TO SELIUM

A torrent of wind and rain forced Karigan and Fergal to seek shelter at an inn a couple days out of Rivertown. They blew into the courtyard of the Cup and Kettle amid broken branches and deep puddles. The inn’s proprietor ushered them into the stable and Karigan sighed in relief to be out of the storm and in the relative warmth and dryness that four walls and a roof provided. She had lived near the coast long enough to recognize a sea-driven storm, even this far inland, and this one was as bad as any she remembered.

They were all soaked to the skin. Condor was one wretched-looking, drenched horse, with his mane and tail hanging limp and straggly, and water runneling down his sides. She slapped his neck splattering drops everywhere. He gave a pathetic, deep-down sigh that made Karigan laugh.

Condor nudged her shoulder with his nose as if to say, “Look at yourself if you want a good chuckle.” It only made her laugh harder.

In the gloomy light, she saw Fergal gazing her way with a slight scowl on his face, observing her interaction with Condor. Since the Golden Rudder, he’d been remakably cooperative, and she noted he continued to be dutiful in his care of Sunny.

Dutiful. And that was all. She still saw no growing affection for Sunny on his part, and suspected he put as much energy into horse chores as he did only because it was his duty. He did not do it to please Sunny. He must regard her in much the same way he regarded his boots: He needed them to perform his job, they required some care, but beyond that, they did not inspire love. They were useful, and that was that.

It saddened Karigan, even as Condor playfully nibbled at her braid, that anyone could regard a living, breathing creature as no more than a useful object. She hoped Fergal would grow to—if not love Sunny—at least like and appreciate her.

“Hey!”

Fergal’s cry jolted Karigan from her thoughts. He had just removed Sunny’s saddle, and the mare was enjoying a full-body shake, showering him with water.

Karigan started to laugh, but stopped dead when she saw the anger on his face. He rammed his saddle down on the stall door, and turned to Sunny and yanked on her reins.

“Stupid animal!” he shouted.

Sunny jerked her head up and skittered backward.

“Fergal!” Karigan’s voice rang sharp in the stable.

He loosened his hold on the reins, but his posture was stiff, almost quivering.

“Are you going to order me to apologize to her?” Fergal demanded.

“Wipe her down and she won’t shake all over you,” Karigan said, forcing herself to keep her tone mild. “She doesn’t understand your anger.”

“I know—she’s stupid.”

Karigan ground her teeth, keeping an eye on Fergal even as she grabbed a handful of straw to wipe down Condor. He nudged her shoulder again, telling her he knew she was troubled. She rubbed and patted and whispered to him. He was her comfort. If only Fergal could understand how it could be.

Later, Karigan and Fergal sat in front of the hearth of the Cup and Kettle’s common room, with mugs of warm spiced cider in their hands. Fergal had been sullen all through supper, speaking little. Karigan did not try to draw him out, guessing she’d only antagonize him. She’d experienced his volatile behavior before and did not want to relive it.

Now that they were warm and dry, and their stomachs full, Fergal appeared to relax. Karigan opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted.

“Are you going to lecture me?”

“What do you think?”

Fergal glowered, but then settled. “I was cold, wet, and tired. She made me mad.”

“We were all wet and tired,” Karigan replied. “The horses were drenched.”

Fergal stared straight into the fire. “I know.”

“Look, Sunny isn’t stupid.”

“They’re dumb beasts,” Fergal shot back. “That’s what my da always said. That’s what the moon priest said. He said the gods gave people dominion over beasts. That’s why we can use them, eat them. Ride them.”

Did Fergal truly believe it, or was he simply reiterating words that had been pounded into him? It wasn’t the first time Karigan had heard such words herself, but in the case of Fergal’s da, she thought it only an excuse for him to profit from butchery.

As for the moon priest? Arguing against a belief based on faith, not logic, was generally fruitless, so she didn’t even try. What she didn’t understand was why the moon priests would preach such things when some of the gods took on animal visages, like Westrion, the Birdman.

Rain lashed windows in sheets. The gloomy weather left the common room subdued, other patrons conversing in muted tones over hot drinks, or playing games. A flash of lightning illuminated the room.

“I’ll take care of Sunny,” Fergal said quietly in an afterthought, “don’t worry on that count, because if I don’t, I can’t be a Rider.”

It was good he intended to provide Sunny with care, but what kind of Green Rider would he be, Karigan wondered, if he could not see horses as more than lowly beasts? As meat?

I guess it’s not a requirement that he love horses, but she shook her head, thinking such feelings could only render a horse and Rider an ineffective team.

Despite Fergal’s attitude, she still held out hope for him. She stole a glance at him as he sat there gazing into the fire, his eyebrows drawn together as he brooded.

It wasn’t so much that he hated horses, she thought, but that he feared forming attachments. A lesson learned, no doubt, from his da.

For his sake, and that of any horse that served with him, she hoped he unlearned such lessons. She truly did.

The storm blew itself out during the night, but as brief as it was, once they set out the next morning, they found evidence of its ferocity everywhere. The countryside was littered with broken tree limbs and shingles that had been ripped off houses. A few trees had toppled across the Kingway, which they had to navigate around.

The weather, however, was perfectly calm and sunny by the time the Riders found themselves less than a day’s ride from Selium. Whenever Karigan rode this section of the Kingway, she identified a certain spot along the edge of the road that awakened memories of when her life had changed, memories of when she had become more than a mere schoolgirl or merchant’s daughter.

