Karigan G'ladheon (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
justarider) wrote2014-07-21 01:28 pm
justarider) wrote2014-07-21 01:28 pm
Entry tags:
Memory 003: GR - Abram Rust -- King's Forester (SigNeu)
Game Received: Lorelei's courting/kissing game, Day 364, late afternoon to Day 365, very early morning
Team Played With: n/a
Memory Form: a long stem of sea grapes; take a bite to receive the memory. Three uses.
It was late afternoon by the time Karigan realized she had dozed off. She
stretched muscles cramped by the wooden chair, and threw a new log on
the fading embers of the fire. Then she looked over the cabin's supply of
books which included the fictional story, The Journeys of Gilan
Wylloland. Karigan had read and reread it long ago, though fiction books
were hard to come by. Her mother had spotted it at a fair and added it to
the tiny G'ladheon library.
As a child, Karigan had pretended she was Gilan's sidekick, Blaine,
traveling lands that existed only in the author's imagination. She had
trooped around her father's estate brandishing a stick as her sword, and
tormented the house cat as if he were the murderous dragon Viliflavo. The
offended tom was named Dragon as a result.
Now Karigan was experiencing her own adventure, but it wasn't
anything like The Journeys of Gilan Wylloland. The danger was far too
real and unpleasant. Gilan and Blaine had ridden through adventure after
adventure nearly unscathed. Karigan could not say the same.
Another book, titled The Natural History of the Northern Wilderness,
had also been on the shelf of Master Ione's classroom. What possible use
Green Riders would have for it, she couldn't imagine. It did not occur to
her that at least one among them was interested in the wildflowers, birds,
or mammals of the region. Surely Green Riders were far too busy to worry
about nature.
The third and last book was bound in plain leather. It was some sort of
journal. Inside, a variety of handwriting styles were scrawled across the
pages, some legible, some not. She sat by the fire, absorbed by the entries.
Arrived at North waystation by dusk, wrote Pary Mantobe. Snowshoes a
must— blizzard dropping inches more of snow as I write. Am not sure I
will even be able to reach the horse.
Karigan gazed sideways at the snowshoes on the mantel. The entry was
over ten years old.
Some nameless Rider wrote in another entry: Saw a pileated
woodpecker by the stream. Bear tracks in the mud of the spring. Several
songbirds I couldn't identify greeted me this morning. Karigan held the
book to her chest. Bears! She hadn't even thought about them. After all her
adventures thus far, they didn't seem like much of a threat by comparison.
An entry by T. Bankside read: … chased by brigands all the way from
North— Lt. Mapstone's knife wound festering badly. She's burning with
fever— don't know if she'll live the night. Karigan flipped the page, but the
chronicler failed to mention whether or not the lieutenant had survived.
She read until dusk. Many of the entries were no more than accounts of
the weather and local fauna. Some entries were set in poetry, while others
were accompanied by illustrations. By the time she finished the book, she
was under the impression that Green Riders were a colorful group.
Karigan left the warmth of the cabin to check on The Horse. He trotted
up to the gate of the enclosure and whickered in greeting. Despite the
damp weather, he seemed in good spirits.
"You deserve a break, don't you," she said. After she fed and watered
him, she turned to walk back to the cabin, and walked right into a big man.
She screamed and fell back, wishing herself invisible.
The man was massive, even taller than her father, with enough heft to
make him appear as broad as he was tall. His face was a tangle of curly
gray whiskers that hung from his face like lichen draped over spruce
branches. Black eyes pierced beneath bushy brows. He was dressed in
drab brown and gray, and a huge ax hung from his belt. He was a troll
come to life.
He rotated slowly around, as if trying to see where she went. "Green
Rider?" The voice was surprisingly gentle. "I didn't mean to frighten you.
Please come back. I smelled the wood smoke and wanted to make sure all
was well."
The Horse gave the giant little more than a cursory glance before
sticking his nose into the grain bucket.
The weight of invisibility wore on Karigan, chafing against her like an
old wound. "Who are you?" she asked, not willing just yet, to reveal
herself.
The man turned in the direction of her voice, but looked through her. "I
am Abram Rust, King's Forester." He moved aside his damp cloak and
revealed the emblem of an evergreen embroidered on his leather vest. "I
mean no harm."
Karigan dropped the invisibility and staggered against a fence post.
"You really shouldn't use your magic here," the man said, his tone
matter-of-fact.
