Green Rider (41 page)

"Like old times, isn't it?" Stevic G'ladfheon poked a stick at the crackling campfire. "Just the two of us on the road without an inn in sight."

Sevano grunted from where he lay on his bedroll with his hands folded across his belly. "Aye, well you ought to be home looking over accounts, or at the very least, leading one of your caravans."

The night was thick in this unpopulated countryside, and the piercing glimmer of stars above cold and distant. To the gods watching from above, would their little campfire appear as a point of light like a star? Not even a farmer's cot could be found for miles along this forsaken stretch of road, denying them even the homey glow of a candle in a window. They were alone, he and Sevano, with the night and the gods.

Stevic rested his arms on his knees. "Do you suppose she has spent many nights like this?"

Sevano grunted again. He knew to whom his chief referred without asking. "Kari is a bold lass. A little dark is nothing to her."

Stevic pulled his cloak over his shoulders and remained silent for a while, listening to the hiss and pop of the fire. He allowed the dancing tongues of flame to draw his gaze inward. He said, "I can't just sit at home reviewing accounts, you know. Nor can I lead a caravan. How do you expect me to do that?"

Sevano sighed. "I don't, but this delay will cost you profit."

"What is a loss of profit compared to my daughter?"

"Nothing," Sevano said. "If it were, you would not be you, and I would not follow you."

Stevic chuckled. "Old fool, old friend. More than a cargo master you are to me."

"If anyone can find Kari, it will be you."

When they had reached Corsa after their trip to Selium, Stevic learned the disquieting news that no one had seen Karigan and that she hadn't come home before them. He commenced to spread the word among his people that Karigan was missing, and he bade them keep watch for her on the road while they set out on trading missions. The word was spread among other merchants and their staffs as well. It was not long before all of Corsa had heard that the heir to the great G'ladheon fortune was missing. Rumors spoke of kidnappers, and some mean-spirted persons had even sent letters demanding ransom for her return. Stevic had followed up on each, but discovered them all to be lies. All lies that delayed him from finding his daughter.

Eventually Stevic and Sevano discarded the rumors as speculation, and left Corsa abuzz. They set out for Sacor City and would look for Karigan along the way. When they reached the city, they would look up Captain Mapstone and see if she had any news of Karigan.

Stevic left the fire and stretched out on his own bedroll. "We've a few more days on the road," he said. Oddly, he looked forward to reaching Sacor City, and dreaded it at the same time. He looked forward to sparring with that fiery Captain Mapstone. Quick she was. Quick to anger, quick of wit. She had a bright burning intelligence he found intriguing.

He dreaded reaching Sacor City because of the news he might find there, the news he most feared. He feared he might find that Karigan was still missing, or worse, if found, was dead.

Sevano snored softly on the other side of the campfire. Stevic could not sleep. Instead, he gazed long and hard at the distant stars and wondered about the capricious gods who inhabited them. If the gods existed, why was his daughter missing?

VISITOR TO THE REALM

Laren Mapstone sat at the base of the king's dais with his advisors, the Honorable Counselors Sperren and Devon, and Castellan Crowe. The crusty Sperren jabbered aimlessly about supposed civilians who disguised themselves as Green Riders and foolishly risked their lives to deliver unimportant messages to the king.

The discussions had been grinding round in circles for now, and night coated the tall windows like black enamel. Pages had come by an hour ago to light wall lamps candles ensconced in wooden chandeliers. In the light, the figures painted on the ceiling appeared alive, their expressions severely disapproving of those down below them. They were like ghosts who watched.

Finder, fast asleep at his master's feet, yipped and peddled his paws in some doggie dream of chasing hares. At least he'd had some dinner and a good stiff walk. The kennelmaster had seen to that. Laren's stomach growled—even Finder’s raw horse meat began to sound appetizing, and she would pay with
a
rotten backache for sitting in this Second Age stiff chair probably created specifically to torture advisors.

"We can't just have civilians dressing up," Sperren droned on, "as servants of the realm."

Blah, blah, blah
, Laren thought.

The king sat preoccupied in his chair, his brown eyes distant, one leg across the other, his chin on his hand. He was crowned by a delicate silver fillet which he regarded, she knew, as more of a collar than a symbol of his kingship. His beard made him appear older, wiser, but Laren knew a tired young man was behind the beard. Crumpled in his lap lay the all-important message. At least, it should have been important.

Laren wondered what world the king's mind traveled in, for he seemed disinclined to participate in the discussion— rather, the bickering—of his advisors. He was probably walking the hills of his ancestral land with his dogs capering about him, where he could hear the rumble of the sea and the cries of gulls, and feel the free wind on his face. That was where he would be now if his father had not astounded all by naming him heir to the realm.

Zachary had protested exhaustively, had planned to govern Hillander Province and raise dogs, while his brother did the dirty work of managing the realm. In the end, King Amigast had seen through Prince Amilton, however. He had seen how the spoiled child had grown into a spoiled man who possessed not a single iota of leadership. The prince's mercurial temper was reflected in bruised servants, abused bed partners, and too many fine horses that had to be put down. Zachary wouldn't let his brother near the dogs. Everyone knew Amilton's nature, but said nothing, for his father saw only the charming side of his son. And Prince Amilton could be charming indeed.

