ADVICE AND BLESSINGS
The day after the masquerade, Tegan took it upon
herself to return the costume of Mad Queen Oddacious to Leadora
Theadles at the Magnificent. Karigan was glad to see the thing
go.
On this, the eve of
their departure for the wall, and thence Blackveil, the members of
the expedition were given the day to use as they would to make
final preparations, perhaps visit with family or spend time in
prayer at the chapel of the moon.
For Karigan’s part,
she checked and rechecked her gear, and having no family in the
city to visit or any inclination to pray, she spent time with
Condor grooming him, working out tangles in his mane and tail. When
she finished, she stroked his nose and whispered nonsense to him,
and treated him to a handful of oats.
“Well, he’s looking
fine.”
Karigan turned to
find Elgin Foxsmith leaning on the stall door. “A little bit rangy
though,” she replied. “He’s shedding quite a bit.” She toed a clump
of chestnut hair around the bedding of the stall.
“True enough.
Killdeer is, too. Enough to stuff a mattress.” He chuckled. “So how
are you feeling about your journey?”
Karigan paused her
stroking of Condor until he nudged her shoulder for more. “I don’t
know,” she said finally. “Ready to go, I guess.”
“That
all?”
“Anxious. I’ve been
kept too busy to think about it, really.”
Elgin nodded.
“Probably a good thing.”
And probably on
purpose. It would not do any good, Karigan reflected, if the
members of the expedition had too much time to worry and froze up
with fear.
“You’ll do just
fine,” Elgin said. “You know what you’re getting into. That bugger,
Yates, though, I’m not so sure. Maybe his practical jokes will
scare off any of Blackveil’s nasties.”
“Uh oh,” Karigan
said. “Did he ... ?”
“Short sheet my bed?
Oh, yes, the rascal, and not only that. He mixed pepper in with my
jar of tea leaves.” He scowled.
“Oh, dear,” Karigan
said.
“Claims he does it
to all the new Riders. The short sheeting, anyway.”
“But you’re
not—”
“New? I’m not even a
Rider at that. No, not for many a year.”
Elgin had become
enough of a presence around the Rider wing that Karigan forgot he
possessed no brooch. He had not returned to Sacor City to answer
the Rider call, but had come at Captain Mapstone’s request for
help.
“You’ll keep an eye
out for Yates, then?” Elgin asked.
“I’ll do my
best.”
Elgin nodded.
“Almost wish I was going, especially if it would spare one of you
young Riders, but it’s not my lot.”
There was that great
sadness behind his words, and Karigan wondered again what had
transpired during the veteran’s time as a Rider to make it so.
Before she could question him, however, several of the new Riders
led in horses from the day’s riding lesson. Condor whickered a
greeting to the newcomers, rousing other horses to neighing and
carrying on. Elgin’s donkey, Bucket, kicked the wall of his
stall.
Elgin watched the
young Riders with a keen look in his eye. “You are going into the
heart of a nightmare,” he said. “You, Yates, and Lynx. You’ve got
to trust one another. Can’t speak for the others going with you,
but Riders are different. It is how we are, and it’s what I’m
trying to instill in these young ones.” He paused, then gazed
directly at Karigan. “It is in my experience that most folks don’t
have your best interests in mind, even if they’re on the same side.
But with Riders? That’s different. You remember that.”
“Yes, I
will.”
“Good. Now I must
see these youngsters to their geography lessons.”
Abruptly Elgin left
her, crossing the stable floor with his limping stride. He began to
chivvy the Riders to move smart or they’d be late. Karigan pressed
her cheek against Condor’s warm, smooth neck.
It was true, she
thought. She could trust any of her fellow Riders with her life.
Elgin was also right about those outside the messenger service not
having her best interests in mind. Spending time at the castle and
among its courtiers, she knew there were some who would smile at
you one moment and slit your throat the next if they thought it
would bring them some advantage. It appeared to be a game among
many courtiers, one in which there was little regard for how the
lives and reputations of others might suffer.
She shrugged,
thinking that once she was in Blackveil the intrigues of the court
would be the least of her worries.
As Elgin ushered the
last of his charges out of the stables, Yates sauntered in. When he
spotted Karigan, he headed right for her.
“Aren’t you the
somber one,” he said.
