Blackveil
Page 34
They do not care, Karigan thought.
Through the entryway of the conservatory she glimpsed dancing and glittering jewels as the musicians picked up the tempo. They did not care that some lowly, common messenger had been killed. After all, it was their privilege to have others die to keep them safe. And they wouldn’t even pause in their frivolity to show respect with silence.
Others in the corridors did, the more common folk. They stepped aside and bowed their heads as the somber Riders made their way past. Soldiers stood at attention and saluted. Humble servants reached out to touch the banner that draped the coffin. These people, Karigan thought, were the ones who understood the sacrifice.
At the bottom of the steps of the main castle entrance, the coffin was placed on a cart, and Osric was sent home to his mother with an escort of Green Riders, their banners rippling and snapping in the strong breeze as they rode away.
In the days that followed, winter crumbled apart, and the sun shone more intensely and for longer each day. Snowmelt gushed from weep holes and drainage spouts on the castle walls as loud and vigorous as mountain freshets. Ice on pathways turned to slush. True spring was still a way off and the air still held the bite of the north wind, but an end was in sight.
Karigan had spoken only briefly to Captain Mapstone after her return from Corsa, to hand over the message from her father. Osric’s grisly arrival was still all too fresh at the time, and the captain’s expression grim and pale. Quickly she scanned the message, raising an eyebrow and pursing her lips. Was it Karigan’s imagination, or did the captain’s expression warm and lighten just a bit? It was like a passing brightness between the clouds, however, and all too soon, she shuttered herself once more and excused Karigan with a curt, “Dismissed.”
From then on, except for the memorial circle and farewell to Osric, the Riders saw little of their captain. She was, Mara said, closeted with the king and his advisors in meetings.
“No doubt talking about Birch and Second Empire,” Mara said as she and Karigan helped Hep the stablehand feed the horses one afternoon. “And probably the Eletians, too.”
“Eletians? What about the Eletians?”
“That’s right,” Mara said, “you weren’t here. I guess with Osric and all, the Eletians weren’t the major gossip anymore. Three came to see the king.”
Karigan almost dropped her grain scoop. “Eletians were here? What did they want?”
“Apparently they wished to resupply all of Eletia with chocolate,” Mara said, separating flakes of hay to throw into another stall.
“What?”
Mara nodded sagely. “Took Master Gruntler days to get in enough sugar and cocoa to reopen his shop after the Eletians went through his stock. If you were craving Dragon Droppings, forget it.”
Horses who had not yet been fed made demanding whinnies, circled in their stalls, and kicked the walls. Perhaps the noisiest of the lot was Elgin’s donkey, Bucket, who, true to form, knocked his bucket around.
“Eletians came to Sacor City to buy chocolate? And that’s it?”
Mara struggled to keep a straight face, but could not. She laughed, leaving Karigan completely confounded.
“Mara!”
“All right, all right. They weren’t here just for the chocolate. According to the captain, the Eletians are going on an expedition into Blackveil.”
Karigan just stood there, stopped by she did not know what. The noise of the horses, Mara’s presence, the stable itself, all faded away. Her hand went to the moonstone in her pocket. Something niggled at her, but there was only a blankness in her mind. Was there something she should remember?
The tickle of a white feather across memory ...
“Karigan?”
Karigan shook her head. “Eletians,” she said.
Mara gave her an odd look. “Yes, Eletians.”
“And the king and his advisors are debating this expedition?”
“I guess, but what they are specifically discussing the captain hasn’t revealed. Not yet, anyway.” Mara shrugged. “If the Eletians want to get themselves killed by going into that place, it’s their business, if you ask me.”
Karigan resumed scooping grain into buckets in silence. Once again, the Eletians had come to Sacor City. What couldn’t she remember? She sighed. If it was important, it would come back to her.
Karigan discovered, to her dismay, no one had been attending to Rider accounts in her absence. Ordinarily the duty fell to the Chief Rider, but because of Karigan’s merchant background, the captain passed the duty on to her.
As she looked over the ledgers missing rows and rows of entries, she realized she had no one to blame but herself. She’d neglected to assign anyone the task while she was away—she’d been too wrapped up in worrying about the coming confrontation with her father.
“Idiot,” she berated herself over and over.
Now she paid for that neglect, frantically running back and forth between the quartermaster’s office and the administrative wing of the castle, seeking any record of transactions, and she plagued Mara and Connly to rack their brains for expenses.
One late night she filled the long table of the Rider common room with ledgers, crumpled receipts, and notes scrawled with half-remembered transactions. When she thought she’d go blind from all the figures, she laid her head on the table and placed an open ledger over her face to block the lamplight. She started to drift off, but was awakened by footsteps.
She sat up, knocking some papers to the floor. She blinked blearily to find Fergal standing before her.
