GREETING FRIENDS

When Karigan stepped outside the field house, she was almost knocked over by someone hurtling out of the dusk and into her arms. She laughed when she realized who it was, and gave her young friend a fierce hug in return.

Mel released her and jumped up and down. “They said a Rider was here and doing swordplay with Master Rendle and I knew it was you!”

“They?”

“My friends, but I didn’t hear about it till after.” Mel pouted, then laughed and hugged her again.

“Ah,” Rendle said, “another of my impertinent but talented students.”

“Another impertinent student?” Karigan asked, placing a hand on her hip.

“But talented,” Rendle said, unflappable as ever.

Karigan scrutinized Mel. She was an inch or two taller than she remembered, and her shape was growing into something more mature. “Anything I need to report to this one’s mother?” she asked Rendle.

Mel’s eyes widened in mortification and she whipped her gaze to Rendle.

“Oh,” he said, “nothing I don’t think I can handle. If anything arises, however, I’ll be sure to send word back with you.”

A protest was about to burst past Mel’s lips when she noticed Fergal. “Who are you? Are you new?”

Karigan noted his startled expression and said, “Fergal Duff, meet Melry Exiter, daughter of our captain.”

This time it was Fergal’s eyes that widened. “I didn’t know…”

Mel, unaware of his awkwardness, or ignoring it, said, “Yep. I plan to be a Green Rider, too, if the call would call me, if you know what I mean.”

By now the sun had set and the dusk covering the practice field was deepening, so they set off together to take supper at the Guesting House. The whole way over, Mel carried on a one-sided conversation telling them about her classes and school gossip, including some about her instructors.

“I don’t think I want to hear this,” Rendle said. He tugged his pipe from his pocket and proceeded to pack the bowl with tobacco. He clamped his teeth on the stem of the unlit pipe and said no more. Mel carried on with exclamations about this and that, waving to friends as she passed them by, and adding a snippet or two of information about each person.

With some bemusement, Karigan realized Mel was comfortable here and quite popular, a rather different experience than her own had been. Fergal appeared overwhelmed by Mel, but listened politely, almost gravely, to her chattering on.

When they entered the Guesting House, Mel strode right for the common room as though she owned the place and declared, “This will be much better than the dining hall’s food. I could eat about ten horses, but I could never eat horses, of course.”

Fergal frowned, but Mel did not notice and dropped into a chair at an empty table as though she’d been at hard labor all day and was exhausted.

Karigan excused herself and ran upstairs to wash up and grab the package Captain Mapstone sent with her for Mel. When she returned, Rendle sat at the head of the table, his pipe now lit and sending aromatic smoke up to the ceiling, an expression of bliss on his face. Fergal sat opposite Mel, who was still chattering away. Aside from Mel, the common room was quiet, almost like a library instead of a gathering and dining area. The other guests, visiting scholars by the look of their specs and piles of books, scowled in Mel’s direction.

Upon seeing the package, Mel squealed and clapped with delight, driving a couple annoyed scholars from the room. Mel tore the package apart and withdrew a cloak in Rider green lined with the blue-green plaid of the First Rider.

“It’s wonderful!” She tried it on and whirled about, causing more scholars to slam their books shut and leave. Those on other business seemed unfazed by Mel’s exuberance, and some even smiled as they continued with their meals. “I’m sure to hear the Rider call now.”

She returned to her chair, still draped in the cloak, and discovered the chocolate from Master Gruntler’s.

“Dragon Droppings!” She popped one into her mouth and rolled her eyes in ecstasy. “They’ve some good confectioners in town,” she said, “but none as good as Master Gruntler.”

“There’s a letter as well,” Karigan said, and she asked Fergal, who still had the message satchel, to dig it out.

Quiet finally descended as Mel set to reading, with only occasional exclamations and muttering. The woman who ran the Guesting House brought them a pitcher of ale and tankards, and some cider for Mel, as well as bread, a tub of butter, and wedges of chicken pie.

