As Rendle got a feel for her ability, he increased the speed and difficulty of his technique. Karigan met him blow for blow, enjoying the effort, both physical and mental. The work cleared the presence of the students from her mind, her world now only Rendle and the rhythm of their blades.
Rendle accelerated again and Karigan whirled to block his blow, responding with an undercut that would have disemboweled a lesser opponent. He attempted to hook her sword out of her hands, but anticipating this, she pushed him away. They circled the ring, breathing hard, evaluating, waiting for the other to make the next move.
“You’ve been training,” Rendle said. “Good.”
Karigan responded with an advanced sequence that took Rendle by surprise and nearly caused him to stumble out of the ring, but he was a swordmaster and not only saved himself, but reversed Karigan’s momentum and put her on the defensive. He scored a touch on her shoulder.
Karigan tightened her defenses. To her it was a dance, movement flowing naturally from repeated practice. They settled into a level of swordsmanship bordering on mastery in which more was achieved with less—more power, more finesse, more sustained action. It was the stealth and stillness of hunting cats that placed swordmasters above all others.
Karigan was unaware of how far she stretched her ability, for there were only the swords, and they brought to her a sense of peace. Until, quite suddenly, Rendle’s sword pressed into her gut.
“Kill point,” he said, his voice soft.
Karigan could only stare at his sword as though it had really passed through her belly. Where did it come from? What move had he used?
“I see you haven’t learned everything yet.” Rendle grinned and withdrew the wooden blade. “Who’ve you been training with? Has Gresia been teaching you this advanced stuff?”
“I…” Karigan was still trying to sort out what he had done. “Drent,” she said in a distracted way.
“Drent?”
Karigan remembered where she was and looked around. Rendle’s class had been joined by dozens of other students of various ages, all watching her and Rendle.
Rendle cleared his throat and turned to the students. “Now this was swordplay. Swordplay of a very high order.”
The onlookers applauded, a much different reaction than what Karigan normally received when she trained with Drent on castle grounds. Drent and his other trainees greeted her efforts with derision, though she believed her skills superior to at least a few of theirs.
Rendle dismissed the students and when some of them lingered to ask questions, he shooed them away. “There will be time for questions tomorrow,” he told them. “Go on now.” To Karigan he said, “Would you like to see where you went wrong with that last move?”
Karigan did, and they worked it out till dusk, with only Fergal watching. It reminded Karigan of many such sessions when she was Rendle’s pupil, his method of teaching supporting her abilities rather than tearing them to pieces as Drent’s did. His teaching inspired her to pay attention to her studies as well, and she thought it interesting how far a little encouragement from one whom she respected could go.
When Rendle taught Karigan the intricacies of the technique to his satisfaction, he said, “Try that one on Drent.”
Karigan grinned. “I will.”
Rendle then became very still. “Has he made an initiate of you yet?”
“A what?”
“A swordmaster initiate?”
“Uh, no,” Karigan replied, surprised by the question.
Rendle drew his dark eyebrows together. “If you were still my student, I would.”
“Really?”
Rendle nodded. “Your level of swordplay today was borderline swordmastery.”
“It was?” Karigan knew her skills had improved dramatically with Drent’s tutelage, but she never dreamed of being on that level.
Rendle grinned. “I’ve been softened by working with beginners all the time, but I know skill when I’m up against it. You’ve had a natural talent all along, and now you’ve built upon it.”
“I did? I have?”
Still grinning, he patted her on the shoulder. “Felt good to work at such a level. Now why don’t you help me clear up this equipment and we’ll catch up over some supper.”
Fergal, apparently hungry, helped them carry armloads of practice swords to the field house.
“Would you teach me, sir?” he asked.
Rendle halted in the doorway. “Pardon my manners, Rider, but we’ve not even been properly introduced!”
Karigan remedied the matter and added, “He’s trained some with Arms Master Gresia, and I’ve been working with him during our travels. It seems we’ll be on campus for a little while, and if it’s no burden, well, we’d both benefit from some training, and be honored by it.”
