Patrici guided her horse into any available opening, picking up speed when possible. Not many in the crowd were inclined to get out of her way.
“She’s in a hurry,” Alton said. “I wonder what message she’s carrying. Must be important. This press can be a real aggravation when you have to get to the castle in a hurry.” Again, he frowned.
“Now what?” Karigan asked.
“The city has been filling up with commoners of late.”
Karigan halted Condor, unmindful of the traffic that jammed behind her. Alton turned Night Hawk about to see what the problem was.
“Are you going to start telling me they don’t belong here in your opinion?” she asked. “Because if you are, I’ll go the rest of the way on my own.”
Alton blushed. “I-I didn’t mean to offend. I was just making an observation. Truly.”
“I hope so,” Karigan said. “Those folk have been subject to groundmites and thieves taking advantage of them. Don’t you think they have a right to seek safety within the king’s walls?”
“Well, yes, I suppose. But there are so many of them.”
Karigan shook her head and urged Condor right past Alton. Night Hawk nosed up alongside her.
“I’m sorry,” Alton said. “I just can’t seem to say the right things around you.”
Alton would have fit in admirably at Selium, Karigan thought. The aristocratic girls who were her classmates would have talked of nothing else other than handsome Alton D’Yer with his square chin and radiant smile. She shook her head.
“I understand your father’s wealth is worth more than that of many lords,” Alton said. “He could probably purchase whole provinces.”
Karigan glared at him. “It wasn’t always that way. My father earned everything he has. He wasn’t born to it.” She tossed her head and concentrated on the road, but did not miss Alton’s stung expression. Of course, she had been too little to remember how her parents had struggled, but she had heard enough stories.
The scent of freshly baked bread drifted to her from the stall of some vendor along the street. Strains of a well-known tune reached her from a busker playing a lute.
“Perhaps we shall see the king,” Alton said in a ploy to change the subject. It worked, for Karigan’s attention suddenly focused on him.
“The king? What do you mean? We’re heading out of Sacor City, not in.”
Alton fussed with Night Hawk’s reins. “The king has gone hunting. For hare, mostly . . .with his dogs. I was invited along with some other nobles, but I opted to ride with you.”
That was interesting. Most aristocrats would seek the king’s favor whenever possible, and yet here he was, riding with her, the daughter of a merchant. She couldn’t help but be disarmed, and she flashed a smile at him.
Before they passed through the last wall, Karigan ducked into the shop of a likely clothier. It was not long before she exited the shop frowning.
“What’s wrong?” Alton asked.
“I haven’t the coin to purchase even a plain shirt.”
“Things are more expensive in the city. I could help if—”
“No thanks. I’ll check elsewhere.” They stopped at several shops, but the problem was the same. Karigan did not have enough currency.
“As I said before,” Alton remarked, “green is your color.”
Karigan did not reply.
They left Sacor City and the crowds behind and were soon surrounded by meadows and cultivated fields. The cobble streets transformed into dusty, meandering dirt roads, not much better than the North Road. Uplands curved to the east, their ridges crowned by a mix of evergreens and deciduous trees. The road itself began to rise on an upland so that a valley formed between two ridges.
“The Lost Lake,” Alton said. “Before the Long War, a lake existed here. It is said that if one pure of heart looked into it on a full moon night when the stars shone bright, they could see straight into the heavens and speak with the gods. Indura Luin is its old name, Mirror of the Moon.”
Karigan cocked her head skeptically. “By looking into a lake? At night?” She did not believe in myths. “What happened to the lake?”
“It is said Mornhavon the Black drained it, for it gave too many answers to his enemies.”
In the valley, the grasses were lush amidst stalks of purple lupine. A narrow stream gurgled through the valley basin. She could almost believe the part about Mornhavon the Black. Her experiences since she had left Selium convinced her that magic did exist, but could one possess enough to drain an entire lake?
Laren Mapstone paced before the empty throne chair, feet echoing hollowly on the stone floor. With the king absent, only two silver-and-black-clad guards stood at the throne room entrance. She prayed that wherever the king was, he had taken all of his Weapons with him.
Where was Crowe?
Hours upon hours had been spent deciphering F’ryan Coblebay’s letter to Lady Estora. A message hidden within the message. The king was in grave danger and they might already be too late to prevent an assassination attempt. She had instructed the Chief Rider to assemble as many Riders as possible, to find everyone that was in the city who wasn’t on a run. If they were about to head out on a run, he was to delay them, and get every Rider mounted, armed, and ready to move. However, it did not look too hopeful that many would be available.
The clearing of a throat broke into her thoughts. “Captain, you wished to see me?”