Karigan's eyes widened. Was she the last person in all of Sacoridia to
know that people still used magic?
"Those who built this waystation wanted to ensure it remained hidden.
They set spells around the area. Strong, old spells, I'll wager. When you
use your own magic, it conflicts."
Karigan raised a brow. "How do you know all this?"
"I've known a great many Green Riders, and they've told me things.
You look pale. Won't you let me help you back inside?"
Karigan clung fiercely to the fence post as he stretched out a bear paw
of a hand. "Let me tell you, Forester, I've killed an evil creature from
Kanmorhan Vane, a mercenary, and a swordmaster." The latter claim was
somewhat dubious; it had been F'ryan Coblebay, using her body, who had
defeated Torne, but it would serve to impress the giant.
He nodded solemnly. "I'm sure you've done a great many things, even
as young as you are. Perhaps you can tell me of your adventures. It's been
a while since a Green Rider has passed this way. Please let me help you in.
I promise I won't harm you."
Abram's quiet voice was sincere. "Fine," Karigan said, "but I won't put
up with anything. You make a wrong move, and I can't promise you'll live
through the night." She wasn't sure, but Abram might have been smiling.
It was hard to tell with all his whiskers, but crinkles deepened beneath his
eyes. She took his hand and allowed herself to be led into the cabin.
Assured that Karigan was comfortably propped on the bed, Abram Rust
sat in the chair by the fire. The chair creaked as if it might fall to pieces
under his weight, but it held. Abram's bulk crowded the cabin. Silence
reigned as he gazed about speculatively, every movement deliberate, as if
he thought it out before he did it, even the blinking of his eyes.
"This cabin does not change, but the Riders do." His bass voice startled
Karigan. "Rarely do I see the same two Riders pass through here." His
whiskers drooped.
"Why is that?"
"They move on to other routes or other jobs. Many die. I visit the cabin
when a Rider is present to seek news. Often they tell me that a previous
occupant has died in the line of duty."
Karigan could believe it. "How long have you been coming here?"
He chuckled— it was a low throaty sound. "Years beyond count, young
one. I've been roaming these woods long before the Riders decided to put
a waystation here. I've roamed these woods before Zachary became king,
even before his grandmother ruled. I've seen seedlings grow into mighty
trees, then burn to the ground only to start the cycle anew. Through all the
changes I am still Forester. I protect my domain as well as I can, though
ever more it is threatened."
"Threatened?" Karigan looked around the cabin as if brigands would
break through the rough-hewn log walls.
"The mills. The need to clear land to farm and settle. The need to build
fleets of ships to sail the seas; and the need to warm homes during our
savage winters." Abram leaned toward her, his features earnest. "There is
even a growing need for paper these days. Acres of forest around here
have been toppled. So far, this has been outside my domain, but they do
not replant and carve ever deeper into the forest."
"But surely your job is to cut trees." Karigan looked at his ax
meaningfully.
"You are correct, but this is king's land. I'm the guardian of Zachary's
forests here, as I have been for three generations of his family. I am
selective in my cutting. A few white pines here for ship masts, a few
cedars there for shingles, and I always replant. As other forest is laid
waste, my ax is used more to defend the boundaries of my domain. The
folk of North are ever pressuring King Zachary to open his lands to
lumbering. Some attempt it without seeking permission."
"This North is a lumber town?"
"Mostly." Abram pulled out a pipe and tobacco pouch from his cloak.
He stuffed the pipe with tobacco and drew a flame on some kindling from
the fire and lit it. "It began as a small settlement about a hundred years
back. But with all the demands for timber nowadays, the population
swelled."
Abram blew smoke rings toward the ceiling, an amused twinkle in his
eyes. When the rings dissipated, the twinkle faded. "North is a lawless
town now. Most of the folk descended from the original settlers left, sold
their claims. Some stayed to see what wealth they could make themselves.
Others opened mercantiles and inns. The fur trade is growing, too, and
now I must protect the creatures within my domain, as well as the trees."
"I've never heard of North." Or had she? Something the Berry sisters
had said nagged at the back of her mind.
"This must be a new route for you," Abram said. "Or maybe you are just
new."
Karigan grimaced. "I'm not really a Green Rider."
Abram stood up, his head brushing the rafters. His hand went to the haft
of his ax. "How can this be?" His eyes glinted dangerously. He was like a
rearing bear: bristling, wrathful, and immense. His presence overpowered
the room.
