SIGNET RING
The walking, or rather limping, proved grueling, and
sweat streamed down Karigan’s brow. Even with the aid of the
bonewood, she could not keep up with the swift pace Graelalea set,
but this time, when she straggled behind, Ard or Telagioth would
call ahead telling Graelalea to wait. Karigan did the best she
could, and kept focused on the path ahead. Still, dancers with
masks taunted her from the shadows. Once, when she looked dead on,
the dancers melted into trees, their limbs swaying with the passage
of a breeze.
Another time she
looked, she became so besotted with the scene of dancers strutting
to some dissonance that Telagioth had to shake her out of
it.
“You don’t see
them?” she asked him.
“See
who?”
“The dancers. The
masquerade.”
“No, I do not. I see
trees, and they wear no masks.”
Karigan nodded and
pushed on, resigning herself to the fact that she walked in two
worlds: the one wrought by the poison of the thorns, and the other,
the world as her companions saw it.
When finally they
paused for a break, Karigan came up from behind to find Graelalea
drawing in the mud with the tip of her dagger.
“If we can keep up
our pace,” she said, “we will reach Castle Argenthyne in a few
days.”
The drawing, Karigan
saw, was a map showing where they were and how far they had yet to
go. Yates looked frustrated he could not see it. They were on a
squiggly path to a spot marked with an X,
and they did not look far from the X.
When Grakelalea
finished, everyone except Yates went their separate way to sit or
take a drink of water. “Karigan,” he called.
She limped over to
him. “I’m here.”
“Good.” He lifted
the strap of his satchel over his shoulder and thrust it into her
hands. “You need to copy whatever Graelalea’s drawn,” he said. “For
the king.”
Karigan’s mouth
dropped open. She wasn’t much of an artist. “But—”
“You’ve got the
neatest hand among us,” Yates said. “Just do your
best.”
“All right,” she
replied uncertainly. She dragged herself to a nearby rock and sat,
then removed Yates’ journal and writing supplies from the satchel.
As she flipped through the journal, she found pages filled with his
own tidy handwriting, maps sketched out with measurements and
landmarks, and other drawings that appeared to be more of a
personal nature. She did not think it any of her business to pry,
so she did not pause to look at the pictures, but the journal fell
open to a lovely rendering of Hana. He must have done it early on
in their journey, for he’d captured her with a hint of a smile on
her face.
“You’re an amazing
artist,” Karigan said. It was even more amazing she had not known
this side of him.
“I take after my
mother,” he said proudly. “She did most of the etchings and art for
my father’s press.”
As Karigan searched
for a blank page, she caught glances of drawings of the forest, its
flora and fauna, including hummingbirds. She shuddered, and hastily
found a blank page. She copied Graelalea’s map as best she could,
jotting down notes. It was nowhere as good as Yates would have
done, but passable. Thanks to her practice in keeping the Rider
books, her hand was very neat.
When the ink dried,
she replaced the journal and pen in the satchel, and put it into
Yates’ hands, but he immediately passed it back to
her.
“You’d better hold
onto it,” he said, “in case something else needs recording.” More
somberly he added, “You also have a better chance of getting this
back to the king.”
Karigan started to
protest, but he shook his head. “I’m not giving up, just being
realistic.”
Another layer of
gloom blanketed her. She knew he was right, but she did not have to
accept it. They would get out of Blackveil. All of them. They had
to.
Grant paced nearby
holding his arm to himself. He was pale and perspiring.
“Nythlings,” he muttered. “Gotta let the nythlings
come.”
Graelalea came and
crouched before Karigan. “I would like to take a look at your
leg.”
“Maybe you should
look at Grant’s arm.”
Graelalea sighed. “I
have tried, and more than once. He refuses me and becomes violent
if I press him.”
“I’ve seen it,” Ard
said, easing down onto a nearby rock. “He didn’t show me, mind, but
I saw him looking at it. Sickly in color with black lumps on
it.”
“I cannot aid him
unless he wishes it,” Graelalea murmured, and she set to tending
Karigan’s leg with fresh evaleoren salve. Karigan sighed as the
salve absorbed the pain.
“I offered to help,
too,” Ard said, “and he offered to smash my face in.”
Short of all of them
jumping on Grant to hold him down, Karigan didn’t know how else
they could help him. Perhaps if he got much worse, they’d have to
do just that.
When Graelalea
finished with Karigan’s leg and moved off, Karigan glanced at Ard
who sat with his head bowed and eyes closed as he rested. The
journey had been hard on him as it had been on all of them. He’d
lost considerable weight. When she looked at his hands splayed on
his knees, his knuckles skinned and embeded with dirt, a shining
silver ring that she had not noticed before caught her attention.
