Time of Daughters II

by Sherwood Smith

  He could also fight.

  Connar shot one glance back, and caught sight of Quill riding modestly at the back, chatting with a couple of the younger runners. Seeing a look of question in Ghost Fath, he straightened around again, gesturing It’s nothing.

  When the company reached Threefold Falls, where they had camped the previous night, Connar signaled for a halt. As the runners began taking the animals to drink, and to refill theirs and the captains’ flasks, Connar sent Fish to summon Quill.

  The royal runner appeared out of the swarm of runners’ purposeful movement, still wearing his dark blue robe that somehow looked less squalid than the rest of them did, after weeks away from proper cleaning.

  Quill approached, made his salute, and waited, breath held.

  “Game of kings?” Connar said, looking up at the ribbons of the falls. “I take it that means war?” A quick, sardonic glance.

  “You see the expression a lot when reading and translating Sartoran texts. It’s not an expression of approbation,” Quill added, and saw a tightening of irritation around Connar’s mouth.

  “And yet,” Connar said, “they have wars.”

  “They do.”

  Connar tipped his head back, squinting toward the topmost fall. “Would you say Inda-Harskialdna played the game of kings?”

  “Inda-Harskialdna,” Quill repeated, wondering how Connar could have made the leap to the man who’d died more than a century ago. “No. Not at all. He was if anything a piece on kings’ and would-be kings’ game board. That includes pirate kings.”

  “Pirate kings,” Connar repeated with a breath of a laugh, as water thundered, and behind them, a horse nickered. “I suppose those Sartoran records go on about us being barbarians?”

  “They might.” Quill sifted his words, distrusting this conversation, Connar’s mood. Distrusting Connar. “Of course we only see a small sampling. The ones we read mostly detail the after-effects of war. Which last a lot longer than people realize.”

  Connar eyed Quill, who waited with an appearance of tranquility. There was no guessing what went on inside that head. But one thing for certain: Connar had spent entirely too much time thinking about him.

  He looked away. What Quill thought didn’t matter. He was a tool, there to obey. “Get a fresh horse. Report our victory to the king. Make it fast.”

  Connar glanced back, to discover no reaction—certainly no sign of disappointment at being turfed summarily from the Winter Company.

  Quill saluted, turned away, and fairly soon they saw his straight back as he rode up toward the avalanche-clogged middle of the pass on his way home.

  No one could see his smile of profound relief.

  PART TWO

  ONE

  In the royal city, summer had ripened when Rat Noth and his fellow commanders rode in to make their report.

  They were brought straight to the king’s suite, where the royal family had gathered as soon as Rat’s company was sighted by the sentries.

  On their ride they’d worked out how to report, but when they found themselves under the royal eye and the king said, “Well, Senelaec?” Braids—still reeling from losing his brother, and forced to leave before he could be sure his father would recover—forgot everything they’d discussed so painstakingly, sweat breaking out as he fumbled between Hand and speech.

  Rat stood at attention, keeping his gaze diffuse after sneaking a glance at Bun, who’d met his eyes straight on. He didn’t dare look again until the king released them, but he felt her presence the way he felt the summer sun on his back on a morning ride.

  Neit stood behind the two, in the proper place of a runner, biting down the impulse to roll her eyes at how badly Braids was fumbling. Pepper Marlovayir listened narrowly, habit making him expect at least one crack aimed his way, though the feud had long since been little more than verbal stings ever since their academy days.

  “...and we promoted Marlovayir there to wing commander, but that’s all he had, eighty-one, to hold the east gate. We heard the signal for ‘no more arrows’ and Basna came to try to tell us they were right up against the gate, with Ventdor’s wall sentries almost down to throwing rocks before Noth came....”

  Braids shook his head, his gaze distant.

  Neit coughed.

  Braids’ attention snapped back, his neck and ears reddening. “Here’s the truth, I’m good at running the line, but I’m no good at seeing....” He tapped his eyes then opened his rough, callused palms. “Neit kept tooting the flank attack. She’d said, Don’t let them surround you, and of course that’s what they were trying to do. Every time I heard that we’d reverse our run right there, and sure enough, find another crowd of ‘em coming at us.”

