Time of Daughters II

by Sherwood Smith

  Finally Danet, noting that they were getting into repeating themselves, flicked a look Arrow’s way.

  He stood up. “I’ve listened to the testimony and your arguments. Not everyone is in accord with the definition of treason, or whether Fareas Yvanavayir’s actions constitute treason. There is also the plea entered by Aldren, Jarl of Yvanavayir, known as Eaglebeak, who feels honor-bound to substitute himself for his sister. I have taken all this into consideration. The final judgment is exile. Yvanavayir Jarlate is forfeit, the name Yvanavayir to be struck from the roll of jarls.”

  A gasp and a rustle and hiss echoed through the vast, cold chamber.

  Arrow went on in a grim voice, “The former Jarl of Yvanavayir and his sister Fareas have until New Year’s Firstday to cross the Marlovan border, on pain of death. Chelis Cassad as jarlan shares the exile. Manther Yvanavayir, wounded in service to the kingdom, may choose whether to remain in the king’s service, or to follow his family into exile. But he and his heirs, if any, will not inherit the jarlate.”

  That shocked the jarls into silence. In a way, many thought privately, it was worse than a bloody execution, which at least would be over. To lose your lands, your name! That was forever.

  The Jarl of Zheirban stood up. “Who’s to succeed?”

  Arrow saw the anticipation the jarl couldn’t quite hide, and scowled. “That is to be determined.”

  Thus it was.

  Arrow permitted Eaglebeak, who had been made as comfortable as possible in the lockup, to slip out with his sister through the back gate of the academy. It was empty until spring, so no one saw him other than the wall sentries, who had been visited personally by Arrow, and informed that the two riding out were invisible.

  Eaglebeak did not have to endure the shame of riding out with no banner, and no fanfare. The great yellow banner with the blue eagle flying the opposite direction of the crimson Montreivayir eagle would fold up as its rival had, and be seen no more.

  Pony rode with him, a silent wraith compared to her former days. Eaglebeak had no idea what to say to her, so they rode in silence, aware of the patrol that was no honor guard riding in sight behind them.

  They avoided all towns, including Ku Halir. Pony had begun to speak now and then as they turned north at last, but when they passed the eastern edge of Tlen, she fell silent, and stayed that way until they crossed into what had been Yvanavayir.

  No longer home.

  Chelis had already begun to organize things, after Ivandred’s visit to warn her what was likely to come. She intended to leave the castle clean and swept. Honor required no less.

  Eaglebeak and Pony arrived after harvest was in. Chelis was there waiting. She said, “I’ve already sent two carts of our household belongings, but Eaglebeak, you must talk to the Riders. The Veneth clan is split, the Basnas and the Iascans wanting to stay for whoever comes after—the Iascans all seem to believe it will be Manther—and the rest want to come with us, except for the Hamads, who have already ridden north to see if their kin in Idego will take them.”

  “Right, I’ll go out to the garrison now.”

  Chelis’s voice softened. “And when you’re done, you must decide about the things in the Hall of Ancestors,

  “Leave them,” he said flatly. “Except for Hawkeye’s shield. Like the banner. That’s ours.”

  Chelis opened her hand, then said, “Then all that’s left is to pack your personal things. I spent the last three days going into the village to take formal leave.”

  He turned up his hand, and walked out, leaving Pony and Chelis facing one another.

  Chelis had imagined many conversations, including taking the blame for handling the situation badly, made worse by the recent death of the old jarl. Though not if Pony had strutted in the way she used to. But the Pony standing before her was gaunt, her arms thin in her flapping sleeves, her whole demeanor defeated. “I want to blame you,” she said dully.

  Chelis held her breath.

  “But I can’t,” Pony said, almost too soft to hear. “I can’t.”

  “I can’t blame you either.” Chelis worked to keep her voice neutral. “When we reach Lindeth Harbor, you can take ship on your own, or you can come with us. I expect that my Dei relations in Sartor will take us in, at least until we can get up the language and find out how we might make a living.”

  Pony walked to her room, where she sank onto her weapons trunk, bowed her head, and for the first time since she lost her mother all those years ago, wept.