Rendle stepped inside and dumped the practice swords into their storage chest. “I will do so, and schedule you for my advanced class time. You will inspire the students to work harder.”
Karigan was pleased, not only for herself, but for Fergal. Maybe Rendle’s mild manner would prove an encouraging influence on Fergal, as he had on her.
GREETING FRIENDS
When Karigan stepped outside the field house, she was almost knocked over by someone hurtling out of the dusk and into her arms. She laughed when she realized who it was, and gave her young friend a fierce hug in return.
Mel released her and jumped up and down. “They said a Rider was here and doing swordplay with Master Rendle and I knew it was you!”
“They?”
“My friends, but I didn’t hear about it till after.” Mel pouted, then laughed and hugged her again.
“Ah,” Rendle said, “another of my impertinent but talented students.”
“Another impertinent student?” Karigan asked, placing a hand on her hip.
“But talented,” Rendle said, unflappable as ever.
Karigan scrutinized Mel. She was an inch or two taller than she remembered, and her shape was growing into something more mature. “Anything I need to report to this one’s mother?” she asked Rendle.
Mel’s eyes widened in mortification and she whipped her gaze to Rendle.
“Oh,” he said, “nothing I don’t think I can handle. If anything arises, however, I’ll be sure to send word back with you.”
A protest was about to burst past Mel’s lips when she noticed Fergal. “Who are you? Are you new?”
Karigan noted his startled expression and said, “Fergal Duff, meet Melry Exiter, daughter of our captain.”
This time it was Fergal’s eyes that widened. “I didn’t know…”
Mel, unaware of his awkwardness, or ignoring it, said, “Yep. I plan to be a Green Rider, too, if the call would call me, if you know what I mean.”
By now the sun had set and the dusk covering the practice field was deepening, so they set off together to take supper at the Guesting House. The whole way over, Mel carried on a one-sided conversation telling them about her classes and school gossip, including some about her instructors.
“I don’t think I want to hear this,” Rendle said. He tugged his pipe from his pocket and proceeded to pack the bowl with tobacco. He clamped his teeth on the stem of the unlit pipe and said no more. Mel carried on with exclamations about this and that, waving to friends as she passed them by, and adding a snippet or two of information about each person.
With some bemusement, Karigan realized Mel was comfortable here and quite popular, a rather different experience than her own had been. Fergal appeared overwhelmed by Mel, but listened politely, almost gravely, to her chattering on.
When they entered the Guesting House, Mel strode right for the common room as though she owned the place and declared, “This will be much better than the dining hall’s food. I could eat about ten horses, but I could never eat horses, of course.”
Fergal frowned, but Mel did not notice and dropped into a chair at an empty table as though she’d been at hard labor all day and was exhausted.
Karigan excused herself and ran upstairs to wash up and grab the package Captain Mapstone sent with her for Mel. When she returned, Rendle sat at the head of the table, his pipe now lit and sending aromatic smoke up to the ceiling, an expression of bliss on his face. Fergal sat opposite Mel, who was still chattering away. Aside from Mel, the common room was quiet, almost like a library instead of a gathering and dining area. The other guests, visiting scholars by the look of their specs and piles of books, scowled in Mel’s direction.
Upon seeing the package, Mel squealed and clapped with delight, driving a couple annoyed scholars from the room. Mel tore the package apart and withdrew a cloak in Rider green lined with the blue-green plaid of the First Rider.
“It’s wonderful!” She tried it on and whirled about, causing more scholars to slam their books shut and leave. Those on other business seemed unfazed by Mel’s exuberance, and some even smiled as they continued with their meals. “I’m sure to hear the Rider call now.”
She returned to her chair, still draped in the cloak, and discovered the chocolate from Master Gruntler’s.
“Dragon Droppings!” She popped one into her mouth and rolled her eyes in ecstasy. “They’ve some good confectioners in town,” she said, “but none as good as Master Gruntler.”
“There’s a letter as well,” Karigan said, and she asked Fergal, who still had the message satchel, to dig it out.
