Green Rider

by Kristen Britain

  I could say it broke along the way. . . .

  Maybe she could slip the tip of the saber beneath it, then after she read the message, soften the wax and reseal the envelope. But that would distort the perfect imprint of the flying horse and it would be obvious she had tampered with it.

  There’s only one way, she decided.

  She held the wax seal between her thumbs ready to crack it, one eye closed and a grimace on her face as if she didn’t want to see it happen. Then The Horse shifted beneath her and flicked his ears back and forth. Voices, barely audible, floated to her from behind. She sighed, actually relieved by the diversion, and dropped the intact message back into the satchel.

  She guided The Horse into the woods and tied him up well out of range of the road. She crept back to the road and crouched behind a rock. Two people, a man and a woman, walked into view. They moved as smoothly as cats, their ease of movement belying powerful shoulders and sword arms, and legs rippling with muscles.

  They were both dressed in the same plain leather jerkins. Gray cloaks, patched and travel-stained, hung from their shoulders. They wore no devices to identify militia or mercenary company.

  Bandits or plainshields, Karigan thought. Poor bandits if that is what they are.

  Despite the drab and worn look of their gear, the patches had been carefully sewn and the leather was oiled. Long swords bumped against their hips as they walked.

  Their poor state probably had little to do with their prowess as fighters. They did not waste movement with superfluous gestures even though they appeared to be in deep discussion. . . . Deep, heated discussion.

  “I tell you, Jendara,” the man said, “I caught a whiff of a horse.”

  His partner looked at him askance. Ringlets of russet hair flowed down her back. “You’re just hungry,” she said. “You are imagining things.”

  “What about those droppings we saw back there?”

  “Look, there’ve been several travelers up and down this road. Who’s to say that last pile of horse manure belonged to the one we’re looking for?”

  The man’s face was grim. It was coated by the beginnings of a spiky yellow beard, and the lines of tension could be seen clearly beneath it. “I’m tired of this walking. We should be with our lord.”

  The couple drew abreast of Karigan’s hiding spot and walked by.

  “I don’t like it either,” the one called Jendara said. “But we must do as we are told.”

  “Chasing ghosts and horses. It is not what we swore to do.”

  “The sooner we’re done, the sooner we return to our true duty.”

  Then the two were gone. Karigan stood up and brushed pine needles from her trousers. Their conversation was enough to convince her she had no desire to encounter them on the road, especially with the reference to chasing ghosts and horses. She would stay here this night, and maybe the next, but she liked having them ahead of her less than behind.

  A few days later on a sweltering afternoon, Karigan gave in to the heat. She folded up the greatcoat and fastened it behind the saddle with the bedroll. It was like midsummer in the southlands in the shade, and even the biters seemed to wane in the heat. She rolled up her shirt sleeves and squeezed The Horse on.

  All at once, the bushes beside the road shook and The Horse swerved out of the way, nearly unseating Karigan. She held onto his mane, but a man burst out of the bushes and seized The Horse’s bridle. The Horse jerked back, but the man’s hold was secure.

  “Dismount,” he said.

  Karigan cursed silently. This was the man she had observed on the road the other day, but where was the woman, Jendara? She reached for her saber, but felt the pressure of a sword tip against her spine.

  “Were I you,” the woman said from behind, “I would obey.”

  Karigan licked her lips, tasting the salt of perspiration. If she could urge The Horse into a run, maybe the man would release the bridle and the woman wouldn’t have time to—

  “Dismount!”

  The sword tip pressed harder into her back. She dismounted. The Horse made to bolt away, but the man yanked on the bridle.

  “I’ve heard of you, smart steed. If you don’t obey, I shall sever the tendons in your legs.”

  The woman regarded Karigan with eyes as steely as her sword. Today her lush hair was bound by a strip of cloth. “You don’t look like a spirit rider to me.”

  The man snorted in contempt. “Ghosts do not exist, and they certainly do not ride horses. Those Mirwellian fools are over superstitious.”

