KARIGAN’S PLAN

“It’s the only way,” Karigan said, “and we have to move now. Before it’s too late.”

As if to augment their imminent peril, they heard a shout in the woods. Though distant, it was still too close for comfort. Karigan’s plan left Estora too stunned to move, but Karigan had no such qualms and swung into action.

“Fergal, keep watch,” she said, “and keep your eyes looking outward until I tell you otherwise.”

The young Rider shook off his blankets, grabbed his saber, and took up a position at the cave entrance. Karigan squatted down by her gear and started digging through a saddlebag. Estora stood by, simply watching and feeling helpless.

“Are you sure this is the way?” she asked.

Karigan paused. “Unless you can think of something better.”

Estora shook her head, and Karigan resumed her digging, pulling out and unrolling trousers and a shirt.

“These should be…hmmm…” Karigan sniffed them and smiled wryly. “They should be fresher than what I’ve got on. And I think they’ll fit.”

Estora could only stare in disbelief.

“I think my boots are too big for your feet, though,” Karigan continued. “We’ll have to keep our own footwear.”

“This is madness.”

“Better than being at the mercy of those thugs, I should think. Now please, I shall need your habit, and you may put on this uniform.”

“But I’m not a Green Rider,” Estora said.

“I wasn’t either when I first wore the uniform,” Karigan replied, “or at least I didn’t know I was. Now please, my lady, we must do this quickly.”

Karigan turned her back on Estora and started removing her shortcoat, unpinning something from the front of it that Estora couldn’t quite make out, then shed her waistcoat and boots. She started unbuttoning her shirt, but paused and turned toward Estora again.

“Please,” she said. “I’m going to get cold rather quickly.”

Estora shook herself. Madness! But she knew of no alternative. She turned around herself and started removing the layers of her habit.

When the exchange was complete, she looked down at herself in amazement, all in green. She feared Karigan’s uniform would prove too snug, and it was a tad, in the hips and breast, but she must have lost considerable weight as a captive. Karigan had even girded her with the sword to complete the illusion. When Estora protested that Karigan should retain it, Karigan said, “If all goes well, I will not need it.”

If Estora’s mother ever heard of this, she would faint. The unfamiliar weight of the sword banged her thigh with every movement. If she was careful, she would not trip over it. She experimented with walking about the cave.

“You are walking like a lady,” Karigan said. “Walk like you have business. Don’t flounce.”

“Flounce? I do not flounce.”

“Yes, you do. But you don’t have time to practice just now. You must help me with my hair.”

Karigan waited expectantly. The black habit made her look older, more severe, more mysterious, and somehow even more commanding than when in uniform.

Is that how I appear to others? Estora wondered. She didn’t think so, not precisely, anyway. Not so deadly serious. Karigan was going to place herself in the direct path of danger, and Estora read determination and a clear knowledge of what she was doing in her face. And it took her aback, for this was not a version of Karigan she often witnessed; this was not the Karigan with whom she had spent so much time sitting in the gardens gossiping, sharing dreams and fears. Those conversations in the safety of the castle walls were so far removed from where they were now that Estora wondered if they happened in another life.

This wouldn’t be the first time Karigan faced terrible danger, Estora knew. Karigan did not talk much about her exploits, but Estora had heard the stories from others, and when she helped Karigan with the corset, she glimpsed the scars on her ribs from old stab wounds.

“I think,” Estora said, “we can simply pin your braid up beneath the hat.” Somehow, her ridiculous hat with the pheasant feathers had survived its rough travel across country. She started to pull the pins from her own hair.

“How sharp are those?” Karigan asked. She took one from Estora and jabbed her finger with it. “Hmm. Fergal?”

The Rider turned and gaped at them, seeing them in their new attire for the first time.

“Fergal,” Karigan said, “please sharpen these hair pins for me.”

Sharpen the hair pins? Estora wondered. When Fergal completed the task, Estora coiled Karigan’s braid and neatly pinned it beneath the hat. Estora’s own hair was then braided into a long rope that fell between her shoulder blades. It felt strange, for she never wore her hair this way—not in public anyway, and the uniform! It was unnatural, but ever since Sarge had abducted her, nothing was as it should be. She could only think Karigan felt much the same but the Rider was busy helping Fergal clean up the evidence of their camp and tack the horses.

Estora, who was so accustomed to servants seeing to her every need, now felt guilty as she had not before that she wasn’t helping, but Karigan and Fergal appeared to have a routine worked out and she did not wish to disrupt it. Of late, she was discovering just how very useless she was.

When they finished, Karigan planted her hands on her hips and gazed steadily at Estora and Fergal.

