Time of Daughters II

by Sherwood Smith

  Lineas sank down onto the bed. “I’ll help if I can.”

  “I need a way to convince the gunvaer to get me out of this command,” Neit said seriously.

  Lineas stared. “You’ve only been doing it for a month. Are the men giving you trouble, is that it?”

  Neit snorted. “As if I didn’t learn how to handle that when I was at Olavayir. Oh, I’ve had a couple dust-ups, but it’s only with snotty eighteen-year-olds fresh out of the academy, who seem to think I got promoted over them on a whim. No problem.” Her mocking grin vanished. “It’s the rules. The saluting. I never can remember who gets what, and when.”

  Lineas said seriously, “It’s a reminder of the chain of command, and of order.”

  “I know that. Here.” Neit tapped the top of her sun-bleached head, then snapped her fingers wide. “Not here. I grew up only saluting when carrying a formal report, jarlan’s or jarl’s voice. And even then, in Olavayir, we seldom salute—everyone knows one another.”

  She looked away, and sighed. “I know the gunvaer is trying to get women fitted into the King’s Army, but seems to me Henad Tlennen and her two cousins are the best at that. They were in the queen’s training, so they know all the protocol. They’re just on the young side.”

  “What do you want?” Lineas asked.

  Neit pursed her lips. “Besides out? Hadn’t thought that far, other than go back to normal.”

  “I’m the gunvaer.” Lineas stood up, bent her head and tried to glare under her brows at Neit. “Now tell me what you want.”

  Neit had to compress her lips against the impulse to laugh—skinny, redheaded little Lineas with all those freckles was as unlike the tall, brown gunvaer with the steely stare as it was possible to be.

  Neit shut her eyes. Then she said slowly, “I’ll help run battles if I know the territory. And wargames, too. But I’m just no good at daily drill and the rest of it. In fact I hate it.” She sighed. “And if you say ‘go tell her just that’ I’ll have to punch you.”

  Lineas flattened her hand in negation. “If you do go back to Olavayir, who will you be?”

  “Runner to the....” Neit began in an impatient you-know-that voice, then faltered.

  Neit had been runner for Ranor-Jarlan until the latter’s sight began to fail. As Tdor Fath slipped into the jarlan role, using her own runners, Neit had been given long runner duties, which she welcomed. But even those got taken over by Tanrid’s and Fala’s runners, which was what made it possible for her to serve at Larkadhe for nearly two years, and then put her in a position to help at Ku Halir.

  But now Jarend-Jarl as well as his mother were dead, and Tanrid was completely responsible for Olavayir. He had his own command tree, and he, like his father, liked order. His order. His wife had her own command tree, including a lot of her connections from Lindeth, which brought good relations between the harbor city and Olavayir.

  Neit could go back to Olavayir, and they’d take her in, but she’d have to find someplace to fit.

  Lineas had been watching Neit’s strong face, and the gradual sobering of her expression. “I think you should talk to Noren, rather than the gunvaer. If you tell her what you just told me, I imagine it would be easy for her to make you some kind of attached captain, to be called on if there’s trouble. But in the meantime, there’s always a need for runners.”

  Neit slapped her hands on her knees. “I’ll do it. I don’t really know her, and my Hand never was all that good even in our Larkadhe days, worse since I haven’t had to use it. But I can get by. Same as I do in North Iascan.” She got to her feet. “Maybe I can find out what’s with Noddy, at the same time.”

  “Noddy?” Lineas asked.

  “He’s been...hovering. I can’t explain it better than that. Like he’s got something on his mind, but he won’t say it. And so he looks at me in that way he has when he wants you to know what it is he’s thinking. At first I thought he was getting upset when I forgot saluting and rules—you know how he likes everything to be just so, same as his uncle did.”

  “Maybe he’s the one to take out for the drink?” Lineas asked.

  Neit laughed. “I’ll do that. Noren first.”

  She walked out, then decided that there was no time like the present. It was midday, between watches as many caught their noon meal, which meant she was likelier to catch Noren between duties.

  She ran down to the next floor, and found the expected pair of duty sentries. “I need to talk to Noren-Haranviar.”

  “Go on,” said the senior sentry.

  Neit made her way down the hall to the royal suites. She’d been to Noddy’s countless times. It seemed odd to knock at the opposite door.

  A cheerful-faced runner opened the door. Neit walked in, noticing a conversation going on, though all she heard was the swish of fabric, the muted snap and pop of joints as fingers danced and fluttered.

  Noren was central. She looked up, a solid figure a head and a half shorter than Neit. Smart, observant gaze.

  Calling up all her knowledge of Hand, Neit explained that she’d been talking to Lineas, who suggested she come to Noren. Somewhat surprisingly, Noren glanced consideringly around at the busy runners, then in a quick series of gestures, cleared the room.