Through the entryway of the conservatory she glimpsed dancing and glittering jewels as the musicians picked up the tempo. They did not care that some lowly, common messenger had been killed. After all, it was their privilege to have others die to keep them safe. And they wouldn’t even pause in their frivolity to show respect with silence.
Others in the corridors did, the more common folk. They stepped aside and bowed their heads as the somber Riders made their way past. Soldiers stood at attention and saluted. Humble servants reached out to touch the banner that draped the coffin. These people, Karigan thought, were the ones who understood the sacrifice.
At the bottom of the steps of the main castle entrance, the coffin was placed on a cart, and Osric was sent home to his mother with an escort of Green Riders, their banners rippling and snapping in the strong breeze as they rode away.
In the days that followed, winter crumbled apart, and the sun shone more intensely and for longer each day. Snowmelt gushed from weep holes and drainage spouts on the castle walls as loud and vigorous as mountain freshets. Ice on pathways turned to slush. True spring was still a way off and the air still held the bite of the north wind, but an end was in sight.
Karigan had spoken only briefly to Captain Mapstone after her return from Corsa, to hand over the message from her father. Osric’s grisly arrival was still all too fresh at the time, and the captain’s expression grim and pale. Quickly she scanned the message, raising an eyebrow and pursing her lips. Was it Karigan’s imagination, or did the captain’s expression warm and lighten just a bit? It was like a passing brightness between the clouds, however, and all too soon, she shuttered herself once more and excused Karigan with a curt, “Dismissed.”
From then on, except for the memorial circle and farewell to Osric, the Riders saw little of their captain. She was, Mara said, closeted with the king and his advisors in meetings.
“No doubt talking about Birch and Second Empire,” Mara said as she and Karigan helped Hep the stablehand feed the horses one afternoon. “And probably the Eletians, too.”
“Eletians? What about the Eletians?”
“That’s right,” Mara said, “you weren’t here. I guess with Osric and all, the Eletians weren’t the major gossip anymore. Three came to see the king.”
Karigan almost dropped her grain scoop. “Eletians were here? What did they want?”
“Apparently they wished to resupply all of Eletia with chocolate,” Mara said, separating flakes of hay to throw into another stall.
“What?”
Mara nodded sagely. “Took Master Gruntler days to get in enough sugar and cocoa to reopen his shop after the Eletians went through his stock. If you were craving Dragon Droppings, forget it.”
Horses who had not yet been fed made demanding whinnies, circled in their stalls, and kicked the walls. Perhaps the noisiest of the lot was Elgin’s donkey, Bucket, who, true to form, knocked his bucket around.
“Eletians came to Sacor City to buy chocolate? And that’s it?”
Mara struggled to keep a straight face, but could not. She laughed, leaving Karigan completely confounded.
“Mara!”
“All right, all right. They weren’t here just for the chocolate. According to the captain, the Eletians are going on an expedition into Blackveil.”
Karigan just stood there, stopped by she did not know what. The noise of the horses, Mara’s presence, the stable itself, all faded away. Her hand went to the moonstone in her pocket. Something niggled at her, but there was only a blankness in her mind. Was there something she should remember?
The tickle of a white feather across memory ...
“Karigan?”
Karigan shook her head. “Eletians,” she said.
Mara gave her an odd look. “Yes, Eletians.”
“And the king and his advisors are debating this expedition?”
“I guess, but what they are specifically discussing the captain hasn’t revealed. Not yet, anyway.” Mara shrugged. “If the Eletians want to get themselves killed by going into that place, it’s their business, if you ask me.”
Karigan resumed scooping grain into buckets in silence. Once again, the Eletians had come to Sacor City. What couldn’t she remember? She sighed. If it was important, it would come back to her.
Karigan discovered, to her dismay, no one had been attending to Rider accounts in her absence. Ordinarily the duty fell to the Chief Rider, but because of Karigan’s merchant background, the captain passed the duty on to her.
As she looked over the ledgers missing rows and rows of entries, she realized she had no one to blame but herself. She’d neglected to assign anyone the task while she was away—she’d been too wrapped up in worrying about the coming confrontation with her father.
“Idiot,” she berated herself over and over.
Now she paid for that neglect, frantically running back and forth between the quartermaster’s office and the administrative wing of the castle, seeking any record of transactions, and she plagued Mara and Connly to rack their brains for expenses.
One late night she filled the long table of the Rider common room with ledgers, crumpled receipts, and notes scrawled with half-remembered transactions. When she thought she’d go blind from all the figures, she laid her head on the table and placed an open ledger over her face to block the lamplight. She started to drift off, but was awakened by footsteps.
She sat up, knocking some papers to the floor. She blinked blearily to find Fergal standing before her.