Frightened by this sudden transformation, Karigan tried to fade out
again, but pain lanced through her head. The effort was too much.
"Who are you?" Abram demanded. "You dress like a Green Rider and
use Green Rider magic. Who are you?"
"I am Karigan G'ladheon. I'm finishing a mission for a dead Green
Rider."
Abram looked at her askance, then let his hand drop from the ax to his
side. "It sounds an interesting story. Tell me, and I will decide." He sat
again, but rigidly, his eyes still suspicious.
Karigan started with her flight from Selium and finished with her arrival
to the waystation. "I am not a Green Rider," she said, "but I'm helping
one."
Abram's eyes softened considerably, and he relaxed in his chair. "A
long journey you've had, a brave one. I met F'ryan Coblebay once. About
two years ago he passed through my domain. A lively lad, very cheerful.
I'm sorry to hear of his demise. I understand now, how I mistook you for a
Rider. I did think you young, though I know they will accept young
people."
"I must reach Sacor City before the Mirwellians find me again."
Abram muttered something under his breath— it sounded more like a
growl— and tapped his fingers on the flat of the ax head. Smoke rings
drifted to the rafters one after the other. "Strange things certainly have
been happening. King's men have been in the region of late, hunting out
groundmites, so I understand. But a breach in the D'Yer Wall? That bodes
evil. Mornhavon the Black perverted the trees of Blackveil, and they've
never recovered."
"So the Eletian told me."
Abram's eyes brightened. "I'd hand over my ax to meet an Eletian. I
knew in my heart they weren't legend. A sylvan folk they are, dwellers of
the Elt Wood, just as I'm a dweller of this forest. And to think they were
wandering through Sacoridia's Green Cloak! It's an honor."
Karigan pulled the moonstone from her pocket, certain that Abram
would like to see it. The shadows of evening vanished in silver light,
bringing to mind dancers in a forest clearing and moonstones glimmering
on evergreen boughs.
Abram's eyes opened wide. "What is it?"
"A moonstone. A real moonstone."
"Now that I thought a legend. The Eletians gave it to you?"
"Uh, no. The Berry sisters I told you about. They gave it to me." She
explained the professor's predilection for magical artifacts.
"A most unusual hobby," Abram said.
Karigan didn't hear him. Whatever it was the sisters had said about
North, it was nagging her again. And then, like a bright flash of sunlight, it
came to her. East by north, they had said. East by north. Karigan sat up
straight.
"What is it?" Abram asked.
"I told them I didn't know how to get to Sacor City, and they said to go
east by North." She had a sudden urge to giggle. When they had first told
her to go east by North, she had thought it pure nonsense.
"That would make sense." Abram puffed on his pipe as if she had said
nothing unusual. "The road ends in North. To reach Sacor City, you must
travel east, and then south. If you were traveling from Selium, you
certainly went out of your way."
"The Horse refused to put one hoof on the Kingway."
"Yes, messenger horses are a strange breed. A trifle uncanny. They've
more common sense than most."
"I need to get to Sacor City. I suppose that means going through North."
"Yes, but you best do so with utmost caution," Abram said. "As I said,
North is lawless and wild, and these are strange times with strange folk
traveling. Why, you've already met up with brigands. I avoid North,
myself."
"What kind of strange folk?" Karigan wanted to know. "You can find
brigands anywhere, even in Selium."
"There is a woman from Rhovanny, an exile, stirring up trouble. Wants
to rid all the lands of monarchs and let the people rule." Abram stroked his
beard thoughtfully. "Anarchy, I call it. Yet there are many who follow her
and believe the rumors of new taxes on lumbering. Supposedly the taxes
will go toward fortifying Sacor City and the royal house. Folks tied up in
the paper and ship building trades are infuriated.
"Other rumors circulate. The king turned down a proposal to marry a
princess of the Cloud Islands which would have fostered a profitable
alliance. Now the queen of the Islands is insulted and may refuse to trade
with Sacoridia altogether. The Cloud Islands bring fruit, spices, and whale
oil.
"It is said that King Zachary still believes the old magic should be put
into use again. Most folk believe that using magic will summon the evil of
Mornhavon the Black. When you go to North, you must be quiet about the
abilities of your brooch. The least magic will provoke suspicion."
"One can only hope these rumors are isolated—" Karigan knew they
would not be, however. Her own father was suspicious of anything
remotely related to magic.
