Green Rider (44 page)

Why not
. Karigan considered, but she could find no reason why the Eletian would have chosen one kingdom over the other, except that Sacoridia was directly south of the mysterious Elt Wood. Whatever the case, the Eletian's arrival had taken the focus off her. Maybe they would forget about her completely and she could go home.

A bell clanged, cutting off further discussion.

"Rider coming!" Mel dropped her pitchfork and sprinted from the dark stable, Alton on her heels. Karigan followed more slowly.

A stablehand rang the bell which was mounted on the outside of the building. A Rider galloped up the hill trailing a cloud of dust, and dismounted as his horse skidded to a halt. Alton grabbed the horse's reins, and without a word, the Green Rider strode away toward the castle with message satchel in hand.

"Got to fetch a fresh horse," the stablehand said, "in case he's gotta go out again."

Alton and the stablehand ducked inside to tack another horse. Mel loosened the girth on the messenger's puffing horse, and proceeded to walk him in a large circle to help cool him down.

"I wonder what's so important," Karigan said, keeping step with Mel.

"Not much, I'd say," the girl replied. "If it was real important, he would have ridden right up to the castle. Also, he walked fast, but didn't run toward the castle."

"Oh."

"I'm real used to how things work here," Mel said. "So is Alton."

"When does he ride?"

Mel slapped the neck of the sweaty horse and whispered something to his flickering ears. "He doesn't."

"What?"

"Alton doesn't. His parents won't permit it. Pure D'Yer blood, you know. Rubs him like a saddle sore to see everyone else ride while he sits here."

"But why is he a Rider in the first place?"

"The brooch accepted him."

"Accepted him?"

"Yep. The brooches are attracted to people who will be able to use them. People who have talents." Here Mel faltered, as if she was not sure how it worked herself.

Karigan nodded slowly, recalling a conversation in the parlor of the Berry sisters.
The brooch has accepted you
, Miss Bay had said.
It wouldn't permit you to wear it if it didn't perceive you as a Green Rider
.

"And what talent does Alton have?"

"No one knows. He's never been on a ride, so he hasn't found out."

Karigan fingered her brooch. Had the brooch accepted her for her talents, or by default because its previous owner had died and willed it to accept her? Maybe it was because she was the only one around stupid enough to take it.

"Karigan?" Captain Mapstone had walked up to the stable as quiet as a Weapon. She stood in the entrance, leaning against the doorway. "The king will see you now."

The captain insisted that she change immediately, saying that what she presently wore was covered with too much horse dust, and that would not be acceptable in front of the king. Karigan dressed in the full uniform of a Green Rider, her black boots highly polished, collar stiffened and wrapped with a black stock, and gauntlets folded over her belt. The winged horse brooch was clasped to her shortcoat, no matter that the king wouldn't even be able to see it. All that was missing from her ensemble was the saber.

The uniform was pressed with razor-sharp creases, and formally cut. Captain Mapstone, Karigan decided, must be trying to make some sort of point by having her wear it. It was painfully uncomfortable, not in the way it felt on her, but in the way she was certain everyone who looked at her would see through her, as if she tried to pass herself off as someone she was not. A fraud. Of course, she had worn the field uniform before, but that was different. All of her clothes were rags, and it was either wear green, or wear nothing at all.

"I don't see why I have to wear this," Karigan said. She followed slightly behind the captain as they passed through the castle courtyard. She avoided the glances of other folk, though in truth, most did not notice her. She was one uniformed commoner in the midst of many. A few Green Riders hastening to and fro, however, caught her eye and smiled encouragingly.

"Appearance is nearly everything in court," Captain Mapstone said. "The first time the king saw you, you had just arrived under remarkable circumstances which prevented you from appearing polished. Of course, he expects that when a message is being delivered, but at other times, a professional appearance is in order."

Karigan wanted to protest that she was not a professional Green Rider, but already they were in the throne room and she was looking down the chamber where a solitary man sat in an ornate chair, a dog at his feet. No counselors were in attendance, as the captain had desired, though the everpresent Weapons hugged the shadows.

As she started toward the king, the captain at her side, the white Hillander terrier trotted down the runner wagging his short tail. He jumped up on Karigan in greeting, and forgetting where she was, she bent down to pat him on the head. The captain nudged her and they proceeded forward, passing through columns of sunlight that streamed through the west side windows. The dog ran alongside them.

Karigan copied the captain's bow, rather plain and straightforward in her mind, compared to the traditional bows of the clans. The king was young for a king, or at least for what Karigan thought a king should be. He was no more than ten or fifteen years older than herself, though an amber beard made him appear more mature. He reminded her of a younger version of someone she had once seen, but could not place who or where.

And his eyes. The almond-shaped brown eyes of the Hillander region where one could look out to sea, look out to the horizon and find nothing between land and sky but the constant undulations of waves. It was said that the folk of Hillander bore more saltwater in their veins than blood. And here the king sat trapped in his stone castle, in the stifling static air. He had the look of a young shipmaster stranded inland, brooding under heavy weather, yearning for free air and the open expanse of water, the rhythmic curl of waves on the shore.

