown shoes brushed his nose. He hesitated, then raised his eyes. "Oh, gods," he gasped.

"I see that you're about as surprised to see me as I am to see you," Mickey Morriseen drawled. Zachary merely stared. Over his stained garb, the blacksmith wore Zachary's own favorite blue coat, a royal sash, and perched atop his too-big head was the king's delicate silver crown.

…

Every time, Amberhill thought, gaping. Every single time he saw this girl something unnatural had happened, was happening, or was about to happen. He thought that great black horse was something astounding, but now she challenged that vision with this extraordinary appearance. He cowered at the windows of the queen's solarium as Karigan G'ladheon and her horse flew over his head as though they leapt from the glass itself. The Weapon that had been about to skewer him was knocked down by the gelding's hooves. The horse landed in the soft dirt of a flowerbed and staggered from the impact. The Green Rider kept her seat with practiced effort, looking about herself with mixed dismay and surprise. She allowed her frightened horse a few erratic lopes then halted him. When her sharp gaze fell on Amberhill, he flinched instinctively.

"What happened?" she asked. He looked at the Weapon's body.

"You did that," he answered.

Her brow furrowed and she dismounted. "Where's King Zachary?"

"I was under the impression he was with you—"

"He's not here? You haven't seen him?" She swore colorfully and yanked her hands through her hair. "Of course. Of course!"

"You've misplaced the king?" He chewed his lip. "That's most disturbing. Perhaps he was left behind when you jumped through the wall." He narrowed his eyes.

She pointed a finger at him. "You—" Cutting herself short, her finger shifted to the bundle under his arm. "What is that?"

He glanced down. Light shone through gaps in his coat. "This old thing?"

"Those colors—" She rushed forward and before he could react, she held the strange device in her hands.

"Don't do that!" Amberhill cried, but the coat had already slipped away. The exposed lights illuminated the interior of the solarium, shimmered on the petals and leaves of the surrounding gardens, and twinkled an answering orange in Karigan's blue eyes.

"What is this?"

"The reason this castle has been tossed into hell." He reached for it. "And now, thanks to you, they all know where we are." He whipped his jacket around the device and tucked it beneath his arm. "Keep the glass covered, it doesn't know where it is and can't tell them where to find it. Uncover the glass—" He cut off at the sound of distant voices. He shrunk against the windows. "I've been trying to escape the grounds to take this thing away, but I'm stopped every time."

Karigan grabbed his arm. "We can stop it," she hissed. "The other parts are here at the castle. We just have to find them and turn it off."

"What other parts?"

Karigan's eyes darkened. "Mickey."

Amberhill raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

Karigan moved away, hugged her horse's neck, and whispered, "Take care of yourself," then gave him a sharp smack on his haunches. Turning back to Amberhill, she said, "Follow me." He hesitated and she sighed impatiently. "What is it?"

He waved an elegant hand. "Nothing. I'm merely slightly shocked that you want me to bring this back into the castle."

Karigan glanced past him. "Then why are you wasting my time? Take it away if you really want—I need to find King Zachary." She opened the glass door of the solarium and slipped inside.

Amberhill looked in the direction of the approaching soldiers, tapped his booted toe, then sighed in exasperation and followed her. "Care to explain what you're planning?" the nobleman whispered as they moved through the darkness. Fortunately, the queen-to-be hadn't yet furnished the room and the door was simple to find.

"There are two parts to this device," Karigan answered, "and a key that connects them."

"And this key can stop the magic from working."

"Yes." She checked the dark hallway, then gestured for him to follow her out. "I think."

"You think?" Amberhill chuckled. "Wonderful. We're bringing all these pieces together for a plan that may or may not work."

Karigan threw a glare over her shoulder. "Do you have any better suggestions?"

He waited to respond until after they had safely rounded a corner. "You seem to have a penchant for miraculous escapes," he continued in a whisper. "Why don't you try your hand at sneaking away from the grounds?"

"You already tried that."

"True—but, my dear, I don't have a magical horse."

"Karigan!"

Karigan and Amberhill halted. A Black Shield hurried toward them, hardly discernible in the gloom of the hallway. "Willis?" Karigan said uncertainly. Amberhill pressed a knife into her hand. To his surprise, she accepted it. The young Weapon stopped a few paces away from them. He was smiling.

"It is good to see you," he said, genuine warmth in his voice. He nodded to Amberhill. "You have brought the king back with you, I presume?"

