Time of Daughters II

by Sherwood Smith

  Barnut was already muttering disjointedly about his itchy wounds, how stupid they were, and how he would have spent his riches if only those winged riders hadn’t come out of nowhere, curse, curse, curse.

  The door shut behind the captain. Noth gripped Barnut by the chin. “Who is Prettyboy attacking?”

  “Don’t know. We weren’t going to see them. We were to split three ways, drive our horses, me and Hound Crew head back to camp, and then we can go up the mountain.”

  “Where is your camp?”

  “A day out of Three Fork, west o’ Grunt Summit.”

  Noth glanced back, to meet equally puzzled looks. Nobody had ever heard of these locations. Obviously the brigands had their own names for landmarks.

  “Can you make a map?”

  “Map? You mean all that scribble-scrabble on paper? I ran so’s I wouldn’t have to sweat out letters, nothing worse....” Barnut yawned hugely, and began to drool.

  Noth jerked Barnut’s chin up. “How many did you kill?”

  Barnut murmured sleepily, “At the castle? Only six, if you count the two’t gave me no fight.... Chief Jendas says they all count but I don’t see counting grayheads or brats.... And on the horse raid....” His head dropped to one side as he babbled fragments of sentences, then fragments of words, mixing two languages.

  Arrow appeared then, breathing hard, the captain behind him. He gave an incredulous look at the drooling Barnut, then turned to Noth for an explanation. Which Noth gave in short, flat sentences, beginning with how hard Barnut fought once he heard that he was to be given the white kinthus.

  Arrow listened all the way through. “An attack, but he doesn’t know where, when, or how many? Send someone with that information to Ku Halir, and add that we’ll pull reinforcements from East Garrison and run ‘em north.” He turned to the old healer. “Tell me more about this white kinthus. I thought the green and the white was the same plant.”

  The chief healer, who had lived through the tense years of Mathren and Kendred, had learned to speak very carefully whenever he was consulted outside of the area of mending physical damage. “Green is the stalk, white the bud, much harder to harvest—you have to get it right before it flowers, and then dried properly. White kinthus, erroneously called the truth herb, detaches the mind from the constraints that bind us to our bodies, a detachment that sometimes never rejoins the two. Persons who ingest it will enter that place where memories and dreams merge, usually talking freely of whatever they have seen, heard, or learned. Getting sense from people under the influence, especially at the usual dose, requires training in focused questions—”

  “I get it,” Arrow said. “I want you to give some to the Yvanavayir girl.” He hesitated, glancing at the wet front of Barnut’s clothes, where the fellow had obviously done his best to spit out the herb. “Put it in her food. Don’t tell her what’s coming. No, I can see you’re about to protest, but that’s an order. Whichever way this goes, I’m going to have to defend my decision to the jarls, who probably have runners on the road right now demanding a treason trial.”

  The healer took a step back on the word treason.

  “And while I don’t care if Noth beats the truth out of this turd here, after the way he bragged about killing people who couldn’t fight back, until I’m certain Fareas Yvanavayir revealed Tlen’s defenses with intent, she at least hasn’t killed anyone.”

  The healer saluted stiffly.

  “Noth, fetch Danet. I want her to hear whatever the Yvanavayir girl says.”

  By the time Danet had entered the garrison, which she hadn’t set foot in for years, runners had been dispatched in all directions for the hardest rides of their lives.

  Together the king and queen walked toward the cell where Pony was kept, as Arrow reported what he’d learned.

  “I hate this,” Danet said at the end.

  “I hate knowing an attack is coming much worse,” Arrow retorted. “And then there are the jarls, getting who knows what sort of garbled reports. We have to act now, with whatever tools we have. This kinthus is a tool.”

  As it happened, Pony had used up her water allotment in trying to wash her hair. She was so thirsty she drank down her tainted water without a hesitation. And so, when the king and queen entered her cell, they found Pony smiling gently, almost unrecognizable with all the anger gone.

  What could have made her so angry, Danet wondered, then remembered her mother had been killed when Pony was small. With very mixed feelings she stood against the wall as Arrow gestured to Commander Noth, the expert in questioning people under normal circumstances, as there was no one expert in handling people under the influence of white kinthus.

