OF SHADOWS AND ETIQUETTE
“There was a brand on his chest,” Laren said, trying
to keep the tremor from her voice. The shadows of her quarters
closed in on her as she remembered, and she shuddered.
“Brand?” Elgin
asked. He helped her slip into her greatcoat.
Laren closed her
eyes and only saw Osric’s decaying, abused body before her on the
slab of the death surgeons. They did what they could to clean him
up, and she’d seen much worse, but it was still no simple thing to
view the corpse of one her Riders cut down in his prime, his body
defiled. Elgin placed his hand on her shoulder, and she knew he
understood.
“It was a crude
brand,” Laren said, “but distinct—a lion mauling a
skull.”
Elgin scrunched his
eyebrows together. “I thought Second Empire used a dead tree as
their symbol.”
Laren fastened the
buttons of her coat. “They do, but the historians think this brand
is very close to a symbol used by Mornhavon the Black’s elite
regiment, the Lions. Birch is not only mocking us, but informing us
he’s raising a superior force, harkening back to the days of the
Long War.”
She opened the door
and squinted in the wash of sunlight that pushed the shadows to the
far corners of her quarters.
“The death surgeons
think,” she continued, “Osric was branded after
death.”
“Thank the gods for
small mercies,” Elgin muttered.
“There was no mercy
when those murderers turned the blade in his back,” Laren replied.
“Cowards. Knifing him from behind like that. Birch may think he’s
clever sending us his message, but he’s also shown us he lacks
honor.”
“Villains often do,”
Elgin said.
Sunshine poured down
on Laren when she stepped from her doorway onto the thawing earth.
The air was chill, and smelled fresh and clean, of new beginnings.
It was her cue to shake off darkness. She could not afford to
traverse the shadows for too long when there was work to be done
and so many Riders, living, breathing Riders, depended on her
leadership.
Unfortunately,
leadership tended to translate to “eligible for endless meetings,”
and here she was on her way to yet another, albeit important, one.
Zachary was bent on sending Sacoridians with the Eletians into
Blackveil, and it was time to decide what and who would comprise
their contingent.
“So tell me,” Laren
said as she started down the path, careful to avoid puddles and icy
patches, “how it goes for you. Are you settling in?” Often, it was
only in moments like this, between meetings, that she was able to
catch up on the doings of her Riders.
“I am very
comfortable in the Rider wing,” Elgin said. “And my girls and
Bucket are content as well, though Hep has a thing or two to say
about the racket Bucket makes at feeding time.”
Laren grinned. “And
what do you make of my new Riders?”
“Eager to learn and
do,” Elgin said. “Just as they always are.”
She nodded, then
paused at the sound of shouting from the vicinity of the practice
field. She pivoted and saw there was a goodly collection of
onlookers crowded together, no doubt watching a bout. It was not
unusual, but then she recalled this was the time Karigan was
scheduled for swordmaster initiate training. On a hunch she started
toward the practice field, the opposite direction in which she’d
been heading.
“Where are you
going?” Elgin said. “What about your meeting?”
“It doesn’t start
till eleven hour. I have a little time to spare.”
Elgin followed her
across the soggy grounds to the practice field. There was still
plenty of snow piled up in shady spots in the lee of the castle and
beneath trees, but the practice field was a churned up mire, the
small rings used for swordplay particularly mucky.
She smiled when she
reached the edge of the crowd, for it was Karigan’s swift and lithe
form against the strength of a huge fellow. They clashed through a
sequence of moves that was far beyond Laren’s own training, and
though Karigan’s opponent’s arms and chest bulged with muscles, it
did not diminish his own speed or precision.
They were locked in
a dance, the clack of wooden swords beating out across the practice
field in an almost musical rhythm, their movements fluid but also
spare. As much as the big fellow had the advantage in size and
strength, Karigan learned to counter that advantage and use it
against him.
“She does well,”
Elgin murmured.
“Yes,” Laren said,
with more than a little pride. “She always has.”
She had known from
the very beginning, the way a farmer can sense how a season’s crops
will bear out, that Karigan would prove to be one of her more
exceptional Riders. It might have had something to do with her
grand entrance into the king’s throne room that day some three
years ago, borne by the Wild Ride and the spirits of Riders
past.
But there was more
to it. Despite being touched by the supernatural, Karigan was, in
most ways, a very ordinary young woman, at times self-conscious and
awkward. She might be good at some things, like her sword
technique, but she was not good at everything. Drent still forbade
her to handle throwing knives.
No matter what
strange adventures came Karigan’s way, her unassuming nature
grounded her, allowed her to accomplish what she must. And when she
received praise for her accomplishments? It was not false modesty
but genuine surprise she expressed that anyone should
notice.
And there was that
strong will of hers. Laren thought back to the letter she’d
received from Stevic G’ladheon and there was no need to guess from
where, or rather from whom, Karigan had acquired her strong will.
