“Word has gotten around about you making swordmaster in any case,” Mara said, stirring her porridge. “Arms Master Gresia has asked if the captain could spare you to help with the training of our green Greenies, and maybe others if you are available and willing.”
That was quite gratifying, Karigan thought.
“The captain thinks it would be all right as your other duties allow.” Mara stared keenly at her. “The captain also mentioned your new official honorary Weapon status.”
Karigan recalled, before she left for Blackveil, how concerned Mara had been that she was being taken away from the Green Riders and turned into a Weapon.
“I am not a Weapon.”
“You are evidently enough of a Weapon to be summoned to the tombs this afternoon.”
Karigan dropped her knife and it clattered loudly on the table. “What?”
Mara nodded. “Apparently the chief caretaker wants a word with you.”
Agemon. Well, that certainly put a different slant on her day.
“I am a Green Rider,” Karigan repeated, but she wondered what Mara would think when the black shield insignia got sewn onto her uniforms. What would Mara think of her new sword?
“Next bell we are expecting those seamstresses and tailors your father promised us, to arrive and do the fittings and alterations.”
“Good timing,” Karigan murmured, still thinking of the insignia. She was terrible with thread and needle.
“What’s that?” Mara asked.
“Huh? Oh, nothing.” Karigan busied herself with her food, but Mara was not finished.
“At one hour, you are to report to Drent for training.”
Karigan groaned. “So soon?”
“Yes, Rider Swordmaster Sir Karigan Helgadorf G’ladheon.”
“At least I’m not Rider Crotchety today, and I guess that makes you Chief Rider Bossy Mara Brennyn.”
“Not by far, my dear. Not by far . . .”
“The way things are going already this morning, I shouldn’t be surprised to see an Eletian walk through the door.” Karigan glanced over her shoulder toward the entrance and hoped that just mentioning it would not make it so. She was relieved there were no Eletians in sight.
But then Mara said, “As for that, you are to report directly to the captain after training with Drent.”
“What do you mean, ‘as for that’?”
“Best that the captain tell you what’s on her mind.”
“I’m apparently not the only one who keeps secrets.”
Mara gave her a catlike smile. Karigan turned her attention back to breakfast. Sounded like she was going to be busy, so she’d better fill up while she could.
• • •
Karigan, along with her fellow Riders, spent much of her morning getting her uniforms fitted for the modified design. She also managed to wheedle a seamstress into sewing the pile of new patches onto the sleeves of her coats and shirts.
At one hour, she reported to the field house, which served as the winter weapons training area. It was a high-ceilinged building, with tall windows, and sawdust upon the floor. There were six rings in which bouts took place.
Three other trainees were present, one of whom was Flogger. She knew, with a sense of dread, that he would make her pay for having bested him last night. Arms Master Drent lumbered up to them, his expression its usual mask of disapproval as he looked them over. Most of it was reserved for Karigan.
“Where is your sword?” he demanded.
Karigan saw that the others wore theirs. “In my chamber.”
“What good is it going to do you there?”
“I didn’t realize—”
“You are a swordmaster now. You practice with steel, not wood.”
“Yes, sir.” She had known this, but for some reason she had it in her mind that like her initiate training, there would be practice swords for her to use.
When normally Drent would bellow at her, he simply said, “Next time, bring your sword. How else will you become accustomed to it? I’ll see what I can dig up while you lot warm up.”
While Karigan stretched and sprinted up and down the length of the field house, she wondered if Drent behaving as a reasonable human being was the difference between a student who was a swordmaster and a student who was not. His usual haranguing of his trainees was intimidating, and there were those who could not endure it, much less the physical rigors of the actual training. He must, she reflected, figure that if students could not handle him, then they were not suited to the demands of being a swordmaster. A sort of test of its own, she decided.
She learned, after Drent returned with a battered longsword for her to use, that he was just as merciless as ever in his training, and could still bark if students made mistakes. And there were other ways he punished them in the name of learning: He set the other three trainees against just her. She flailed at the very real, edged swords they wielded and was “killed” numerous times over by the painful blows of the flats of their blades.
At one point, she lay facedown in the sawdust with the tips of three swords digging into her back. One particularly. She had no doubt it belonged to Flogger. The toes of Drent’s boots stood just inches from her nose.
“You need to learn to fight multiple opponents,” he told her. “Instead of panicking, use what you’ve already learned, and you might have a chance.”
She had fought multiple opponents before, but they hadn’t been swordmasters.
He then put her through exercises to show her how to approach combat when outnumbered. There were new forms to learn, and adaptations of the ones she already knew.
“Real battle is messy,” he continued, “and the enemy will not be nice enough to supply you with only one opponent at a time.”
After Drent deemed she had gotten the new forms to some acceptable level, he set the other three on her again. She lasted a little longer this time, but the bout ended much the same with her facedown on the floor. She spat sawdust as Drent stood over her, shaking his head with a look of hopelessness on his face.