  Neit grimaced, wishing her Hand was better. But Noren was patient as Neit worked through her explanation.

  At the end, Noren said in Hand, “Lineas’s idea is excellent. I think we could use you as one of our Queen’s Training runners, especially as our girls are being fitted to the garrisons. We have fewer runners who know both the military and how to make grass runs. Just remember, the gunvaer wants more women in command. If we need you, we’ll summon you.”

  Neit pressed her palms together in thanks, feeling stress drain off her shoulders. She prepared to leave, but Noren flicked up her fingers to halt her. She looked uneasy, then finally asked in Hand, “Has Noddy spoken to you?”

  Neit opened her hands, unsure how to word the odd way Noddy had been sidling around her this past week or two. It couldn’t be a simple question for a night of fun—he knew he could ask for that any time, as he and Noren hadn’t made a ring marriage.

  Then Noren signed, “Would you carry a child for him?”

  Neit stared, unsure she’d understood the signs.

  Noren slowed down, making each sign distinct, then patted her stomach in emphasis.

  Blank-minded shock gave way to horror, which Neit struggled to hide, as Noren went on, “It’s important to him. To the gunvaer. For him to have an heir. We have had no success. He really likes you. If you don’t want to be a consort or favorite and live with us, we’d be happy to adopt the baby—whatever you choose, he’d be the next heir, if a boy.”

  Neit rubbed her suddenly sweaty palms down her coat skirt. She had never wanted to be tangled up in a permanent relationship, much less deal with babies. Leave that to Floss! But if she were to have a child, she knew she couldn’t just hand it off. She’d feel in some wise responsible, and the idea of a child of hers raised as a prince and caught in the steel blades of royal politics....

  This royal family was good people. At least, she liked what she’d seen of the gunvaer—though she was intimidating—and Noddy was a dear. The king was little more than a distant figure, much missed by Ranor-Jarlan and Jarend-Jarl when alive. Connar...she didn’t really like him, but he was shaping up to be a good commander. She had no complaints about any of them, but she’d also grown up with stories about generations of bloody conflict between princes, and whispered anecdotes about the Nighthawk Company in the wake of some of those grim old Olavayir Riders.

  Neit forced herself to think ahead. When Connar had sons, would they be friends with any son she had? A girl would be less of a problem, but there were just too many ballads about princes riding to death in the name of glory—against each other.

  And yet Noren had just been really decent about her situation. Feeling like a snake, she sighed, “May I think about it?”

  “Do,” Noren signed ba
ck. “You can always talk to either of us whenever you’re ready—”

  The bells tanged three times: royal arrival. Through the open windows, over the sound of the rain, a distant echo of trumpets carried to Neit. She signed to Noren, “Connar’s back.”

  Noren opened her hand in acceptance. Neit thanked her with a formal salute, and decamped with what she knew very well was craven haste, leaving Noren sitting alone.

  Noren had seen the horror that Neit had tried so hard to hide. She’d have to warn Noddy off before he got the resolve to put his question to Neit, and they both got hurt. It was going to wound him enough as it was. Oh, Mother. You did tell me that my false pose would be hard on me. But I don’t think you had any idea how much pain it would cause to the innocent.

  She knew she had to join the rest of the family to welcome Connar back from his long campaign. She forced herself to her feet, and reached for the little bell that let her runners know she was through being alone. She shook it hard enough to feel the vibration in her fingers, and the runners swarmed in, hands flicking Connar-Laef.

  Close behind them was Ranet, blue eyes wide with joy, carrying little Iris on her hip. Danet arrived behind her, flanked by Noddy and his father.

  They started downstairs, Danet leaving orders for a feast in her suite.

  Connar’s company splashed up the street toward the royal castle, sodden banners limp and streaming. By the time they rode into the courtyard, the entire royal family was there to welcome them, plus a crowd of anxious family members standing behind to see who arrived with him.

  Connar saw that the though the castle walls had castle denizens cheering and banging drums, and the people on the streets all shouted, the entire city had not turned out. If he’d left the Elsarion land behind in smoking ruin, and dragged Elsarion back over the pass covered in chains, that would have been the Inda-Harskialdna victory, a real victory, which would have brought the entire city out on the walls even in a thunderstorm with lightning striking all around, and sleet like steel arrows.

  But, he reminded himself, at least he had returned with a victory. And it was his first action as Commander of the King’s Army.

  They rode into the courtyard of the royal castle, and there was Noddy’s happy smile, and sincerity in his, “You’re back! What a triumph!”