  TWENTY

  During his seven years as Connar’s first runner, Fish Pereth had always done exactly what he was told, and never asked questions unless they were to clarify an order. Connar believed Fish was still reporting to Hauth, so he told Fish nothing of what he thought. He didn’t tell anyone.

  It wasn’t until he overheard Vanadei and Noddy arguing over something inconsequential—and it wasn’t heated argument, just talk, talk, talk—that it occurred to him how perfect was the silence Fish gave him. He obeyed orders, he was as tidy as Connar himself, he was quiet. If Fish decided to marry that new favorite of his over in the city, Connar would have to find another first runner. He might even be stuck with a royal runner, who blabbered in Old Sartoran with the others, saying who knew what.

  So he said one morning, “If I’m promoted, you’ll need your own staff. You choose who you want.” Then he walked out so he wouldn’t have to hear the answer.

  Not that there would have been one. Fish knew better than that. He was left to stand there, fingers to chest in salute, reflecting sourly how much more it meant to him to hear that than effusive praise from anyone else. The weirdest aspect was, he didn’t even like Connar as a person.

  But he was shaping up to be a great commander.

  Two mornings a week, Arrow refused to make any appointment except for breakfasting with the princes. Arrow tried to pick some ruling topic to go over, and sometimes they went over old battles. Connar turned out to be expert on the details of Inda-Harskialdna’s battles (still remembered from his countless readings of Hauth’s papers), which pleased Arrow.

  Noddy sat silently, listening to the battle talk because it was part of his future duty; when they talked about guild matters, he joined in. It was Connar who remained silent, often letting his mind wander back to what he privately considered his personal failure; victory meant Elsarion lying dead at his feet, cut down by his own hand.

  The only interest Noddy took in martial training, other than morning drill, was lance practice. One morning, Cabbage Gannan sent a message over that he was holding a competition to replace the Riders who’d died at Tlennen Plain, and did Noddy want to watch?

  Noddy so seldom showed more than perfunctory interest in defense that Arrow gladly gave him permission to skip their morning meeting.

  When Connar heard where Noddy was, he said, “I wanted to talk to you anyway about the Adrani passes, specifically the southern. May I fetch my map?”

  “Let’s look on the big map,” Arrow said, instantly jettisoning his planned topic.

  They unrolled the big canvas map on the floor. This map was an improvement over the old one, with more details of individual mountains, rivers, and especially the two Adrani passes, painted by Lnand herself.

  “I know everyone calls Tlennen Plain a victory.” Connar rapped his knuckles on the map. “But it was a battle victory. Not a war victory, because Elsarion is still up there, and though everybody whooped it up because we drove them off, I won’t call it a real victory until Elsarion is dead at my feet.”

  “Damn!” Arrow sat back on his heels as he glared at those painted mountains. “I’ve been thinking the same thing, late nights. What’s to keep him from ordering up a fresh batch and coming down again? That’s been galling me under the saddle for years, ever since Camerend warned us about those outposts up the southern pass. The Adranis swore they’re there to guard against brigands, but they’re stuffed with Adranis. Of course they’d whistle and look up at the birds if an army comes riding
down from the east.”

  They bent over the map, Arrow scowling. Elsarion had used the northern pass to send warriors disguised as traders, but that wouldn’t work anymore. Arrow had a regular rotation up there now, searching every wagon coming west.

  “If Elsarion really does maintain an army in those outposts, it has to cost the Adranis a king’s ransom to supply them.” Arrow tapped the little squares that represented outposts at either end of the southern pass.

  Connar said, “We need to know. My idea is to send a scout up there to sketch out the defenses of those castles.” He tented his fingers over the stylized representations of the four outposts along the bow-shaped pass.

  A quick triple rap at the door brought Arrow’s head up. His runners knew there was a very short list of people he’d take interruptions from during his talks with the princes. “What?” he shouted.

  The stable runner poked his head in. “Quill is back.”

  “Quill!” Arrow beckoned. “Send him in.”

  Connar rose. “You want to hear this privately?”