“Get up,” he ordered.
He set the three on her again, and again, and again. They thrashed her each time, and it got harder and harder to clamber back to her feet. So far no one had accidentally killed her with their sword. She still had her head and all her limbs. She looked for the positives where she could find them. The other three students knew what they were about, and she learned they’d been swordmasters for a few months now, which meant they had a decided advantage over her. Two of them aimed to become Weapons, but Molly, who served in the light cavalry, was undecided about whether or not she wanted to become a Weapon. In the meantime, she claimed she just enjoyed the challenge of the training.
When the session finally ended, Karigan remained spread-eagle on the floor gazing up at the ceiling. She breathed hard, feeling bruised and battered. She was not so keen on the whole swordmaster thing at the moment, and all she could think of was soaking in a tub of very hot water. However, that would require standing, and she was not sure that she could.
Molly offered her a hand up, but Karigan said, “Thank you, but I think I’ll examine the ceiling for a few more minutes.”
Molly smiled. “Don’t worry. It’ll get better. I thought I’d die in the first month.”
Month? A whole month? Karigan’s face must have betrayed her dismay, for Molly chuckled.
“It will get better,” she said as she walked away. “You’ll see.”
“Right.” Karigan stayed where she was, thinking that Cade would find this all very amusing.
THE SECOND SWORD
When Karigan finally gathered the courage to rise from the floor, she brushed sawdust off her uniform and headed to the weapons room to return the sword to Drent. The room, with its racks of swords, pikes, knives, daggers, and staves, smelled of leather, oil, and sweat.
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“Bring your own sword next time,” Drent said.
“I will.”
“And I am to remind you to see your captain now.” A haunted look crept into his features. “Then it is my turn.”
“Your turn?”
He nodded. “The heavens save me, yes.” He bent to work, honing a blade, and muttered to himself.
Thus dismissed, Karigan grabbed her greatcoat from a hook. It hurt her abused muscles just to pull it on. She trudged out into the cold, wishing she could clean up before reporting to the captain, but she was to go directly, sweat, sawdust, bruises, and all.
When she reached officers quarters and the captain called, “Come!” at her knock, she straightened her uniform best as she could and entered. The captain glanced up from the other side of her work table.
“Well,” the captain said, giving her a long, hard look. “It appears you’ve been at sword training. Did they use you as a quintain?”
Karigan grimaced. “Actually, sort of.”
The captain smiled. “Have a seat and rest while we talk.”
Karigan pulled a stool up to the table and sat, trying not to cry out as her sore body protested every movement.
“I suppose congratulations are in order,” the captain said, “or perhaps sympathy?”
“I am leaning toward sympathy at the moment.”
“You know, if you prefer not to continue at that level of training, I can terminate your sessions when I speak to Drent later.”
Oh, gods, yes, Karigan thought, but what came out of her mouth was, “Thank you, Captain, but I’ve come this far, so I’d like to continue.”
The captain looked amused. “Very well. Let me know if you change your mind. Swordmaster training, after all, is not regular Rider duty.”
Karigan nodded.
“I have also been informed—” and here a slight frown tugged at the corners of the captain’s mouth, “—that the Weapons have formalized your honorary status with them. I suppose it could be useful, as you can now venture into the tombs when we might have business there, as you will later this afternoon. What the Weapons may have in mind for you is harder to ascertain, if even they know.” She shrugged. “Your first duty, of course, is to serve the king as a Green Rider while you still hear the call.”
“I understand.”
“I know you do, but I felt it needed to be aired. No doubt about it, but your swordmaster status brings honor to the Green Riders.” She leaned back into her chair, legs crossed at the ankles, and she gazed levelly at Karigan. “I did not ask you to see me, however, just to discuss swordmaster training.”
Karigan straightened. Might her captain need a message to go out? It would do her good to get off castle grounds, out of the city.
“It seems,” the captain continued, “the Eletians are interested in searching for the p’ehdrosians.”
“What? Really?”
The captain nodded. “According to the king, they became very interested after we found the four-fold leaf in the stained glass and spotted the p’ehdrosians in the backdrop of one of the panels. They became even more interested—and I’ll admit I did, too—after you and Lhean returned from the future time.”
The stuffed specimens of p’ehdrose Karigan and Lhean had seen in the future were proof that they still existed, but where in the world did one begin looking for a people who had hidden themselves so well for a thousand years?
“Interestingly,” the captain continued, “they are willing to provide a guide to go in search of the p’ehdrose if we send one of our own along, specifically you.”
“What? Why me?”
The captain crooked an eyebrow.
Once Karigan got over her initial surprise, she said, “All right, I guess I know why. They’ve gotten used to me.” It was, she thought, a dubious distinction.
“The king and I guess as much,” the captain said. “But you know how they are; they never come out and directly state their intentions.”
“No, they don’t,” Karigan murmured. “When do they plan to start the search?”
