Memory 008: GR - King-Haters (TrivNeg)

[justarider]

Game Received: Mira's going to the ball game, Day 383, night
Team Played With: Ao, Lavender, Robin, Maitimo
Memory Form: a small candy apple, 1 use.



Karigan sat immobilized, and it was some moments before she realized
Clatheas had left her to wander among other tables to offer the telling of
fortunes. More people trickled into the inn. A group sat in a tight cluster at
an adjacent table. Among them was a petite, titian-haired woman. When
she spoke, her eyes afire, all others leaned in closer to listen. Karigan
strained to hear, too.

"Tomorrow," the woman said with a clipped Rhovan accent, "we shall
hold the rally. The people will hear us and support us. It is the people who
shall rule, not a man who thinks himself one among the gods."

There was a murmur of agreement. "From North to Sacor City," one
man said above the others.

The woman smiled, dimples deepening on either side of her mouth, and
Karigan saw how people could be magnetically drawn to her. She hushed
the group. "And then the Lone Forest. We will go to the Lone Forest and
answer to none but ourselves."

A babble of approval circulated among the group.

"Pie, missy?"

Karigan jumped, startled out of her observations, and wrenched her
attention away from the group to the servant. "I don't think so." She smiled
with regret, for the pies had looked mouth-watering. "But maybe you
could tell me who that woman at the next table is."

"You thinking about joining their group?"

"I don't know what their group is."

The servant pushed a wisp of hair from her eyes. "Why, they're the
Anti-Monarchy Society." She glanced over at them, then said in a whisper,
"There's some that call them the King-Haters. Their ideas are a trifle farfetched,
but they say things folks want to hear. That's Lorilie, their leader.
Rumor has it that she was Rhovan aristocracy until King Thergood cast
her out of the country for her beliefs. Ever since, she's been a thorn in
Zachary's side. Surprises me that the Greenie wasn't looking for her the
other day. Lorilie Dorran's considered an outlaw in Sacoridia, but seeing
as most everyone else in North is an outlaw, it doesn't much matter. I'm
surprised you haven't heard of her."

"I haven't heard the news of late. It's been a long while since I've
traveled through a town of any size."

"I guessed. Your ribs must be bare bones beneath that shirt. Ah, well.
Most aren't sure what to make of Lorilie, but they can't dispute her ideas."
She collected the remains of Karigan's dinner and ambled away toward the
kitchen.

Karigan glanced over at the Anti-Monarchy Society. They talked among
themselves in excited voices while Lorilie Dorran watched on, somehow
separate and above her companions. Then she turned as if feeling
Karigan's gaze on her and smiled. With a word or two to her companions,
she sauntered over.

"Are you interested in our group, sister?" she asked.

"Uh… I don't know what you're about, except that you don't like kings."

Lorilie pointed to the chair Clatheas had occupied earlier. "You mind?"
Karigan shook her head and Lorilie sat down. "We are more than what
some call us— King-Haters." She made a wry face. "Our desire is to uplift
the common folk who presently slave beneath the oppressive forces of the
aristocracy."

"I'm all for showing the aristocracy a thing or two," Karigan said, "but I
don't understand the slave part. Slavery was banned in Sacoridia during
the Second Age."

"Oh, they won't call it slavery, but that's what it is. Landless folk
breaking their backs to fill the pockets of their overlords."

"Overlords?"

"The landowners— the aristocracy. And of course it's the common folk
who pay the bulk of the taxes, while the aristocrats and merchants get
fatter."

"Wait a minute." Karigan sat up a little straighter. "Merchants pay
taxes."

"Yes, they do, but it's not proportionate with their wealth. They should
be taxed more heavily, but they are favored by the king." Lorilie leaned
forward conspiratorially and put her hand on Karigan's wrist. "Look,
sister, we're all in this together. Only by ousting the king and the
aristocracy will we be able to raise the people to their proper level."

"Hey, Lorilie!" called one of her friends. "Skeller wants to go over
tomorrow's speech."

Lorilie nodded. "One moment." Then again her intense eyes were on
Karigan. "Sister, a revolution has begun, and a new order will arise." She
smiled grimly, then joined her followers. She spoke softly to them, and
they huddled close to her. Then, after a bout of loud laughter, they left the
inn.

Karigan swallowed the last of her wine. A revolution? A new order? It
was too mind-boggling for one who had been on the road so long.
Although the dig about merchants annoyed her, and understandably so…
Everyone had the opportunity to do as her father had— to gain wealth and
status through backbreaking work. And would Lorilie Dorran punish her
father for all his good work, and for supporting commerce in Sacoridia?

I don't even want to think about it. I've got enough problems to last nine
lives of a cat.

