Green Rider (25 page)

"It's terrible." Estral's shoulders sagged and she rested her chin on her hands. "I wish… I wish she'd come back. I miss her. It hasn't been the same here without her. I've no one to talk to, and the other students pester me worse than usual. She used to sort of protect me. I don't know why she ran away. Did you know her grades were improving, and that Arms Master Rendle had taken her on as a student just before she was suspended?"

"Your story differs from the dean's," Stevic said. "You say Karigan left no clue as to where she went?"

"No. And I wouldn't blame the dean too much. He's a little out of touch, and perhaps too much at the sway of the trustees. After all, it was an aristocrat Karigan fought."

"An aristocrat?"

"Lord-Governor Mirwell's heir. He was humiliated after she beat him at swordplay."

"Never heard of anything good coming out of Mirwell." Stevic's caravans rarely traveled there. The common folk were, on the most part, too poor to purchase his goods, and the wealthy were more interested in arms, which he didn't sell.

Estral continued, "It created a sensation all over town."

Stevic grinned mirthlessly. "Sounds like something she would do."

Estral shook her head. "She never knew it, but she had more friends than she ever realized because she stood up to bullies like Timas. A lot of the students here are not of noble blood or wealth, but are full of talent. Father makes a point of searching for such children and bringing them to Selium. They are often at the mercy of those such as Timas."

"And instead of playing along, she stood against the ruffians." Stevic rubbed his chin. "Yes, that is like her."

The office door creaked open. Stevic started in surprise as the Green Rider he had seen earlier with the undertaker walked in. She still clutched the arrows, black-shafted, he saw, her brow furrowed with anger.

"I wish to see Guardian Fiori," she said. The corners of her eyes were creased from too many years in the sun, and her cheeks were sprinkled with faded freckles. Her hair, which had looked so intense outside, now appeared a burnished auburn with a streak of gray sweeping from her temple. Hazel eyes sparkled alertly, no doubt taking in every detail of the Golden Guardian's disheveled office. Her nose was disjointed as if it had been broken once, and a badly healed scar ran raggedly down her chin and neck in a brown line until it disappeared beneath her collar.

"I'm sorry, but he's away," Estral said.

The lines across the Rider's brow deepened. "You are being honest with me? I can sense falsehoods if I so choose." She fingered a brooch on her shortcoat. Stevic hadn't noticed it before, and even now couldn't seem to make out its shape or design.

"I've no reason to lie to you," Estral said. "My father is traveling."

"Your father! You're not one of those idiot clerks—please forgive me." Her voice was chagrined, and it was difficult to imagine her as the same woman who had shaken the undertaker by his lapels. Stevic wondered if she had given the clerk Matterly similar treatment. "I was hoping he could help me identify this talisman." She held the arrows aloft. The steel-barbed tips were encrusted with dry blood. "There are words carved on them in a language I can't quite make out, but I have my own thoughts. They've the feel of magic. Very old magic."

Estral gazed at them with some interest but didn't ask to hold them. "I'm sorry Father isn't here. Maybe Master Galwin could help. He's a historian and the school curator. He studies the lore of old magic. Where did you find them?"

"In the back of one of my finest Riders." She sighed. "We believe he was bringing us a message of some significance." Then, as an afterthought, she introduced herself. "I am Laren Mapstone, captain of His Majesty's Messenger Service. Your father has been very helpful to me in the past. That is, dealing with objects of antiquity and magic."

"Ach," Stevic said. "Magic is evil." He made the sign of the half moon with his fingers to ward off any magic that might be conjured up just by mentioning it.

Captain Mapstone gave him a long, measuring look. Her head did not even reach his shoulders, but her bearing made her seem equally tall. "And who are you?"

"Chief Stevic G'ladheon, at your service." He bowed deeper for her than he had for the clerk.

"Oh. A merchant. Obviously with backward views. Magic is magic. It's the user who makes it evil or good."

"I still wouldn't touch it."

The Green Rider's lips drew back into what could have been a smile. "There are those who still touch magic and use it, despite the denial this country has been immersed in for the last several centuries."

Before Stevic could retort, the door creaked open again. This time, a man of wiry and well-muscled build walked in. His hair was steel gray, but his mustache and eyes were as black as night. A pipe protruded from his shirt pocket.

"Pardon my intrusion, Estral," he said, "but I hear that Karigan's father is here."

Estral nodded toward Stevic. "That's him, Master Rendle."

"Arms Master Rendle?" Stevic stepped past Captain Mapstone to greet the man. He forgot to bow.

"Pleased to meet. We've a few things to discuss."

Estral's chair scraped the floor as she stood up. "Guess I'm not going to get anything done here. Nobody ever bothers to come back here except when I have to study."

