Green Rider (33 page)

Karigan caught the first man watching her with a dark scowl as she rode away. Surely Abram wouldn't carry out the death penalty. It wasn't in his nature to do so. But the two tree poachers didn't know it.

The trees simply ended. Karigan and The Horse were swathed in full sunlight for the first time since their strange journey together had begun. The Horse snorted and sidestepped, and Karigan covered her eyes until they adjusted to the light. She let out a low whistle. As far as the eye could stretch, the land was a desert of tree stumps. Only on the most distant hills, and behind her, could she find trees.

They skirted the edge of the woods until they met the road. Karigan cast a cautious eye before stepping onto it. The road was a muddy gutter of cloven hoofprints, and was rutted with gullies full of water where timber sledges had grooved the surface. They cantered as much to escape the devastation of the forest as to reach the town of North by sunset. The absence of trees exposed them to watching eyes, and left Karigan feeling very vulnerable.

As dusk deepened, a horseman approached at a quick trot. Karigan slowed The Horse to a jog, and patted the hilt of her saber to ensure it still hung at her side.

It wasn't easy to distinguish the horseman from the shadows. He was garbed in a long gray cloak with the hood thrown over his face. A quiver of arrows was strapped to his back, and a longbow crossed his shoulder. His stallion was a tall gray, at least as tall as The Horse, but more finely proportioned. The silver of his tack jingled as he trotted.

The Horse clung to the right side of the road and laid his ears back.

"What is it?" Karigan asked, tightening her grip on the hilt of her sword. The Horse shook his head, his ears flickered back and forth.

Karigan licked her lips nervously as the gray-cloaked figure drew closer. It would not do to look frightened. The more confident she appeared, the less likely she would be attacked if the horseman was a brigand. She released the hilt of her sword, fingers trembling, and turned to the horseman.

"Good evening," she said.

The rider turned his hood toward her, its depths vacant of all but shadows. An inexplicable dread weighed her down as the hidden gaze raked across her, holding her for some interminable time, perhaps seconds. She sensed something fair that had been tainted, something of age, but young. Something terrible.

The horseman nodded, and the gray stallion trotted on by. Karigan sagged in relief, releasing the breath she had held during the momentary exchange.

The jingle of tack and plod of hooves paused as if the rider had stopped to gaze after her. She glanced over her shoulder, but no one was there. Karigan wilted in her saddle. There was no place for the horseman to hide, yet he was gone.

"Don't tell me I'm beginning to see other ghosts," she murmured, but the cold dread returned when she remembered F'ryan Coblebay's last words:
Beware the shadow man
.

Sunset blooded the sky behind them as she clucked The Horse into a canter, more eager than ever to reach civilization. They did not slow until they entered town, and her initial relief turned into misgiving as she took in the shamble of clapboard wooden structures with garish hand-painted signs advertising mercantiles, a smithy, inns, and pubs.

The pubs and inns were already brightly lit from within, and bodies were pressed up against the windows. Bawdy music and loud laughter drifted into the sultry dark. She passed The Prancing Lady, The Broken Tree, and The Twisted Mule, and at The Full Moon, a man staggered into the street with a woman riding piggyback. Her face was gaudily painted, she wore a corset and little else, and was covering the man's eyes with her hands.

"Ha, ha, Wilmy," he said, wobbling this way and that down the street. "You let me see now, y'hear? Y'let me, an
^’
we'll have good fun." They disappeared down an alley. The woman's giggles echoed back out to the street, was followed by silence, then delighted squeals.

After a time, Karigan caught up to, and followed behind, a horse cart. Something large and heavy bumped on its wooden bottom as the wheels jolted over ruts in the street.

"Hey, Garl," said a man who leaned against a hitching post. "Watcha find?"

The cart driver hauled on the reins and
whoaed
his horse to a halt. "Remember that Greenie that come by the other day, asking all those questions 'bout some girl? I found her over by Millet's Pond, two arrows in "er."

"Just as well," the hitching post man said. "We've no need for those types 'round here."

Karigan went cold. Another dead Green Rider? With two arrows in her? She rode by the cart, The Horse's head lowered as if he knew a dead Green Rider lay in it. Karigan didn't want to look, but could not avoid the glint of light from a nearby inn on the Rider's gold hair. She lay half on her side, one gauntleted hand stretched out, the fingers slightly curled. The other hand lay across her stomach. She looked as if she might be asleep, except for the two black arrows protruding from her chest. The drinking song issuing from the inn made a grotesque dirge.

Karigan urged The Horse on, and the Rider's gold-winged horse brooch shimmered in the corner of her eye. Shaken, she stared straight ahead, the conversation and laughter of the two men fading behind her. Didn't they care that a woman lay dead next to them? Didn't they know that Green Riders were brave and deserved more than being thrown into the back of some dirty horse cart?

A somber mood took Karigan. She dismounted in front of The Fallen Tree, the inn Abram had recommended. The carved sign above the door showed an ax embedded in a tree stump. No mistake about what this town was known for.

A stableboy came to claim The Horse. "Is there room for the night?" she asked.

"Yep."

"Then I'll see to my horse myself."