Karigan stretched and yawned. The wine and food had made her
somnolent, and the sooner to bed, the sooner to rise and leave North
behind. As she strode across the common room, the minstrel's eyes
followed her without his missing a note of the song he sang. She scowled
at him, then realized that several of the men in the common room, many
lumberjacks by the look of their wool shirts and broad shoulders, followed
her with their eyes, too.

The servant met her at the bottom of the stairs. "Don't concern yourself
with these lugs, missy. Innkeeper Wiles keeps order here, though he can't
keep the men from looking." She rolled her eyes knowingly. "This is a
respectable inn. If they want the company of a… woman, there are plenty
of other inns in town where they can find it."

"Thanks," Karigan said. She wondered how the innkeeper enforced
order in such a rough town, but was glad to hear that he did so one way or
the other.

Once in her room, she changed into the oversized Green Rider shirt to
wear to bed. She sank into the comfortable feather mattress anticipating a
restful night, but discovered she could only toss and turn. Voices and the
clatter of dishware disturbed her some, but it was the events of the day that
jostled around in her mind and kept her awake.

In the small hours, when the music and chatter in the common room
died down, sleep began to take her, but she suddenly jolted awake,
quivering. The hairs on her arms stood on end, and her heart beat wildly,
but she didn't know what had roused her. Then there it was, faint, barely
perceived footfalls in the corridor outside her room. A worn floorboard
creaked.

A shadow darkened the crack between the door and floor, then passed
over the keyhole. The doorknob twisted one way, then the other. Karigan
held her breath, stiffened, listening, afraid to move. Her sword was on the
other side of the room with the brooch.

A sharp light pierced through the keyhole, searching, probing.

Karigan sat up and threw the covers aside. The cold night spread goose
pimples across her body as she swung her legs over the side of the bed.
She tiptoed across the icy floor, took up her saber, and waited by the door.

Strangely, the door seemed to flex and swim in her eyes. She blinked,
but the door still distorted and warped in fluid motions, and she felt with a
creeping certainty that it wasn't her own groggy vision that warped the
door, but magic. She reached for her brooch unconsciously, and
discovered it was warm to her touch. The door would give in moments,
and with growing apprehension, she knew it was the Shadow Man, the
rider in gray, who intended to enter her room.

The shaft of light probing through the keyhole suddenly withdrew, but
before Karigan could breathe a sigh of relief, something else came
through. At first it was so dark and tiny, as tiny as a fly, she could not see
it, but it was even darker than the night, a small black orb that floated on
the air, and her eyes fixed on it. The orb bobbed and drifted toward her,
expanding as it did so.

It was oily black and radiated a halo of darkness that pushed away even
the possibility of light. The orb continued to grow. Tendrils of energy
flared and arched across its surface, searing and scorching. Karigan
backed away, but the thing, now the size of her head, moved with her.
Karigan backed until she was pressed up against the wall and could go no
farther, and still it moved toward her.

Then heavy footsteps clumped outside. "Who's there?" a man asked.

The door hardened into ordinary, solid pine wood again. The orb halted,
wavered uncertainly, then shrank in the blink of an eye and whisked out
through the keyhole. Feet padded lightly away and Karigan closed her
eyes in relief. Moments later someone tapped on her door. Holding the
saber level before her, she opened the door carefully. To her surprise, the
minstrel stood there, his lute in one hand and a glowing oil lamp in the
other.

"May I come in?" he whispered. His face looked gaunt in the flickering
light. "If the innkeeper or his guard Tarone find me here, I shall be
skinned where I stand."

"Why should I allow you in my room?" Karigan demanded none too
quietly.

The minstrel peered about nervously. "You are wise in your caution
considering someone was trying to break into your room just now. I think
I frightened him off, a stealthy fellow. You've nothing to fear from me. I
am but a minstrel and carry nothing in the way of arms… my lute would
be a clumsy weapon against your blade."

"Some minstrels are trained in the fighting arts."

"True. Especially if they were trained in Selium as I was. But I never
took up a sword."

"Selium?"

"Yes. I believe that is where you've come from, too."

Karigan's mouth gaped open. She stepped aside for the minstrel to enter.
She shut the door behind him, but didn't sheathe her sword.

The minstrel glanced around the room as if something might leap out of
the shadows at any moment. "I am Gowen, a master of my craft. I would
have sought you out sooner, but if I didn't perform as usual, someone
might have gotten suspicious." What a master minstrel might be doing in a
wilderness town like North, he didn't say. Without hesitation he sat on her
bed. It was the only place to sit.

"What do you want?" Karigan asked. "How do you know I've traveled
from Selium?"

