Stevic rested his arms on his knees. “Do you suppose she has spent many nights like this?”
Sevano grunted again. He knew to whom his chief referred without asking. “Kari is a bold lass. A little dark is nothing to her.”
Stevic pulled his cloak over his shoulders and remained silent for a while, listening to the hiss and pop of the fire. He allowed the dancing tongues of flame to draw his gaze inward. He said, “I can’t just sit at home reviewing accounts, you know. Nor can I lead a caravan. How do you expect me to do that?”
Sevano sighed. “I don’t, but this delay will cost you profit.”
“What is a loss of profit compared to my daughter?”
“Nothing,” Sevano said. “If it were, you would not be you, and I would not follow you.”
Stevic chuckled. “Old fool, old friend. More than a cargo master you are to me.”
“If anyone can find Kari, it will be you.”
When they had reached Corsa after their trip to Selium, Stevic learned the disquieting news that no one had seen Karigan and that she hadn’t come home before them. He commenced to spread the word among his people that Karigan was missing, and he bade them keep watch for her on the road while they set out on trading missions. The word was spread among other merchants and their staffs as well. It was not long before all of Corsa had heard that the heir to the great G’ladheon fortune was missing. Rumors spoke of kidnappers, and some mean-spirted persons had even sent letters demanding ransom for her return. Stevic had followed up on each, but discovered them all to be lies. All lies that delayed him from finding his daughter.
Eventually Stevic and Sevano discarded the rumors as speculation, and left Corsa abuzz. They set out for Sacor City and would look for Karigan along the way. When they reached the city, they would look up Captain Mapstone and see if she had any news of Karigan.
Stevic left the fire and stretched out on his own bedroll. “We’ve a few more days on the road,” he said. Oddly, he looked forward to reaching Sacor City, and dreaded it at the same time. He looked forward to sparring with that fiery Captain Mapstone. Quick she was. Quick to anger, quick of wit. She had a bright burning intelligence he found intriguing.
He dreaded reaching Sacor City because of the news he might find there, the news he most feared. He feared he might find that Karigan was still missing, or worse, if found, was dead.
Sevano snored softly on the other side of the campfire. Stevic could not sleep. Instead, he gazed long and hard at the distant stars and wondered about the capricious gods who inhabited them. If the gods existed, why was his daughter missing?
VISITOR TO THE REALM
Laren Mapstone sat at the base of the king’s dais with his advisors, the Honorable Counselors Sperren and Devon, and Castellan Crowe. The crusty Sperren jabbered aimlessly about supposed civilians who disguised themselves as Green Riders and foolishly risked their lives to deliver unimportant messages to the king.
The discussions had been grinding round in circles for hours now, and night coated the tall windows like black enamel. Pages had come by an hour ago to light wall lamps and candles ensconced in wooden chandeliers. In the flickering light, the figures painted on the ceiling appeared alive, their expressions severely disapproving of those down below them. They were like ghosts who watched.
Finder, fast asleep at his master’s feet, yipped and pedaled his paws in some doggie dream of chasing hares. At least he’d had some dinner and a good stiff walk. The kennel master had seen to that. Laren’s stomach growled—even Finder’s raw horse meat began to sound appetizing, and she would pay with a rotten backache for sitting in this Second Age-stiff chair probably created specifically to torture advisors.
“We can’t just have civilians dressing up,” Sperren droned on, “as servants of the realm.”
Blah, blah, blah, Laren thought.
The king sat preoccupied in his chair, his brown eyes distant, one leg across the other, his chin on his hand. He was crowned by a delicate silver fillet which he regarded, she knew, as more of a collar than a symbol of his kingship. His beard made him appear older, wiser, but Laren knew a tired young man was behind the beard. Crumpled in his lap lay the all-important message. At least, it should have been important.
Laren wondered what world the king’s mind traveled in, for he seemed disinclined to participate in the discussion—rather, the bickering—of his advisors. He was probably walking the hills of his ancestral land with his dogs capering about him, where he could hear the rumble of the sea and the cries of gulls, and feel the free wind on his face. That was where he would be now if his father had not astounded all by naming him heir to the realm.
Zachary had protested exhaustively, as he had planned to govern Hillander Province and raise dogs, while his brother did the dirty work of managing the realm. In the end, King Amigast had seen through Prince Amilton, however. He had seen how the spoiled child had grown into a spoiled man who possessed not a single iota of leadership. The prince’s mercurial temper was reflected in bruised servants, abused bed partners, and too many fine horses that had to be put down. Zachary wouldn’t let his brother near the dogs. Everyone knew Amilton’s nature, but said nothing, for his father saw only the charming side of his son. And Prince Amilton could be charming indeed.
Then, a delegation from the Cloud Islands had come to Sacoridia to negotiate trade agreements. The relationship between the two countries had never been very secure, and King Amigast sought friendship with the Islands knowing it would make Sacoridia a leader in commerce. Prince Amilton raped the daughter of one of the delegates, a girl hardly in her teens.