The High King's Tomb
Page 26
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Karigan nodded, a trifle disappointed that she wouldn’t be able to flex her merchanting skills.
Captain Mapstone then gazed out the window and into the gardens with a whimsical smile. “I rather envy you getting to visit with Damian. He’s…well, he has a way with horses.”
And Rider horses were special, very intelligent. Karigan found herself looking forward to meeting the man who supplied them.
“My third assignment?” Karigan asked.
“Lord Mirwell,” Captain Mapstone said.
An image of gruff old Mirwell with his bear hide draped over his shoulders flashed through Karigan’s mind before she remembered he was dead. The captain meant his son, Timas, who had made Karigan’s life unpleasant during her school years at Selium. Now he was a lord-governor and she knew he would love the fact that she was a lowly messenger who must grovel before him no matter what abuse he chose to heap on her. Maybe he’d matured since those days. Maybe he wouldn’t even remember her. But how could he forget how she humiliated him in front of all their classmates that day during a bout of swordplay?
“Actually,” the captain said, “Lord Mirwell is an excuse. You’ll deliver him some innocuous message from the king. I’m more interested in you contacting Beryl. We haven’t heard from her in a good while, which leaves me a little concerned.”
Beryl Spencer was a Green Rider whose special ability allowed her to portray a role and convince others of it, which made her an ideal operative for the king. Placed in the Mirwellian militia, she had quickly earned rank as a major and gained the old lord-governor’s confidence. He had handpicked her as his aide, never suspecting her true allegiance till she helped to bring about his downfall. Afterward, Beryl returned to Mirwell Province to resume her role in the militia and as an aide to Timas, keeping an eye on him lest he decide to follow in his father’s footsteps or was approached by any of his father’s fellow conspirators who had escaped king’s law.
“If you can’t see or meet with Beryl,” the captain said, “make some careful inquiries, but nothing more. If something untoward has happened to her, do not get involved. Return to report immediately. I don’t want you endangering yourself. Most likely she is out on maneuvers with the militia—it would not be the first time we’ve had silence from her because of this.” Then she gave Karigan a penetrating look. “Are you clear on this? You are only to observe, not to get yourself in trouble.”
“Clear,” Karigan assured her. She had already had enough adventures to last a lifetime, and steering clear of potential trouble was fine with her. “Is that all?”
“Actually, no,” the captain said. “There’s one more thing. I’m sending Fergal Duff with you.”
“But he’s new—”
“Precisely why I’m sending him with you. As horses become available, I’m pairing up other Riders in hopes our new people can get a feel for being on an errand before actually having to do a solo run.”
Karigan clamped her mouth shut. It had been part of her training, too. She had accompanied Ty on several errands, but none so far afield as this one. She would be stuck with Fergal for quite some time.
“You will leave in two days. I’ll brief Fergal myself.” The captain rose from her chair and smiled again. “I’m sure you’ll leave Rider accounts in good shape so Mara can handle them—until you return.”
Karigan suppressed a groan. It appeared her least favorite aspect of the merchanting business would haunt her forever.
She found Garth in the Rider wing in the large chamber they had converted into a common room. With a long oaken table that was a gift from the king, some comfortable chairs, and a warm hearth fire blazing, it wasn’t too bad. Shelves even began to collect new books and games, replacing those that had been lost in the fire.
Garth’s bulk overflowed a rocking chair beside the hearth. He held a teacup that looked ridiculously dainty in his hands, and a book lay open across his knees.
She crossed the room and dropped into a chair opposite him, relieved no one else was around. Most senior Riders would be out on message errands and the new Riders were at lessons. Some were learning to ride, others were learning to write and figure, and still others would be at weapons practice with Arms Master Gresia.
“How did the rest of your meeting go?” Garth asked.
Karigan outlined her assignment and Garth let out a low whistle. “That should keep you busy for a while.”
“I haven’t been on a long-distance errand since forever. I hope it doesn’t snow.” She shuddered and gazed into the hearth fire. Avoiding snow was unlikely now that it was mid-autumn, and she briefly thought about all she’d have to pack to stay warm.
“At least the Grandgent won’t be frozen,” Garth said.
“True.” If they were unable to use the ferry crossing, it would lengthen the journey by weeks. She shook off thoughts of her impending travel and said, “How’s Alton? Did he mention me at all?”
Garth blew on his still steaming tea before sipping. “I’m sorry, Karigan, but he refused to talk about you. I tried, I really did, but he just wouldn’t talk.”
“Then I suppose he didn’t respond to my letter.”
“I’m afraid not.”
A silence fell between them and the fire popped. Crestfallen, Karigan could only look at her knees.
“Alton hasn’t been well, Karigan,” Garth said. “The mender down there tells me he’s still fighting the forest’s poisons in his veins. He doesn’t look very good. And the wall is frustrating him. He’s more than frustrated. You would hardly recognize him.”