“Somber?”
“My wee wittle
Karwigan so sad wooking.” He curled his bottom lip down and made a
sorrowful face.
Karigan sighed. “I
just had a conversation with Elgin.”
“Oh, that’ll do
it.”
“Be nice! He was
telling me to look after you, if you must know.”
“Hah! He told me the
same about you.”
Karigan wasn’t
surprised. Lynx had probably gotten a talking to, as
well.
“I’m pretty sure,”
she said, “he’s afraid you’re going to put pinecones or something
in the bedding of the Eletians.”
“Now there’s a
thought,” Yates murmured. Karigan could almost see the gears and
shifts of his mind in motion. She wouldn’t put it past him to try
something so absurd.
“But for now,” he
said, “I’m sick of all the doom and gloom. If Dale were here, she’d
organize a party. Hey! That’s not a bad idea!”
By evening it was
clear Yates’ idea had taken hold, for all the Riders in residence,
including Captain Mapstone, attended what amounted to a barn party.
He’d weaseled food from the cooks in the castle kitchen and sent
Fergal and Garth to the Cock and Hen for a keg of ale. It turned
out that a couple of the new Riders were not half bad on fiddle and
pipe, so the center of the stable turned into a dance
floor.
Even Karigan joined
in, stomping her feet as she whirled from hand to hand in a country
dance as old as the land. The dancing was not fancy, nor were the
kitchen’s leftovers or the ale, but this party exceeded the
masquerade ball by miles. It was good honest fun with people who
were her friends. There was no
deception here; no one wore masks.
The horses did not
appear to mind the intrusion of all their Riders in their normally
sedate environs, and in fact they watched the proceedings with ears
alert, some bobbing their heads and whinnying.
After one last
vigorous dance, Karigan breathlessly sank into a quiet corner with
the dregs of her cup of ale and watched as her friends shifted into
another breakneck reel. Tegan and Garth tore up the floor with the
speed of their footwork. Yates showed off by doing a backflip off a
bale of hay before heading back to the keg for more ale. He would
not, she thought, be very happy to get in the saddle early tomorrow
morning.
Meanwhile, Fergal
coaxed shy Merla into dancing with him. Others stood around the
edges clapping to the beat or trying to carry on hollered
conversations. In an opposite corner, Captain Mapstone stood with
Elgin, laughing at some joke. Karigan could not remember the last
time she had seen such joy among her friends.
She smiled. She
might not bear blood kinship to any of them, but they were family
nonetheless. Her family. They mourned together and they celebrated
together, and as Elgin had said earlier, she could rely on them for
anything.
But now she thought
it time she went to bed. She didn’t want to start her journey
unrested. And she wanted to avoid good-byes. So she slipped out of
the stable into the cold, dark night, her smile fading. She glanced
over her shoulder as she strode away, watching her friends through
the doorway dancing and drinking in the glow of lantern light. She
thrust her hands into her pockets and quickened her pace, turning
her back on it all. Soon the music and laughter faded behind her,
and she wondered if she would ever see any of them
again.
On the eve of the company’s departure for Blackveil,
Richmont Spane stood with Gillard Ardmont, whom he’d hand-picked
for the expedition, just outside the suite of rooms belonging to
Lord and Lady Coutre and their daughters. The forester, in his
buckskin and with his weathered features, looked out of place in
the refined surroundings of the aristocratic wing.
“You are a good man,
Ard,” Richmont said, placing his hand on the forester’s thick
shoulder.
Ard had been one
among many servants of Clan Coutre that had accompanied Lord and
Lady Coutre to Sacor City following the signing of the marriage
contract with King Zachary. Lord Coutre’s party had chosen the
overland route from Coutre Province, which had required the
services of the forester.
Richmont had helped
Ard’s family in the past, and in return, Ard was extremely grateful
and loyal to the clan, and particularly devoted to Estora. Richmont
had gotten Lord Coutre to convince King Zachary and his advisors
that Ard should join the mission to represent the interests of the
future queen. He’d met little resistance. It meant they did not
have to choose another of their own, and Ard’s forestry skills
would be a welcome asset to the company.
Richmont, of course,
had his own agenda for wanting Ard to join the
company.
“I live to serve the
clan,” Ard replied.