  He sighed. “Well, there were so many of them. We’d charge, but it was like hitting a block of ice. They pressed in and we got hemmed, the west gate was over there, but we couldn’t get near. They were separating us, sheer numbers...and then Noth turned up.”

  He stepped back, opening his hand toward Rat then Neit. “They can tell it better than I can.”

  Rat sent Neit a look that she interpreted correctly: You were in command. This is your report.

  Neit took a moment to settle herself in the runner’s report stance, feet braced apart, hands behind her back. She had the words, but first came the images, still raw and painfully vivid: that first night after the battle, when Ventdor had sent her to find Braids to deal with trouble among the Iascans. She’d gone looking for him in the castle, and through every hothouse in town, until someone had directed her to ride up to the road where the Senelaec vanguard had taken the brunt of the Bar Regren attack.

  There, lit by torchlight, she’d found so many Senelaec dead neatly laid out, runners and Riders moving among them with careful hands, twitching hair and clothes straight before Disappearance. At the far end, she’d found Braids rocking back and forth, sobbing beside the viciously hacked remains of a young man she could scarcely bear to look at—someone said it was his brother Cub, and that Wolf, the jarl, was in the lazaretto suspended between life and death.

  The next morning Braids had been back on duty. And had been ever since.

  Yeah, she could see why he’d mangled their report.

  Rat was still staring into the middle distance; she became aware that her pause had become a silence. She cleared her throat. You ordered it, now you ride it, Neit. “After Lineas and I finished scouting the marsh, we met up with Braids here to report on the enemy movement. He said I knew the territory, and so he asked me to take command this once.”

  She went on to deliver a precise report of her orders: how they’d reorganized their company; ridden through the night; camped through the next day to rest and ready themselves; and when the moon finally came up, attacked the Bar Regren mass where she’d expected them to be.

  “Cloud cover was thinning, and we had enough moon by then to see each other, but the light was not good for either side. They had the numbers, but no command once they were let loose, so no signaling. I told Braids to get between them and the west gate and scythe at them to drive them back. The rest of us punched up from the south, trying to push them back to the lake.”

  “How many were there?” Arrow asked.

  “Too many to count. A mix. Not just Bar Regren. There were Iascans, mostly northern Iascan, a mix of brawlers and youngsters prentice age. A lot of them didn’t even have weapons. A few had put rocks in the lap of their tunics, but once they tossed those, they mostly got in everyone’s way.” She sighed. “Lineas had taught me a few Bar Regren words. I charged anyone with a sword, but a lot of those brats, I whacked them with my sword and yelled at ‘em to run. Some ran. Some didn’t.” Her voice roughened. “They had crowd-madness on ‘em. You could see it. It’s worse at night, I think.”

  She wiped a hand over her forehead. “Like Braids said, it was back and forth, back and forth, even when the sun came up. We worked not to let them surround us, but twice they did. I think it was spillover, there were just so many of
them and they had nowhere to go. So when we got circled, I had Tevaca blow the retreat, then attack, retreat, then attack, the idea being—”

  Arrow leaned forward. “Turn outward and charge, right?”

  “That’s it. I saw my uncle use it in a game once, and well, it worked twice, drove them back to give us breathing room, but we were still surrounded. Then Noth came at the charge to relieve us.”

  Royal attention shifted to Rat Noth.

  Rat said flatly, “Royal Runner Lineas caught up with me. Reported Neit’s orders, and that Senelaec vanguard was taken by surprise. When we saw what they did to the Senelaecs, we used a double-wing wedge to break down the middle, and then flight wedges to break ‘em further, until they began melting.”

  “And?” Arrow prompted.

  “Soon’s they broke and ran, I sent Basna to reinforce Marlovayir at the east gate while the rest of us dealt with the rest. Basna reported that he arrived there to find that somehow the enemy seemed to know that they’d lost. They were already running. He and Marlovayir chased them right back into the marsh. Then it was a matter of cleanup.”