"If you could direct me to Master Galwin…" the Green Rider requested, and followed Estral out.

The arms master watched after them. "A dangerous job that Rider has."

"How's that?"

Rendle shook himself as if he hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud. "Can you imagine riding all hours of the day at the mercy of weather during all seasons? Can you imagine bearing a message through dangerous territories, or taking bad news to a short-tempered lord who wouldn't think twice about killing you? Can you imagine carrying a message someone doesn't want delivered? The lifespan of a Green Rider is very short. That captain is about as old as I see them get."

"That's all very well, but it's their job. Why, sometimes it's no better for a merchant traveling with a load of goods. Unless you've a full complement of guards. I know plenty of merchants who have been killed for—'

"Aye, it's their job, and Green Riders are the closest to insane as I've ever seen."

Unsettled by the arms master's words, Stevic watched out the dusty window as Captain Mapstone and Estral crossed the courtyard down below. "Tell me about my daughter."

Arms Master Rendle leaned against the Golden Guardian's desk, his arms folded across his broad chest.

"By the end of the fight," he was saying, "I saw enough to recognize she had some natural talent with the sword. It was the way she moved. It was raw and instinctual, but I saw promise. You must understand that most of the students who come to me are there mostly because it is part of their coursework, or a clan tradition to receive weapons training. They hone traditional skills it is unlikely they will ever use. Minstrel students are more musician than warrior, but weapons training is required for them. The Guardian believes they should be prepared for the world they wander in, and I quite agree. But it is rare to find a student with actual interest and talent."

Stevic stared out the window. The courtyard had fallen into shadow and silence, empty of students. Even the pigeons seemed to have fled the grounds, giving it a gloomy and abandoned feel. "I had hoped Karigan would find a talent for something, but I never expected the sword."

"Ah, but the sword is just a beginning. I had heard about her from her other instructors. Complaints, mind you, except from her riding instructor, Master Deleon. Del said she excelled at riding. When I saw Karigan put Timas Mirwell on the ground, I thought maybe I could get her to work for something else and the sword would be just a beginning, that it would inspire her to seek out whatever it was she wanted to do with her life."

Stevic turned his gaze to the arms master. "I am fortunate my daughter had such an instructor."

Rendle grinned. "She was fortunate to have such a father."

Stevic raised a brow.

"I once asked her what she wanted to do with her life," Rendle said. "She told me, something adventurous. She wanted to be a merchant like her father. It is not many children who choose to follow their parents' footsteps."

Stevic stilled, letting it sink in. Then he slowly shook his head and turned back to the window and the shadows. He felt buffeted by a variety of emotions: elation, fear, sadness, desperation.
Where was she
? "She never told me." His voice was taut.

Rendle said nothing until he was certain Stevic had mastered himself. "We continued training every day. It seems someone had worked with her before, the cargo master—?"

Stevic nodded. "Sevano."

"Her skills were less than basic, but she was an eager student, always at the practice field early. She worked harder than any student I've had the privilege to teach in a very long time. Her skills improved quickly though she seemed discouraged by what she saw as a lack of progress. Unfortunately, her training was cut short."

"The suspension you mean."

"Aye." Rendle removed his pipe from his pocket and patted his side as if in search of something, and frowned. "My tobacco pouch. Hmmm…" When he couldn't find it, he stuck the pipe back in his pocket. "Despite the fact Timas Mirwell attacked her after their swordplay, and despite Del… er, Master Deleon and myself speaking on her behalf before the trustees, Karigan was suspended."

Stevic left the window to stand before Rendle. "I've heard the dean's explanation, but why do
you
think she was suspended?"

"I am Rhovan born," Rendle said. "My mother was of Rhovanny, my father of Adolind Province. I spent a goodly part of my life on the Wanda Plains growing more weeds than crops, and fighting off groundmites and other raiders. We were too concerned with day to day life to worry about what the clans were doing in Sacoridia. Politics…" Rendle leaned forward and in a low voice he said, "At least one trustee is of Clan Mirwell. Mirwellians don't take kindly to dishonor. Karigan dishonored the governor's son, thus the entire clan, and they will remember such an insult for a century if need be."

If need be
. Stevic took a deep swallow of his ale and set the tankard down on the knotty pine table with a
clunk
. It was late afternoon at the Harp and Drum, and no one had begun to entertain yet. The music would start during the supper hour. He didn't think he would have the heart to listen to it anyway.

Only a few other patrons sat quietly at tables, sipping wine or ale, as drowsy sunlight filtered through the windows. Stevic twisted the gold ring on his finger, ignoring the steaming fresh bread and cheese plate the innkeeper set on their table.