Firebrand

Karigan took the lead, riding past brothels and noisy pubs, searching for the sign of the Fallen Tree Inn. The present seemed to merge with the past as she remembered riding down this very street five years ago, albeit in the opposite direction, and not in the rain. She had encountered a horse cart that first time, with the body of a dead Green Rider, Joy Overway, in the back. Karigan remembered the scene well, Joy’s hand flung out, fingers slightly curled, the glint of light from a nearby inn shining on her hair. Two black-shafted arrows protruded from her chest. The arrows were soul-stealers used by the Eletian Shawdell to control the spirits of the dead.

Karigan had recovered Joy’s brooch and given it to Captain Mapstone. It was most likely the same one Trace now wore, for she shared the same ability as Joy, to communicate with the mind. Connly was the other with the ability, and he and Joy had been very close. While Karigan had resumed her schooling in Selium after her first Green Rider adventure, Connly had traveled to North in what must have been a heart-rending mission to claim Joy’s remains and take her home to Oldbury Province, where she was interred in her family plot. He’d found no sign of the black arrows, however, and Karigan felt a sense of a story left unfinished. Did Joy’s spirit still suffer with the arrows left unbroken? Or, had the defeat of Shawdell dissolved the spell of the arrows?

Pain, a breath of air seemed to whisper.

She shook herself and focused on finding the inn. It was where she had stayed during her first journey through North, for it was known as more orderly, less raucous, than other establishments in town. It was also where she’d found a minstrel of Selium named Gowen. When they finally came upon the inn, she reined Condor into the courtyard and was met by a stableboy.

Karigan dismounted and told him, “We won’t be staying long, but see to the comfort of the horses. Get them dry and warm.” She produced a couple coppers for him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

Ma’am again, she thought in bad humor.

Before he could lead Condor and the others away, she removed her longsword from the saddle and slung it over her shoulder. She was not going to let any of her weapons out of reach. As Estral and Enver joined her, she watched the strange sight of the cat riding on Coda’s saddle into the stable. Maybe the cat would like it there and become a mouser. She couldn’t see him joining them on their journey to find the p’ehdrose.

She headed for the inn’s main entrance and said, “I think you should keep your hood up, Enver.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know how the people here would react to an Eletian.”

“Why don’t you worry about how I might react to them?” he asked.

Estral laughed.

“They outnumber you,” Karigan replied, “and this is not Sacor City, but North, which is not particularly civilized.”

Enver shrugged, the rain rolling off his shoulders, but he kept his hood up when they stepped into the inn. It was a relief to escape the constant pound of rain. The inn’s common room was shadowed, but warm with a cheery fire in the hearth. Many people, mostly men, huddled about it, drinking from tankards. A good many of the tables were full.

The innkeeper approached them, and Karigan remembered him, the spindly man with his thinning red hair. Even more thin now, she reflected. Wiles was his name, she recalled. He looked them up and down as if to assess their character.

“King’s messenger?” he said in surprise.

“Yes.”

“There are no rooms available tonight.”

“We are not looking for rooms.”

“Then you may sit at a table if that is what you are here for. We take only currency, no credits from the king.”

Karigan nodded curtly, and Estral was already heading for one of the tables. “Innkeeper,” she asked before he could get away, “do you have a minstrel who performs here?”

“He is on break. He’ll be back soon. Is there something you need with him, Rider?”

“I was just wondering.” She left him for the table Estral had chosen. There was no reason why Innkeeper Wiles should know their business.

When a server came to take their order, Karigan asked for whatever was hot, which turned out to be chicken in a thick gravy with dumplings, and a pot of tea. With a warm, full belly, and her uniform starting to dry, she began to relax a little. A few patrons gave her dark looks, but most, on the whole, ignored her. She espied a tall, muscular fellow watching the common room from against the far wall, his meaty arms folded across his chest. Karigan guessed he was the innkeeper’s enforcer, who kept order over rowdy patrons.

When Estral’s attention shifted from her food, Karigan followed her gaze. A man entered the common room with a lute and sat on a stool by the fire.

“Do you know him?” Karigan asked her.

“Yes,” Estral said. “Barris Griggs. He made master a few years ago.”

The minstrel tuned up, then launched into some rousing folk tunes, the sort of which were often sung in common rooms, and which were so well-known the audience could sing along. Estral’s lips moved to the words though she uttered no sound that Karigan could hear. Enver watched and listened with great interest. If he wished to learn the fireside customs of Sacoridians, he was now witnessing them in full form.

Karigan, content with her meal and the warmth, yawned. She might have dozed off, but something scratched at the edge of her mind, an irritation. She had no idea what it was, but it was there, something trying to attract her attention, the faintest whisper beneath the music and murmur of patrons. Then it was gone.