  Karigan’s eyes widened. Surely they meant Immerez, Sarge, and Thursgad . . . and they were Mirwellians! Nothing good ever came out of Mirwell.

  The man, still holding the bridle, reached over to the message satchel. He undid the leather thong, peered in, and nodded. He let the lid drop and secured it back down. “This is it.”

  “Remove your shoulder pack,” the woman said.

  Karigan reluctantly slipped it from her shoulder to the road. It was an inglorious end to her mission. She was caught, and the delivery of the message thwarted by mercenaries working for Immerez.

  The other mercenary was already looking through the saddlebags, laughing in delight at the food remaining from the Berry sisters. The woman looked in disdain at the soiled blanket and clothes she found in the shoulder pack.

  “I told you there would be little spoils,” she said.“Greenies aren’t known for being rich.”

  “We’ve the food, Jendara, and a new horse, and all the gold the Mirwellian will pay us. What’s this?” He untied the greatcoat from its fastenings and unfurled it. “Looks warm enough . . . but, ach! I wouldn’t want to be seen in a filthy Greenie coat. This bauble on front, however . . .” He gazed speculatively at the brooch.

  Jendara spotted something shining from the tangle of blanket she had pulled from Karigan’s shoulder pack. “What might these be?”

  Karigan cried out in alarm. “Don’t touch those! They’re mine!”

  In her hand, Jendara the mercenary held finely wrought rings and bracelets set with gems. She was entranced by the way they glittered in the sun. “They’re yours no longer, Greenie.”

  “Those were my mother’s—” Her voice broke off in a sob. They were the only objects of intrinsic worth that she had taken with her when she fled Selium.

  The man unclasped the brooch and let the greatcoat fall to the dusty road. His grin revealed a gap between his two front teeth. “A bit gaudy, but it might be worth something. We didn’t fare so badly after all, did we Jen? Perhaps our luck has changed.”

  The Berry sisters had told Karigan the brooch wouldn’t tolerate the touch of another, yet it glimmered coldly in the sun, the same as usual, as the mercenary weighed it in his palm. Then again, according to the sisters, Professor Berry had never mastered magic, so who was to say there were no gaps in their knowledge?

  Jendara was too busy admiring the jewels on her fingers and wrists to answer.

  “And a saber. A Greenie saber, but one should never leave behind a weapon. The king’s smiths do a fine enough job on their blades.”

  Karigan’s throat constricted with grief and anger as Jendara drew on her finger the troth ring Stevic G’ladheon had given his bride Kariny twenty-five years ago. It was gold and set with a diamond that flared like a star in the light of day. The clan emblem of a ship at full sail upon the sea was etched into the gold band. The etching had been made three years after the wedding when Clan G’ladheon had been formally recognized by the merchant’s guild and a representative of the queen.

  The emblem represented Stevic G’ladheon’s most profitable ventures, most achieved by sailing far seas, and backed by a hardworking bloodline that once made its life in the islands of Ullem Bay. The jewels Jendara now admired were Karigan’s only material link with her former life, and her mother.

  “You won’t take those,” she said.

  “I don’t think you can stop us.” Jendara laughed. “We will take good care of your things, and the Mir
wellians will take good care of you.”

  Karigan clenched her hands into fists, her cheeks blushing hotly. She had not killed that unnatural creature only to be put into the hands of Immerez. The creature had been more dangerous than these two. She leaped at Jendara with an animallike snarl, but even as she did so, the other mercenary’s hilt cracked against the back of her skull and she fell into darkness.

  Karigan awakened with a throbbing head. Her tender wrists, not yet fully healed from the burning blood of the creature, were bound cruelly tight behind her back, leaving her fingers numb. She lay prone on the dead leaves and moss of the forest floor. She assessed her body for further damage, but found none besides her smarting head and strangled wrists.

  She carefully surveyed the scene around her through cracked eyelids. In the lengthening shadows of late afternoon, The Horse stood hobbled and untacked a short distance away. His head hung low in a dispirited way.

