Green Rider (29 page)

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.

On impulse, she inspected the closet again, the scent of cedar hanging heavy and cloying in the little cabin. Within, she found more linen shirts, but only one fit reasonably well. Each shirt bore a winged horse embroidered in gold on the sleeve. Karigan glanced at her own sleeve, and sure enough, found a winged horse.

Soft hide trousers dyed in green, fur-lined greatcoats and cloaks, tall black boots, and mittens and gloves filled the closet, but only one pair of trousers fit her. She pulled out a pair of leather gloves with flaring cuffs over her hands, and liked the effect. The cuffs would hide the burns on her wrists.

"Well," she said, "everyone thinks I'm a Green Rider, so I may as well dress like one."

Everything in the closet was new and unused, and a notice tacked to the closet door requested that all items removed be reported to the quartermaster for restocking purposes. It was one more thing she would have to take care of when she reached Sacor City. If she made it.

When the water boiled, Karigan brewed some tea and set about washing herself with a cloth and honey soap. Gritting her teeth, she pried the dirt-caked dressings from her wrists. They stuck stubbornly to her skin, and the scabs broke as she pulled. Her wrists were chafed, tender, sore, and oozing, but not festering. The care of the Eletians had surpassed anything the menders in Selium could have done. She cleaned the burns, applied ointment, and dressed them with fresh bandage strips she had found in the cabinet.

A look in a dusty mirror revealed yellowing bruises on her face. She averted her gaze, Garroty's assault all too fresh in her mind.

Her stomach rumbled, and only now did she think about food. Though Tome, Jendara, and Garroty had dented her food stores, there was still some hard bread, cheese and dried meat left in the saddlebags. Further digging revealed two wrinkly apples. Karigan sat down for a feast by the crackling fire, as the warmth of the tea spread throughout her body.

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, Elaine, traveling lands that existed in only 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 Elaine 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 Tome, 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."