Rendle tapped out his pipe and set it aside to eat. He said, “So you are here on king’s business, or simply to check in on young Melry?”

“A little of both, I suppose,” Karigan said. “We brought a message for the Golden Guardian, which in his absence, was to go to Dean Crosley.”

“I see, and with the Guardian away and the dean in the House of Mending, you are stuck.”

Karigan nodded.

Rendle chewed thoughtfully on a bite of chicken pie, then said, “It’ll be a while before Dean Crosley is well enough to assume his duties. Received a nasty beating, and he being elderly and all. Took us all by surprise, and I think most on campus are unsettled by the crime—at least the faculty is. There’ll be more patrols made by the constabulary, and the faculty will be keeping its own watch as well. If the burglar makes another appearance, he will be dealt with. Firmly.” His face hardened, and Karigan knew she’d not want to be that burglar if Rendle caught hold of him.

“The dean is well thought of,” Rendle continued. “Much more than his predecessor, I’d daresay.”

Karigan silently agreed, having been on the receiving end of Geyer’s punishments. Fortunately the trustees had seen how poor an administrator he had been and dismissed him.

Mel’s fork clattered to her plate and she slapped her letter onto the table. “What’s wrong with my mother?” she demanded.

They all stared at her in astonishment.

“What do you mean?” Karigan asked.

Mel huffed, then jabbed her finger at the letter. “She tells me everything’s good, nothing to worry about, new Riders coming in, tra-la-la, then…then she gets mushy and tells me how much she loves me.”

When Mel’s outburst produced only blank stares, she explained, “She never goes on about that stuff. The love stuff. And there’s a whole lot missing from this, it seems to me. What happened this summer?”

Three pairs of eyes turned in Karigan’s direction. “Uh…” she said.

“Yes,” said a voice from behind, “I’d like to hear about this summer, too.”

Karigan almost knocked over her chair in her haste to stand. “Estral!” she cried, and strode over to her friend to give her a hug.

After enthusiastic greetings, Estral demanded, “And I want to know why no one sent me word of your arrival. Or, were you planning to sneak about the whole time?”

“Sneak about? No! We…I was…”

Estral laughed and it was a silvery sound. “Never mind, not much gets past me anyway. I have my sources.” She grinned and took a chair next to Mel. Estral Andovian, daughter of the Golden Guardian and journeyman minstrel, joined them for tea and a dessert of hot apple crisp smothered in cream. Conversation turned to general topics of the school and of Karigan’s and Fergal’s journey. Karigan was careful to leave out their “adventures” in Rivertown.

Estral listened with her head cocked and her gaze trained on the speaker’s lips, for she was deaf in one ear. Instead of it inhibiting her musical ability, she claimed it made her a much better listener and musician. Children had been cruel to her when she was a student, no matter that she was the Golden Guardian’s daughter. She and Karigan had become best friends when Karigan stood up for her against the bullies, in one instance using wharf language so vile it brought her tormentors to tears. It had not made Karigan popular, but she hadn’t cared. Estral’s friendship made up for it all.

Much had changed since those early school days. Among Estral’s duties was teaching students and Karigan suspected she handled many of her father’s obligations during his long absences. One day Estral would inherit the title of Golden Guardian and become responsible for Selium and its repositories of history and culture. Hers was a noble station of a sort, though what the Golden Guardian governed was different than that of a lord-governor.

“So you’ve a message for my father,” Estral said. “I am expecting him to return soon, though I couldn’t tell you exactly when. I suspect he’s had word about the attack on the dean and will hurry home.”

“We’re planning to wait,” Karigan said. “His response to the king’s message will determine whether or not we continue on with our other errands.”

“Where are you headed?” Rendle asked. “That is, if it’s not a secret—”

“No secret,” Karigan replied. “We’re off to a border town to meet with a horse trader. With more Riders coming in, we need more horses. Fergal here has been riding a retired cavalry horse.”

