Green Rider (36 page)

"Rider M'farthon, would you tell us what else you carry in your message satchel?"

The messenger's eyes grew wide, and she glanced questioningly at Beryl before her eyes fell back on the governor. "With all due respect, my lord—"

Mirwell stayed her words with his hand. "Please humor me, Rider. I ask for reasons of personal security."

Beryl nodded to her reassuringly.

Good
! Sometimes it took another woman to lend support.
I am an old bear ugly enough to make anyone nervous
.

The Rider cleared her throat. "With all due respect, my lord, while messages from His Excellency the King are matters of his own business, it's no secret that I carry another invitation to deliver to the lord-governor of Adolind."

Mirwell nodded gravely. "Thank you, Rider M'farthon. D'rang will escort you to the kitchen for provisions to make the rest of your long journey comfortable. In the meantime, I shall craft my reply."

"Thank you, my lord." The Rider bowed out of the library, followed by a soldier in scarlet.

When she was out of earshot and the doors closed, Mirwell turned to his aide. "What do you make of it, Spence? Another Greenie trying to reach Zachary's spy?"

Beryl pulled thoughtfully at her lower lip. After a few moments she shook her head. "No, my lord."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I believe her intentions are as she says—to deliver invitations for the king's banquet and ball. It's certainly something she did not fabricate. Besides, we haven't found any spy in your household yet, and we've been very thorough."

Mirwell knew how thorough. Everyone who inhabited his keep, from the lowest servant to the highest courtier, including Prince Amilton and Beryl, had been interviewed extensively. Some to the point of torture. He had delighted in the screams of some of the courtiers he particularly disliked, and admired some of the techniques Beryl had employed to get them to "talk." The results, however, indicated that no spy existed within House Mirwell. One positive byproduct of the investigation was a reminder to his subjects of his authority. All the better if they trembled a little when he walked by.

"My feeling," Beryl said, "is that Coblebay was working on his own."

Mirwell tapped the catamount head of his armrest.

"Nevertheless, I'm not willing to take chances. Bring me Taggern."

The guardsman was summoned, and clicked his boot heels to attention before his lord-governor.

"Taggern, see that Rider M'farthon doesn't come in private contact with anyone while she is being provisioned. Get a look in her message satchel if you can, then get her underway as soon as my reply to the king is prepared. Escort her out of the village. I expect a report. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord."

When the guardsman left, Beryl said, "I could keep an eye on the Rider myself, my lord."

"I need you to respond to Zachary for me. Your hand is fairer than mine."

She stepped over to his massive desk, a behemoth of carved cherrywood inlaid with blond oak, which sat upon legs fashioned as the talons of some enormous raptor. He never used the desk himself, and rarely even cracked a book in his library collection. These had all been acquired over the generations, mostly by a Mirwell of a more scholarly tendency. Tomastine II suspected that the province had begun to fail during that particular ancestor's reign. Still he liked the ambiance of the room with its large fireplace and hide-covered armchairs. Beryl seemed to feel right at home behind the desk. She dipped her quill into the inkwell.

"Your message, my lord?"

"Write to our esteemed king that we will accept his invitation."

"We, my lord?"

Mirwell smiled broadly. "Yes,
we
. Did you notice the date of the ball? Not long before the king's annual hunt."

"That's what concerns me."

"What better way to conquer than to be there to see it happen, eh?"

Beryl brought the message over for him to sign. He took the paper, and the hand that held it. He caressed her hand. The palm was well callused from using a sword, but the other side was soft and smooth, not riddled by the brown spots and tangle of green veins women his age were cursed with. She looked at him, stricken.

"As I said, you've a fair hand, my dear." He released it and looked the letter over, ignoring her as she stepped away and clasped her hands behind her back. She stared straight ahead at nothing. "We shall have a fine time in Sacor City."

"Yes, my lord." Her voice was flat.

She took the message, slipped it into an envelope, and sealed it with red wax and the imprint of the two war hammers. She left the library, a bit hastily, Mirwell thought.
We'll see what comes of a visit to Sacor City
.

He stood over his Intrigue board. He'd have to find its traveling case. Maybe he would have D'rang look for it. He picked up a red governor and a red soldier, and placed them in the court of the green king.

"I look forward to the hunt."

RALLY

Karigan stepped out into the overcast morning, leading The Horse down the alley to the main street. The stableboy watched after them wistfully, probably hoping for another copper. He deserved it, Karigan reflected. The Horse gleamed despite the dullness of the day. She just could not afford to dip into her reserves for more coins, but she had made a point of praising the boy for his fine care.

The main street was still muddy. Townsfolk walked on wooden boards lined in front of nearly every building and storefront, but the boards didn't help if one had to cross the street or veer off course. Women held their long skirts high, their faces in perpetual frowns as they trudged through the slop. Karigan grimaced herself as her foot sucked in the mud. The shine on The Horse's coat would not last long.

