Green Rider
Page 57
What were they dealing with?
WAYSTATION
They galloped through the night,The Horse’s hooves echoing dully on the road. The gray world passed as a blur, and Karigan relied on The Horse to find the way. Holding onto his mane and keeping her seat was all she could manage under the weight of invisibility. When the night changed to a lighter shade of gray, The Horse slowed to a walk and halted.
“What?” Karigan was unable to lift her head from his warm neck.
The Horse glanced both ways up and down the road, then with a swish of his tail, he stepped into the woods. No path existed here, not even a deer trail, yet as they passed through the woods, no underbrush or low hanging branches snagged them, and the ground was clear and level.
The Horse skirted a granite outcropping, and something snapped within Karigan. The world repainted itself in the colors of early dawn, and the weight of invisibility lifted from her and raised her spirits.
Snug against a granite ledge, a tiny log cabin, with a fenced paddock and attached lean-to shelter, came into view. She was nearly on top of it before she saw it. There was no sign of life anywhere near the cabin except the morning song of birds.
“What is this place?” Karigan asked The Horse. She dismounted, falling to her knees in fatigue. He nuzzled her shoulder reassuringly. The brooch had sapped Karigan’s energy painfully, and it was some time before she could stand again, and even then, she had to lean against The Horse for support as they walked to the cabin. A winged horse was carved on the door.
“Is this a Green Rider . . . shelter?” she asked.
The Horse whickered and nudged her back. She unlatched the door and stumbled inside. The one room cabin was musty from lack of use, and dust swirled about her boots with each step she took. Green Riders probably didn’t travel this way often.
The interior was cloaked in darkness with the shutters fastened closed, but she had reclaimed her moonstone along with her other belongings, and now used it to light the building. Silver light stretched to all corners of the cabin, and lifted some of her fatigue and heartened her as if to remind her that she was truly alive.
A straw mattress lay on a simple bed frame against the far wall, a shelf above held some candles, a lamp, and even a few books. Wood was stacked next to a stone fireplace with snowshoes propped on the mantel. More shelves held jars sealed with wax and cork.
A cedar-lined closet contained blankets, pillows, and some clothing. Karigan tore off her own shirt, stained with Garroty’s tobacco juice and, now she saw in the light, flecks of blood. Throwing it to the floor, she grabbed a white linen shirt from the closet and pulled it over her head. Then she pinned the brooch on. She felt less dirty now, having broken one more thread that had bound her to the mercenaries.
She took some bedclothes from the closet and heaped them on the table. Using what little strength she possessed, she beat on the mattress, raising all manner of dust. She staggered out of the cabin sneezing.
The Horse watched her expectantly, his ears at point. When the fit passed, Karigan untacked him. “Sorry I made you wait, Horse,” she said. Her father and her riding master had both insisted that the horse that bore you must be seen to before yourself. She should have taken care of him before investigating the cabin. After all, he had carried her through the night for who knew how many miles, while she had clung to him witless under the spell of the brooch. He deserved her consideration at the very least.
Once untacked, The Horse walked into the paddock and under the roof of the shelter. Again, he watched her expectantly. Karigan followed and gazed about. A large bin containing a stash of grain and two buckets was attached to one of the walls. The grain appeared, if not fresh, unspoiled; no beetles or worms crawled in it.
She scooped some of the sweet-smelling grain into one bucket, then took the other in search of water. She did not have to go very far. A spring bubbled behind the shelter, trickling into a stream that ran down an embankment. She drank of the clear cold water, unclogging her throat of road and cabin dust, then filled the bucket and took it to The Horse. With those tasks accomplished, she returned to the cabin, wrapped a blanket around herself, and fell to the bed. She was asleep in an instant.
Karigan awoke with a shiver. Her breath fogged in the cool, damp air—not at all unusual in a northern spring, but not altogether pleasant. At first she thought it was the same morning as that of her arrival, but this morning was drizzly, whereas yesterday had promised warmth and sun. With the blanket still wrapped around her, she found a tinder box on the fireplace mantel, opened the flue of the chimney, and stacked wood on the hearth for a cheerful blaze. It wasn’t long before the cabin filled with warmth.
She traded the blanket for her greatcoat and stepped outside to see to The Horse. She refilled his grain and water buckets, the pure ordinariness of the activity creating a sense of security that she hadn’t felt for ages. Maybe she could stay hidden in this place and let the world continue without her.
The scent of wood smoke lured her back into the cabin. She had filled a kettle with spring water and now set it over the fire. It had been days since Jendara had let her bathe in a muddy stream, and her fastidious nature insisted upon bathing as a priority that morning. As she waited for the water to heat up, she searched the shelves again. The jars contained tea, spices, soap, and ointment, as well as an assortment of mismatched crockery. Karigan gleefully sprinkled tea leaves into a crude mug, and anticipated the boiling of the water.
She espied her old, stained shirt out of the corner of her eye where she had dropped it on the floor the previous morning. With a grim smile, she pinched a corner of the fabric between her fingers and tossed it into the fire. The rest of her clothes, except a pair of blue trousers, had been left by the roadside miles ago, deemed worthless by Jendara and Torne.