  “Fareas Yvanavayir,” Noth said.

  Pony looked up, blinking slowly. “I hate that name,” she said conversationally. “Everybody calls me Pony, because when I was a girl—”

  “Pony. I want you to think back to your conversations with Larid the tradesman. What did you tell him about Tlen Castle defenses?”

  “I told him everything,” she said with a slow, sly smile. “Everything.”

  “Why?”

  “He was so interested in me, in us. He’s impressed by Marlovans. I told him that Yvanavayir is so much better run, or was in my day but I’m sure that Chelis Cassad has ruined all our old drills just because she can. My Aunt Tdan Tlen is so proud, and of what? I told him how every drill and every alert was wrong, and how it could be better if only anyone would listen to me. But Cousin Hibern and that silly Owlet think just because they’ve always done it that way it’s perfect. . .”

  She began to launch into exhaustive detail, mixing disparaging remarks about the Tlens with Yvanavayir drills, interrupted by a jumble of excoriations against Chelis Cassad that had first Danet, then Arrow, exclaiming interruptions.

  “She did what?” That was Danet.

  “Ordered those two hateful slackers to bang hammers on metal over my bed, forcing me awake....”

  “The new jarlan drove you out?” That was Arrow.

  “...and she said, I’ll help you pack, so the entire household heard, but Eaglebeak hid in his room all week. I never saw him except at supper and then he ignored me....”

  “They kicked her out,” Arrow said. “No wonder she ran down to Tlen!”

  Danet scowled. “Correct. I thought better of the Cassads, especially Chelis, who was so quiet and—”

  Noth looked at his king and queen, then interrupted with strained patience, “None of these questions touch on treason.” And when the royal pair stepped back, Arrow red-faced and Danet icy, Noth said to Pony, “Did you ask why Larid, a foreigner, wanted to know about the Tlen defenses?”

  “Yes, and he said he wants to learn from us. He wants to learn from me. At least he had the sense to ask my advice, unlike my own relations—”

  “I’ve heard enough,” Danet said, and walked out.

  Arrow followed. When he caught up with her, Danet shot him a hard look. “She told him, all right. With intent to impress. But is that really treason? Isn’t treason giving aid to an enemy?”

  “That wasn’t aid?”

  “She did not know he was an enemy. Nobody did. She was trying to impress a flirt.”

  Arrow pressed his thumbs to his eyes. “With details of castle defense? Any bonehead knows not to talk about that sort of thing with a stranger!”

  “It sounds like she got into detail from spite, that is, to prove how her Tlen relations were wrong, in the way jarls and the army and the academy all talk about defense.”

  “She knew it was wrong—she lied when she said she didn’t remember.”

  “She lied after she found out he was an enemy. At the time, she was talking to a flirt.”

  “I see what you’re saying. But this is for certain, the jarls are going to howl for her blood.” He sighed. “I wonder if this is how the Great Evred felt when he had to put Mad Gallop Yvanavayir to death.”

  Danet said, “That particular Yvanavayir led an attack on this castle. He k
illed the king with his own hands, and sent his personal armsmen to kill the heir. Fareas Yvanavayir bragged to a man she wanted to bed.”

  “Not a man, a foreigner.”

  Danet snapped, “She spent her entire life in Yvanavayir talking border defense and probably castle defense as well. The only time she left Yvanavayir before this was to come to the Victory Day games, where everyone talks defense. People in trade towns learn how to behave around foreigners. They know what to say and what not to say. But Fareas was like a yearling first seeing a saddle. The foreigner knew exactly what he was doing. She had no idea.”

  To which Arrow retorted, “Right. He did, since he used a very expensive herb on her. That sounds like a spy. If we find out he was a spy for the Adranis, it’s going to be treason in everyone’s eyes, come Convocation, when we have two empty benches that used to belong to the Jarls of Halivayir and Tlen. No son to take either of their places. The jarls are going to demand justice.”

  “You mean, they are going to demand blood,” Danet said.

  “Yes,” he snapped. “I can even tell you who will be absolutely convinced it’s treason.”