  “You should definitely hear it, especially if you’re going to take command. And I was going to talk to you about that. Never mind, we’ll go into it later. Here’s what matters. Quill is as good a ferret as Camerend. He heard someone yapping about Feravayir attacking this city if Elsarion took Ku Halir, and rode down there to track down the source of the rumor.”

  Connar sat back, intensely interested, and gratified to be included. One of Arrow’s chamber runners rapped next, and opened the door.

  Quill entered, his hair damp from the weather, the hem of his robe sodden. He’d clearly come straight from the stable, bringing the stink of horse.

  He saluted the king and the prince, and took up a reporting stance, but first Arrow waved him toward a mat. “Sit! Want something hot to drink?”

  “Thank you. It can wait,” Quill said, looked down at himself. “I can stand. I’m muddy. Lnand and I both investigated the rumor I reported at the end of summer, I going among Parayid Harbor city and its outposts, and Lnand using her own methods. First of all, there is no sign that Commander Ivandred Noth is part of any secret plans. That is not true of Demeos or Evred Nyidri, who now uses his Sartoran name, Ryu.”

  Arrow snapped, “Don’t give a spit what he calls himself. What happened?”

  “Lnand and I separately discovered that the Nyidri brothers, Ryu in particular, have been using their wealthier friends to recruit men of their holdings, calling them defense groups. Practice for competitions. Challenges against other villages. As far as I could tell some of them knew they were being recruited and others genuinely thought there was some festival being planned. They’ve been training mostly under outlander swordmasters, brought in and paid for by the Nyidris and four of their friends, all with significant holdings in Feravayir, except for Artolei, whose land lies over the border into Jayad Hesea. He’s a third-cousin of the Nyidri family.”

  Here Quill paused, frowned into space, then continued. “I have a list of testimonies.”

  “Just one for now,” Arrow said.

  “As you wish. The most substantive was by an angry shopkeeper whose husband was recruited to be the village commander, one of three under the Nyidris’ mother-cousin Artolei. According to what this shopkeeper overheard, the plan was for these groups to be assembled as soon as word reached Feravayir that Thias Elsarion had breached this city,” Quill said.

  Arrow stirred, then raised a hand to Quill to continue.

  “Then news arrived of the defeat at Tlennen Plain. There followed a hasty retreat. Several of Ryu’s would-be captains sailed to Sartor. It was after that I interviewed the shopkeeper, whose name I promised not to reveal to either the jarlan or to you. She was quite bitter that her husband, husband’s father, and his brother had gone off to, as she put it, play warrior, leaving the finishing shop entirely to her to run. When they returned after word went out about the defeat at Tlennen Plain, it was empty-handed. Rumor had it, pay was to be in plunder.”

  “Rumor. That’s not evidence.”

  “There’s no evidence outside of second-hand stories like hers,” Quill stated. “Ivandred Noth himself told me the jarlan was planning a spring festival, and he allocated outposts for competitors to gather. He was furious when we presented the testimonies.”

  “Shit,” Arrow exclaimed. “Shit, shit, shit! Of course Lavais Nyidri was in on it. If not behind it.” He remembered that he and Danet had expected to marry Bunny down in that pit of vipers.

  Quill said in his trained neutral voice, “According to the jarlan, her devoted, wonderful son Demeos has been organizing this festival for the benefit of Feravayir, full of art and music. But her equally wonderful son Ryu was organizing a wargame in the Marlovan tradition—they emphasized that—as chief entertainment. The outposts were to house the competitors.”

  “In the Marl—what d’you think they meant by that?” Arrow asked suspiciously, then sighed. “Never mind, I hear the dig at our past troubles, though they’re too snaky to come out and say it.”

  Quill didn’t deny it. “Ivandred Noth promises to send his own report after he investigates at the command level, but he admitted that he was unlikely to find any concrete proof if we hadn’t. He was thoroughly duped. Lnand remains there as ferret.”

  Quill handed the report over, and backed up to exit, but Arrow flung up a hand. “Wait. I’ll read this right away, but first, Connar was just telling me we need to send a scout up the Adrani pass to spy out the castles. Lnand was there, what, six, eight years ago? I remember she made this map right here.” A rap of the knuckles on the vast canvas. “Maybe we ought to recall her from Parayid, and send someone else down there.”

