First Rider's Call

Over the weeks of the journey, the soldiers had modified their motto to: “There is no road to Eletia, but there will be by the time we’re through.”

Upon their return, Karigan and Ty first encountered soldiers who stood guard over those who toiled over a massive tangle of deadfall. Ty called out so he and Karigan would not be mistaken for intruders.

The foremost guard “Hallooed” them in return. His black and silver tunic was askew over his mail, indicating he had already taken a turn with an ax.

“Anything new since this morning?” Ty asked.

“Sign of groundmites in the area,” the soldier said. “Lady Penburn has stopped the works to decide what to do, but I’ve heard nothing more than that.”

With this news Karigan tensed. Upon reaching the relative safety of the delegation, she had just begun to relax a little. Scout duty was extremely nerve-racking: always having to be on high alert, especially with the constant threat of groundmites hanging over them, and the uncertainty of the Eletians’ reception should they by chance have an encounter. She and Ty had spoken little since the clearing, trying to ride as quietly and inconspicuously as possible through the dense woods, maintaining that high level of watchfulness at all times.

They continued on, passing weary soldiers taking a break, and guided the horses through the narrow clearing in the snarl of deadfall the soldiers had hacked out.

Others stood guard here and there some distance into the forest. One knelt amid a patch of bracken fern, and another leaned against a boulder. They all watched outward, their crossbows held at ready.

Karigan and Ty passed the drovers who stood with the mules and horses. Servants gossiped in small groups, and a scattering of more soldiers waited close at hand for their next order. Standard bearers in bright livery bided their time, their standards furled and packed away to prevent them from becoming constantly entangled in low-hanging boughs.

A fine delegation we make, Karigan thought. Even the nobles had put away their finery in favor of rougher but more practical riding breeches and tunics. The Eletians will wonder what kind of ragtag rabble we are.

She straightened her own soiled shortcoat trying to remember the last time she had bathed in something other than an icy stream. Ty, she noted with a ripple of envy, looked as fresh and dapper as the day they had left Sacor City.

Rider Bard Martin detached himself from conversation with a drover and strode over to them. No one knew his real first name, but “Bard” suited him for he had a penchant for singing and the telling of tales, an ability the Riders found most welcome.

The gold embroidery of the winged horse emblem on his shortcoat was coming unraveled, Karigan saw, then she noted a long rip in the sleeve itself.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“What?” Bard stopped short looking up at her in surprise. Then he followed her gaze to his sleeve. “Oh. A soldier nearly took my arm off when he mistook me for a ’mite. Everyone’s on edge and I should have announced myself better. I’m fine—I’ve good reflexes.” He smiled in appreciation for her concern.

“I’ll take Condor and Flicker off your hands,” he said. “No doubt Lady Penburn will want your report immediately. Ereal has been right in the thick of it.”

After Karigan and Ty dismounted, Rider-Lieutenant Ereal M’Farthon waved them over to a knot of people surrounding Lady Penburn. They were engaged in an intense discussion. Among them were select nobles: Captain Ansible, who oversaw the military aspect of the delegation; Master Banff, secretary to Lady Penburn; and the bounder Brogan, who, in his stained buckskin, was the most disreputable of the lot. Karigan crinkled her nose and moved to an upwind position.

“What have you to report?” Lady Penburn asked.

Ty stepped forward and bowed, and while he told them of their mostly uneventful scout duty, Lady Penburn listened avidly.

Karigan found she rather liked Lady Penburn. The lady was undoubtedly accustomed to every luxury accorded one of her station, but had taken the rugged nature of this expedition in stride. In fact, she threw herself into it with a girlish enthusiasm as if she were on holiday. Perhaps it was like a holiday to her, compared to her usual work of managing a province. Karigan thought she would’ve made a good Green Rider, at least in spirit.

Lady Penburn’s enthusiasm was contagious enough that it kept the other members of the delegation moving forward without too much grumbling. She kept their minds on birdsong and wildflowers, or the latest court gossip, rather than oppressive heat or the occasional sudden downpour. Still, there was no mistaking who was in charge, for her leadership was straightforward, and her orders sometimes sharp.

When Ty described the clearing with its warding, Karigan saw some decision click in Lady Penburn’s eyes.

“Thank you, Rider Newland,” Lady Penburn said. “You are certain there was no sign of groundmites?”

“Yes, my lady.”

She sighed. “Your lieutenant here saw a band of the creatures moving west of us, and Brogan found fresh sign of them to the east.”

Karigan inhaled sharply. Thus far Lady Penburn’s scouts had found the occasional old sign of ’mites, but nothing to suggest they were near enough to endanger the delegation. Lady Penburn’s use of extreme caution, however, was well warranted, for long, long ago groundmites had been bred by Mornhavon the Black to be ferocious killers, and they had been harrying Sacoridia’s borders very hard of late. Settlers were forced to flee the northern territory for more tame and populated lands, causing problems for provincial lords who suddenly had to contend with refugees. 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">