  Jendara and her partner sat before a cookfire eating from Karigan’s rations. They had heaped her things into two piles: the things they could obviously live without, namely her travel-worn clothing, and another pile of things they intended to possess, mainly the sword and jewelry. The man twisted the moonstone in his fingers, but it didn’t light up. Evidently, they had been through her pockets, too.

  “Curious, this crystal,” the man said. “Probably a cheap bauble of glass, but fair enough.”

  “You’re no judge,Torne,” Jendara said.“See how it catches the light? A fine crystal, I judge. What I find curious is that a simple Greenie possesses all this excellent stuff. Maybe she’s really a thief.”

  “Now what would a thief be doing delivering messages to the king? You heard what she said about the jewelry being her mother’s.”

  “I guess you’re right, but she’s a stupid Greenie to be carrying these jewels on a road such as this.”

  Karigan closed her eyes. The thought of the mercenary Jendara wearing her mother’s troth ring made the bile rise in her throat. How could she get it back? Even if she did manage to loosen her bonds, how could she ever hope to escape two thoroughly trained mercenaries? Arms Master Rendle had taught her much in the few sessions they had had together, but she possessed neither the practice nor the strength to match Jendara and Torne.

  “What are you thinking, Greenie?” Karigan opened her eyes only to find them level with the toes of Torne’s boots. “I can tell you aren’t asleep.”

  She spat on his boots.

  “I’ll say one thing for you,” Torne said, “you may not be a spirit rider, but you are spirited!” He laughed at his own joke while Jendara cast him a disgusted look as if she had to endure his humor more than she wanted. “Tomorrow we continue our travels so we can meet up with Captain Immerez. I expect you to be on good behavior, thief. Yes, you will be a thief, girl. Folks on the road will be less likely to take pity on you. One word about Green Riders and I’ll put you in the spirit world.” He guffawed again, and before Karigan could move to lessen the blow, he kicked her in the ribs.

  Pain exploded through her body as Torne’s laughter assaulted her ears. Each breath she took ripped her side. In a haze of pain, she thought she saw F’ryan Coblebay, white and gauzy, standing among the trees. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, he was gone.

  Karigan trudged through ankle-deep mud with her head bowed. A storm stirred up the treetops and rain pelted from the dark sky. A crack of lightning shattered the darkness. At first Torne wasn’t going to give Karigan any protection from the weather. They had no extra cloaks, and he did not want to give away her “identity” by letting her wear the greatcoat. Surprisingly, Jendara insisted he let Karigan wear it.

  “The horse and gear will give her away anyhow,” the mercenary woman said. “We can say she stole it all. She’s a thief, remember? Besides, there can’t be too many idiots on the road on a day like this.” She glared at Torne significantly since it had been his idea to travel despite the storm, instead of holing up somewhere dry.

  Torne relented, but by the time Karigan was permitted to wear the greatcoat, she was already soaked through. She drew the hood up over her head with her tied hands, and searched the pockets for the bunchberry flower and sprig of bayberry in vain. The mercenaries must have discarded them as worthless. She sighed in despair. There was no hope of help this time—she’d have to find her own way out.

  The damp caused her ribs to ache dully, but the sharp pains had subsided and she could breathe easier. Her wrists were swollen red beneath the bandages. Torne had not allowed her to wrap a fresh dressing around the burns.

  “How’d you get burned anyway?” he asked. “Clumsy with a campfire?”

  The question wasn’t even worth the dignity of an answer. A campfire, indeed! She wished another creature would attack—then see if Torne could do as well as she had. She fantasized about huge claws squeezing his midsection, squeezing him so hard that his eyes popped out.

  Lightning struck somewhere nearby with a deafening crack. The Horse snorted and sidestepped nervously. Karigan grimaced as a tingling sensation crept its way up through her feet all the way to the roots of her hair. The thunder rumbled away and Karigan thought, Idiots. They don’t have the sense to find cover in a lightning storm.

  She was mollified by the fact that if any one of them were to be scorched by lightning, it would be Torne or Jendara for the swords they carried at their sides. It was not an unpleasant thought.