Captain Mapstone then gazed out the window and into the gardens with a whimsical smile. “I rather envy you getting to visit with Damian. He’s…well, he has a way with horses.”
And Rider horses were special, very intelligent. Karigan found herself looking forward to meeting the man who supplied them.
“My third assignment?” Karigan asked.
“Lord Mirwell,” Captain Mapstone said.
An image of gruff old Mirwell with his bear hide draped over his shoulders flashed through Karigan’s mind before she remembered he was dead. The captain meant his son, Timas, who had made Karigan’s life unpleasant during her school years at Selium. Now he was a lord-governor and she knew he would love the fact that she was a lowly messenger who must grovel before him no matter what abuse he chose to heap on her. Maybe he’d matured since those days. Maybe he wouldn’t even remember her. But how could he forget how she humiliated him in front of all their classmates that day during a bout of swordplay?
“Actually,” the captain said, “Lord Mirwell is an excuse. You’ll deliver him some innocuous message from the king. I’m more interested in you contacting Beryl. We haven’t heard from her in a good while, which leaves me a little concerned.”
Beryl Spencer was a Green Rider whose special ability allowed her to portray a role and convince others of it, which made her an ideal operative for the king. Placed in the Mirwellian militia, she had quickly earned rank as a major and gained the old lord-governor’s confidence. He had handpicked her as his aide, never suspecting her true allegiance till she helped to bring about his downfall. Afterward, Beryl returned to Mirwell Province to resume her role in the militia and as an aide to Timas, keeping an eye on him lest he decide to follow in his father’s footsteps or was approached by any of his father’s fellow conspirators who had escaped king’s law.
“If you can’t see or meet with Beryl,” the captain said, “make some careful inquiries, but nothing more. If something untoward has happened to her, do not get involved. Return to report immediately. I don’t want you endangering yourself. Most likely she is out on maneuvers with the militia—it would not be the first time we’ve had silence from her because of this.” Then she gave Karigan a penetrating look. “Are you clear on this? You are only to observe, not to get yourself in trouble.”
“Clear,” Karigan assured her. She had already had enough adventures to last a lifetime, and steering clear of potential trouble was fine with her. “Is that all?”
“Actually, no,” the captain said. “There’s one more thing. I’m sending Fergal Duff with you.”
“But he’s new—”
“Precisely why I’m sending him with you. As horses become available, I’m pairing up other Riders in hopes our new people can get a feel for being on an errand before actually having to do a solo run.”
Karigan clamped her mouth shut. It had been part of her training, too. She had accompanied Ty on several errands, but none so far afield as this one. She would be stuck with Fergal for quite some time.
“You will leave in two days. I’ll brief Fergal myself.” The captain rose from her chair and smiled again. “I’m sure you’ll leave Rider accounts in good shape so Mara can handle them—until you return.”
Karigan suppressed a groan. It appeared her least favorite aspect of the merchanting business would haunt her forever.
She found Garth in the Rider wing in the large chamber they had converted into a common room. With a long oaken table that was a gift from the king, some comfortable chairs, and a warm hearth fire blazing, it wasn’t too bad. Shelves even began to collect new books and games, replacing those that had been lost in the fire.
Garth’s bulk overflowed a rocking chair beside the hearth. He held a teacup that looked ridiculously dainty in his hands, and a book lay open across his knees.
She crossed the room and dropped into a chair opposite him, relieved no one else was around. Most senior Riders would be out on message errands and the new Riders were at lessons. Some were learning to ride, others were learning to write and figure, and still others would be at weapons practice with Arms Master Gresia.
“How did the rest of your meeting go?” Garth asked.
Karigan outlined her assignment and Garth let out a low whistle. “That should keep you busy for a while.”
“I haven’t been on a long-distance errand since forever. I hope it doesn’t snow.” She shuddered and gazed into the hearth fire. Avoiding snow was unlikely now that it was mid-autumn, and she briefly thought about all she’d have to pack to stay warm.
“At least the Grandgent won’t be frozen,” Garth said.
“True.” If they were unable to use the ferry crossing, it would lengthen the journey by weeks. She shook off thoughts of her impending travel and said, “How’s Alton? Did he mention me at all?”
Garth blew on his still steaming tea before sipping. “I’m sorry, Karigan, but he refused to talk about you. I tried, I really did, but he just wouldn’t talk.”
“Then I suppose he didn’t respond to my letter.”
“I’m afraid not.”
A silence fell between them and the fire popped. Crestfallen, Karigan could only look at her knees.
“Alton hasn’t been well, Karigan,” Garth said. “The mender down there tells me he’s still fighting the forest’s poisons in his veins. He doesn’t look very good. And the wall is frustrating him. He’s more than frustrated. You would hardly recognize him.”