“More horses! Yay!” Mel cried. “I wonder if one will be mine someday.”

Karigan glanced at Fergal who looked to be in a continual state of astonishment, if not awe, in Mel’s presence. She suppressed a laugh. “After we meet with the trader, it’s off to Mirwellton.”

Estral gave her a sympathetic look. They’d both been exposed to Timas Mirwell’s cruel behavior during their school days. Seeing him was the one part of the errand Karigan dreaded.

“Mirwell ba-a-ad,” Mel said.

This time, Karigan did laugh.

“Don’t you need to see to your studies?” Estral asked Mel. “It’s getting late and soon it will be lights out in your dorm.”

Mel pouted. “But Karigan hasn’t told me what’s wrong with my mother.”

Again, all gazes were fixed on Karigan. She squirmed in discomfort. “Your mother is well,” she said. “Overworked, but that’s not unusual. Connly and the rest of us are trying to help her keep up. Even Mara from her bed in the mending wing.”

At Mel’s perplexed expression, Karigan realized Mel must have heard almost nothing of the summer’s events. A glance at Estral’s expression revealed that her friend knew at least something of what had happened. Having been caught in the middle of those events, Karigan forgot that news was sometimes slow to reach outlying areas, and if the captain did not see fit to tell her daughter everything, Karigan wasn’t sure it was her place to do so.

“Why is Mara in the mending wing?” Mel asked, her voice uncharacteristically level.

“She got hurt. When Rider barracks burned down.”

“What?”

It took them several moments to calm down the agitated girl.

“Perhaps you should start at the beginning,” Estral said. “Mel won’t be able to sleep with just that information, and I’ll see to it she doesn’t get into trouble for being out late.”

Karigan was trapped, but Estral was right. Worry would gnaw Mel to death, so Karigan related the summer’s events as best as she could, delicately maneuvering around bits she thought better to withhold, including the extent to which the captain had been affected by the disruption in magic. At certain points Rendle and Estral nodded or made affirmative noises when they heard news that was familiar to them.

By the time she finished, she was hoarse, though she left out a good many details, and her companions sat in silence. Mel cried several times during the telling, for Riders had perished and the news hadn’t reached her yet. Karigan wished the captain was better at keeping her daughter informed, but she understood the desire to protect her from worry. Better, however, for her to hear the truth of it before rumors reached her.

“That is quite a story,” Estral said, her eyes distant. Karigan wondered if she was already forming songs in her head about those events. “I’ve heard portions of it from different sources. You know, this is the sort of thing the people of Sacoridia ought to hear.”

“That’s your job,” Karigan said.

“It’s hard to do when no one steps forward to give us a firsthand account.”

“It’s not something you just, well, talk about.”

Estral chuckled. “You Riders have kept so many secrets for so long that trying to pry information out of you is next to impossible. People should hear of your accomplishments.” She then rose and added, “I think it is time for Mel to return to her dorm.”

Mel protested, but Estral was firm. With a fierce hug for Karigan, Mel obeyed and left the common room. Estral followed behind to escort her and said in parting, “We’ll talk more later.”

Later never seemed to arrive. Estral was caught up in classes—both teaching and attending—as well as taking care of any odds and ends left to her in her father’s absence. Over the course of several days, the most Karigan saw of her friend was only in passing and over hurried midday meals.

Meanwhile, Karigan and Fergal bided their stay in Selium by working with Master Rendle. Karigan assisted Rendle with many of his classes, while Fergal spent his extra time exploring the city. She suspected he even tried one of the public baths, but he wouldn’t admit it. When he wasn’t in the city, he followed Mel around, listening in bemusement as she chattered away about this and that. She was proud of her association with the Green Riders, and liked to show him off to her friends. About the only time Karigan saw him was at supper or during his sessions with Master Rendle.

One evening she wandered campus pathways to stretch her legs, remembering school days when she used to sneak out of her dorm to visit Estral. The two would chat deep into the night, Karigan returning to her bed just in time for the morning bell. She’d then spend most of her day drifting from class to class in a sleepy haze.