As for her modesty? That must have come from her mother’s
side.
Laren smiled
thinking of the invitation Stevic had enclosed with his return
message. He insisted she come to Corsa to inspect firsthand the
materials and goods with which he intended to supply the Riders. He
wished, he said, to ensure they were to her satisfaction. She had
to admit it was tempting—she hadn’t taken leave in years, but there
was so much to oversee here. So much to do.
Drent, she saw,
watched the bout unmoving, his beefy arms folded across his chest.
He might complain about having to train Karigan, but he certainly
wouldn’t bother with her if he didn’t think she had
potential.
Then she caught
sight of another watching from the far fringes. Few others seemed
to notice his presence, for their attention was focused on the
bout, and he was cloaked and hooded. But Laren knew him too well to
miss him. So Zachary had come to observe as well. Did he know that
it would be Karigan specifically training at this
time?
Stupid question, she
thought. Of course he did.
She returned her
gaze to Karigan locked in her dance, her expression one of deep
concentration. She’d be unaware of the onlookers. Mud splashed
around her feet and sweat sprayed from her face. Her braid whipped
across her back.
She might be unaware
of those who watched, but with a quick glance to Zachary, Laren
knew of one who was far from oblivious. He followed the bout with
all the ardor of an expert swordsman, a proud parent, or a fiercely
protective guardian.
Or a
lover.
She sighed. She’d
seen that look before, the change in his demeanor whenever Karigan
was near. Felt his intensity. Others might not perceive it, but she
and Zachary were very close—she had known him since he was a child
and had been like an older sister to him as he grew up.
Consequently she was able to recognize his feelings for what they
were, and soon figured out the object of his desire was one of her
very own Riders.
She’d thought maybe
his love for Karigan would fade over time. She’d sent Karigan away
on errands to keep them apart, hoping he’d turn his attention to
Lady Estora, perhaps even forget Karigan, but from the way he now
studied her every move, it appeared Laren’s efforts had fallen
short.
It was not malicious
intent that caused Laren to thwart any blossoming romantic bond
between the two. On the contrary, she wished only for Zachary’s
happiness, but as a king, his happiness was secondary to the needs
of his realm, and his realm needed him to marry Lady Estora for the
stability and continuity it would bring his reign, not to mention
how it would reinforce the loyalty of the eastern
provinces.
Should Zachary
discard Lady Estora in favor of a commoner, the breach of the
betrothal contract could wreak untold turmoil, even civil war, the
last thing they needed with Second Empire building up its forces.
It was vital Sacoridia remain strong and united.
There was the
possible threat to Karigan, too, that concerned Laren. So much was
riding on the betrothal for some factions that they’d do anything
to see it through. Anything. If Karigan
was identified as a distraction that kept Zachary from fulfilling
his duty to Lady Estora ... ? No, Laren couldn’t allow
it.
Elgin touched her
sleeve. “Look!”
Laren tore her gaze
from Zachary. In the practice ring, Karigan’s opponent moved
against the rhythm they’d established. He cut his sword at
Karigan’s knees.
Almost faster than
Laren’s eyes could perceive, Karigan hopped back and smashed his
sword out of his hand.
“Hah!” Laren
exclaimed, clapping.
Drent looked
surprised, then pleased. “Well, well,” he said, and he left to work
with another pair of trainees.
Karigan herself
appeared bemused, and her opponent plainly shocked, as he gazed at
his empty hand.
Zachary was already
striding away, his cloak billowing behind him, a Weapon following
at his heels.
“I think, perhaps,
it was time I proceeded to my meeting,” Laren said. Just as she
finished speaking, the bell down in the city began to peal out
eleven hour. She hastened away from the practice field with Elgin
hurrying beside her. “Was there something else?” she asked
him.
“I’ve been meaning
to talk to you about the training of the young ones—”
“I think Mara and Ty
would be your best help.”
“Ty is who I wanted
to talk about.”
Laren halted. “Ty?
What about him?”
“Too much
etiquette.”
“Too much ... ?”
Laren almost laughed, but Elgin’s expression was
serious.
“Not enough combat
and riding,” he said.
The last strike of
eleven hour faded away. She was late. “Chief, please address this
with Mara. I’ve got to go!”
“But—”
“I’m sorry!” She
hurried toward the steps of the main castle entrance, hoping he
would talk to Mara. Ty was a natural in many ways when it came to
training new Riders, but she also trusted Elgin’s experience and
wisdom to know when something could be improved.
Etiquette, eh? It did have its place, but she’d
rather her Riders be capable of defending themselves in a fight.
Osric was very capable, but it did not help him in the end. Still,
she wanted her Riders to have every chance possible.
As she entered the
castle, she wished she could forget etiquette and call upon her
combat skills in some of these meetings she had to sit through, but
unfortunately, etiquette and her wits were the only weapons she was
permitted.