“Aye.” Rendle removed his pipe from his pocket and patted his side as if in search of something, and frowned. “My tobacco pouch. Hmmm . . .” When he couldn’t find it, he stuck the pipe back in his pocket. “Despite the fact Timas Mirwell attacked her after their swordplay, and despite Del . . . er, Master Deleon and myself speaking on her behalf before the trustees, Karigan was suspended.”
Stevic left the window to stand before Rendle. “I’ve heard the dean’s explanation, but why do you think she was suspended?”
“I am Rhovan born,” Rendle said. “My mother was of Rhovanny, my father of Adolind Province. I spent a goodly part of my life on the Wanda Plains growing more weeds than crops, and fighting off groundmites and other raiders. We were too concerned with day to day life to worry about what the clans were doing in Sacoridia. Politics . . .” Rendle leaned forward and in a low voice he said, “At least one trustee is of Clan Mirwell. Mirwellians don’t take kindly to dishonor. Karigan dishonored the governor’s son, thus the entire clan, and they will remember such an insult for a century if need be.”
If need be. Stevic took a deep swallow of his ale and set the tankard down on the knotty pine table with a clunk. It was late afternoon at the Harp and Drum, and no one had begun to entertain yet. The music would start during the supper hour. He didn’t think he would have the heart to listen to it anyway.
Only a few other patrons sat quietly at tables, sipping wine or ale, as drowsy sunlight filtered through the windows. Stevic twisted the gold ring on his finger, ignoring the steaming fresh bread and cheese plate the innkeeper set on their table.
“You think about Kari,” Sevano said.
Stevic nodded. “She’s my daughter . . . just a baby.”
“Oh, no—no baby is she! Young, yes, but no baby. You know she’s got herself into plenty of scrapes before. It’s just like her to go home on her own. No waiting around for you to arrive, not with the humiliation this suspension must have caused her. I know G’ladheon pride, I do.” He chuckled. “If you were her, you’d do the same.”
Stevic smiled. “I did do something similar when I was her age. I joined a merchant barge, but—”
“But she is still your baby.” Sevano shook his head. “She has jumped from her nest, her wings spread. You would prevent this?”
“No, of course not. I . . . Well, you heard all the whisperings of strange things happening as we traveled here. By Breyan’s gold, Sevano, strange things were happening all winter. The tree folk have been seen outside of the Elt Wood for the first time in at least a hundred years, and you heard about groundmites crossing the borders just as I did. Are you saying I shouldn’t be worried about my daughter?”
“No.” The older man stared into his tankard and listlessly picked up a piece of yellow cheese which he tossed back onto the plate. “I worry, too. But remember, I taught her many things about survival, and that Rendle sounds like a good man. I’m sure she learned much from him.”
“You both taught her swordplay. I don’t expect she has a sword of her own.”
“I taught her much more than the sword, I did. She could use her bare hands to defend herself. Like a niece she is to me, too, though no blood do we share.”
The two sat in silence for many minutes. The very air pressed on their shoulders. They were awakened from their individual reveries as the door creaked open and blinding sunlight poured into the common room. A young man stepped across the threshold, hesitating a moment until his eyes adjusted to the dim interior. He was dressed in a waistcoat of green over a white linen shirt. His breeches and the coat he carried draped over his forearm were green as well. A saber sheathed in a plain black scabbard was strapped to his waist.
Stevic watched as the Green Rider searched the depths of the common room. The messenger’s eyes registered in sudden recognition and he strode toward them, the soles of his boots making no sound on the wooden floor. Stevic wondered what the Rider would want with them, but he didn’t stop at their table. Rather, he continued on to the booth behind them. Stevic couldn’t see who the young man sat with because of the high backing of the booth, but he instantly recognized the voice.
“Connly,” said Captain Mapstone. “Good to see you. How was the road?”
The Rider murmured something imperceptible, and Stevic strained to hear.
“I need you to contact Joy about F’ryan and his missing message. We need every available Rider scouring all roads and towns. Those who are on a run must keep their eyes open. There’s no telling where that message is, or if it even still exists. Maybe someone took it from him, or maybe his horse is running loose with the message still snug in its satchel. We must find out. Also, be sure to warn Joy of the manner of his death.”
Connly murmured some more, but Stevic couldn’t make out a word of it.
“I don’t know,” Captain Mapstone replied. “Though I think it very odd that his brooch was missing. It could—”
Whatever she was about to say was cut short by a clamor outside. Stevic looked out his window, but could only see people rushing into the street. “What do you suppose that’s all about?” he asked Sevano.
“Dunno.” Sevano took a final swig of ale and wiped his sleeve across his mouth. “Let’s have a look.”
Stevic was reluctant to leave the conversation he had been eavesdropping on, but the booth had become silent anyway. Undoubtedly, the two Green Riders were distracted by the shouting from outside as well. Stevic pushed his tankard aside and followed Sevano out into the glare of sunshine. He pushed through onlookers to see what was causing such excitement, and stopped in shock.