Had he worn it all along and she just hadn’t seen it, or was it
something he put on recently? If so, why?
It was not a wedding
ring, though it was placed on the customary finger. Ard had stated
he’d no family. It bore a sigil depicting the cormorant crest of
Clan Coutre, so perhaps he was, in a way, bound to the clan in no
less of an important way than a marriage. He must be held in great
esteem by Clan Coutre for a simple forester to be in possession of
such a ring.
Ard stirred and met
her gaze. “Something on your mind?” he asked gruffly.
“I was just admiring
your ring.”
His hands came
together and absently he twisted the ring around his finger. “A
gift,” he said, “from the lady.”
“Lady
Coutre?”
“No, my Lady Estora.
When she gave a blessing upon me for my safe return from Blackveil.
The ring is a gift of trust that I will carry out my duty here in
the best interest of the clan, which it is my honor to
do.”
Ard’s eyes were
hooded as he regarded her and she sensed there was more to it than
he said. Karigan did not have a chance to probe more deeply,
however, for Graelalea announced it was time they continued their
journey.
Over the days that
followed, Karigan’s strength gradually improved, her leg showing
minute signs of mending with each application of the evaleoren
salve. Her visions of dancers in the forest became less frequent as
well. One or two would occasionally catch the edge of her sight but
would then quickly vanish.
She still fell
behind, and Ard often dropped back to walk companionably beside
her, not speaking, but keeping an eye on her. On the whole, the
company made little conversation. The farther along they got, the
faster Graelalea led them, and the faster Graelalea went, the more
Karigan fell behind. She had especial trouble on a part of the
trail that was at the base of a cliff buried beneath a sloping rock
fall. They had to pick their way over slick boulders and wobbly
rocks. The uneven and treacherous surfaces taxed Karigan’s bad leg
and she fell farther and farther behind, but Ard patiently stayed
with her. She was pleased by his company.
“Have you always
been a forester for Clan Coutre?” Karigan asked him, her interest
in his background aroused by his signet ring. Her feet almost flew
out from beneath her on a slimy rock. She saved herself, heart
thudding, and was once again thankful for the bonewood staff, which
helped her regain her balance.
Ard, watching her
from several boulders ahead, said. “Always. And my father before
me. Lord Spane took him in, gave him the position to assist the
head forester, looking after Lord Coutre’s lands. We’d been
destitute before that, but Lord Spane took care of
us.”
“That was very good
of him,” Karigan replied.
Ard stayed perched
on his boulder watching her, his hand resting on the hilt of his
sword. He glanced over his shoulder. The rest of the company was
out of sight.
“Aye,” he said. “And
then the lady was born. Sweetest child ever there
was.”
It was difficult for
Karigan to imagine Estora as a tiny child. Try as she might, she
could only picture Estora as she was now, the stately,
devastatingly beautiful woman.
Karigan hopped to a
wobbly rock in front of Ard, her legs quivering from exertion. Ard
did not move, forcing Karigan to fight once again for her balance.
He did not give her a hand, but instead appeared lost in
reflection.
“So kind she was,”
he said. “Considerate to those beneath her station when she didn’t
have to be. She didn’t change as she grew up. Always good to me.
I’m proud to serve her.”
This was all
fascinating, Karigan thought, but her leg was killing her as she
struggled to prevent herself from falling and dashing her brains
all over the rocks.
“Um,” she said,
hoping Ard would take the hint.
He gazed at her, his
eyes chips of flint, his face set and body rigid. Karigan tensed in
return. She did not understand his posture, or why he was not
helping her.
“Would you mind
moving on?” she said. “We’re falling behind.”
Ard did not move,
but kept staring at her, tapping the hilt of his sword. “I’d do
anything for her,” he murmured.
Karigan hopped back
to a more stable rock behind her, now holding the bonewood more in
defense than for balance. What was wrong with him? His hand
tightened on the hilt of his sword.
“Is all well back
here?” It was Telagioth.
Karigan sighed in
relief.
“Aye,” Ard replied,
and he turned toward Telagioth and strode off, leaving Karigan
behind. “We were just resting is all.”
Resting? Is that
what he called it? Then why was she drenched in sweat and
shaking?
To her further
relief, Telagioth stayed with them and Ard carried on an animated
conversation. All seemed as it was before. Had she only imagined
he’d posed a threat to her just moments ago? She could not even
guess at his change. Until now he’d been nothing but helpful to her
along the journey.
Perhaps the poison
of the thorns had muddled her perceptions. Even so, she intended to
remain wary of Ard in case he showed his darker side
again.