“Fergal,” she said, “avoid towns as much as possible. Use the waystations.” She handed him the message satchel. “Maps are inside if you need them, as well as the messages we’ve collected. Your job is to return them to the king, but your most important duty is to return Lady Estora to him safely. Do you understand?”

Fergal reached out to receive the satchel with some hesitance. “Aye. I do. What about you?”

“I’ll make my way back to Sacor City as best I can,” she replied. “Don’t worry about me. Just worry about Lady Estora. Get her home safe and sound. As of today, you’re no longer a trainee. Do you understand, Fergal? You’re a true Green Rider, and I know you can do this.”

Fergal nodded, looking daunted by the task. Estora would have preferred Karigan to ride with them, but she would not be gainsaid.

Karigan then said to Estora, “Don’t draw that sword until Fergal shows you how to handle it.” She smiled. “It was F’ryan’s, you know.”

Estora’s voice caught in her throat. “I know.”

Karigan nodded, lifted her skirts, and walked over to Condor. She spoke words to him no one else could hear, and kissed his nose. Was it Estora’s imagination, or did the gelding look glum?

“I told him to take you home,” Karigan said to Estora. “And he will. Trust him. Now, as for Falan…” She turned to the mare, gazing at the sidesaddle rig with trepidation. “It’s been a while since I’ve sat a sidesaddle…” She stepped up on a rock to mount.

“Wait,” Fergal said.

Karigan turned, and the young man removed a knife from each boot. He offered them to her, hilts first. She gazed down at him with a startled expression.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “I haven’t practiced of late…”

He nodded. “Aye. Take ’em.”

“Well, then,” she said, “those villains will get a surprise if they come too close.”

“They’d have to be real close,” Fergal said.

The Riders laughed at some joke Estora was excluded from, then Karigan mounted, tangling the skirts of the habit in the process.

“Um…” she said.

Estora helped straighten everything out, but Karigan couldn’t quite get the seat right.

“Don’t sit to the side,” Estora instructed her. “Sit atop. You will be secure.”

“Then why do I feel like I’m going to slide off?” She reined Falan around, looking wobbly.

“Hold the balance strap if you need to,” Estora said.

“This is unsettling,” Karigan muttered, switching the double reins to her left hand and grabbing the balance strap with her right. “I can’t ride the whole time like this.”

“You’ll do fine,” Estora said, but it came out sounding more like a question.

“Such confidence.” To Fergal, Karigan said, “Give me a little time to get the attention of those searchers. After that, you will have to gauge when it’s best to leave the cave and make your escape. Don’t wait too long, though.”

He nodded once and looked at his feet.

“Godspeed,” Karigan said, and she clucked Falan toward the cave entrance, letting out a little “whoops!” when the mare lurched forward and unsettled her center of balance.

“Godspeed,” Estora whispered.

They watched her guide Falan away from the cave and down into the woods, which soon absorbed her. They waited minute after minute, until the waiting became unbearable. Then a sharp “Yoo hoo!” rang out in the forest, followed by the shouts of men.

“There she is!” one cried.

Estora bit her bottom lip, hoping her brave, foolish friend would be all right.

“I don’t think she’ll make it,” Fergal said suddenly, countering her thoughts.

Estora started at his pronouncement. “What are you saying?”

“I–I saw death around her.”

“What?”

“When…when my ability came. When we were in Mirwellton. I saw darkness around her, and wings. I’m sure it meant death.”

Estora felt herself blanche. “Why on Earth didn’t you say anything?”

Fergal gazed up at her looking haunted and very young. “It wouldn’t have changed her mind. She’d have gone anyway.”

Truer words could not have been spoken, and Estora trembled at the thought of never seeing her friend again. Oh, Karigan, why do you do these things?

“We’d best mount, my…my Rider,” Fergal said. He’d been ordered not to refer to her as Lady Estora in public, but as Rider Esther if any name must be given—close enough to Estora to remember, different enough to not attract attention. “We’d best make use of the time she’s trying to gain us.”

He was right, and Estora did as he instructed, struggling to mount without a gentlemanly hand to assist her. The tears blurring her vision didn’t help matters. She apologized to Condor as she finally swung gracelessly into the saddle. Getting the saber tangled between her legs did not help. Like sidesaddle for Karigan, riding astride was going to be a trial for Estora. She was going to be very sore, and very humbled, by day’s end.

But if Karigan could play the decoy, Estora resolved to endure her portion of the escape without complaint.

Before Fergal motioned it was time to leave the cave, she sent up a small prayer to the gods that the decoy did not become trapped herself, and that Fergal was wrong about his vision of death.