Quiet finally descended as Mel set to reading, with only occasional exclamations and muttering. The woman who ran the Guesting House brought them a pitcher of ale and tankards, and some cider for Mel, as well as bread, a tub of butter, and wedges of chicken pie.
Rendle tapped out his pipe and set it aside to eat. He said, “So you are here on king’s business, or simply to check in on young Melry?”
“A little of both, I suppose,” Karigan said. “We brought a message for the Golden Guardian, which in his absence, was to go to Dean Crosley.”
“I see, and with the Guardian away and the dean in the House of Mending, you are stuck.”
Karigan nodded.
Rendle chewed thoughtfully on a bite of chicken pie, then said, “It’ll be a while before Dean Crosley is well enough to assume his duties. Received a nasty beating, and he being elderly and all. Took us all by surprise, and I think most on campus are unsettled by the crime—at least the faculty is. There’ll be more patrols made by the constabulary, and the faculty will be keeping its own watch as well. If the burglar makes another appearance, he will be dealt with. Firmly.” His face hardened, and Karigan knew she’d not want to be that burglar if Rendle caught hold of him.
“The dean is well thought of,” Rendle continued. “Much more than his predecessor, I’d daresay.”
Karigan silently agreed, having been on the receiving end of Geyer’s punishments. Fortunately the trustees had seen how poor an administrator he had been and dismissed him.
Mel’s fork clattered to her plate and she slapped her letter onto the table. “What’s wrong with my mother?” she demanded.
They all stared at her in astonishment.
“What do you mean?” Karigan asked.
Mel huffed, then jabbed her finger at the letter. “She tells me everything’s good, nothing to worry about, new Riders coming in, tra-la-la, then…then she gets mushy and tells me how much she loves me.”
When Mel’s outburst produced only blank stares, she explained, “She never goes on about that stuff. The love stuff. And there’s a whole lot missing from this, it seems to me. What happened this summer?”
Three pairs of eyes turned in Karigan’s direction. “Uh…” she said.
“Yes,” said a voice from behind, “I’d like to hear about this summer, too.”
Karigan almost knocked over her chair in her haste to stand. “Estral!” she cried, and strode over to her friend to give her a hug.
After enthusiastic greetings, Estral demanded, “And I want to know why no one sent me word of your arrival. Or, were you planning to sneak about the whole time?”
“Sneak about? No! We…I was…”
Estral laughed and it was a silvery sound. “Never mind, not much gets past me anyway. I have my sources.” She grinned and took a chair next to Mel. Estral Andovian, daughter of the Golden Guardian and journeyman minstrel, joined them for tea and a dessert of hot apple crisp smothered in cream. Conversation turned to general topics of the school and of Karigan’s and Fergal’s journey. Karigan was careful to leave out their “adventures” in Rivertown.
Estral listened with her head cocked and her gaze trained on the speaker’s lips, for she was deaf in one ear. Instead of it inhibiting her musical ability, she claimed it made her a much better listener and musician. Children had been cruel to her when she was a student, no matter that she was the Golden Guardian’s daughter. She and Karigan had become best friends when Karigan stood up for her against the bullies, in one instance using wharf language so vile it brought her tormentors to tears. It had not made Karigan popular, but she hadn’t cared. Estral’s friendship made up for it all.
Much had changed since those early school days. Among Estral’s duties was teaching students and Karigan suspected she handled many of her father’s obligations during his long absences. One day Estral would inherit the title of Golden Guardian and become responsible for Selium and its repositories of history and culture. Hers was a noble station of a sort, though what the Golden Guardian governed was different than that of a lord-governor.
“So you’ve a message for my father,” Estral said. “I am expecting him to return soon, though I couldn’t tell you exactly when. I suspect he’s had word about the attack on the dean and will hurry home.”
“We’re planning to wait,” Karigan said. “His response to the king’s message will determine whether or not we continue on with our other errands.”
