First Rider's Call
Page 34
Karigan reread the letter, much relieved by it. Her father was still hurting from her “decision” to become a Green Rider, but by the conciliatory tone of the last paragraph, he had finally accepted it to a degree.
Thank goodness, she thought, feeling some of the guilt lift from her shoulders.
She put his letter aside and took up the second. It was in the fine hand of her friend Estral Andovian, a journeyman minstrel at Selium. She described happenings at Selium in animated detail.
I’ve been busy teaching the summer term of mostly basic level and uninterested students. You may guess these are largely the children of nobles and that they are less intent upon their lessons than upon one another.
Karigan snorted, not envying Estral her task.
Estral then described some renovations being done to the archives, and Karigan chuckled at the images she wrought of master archivists scurrying about to protect ancient papers and tomes, wringing their hands and practically shedding the hair right off the tops of their heads from worry.
In the process of expanding the archives, workers knocked through a wall uncovering a remarkable treasure—an alcove that had been sealed over long ago. In it we found a manuscript from the days of the Long War in fine condition. Most of it is written in the Imperial tongue, and bits in Old Sacoridian. When we complete the translation, I shall send you a copy which you may share with your father. I think you will find it of interest.
There was no further explanation, just Mel sends her love, and Estral’s signature. Karigan dropped the letter onto her lap and stared into the trees before her. Leave it to Estral to be so mysterious as to not explain why the manuscript might be of interest to her. Estral could be so confounding sometimes.
Karigan noted the letter was dated two months ago. There was no telling how long it would take this manuscript to be translated and then conveyed to Sacor City. In the meantime, curiosity would eat her like a moth in a closet of woolens.
A light crunch on gravel startled Karigan from her reverie. She thought maybe the rude clerk, or one of his friends, might be returning for some reason, but when she saw who it was, she immediately stood and bowed.
“Welcome home,” said Lady Estora Coutre.
Estora was perhaps the most beautiful woman Karigan had ever seen. Her summer dress of dusty blue enhanced the light blue of her eyes, and her golden hair cascaded down her back in loose braids. The light, fresh scent of lavender wreathed about her. Unconsciously Karigan smoothed her hand along her tunic, all too aware of its baggy fit. She ran through a mental list of other deficiencies: her ragged fingernails, the skewed braid she had knotted without care that morning, and her old boots that were threatening to fall apart.
“Are you not going to say hello?” Estora asked.
“I—” Karigan smiled feebly. “Hello.”
Estora took Karigan’s hands into her own. “I am ever so pleased to see you well after your long journey. Shall we sit?”
When Karigan had returned to Sacor City a year ago, an unlikely friendship had evolved between them. Unlikely because Estora was heir to Coutre Province, and normally inaccessible to a common messenger. Yet over the past year they found themselves encountering one another in the gardens, where both came to think over whatever was on their minds.
Karigan found Estora a ready listener to the frustrations of Rider life. Estora, in turn, spoke of growing up in Coutre Province and life in court. Perhaps she found some connection with Karigan because she could speak of her lost secret lover, Rider F’ryan Coblebay. Karigan had been the last to see him alive, and at his dying, she had “inherited” his saber, horse, and brooch. Did Estora think of F’ryan when she looked upon Karigan?
“I am sorry for the loss of Lieutenant M’Farthon and Rider Martin.”
The unexpected words, like a key turned in a lock, were all it took. Grief, otherwise all but suppressed by other more immediate needs, suddenly founted to the surface. They came from the depths of a soul exhausted by loss and a harsh journey. Karigan had not allowed herself to give in to the grief before, that great threatening wave, but somehow with a few simple words and the sympathy Estora all but radiated, the breakwater Karigan had so firmly formed in her mind was destroyed.
Estora rubbed Karigan’s back and murmured soothing words until her racking sobs abated, and then handed her a handkerchief scented with lavender. Karigan blew lustily into it. In the wake of her tears, she felt tired to the bone, as if the last of her energy had been stored for this moment; and a little embarrassed by having lost control in front of someone else.
She found herself telling Estora about the journey. It was not the same as the telling of the previous night, a factual line of events; now she colored the telling with her own fears and anguish.
Estora did not interrupt, but listened gravely, sadness clouding her features as Karigan related the grittier portion of her tale. When she finished, the catharsis left her feeling more tired than ever, yet eminently relieved by finally having let go.
“Thank you,” she said, “for listening to all that.”
“I am sorry you experienced it, but I am glad you could speak to me of it. You Riders undergo dangers I cannot even imagine, and you do it out of love for the king and Sacoridia. Yet many take your service for granted.” She shook her head, her braids sweeping across her back. “I know if Alton were here, he’d be of great comfort to you.”