"'Ware," Amberhill murmured.

"I have," Karigan answered.

Willis sighed. "Good. He is safe?"

A pause. "Yes."

"What is that?" Willis pointed at the device, safely concealed by Amberhill's coat.

"Nothing," Karigan said. "Willis, can you tell me where I can find Captain Mapstone?"

"He cannot be trusted," Amberhill hissed, reaching slowly for his sword.

"The captain is hiding," Willis replied. "Can I see what you are holding?"

"No," Amberhill snarled. His fingers curled around the hilt. Willis's eyes shifted past their heads. Glancing back, Amberhill cursed softly. Three more Black Shields approached from behind.

"Give it to me, sister," Willis said calmly. He reached one hand out. "I do not wish to kill you."

Karigan frowned, then promptly vanished. Amberhill made a strangled sound, which turned into a shout as Willis drew his sword and sliced the empty air in one deadly movement. He cried out then, stumbling backwards and grasping the knife now impaled beneath his collarbone. A breath later, he lashed out despite it.

"Go!" Karigan cried from nowhere. Amberhill sprinted past the lethal blade.

"Where am I going?" he called back. He received no response. Gritting his teeth and cursing the gods for his rotten luck, he headed to where his misadventure had begun: the throne room.

…

The door splintered. Yates and Ty were knocked to the ground. Mara shifted her feet in anticipation. She pushed her attention through her swirling mind and felt her wild fire stream into her veins. It would keep coming, no matter the fever that swelled in her head. Another hit and one of the hinges popped from the wall. Yates and Ty moved to her side, sabers drawn.

"We're going to die," Yates muttered. "We are going to die. There's no way we'll survive this."

"If we can survive long enough to make the others safe, then our deaths will not be in vain," Ty answered. Yates rolled his eyes.

"And with that rousing speech—Mara, Ty, it's been good knowing you."

The door burst open. Mara threw out her hands. Two powerful whips of fire cracked across the breastplates of the front soldiers. They soared backwards, effectively knocking down the attackers behind them. Ty and Yates rushed into the stairwell, striving to keep the threat down. Mara wavered. Can't do that again, she thought, grasping the dangling door for support. After a moment, she joined her fellow Riders, fighting with sword and flame. She noted there were no Black Shields, but didn't allow herself the terror of wondering where they were.

As quickly as the battle began, it ended. The three Riders stared at the fallen and retreating soldiers with mixed relief and unease. "That wasn't so bad," Yates panted. He touched a wounded leg gingerly. "Not bad at all."

"That was far too easy," Ty stated. "We were outnumbered."

"Oh, come on. Have you so little faith in our talents?" Yates grinned. Ty glared.

"I just think that if they really wanted to overcome us, they could have done so easily."

"Are you saying they didn't want to win?" Mara shook her head. "That doesn't make sense."

Ty shrugged—an uncharacteristic movement made characteristic by his natural grace. "I don't understand it—"

"Hey!" Yates shouted. "They're back!"

Another scuffle ensued and again, the soldiers fell back at the orders of a silent command, leaving three baffled Green Riders standing in the doorway. "They aren't even trying," Yates complained. He slipped to the floor and tore his shirt to wad his injured leg. "I know they fight better than that."

Ty crouched to look down the stairs. "They've doused the torches. I can't see them. Yates?"

Yates sighed and squinted. "They aren't there anymore." He 'humphed' and continued ministering to his bleeding thigh. "Madmen," he muttered. Once his makeshift bandage was tied, he stood and peered through the shadows. "Yup. They're back now."

And so it went. The guards came up the stairs to fight, only to retreat again. In the gaps between attacks, the Riders managed to right the door, using their sword hilts as hammers to fix the broken hinge. Sometimes only a few minutes passed, at other times Mara felt an hour's stretch. After a particularly long skirmish, she left Yates and Ty to seek out the captain. When she reached the main doors, she found Alton sleeping or unconscious against the wall, but past the open doors no soldiers fought. Captain Mapstone dropped her hands on her hips as Mara approached. "You too?" she asked in a wry tone.

"They come and they go. Have you fought any Black Shields?"

"No."

Mara considered for a moment. "Something's wrong. Fastion will know."

Mapstone grabbed her arm as she passed. "Mara," she said, "be careful."

Mara met her gaze steadily. "I trust him, Captain."

Laren released her grip and traced the scar along her neck. "Just trust?"