"If rumors are to be believed, there have already been assassination
attempts on King Zachary. Others are calling for his brother to take the
throne."
Jendara's "rightful king" was Zachary's brother, she was sure, and
would explain the swordmaster's devotion as a Weapon. But what did
Mirwell have to do with it?
"North is not friendly to representatives of the king, or would-be
representatives." Abram thrust the poker at the logs on the fire. A flurry of
sparks shot up the chimney. "As I said, I won't go there myself. Already
I've been accused of being a forestry regulator."
"Is there any way to go around North?"
Abram shook his head. "If you travel east or south from here, the River
Terrygood lies in your path. At this time of the year, its current runs strong
and deadly. Should you attempt to ford it, even your big horse would be
swept away like a leaf in a whirlpool. At midsummer or later you might
ford it, but not now. The only bridge is in North."
Karigan sagged against her pillow. "Is there any good news?"
"There is. I will lead you through the woods to a point on the North
Road, not far from town. In the woods, I can ensure your safety."
Karigan nodded. "That sounds encouraging. What about town itself?"
Abram grimaced, or at least his whiskers drooped. "I will not go upon
the road which is beyond my boundaries. You must travel the rest of the
way yourself. You should reach town by evening, and will probably wish
to stay the night. Not the best of circumstances, but I know of a
respectable inn that caters to the few merchants who travel this way. It is
called the Fallen Tree. It is costly, but worth it. Avoid all others. When
you leave North, you will find on the other end of town there is a horse
track leading east and then south. It will take you partway to Sacor City.
The rest will be through open countryside."
Karigan tucked her knees up to her body and wrapped her arms around
them. It was beginning to sound like she was nearing the end of her
journey and she grinned. "Thank you, Abram. It won't be long now before
I give King Zachary his message."
"Do not let your guard down, no matter how near the king's castle you
are," Abram cautioned. "It would be easy to do so, with this as the last leg
of your journey. Be watchful."
"I promise."
"Good…" Abram tapped his pipe against the fireplace. "Then on to
more pleasant topics. You told me of your adventures, so now I will tell
you some of my tales."
Abram spoke long into the night. His stories took shape slowly and
deliberately, his voice low and melodious. He told stories of other Green
Riders who had passed through his domain:
"Disaster seemed to follow young Mayer like a crow. The shelf would
fall down when he placed a book on it, or he'd trip out the door. One night
he accidentally kicked a bucket of ashes on the floor and nearly set the
cabin on fire." Abram pointed to a charred spot on the floor near the
fireplace. "Disaster helped him on one ride, however. He was in Afton
Village, which is in Coutre Province, during market. He fell right off his
horse onto a fruit stand. The woman tending it, the daughter of a wealthy
farmer, married him. Mayer no longer carries messages on dangerous
rides, but tends blueberry barrens on his own acreage."
Abram chuckled with the memory. "There was Leon, a fierce gambler
by all accounts, who came from a questionable background before he
joined the messenger service. He reformed many of his ways, but never
the gaming spirit, and he used to sit with me before this very fire trying to
swindle the last copper from me. More often than not he succeeded. Until
the very last game.
"And there was Evony, Evony with her beautiful voice who should have
been at Selium for music instead of wearing the colors of the Green
Riders." He shook his head sadly. "She was killed by a noble angered by
the message she bore."
Abram's stories spanned more than fifty years, slowly unfolding the
heritage of the Green Riders. He remembered the name of every Rider he
met, along with some small detail.
"Will you remember me?" Karigan asked.
"Indeed I will. In you I see the spirit of the First Rider, she who carried
the messages when Sacoridia was newly created. Even your name speaks
of ancient times. Galadeon it would've been pronounced in the old days,
not much different than today. Its meaning, however is beyond my
knowledge. I expect to hear more about you in the years to come, young
Karigan. This mission of yours is just a beginning."
"I just want it to be over with."
Abram shook his head. "Green Riders are always in haste. Do you know
there is a legend that, during the Long War, the messenger horses of the
Sacor Clans could fly? Your big red doesn't look likely to sprout wings, so
I don't take the legend literally. Perhaps the horses were extraordinarily
swift. Who's to say? The old days were odd and rife with magic. I imagine
the legend is what inspired the winged horse insignia of the Green Riders."