The place was just beyond the bend in the road ahead, and Condor’s gait slackened perceptibly for he knew it, too. Fergal adjusted Sunny’s pace to match Condor’s. He asked no questions and appeared unconcerned, probably figuring it was the rate of travel Karigan wished to set and nothing more. He rode on, oblivious to the significance of the place and she chose not to break the silence or enlighten him. This was between her, Condor, and F’ryan Coblebay.

They rounded the bend and Karigan picked out the landmarks: the tree stump scorched by lightning, the boulder with a layer of moss on it, the particular jagged line of trees…She almost expected to find F’ryan’s body lying there in the road, stiffened in death, his hand outstretched, black hair plastered against a face drained of blood.

Only in memory did she see him, for his corpse had been removed long ago, his presence erased, the blood washed away by seasons of rain and snow. Nothing remained of that day when the dying Green Rider passed on his desperate message errand, and with it his mantle of king’s messenger, to a runaway schoolgirl who had no idea of what she was getting into and what dangers lay ahead.

Anyone else riding past this spot would never know or care that a man died here, but Karigan did, and so did Condor. The chestnut gelding bowed his head as they plodded by, and Karigan closed her eyes.

Swear you’ll deliver the message, F’ryan’s lips whispered in her memory, to King Zachary…for love of country… Though weak, his voice had contained power enough to command. He had made her swear on his sword—the very same one she now wore at her side—to complete his mission. Then he had instructed her to take his Rider brooch. Little had she realized how much this act would change her life.

There had been no time to honor F’ryan properly. Her acceptance of his mission had left her in peril and she’d needed to flee lest those who impaled him with arrows come upon her. So she’d left him on the road without even a blanket to cover him, exposed to the elements and scavengers.

When Karigan opened her eyes, they were well past the place, and Condor’s stride quickened with a swish of his tail, his ears pricked forward. No ghostly presence followed, and she left memory behind.

The shadows of the Green Cloak, its southwestern fringe, gave way to farm fields and open sky. As Karigan and Fergal drew closer to Selium, they encountered more villages and people, and with this change in atmosphere, memories of a different nature surfaced as Karigan gazed upon familiar buildings and landmarks.

It was not her first visit to Selium since she ran away that spring day over two years ago. No, indeed. After completing F’ryan’s mission, she had returned to Selium to finish her schooling. When she finally answered the Rider call, she had carried messages to Selium on two occasions. More than being preoccupied by difficult school days, she looked forward to visiting with good friends.

Soon the campus atop its hill and the city clustered beneath it rose above the open farmland. Karigan clucked Condor into an easy lope with a smile, the breeze pressing against her face. She slowed to a jog when they reached the gate to accommodate others on the street. She waved to the gatekeeper and continued on through. No one stopped them or questioned them, for Selium was an open city, not a fortress. No wall surrounded it—the gate was merely a marker of the city’s boundary.

Almost as well known as the school that was also called Selium were the city’s hot springs, which drew tourists and the infirm from afar to bathe in one of the numerous bathhouses that lined the main thoroughfare. Steam vented from rooftops, and signs extolled the healing qualities of the springs and listed prices. There were public baths and private. Some were luxurious, and others less expensive to meet only basic needs. Today there were no lines, not this late in the season. The bathhouse operators would be more dependent now on local patrons. Some simply shut down for the winter.

“Who would wish to bathe in public?” Fergal asked, wrinkling his nose as they passed such an establishment.

“Who would want to throw himself into a freezing river?” Karigan countered, sounding more acerbic than she intended.

Fergal clamped his mouth shut.

Feeling a little guilty, Karigan explained, “The public baths are inexpensive compared to the private ones, and not all who come for the restorative powers of the hot springs are wealthy. Some are farmers and laborers.”

“Have you ever used them?” Fergal asked.

“The school taps into the springs. I never had to.” Almost as much as Karigan looked forward to seeing her friends, she looked forward to one of those baths. As king’s messengers, she and Fergal would be put up in the Guesting House, which, of course, had big tubs that could be filled with hot spring water.

The city felt subdued as they continued on, with only a few students sitting on the steps of the art museum. During the warmer months, outdoor eateries and vendors set up along the street, but now these were also closed for the season. There were some shoppers out and about, but no musicians looking for stray coppers played for them. Most students would be in classes at this hour.

As the main thoroughfare through the city, Guardian Avenue, traveled upward toward the campus, the buildings on either side were of older architecture, with columns and red clay roofs. Older still were the buildings of the school, for the city had grown up around it.

Guardian Avenue led beneath the ancient P’ehdrosian Arch onto the school grounds. The campus itself was an orderly “town” of well-laid paths and academic buildings, residences, and administrative offices. On the far side of campus were fields for athletics and arms practice, and stables with pasture, paddock, and outdoor riding ring.

Immediately inside campus loomed the main administrative building. This was where they’d find the offices of the Golden Guardian and the dean.

Karigan and Fergal rode up to the front steps of the administration building and handed over the reins of their horses to a stablehand.

“I’ll see your saddlebags to the Guesting House,” he said.

“Thank you,” Karigan replied, handing him a copper.

As Condor and Sunny were led away, Karigan turned to the great double doors before her. She straightened her shortcoat and message satchel, and took a deep breath. Fergal waited expectantly beside her. After a second and third deep breath, she pushed open the door and plunged inside.