Inside, Mara paused in the doorway to the common room, hands on hips, taking in the scene before her. Karigan, stuck behind her in the mud room, peered over her shoulder.
Three Riders occupied the common room. Dale Lit tlepage sprawled limply in an armchair, helpless with laughter. Garth Bowen towered over Tegan Oldbrine, who struggled to maintain an expression of complete innocence.
Karigan smiled to herself, wondering what Tegan had done this time to rouse Garth’s ire.
“I really don’t know what you’re going on about,” Tegan said, “roaring at me like an angry old bear.”
Karigan thought Tegan’s description of Garth apt—he was large and bearlike, and gregarious, but he also possessed a hot temper when pressed.
“You don’t know what I’m going on about?” he demanded.
Dale looked so weak from laughter, Karigan thought she might melt onto the floor.
“My uniform.” He waggled his finger in Tegan’s face. “You gave me that soap. That’s what you did.”
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tegan said. “What could soap have to do with it?”
“As if—as if Clan Oldbrine isn’t the pride of the dyers guild!”
“Ahem, Riders,” Mara said.
Tegan and Garth turned at her quiet interruption, and it was then that sunshine pouring through the window revealed the basis of the matter. Garth was a big—yellow—Rider! His entire uniform was the yellow of sunflower petals. Karigan covered her mouth to muffle a snort, thinking that if they painted black stripes on him, he’d resemble an oversized honeybee.
As Garth had indicated, Tegan’s clan was well known for its master dyers, and even Stevic G’ladheon did frequent business with them. Tegan had been, of course, a journeyman in the clan trade when she heard the Rider call.
Amazingly, Tegan maintained a straight face, though her eyes held a glint of merriment. Garth stared blankly, and Dale still sat helpless in her chair, wiping a tear from her cheek.
Mara sighed, and it carried overtones of tiredness and disappointment. “Tegan, you are hereby assigned laundry duty for the next month.” The Rider’s mouth dropped open, but before she could lodge a protest, Mara cut her off with a shake of her head. “I know you too well, so there is no use in denying your part in this.” Tegan clamped her mouth shut.
“Those fine uniforms are supplied to us by the generosity of Stevic G’ladheon,” Mara continued, “the materials are expensive. I will not see the uniform so degraded.”
Tegan glanced at her feet, ashamed.
“Garth,” Mara said, “you will change immediately.”
Well, Karigan thought, Mara had certainly assumed an air of authority in her absence. At one time, Mara would have been as helpless as Dale from laughter. In fact, Mara would have joined in on whatever scheme Tegan had conjured.
Garth brightened upon hearing Tegan’s punishment, but now he tried to see past Mara, to figure out who stood in the shadows behind her.
“Is that you, Karigan?”
Karigan squeezed past Mara. “Hello.”
Garth barrelled over and wrapped his thick arms around her. Air whooshed from her lungs as he lifted her off her feet and planted a kiss on her cheek. When he set her down, Tegan hugged her in turn. Dale finally collected herself and stood to pat Karigan on the shoulder.
“Good to see you looking lively. Compared to last night, anyway.”
Karigan grinned, a bit breathless and genuinely happy to see them, too, but when they launched into a thousand questions about her journey, she found herself backing away, overwhelmed. It was Mara who came to her rescue.
“Leave off the poor woman—she hasn’t even had breakfast yet.” Turning to Dale, she said, “Don’t you have someplace to go?”
Dale straightened. “Right!” She patted the message satchel slung over her shoulder. “We’ll catch up later,” she told Karigan, and she dashed off on whatever message errand had been assigned her.
Garth gave Karigan another, albeit less crushing, hug, before lumbering off to change his uniform.
“Good to see you, Karigan,” Tegan said, and she slipped away down the corridor.
“Laundry!” Mara called after her.
“I know, I know . . .” her voice trailed back.
“That was quite a welcome,” Karigan said, thinking she had never received one quite like it when returning from an ordinary message errand.