Abram told tales in his melodious voice until Karigan couldn't keep her
eyes open. Vaguely, she was aware of him pulling a blanket up to her
shoulders and leaving as if in a cloud of smoke, the scent of tobacco
lingering behind.
Team Played With: n/a
Memory Form: a long stem of sea grapes; take a bite to receive the memory. Three uses.
It was late afternoon by the time Karigan realized she had dozed off. She
stretched muscles cramped by the wooden chair, and threw a new log on
the fading embers of the fire. Then she looked over the cabin's supply of
books which included the fictional story, The Journeys of Gilan
Wylloland. Karigan had read and reread it long ago, though fiction books
were hard to come by. Her mother had spotted it at a fair and added it to
the tiny G'ladheon library.
As a child, Karigan had pretended she was Gilan's sidekick, Blaine,
traveling lands that existed only in the author's imagination. She had
trooped around her father's estate brandishing a stick as her sword, and
tormented the house cat as if he were the murderous dragon Viliflavo. The
offended tom was named Dragon as a result.
Now Karigan was experiencing her own adventure, but it wasn't
anything like The Journeys of Gilan Wylloland. The danger was far too
real and unpleasant. Gilan and Blaine had ridden through adventure after
adventure nearly unscathed. Karigan could not say the same.
Another book, titled The Natural History of the Northern Wilderness,
had also been on the shelf of Master Ione's classroom. What possible use
Green Riders would have for it, she couldn't imagine. It did not occur to
her that at least one among them was interested in the wildflowers, birds,
or mammals of the region. Surely Green Riders were far too busy to worry
about nature.
The third and last book was bound in plain leather. It was some sort of
journal. Inside, a variety of handwriting styles were scrawled across the
pages, some legible, some not. She sat by the fire, absorbed by the entries.
Arrived at North waystation by dusk, wrote Pary Mantobe. Snowshoes a
must— blizzard dropping inches more of snow as I write. Am not sure I
will even be able to reach the horse.
Karigan gazed sideways at the snowshoes on the mantel. The entry was
over ten years old.
Some nameless Rider wrote in another entry: Saw a pileated
woodpecker by the stream. Bear tracks in the mud of the spring. Several
songbirds I couldn't identify greeted me this morning. Karigan held the
book to her chest. Bears! She hadn't even thought about them. After all her
adventures thus far, they didn't seem like much of a threat by comparison.
An entry by T. Bankside read: … chased by brigands all the way from
North— Lt. Mapstone's knife wound festering badly. She's burning with
fever— don't know if she'll live the night. Karigan flipped the page, but the
chronicler failed to mention whether or not the lieutenant had survived.
She read until dusk. Many of the entries were no more than accounts of
the weather and local fauna. Some entries were set in poetry, while others
were accompanied by illustrations. By the time she finished the book, she
was under the impression that Green Riders were a colorful group.
Karigan left the warmth of the cabin to check on The Horse. He trotted
up to the gate of the enclosure and whickered in greeting. Despite the
damp weather, he seemed in good spirits.
"You deserve a break, don't you," she said. After she fed and watered
him, she turned to walk back to the cabin, and walked right into a big man.
She screamed and fell back, wishing herself invisible.
The man was massive, even taller than her father, with enough heft to
make him appear as broad as he was tall. His face was a tangle of curly
gray whiskers that hung from his face like lichen draped over spruce
branches. Black eyes pierced beneath bushy brows. He was dressed in
drab brown and gray, and a huge ax hung from his belt. He was a troll
come to life.
He rotated slowly around, as if trying to see where she went. "Green
Rider?" The voice was surprisingly gentle. "I didn't mean to frighten you.
Please come back. I smelled the wood smoke and wanted to make sure all
was well."
The Horse gave the giant little more than a cursory glance before
sticking his nose into the grain bucket.
The weight of invisibility wore on Karigan, chafing against her like an
old wound. "Who are you?" she asked, not willing just yet, to reveal
herself.
The man turned in the direction of her voice, but looked through her. "I
am Abram Rust, King's Forester." He moved aside his damp cloak and
revealed the emblem of an evergreen embroidered on his leather vest. "I
mean no harm."
Karigan dropped the invisibility and staggered against a fence post.
"You really shouldn't use your magic here," the man said, his tone
matter-of-fact.
Karigan's eyes widened. Was she the last person in all of Sacoridia to
know that people still used magic?
"Those who built this waystation wanted to ensure it remained hidden.
