When they came to Corsa to live under his roof, their backward island ways had vanished in due time, but not their pragmatism; nor did they stand on ceremony with their little brother. Often, just as when they were children, it was four against one when some argument came up. At least they no longer sat on him to force him to submit to their wishes.
Henpecked though he might feel from time to time, he was grateful for how they stepped in when Kariny died. Karigan had been so little, and he so lost. They provided that maternal core for Karigan, took over when his own grief made him incapable of minding his affairs. They raised Karigan while he traveled on merchanting ventures. While he traveled to escape the pain.
Yes, he owed his sisters much. He grabbed the teapot and filled his cup.
“Karigan is too thin,” Gretta said. “I do not think much of that Rider captain if she cannot keep her people properly fed. Now don’t you roll your eyes at me, young lady.”
Stevic assessed his daughter and he did not think she looked as starved as Gretta suggested. Karigan’s hair hung long and loose, and had acquired a funny cowlick, but essentially, she looked unchanged. The same, but now that he thought about it, different. Something in her eyes. He could not put a finger on it and frowned.
“So, what brings you home?” Stevic asked Karigan. “If we’d known you were coming, we could’ve readied your room.”
“Sorry,” Karigan replied. “I’m actually here with messages.”
Business, then, Stevic thought in disappointment.
Karigan smiled. “Though I may not be able to leave for a couple days with this weather.”
As if to accentuate her words, the house shuddered with another blast of wind. Stevic sent a prayer to the heavens that the storm would not abate too soon, stranding Karigan for an extra day or two. Not that he had any faith in the gods, but it couldn’t hurt to ask, could it? He missed her!
“Have you been well?” he asked.
“Yep,” she replied, and she reached behind herself for the message satchel hanging over the back of her chair.
“How are things?” he pressed. “They aren’t working you too hard, are they?”
“Weapons training is not fun,” she replied with a grimace, “but otherwise things slow down in the winter. I’ve been helping to train new Riders.”
The chair creaked as Stevic sat back and folded his arms. It wasn’t a very satisfactory answer to his thinking—he wanted details. What might she be holding back?
She did have a knack for finding trouble. He’d heard all about that swordfight she got into with some brigand at the Sacor City War Museum. The story was all over the merchants guild, and of course he’d received a detailed letter of the event from his Rhovan colleague, Bernardo Coyle, who, as a result, did not consider Karigan a proper match for his son. Stevic had crushed the letter and cast it into the fire, thinking Karigan deserved far better than some ignorant Rhovan for a husband anyway.
In contrast to what he heard from his fellow merchants about the museum incident, he found Karigan’s own accounting rather lacking. All she ever said about it was that the outing with Bernardo’s son hadn’t gone well. Nothing about any brigand, nothing about a swordfight.
“You are scowling,” Brini told him. “Careful, or your face will freeze that way.”
“I am not scowling.”
“Hah.”
By now Karigan had undone the flap of the message satchel and drawn out a letter sealed with the familiar gold imprint of the winged horse. She passed it across the table to him. He assumed it was the usual request from Captain Mapstone for supplies. Almost three years ago, Stevic pledged to outfit the Riders if Captain Mapstone helped find Karigan, who, at the time, had gone missing from school. She had managed to get mixed up in Rider affairs and had played a part in preventing a coup attempt against King Zachary. When Karigan had turned up alive after all her adventures, the captain had made sure Stevic followed through on his pledge.
He cracked open the seal and found Captain Mapstone’s neat, precise writing within. Dear Clan Chief G’ladheon, she began. He wished she’d be more informal with him by now, but he supposed familiarity was inappropriate in official correspondence.
The letter was, as he thought, a request for additional supplies, but the quantities she asked for took him aback. Over the last year, she wrote, our complement of Riders has grown significantly, to which Karigan can attest. We’ve been grateful for your generous donations of supplies in the past, but the king and I understand this sudden increase in demand may pose a difficulty for you. Therefore the king proposes to compensate you at tax collection time with relief on your annual burden, or to provide a direct payment.
Then, to his delight, she chose to address him personally and in his mind’s eye, he imagined her leaning closer and lowering her voice as if to take him into her confidence, but his pleasure proved short-lived as he read on: Stevic, the king is preparing for future conflict. Opposing forces are on the move—old enemies of the realm. I cannot say more about it here, but I wish to impress upon you the deep need for these supplies. We look forward to the earliest delivery as weather and your schedule permit.
Stevic rubbed his chin and read the last line of the letter to the sound of Cook chopping parsnips at the sideboard: Whatever may come, you can be sure my Riders will be in the thick of it. Their readiness to face all enemies depends on you furnishing the supplies they need.