“They’re very glad to see you in one piece,” Mara said. “It’s been rather gloomy here ever since we heard about Ereal and Bard. I’m fairly certain Tegan is up to her old tricks just to lighten things up.”
They left the common room and walked the central corridor that ran the length of the narrow barracks building. To Karigan, the building had an abandoned air about it, but that was often the case with only a few Riders in residence at any one time.
Still, even if all the Riders were present, the majority of the rooms would go unused. Karigan wondered what the place had been like in the old days when every room was occupied. How busy this corridor must have been back then. Its plank flooring was worn from the boots of two centuries of Riders.
Mara was determined, Karigan found, that she eat every last crumb—which wasn’t difficult considering the flat-cakes were piled with freshly picked blueberries. She discovered she was famished and had to chew consciously before swallowing.
Two people were a crowd in her room—an over-glorified closet, really—but she was glad of the company. While she ate, Mara took the opportunity to fill her in on a few months’ worth of Rider gossip.
She was about to launch into tales about Yates’ latest conquests when Karigan interrupted. “How is Ty doing?”
“Dark and moody. So I sent him on an errand to Adolind and Mirwell. On Crane.” She half smiled. “I think we have a match. Ereal would have been pleased.”
Karigan was glad. Ty had never been known to be jovial, and he was hurting. He and Crane must have bonded enough on their ride here from the clearing to be still working together.
“How about you? How are you doing?”
“Me?” Mara tipped the teapot and poured herself another cup. “Helping the captain mainly, what with Connly off to the Cloud Islands bearing trade documents.” Connly was Chief Rider, and ordinarily it was his duty to oversee the day to day operations of the Riders. The fact he had been sent on a far distant errand spoke of how short-staffed they were. “And of course, Ereal is gone now, too.”
“So, not only have you been the acting Chief Rider, but you’ve been doing Ereal’s job, as well?”
Mara blew on her tea and shrugged. “I was the most senior Rider left. When Connly comes home, I think the captain is of a mind to elevate him to lieutenant. I wish he’d hurry up!”
Then she heaved another tired sigh. “The king runs the captain ragged, but she won’t confide in me the way she used to with Ereal. I think she doesn’t want to overburden me.”
That sounded just like the captain, Karigan thought. But it was her job to carry the heaviest of responsibilities, and Mara already had enough of her own to contend with in light of Connly’s absence and Ereal’s death. Captain Mapstone was doing what one should in her position, but it was not a load anyone could carry alone for too long.
“I expect you’ll want to know Alton left some weeks ago for the wall,” Mara said.
Alton! “The wall? Why?”
“He and his clan kept requesting it, and finally Captain Mapstone and the king relented—another reason we’re short-staffed, by the way. The king believes it a good idea to have a Rider at the wall, keeping an eye on things for him.”
Karigan tried to hide her disappointment, but she couldn’t conceal her concern about the wall. Mara’s news filled her with foreboding. “So the cracks are still spreading?”
Mara nodded and leaned forward conspiratorially. “Word is the D’Yers can’t figure out how to stop the cracks. They can’t even figure out how to access the towers, which are magica
lly sealed or something. The clan thinks that because Alton has a special ability, he might be able to figure out things for them.” She shrugged, obviously skeptical. “I suppose he’s as close as anyone to understanding the magic.”
A new layer of gloom settled on Karigan’s shoulders. Telagioth had been right, it seemed, the wall needed watching. But watching didn’t seem as if it was going to be enough. And now her friend, Alton D’Yer, was going to be in the middle of it.
“That’s pretty,” Mara said.
Startled from her thoughts, Karigan followed her gaze to a bowl of crystalline shards on her table. Sunlight flowed through the window in such a way that the crystal fragments sparkled and reflected a rainbow of color against the plain wall.
