First Rider's Call
Page 82
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“Stop the—?” Zachary said in astonishment.
Laren would have liked to have heard his response, but shutting off her ability took all her concentration. The clamor of the throne room—the voices and shifting feet—grew more pronounced. The pain in her head enclosed her in an opaque haze, separating her from everyone else.
False, true, true, false—
The endless stream of her special ability’s declarations burst her barriers and rushed into her mind like flood waters, and then all she knew was white noise and drowning.
In the days following the captain’s collapse, Karigan found herself up to her elbows in paperwork. With the captain out of commission and Connly still absent, Mara had assumed the captain’s duties, running off to one meeting after another, and attending the king.
Karigan ended up with Mara’s old duties, with other Riders pitching in when they could. Fortunately, her time spent working with her father scheduling merchant trains, inventorying stores, handling payroll, and tallying the books served her well, though she had to work somewhat from scratch. All the most recent records were stored in Captain Mapstone’s quarters, and the captain would admit no one, not even Master Mender Destarion.
Karigan did have to admit, one late night as she pored over sheets of paper spread out on the table in the common room of Rider barracks, that some things in the messenger service were more difficult to deal with than in the world of commerce. For instance, her father’s wagon trains traveled fairly standard routes, depending on the season, and stopped at the same fairs annually. It was all very predictable.
The messenger service was not. There was no telling when the king might need to send a message, or where the message must be delivered. It could be the next town over, or over the Wingsong Mountains to the coast of the Eastern Sea. The challenge was scheduling available Riders in such a way so as to be prepared for either contingency.
Sometimes there just weren’t enough Riders available, which meant Karigan must prevail upon the light cavalry to fill in. And they felt such work beneath them.
Karigan rubbed her bleary eyes, fighting off a yawn. It was getting to a point where the words on the papers were turning into squiggles she could make no sense of. Trying to figure out what needed to be done to keep the Riders functioning at least kept her mind off ghosts and floating mirrors. In fact, those things seemed far off, and far-fetched. Fairy tale-like. She had more immediate and real concerns to deal with.
The door to Rider barracks creaked open, admitting a rush of fresh, late summer air. The scent of dew on green growing things revived Karigan somewhat. She guessed it could only be Mara wandering in at so late an hour. What hour was it anyway? She had lost track of the time long ago.
Mara, as Karigan had guessed, entered the common room, looking as weary as Karigan felt. “Good thing there was a new shipment of whale oil today,” she said, eyeing the two lamps Karigan used to illuminate her work. Mara stretched her hands high above her head and there was a distinct popping of joints. With a sigh of relief, she flopped into an armchair.
“Gods, I don’t know how she does it.”
“You mean the captain?” Karigan asked.
“Yep. Standing by the king day in and day out while he has his private and public audiences. And then having to attend all those hideous meetings. You would not believe the conniving and infighting.”
“I believe it’s called politics.”
Mara rolled her eyes. “This was just a meeting of stablehands and the chiefs of the mounted companies, bickering over who gets what shipment of grain and hay. Poor Hep had to do all the talking on our behalf. I don’t know what to say—it’s not the kind of work I’m good at.” She pulled on a kink of hair. “It’s enough to take out the curl.”
“And when you’re attending the king?”
“That’s even worse. I think he wants me there just because he, and everyone else, is used to seeing Captain Mapstone at his side. You know, someone in green, out of habit.”
Captain Mapstone a habit? Karigan stifled a smile, wondering how the captain would react to such a notion.
“I know the king depends on her as his advisor, but frankly, I don’t have her experience or knowledge to play the part. I’m completely out of my element. So, I’m more or less an ornament.”
The defeated way in which Mara described herself made Karigan laugh. Ornamental was the last word she’d use to describe Mara, who was one of the most capable Riders she knew. Mara, not knowing exactly what was so funny, smiled tentatively.
Karigan wiped her eyes. “Sorry, I think the lack of sleep is getting to me.”
“I know what you mean. Have you heard anything about the captain?”
Karigan sobered immediately. “I was going to ask you the same question.”
“All I know is that Destarion is furious with her for refusing him admittance to her quarters.” Mara rolled her eyes. “That was another tirade I had to listen to today, and all I had said was ‘good morning.’ ”
No one knew the cause of the captain’s collapse. The king, and others who were present at the time, said she’d been acting erratically for a while. Ghost words came back to Karigan: Her gift is failing. Was the captain’s collapse somehow tied to the failure of her ability? She regretted not telling the captain about her own ability’s failure when she had had the chance.
After the captain collapsed, she’d been cognizant enough to declare herself unfit for duty, demand she be returned to her quarters, and informed the king Mara was in charge until Connly returned. Once in her quarters, she slammed the door and locked it. Food was left on her step three times daily. Sometimes it was drawn inside and consumed, more often not.
