“Ach,” Stevic said. “Magic is evil.” He made the sign of the half moon with his fingers to ward off any magic that might be conjured up just by mentioning it.
Captain Mapstone gave him a long, measuring look. Her head did not even reach his shoulders, but her bearing made her seem equally tall. “And who are you?”
“Chief Stevic G’ladheon, at your service.” He bowed deeper for her than he had for the clerk.
“Oh. A merchant. Obviously with backward views. Magic is magic. It’s the user who makes it evil or good.”
“I still wouldn’t touch it.”
The Green Rider’s lips drew back into what could have been a smile. “There are those who still touch magic and use it, despite the denial this country has been immersed in for the last several centuries.”
Before Stevic could retort, the door creaked open again. This time, a man of wiry and well-muscled build walked in. His hair was steel gray, but his mustache and eyes were as black as night. A pipe protruded from his shirt pocket.
“Pardon my intrusion, Estral,” he said, “but I hear that Karigan’s father is here.”
Estral nodded toward Stevic. “That’s him, Master Rendle.”
“Arms Master Rendle?” Stevic stepped past Captain Mapstone to greet the man. He forgot to bow.
“Pleased to meet. We’ve a few things to discuss.”
Estral’s chair scraped the floor as she stood up. “Guess I’m not going to get anything done here. Nobody ever bothers to come back here except when I have to study.”
“If you could direct me to Master Galwin . . .” the Green Rider requested, and followed Estral out.
The arms master watched after them. “A dangerous job that Rider has.”
“How’s that?”
Rendle shook himself as if he hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud. “Can you imagine riding all hours of the day at the mercy of weather during all seasons? Can you imagine bearing a message through dangerous territories, or taking bad news to a short-tempered lord who wouldn’t think twice about killing you? Can you imagine carrying a message someone doesn’t want delivered? The lifespan of a Green Rider is very short. That captain is about as old as I see them get.”
“That’s all very well, but it’s their job. Why, sometimes it’s no better for a merchant traveling with a load of goods. Unless you’ve a full complement of guards. I know plenty of merchants who have been killed for—”
“Aye, it’s their job, and Green Riders are the closest to insane as I’ve ever seen.”
Unsettled by the arms master’s words, Stevic watched out the dusty window as Captain Mapstone and Estral crossed the courtyard down below. “Tell me about my daughter.”
Arms Master Rendle leaned against the Golden Guardian’s desk, his arms folded across his broad chest.
“By the end of the fight,” he was saying, “I saw enough to recognize she had some natural talent with the sword. It was the way she moved. It was raw and instinctual, but I saw promise. You must understand that most of the students who come to me are there mostly because it is part of their coursework, or a clan tradition to receive weapons training. They hone traditional skills it is unlikely they will ever use. Minstrel students are more musician than warrior, but weapons training is required for them. The Guardian believes they should be prepared for the world they wander in, and I quite agree. But it is rare to find a student with actual interest and talent.”
Stevic stared out the window. The courtyard had fallen into shadow and silence, empty of students. Even the pigeons seemed to have fled the grounds, giving it a gloomy and abandoned feel. “I had hoped Karigan would find a talent for something, but I never expected the sword.”
“Ah, but the sword is just a beginning. I had heard about her from her other instructors. Complaints, mind you, except from her riding instructor, Master Deleon. Del said she excelled at riding. When I saw Karigan put Timas Mirwell on the ground, I thought maybe I could get her to work for something else and the sword would be just a beginning, that it would inspire her to seek out whatever it was she wanted to do with her life.”
Stevic turned his gaze to the arms master. “I am fortunate my daughter had such an instructor.”
Rendle grinned. “She was fortunate to have such a father.”
Stevic raised a brow.
“I once asked her what she wanted to do with her life,” Rendle said. “She told me, something adventurous. She wanted to be a merchant like her father. It is not many children who choose to follow their parents’ footsteps.”
Stevic stilled, letting it sink in. Then he slowly shook his head and turned back to the window and the shadows. He felt buffeted by a variety of emotions: elation, fear, sadness, desperation. Where was she? “She never told me.” His voice was taut.
Rendle said nothing until he was certain Stevic had mastered himself. “We continued training every day. It seems someone had worked with her before, the cargo master—?”
Stevic nodded. “Sevano.”
“Her skills were less than basic, but she was an eager student, always at the practice field early. She worked harder than any student I’ve had the privilege to teach in a very long time. Her skills improved quickly though she seemed discouraged by what she saw as a lack of progress. Unfortunately, her training was cut short.”
“The suspension you mean.”