Surprised at the implication, it was a moment before Mara finally stammered, "I don't—what do you—"

The captain waved a hand to dismiss her words. "Just be careful. I can't afford to lose you."

Mara moved away with a frown. The back hallways were eerily quiet compared to the confusion at the front. She scratched at Fastion's door and let herself in when there was no response. She stopped, however, her hand still on the handle, shocked to see Ben collapsed on the floor and Fastion crouched beside him. It can't be, she thought, horrified. Fastion noticed her and stood. Mara could only stare.

"He's fine, Mara," the Weapon assured. "He healed me." He looked down. "He exhausted himself."

Mara walked slowly to the Black Shield. He looked greatly recovered: only the lingering shadows beneath his eyes betrayed his brief tryst with death. She reached out and touched the torn fabric of his shirt, searching for wounds and finding none. Next she dropped to the floor and scrutinized Ben. He snored softly, beads of sweat staining his pale features. Fastion leaned down and together they lifted the Rider onto the mattress. Mara tucked the blanket around him. Fastion watched her in silence.

"Did you think I had hurt him?"

Mara's hands paused. "No," she said finally, turning to face him. She smiled. "I know you wouldn't."

"You can't know that." The finality in his voice surprised her. He turned away and began buckling on his armor. "I thought you were defending the doors," he said without looking.

Mara narrowed her eyes. "I was. I came to see if you knew anything about the attacks. They're random and there aren't any Black Shields. What are they doing?"

"They're distracting you."

"From what?"

"The king—" He looked about to say more, but he merely tugged on his gauntlets. Mara surveyed his agitated movements with suspicion.

"What are you doing?"

He turned. "I'm going to help you." He buckled his sword belt.

"How?"

He hesitated. "I'll help you fight them."

"No you're not." She crossed her arms. "You're hiding something. What did you see?"

"I saw nothing."

"You saw the king. You're going to go find him, aren't you?"

Fastion's chin lifted. "Yes." He stepped past her. Mara followed him into the hall.

"He's surrounded by Weapons. You'd never get close to him. Do you have a plan? Some sort of strategy?"

"Do not concern yourself with me, Mara. Go help your Riders." He waved her away. Mara halted, startled by the cold dismissal.

"So you're just going to go all alone?" she shouted at his retreating back. "And when I find your tortured, crow-eaten body, what will I do then?" He stopped walking and stood very still. "I mean," she faltered, "we've been together this—this entire time and it's stupid that you're trying to go off and get yourself killed now that we're actually sort of safe." He turned, his expression speculative. She dropped her gaze. "You're healed and thinking clearly," she mumbled. "Now we should come up with a plan."

He walked back to her and looking up, Mara was met with a stare that was far too keen. She reddened beneath his searching eyes and reached up to pull some hair over her burns. His smile quirked. "Karigan is very lucky to have you as a friend," he murmured.

Her embarrassment dissolved into anger. "I'm your friend!" She thumped his breastplate with one angry fist. "Tell me what you're doing!"

He grabbed her wrist. She struggled against his grip—both grips when he snatched her other hand—until she realized he wasn't fighting her. "I'm going to draw them away," Fastion said quietly, holding her arms close to his chest. "The power of the device is driven by Mornhavon's emotions, nothing more. It doesn't have a consciousness. It has latched onto us because we're just as mad as he was. It feeds on our passion."

"I don't understand."

"It uses our emotions. They'll come after me because of their hatred for traitors, which will give you the chance to find the king or the device, or give you an opening to escape."

Mara stared. "You'll die," she said in a small voice. A line appeared between his brows.

"Mara—"

She tugged at her captive arms. "I'm coming with you," she declared, glaring at his hands.

"Mara—"

"Don't argue with me. I'm not going to let you die now—not after what we've been through together." She struggled against his powerful hold. "Let me go! I'm not sick and I don't need rest. I want to finish this!"

His hands opened and she teetered at the sudden release. She raised a defiant face to his amused smile. "I do not want to put you in more danger," he said. Before she could protest, he continued quietly, "but if you are certain you want to go, then I admit I would like you to be with me."

She blinked, then searched frantically for something to look at. "Well, then—then we should go."

He caught her hand as she moved away. "We'll distract them together—but Mara, you have to get to the king. Promise me you'll find him, no matter what is happening to me."

She frowned, then nodded. "I'll try." She turned from his grateful expression. "Let's go."