Then, a delegation from the Cloud Islands had come to Sacoridia to negotiate trade agreements. The relationship between the two countries had never been very secure, and King Amigast sought friendship with the Islands knowing it would make Sacoridia a leader in commerce. Prince Amilton raped the daughter of one of the delegates, a girl hardly in her teens.

When Prince Amilton's act was discovered, the trade negotiations fell into shambles. The king finally listened to the whisperings around him, the whisperings of his son's indiscretions. Horrified that one of his own flesh was capable of such abuse, he began to look to his other son, Prince Zachary the workhorse, the son who, while his father was occupied fruitlessly teaching Prince Amilton the principles of kingship, excelled at his studies, learned about managing a province, and traveled to familiarize himself with the countryside and its people. When King Amigast chose Zachary to be his heir, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Almost everyone.

Prince Amilton, soured and seething hate after the loss of the throne, had returned to Hillander Province as governor. But his indiscretions continued, the clan's wealth dwindled, and the province suffered. Zachary, now king, exiled his brother from the province and the country. No one knew where he had ended up. Laren had her own ideas about that, and had hoped the message would confirm her suspicions.

"Captain?"

"Hmmm?"

"Captain."

Laren blinked. All of the advisors gazed at her. She straightened in her chair and cleared her throat, embarrassed to have been caught daydreaming. "Yes?"

"What is the story behind this girl?" Sperren asked. "Would you care to explain?"

Finally, a flicker of interest lit in the king's eyes.

"Karigan G'ladheon is a runaway from the school at Selium. Her father is a merchant in Corsa." Laren described her chance meeting with Stevic G'ladheon, and his request for her Riders to search for his daughter.

"And how did she contrive to get hold of F'ryan Coblebay's message?" Castellan Crowe asked in that snide tone of his.

Laren tried to conceal the annoyance in her voice. "I'm aware of the holes in my story, but I don't believe that
contrive
is an appropriate term. I can only speculate about how and why Karigan G'ladheon came into possession of F'ryan's message, and what happened thereafter." Undoubtedly the brooch had called her, but this she wouldn't tell the advisors. Let them believe it was pure coincidence.

"Then why don't we have her here for questioning?" Crowe had been a law speaker before coming to serve King Amigast, and often insisted on cross-examining people.

Counselor Devon echoed Crowe. "Yes, why isn't she here?" Devon was half blind with age, but immeasurably sharp. Often she was an excellent resource for how situations had been dealt with in the past. She had first served as Queen Isen's personal Weapon, then instructed a generation of Weapons in the way of the Black Shields. She slid into the advisor's position when her slowing reflexes and poor eyesight demanded she retire from the sword. As advisor, she oversaw the administrative activities of the Weapons, and so was not completely sundered from the profession that had once consumed her life.

Laren rubbed the brown scar on her neck. "She isn't in any condition for an
interrogation
." Crowe perked up at the word. "Perhaps you didn't notice, but she couldn't even support her own weight when she arrived."

"Yes, but if she's a threat—"

"She isn't a threat," Laren snapped.

"She used magic," Crowe said.

"Magic isn't necessarily a threat. Look, this girl isn't what we have to fear. She brought a message through who knows how many perils, and we should be thanking her rather than hurling suspicions at her like rocks."

"The message says nothing," Sperren said. He had been steward-governor of Hillander Province since Amigast had been a boy, only to be brought to Sacor City by the late king to advise him. Laren wondered who held that position now. "We've known about Lorilie Dorran living in North for months, and the king has tolerated her presence. And the two assassination attempts? Easily thwarted by Weapons."

"F'ryan Coblebay died because of this message." This time Laren did not bother to conceal her annoyance. "And F'ryan was known to write important messages in code so they would remain uncoded by any enemy who captured them. I request that I be permitted to take the message, Excellency, so I might determine whether or not it is in code."

Zachary nodded and passed it to her.

"What we should fear," Laren said, "are these." She held up the two black arrows which had lain on the floor beside her chair. She loathed touching them. They felt tainted and thirsty as if they could eat into her flesh.

"Yes, Captain," Crowe said. "You came in waving those arrows about this afternoon as if you knew the answers to Bovian's Seven Secrets. Please do explain."

"I won't pretend to know the answers to the Seven Secrets." She smiled grimly. "But I have a good inkling about these arrows. I found them in Selium… in F'ryan Coble-bay's back. I spoke with a historian there, Master Galwin, who has an interest in relics of the ancient past."

"Those hardly look ancient," Devon said. It was amazing she could see them at all.

"I suspect they were very recently made, but in an ancient way. Master Galwin suggested that, by the way they were used to kill F'ryan—two arrows of a certain wood— that they are soul stealers."

"Oh, come now, Captain." Devon waved her hand dismissively. "Don't waste our time with mystical fancies. There is no magic of that dimension anymore, and no one can steal souls. I'm sorry for the loss of Rider Coblebay, for he was a good man, but I doubt his soul is anywhere but with the gods."