They set spells around the area. Strong, old spells, I'll wager. When you
use your own magic, it conflicts."
Karigan raised a brow. "How do you know all this?"
"I've known a great many Green Riders, and they've told me things.
You look pale. Won't you let me help you back inside?"
Karigan clung fiercely to the fence post as he stretched out a bear paw
of a hand. "Let me tell you, Forester, I've killed an evil creature from
Kanmorhan Vane, a mercenary, and a swordmaster." The latter claim was
somewhat dubious; it had been F'ryan Coblebay, using her body, who had
defeated Torne, but it would serve to impress the giant.
He nodded solemnly. "I'm sure you've done a great many things, even
as young as you are. Perhaps you can tell me of your adventures. It's been
a while since a Green Rider has passed this way. Please let me help you in.
I promise I won't harm you."
Abram's quiet voice was sincere. "Fine," Karigan said, "but I won't put
up with anything. You make a wrong move, and I can't promise you'll live
through the night." She wasn't sure, but Abram might have been smiling.
It was hard to tell with all his whiskers, but crinkles deepened beneath his
eyes. She took his hand and allowed herself to be led into the cabin.
Assured that Karigan was comfortably propped on the bed, Abram Rust
sat in the chair by the fire. The chair creaked as if it might fall to pieces
under his weight, but it held. Abram's bulk crowded the cabin. Silence
reigned as he gazed about speculatively, every movement deliberate, as if
he thought it out before he did it, even the blinking of his eyes.
"This cabin does not change, but the Riders do." His bass voice startled
Karigan. "Rarely do I see the same two Riders pass through here." His
whiskers drooped.
"Why is that?"
"They move on to other routes or other jobs. Many die. I visit the cabin
when a Rider is present to seek news. Often they tell me that a previous
occupant has died in the line of duty."
Karigan could believe it. "How long have you been coming here?"
He chuckled— it was a low throaty sound. "Years beyond count, young
one. I've been roaming these woods long before the Riders decided to put
a waystation here. I've roamed these woods before Zachary became king,
even before his grandmother ruled. I've seen seedlings grow into mighty
trees, then burn to the ground only to start the cycle anew. Through all the
changes I am still Forester. I protect my domain as well as I can, though
ever more it is threatened."
"Threatened?" Karigan looked around the cabin as if brigands would
break through the rough-hewn log walls.
"The mills. The need to clear land to farm and settle. The need to build
fleets of ships to sail the seas; and the need to warm homes during our
savage winters." Abram leaned toward her, his features earnest. "There is
even a growing need for paper these days. Acres of forest around here
have been toppled. So far, this has been outside my domain, but they do
not replant and carve ever deeper into the forest."
"But surely your job is to cut trees." Karigan looked at his ax
meaningfully.
"You are correct, but this is king's land. I'm the guardian of Zachary's
forests here, as I have been for three generations of his family. I am
selective in my cutting. A few white pines here for ship masts, a few
cedars there for shingles, and I always replant. As other forest is laid
waste, my ax is used more to defend the boundaries of my domain. The
folk of North are ever pressuring King Zachary to open his lands to
lumbering. Some attempt it without seeking permission."
"This North is a lumber town?"
"Mostly." Abram pulled out a pipe and tobacco pouch from his cloak.
He stuffed the pipe with tobacco and drew a flame on some kindling from
the fire and lit it. "It began as a small settlement about a hundred years
back. But with all the demands for timber nowadays, the population
swelled."
Abram blew smoke rings toward the ceiling, an amused twinkle in his
eyes. When the rings dissipated, the twinkle faded. "North is a lawless
town now. Most of the folk descended from the original settlers left, sold
their claims. Some stayed to see what wealth they could make themselves.
Others opened mercantiles and inns. The fur trade is growing, too, and
now I must protect the creatures within my domain, as well as the trees."
"I've never heard of North." Or had she? Something the Berry sisters
had said nagged at the back of her mind.
"This must be a new route for you," Abram said. "Or maybe you are just
new."
Karigan grimaced. "I'm not really a Green Rider."
Abram stood up, his head brushing the rafters. His hand went to the haft
of his ax. "How can this be?" His eyes glinted dangerously. He was like a
rearing bear: bristling, wrathful, and immense. His presence overpowered
the room.
Frightened by this sudden transformation, Karigan tried to fade out
again, but pain lanced through her head. The effort was too much.