“You should know the king has not decided absolutely to go along with this, though he is leaning toward approving it. He is curious about the p’ehdrosians and wonders if they might be allies in the fight against Second Empire. So, if it does happen, you will be in a diplomatic role. Providing you actually find the p’ehdrosians, of course.”
Karigan’s eyes widened. “But I’m not . . .”
“Diplomatic?”
Karigan nodded.
The captain smiled again. “You’ve come a long way, and you have proven it by being the object of the Eletians’ favor.”
Karigan wondered how much favor remained after her confrontation with Lhean. Still, she was to them a known entity.
“Shouldn’t someone like a lord-governor do the diplomatic part?”
“You mean, like Lady Penburn’s delegation seeking Eletia a few years ago?”
“Yes.”
“Under the best of circumstances that might be the way it would go, but that sort of delegation requires, as you know, a great many people, horses, and supplies. The lord-governors are busy gathering their vassals and preparing for war. Plus, the Eletians believe the p’ehdrose lie north, and right now the north is perilous. By sending just two of you, it reduces the chance of Second Empire noticing. Also,” and now the captain folded her hands on her lap, “while you may not be the lady-governor of a province, you are a knight of the realm, which gives you weight in representing Sacoridia’s interests.
“As for when, the Eletians were vague. They did not give us anything more specific like ‘on the equinox’ as they did for the Blackveil expedition. They told us ‘when winter breaks.’ In the meantime, while the king makes his decision, and while we await something more definitive from the Eletians, you should continue your regular duties.”
Karigan frowned.
“Something wrong, Rider?”
“It’s just . . . What about Second Empire? I mean the fighting. I thought I’d be here to help.”
“Let us not buy trouble. Remember, if you are able to sway the p’ehdrose to our cause, and I do expect you to use your merchant’s power of persuasion, you will be doing a great service for the realm, and I suspect that even if you are not successful, there will be more than enough opportunity for you to draw a sword against our adversaries. Speaking of which . . .”
The captain stood and went back to her shelves and picked up an oblong item wrapped in cloth. “The quartermaster delivered this to me today.” She removed the cloth revealing a saber in a black scabbard. “It is, perhaps, not as fine as the sword you received last night, but it is as well made as any Rider blade. It weighs the same as the one you lost and, I am told, balances the same.”
Karigan rose and took the sword. The scabbard was unblemished, as was the blade when she drew it, which was very unlike the saber she had inherited from F’ryan Coblebay. Wrapped just below the guard was the black silk of the swordmaster.
“Fastion knotted that for me,” the captain said. “May the sword serve you well, though I also would wish you never have need of it.”
“Thank you,” Karigan said. She wondered what Daro would say now that she had two swords. “Er, you know that I broke Daro’s, don’t you?”
“Never fear, I know all about it, and rather think that it was the nature of the elemental that caused her blade to break. Daro will receive a new sword in time, as well.” The captain clasped her hands behind her back. “That is all I have for you today, but if you learn anything of interest in the tombs, please let me know. And, if your meeting with Agemon doesn’t take long, you can help Elgin in the records room after. He is most pleased with your work.”
Karigan waited to be dismissed, but the captain grew thoughtful and seemed to have something else on her mind. “Do you happen to know,” she
asked, “which Rider Loon belongs to?”
“Who?”
“Tall gelding, white with black spots.”
“I know that horse,” Karigan replied, “but I didn’t know he’d been named.”
“So you don’t know which Rider he’s chosen?”
“No, Captain. As far as I know he hasn’t chosen . . .” She stared at the captain. “Did he choose you?”
The captain dropped back into her chair and looked unsettled. “Elgin thought the same thing. He didn’t think Loon had chosen any of our new Riders. Mara hadn’t heard either, and she believes all Rider and horse pairings are otherwise accounted for. I am the only one who seems to know his name and . . .”
What the captain didn’t finish saying, Karigan thought she could guess. There was a sense of bonding between the two of them.
“It appears,” the captain said, “that whatever fate governs such things, it was determined I require a younger horse for whatever trials lie ahead.” She did not look particularly happy. She was already the longest-serving Rider anyone had heard of, though considering the loss of recorded Rider history, there could have been others. As for the trials that lay ahead? One only had to consider Second Empire and Mornhavon the Black. In the same way new Riders seemed to hear the Rider call in response to impending conflict, it made sense the captain would attract a younger horse that could stand up to the demands of—of whatever was required.
“If you ask me,” Karigan said, “I think Bluebird would be just as happy to retire, at least from anything challenging. He is the lord of the pasture, you know.” And he was. Just as the captain oversaw her Riders, Bluebird took charge of all the Rider horses.
The captain smiled weakly. “I never expected to be doing this for so long that I required a new horse. I should be retiring like Bluebird, but the call won’t release me.”
“I, for one, am glad,” Karigan said, though she thought her father wouldn’t be. “We need you.”
“Thank you for that. Sometimes I am so buried in paperwork and meetings I wonder if my Riders even know who I am.”