  She walked upstairs, where Noren was waiting. When Noddy’s betrothed saw the glitter of moisture in Danet’s eyes, she raised her hands in question.

  Mindful of her own total ignorance of what was expected of a gunvaer when she found herself having to take on that duty, Danet had set herself to tell Noren everything. Well, mostly everything.

  She did not hold back now.

  FOURTEEN

  From Haldren Arvandais, King of Lorgi Idego, to Nadran-Sierlaef of Marlovan Iasca:

  My Farendavan cousins tell me you’re called Noddy. They, and every rider our trade representatives in Larkadhe send to me, tell of your sense of justice, wisdom, and compassion, though you are little older than my own son. These reports from our own people, as well as the years of peace our two kingdoms have both enjoyed, give me hope for the future.

  It is in regard to that future that I am writing to you. I have recently been apprised that there has been a large gathering in one of the valleys of the Ghildraith, on our extreme southeastern border. News was garbled for a time, for apparently they took care to avoid our regular trade routes.

  A runner arrived today to say that this mass has begun moving south, and further they are well armed. Since they are moving in a southward direction, they will be no threat to us. With the above in mind, I thought it best to send a runner directly to you, to make use of this news as you will.

  Lineas laid the Idegan king’s letter down on the desk she had worked at for over a year. She raised her gaze to Noddy, who turned from her to Neit, then to Vanadei, who went to the door to leading to the Yvana Hall interview chamber, and shut it.

  Noddy folded the letter up. Then he faced them.

  “You three are the ones I trust most,” he said, each word deliberate in the way they all recognized: when he was uncertain, he always began by repeating what they already knew.

  Neit stepped up, kissed his cheek, and said in an equally slow voice, her tone mild, “It seems to me that we need a couple of long runners to take the news south.”

  “Grass run.” Noddy rubbed his big hands slowly down his thighs. “Two.” He held up two fingers. “Fast as fast can be, to Da and to my brother. Right?”

  “Just what I was thinking,” Neit said.

  “As was I,” Vanadei added. “Do you want to send runners to report to Captain Nermand, and to the Jarl of Olavayir?”

  “Yes.” Noddy ducked his head. “Them, too. Should we send reinforcements—no. I already did that.” His brow cleared briefly. “I already sent Cabbage Gannan to back up Connar.”

  “That’s right,” Vanadei and Neit both said, Vanadei remembering that it had been Neit’s idea.

  Noddy said, “Connar will definitely need Gannan now.”

  The three runners agreed again, then Vanadei said, “Do you want us to settle out who goes while we copy this letter?”

  “Yes.” Noddy breathed out his relief, then looked around the empty chamber. “Yes. Do we have ink? I can fetch it.”

  “I made a fresh batch yesterday,” Vanadei said. “It’s in the storage room, with the new-pressed paper.”

  Noddy sloped off as if he were the runner. This was a specific task, one he could do, and the others knew how much having specific work reassured him when he perceived a problem for which he had no orders and no clear path.

  Neit turned to the others. “You know I’m an expert at grass runs. Have either of you ever made one?”

  “No, but we’ve both been instructed by Fannor, who was the fastest royal runner for twenty years,” Vanadei said. “We both have,” he added, and Lineas opened her hand.

  “I can go,” Lineas said, her tone a question. “Vana should stay and take care of the crown prince.”

  Neit pursed her lips. “Yes, but are you strong enough for a grass run? Have you drilled at all since your arm was broken?”

  Lineas reddened. “Twice a day,” she whispered, and the other two saw the remorse she would have hidden.

  “Lineas, what is this guilt?” Neit clapped her on her good shoulder. “It would have taken an Inda to go into battle with a couple of little knives and no shield. And those shits wouldn’t have gone after him the way they did you. Didn’t you see it? They were trying to get through the smallest person there in order to reach one of the princes.”

  “I didn’t,” Lineas admitted, red with shame.

  “That’s because you didn’t grow up having to run the enemy in your brother’s and cousins’ wargames, the way I did. Never mind that. If you’ve been drilling, then I think you’re strong enough for a grass run. We’ll ride together for the first portion, and I’ll show you all the tricks.”