"Who are you?" Abram demanded. "You dress like a Green Rider and
use Green Rider magic. Who are you?"
"I am Karigan G'ladheon. I'm finishing a mission for a dead Green
Rider."
Abram looked at her askance, then let his hand drop from the ax to his
side. "It sounds an interesting story. Tell me, and I will decide." He sat
again, but rigidly, his eyes still suspicious.
Karigan started with her flight from Selium and finished with her arrival
to the waystation. "I am not a Green Rider," she said, "but I'm helping
one."
Abram's eyes softened considerably, and he relaxed in his chair. "A
long journey you've had, a brave one. I met F'ryan Coblebay once. About
two years ago he passed through my domain. A lively lad, very cheerful.
I'm sorry to hear of his demise. I understand now, how I mistook you for a
Rider. I did think you young, though I know they will accept young
people."
"I must reach Sacor City before the Mirwellians find me again."
Abram muttered something under his breath— it sounded more like a
growl— and tapped his fingers on the flat of the ax head. Smoke rings
drifted to the rafters one after the other. "Strange things certainly have
been happening. King's men have been in the region of late, hunting out
groundmites, so I understand. But a breach in the D'Yer Wall? That bodes
evil. Mornhavon the Black perverted the trees of Blackveil, and they've
never recovered."
"So the Eletian told me."
Abram's eyes brightened. "I'd hand over my ax to meet an Eletian. I
knew in my heart they weren't legend. A sylvan folk they are, dwellers of
the Elt Wood, just as I'm a dweller of this forest. And to think they were
wandering through Sacoridia's Green Cloak! It's an honor."
Karigan pulled the moonstone from her pocket, certain that Abram
would like to see it. The shadows of evening vanished in silver light,
bringing to mind dancers in a forest clearing and moonstones glimmering
on evergreen boughs.
Abram's eyes opened wide. "What is it?"
"A moonstone. A real moonstone."
"Now that I thought a legend. The Eletians gave it to you?"
"Uh, no. The Berry sisters I told you about. They gave it to me." She
explained the professor's predilection for magical artifacts.
"A most unusual hobby," Abram said.
Karigan didn't hear him. Whatever it was the sisters had said about
North, it was nagging her again. And then, like a bright flash of sunlight, it
came to her. East by north, they had said. East by north. Karigan sat up
straight.
"What is it?" Abram asked.
"I told them I didn't know how to get to Sacor City, and they said to go
east by North." She had a sudden urge to giggle. When they had first told
her to go east by North, she had thought it pure nonsense.
"That would make sense." Abram puffed on his pipe as if she had said
nothing unusual. "The road ends in North. To reach Sacor City, you must
travel east, and then south. If you were traveling from Selium, you
certainly went out of your way."
"The Horse refused to put one hoof on the Kingway."
"Yes, messenger horses are a strange breed. A trifle uncanny. They've
more common sense than most."
"I need to get to Sacor City. I suppose that means going through North."
"Yes, but you best do so with utmost caution," Abram said. "As I said,
North is lawless and wild, and these are strange times with strange folk
traveling. Why, you've already met up with brigands. I avoid North,
myself."
"What kind of strange folk?" Karigan wanted to know. "You can find
brigands anywhere, even in Selium."
"There is a woman from Rhovanny, an exile, stirring up trouble. Wants
to rid all the lands of monarchs and let the people rule." Abram stroked his
beard thoughtfully. "Anarchy, I call it. Yet there are many who follow her
and believe the rumors of new taxes on lumbering. Supposedly the taxes
will go toward fortifying Sacor City and the royal house. Folks tied up in
the paper and ship building trades are infuriated.
"Other rumors circulate. The king turned down a proposal to marry a
princess of the Cloud Islands which would have fostered a profitable
alliance. Now the queen of the Islands is insulted and may refuse to trade
with Sacoridia altogether. The Cloud Islands bring fruit, spices, and whale
oil.
"It is said that King Zachary still believes the old magic should be put
into use again. Most folk believe that using magic will summon the evil of
Mornhavon the Black. When you go to North, you must be quiet about the
abilities of your brooch. The least magic will provoke suspicion."
"One can only hope these rumors are isolated—" Karigan knew they
would not be, however. Her own father was suspicious of anything
remotely related to magic.
"If rumors are to be believed, there have already been assassination
attempts on King Zachary. Others are calling for his brother to take the
throne."