Karigan looked sharply at her, wondering what she knew about Alton. He had, by Karigan’s design, rarely entered their conversations.
Thank goodness, she thought, feeling some of the guilt lift from her shoulders.
She put his letter aside and took up the second. It was in the fine hand of her friend Estral Andovian, a journeyman minstrel at Selium. She described happenings at Selium in animated detail.
I’ve been busy teaching the summer term of mostly basic level and uninterested students. You may guess these are largely the children of nobles and that they are less intent upon their lessons than upon one another.
Karigan snorted, not envying Estral her task.
Estral then described some renovations being done to the archives, and Karigan chuckled at the images she wrought of master archivists scurrying about to protect ancient papers and tomes, wringing their hands and practically shedding the hair right off the tops of their heads from worry.
In the process of expanding the archives, workers knocked through a wall uncovering a remarkable treasure—an alcove that had been sealed over long ago. In it we found a manuscript from the days of the Long War in fine condition. Most of it is written in the Imperial tongue, and bits in Old Sacoridian. When we complete the translation, I shall send you a copy which you may share with your father. I think you will find it of interest.
There was no further explanation, just Mel sends her love, and Estral’s signature. Karigan dropped the letter onto her lap and stared into the trees before her. Leave it to Estral to be so mysterious as to not explain why the manuscript might be of interest to her. Estral could be so confounding sometimes.
Karigan noted the letter was dated two months ago. There was no telling how long it would take this manuscript to be translated and then conveyed to Sacor City. In the meantime, curiosity would eat her like a moth in a closet of woolens.
A light crunch on gravel startled Karigan from her reverie. She thought maybe the rude clerk, or one of his friends, might be returning for some reason, but when she saw who it was, she immediately stood and bowed.
“Welcome home,” said Lady Estora Coutre.
Estora was perhaps the most beautiful woman Karigan had ever seen. Her summer dress of dusty blue enhanced the light blue of her eyes, and her golden hair cascaded down her back in loose braids. The light, fresh scent of lavender wreathed about her. Unconsciously Karigan smoothed her hand along her tunic, all too aware of its baggy fit. She ran through a mental list of other deficiencies: her ragged fingernails, the skewed braid she had knotted without care that morning, and her old boots that were threatening to fall apart.
“Are you not going to say hello?” Estora asked.
“I—” Karigan smiled feebly. “Hello.”
Estora took Karigan’s hands into her own. “I am ever so pleased to see you well after your long journey. Shall we sit?”
When Karigan had returned to Sacor City a year ago, an unlikely friendship had evolved between them. Unlikely because Estora was heir to Coutre Province, and normally inaccessible to a common messenger. Yet over the past year they found themselves encountering one another in the gardens, where both came to think over whatever was on their minds.
Karigan found Estora a ready listener to the frustrations of Rider life. Estora, in turn, spoke of growing up in Coutre Province and life in court. Perhaps she found some connection with Karigan because she could speak of her lost secret lover, Rider F’ryan Coblebay. Karigan had been the last to see him alive, and at his dying, she had “inherited” his saber, horse, and brooch. Did Estora think of F’ryan when she looked upon Karigan?
“I am sorry for the loss of Lieutenant M’Farthon and Rider Martin.”
The unexpected words, like a key turned in a lock, were all it took. Grief, otherwise all but suppressed by other more immediate needs, suddenly founted to the surface. They came from the depths of a soul exhausted by loss and a harsh journey. Karigan had not allowed herself to give in to the grief before, that great threatening wave, but somehow with a few simple words and the sympathy Estora all but radiated, the breakwater Karigan had so firmly formed in her mind was destroyed.
Estora rubbed Karigan’s back and murmured soothing words until her racking sobs abated, and then handed her a handkerchief scented with lavender. Karigan blew lustily into it. In the wake of her tears, she felt tired to the bone, as if the last of her energy had been stored for this moment; and a little embarrassed by having lost control in front of someone else.
She found herself telling Estora about the journey. It was not the same as the telling of the previous night, a factual line of events; now she colored the telling with her own fears and anguish.
Estora did not interrupt, but listened gravely, sadness clouding her features as Karigan related the grittier portion of her tale. When she finished, the catharsis left her feeling more tired than ever, yet eminently relieved by finally having let go.
“Thank you,” she said, “for listening to all that.”
“I am sorry you experienced it, but I am glad you could speak to me of it. You Riders undergo dangers I cannot even imagine, and you do it out of love for the king and Sacoridia. Yet many take your service for granted.” She shook her head, her braids sweeping across her back. “I know if Alton were here, he’d be of great comfort to you.”
Karigan looked sharply at her, wondering what she knew about Alton. He had, by Karigan’s design, rarely entered their conversations.