Laren would have liked to have heard his response, but shutting off her ability took all her concentration. The clamor of the throne room—the voices and shifting feet—grew more pronounced. The pain in her head enclosed her in an opaque haze, separating her from everyone else.
False, true, true, false—
The endless stream of her special ability’s declarations burst her barriers and rushed into her mind like flood waters, and then all she knew was white noise and drowning.
In the days following the captain’s collapse, Karigan found herself up to her elbows in paperwork. With the captain out of commission and Connly still absent, Mara had assumed the captain’s duties, running off to one meeting after another, and attending the king.
Karigan ended up with Mara’s old duties, with other Riders pitching in when they could. Fortunately, her time spent working with her father scheduling merchant trains, inventorying stores, handling payroll, and tallying the books served her well, though she had to work somewhat from scratch. All the most recent records were stored in Captain Mapstone’s quarters, and the captain would admit no one, not even Master Mender Destarion.
Karigan did have to admit, one late night as she pored over sheets of paper spread out on the table in the common room of Rider barracks, that some things in the messenger service were more difficult to deal with than in the world of commerce. For instance, her father’s wagon trains traveled fairly standard routes, depending on the season, and stopped at the same fairs annually. It was all very predictable.
The messenger service was not. There was no telling when the king might need to send a message, or where the message must be delivered. It could be the next town over, or over the Wingsong Mountains to the coast of the Eastern Sea. The challenge was scheduling available Riders in such a way so as to be prepared for either contingency.
Sometimes there just weren’t enough Riders available, which meant Karigan must prevail upon the light cavalry to fill in. And they felt such work beneath them.
Karigan rubbed her bleary eyes, fighting off a yawn. It was getting to a point where the words on the papers were turning into squiggles she could make no sense of. Trying to figure out what needed to be done to keep the Riders functioning at least kept her mind off ghosts and floating mirrors. In fact, those things seemed far off, and far-fetched. Fairy tale-like. She had more immediate and real concerns to deal with.
The door to Rider barracks creaked open, admitting a rush of fresh, late summer air. The scent of dew on green growing things revived Karigan somewhat. She guessed it could only be Mara wandering in at so late an hour. What hour was it anyway? She had lost track of the time long ago.
Mara, as Karigan had guessed, entered the common room, looking as weary as Karigan felt. “Good thing there was a new shipment of whale oil today,” she said, eyeing the two lamps Karigan used to illuminate her work. Mara stretched her hands high above her head and there was a distinct popping of joints. With a sigh of relief, she flopped into an armchair.
“Gods, I don’t know how she does it.”
“You mean the captain?” Karigan asked.
“Yep. Standing by the king day in and day out while he has his private and public audiences. And then having to attend all those hideous meetings. You would not believe the conniving and infighting.”
“I believe it’s called politics.”
Mara rolled her eyes. “This was just a meeting of stablehands and the chiefs of the mounted companies, bickering over who gets what shipment of grain and hay. Poor Hep had to do all the talking on our behalf. I don’t know what to say—it’s not the kind of work I’m good at.” She pulled on a kink of hair. “It’s enough to take out the curl.”
“And when you’re attending the king?”
“That’s even worse. I think he wants me there just because he, and everyone else, is used to seeing Captain Mapstone at his side. You know, someone in green, out of habit.”
Captain Mapstone a habit? Karigan stifled a smile, wondering how the captain would react to such a notion.
“I know the king depends on her as his advisor, but frankly, I don’t have her experience or knowledge to play the part. I’m completely out of my element. So, I’m more or less an ornament.”
The defeated way in which Mara described herself made Karigan laugh. Ornamental was the last word she’d use to describe Mara, who was one of the most capable Riders she knew. Mara, not knowing exactly what was so funny, smiled tentatively.
Karigan wiped her eyes. “Sorry, I think the lack of sleep is getting to me.”
“I know what you mean. Have you heard anything about the captain?”
Karigan sobered immediately. “I was going to ask you the same question.”
“All I know is that Destarion is furious with her for refusing him admittance to her quarters.” Mara rolled her eyes. “That was another tirade I had to listen to today, and all I had said was ‘good morning.’ ”
No one knew the cause of the captain’s collapse. The king, and others who were present at the time, said she’d been acting erratically for a while. Ghost words came back to Karigan: Her gift is failing. Was the captain’s collapse somehow tied to the failure of her ability? She regretted not telling the captain about her own ability’s failure when she had had the chance.
After the captain collapsed, she’d been cognizant enough to declare herself unfit for duty, demand she be returned to her quarters, and informed the king Mara was in charge until Connly returned. Once in her quarters, she slammed the door and locked it. Food was left on her step three times daily. Sometimes it was drawn inside and consumed, more often not.