Jendara's "rightful king" was Zachary's brother, she was sure, and
would explain the swordmaster's devotion as a Weapon. But what did
Mirwell have to do with it?
"North is not friendly to representatives of the king, or would-be
representatives." Abram thrust the poker at the logs on the fire. A flurry of
sparks shot up the chimney. "As I said, I won't go there myself. Already
I've been accused of being a forestry regulator."
"Is there any way to go around North?"
Abram shook his head. "If you travel east or south from here, the River
Terrygood lies in your path. At this time of the year, its current runs strong
and deadly. Should you attempt to ford it, even your big horse would be
swept away like a leaf in a whirlpool. At midsummer or later you might
ford it, but not now. The only bridge is in North."
Karigan sagged against her pillow. "Is there any good news?"
"There is. I will lead you through the woods to a point on the North
Road, not far from town. In the woods, I can ensure your safety."
Karigan nodded. "That sounds encouraging. What about town itself?"
Abram grimaced, or at least his whiskers drooped. "I will not go upon
the road which is beyond my boundaries. You must travel the rest of the
way yourself. You should reach town by evening, and will probably wish
to stay the night. Not the best of circumstances, but I know of a
respectable inn that caters to the few merchants who travel this way. It is
called the Fallen Tree. It is costly, but worth it. Avoid all others. When
you leave North, you will find on the other end of town there is a horse
track leading east and then south. It will take you partway to Sacor City.
The rest will be through open countryside."
Karigan tucked her knees up to her body and wrapped her arms around
them. It was beginning to sound like she was nearing the end of her
journey and she grinned. "Thank you, Abram. It won't be long now before
I give King Zachary his message."
"Do not let your guard down, no matter how near the king's castle you
are," Abram cautioned. "It would be easy to do so, with this as the last leg
of your journey. Be watchful."
"I promise."
"Good…" Abram tapped his pipe against the fireplace. "Then on to
more pleasant topics. You told me of your adventures, so now I will tell
you some of my tales."
Abram spoke long into the night. His stories took shape slowly and
deliberately, his voice low and melodious. He told stories of other Green
Riders who had passed through his domain:
"Disaster seemed to follow young Mayer like a crow. The shelf would
fall down when he placed a book on it, or he'd trip out the door. One night
he accidentally kicked a bucket of ashes on the floor and nearly set the
cabin on fire." Abram pointed to a charred spot on the floor near the
fireplace. "Disaster helped him on one ride, however. He was in Afton
Village, which is in Coutre Province, during market. He fell right off his
horse onto a fruit stand. The woman tending it, the daughter of a wealthy
farmer, married him. Mayer no longer carries messages on dangerous
rides, but tends blueberry barrens on his own acreage."
Abram chuckled with the memory. "There was Leon, a fierce gambler
by all accounts, who came from a questionable background before he
joined the messenger service. He reformed many of his ways, but never
the gaming spirit, and he used to sit with me before this very fire trying to
swindle the last copper from me. More often than not he succeeded. Until
the very last game.
"And there was Evony, Evony with her beautiful voice who should have
been at Selium for music instead of wearing the colors of the Green
Riders." He shook his head sadly. "She was killed by a noble angered by
the message she bore."
Abram's stories spanned more than fifty years, slowly unfolding the
heritage of the Green Riders. He remembered the name of every Rider he
met, along with some small detail.
"Will you remember me?" Karigan asked.
"Indeed I will. In you I see the spirit of the First Rider, she who carried
the messages when Sacoridia was newly created. Even your name speaks
of ancient times. Galadeon it would've been pronounced in the old days,
not much different than today. Its meaning, however is beyond my
knowledge. I expect to hear more about you in the years to come, young
Karigan. This mission of yours is just a beginning."
"I just want it to be over with."
Abram shook his head. "Green Riders are always in haste. Do you know
there is a legend that, during the Long War, the messenger horses of the
Sacor Clans could fly? Your big red doesn't look likely to sprout wings, so
I don't take the legend literally. Perhaps the horses were extraordinarily
swift. Who's to say? The old days were odd and rife with magic. I imagine
the legend is what inspired the winged horse insignia of the Green Riders."
Abram told tales in his melodious voice until Karigan couldn't keep her
eyes open. Vaguely, she was aware of him pulling a blanket up to her
shoulders and leaving as if in a cloud of smoke, the scent of tobacco
lingering behind.