  He chewed the inside of his lip, noticed the queen’s unblinking gaze, and said, “The worst of it was not our people. Reined ‘em tight fairly fast. They all know what happens if we catch ‘em looting. Trouble was mostly Iascans in town going at each other, saying this or that person was a collaborator. Looting. Set a few places afire.”

  “Shit,” Arrow exclaimed. “They didn’t think to bring that to Ventdor earlier? Of course they didn’t,” he added sarcastically. “They were waiting to see who won.”

  “Mostly that seems to be it. When we left to come here to report, Garrison Commander Ventdor was sifting through all the accusations. He told us that it might take time, but the one thing he heard consistently was that Elsarion had apparently stopped paying most of his spies at the end of winter.”

  “Once he knew the boys were coming for him,” Arrow stated, and smacked his hands on his knees. “Well done, all of you.” He paused, and eyed Neit. “So...what are you now?”

  Rat Noth, Pepper Marlovayir, and Braids Senelaec turned to Neit, who had insisted on going back to being a runner as soon as the battle was over.

  “Runner, to the Senior Jarlan of Olavayir—”

  Danet’s voice cracked. “No.”

  Everybody turned Danet’s way.

  Danet crossed her arms and fixed a fiery gaze on Arrow. “Field promotions hold, don’t they? Especially after a victory?”

  Neit looked down, then up. “I’m a runner,” she said, her voice rising. “I’ve had no training for command—”

  “What,” Danet said trenchantly, “would you call all those years of wargames at Olavayir?”

  Neit shot a betrayed look at Noddy, leaning on the back of Arrow’s chair. He looked away.

  Neit braced her shoulders. “I love being a runner. I’m best outdoors. The only time I have to deal with papers is carrying them to hand off, and I’m good at speaking reports. It would take me days to write one.”

  Danet said, “That’s logistics. My realm. I have people trained for that. This isn’t the time to talk about why I need you, and where, but you’d be out in the field, training. You and Henad Tlennen. We’ll address it later.” Danet sat back.

  Arrow rubbed his hands. “The Battle of Ku Halir! Oh, I can hardly wait to hear it sung. Rat. All of you,” he added, with a fast glance at Danet, “promotions all around. I’ve sent for young Gannan, what’s his name again?”

  “Cabbage,” Noddy said, smiling briefly from his place behind Arrow’s wing chair.

  “I knew it was a vegetable.” Arrow snapped his fingers. “Why? No, don’t tell me. It won’t make any sense. It never does. We’ll put your Cabbage in as jarl until next Convocation, and if he keeps doing as well as he has, the jarls will shut up about Yvana—Stalgoreth.” Arrow frowned, then smacked his hands against his thighs again. “Yes. Stalgoreth. Young Gannan is going to have to change his name. Start a new line. That’ll divide him off from that horseapple of a father, and as for that shit Blue—”

  Danet cleared her throat. Arrow’s head jerked up, and he became aware he was rambling on about affairs best kept to themselves. Dull red mottled his cheeks. His nose was already red, the effects of the long siege of heavy drinking ever since the news arrived about his brother.

  Arrow mumbled, “Never mind that. It can wait. This is what I wanted to say. Rat, this is twice you’ve been here after a victory, and I’ve asked what I can give you as a reward. You turned me down flat. Not this time. There has to be something.”

  These words, so generous, knotted Rat’s heart, and anxiety cramped his middle, worse than charging from the front line into battle. Why was it that, though he’d mastered his childhood stutter years ago, when he needed words the most, that was when he was unable to speak them?

  In despair he lifted his head, turning toward Bunny—

  And saw her smile as her fingers flickered, Ask.

  He stilled. Did it mean—no. How could she possibly—

  “Ask,” she signed again.

  It took more courage than mere battle to turn to the king, and to say, “I—I’d like to marry. Your daughter.”

  Arrow’s jaw dropped. He gazed back blankly, never having given the possibility a thought. Then he pivoted in his chair and threw a helpless look at Danet.