He was a humble man,
Ard, and Richmont liked that about him. Ard had no family, only his
commitment to the clan. He’d been a friendly presence in Estora’s
girlhood, showing her the ways of gardens and woods. Estora, who
was kind to those who served her, had regarded Ard as a sort of
wise and rustic uncle, and when she was little she’d hold his hand
as they walked garden paths and he told her the secret tales of
roses, ferns, and oaks.
Ard, Richmont knew,
was not only devoted to Estora, but worshipped her.
“It is a lot we are
asking of you,” Richmont said, “to go into that wretched
place.”
“The forest does not
scare me, though maybe it should.”
“You were always a
fearless one. But do not forget your other task—to ensure that the
threat to Lady Estora’s marriage is eliminated. Do you still feel
up to this?”
“I do. I owe you and
the lady much.”
“Good man, good man.
Now then, the lady would like to give you her own personal blessing
on the venture. Before we go in, however, I want you to know I’ve
set aside fifty acres of my own estate that will be yours upon the
successful completion of your mission.”
“My lord!” Ever the
humble servant, Ard bowed. Land of his own would boost his lot in
life—if he survived Blackveil. “There is no need of reward. I do
this for the honor of the clan.”
Richmont smiled.
Yes, Ard was perfect for this. “Still, it will be something for you
to look forward to upon your return.” It was probably best if Ard
did not return so there’d be no questions about what happened to
the messenger ...
Richmont knocked on
the door and a Weapon admitted them. Estora sat composed beside her
parents. Her youngest sister, Cressandra, sat by the fire, engaged
in needlework. She was in that delectable stage of just beginning
to bloom into young womanhood. Richmont licked his lips and hastily
averted his gaze. Once the bodies of females matured fully, his
interest in them waned. He’d always controlled himself around
Coutre’s daughters. Giving in to his desires was a conflict of
interest, since incurring Lord Coutre’s wrath would only prove
counterproductive to Richmont’s ambitions.
He took pride in
himself for having resisted the lure of Coutre’s daughters all
these years, and found he could slake his thirst at the wells of
others; girls who were not nobly born, girls whose families were
generally poor and had no recourse to his attentions to their
overly young daughters. Usually they were happy enough to receive
payment in the end.
“Ard!” Estora said.
She rose and took the forester’s rough hands into hers and brought
him into the room. Ard blushed, and it occurred to Richmont how
oblivious Estora could be to the power she wielded over people just by her sheer
proximity. They loved her, especially the commoners.
Ard bowed. “My
lady.”
Estora returned to
her chair. There was some inane chatter with Lord and Lady Coutre
about weather and health, and finally Estora said, “Ard, you have
ever been a good servant to Clan Coutre. Your willingness to
journey into the dark forest of Blackveil is beyond any call to
duty.”
At Estora’s nod, a
servant brought forth a small, ornate box. “Clan Coutre wishes to
acknowledge the danger you are placing yourself in on its behalf,”
she continued. “You were always good to me when I was little,
answering all my silly questions with patience and kindness.
Because of you, I have always loved green, growing things and find
solace in gardens. It hurts my heart that you are going to face the
danger of Blackveil, but knowing how deeply skilled you are in the
craft of forestry does comfort me a little. I believe your skills
will be tested to the utmost.”
“I will do my best,”
Ard said.
“I know, my friend.
But I want to personally bless your mission, and I wish with all
the speed of the gods you will return to us unharmed. We’ve a small
token of our thanks.”
She opened the box
and there, perched on blue velvet, was a silver signet ring with
the cormorant symbol of Clan Coutre etched into it. This was a rare
and high honor they were bestowing upon him.
Overcome, the
forester wilted to his knees, tears shining on his ruddy cheeks.
Estora placed the ring on his finger.
“When all is dark
and fraught with peril,” Estora said, “Lord and Lady Coutre, and my
sisters and I, hope that this ring will remind you of our high
regard for your courage and honor.”
“With your
blessing,” Ard replied, “I shall bring honor to Clan Coutre, and do
all that is asked of me.”
Estora placed her
hand on his bowed head. “So be it.”
Richmont smiled.
Estora had no idea she had just given Ard her approval to commit
murder. Richmont was pleased. Very pleased.