The shards were all that remained of an Eletian moonstone that had been given her, its moonbeam long gone. She wasn’t sure why she kept the shards, except that they retained their own particular beauty, and even now their play of light and color soothed her. It also served to remind her of the kindness of two elderly ladies who lived in a stately manor in the forest. She kept their other two gifts, a bunch-berry flower and a sprig of bayberry, pressed in her favorite book.
Mara started clearing dishes and piling them onto her tray. She was about to carry it out when she paused and patted her shortcoat.
“I nearly forgot. Two letters came in for you while you were away.” She pulled them from an inner pocket and dropped them on the table. “Osric carried the one from Selium, and the other came in via the merchants guild.”
Mara took the tray and paused again in the doorway. “One more thing. Captain says you are to speak with her when you are able.”
KING JONAEUS’ SPRING
Letters in hand, Karigan headed for the central courtyard gardens. The day was really too fine to stay indoors. She had sought out Captain Mapstone, but learned she was closeted with the king and his advisors. Left to her own devices, with no duties yet assigned her, the central courtyard gardens beckoned.
She stepped beneath a stone arch into the gardens. The courtyard was bordered on all four sides by the castle, yet still maintained a sense of spaciousness and tranquility. There were many nooks and wayside paths that offered seclusion, and Karigan followed one such, hopping across stepping stones strategically placed in a trout pond. Dark fish shapes darted into shadows at her passage.
She paused at the head of a path that led to a garden nook. Hidden by dense shrubbery and artfully situated boulders, it was a favored meeting spot of lovers. If no one was there, it would be a quiet place for her to read her letters, but as she approached, sure enough, she heard voices.
“There must be a better place for us to meet,” a woman said. “This feels too exposed—we’re taking too big a risk.”
“I have keys,” a man responded. “We can—”
Karigan retreated down the path, smiling at the thought of having nearly intruded upon an illicit romantic meeting. When she heard footsteps crunching on the gravel path behind her, she paused, pretending to take a deep whiff of a rose. She shifted her eyes and watched a woman in a baker’s smock hurry along the path toward her. When the woman saw Karigan, her eyes widened and she turned on her heel to head in a different direction.
Karigan laughed softly at the woman’s expression. Obviously she hadn’t wanted to be discovered with her paramour, and hadn’t expected anyone to witness her departure. Who was her mysterious suitor? Some courtier afraid to meet openly with his common lover?
She held her pose by the roses hoping to find out, even as she concocted tragic love stories in her mind.
Moments later, a shaggy bearded man with muscular arms and soot smudged on his cheeks emerged from the nook and strode down the same path taken by the baker. No nobleman this, but one of the castle blacksmiths.
Karigan found herself disappointed he was not some exiled prince or impoverished noble. With a sigh, she straightened and walked toward the nook. Now that it was free, she could make use of it.
Her long strides carried her into a collision with a man who emerged unexpectedly from behind the shrubbery. His armload of papers erupted into the air and they both crashed to their buttocks.
Karigan shook her head feeling rather bruised. The man was already on his knees, grabbing at his papers even as they flurried down around him.
Karigan moved to help him. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? Important papers, these are.” He glared at her through specs that lay askew on his face. “Documents for the king, these are.”
“I said I was sorry.” She leaned forward to grab a paper just as he did, and the two cracked heads. “Ow!”
“Just stay out of my way.” He snatched the papers she had collected right out of her hands, stood—keys at his belt jingling—and hastened down the path.
Slowly it dawned on Karigan, as she rubbed her throbbing head, that her hands were completely empty.
“Wait!” she called. She sprang to her feet and raced after him, grabbing at his sleeve.
He scowled at her. “Now what? You have delayed me enough.”
Karigan sucked in a breath in an effort to remain civil. “I believe you picked up a couple of letters that belong to me.”
The man made an exasperated noise and picked through his papers. When he found the letters and saw her name upon them, he glanced at her, something odd lighting in his eyes. Then he flung them at her and continued on his way.