The king sat slumped and tired on his throne chair, his head propped on his hand. His lids hung low over his eyes as he listened to Captain Mapstone begin an introduction.

"Dismissed, Captain."

The captain stopped in mid-sentence, her mouth hanging open until she remembered to close it. "Yes, Sire." She flicked a warning look in Karigan's direction, bowed, and left the throne. The terrier began to follow her out.

"Finder!" the king snapped, and the dog reluctantly stopped in his tracks, tail wagging, and watched the captain's retreating back for a moment before curling up at Zachary's feet.

What had been in the captain's warning look? And now the king gazed at her. Boredly? Expectantly? She fidgeted and cast her eyes to the floor.

"Clan G'ladheon?" he asked. The abruptness of it caused Karigan's heart to leap. "A bought clanship if I've been informed correctly."

Karigan's cheeks heated. "A clanship your grandmother sanctioned." She nearly bit her tongue. It was just like her to speak without thinking.

Zachary blinked like a somnolent lion. "Captain Mapstone has told me something of your journey. Of course, my counselors and I witnessed your unusual entrance." He paused, stroking his beard. "But, that's all irrelevant at the moment. Do you play Intrigue, Karigan G'ladheon?"

"I, uh…" The change in topic caused her tongue to stumble. What did he mean her journey was irrelevant? "I've played Intrigue."

"Good."

The king clapped for a servant. A chair was brought for Karigan, and a table was set between them, the game placed on top.

"It's not as good without a Triad," the king said. "Perhaps I should have had the captain stay, but this will do. I've not played for some time."

"But—"

"Green or blue pieces?"

"Green, but—"

The king chuckled gleefully. "Perfect."

Karigan then realized what color she had chosen and groaned. Why did the king want to play a game? Why was her journey irrelevent? He actually stepped down from his throne chair and sat on the bottom step of the dais, and set up the game for two players. The pieces were little wooden figures. Karigan thought the king would possess a game made of silver and gold and jewels, but his set was far cruder than any she would have imagined.

"Now roll the dice, and we will see who possesses the stronger strategy."

The sleeping lion came to life as the game progressed. The king managed to counter any move Karigan made. Her pieces were pushed back, captured, and "killed." He lured her spies into fatal traps and goaded her knights into fights they could not possibly win.

The fresco paintings of Zachary's ancestors glared down at Karigan from the ceiling. She clasped and unclasped her hands under Zachary's relentless attack, as each of her knights was killed by common infantrymen. Her mind screamed that this was not what the king should be doing, that he must be insane to want to play games rather than hear of her journey. And yet there they sat, he on the dais step, she on the chair, each the reflection of the other as they concentrated on the game, as the sunlight penetrated the throne room at a greater slant, then began to recede like a blade withdrawn.

After two hours, Karigan sat limp in her chair. Zachary knocked her king off the board with a flick of his forefinger, and frowned at her. "You told me you've played Intrigue before."

"I have."

"That was one of the sloppiest games I've ever seen. You had messengers. Green Riders use special talents. Why didn't you give your messengers special talents?"

"It's a game. You can't just give pieces special abilities. I mean, the rules—"

"Listen to me, Karigan G'ladheon." The king bent forward, his face just inches from hers. "You can't play at Intrigue and expect to win by adhering to the rules. Use what is available to you. If I did not," he added in a whisper, "my portrait would have been painted on the ceiling long ago. Do you see the space there behind the late king, my father?"

Karigan followed his gaze toward the ceiling where King Amigast was painted beside Queen Isen. His eyes were solemn, and almond-shaped like Zachary's. A long blue robe fell to his feet, and while most of the other figures on the ceiling held weapons or scepters, King Amigast held an open book. On his other side was nothing but empty ceiling, a blank canvas. A chill tingled in Karigan's spine.

"That space," Zachary said, "is for me."

He removed a velveteen pouch from beneath his heather mantle of state, and handed it to her. She loosed the drawstrings, and the scent of bayberry drifted to her. Inside, she discovered with joy, were the items the Weapon had confiscated from her, except for Joy Overway's brooch. She removed the moonstone which ignited in a silver blaze at her touch.

Zachary squinted through the intense light. "Curious. That stone would not light for anyone else, not even the Eletian."

Karigan dropped it into the velveteen pouch and reluctantly passed it back, but the king shook his head.

"You are to keep those things, they are yours. Captain Mapstone says your stories are true, and by the special nature of her ability, I believe her. Your trinkets are your tools. Use what is available to you. I see no threat to me from you."

Karigan relaxed and clasped the pouch in both hands. "Thank you," she said with a relieved breath.

Zachary nodded, and patted his knee. Finder jumped into his lap, tail wagging furiously. The king absently stroked Finder and gazed at nothing, his eyes unfocused. Eventually he said, "The sequence of events that have led you here are quite remarkable. A schoolgirl who can't even play a decent game of Intrigue. The daughter of a wealthy merchant…"