First Rider's Call

KING JONAEUS’ SPRING

Letters in hand, Karigan headed for the central courtyard gardens. The day was really too fine to stay indoors. She had sought out Captain Mapstone, but learned she was closeted with the king and his advisors. Left to her own devices, with no duties yet assigned her, the central courtyard gardens beckoned.

She stepped beneath a stone arch into the gardens. The courtyard was bordered on all four sides by the castle, yet still maintained a sense of spaciousness and tranquility. There were many nooks and wayside paths that offered seclusion, and Karigan followed one such, hopping across stepping stones strategically placed in a trout pond. Dark fish shapes darted into shadows at her passage.

She paused at the head of a path that led to a garden nook. Hidden by dense shrubbery and artfully situated boulders, it was a favored meeting spot of lovers. If no one was there, it would be a quiet place for her to read her letters, but as she approached, sure enough, she heard voices.

“There must be a better place for us to meet,” a woman said. “This feels too exposed—we’re taking too big a risk.”

“I have keys,” a man responded. “We can—”

Karigan retreated down the path, smiling at the thought of having nearly intruded upon an illicit romantic meeting. When she heard footsteps crunching on the gravel path behind her, she paused, pretending to take a deep whiff of a rose. She shifted her eyes and watched a woman in a baker’s smock hurry along the path toward her. When the woman saw Karigan, her eyes widened and she turned on her heel to head in a different direction.

Karigan laughed softly at the woman’s expression. Obviously she hadn’t wanted to be discovered with her paramour, and hadn’t expected anyone to witness her departure. Who was her mysterious suitor? Some courtier afraid to meet openly with his common lover?

She held her pose by the roses hoping to find out, even as she concocted tragic love stories in her mind.

Moments later, a shaggy bearded man with muscular arms and soot smudged on his cheeks emerged from the nook and strode down the same path taken by the baker. No nobleman this, but one of the castle blacksmiths.

Karigan found herself disappointed he was not some exiled prince or impoverished noble. With a sigh, she straightened and walked toward the nook. Now that it was free, she could make use of it.

Her long strides carried her into a collision with a man who emerged unexpectedly from behind the shrubbery. His armload of papers erupted into the air and they both crashed to their buttocks.

Karigan shook her head feeling rather bruised. The man was already on his knees, grabbing at his papers even as they flurried down around him.

Karigan moved to help him. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Important papers, these are.” He glared at her through specs that lay askew on his face. “Documents for the king, these are.”

“I said I was sorry.” She leaned forward to grab a paper just as he did, and the two cracked heads. “Ow!”

“Just stay out of my way.” He snatched the papers she had collected right out of her hands, stood—keys at his belt jingling—and hastened down the path.

Slowly it dawned on Karigan, as she rubbed her throbbing head, that her hands were completely empty.

“Wait!” she called. She sprang to her feet and raced after him, grabbing at his sleeve.

He scowled at her. “Now what? You have delayed me enough.”

Karigan sucked in a breath in an effort to remain civil. “I believe you picked up a couple of letters that belong to me.”

The man made an exasperated noise and picked through his papers. When he found the letters and saw her name upon them, he glanced at her, something odd lighting in his eyes. Then he flung them at her and continued on his way.

Karigan stared incredulously after him. She was of half a mind to pursue him and give him a tongue lashing, but better sense prevailed. She told herself he was beneath her attention and nothing would be gained by confronting him.

“Rotten little man,” she muttered.

She headed into the shady nook and found it empty. Sparrows splashed in a birdbath, but that was all the activity she found. The recently raked gravel path had been disturbed by the passage of several feet.

“I guess I was wrong about the illicit romance.” Whatever had brought the blacksmith, baker, and clerk together, she guessed she’d rather not know.

She sat on a rustic stone bench and heaved a sigh, closing her eyes for a moment to listen to the spring that bubbled nearby. Water trickled over mossy rocks like a miniature waterfall, pooling into a basin before streaming away to the trout pond. The sound of it soothed her. It was said that the first high king of Sacoridia, Jonaeus, founded the castle on this hill because of the natural spring he found there. In his memory, it was called “King Jonaeus’ Spring.” To drink of it was said to gift one with wisdom worthy of a king.

Karigan had sipped of it, and found it cool on a hot day, but otherwise unremarkable. She became no wiser than before. Only experience, she had learned somewhere along the way, led to wisdom.

Finally she broke the seal of one of the letters. It was from her father. In it he detailed preparations for the fall trading season. He described yardage of cloth, and tonnage of river cog, wagon train routes, and square foot of lumber. The entire letter went on in this vein until the very end, where he wrote:

I need you just as much as the King and Captain Mapstone do. You are a G’ladheon and a Merchant! But do know I am ever Proud of you. Your good service to the King can only bring honor to the Clan. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">