  Vanadei flicked a questioning look at Lineas, who flicked a finger in a brief signal: she would send a message by magic. Vanadei said to Neit, “Lineas and I will each make copies of King Hal’s letter, if you want to choose the horses.”

  “Done.”

  Neit was gone in three long, hip-swinging strides, leaving the other two alone. “It seems so strange to trust her with so much, but not trust her about the golden notecases,” Lineas said, with regret.

  Vanadei opened his hands. “Whenever I think about such things, I tell myself it’s orders made by people with much longer vision than I have. As long as I feel that our secrets are truly kept for the good of the kingdom, I can keep them.”

  Lineas brightened. “That seems a good rule—”

  The door opened, and Noddy appeared, carrying paper and an inkwell.

  Vanadei said to Lineas in the easy voice they always used before Noddy when he was anxious, “We’ll copy out the Idegan king’s letter, as we’re fast. How about if you write whatever you want to say to Connar-Laef, and to the king?”

  “Right, right,” Noddy said, and they all sat down.

  Shortly thereafter Lineas ran out, mentally composing her letter to Quill. She scrawled it out in her room, rolled her journal and notecase in the middle of a change of clothes, and ran down to the stable to find Neit waiting with a pair of horses.

  Lineas’s gaze went to the shields on both animals, and the sword sheaths.

  Neit grinned. “Instead of the usual knife drill mornings, we’re going to get into the basics of defense. If you’re going to spend time around kings, you’d better pick up any skills you can.”

  Quill squashed down disappointment that his road would not lead him to the comfort of Hesea Springs, but he consoled himself by taking an easier pace as he rode through Tyavayir, listening to the farm laborers singing as they planted.

  He forded a shallow area in the river that cut through a swathe of Senelaec’s eastmost lands, noticing a significant difference within a day. Though plants and soil appeared to be similar to Tyavayir, there were many empty fields, making him wonder if the jarl had raised his entire family to go to the aid of the Eastern Alliance.

  He decided against visit
ing the Senelaecs, as he carried no messages for them. Lightning Season was setting in as the east winds, strong all winter, died completely while the summer’s west winds had yet to flow. That left the land baking under days of fierce sun in a brilliant blue sky.

  Even the butterflies seemed lazy and dust-laden as he rode slowly along east-west road, until he felt the quiet tap of a note transferring to his notecase, which he carried in a pocket next to his skin.

  Instantly worried, he pulled up. His heart rapped against his ribs when he recognized Lineas’s hand. She always sent her letters at night.

  He read it rapidly, then read it through again more slowly, aware of a mixture of reactions, the sharpest anticipation: he’d see Lineas again, after resigning himself to at least a year’s separation. Hard on that was grim worry at the situation.

  The sun had begun dropping westward when he reached the border road skirting wooded land, he caught sight of relatively fresh hoof prints, crisp in the dry dirt. The vast majority of the prints had been made by the distinctive style of horse shoes favored by Marlovans, so expected a sight he was about to ride on when he spotted a fresher set made by barefooted horses, crossing the first set.

  He led his own mount to the grassy verge and dismounted to walk alongside the road until he was certain that a large Marlovan company was being shadowed by a small group.

  Ordinarily he’d shrug the matter off. Any large body of Marlovans could be counted on to take care of themselves. But Lnand’s observations, followed by the letter from the Idegan king, made him wary. The two things might not be related, but it would be negligent to ignore the timing, given all the unresolved questions.

  So he decided to track the trackers.

  After a day and most of a night of travel as long as the moon was up, he drew close enough to spot the pursuit—he could tell by now it was nothing less, the way the footprints led from sheltering bluff to screening hedgerows. These were not travelers following the middle of the road.

  When the sun sank at last, releasing the heat of the day into the cloudless sky, he shrouded himself in his dark cloak and rode toward the village whose golden lights twinkled in a shallow valley. Below it lanterns winked like fireflies, outlining the tents of the Marlovan company. Unsurprisingly no one had lit fires—they would eat cold slabs of travel bread to avoid any more heat.