WAYSTATION
They galloped through the night,The Horse’s hooves echoing dully on the road. The gray world passed as a blur, and Karigan relied on The Horse to find the way. Holding onto his mane and keeping her seat was all she could manage under the weight of invisibility. When the night changed to a lighter shade of gray, The Horse slowed to a walk and halted.
“What?” Karigan was unable to lift her head from his warm neck.
The Horse glanced both ways up and down the road, then with a swish of his tail, he stepped into the woods. No path existed here, not even a deer trail, yet as they passed through the woods, no underbrush or low hanging branches snagged them, and the ground was clear and level.
The Horse skirted a granite outcropping, and something snapped within Karigan. The world repainted itself in the colors of early dawn, and the weight of invisibility lifted from her and raised her spirits.
Snug against a granite ledge, a tiny log cabin, with a fenced paddock and attached lean-to shelter, came into view. She was nearly on top of it before she saw it. There was no sign of life anywhere near the cabin except the morning song of birds.
“What is this place?” Karigan asked The Horse. She dismounted, falling to her knees in fatigue. He nuzzled her shoulder reassuringly. The brooch had sapped Karigan’s energy painfully, and it was some time before she could stand again, and even then, she had to lean against The Horse for support as they walked to the cabin. A winged horse was carved on the door.
“Is this a Green Rider . . . shelter?” she asked.
The Horse whickered and nudged her back. She unlatched the door and stumbled inside. The one room cabin was musty from lack of use, and dust swirled about her boots with each step she took. Green Riders probably didn’t travel this way often.
The interior was cloaked in darkness with the shutters fastened closed, but she had reclaimed her moonstone along with her other belongings, and now used it to light the building. Silver light stretched to all corners of the cabin, and lifted some of her fatigue and heartened her as if to remind her that she was truly alive.
A straw mattress lay on a simple bed frame against the far wall, a shelf above held some candles, a lamp, and even a few books. Wood was stacked next to a stone fireplace with snowshoes propped on the mantel. More shelves held jars sealed with wax and cork.
A cedar-lined closet contained blankets, pillows, and some clothing. Karigan tore off her own shirt, stained with Garroty’s tobacco juice and, now she saw in the light, flecks of blood. Throwing it to the floor, she grabbed a white linen shirt from the closet and pulled it over her head. Then she pinned the brooch on. She felt less dirty now, having broken one more thread that had bound her to the mercenaries.
She took some bedclothes from the closet and heaped them on the table. Using what little strength she possessed, she beat on the mattress, raising all manner of dust. She staggered out of the cabin sneezing.
The Horse watched her expectantly, his ears at point. When the fit passed, Karigan untacked him. “Sorry I made you wait, Horse,” she said. Her father and her riding master had both insisted that the horse that bore you must be seen to before yourself. She should have taken care of him before investigating the cabin. After all, he had carried her through the night for who knew how many miles, while she had clung to him witless under the spell of the brooch. He deserved her consideration at the very least.
Once untacked, The Horse walked into the paddock and under the roof of the shelter. Again, he watched her expectantly. Karigan followed and gazed about. A large bin containing a stash of grain and two buckets was attached to one of the walls. The grain appeared, if not fresh, unspoiled; no beetles or worms crawled in it.
She scooped some of the sweet-smelling grain into one bucket, then took the other in search of water. She did not have to go very far. A spring bubbled behind the shelter, trickling into a stream that ran down an embankment. She drank of the clear cold water, unclogging her throat of road and cabin dust, then filled the bucket and took it to The Horse. With those tasks accomplished, she returned to the cabin, wrapped a blanket around herself, and fell to the bed. She was asleep in an instant.
Karigan awoke with a shiver. Her breath fogged in the cool, damp air—not at all unusual in a northern spring, but not altogether pleasant. At first she thought it was the same morning as that of her arrival, but this morning was drizzly, whereas yesterday had promised warmth and sun. With the blanket still wrapped around her, she found a tinder box on the fireplace mantel, opened the flue of the chimney, and stacked wood on the hearth for a cheerful blaze. It wasn’t long before the cabin filled with warmth.
She traded the blanket for her greatcoat and stepped outside to see to The Horse. She refilled his grain and water buckets, the pure ordinariness of the activity creating a sense of security that she hadn’t felt for ages. Maybe she could stay hidden in this place and let the world continue without her.
The scent of wood smoke lured her back into the cabin. She had filled a kettle with spring water and now set it over the fire. It had been days since Jendara had let her bathe in a muddy stream, and her fastidious nature insisted upon bathing as a priority that morning. As she waited for the water to heat up, she searched the shelves again. The jars contained tea, spices, soap, and ointment, as well as an assortment of mismatched crockery. Karigan gleefully sprinkled tea leaves into a crude mug, and anticipated the boiling of the water.
She espied her old, stained shirt out of the corner of her eye where she had dropped it on the floor the previous morning. With a grim smile, she pinched a corner of the fabric between her fingers and tossed it into the fire. The rest of her clothes, except a pair of blue trousers, had been left by the roadside miles ago, deemed worthless by Jendara and Torne.