Karigan stared incredulously after him. She was of half a mind to pursue him and give him a tongue lashing, but better sense prevailed. She told herself he was beneath her attention and nothing would be gained by confronting him.
“Rotten little man,” she muttered.
She headed into the shady nook and found it empty. Sparrows splashed in a birdbath, but that was all the activity she found. The recently raked gravel path had been disturbed by the passage of several feet.
“I guess I was wrong about the illicit romance.” Whatever had brought the blacksmith, baker, and clerk together, she guessed she’d rather not know.
She sat on a rustic stone bench and heaved a sigh, closing her eyes for a moment to listen to the spring that bubbled nearby. Water trickled over mossy rocks like a miniature waterfall, pooling into a basin before streaming away to the trout pond. The sound of it soothed her. It was said that the first high king of Sacoridia, Jonaeus, founded the castle on this hill because of the natural spring he found there. In his memory, it was called “King Jonaeus’ Spring.” To drink of it was said to gift one with wisdom worthy of a king.
Karigan had sipped of it, and found it cool on a hot day, but otherwise unremarkable. She became no wiser than before. Only experience, she had learned somewhere along the way, led to wisdom.
Finally she broke the seal of one of the letters. It was from her father. In it he detailed preparations for the fall trading season. He described yardage of cloth, and tonnage of river cog, wagon train routes, and square foot of lumber. The entire letter went on in this vein until the very end, where he wrote:I need you just as much as the King and Captain Mapstone do. You are a G’ladheon and a Merchant! But do know I am ever Proud of you. Your good service to the King can only bring honor to the Clan.
Karigan reread the letter, much relieved by it. Her father was still hurting from her “decision” to become a Green Rider, but by the conciliatory tone of the last paragraph, he had finally accepted it to a degree.
Thank goodness, she thought, feeling some of the guilt lift from her shoulders.
She put his letter aside and took up the second. It was in the fine hand of her friend Estral Andovian, a journeyman minstrel at Selium. She described happenings at Selium in animated detail.
I’ve been busy teaching the summer term of mostly basic level and uninterested students. You may guess these are largely the children of nobles and that they are less intent upon their lessons than upon one another.
Karigan snorted, not envying Estral her task.
Estral then described some reno
vations being done to the archives, and Karigan chuckled at the images she wrought of master archivists scurrying about to protect ancient papers and tomes, wringing their hands and practically shedding the hair right off the tops of their heads from worry.
In the process of expanding the archives, workers knocked through a wall uncovering a remarkable treasure—an alcove that had been sealed over long ago. In it we found a manuscript from the days of the Long War in fine condition. Most of it is written in the Imperial tongue, and bits in Old Sacoridian. When we complete the translation, I shall send you a copy which you may share with your father. I think you will find it of interest.
There was no further explanation, just Mel sends her love, and Estral’s signature. Karigan dropped the letter onto her lap and stared into the trees before her. Leave it to Estral to be so mysterious as to not explain why the manuscript might be of interest to her. Estral could be so confounding sometimes.
Karigan noted the letter was dated two months ago. There was no telling how long it would take this manuscript to be translated and then conveyed to Sacor City. In the meantime, curiosity would eat her like a moth in a closet of woolens.
A light crunch on gravel startled Karigan from her reverie. She thought maybe the rude clerk, or one of his friends, might be returning for some reason, but when she saw who it was, she immediately stood and bowed.
“Welcome home,” said Lady Estora Coutre.
Estora was perhaps the most beautiful woman Karigan had ever seen. Her summer dress of dusty blue enhanced the light blue of her eyes, and her golden hair cascaded down her back in loose braids. The light, fresh scent of lavender wreathed about her. Unconsciously Karigan smoothed her hand along her tunic, all too aware of its baggy fit. She ran through a mental list of other deficiencies: her ragged fingernails, the skewed braid she had knotted without care that morning, and her old boots that were threatening to fall apart.
“Are you not going to say hello?” Estora asked.
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