The boy shrugged. It wasn't what guests usually requested, but she didn't want to chance anyone seeing her gear close up. She led The Horse through an alley to the rear of the inn where a stable and small paddock stood lighted by lanterns. Karigan hitched The Horse to a railing and untacked him there. Once free, he trotted to the center of the paddock for an enthusiastic roll in the mud. Karigan chuckled despite herself.

The stableboy watched The Horse grunt and rub his neck and side into the ground. "Where'd you find the horse?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"I saw his scars. A Green Rider was asking after such a horse the other day."

Karigan had to bite her tongue to regain her composure. The Green Rider had been looking for The Horse? "Are you implying I stole a horse, boy?"

"Why—" The boy looked at her with big eyes.

"I bought that horse from a mercenary, at a fair price, too." Karigan used as stern a voice as possible, and it was working. She blessed her fast thinking. A mercenary's horse would be prone to scars, too.

"Sorry, ma'am," the boy said.

Karigan smiled. Now the boy addressed her with the proper tone of respect, and eyed the saber girded at her side with trepidation.

He thought I was some runaway
, she thought. Then remembered that she was. "I don't want any slack on his grain. Give him a good rubdown, and make sure there isn't a fleck of dust on him come morning."

She fished for a coin in her pocket. Her father always insisted on tipping stableboys. He claimed they were always underpaid. It hurt to part with a copper—a night at the inn would drain her resources as it was—but she needed to put the stableboy's mind on something other than scarred horses and Green Riders. The boy received the coin enthusiastically, and reassured her that her horse would be well cared for.

Karigan caught up her gear, the bridle slung over her shoulder and the saddle over an arm, and entered the inn from a side door. She was struck by the aroma of broiled meat and fresh baked bread. Her mouth watered over a table of cooling pies and a cauldron of stew with chunks of beef, potatoes, and parsnips simmering over a hearthfire. She hadn't eaten a true meal since Seven Chimneys. Servants dashed in and out of the kitchen through a swinging door, balancing platters heaped with, or depleted of, food.

"
Out-out-out!" An
imposing, rotund woman brandished her ladle at Karigan. "I won't put up with horse leather in my kitchen."

Karigan rushed through the door, narrowly dodging a servant with a tray of empty tankards. She stepped away from the doorway to avoid further collisions.

The common room was clean and quiet—a good sign. Only a handful of tables was occupied. A woman sat by the stone fireplace reading fortune cards for a burly man, and an equally burly woman. They guffawed at whatever predictions the fortune-teller had told them. A single musician tuned his lute in a corner. It was hardly what she expected to find in North after what she had seen already.

"Do you have a request, lady?"

The musician gazed at her intently. She had seen the same expression on Estral's face often enough, and knew that minstrels missed very little.

"Uh, no. Not right now."

The man, perhaps middle-aged, bowed his head gracefully and turned his attention back to his lute. For a warm-up, he plucked a quiet song.

A skinny man with thinning red hair approached her. His fine vest and coat suggested he was either a merchant or an innkeeper. For some reason, Karigan always expected innkeepers to be a bit more rotund.

"You wish a room?" he asked.

"Yes. A single."

He raised his brow appraisingly at her trying to ascertain, she was sure, her ability to pay for a single room. His expression was doubtful, but he turned on his heel. "This way," he said. He led her up a narrow stairway to the second floor.

The room he showed her was only slightly larger than the closet she had lived in at Selium, but it looked clean and comfortable. The mattress was feather rather than straw, and was covered with a thick quilt. An oil lamp, not lard or a candle, stood on a table next to the bed. She began to wonder what the expense of a night's stay was going to add up to, and if she was going to end up in the scullery washing dishes, or in the stable mucking stalls. Better that than spending the night in one of those other raffish inns.

"The price," the innkeeper said, "is four silvers." He held his palm out expectantly.

Karigan's mouth dropped open.
Outrageous
! Ordinarily, such an establishment would charge two silvers, and even that was considered somewhat steep. The innkeeper still stood there, hand outstretched, his expression growing more suspicious. Karigan pursed her lips and dug into her pocket. She dropped the precious silvers into the man's hand. He bowed.

"This is robbery." She hooked a lank strand of hair behind her ear. "Even the finest inns in Corsa don't charge this much."

"This is North," the innkeeper said. "The extra expense covers security. You may have dinner when you are ready." He glanced down his nose at her saber, and sniffed. "Arms are generally left in the guestrooms." Karigan selfconsciously hitched the slipping swordbelt into its proper place. The innkeeper removed a key from a ring on his belt. "If you are concerned about your… valuables, you may use this." It was obvious he thought she didn't possess much in the way of valuables.

You'd treat me just fine if you knew I was the heir of the wealthy Clan G'ladheon, wouldn't you
. "Thank you." She wanted the key, took it, and shut the door in the innkeeper's face.

She would go down to the common room for dinner in a moment, but first she was due for a cleaning in the washbowl. She splashed water on her face and contemplated the day's events. First the "tree poachers" in Abram's woods, then the strange horseman, followed by another dead Rider in a cart. Garl, the cart driver, had said she was asking about some girl. The stableboy mentioned that a Green Rider had asked after a horse. Why did the Rider search for a girl instead of F'ryan Coblebay?