“So what did you tell Destarion?” Karigan asked.

Mara sighed. “I told him I’d try to talk to her when I had a few moments. I haven’t had any time until now, and now it’s well past midnight.” She opened her mouth in a mighty yawn. “Whatever happened to the good old days?”

“What good old days?”

“The days when Ereal, and Patrici before her, did all this stuff and I was just an ordinary Rider whose only reason to stay up this late was to have a good, cold ale at the Cock and Hen. I’ve become much too serious and sensible of late.”

“The Cock and Hen?” Karigan crinkled her nose in distaste. “You’d actually set foot in that place?” It was a seedy, rundown pub on the outskirts of the city, which catered to those of questionable reputation.

“Oh yes,” Mara said dreamily. “They’ve the best, bit terest dark ale this side of the Grandgent—bitter enough to curl your hair.”

Karigan snorted. “That explains yours.”

Mara sighed long and mournfully. “Now I’m destined to wither away in meetings crowded with stablehands who haven’t bathed in months, arguing over sacks of grain.”

With that, Mara declared herself spent, and retired. Karigan finally set to clearing away her papers. Like Mara, she dreamed of all her cares drifting away, of sitting down in a pub—one much nicer than the Cock and Hen—downing cool, dark ale at her leisure. The only problem was that she couldn’t rid herself of the image of Lil Ambrioth scowling down at her, and the feeling of guilt that scowl engendered.

She stumbled down the corridor to her room, yawning. Inside, she kicked off her boots and extinguished her lamp. Too tired to change into her nightshirt, she flopped onto her bed fully dressed.

Captain Mapstone would snap out of her difficulty, she had to. Maybe Connly would return soon, and take the brunt of responsibility she and Mara now bore. Maybe she had never really seen the image of Lil Ambrioth in her mirror, maybe . . .

Within seconds, she drifted off to sleep.

IN THE WATER BUCKET

Unfortunately, by the next day, none of Karigan’s “maybes” came to pass. Captain Mapstone remained sequestered in her quarters, refusing to talk to anyone. Connly had not miraculously shown up, and she still had a schedule to untangle.

That morning, she actually looked forward to her session with Drent. She needed the outlet from all the sedentary paperwork she’d been doing, and to get her mind off Rider troubles. As usual, Drent whacked her pretty good in the practice ring, but at least the pain made her feel like she was doing “real” work.

Later on, she visited the quartermaster to ensure supplies were adequate for the Riders heading out on errands over the next week or so. She counted pieces of spare tack and uniforms, shelves of unused bedrolls, weaponry, tinder kits, and eating utensils. Next she visited the kitchens where the head cook patiently explained that the travel fare Riders required was available day and night—she had to but come and get it.

Karigan found she had taken for granted the role of the Chief Rider whose duty it was to see that message-bearing Riders were fully supplied and ready to go at a moment’s notice. She had always taken on an errand with Condor already tacked and readied for her, the saddlebags bulging. She never stopped to think about the fact the Chief Rider had seen to it all so she wouldn’t have to.

If the Chief Rider forgot anything, it could compromise the Rider’s errand. Karigan had never been on the road with any supplies missing, and the diligence of her Chief Rider was an example she intended to emulate. She would see to it the Riders were well taken care of.

Once everything returned to normal, she promised herself to be more conscientious about thanking Connly for his efforts.

As she crossed the castle grounds checking off errands on her list, she glimpsed Mara in the distance, doggedly trotting off to what was likely yet another meeting.

Karigan shook her head wondering if things would ever, in fact, return to normal. What was normal? She sighed and continued back to barracks, where the dreaded paperwork awaited her.

At four hour, Karigan had had enough. She couldn’t take it anymore. She set her pen down and pushed her chair away from the table.

No more paperwork, she told herself.

She left Rider barracks and crossed over to the stable. It was time for the afternoon feeding, and as she entered the stable, she was greeted by whickering horses bobbing their heads above stall doors. Others circled impatiently in their stalls, kicking the wall in emphasis, to urge their human attendants to get a move on.

Hep had already tossed down hay, and was now descending the ladder from the loft. He gave her a big grin when he saw her.

“Why don’t you start with the grain,” he said.

Obediently she went into the small room in which the grain was stored, a whole great mound of it. She loved the sweet smell of fresh grain, and in here it was almost overwhelming. She set to feeding, and soon the stable was filled with contented munching.

There were actually twenty-six horses in the stable, including her Condor. Two served as spare mounts, which were used in case a messenger horse came up lame. That meant twenty-four Riders were in residence, an unusual number.

One horse not typically seen was Lynx’s black and white piebald, Owl. Lynx rarely stayed in the city when checking in with the king, but the trouble surrounding D’Ivary Province probably required that he keep close.

There was Mara’s Firefly, and Crane who now served with Ty. Garth’s Chickadee munched away in a stall next to Dale’s Plover. When her gaze settled on Bluebird, Captain Mapstone’s gelding, she noticed immediately his forlorn appearance and dull coat, and that he did not feed as enthusiastically as the other horses.