First Rider's Call (16 page)

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:

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.

Karigan snorted, not envying Estral her task.

Estral then described some renovations 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.

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.

“I—” Karigan smiled feebly. “Hello.”

Estora took Karigan’s hands into her own. “I am ever so pleased to see you well after your long journey. Shall we sit?”

When Karigan had returned to Sacor City a year ago, an unlikely friendship had evolved between them. Unlikely because Estora was heir to Coutre Province, and normally inaccessible to a common messenger. Yet over the past year they found themselves encountering one another in the gardens, where both came to think over whatever was on their minds.

Karigan found Estora a ready listener to the frustrations of Rider life. Estora, in turn, spoke of growing up in Coutre Province and life in court. Perhaps she found some connection with Karigan because she could speak of her lost secret lover, Rider F’ryan Coblebay. Karigan had been the last to see him alive, and at his dying, she had “inherited” his saber, horse, and brooch. Did Estora think of F’ryan when she looked upon Karigan?

“I am sorry for the loss of Lieutenant M’Farthon and Rider Martin.”

The unexpected words, like a key turned in a lock, were all it took. Grief, otherwise all but suppressed by other more immediate needs, suddenly founted to the surface. They came from the depths of a soul exhausted by loss and a harsh journey. Karigan had not allowed herself to give in to the grief before, that great threatening wave, but somehow with a few simple words and the sympathy Estora all but radiated, the breakwater Karigan had so firmly formed in her mind was destroyed.

Estora rubbed Karigan’s back and murmured soothing words until her racking sobs abated, and then handed her a handkerchief scented with lavender. Karigan blew lustily into it. In the wake of her tears, she felt tired to the bone, as if the last of her energy had been stored for this moment; and a little embarrassed by having lost control in front of someone else.

She found herself telling Estora about the journey. It was not the same as the telling of the previous night, a factual line of events; now she colored the telling with her own fears and anguish.

Estora did not interrupt, but listened gravely, sadness clouding her features as Karigan related the grittier portion of her tale. When she finished, the catharsis left her feeling more tired than ever, yet eminently relieved by finally having let go.

“Thank you,” she said, “for listening to all that.”

“I am sorry you experienced it, but I am glad you could speak to me of it. You Riders undergo dangers I cannot even imagine, and you do it out of love for the king and Sacoridia. Yet many take your service for granted.” She shook her head, her braids sweeping across her back. “I know if Alton were here, he’d be of great comfort to you.”

Karigan looked sharply at her, wondering what she knew about Alton. He had, by Karigan’s design, rarely entered their conversations.

Estora did not miss her reaction and laughed gently. “Now, don’t give me that look, Karigan G’ladheon. You did mention his name just often enough for me to make some guesses, and even now in your expression, I see them confirmed.”

Karigan frowned. Was she always so transparent?

“You see, life in court has taught me the art of observation,” Estora explained. “Expression, voice, and even gestures can tell one much that is not revealed in words.” Her eyes twinkled at Karigan’s discomfiture. “Do not worry, I am much practiced, and you did not reveal yourself easily.”

There was that, Karigan supposed. “What is it you think you know?”

“I know you are good friends, and it was once almost more. It is not such a bad thing for those who would be lovers to find friendship instead. Sometimes it makes the binding closer.”

Binding? How close was that binding? Karigan wondered. The fact was, she and Alton rarely saw one another. This, as much as anything, had quelled any romantic feelings they might have entertained. It was awfully hard to carry on a relationship when both parties were constantly on the run, but such was the life of a Green Rider.

Karigan had taken some leave time with Alton to Woodhaven, the stronghold of Clan D’Yer, and it had been a special time. Yet it reinforced the fact that both of them had changed over the year she was away from Sacor City; time had opened a gulf between them.

Yet she intensely missed Alton and wished he were here for her to talk with. More so than even Estora, he would’ve understood all that she had gone through while on delegation duty. Estora was right about the binding of friendship—it allowed a freedom of openness between them, and dispensed with the awkwardness they had felt as almost-lovers.

Mostly she worried about him being near the wall. What could he do to stop its deterioration? He was but one man against an ancient bulwark built by his ancestors so long ago. At the wall he’d be at the threshold of Blackveil Forest and its legendary darkness.

Karigan had learned the importance of friendship time and again. Alton had once saved her life by putting himself between her and an arrow. Would she ever have a chance to show him the depth of her friendship when he was in need?

Currently he was too far away, and Estora was all too correct about the dangers Green Riders faced.