  Connar said to Arrow, “I don’t see the need to recall her. I was planning to send our two best scouts up the southern pass, the ones who found Yenvir’s lair—”

  Arrow was eyeing Quill. “Is there a problem?”

  Quill debated sharply within himself, suspecting he was not going to get his hard-earned liberty after all. But he’d sworn an oath. “It’s that our scouts look like Marlovan military. Even if you dress them like farmers or shepherds, they move like Marlovan military, and sound like them. If Elsarion really has taken over the pass, at best Marlovan scouts will be lied to, at worse scragged. You need someone who actually practices another trade, doesn’t just pretend to. Who can think like civilians, who won’t make them think of Marlovan Riders.”

  “Right,” Arrow exclaimed. “Camerend said the same thing, years ago! We sent Lnand, who’s also a musician. She could sketch maps, but she wasn’t trained to assess military capabilities.” Arrow peered intently at Quill. “Are you trained in that?”

  Quill looked at the king, but he was aware of Connar at the periphery of his vision. “Not in the way you train at the academy,” he said, wondering why the second prince had gone so still. “We’re trained to observe, listen, count, and map, but none of us can plan a campaign.”

  Arrow grunted as he glared at the painted twists and turns of the southern pass on either side of Mt. Skytalon, the highest point. “Do you think they might recognize Lnand up there—think her suspicious?”

  “Bards wander,” Quill said, allowing himself to hope. “She was careful never to raise any suspicions.”

  Arrow sighed. “But another fact is, she didn’t dig out what those Nyidris were plotting until you got there. I want you to go up the southern pass. You’re the best of the best.”

  “That’s true,” Connar said, and Quill turned his way at last, to see him smiling under that watchful blue gaze. “I’ve seen the proof myself. Quill, no one else would be as good as you. I’m going to be planning an entire campaign on what you give us.”

  Quill could not confess the true danger, that Elsarion—if he was there— would recognize him in a heartbeat, whatever guise he wore. Every instinct in him warned against admitting how he’d confronted the enemy and escaped by magic transfer, when he was understood by Commander Ventdor and the rest
to have ridden south to the royal city.

  “As you wish.” He was committed.

  “Excellent.” The king turned to Connar. “What do you want Quill to look at?”

  Connar tapped the four little painted outposts with long, sword-callused fingers. “I need everything you can get on these: guard routine, how many and what type of training, defenses. Alternate routes. While he gets that. . .” Connar turned to Arrow. “I can take a company of volunteers each from Ghost and Stick. We’ll spend a season at Halivayir, running attacks from the outside, then go up into the mountains and run wargames, until we figure out some strategies.”

  “Excellent plan. Ah, ha, ha!” Arrow chortled, rubbing his hands. “Excellent! Quill, I want you on the road as soon as you can, as fast as you can.” He relented slightly. “If you need a night of rec time, take it, seeing as you just got off the road. No more than a night, mind.”

  Quill walked out, and headed straight to the baths, encountering Vanadei, who gazed at him in surprise.

  “You’re back? I didn’t know that.”

  “I’ll be out again before anyone knows I was here,” Quill said tightly, and gave him a one-sentence report.

  Vanadei watched the tense set of Quill’s shoulders as he ran down the steps toward the baths. Vanadei was duty-bound to tell Mnar Milnari, and so he retreated upstairs to the lair to do so.

  “He was here and he’s going again?” Mnar asked incredulously, then set aside a pile of reports and was about to sail down the hall when Vanadei stepped out and for the first time, blocked her path. “Let him come to you,” he said.

  Mnar stopped, her graying brows lifted. “Why?”

  Vanadei had grown up knowing that Mnar was impatient with any emotional attachments getting in the way of duty, so he said, “He just got back from a long, cold, wet ride. Let him soak in the baths for a time before he has to get back on his horse. You know he’ll come to you before he leaves.”

  Mnar’s eyes narrowed as she sorted his words. Every one was true, though Vana’s tone, the way he’d blocked the door, indicated something unspoken.