“Where are you headed?” Rendle asked. “That is, if it’s not a secret—”
“No secret,” Karigan replied. “We’re off to a border town to meet with a horse trader. With more Riders coming in, we need more horses. Fergal here has been riding a retired cavalry horse.”
“More horses! Yay!” Mel cried. “I wonder if one will be mine someday.”
Karigan glanced at Fergal who looked to be in a continual state of astonishment, if not awe, in Mel’s presence. She suppressed a laugh. “After we meet with the trader, it’s off to Mirwellton.”
Estral gave her a sympathetic look. They’d both been exposed to Timas Mirwell’s cruel behavior during their school days. Seeing him was the one part of the errand Karigan dreaded.
“Mirwell ba-a-ad,” Mel said.
This time, Karigan did laugh.
“Don’t you need to see to your studies?” Estral asked Mel. “It’s getting late and soon it will be lights out in your dorm.”
Mel pouted. “But Karigan hasn’t told me what’s wrong with my mother.”
Again, all gazes were fixed on Karigan. She squirmed in discomfort. “Your mother is well,” she said. “Overworked, but that’s not unusual. Connly and the rest of us are trying to help her keep up. Even Mara from her bed in the mending wing.”
At Mel’s perplexed expression, Karigan realized Mel must have heard almost nothing of the summer’s events. A glance at Estral’s expression revealed that her friend knew at least something of what had happened. Having been caught in the middle of those events, Karigan forgot that news was sometimes slow to reach outlying areas, and if the captain did not see fit to tell her daughter everything, Karigan wasn’t sure it was her place to do so.
“Why is Mara in the mending wing?” Mel asked, her voice uncharacteristically level.
“She got hurt. When Rider barracks burned down.”
“What?”
It took them several moments to calm down the agitated girl.
“Perhaps you should start at the beginning,” Estral said. “Mel won’t be able to sleep with just that information, and I’ll see to it she doesn’t get into trouble for being ou
t late.”
Karigan was trapped, but Estral was right. Worry would gnaw Mel to death, so Karigan related the summer’s events as best as she could, delicately maneuvering around bits she thought better to withhold, including the extent to which the captain had been affected by the disruption in magic. At certain points Rendle and Estral nodded or made affirmative noises when they heard news that was familiar to them.
By the time she finished, she was hoarse, though she left out a good many details, and her companions sat in silence. Mel cried several times during the telling, for Riders had perished and the news hadn’t reached her yet. Karigan wished the captain was better at keeping her daughter informed, but she understood the desire to protect her from worry. Better, however, for her to hear the truth of it before rumors reached her.
“That is quite a story,” Estral said, her eyes distant. Karigan wondered if she was already forming songs in her head about those events. “I’ve heard portions of it from different sources. You know, this is the sort of thing the people of Sacoridia ought to hear.”
“That’s your job,” Karigan said.
“It’s hard to do when no one steps forward to give us a firsthand account.”
“It’s not something you just, well, talk about.”
Estral chuckled. “You Riders have kept so many secrets for so long that trying to pry information out of you is next to impossible. People should hear of your accomplishments.” She then rose and added, “I think it is time for Mel to return to her dorm.”
Mel protested, but Estral was firm. With a fierce hug for Karigan, Mel obeyed and left the common room. Estral followed behind to escort her and said in parting, “We’ll talk more later.”
Later never seemed to arrive. Estral was caught up in classes—both teaching and attending—as well as taking care of any odds and ends left to her in her father’s absence. Over the course of several days, the most Karigan saw of her friend was only in passing and over hurried midday meals.
Meanwhile, Karigan and Fergal bided their stay in Selium by working with Master Rendle. Karigan assisted Rendle with many of his classes, while Fergal spent his extra time exploring the city. She suspected he even tried one of the public baths, but he wouldn’t admit it. When he wasn’t in the city, he followed Mel around, listening in bemusement as she chattered away about this and that. She was proud of her association with the Green Riders, and liked to show him off to her friends. About the only time Karigan saw him was at supper or during his sessions with Master Rendle.
The High King's Tomb Page 26