She smiled and struck off for the Golden Guardian’s residence, which lay outside the grouping of academic buildings and looked over the city. She had no idea if Estral would be in, but she yearned for a chat with her friend, just like in the old days.

As befitting the Golden Guardian, the house was large with symmetrical columns lining its front facade. Mellow lamplight filled a few of the windows on the bottom floor. Karigan mounted the granite steps and jangled the bell at the large door, which was embedded with a brass plaque in the shape of a harp.

Presently the door opened and a gentleman, attired in a dark velvet longcoat and high collar wrapped with a silk cravat, peered out at her, a lamp in his hand. “Yes?” he asked.

“Good evening, Biersly,” Karigan said. “I’m wondering if Estral is in.”

He beckoned her into the entry hall and placed his lamp on a table. “Please wait here one moment.” He turned on his heel and retreated down the hall. Karigan shook her head. Biersly knew who she was—she’d been a frequent visitor during her school years, yet he did not seem to recognize her.

The entry hall remained as Karigan remembered. Familiar masterworks of art and tapestries hung on the walls, and the same furniture sat where it always had been. It was both stylish and impersonal, the way the houses of other nobles and officials tended to be. It was the public space for visitors and dignitaries to enter and business to be conducted. The family quarters, with their more personal touches and belongings, were usually located on an upper floor. It was true of this house.

With slow, deliberate strides, Biersly returned. “Mistress Andovian will see you. Please follow me.”

Karigan could not help but imitate the butler’s lilting gait and serious demeanor as she followed him. To her surprise they bypassed the marble staircase that wound to the upper floor and instead headed for the back of the house toward the kitchen. The house, as they passed through it, exuded silence, and Karigan thought it odd for a place that housed the musically oriented Golden Guardian and his minstrel daughter. Of course, the Golden Guardian was rarely home.

The kitchen, too, was quiet, but they found Estral sitting there at the long, rough table in the spill of lamplight, with papers, pen, and ink before her. Gentle heat radiated from the cook stove behind her. When Estral looked up, Biersly halted and bowed. “Rider G’ladheon to see you, mistress.”

Estral smiled. “Thank you, Biersly. You’re dismissed for the evening.”

“Thank you, mistress.” He bowed again and departed.

Estral watched after him, still smiling. “It’s gaming night,” she said.

“What?”

“All the butlers gather in their favorite pub down in town to dice and such. I think it’s just an excuse to get together to gossip about their masters and mistresses.”

“Biersly?” Karigan asked. “Gambling?” Then she laughed, envisioning that solemn, proper man with his sleeves rolled up and a tankard of ale at his elbow as he rolled dice.

“I’m glad you came over,” Estral said, shoving her papers aside. “We haven’t had a chance to visit properly.”

They raided the pantry for some gingerbread baked that afternoon, put water on the stove for tea, and proceeded to engage in some gossip of their own, about some of Karigan’s old classmates and instructors and Estral’s students. Without anyone around to overhear them, the talk was free, and at times loud, accompanied by much laughter.

Timbre, Estral’s gray tabby, leaped onto the table and butted his head against his mistress’ chin. A typical shipcat, he was huge, his long fur and plumed tail augmenting his size. Estral crumpled a piece of paper and threw it across the kitchen. Timbre clomped to the floor to chase it, and bore it back in his mouth. Shipcats were that way, sort of doglike.

After a few minutes of play, Timbre jumped back onto the table and flopped, purring loudly enough that Karigan swore she felt the table vibrate.

They finished the last crumbs of gingerbread and Estral cocked her head. “So, I assume that, aside from your delay here, your message errand is going well…”

Karigan sighed.

“Oh dear,” Estral said, passing her hand through Timbre’s luxurious fur. His purring grew louder. “That good, eh?”