  Even now, oblivious to the dangers of the storm, they took turns riding The Horse. At first he pulled away, but Torne threatened to sever his tendons again. Karigan commanded him to be still. He looked at her with wide eyes and snorted defiantly, but tolerated being mounted. Neither mercenary sat upon him for long, however.

  “One must have a bottom of steel to ride this beast,” Jendara declared. “I suppose he will serve as a pack animal.”

  The Horse tossed his mane at the insult. Karigan smiled smugly to herself—his gaits were smooth as butter when desired.

  They continued down the road as thunder drummed low and far away, over some distant part of Sacoridia.

  The mercenaries were not very generous with her food supplies, Karigan thought. They crouched beneath some trees by the road at midday. The rain had dwindled to a steady drizzle and the last bit of storm had rumbled away an hour ago. Already the biters were stirring to a frenzy in the damp.

  Karigan’s stomach growled as she picked pieces of mold off the crust of hard bread Torne had tossed her. Torne smacked his lips over dried meat as if it was a feast. Jendara was a bit more dainty, but not much. The two must not have eaten in a while. What kind of mercenaries were they if they couldn’t hunt up the occasional hare or squirrel? Even she had learned a thing or two about trapping and hunting from the cargo master, though it wasn’t a skill she used often.

  “What are you glowering at, girl?” Torne demanded.

  “You look hungry. Didn’t they teach you wilderness survival in mercenary training?”

  Torne’s eyes blazed. “Jendara and I were soldiers of the highest order. We had no need.”

  Karigan raised a brow. “What order might that be?”

  “We weren’t always mercenaries, girl. It’s none of your business.”

  Karigan guessed they had not been mercenaries for very long, and the fact they were no longer a part of this “high order” was a sore point, at least for Torne. She thought hard about what the two could have been before they became swords for hire. Guards, she supposed, but even guards were subject to survival training . . . unless they never left a specific post, or were of so high an order they were waited upon by servants.

  “The Mirwellian fools told us you can disappear,” Jendara said. “When are you going to disappear?”

  Despite the mercenary’s mocking tone, Karigan perceived a hint of uncertainty. It wouldn’t hurt to play on it, but it also renewed her concern for the brooch. Torne had taken to wearing it on his cloak. “I’ll disappear when I’m good and ready to.”
>
  Torne guffawed. “Those idiots lost her in a heavy fog. Disappeared, indeed.”

  “Immerez is no idiot,” Jendara said quietly, “though he thinks it was some Greenie trick, not a spirit rider.”

  “Is that so, Greenie girl? You know some Greenie tricks?”

  “Maybe. You might not take me as a spirit rider, but a spirit rides with me.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Karigan shrugged innocently, a twinge of pain tugging at her ribs.

  “I won’t have any of this spirit stuff!” Torne was over to Karigan in a bound, and he cuffed her across the face.

  She fell to her side and shook her head, tasting blood from a cut lip. What was left of her midday meal was a mess of crumbs on the ground. She forced herself back into a sitting position.

  “You’re nothing but a ruffian,” she told Torne, “and a coward.”

  Torne only laughed. Karigan had the satisfaction, however, of knowing she had planted a seed of uncertainty in his mind. If only she could get her hands on that brooch. At present, however, it did not seem likely.

  They passed through numerous settlements cut out of the woods. They were too small, really, to be called villages. Woods folk in plain dress worked about their cabins. They hung laundry in the sweet spring air, tended gardens where enough sunlight crept through the forest canopy to nourish vegetables, and they split wood.

  Torne used some of the coppers he had taken from Karigan’s pockets to purchase meat and bread, boasting all the while to the settlers about the thief he and his partner had snared. More often than not, food was offered the mercenaries for free when they heard this fabrication.

  Karigan received nothing except scowls and curses about thieves who preyed on law-abiding Sacoridians who were trying to scrape out a living in the wilderness. Some looked her up and down, disbelieving one so young and innocent looking could be a notorious thief.