  Whose thin smile curled. Oh, this was perfect, she was thinking. That damned Jarlan of Feravayir had been avoiding Bunny for all this time, well, the decision was now out of her hands. It was her own stepson who had triumphed in war, now asking for Bunny’s hand. No honor denied, except maybe to the older brother, but he’d had years to come forward.

  Danet turned to her daughter, about to ask what she thought—and caught such a bright-eyed grin that she wondered if she’d been blind. Never mind.

  “So asked, so it is done,” she said formally, echoed in a slightly dazed mumble by Arrow.

  On her way out, Bun whispered to her first runner, “Go get a good helping of that gerda-leaf from the big cannister Noren’s Holly keeps in your runner annex. I know Noren won’t mind.”

  The streams running down the pass had dried to a trickle by the time Connar and his company reached West Outpost. They found it orderly, restored except for the gate, which was gone, the wood no doubt claimed by the wood guild. Same with the battering ram.

  A young man with a single chevron came running downstairs and fetched up to salute. Connar didn’t recognize him at all.

  “Where’s Gannan?” Connar demanded. “I told him to hold this outpost.”

  “King summoned him to the royal city.” Tevac quailed at the irritation he saw in Connar’s tight mouth, and though he hadn’t thought of that disaster with the Headmaster’s office and the prince in ages, residual guilt prompted him to stick strictly to his own orders. If Connar-Laef wanted to know about anything else he could ask. Yes, that was safest.

  “Who are you?”

  “Tevac. Riding Captain, and Temporary Outpost Commander’s Aide, left in charge while Temporary Outpost Commander Gannan is in the royal city.”

  Tevac...then Connar had it: the scrub who’d ratted him out that last year in the academy. His back twitched. He eyed Tevac, a weedy young man, long-nosed, blond, indistinguishable from many. If he said anything....

  But Tevac stared straight in front of him, and Connar fought down the urge to gut the little shit. He glanced around, making an effort to sound indifferent. “Anything to report?”

  Like...Ku Halir? No, better to stick strictly to his own orders. “No one has come down from the east since the royal runner. The only people from the west are our supplies. We’ve had to set up daily deliveries of water barrels from the lake this past month, as everything’s dried up.” Tevac’s voice died to a mumble under Connar’s flat blue stare.

  Connar was remembering Quill’s If we take the southern pass, we cannot hold it. Irritation surged again, and he turned away, saying, “We’ll nee
d water for the ride west. But as soon as we reach Wened, I’ll see that you get replacement.”

  “Thank you, Commander.” Tevac saluted.

  Connar walked away, as behind him Tevac flicked a glance at his two fellow riding captains, giving them tacit permission to vanish.

  Connar had forgotten them already. He desperately needed a bath, which he was not going to get unless at least his captains could do so as well, but there was not enough water. Or food. Also, they were on summer rations.

  For the sake of the horses needing to drink well before starting the hot ride to Lake Wened, they spent the night. They rode out before dawn to get a good start before the heat.

  When they reached Wened, Connar inspired a festival atmosphere when he hired every available carter and barrel to carry water and as much food as possible to West Outpost. It was satisfying to say, “The crown will pay for it”—though he was annoyed by an echo of that voice about the cost of war.

  We’ll see that the Adranis pay it, Connar promised himself, and turned his mind to the prospect of a bath, clean clothes, and something, or someone, to distract the gallop of his thoughts since he couldn’t outrun them.

  The word went out that the crown was paying for the prince’s company’s liberty, which turned the entire town into festival cheer.

  A night of liberty did a great deal to restore good spirits to the company. Connar was not quite halfway through his first cup of cold ale in months when he caught a pair of hot eyes.

  Down went the cup.

  Four times all told, two men, two women, before he retired for a few hours of sleep in the room summarily cleared for him.

  He woke at dawn, his body more relaxed that it had been for months, but his mind still galloped ahead, to Ku Halir—victory?—what had happened during the months he was away, specifically how his orders were carried out. He should have asked more of that horseapple Tevac. He should have....