She mounted to let The Horse deal with the mud, and they went in search of a food vendor. Shopkeepers were just opening their doors and throwing back shutters. A blacksmith fired up his forge and the roar of flame could be heard all the way out into the street. North could have been any town awakening, but this one was without refinement. She missed the cobbled streets of Selium.

She found a shop with cluttered shelves of baked and dried goods, coarse cloth, axes, knives, rope, handsaws, blankets, lamps, flour, sugar, lard… everything a town of this sort could use. She dismounted and hitched The Horse to a post in front of the shop. She scraped mud off her boots on an iron rung placed outside the doorway just for that purpose.

As she stepped inside, she heard a shout on the street. She peered through a window and watched a man, encumbered by two sacks, running through the mud, making little progress. He was pursued by another man whose white shopkeeper's smock was splattered with mud.

"Come back with that, you thief!"

The shopkeeper, unencumbered, caught up with the other man, and jumped on him. The two fell into the muck, each grappling with the other. Passersby paused to watch the scene. A dagger flashed in the thief's hand, and he struck down at the shopkeeper. The shopkeeper loosed a hollow wail that Karigan felt every inch up her spine. The thief had stabbed the shopkeeper, and no one had attempted to stop him.

The thief climbed to his feet, threw the two sacks over his shoulder, and walked away. Pedestrians ignored the thief and simply walked around the shopkeeper's body as if it were no more than a rock obstructing their path.

Someone clucked his tongue behind Karigan. A burly, bald-pated man in a white smock shook his head, his jowls wobbling. "Old Mael didn't take any precautions." He patted a short sword sheathed at his side. Anywhere else, a shopkeeper wearing a sword was an unusual sight.

"Isn't anyone going to do anything?" Karigan demanded.

"Old Garl will be along to pick up his body," the shopkeeper said.

"But the thief—"

"Who's gonna run after him? You?"

Karigan blushed with shame.

"No one wants to risk their hide. I see you are sensible and carry a sword. Not common on a girl, but sensible. What can I do for you this morning?"

It took a moment for Karigan to shake off her sense of disgust at how easily the shopkeeper slid from murder to commerce. She couldn't think about it. She had to carry out her own mission, and there was no time to dwell on North's problems. She suspected that if she didn't get to Sacor City soon, more people would die.

She chose dried meat and fruit, tea, bread, and cheese from shelves, and some grain for The Horse from a hogshead. She set them on the counter in front of the shopkeeper.

"Two silvers," he said.

"Why, that's—"
Robbery
she wanted to say. She held her tongue, the price raising bile in the back of her throat. But she was, after all, a merchant's daughter, and not without bargaining skills. "Haifa silver," she said.

The shopkeeper smiled in appreciation. He was a bargainer, too, and looked so smug that few probably got the better of him. "Two silvers is how it stands."

Karigan furrowed her brows together. "Haifa silver is all those goods are worth, but I'll raise it to a silver. I can see it is difficult to earn a living in a town such as this."

The shopkeeper nodded. "A fine offer, but a man needs more to make a living. A silver and a half, plus a copper."

Karigan shifted her stance. The man didn't give in easily. She wondered how many people were taken by bargainers such as him. When she lowered the price to one silver, the shopkeeper scratched his bald head as if not sure how it had happened.

"One silver is still ridiculous for these goods, but I'll accept the price." She passed the precious coin across the counter. As she did so, something gold glittered in a basket of trinkets on display on the far end of the counter. "How much for the brooch?" she asked.

The shopkeeper brightened. "Why, one silver. Not so much for such a fine piece." He placed the winged horse brooch in the palm of his hand for her to look at.

"A deplorable price," Karigan said. "A cheap trinket. One copper is generous." She knew full well that the brooch was just as much pure gold as her own, but chances were that the shopkeeper saw it as a gaudy piece of costume jewelry, as had Tome and Jendara seen hers.

The shopkeeper raised his brows. "That ring you're wearing… A clan ring?"

Karigan had forgotten about her mother's troth ring. It probably wasn't something she should wear openly, with its gold and diamond, in a town such as North. She sensed, however, that the shopkeeper was suddenly intimidated. Rarely did she ever use the traditional clan bow, but she did so now. She placed her hand on her heart and dipped low. "Clan G'ladheon at your service."

"Merchant clan?"

"Yes."

"I should have known. I wondered how you managed to outbargain me." He chuckled good-naturedly. "A copper it is, for the brooch."

Karigan couldn't believe her good fortune. She thought she would end up having to pay at least half a silver. She pushed the copper across the counter and took the brooch. It was heavy and cold in her hand. All of the blood hadn't been polished off. The folk here were no better than Torne and Jendara, picking valuables off the dead. She dropped the brooch into her pocket, collected her goods, and left just as a bewhiskered man dressed in buckskin strode in, beaver, fox, and mink pelts swaying over his shoulder.