He glanced up at Karigan, who was laughing at something Gretta said.
Henpecked though he might feel from time to time, he was grateful for how they stepped in when Kariny died. Karigan had been so little, and he so lost. They provided that maternal core for Karigan, took over when his own grief made him incapable of minding his affairs. They raised Karigan while he traveled on merchanting ventures. While he traveled to escape the pain.
Yes, he owed his sisters much. He grabbed the teapot and filled his cup.
“Karigan is too thin,” Gretta said. “I do not think much of that Rider captain if she cannot keep her people properly fed. Now don’t you roll your eyes at me, young lady.”
Stevic assessed his daughter and he did not think she looked as starved as Gretta suggested. Karigan’s hair hung long and loose, and had acquired a funny cowlick, but essentially, she looked unchanged. The same, but now that he thought about it, different. Something in her eyes. He could not put a finger on it and frowned.
“So, what brings you home?” Stevic asked Karigan. “If we’d known you were coming, we could’ve readied your room.”
“Sorry,” Karigan replied. “I’m actually here with messages.”
Business, then, Stevic thought in disappointment.
Karigan smiled. “Though I may not be able to leave for a couple days with this weather.”
As if to accentuate her words, the house shuddered with another blast of wind. Stevic sent a prayer to the heavens that the storm would not abate too soon, stranding Karigan for an extra day or two. Not that he had any faith in the gods, but it couldn’t hurt to ask, could it? He missed her!
“Have you been well?” he asked.
“Yep,” she replied, and she reached behind herself for the message satchel hanging over the back of her chair.
“How are things?” he pressed. “They aren’t working you too hard, are they?”
“Weapons training is not fun,” she replied with a grimace, “but otherwise things slow down in the winter. I’ve been helping to train new Riders.”
The chair creaked as Stevic sat back and folded his arms. It wasn’t a very satisfactory answer to his thinking—he wanted details. What might she be holding back?
She did have a knack for finding trouble. He’d heard all about that swordfight she got into with some brigand at the Sacor City War Museum. The story was all over the merchants guild, and of course he’d received a detailed letter of the event from his Rhovan colleague, Bernardo Coyle, who, as a result, did not consider Karigan a proper match for his son. Stevic had crushed the letter and cast it into the fire, thinking Karigan deserved far better than some ignorant Rhovan for a husband anyway.
In contrast to what he heard from his fellow merchants about the museum incident, he found Karigan’s own accounting rather lacking. All she ever said about it was that the outing with Bernardo’s son hadn’t gone well. Nothing about any brigand, nothing about a swordfight.
“You are scowling,” Brini told him. “Careful, or your face will freeze that way.”
“I am not scowling.”
“Hah.”
By now Karigan had undone the flap of the message satchel and drawn out a letter sealed with the familiar gold imprint of the winged horse. She passed it across the table to him. He assumed it was the usual request from Captain Mapstone for supplies. Almost three years ago, Stevic pledged to outfit the Riders if Captain Mapstone helped find Karigan, who, at the time, had gone missing from school. She had managed to get mixed up in Rider affairs and had played a part in preventing a coup attempt against King Zachary. When Karigan had turned up alive after all her adventures, the captain had made sure Stevic followed through on his pledge.
He cracked open the seal and found Captain Mapstone’s neat, precise writing within. Dear Clan Chief G’ladheon, she began. He wished she’d be more informal with him by now, but he supposed familiarity was inappropriate in official correspondence.
The letter was, as he thought, a request for additional supplies, but the quantities she asked for took him aback. Over the last year, she wrote, our complement of Riders has grown significantly, to which Karigan can attest. We’ve been grateful for your generous donations of supplies in the past, but the king and I understand this sudden increase in demand may pose a difficulty for you. Therefore the king proposes to compensate you at tax collection time with relief on your annual burden, or to provide a direct payment.
Then, to his delight, she chose to address him personally and in his mind’s eye, he imagined her leaning closer and lowering her voice as if to take him into her confidence, but his pleasure proved short-lived as he read on: Stevic, the king is preparing for future conflict. Opposing forces are on the move—old enemies of the realm. I cannot say more about it here, but I wish to impress upon you the deep need for these supplies. We look forward to the earliest delivery as weather and your schedule permit.
Stevic rubbed his chin and read the last line of the letter to the sound of Cook chopping parsnips at the sideboard: Whatever may come, you can be sure my Riders will be in the thick of it. Their readiness to face all enemies depends on you furnishing the supplies they need.
He glanced up at Karigan, who was laughing at something Gretta said.