Because of Estral’s sympathetic ear, Karigan opened up and the details of her journey tumbled from her mouth. It was a relief to tell her about Fergal’s intentional plunge into the Grandgent, and about the brothel and her father’s association with it.

“You have had a trying time of it, haven’t you?” Estral said.

“There are times when I want to throttle him.”

“Fergal or your father?”

“Both, I suppose, but at the moment Fergal is closer at hand.”

Estral propped her chin on her hand. “He seems terribly eager to prove himself, and judging from what you’ve said of his past, it’s no surprise. I do notice him in Mel’s company an awful lot.”

Karigan sighed. “I’ve noticed as well. I might be more amused if Mel weren’t the captain’s daughter.”

“Seems harmless enough. Look, Karigan, you can’t expect to control Fergal’s every move. People are, well, people, and they all have their own quirks and will do whatever they want to no matter what you would like them to do. At some point they are responsible for their own actions. You have created very high standards for yourself, but not everyone is going to adopt them just because you want them to. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Karigan gazed at her friend, stunned. “And when did you become such a wise one, Old Mother?”

“Teaching. Teaching a hundred Fergals. Well, maybe not as challenging as your Fergal, but challenging nonetheless. Somewhere I’ve acquired vast amounts of patience.” She rolled her eyes. “It appears to me you’ve been doing your best with Fergal. He seems good-hearted, and I should think he’s learned quite a lot from you so far.” Estral paused, and chuckled. “I do sound like an old mother, don’t I?”

Karigan didn’t feel as confident about her ability as a mentor as Estral sounded. She was certain that if she were more patient, more instructorly like Ty, Fergal wouldn’t even have thought of jumping into the Grandgent, much less done it. But she wasn’t Ty, and she could only continue to do her best. Then she laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Estral asked.

“My high standards, as you called them,” Karigan replied, barely able to contain herself. “How did I get those? Surely not by skipping class and starting fights and—”

“By learning,” Estral said, “and by having a good heart. Like Fergal.”

Karigan stopped laughing, stilled by sudden revelation. “Oh, my,” she murmured. “I was a difficult child at times.” If she were to mentor a younger version of herself, her younger self would drive her current self batty. Fergal couldn’t hold a light to that! “I was…I was a brat.”

Estral patted her wrist. “Yes, at times, but we love you anyway, and you’ve turned out just fine.”

“Er, thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

Timbre, tired of being ignored, pawed at Estral’s pen and papers. She rescued the pen, but the papers fluttered off the table.

“You’re a big help,” she muttered at the cat, and she retrieved the papers, arranging them into a neat pile. “Exams I’m grading.” She then lifted Timbre onto her lap. He draped himself across her thighs in boneless fashion and resumed purring.

“So when does the journeyman go journeying?” Karigan asked her.

Estral grimaced. “I suppose I’ll have to do so by next year, but truth be told, I…I don’t feel inclined to travel much.”

“What? A minstrel who doesn’t want to travel?”

“I like teaching.” Estral stroked Timbre. “That’s a good thing because Selium will always need teachers. But to teach more than the youngest children and assist with some of the other classes, I have to become a master, and to become a master, I have to do my year of wandering.” Her expression grew mournful.

“Good thing you weren’t called into the messenger service,” Karigan said.

“I know.”

Estral’s response was so earnest they both laughed. Annoyed, Timbre jumped from Estral’s lap and slinked away to sit by the cook stove and lick his paw. Then he froze in mid-lick as if frightened by something, and darted out of the kitchen into the darkness of the house.

“What’s with him?” Karigan asked.

Estral shrugged. “He’s a cat.”

Then Karigan heard something, a stealthy noise somewhere in the house. The creaking of floorboards, which now, to her sensitized ears, was excruciating in the silence.

“What is it?” Estral asked.

Her voice low, but just loud enough so her friend could hear, Karigan replied, “Someone’s in the house.”

They looked at one another, Estral’s expression stricken, the break-in at the archives and assault upon the dean fresh in their minds.