“Karigan?” the assailant said in disbelief.
“Master Rendle?”
The sword retracted into the shadows and a hand emerged in its place to help her rise. The side table was in shambles and Karigan felt rather bruised. Gratefully she accepted the hand up.
“Then who—?” She gestured at the man in the library.
She perceived Rendle’s sword up at guard more than saw it.
“My good Rendle,” the cloaked intruder said, “this is a fine way to welcome me home.”
The swordtip dropped to the floor. “My lord! I had no idea!” And Rendle knelt in obeisance, Karigan too startled to move. Their intruder was the Golden Guardian?
If there had been any question, it was dispelled by Estral, who flew from the darkness that Karigan had only inched through, and threw herself into the man’s wide open arms. “Father!”
When Estral broke away from him, the dark gray hood fell back and he undraped the cloak from his shoulders, revealing a lean man with faded blond hair and the same sea-green eyes as his daughter. Fine lines crinkled around his eyes as though he squinted too much in the sun or laughed a lot. Despite the lines, his age was difficult to determine, much the way it was with the Eletians. It was said that Eletian blood had intermingled with the Fiori line long ago, and Karigan believed it.
Aaron Fiori, Golden Guardian of Selium, cast them all a brilliant grin.
“If I didn’t know better, it would seem there was some conspiracy afoot—an arms master and a Green Rider sneaking about my house.”
“I’m…I’m sorry, sir,” Karigan said. Her bow was jerky, for she was still startled. “I didn’t realize—I didn’t—”
His laugh was a deep sound that resonated around them, breaking the spell of silence. “That’s what I get for trying not to disturb anyone. At this hour I expect my daughter to be abed.”
“You wouldn’t have awakened me to let me know you were home?” Estral asked.
“Morning would have been soon enough, eh? But since you are up, hug me again.” And she did. “Come, come,” he said, beckoning his accidental visitors into the library.
Karigan winced as she gazed down at the table she had crushed. “Sir, I—”
“Never you mind that. It’s only Second Age, by one of the lesser known craftmasters.”
Second Age? That meant it was hundreds of years old and now she was more than sorry—she was mortified.
“Come,” Lord Fiori insisted. Then more gently he added, “I would never blame anyone who thought she was defending my daughter and home.” He placed his hand on her shoulder and guided her to a comfortable chair in front of the cold fireplace. When she was settled, he placed kindling on the hearth. Removing steel and flint from the mantel, he struck them together to spark a blaze. Timbre trotted over and planted himself on the hearth rug. After a few quick licks to his shoulder, he rolled and curled, his eyes fixed on the Golden Guardian.
“We are relieved you are back, my lord,” Rendle said. “There has been some trouble on campus.”
Lord Fiori leaned against the mantel, a stick of wood in his hand, his expression serious. “Yes, even from afar I heard news of the attack on Dean Crosley and of the theft.”
“The theft?” Karigan said. “Has it been determined what was taken?”
“Nothing of seeming significance,” Lord Fiori said. “But who is to say what significance it held for the thief?”
Apparently this was news to Rendle as well. “What was it?”
Lord Fiori placed the wood onto his growing fire. “A translation key for Old Sacoridian. We’ve more than one copy, and the one that was stolen held no special value. Yet it was worth enough to the thief to steal it and harm someone in the process.”
“We’ve been keeping an extra watch on campus should the thief make a reappearance,” Rendle said. “That’s what I was up to tonight, and when I saw a suspicious person enter your house, I feared for Estral.”
“So I surmised.” Lord Fiori slid into an overstuffed chair. “And I am grateful for everyone’s vigilance. While I doubt the thief will return, it would not be imprudent to continue the faculty patrols for a while just to be on the safe side.”
Rendle nodded. “We will do so.”
While the two men spoke softly of school business, Karigan thought about the theft anew, which brought to mind her ill-fated outing with Braymer Coyle at the Sacor City War Museum and the appearance of the Raven Mask.
Lord Fiori gazed at her curiously. “What are you thinking about?”
“There was a theft at the Sacor City War Museum not all that long ago,” she said. “It may be coincidental, but the thief took a scrap of old parchment.”
“Yes,” he said, “I heard about it.” He smiled. It was a knowing smile. Karigan couldn’t get over how he knew so much of the news of the land. He traveled extensively and must hear much on the road, but surely not any more than a Green Rider would. Or would he? Maybe folk were freer with their conversation around a minstrel than a uniformed representative of the king, and she doubted he flaunted himself as the Golden Guardian, but instead traveled in the humbler guise of an ordinary minstrel. What conversations must he overhear in the common rooms of inns and pubs between ballads and rousing drinking songs? What stories did folk tell him that they wouldn’t tell a Green Rider?
Then there were all the other Selium minstrels who were wide-ranging in their travels and constantly acquired news. The Golden Guardian was their chief, and they must report everything of interest to him.