"A Green Rider was looking for you the other day. At least, you answer
her description. When she saw I was Selium trained—" he pointed to the
gold master's knot on his shoulder, "— she knew she could trust me, and
she knew that a master minstrel wouldn't have been placed here by
mistake."

Karigan would have liked to have known what he meant by that. "I
know a Green Rider was looking for me, or somebody who looked like
me."

"You missed her by about a day."

"She's dead. I saw her body in a horse cart."

Gowen shook his head, bewildered. "I never thought the townsfolk
would go so far as to actually kill someone from the king. Joy hadn't been
a Rider long."

Karigan sat cross-legged on the floor, and rested her chin on her hands.
"I'm not sure it was the townsfolk who killed her."

Gowen cocked his head, his eyes searching hers. Minstrels certainly
possessed penetrating eyes. "What is it you know?"

"All I know is that others, including another Green Rider, were
murdered in the same manner. Two black arrows with red fletching."

"Strange. Strange things are brewing. Poor Joy was searching for you,
or your twin, but you weren't her primary concern. A messenger horse
was."

"She didn't say why on either count, did she?" It was too much of a
coincidence.

"No. But, young lady, of greater concern are the others who were
looking for one who also matched your description. Their description
wasn't as detailed as Joy's, but good enough to make a match."

Karigan bit her bottom lip. She didn't want to ask, but she did anyway.
"Were they Mirwellian?"

"I see you know you're being pursued. They were here a few days ago.
I'm not sure where they went after North, but they were in a hurry. I
thought nothing of it till Joy described you. She didn't tell me, though, that
you were a Green Rider."

"I'm not."

The minstrel blinked, his only hint of surprise. "You wear Rider
insignia."

Karigan had forgotten about the winged horse embroidered on her
sleeve. "I'm delivering a message for a dead Green Rider," she said.

"Killed by two black arrows."

She nodded.

"My dear young woman, you should not linger in this town. These
black arrows sound like an omen to me. An omen of the dark past. No
doubt it has something to do with Mornhavon the Black."

Karigan shuddered. Whether it was the cold of the evening or the name
that caused her to do so, she wasn't sure. Mornhavon the Black's name had
come up a lot since she had started this strange journey, even though he
had been vanquished centuries ago.

"That person outside your door may not have been an ordinary brigand,
either," Gowen said.

"How so?" Karigan's voice held little surprise.

"Most don't dare tamper with the guests of this inn. Keeper Wiles' man,
Tarone, hasn't stopped short of killing to retain order here. Whoever
wished to gain entry does not fear him."

Goosepimples broke out all over again. "Did you get a look at him?"

Gowen shook his head. "He was light of foot and disappeared into the
shadows the moment he detected me. The corner of his cloak caught in my
lamplight. It was gray."

A knock on the door startled them both.

"Oh, no. The innkeeper and his guard." Gowen rolled his eyes.

Karigan climbed to her feet, carefully draping a blanket over her
shoulders to conceal the Rider insignia before she opened the door. The
innkeeper stood in the corridor flanked by a hulking giant who was, if not
as tall as Abram, at least as wide. He held an enormous club in his hand,
and nothing about him suggested Abram's mild and careful nature. Now
she knew how the innkeeper enforced order.

"Is everything well here?" the innkeeper asked, the corners of his mouth
turned down as if to imply he didn't really care, but he had a reputation to
maintain.

"Everything is fine," Karigan said. "Gowen and I were just having a
conversation."

The innkeeper sniffed and cast Gowen a severe glance. "You know the
rules, minstrel. No… associations with the guests." The guard thumped his
club into his hand in emphasis. "You do your job well, but if you can't
abide by the rules, I shall have to release you."

Karigan watched in fascination as Gowen affected a convincing facade
of humility bordering on fear. "It's really nothing, Keeper Wiles. Really."
His eyes were downcast and he bowed. "The lady and I were just making
conversation. We hail from the same town. It won't happen again, I assure
you, sir."

"It's truly all right," Karigan said. "He's done no harm."

Wiles grunted in disdain. "You may keep your job for now." He turned
down the corridor, his guard following behind with heavy footsteps.

Gowen dropped all facade. "That man is a pompous… Well, you saw
him. Mind what I told you, young lady. And mind whatever Clatheas told
you, too. She's an accurate seer. Farewell and good luck to you!"

Karigan stood alone in her dark room. The door creaked as she closed
it. She turned the key in the lock and fell back into bed. Sleep would be
impossible now, and she gave some thought to leaving that very moment,
but it wouldn't do to arouse any more suspicion than she needed to.
Besides, the starless night was less inviting than the warm inn, and she
would rather stay put than encounter the Shadow Man again in the dark.