  Ma was next, looking thin and careworn, but the shock was Da, who’d somehow in the last year gone to white hair, his horsetail thin and bedraggled as it dripped rain. But he walked with his old swagger as he came forward to pound Connar on the back.

  “Excellent, excellent,” he said. “Everyone’s agreed, no one could have done better. You put the right people in the right places...hey, get something to eat, and meet your little crawler. Hard to believe you’ve never even seen her!”

  He stepped back and there was Ranet carrying a child, and looking beautiful even in the rain. Connar smiled from Ranet to the child, who stared back incuriously; he didn’t hear one word in ten, or watch her hands. He was aware on the surface that the Winter Company had dropped the habit of talking in Hand because Jethren and his company only knew a few signs.

  Maybe it was recovering the old habit of talking in Hand, but he felt a sense of constraint tightening around him as Ranet pressed up against him, expecting a kiss. As was her right.

  Still, he was aware of a spurt of impatience as he kissed her. Ranet was a perfect wife in all the possible ways anyone could ask, and yet he could not shake this sense that she was another duty.

  Impulse prompted a scan of the busy courtyard, then the walls for a familiar red head, before he realized he was looking for Lineas. Who was not there.

  Everything was good, he thought consciously as everyone pressed around with questions. But the knot of disappointment in his gut was proof that it could have been better.

  A few buildings back of the main castle, the sound of the prince’s arrival fanfare had risen above the diminishing rain, carried through Chief Weaver Hliss’s open windows, where she sat with Quill as Blossom laboriously worked on a lesson.

  Hliss had been considering pros and cons of imminent departure for what had become her customary winter-over in Darchelde with Camerend.

  She sensed a slight movement and glanced over to see Quill had stilled, his profile shuttered in a way that reminded her of Camerend when faced with unpleasant duty.

  Quill bent to correct Blossom’s grip, and as he praised her letters, his shoulder hid his face. Hliss waited for him to say something, but he didn’t.

  Presently a runner appeared, inviting Hliss and Blossom to the queen’s suite for Connar’s welcome home meal. “I’ll get back to the roost,” Quill said.

  Mother and daughter walked hand in hand, Blossom skipping as she caroled, “Do I get to play with Baby Iris?”

  “Oh, certainly, if she’s not with her minder.”

  Blossom clapped her hands.

  Upstairs, any thought Connar had had of shaking free ended abruptly when Danet turned in the hall, her gaze lingering on Iris babbling away as she said to Ranet and Connar, “I’ll send a runner when the meal’s ready. Take some time together.”

  After which Ranet smiled up at Connar and whispered, “I started drinking gerda-root as soon as the runner arrived saying you were on the way.” She held out the baby to him. “Iris, this is your Da! Can you say ‘Da’?....”

  She kept up a stream of talk about how brilliant the baby was, and news about the queen’s training and how many volunteers were staying for their ten years of service instead of going home again.

  She talked, happily sharing the two years of news she believed he wanted to hear until he found himself swept into Ma’s outer chamber with the family, including Aunt Hliss and her brat, busy making noise over there with small Iris.

  Connar sat down between his father and Noddy, his longing to get down to the garrison having to be squashed. It looked like he wouldn’t get there until after he gave his report. That was fine. He just wished he could do that now.

  But his da looked around at them all, his grin a match to Ma’s obvious pleasure in having him back again. Connar met Hliss’s cool gaze and then slid away in disinterest; he knew he should be happy to be back, but he wished he was sitting around a campfire with Ghost and Stick, planning a campaign.

  Hliss sat beside Danet, taking in her sister’s happy profile. Danet was never chatty, but the way her gaze strayed from one to another young face showed how greedy she was for family gathered close. Numbers, Hliss had said once to Camerend, were Danet’s greatest comfort, and here was family in number. Danet smiled at Ranet and Connar, sitting across from one another. Hliss knew that smile. Danet wanted more children, to insure order.

  Hliss’s gaze strayed back to Connar as his father asked for details about the battle at the pass. “Later, maybe?” Connar said, in that warm voice that so rarely used warm words. “When I make my report? Then I don’t have to go through it twice.”

  “Good enough,” Arrow said. “Soon’s we eat, we can go into the map room.”

  Connar opened his hand, then bent toward Danet, who started talking about Henad Tlennen, “...she’s only nineteen or twenty, which is probably too young yet for battalion command—what do you think?”

  As Connar answered his mother, Hliss was thinking that Connar was so very beautiful, even startlingly so. He had come back, if anything, more beautiful than when he’d left, as if whatever experiences he’d had had planed him the way an artist slowly planed wood to create raptor claws, or the pattern of wings.

  Hliss tried to see Connar as a person, and not as the nephew she had secretly disliked ever since that day in the court with Andas. She knew she ought not to blame the boys for her having lost her son all these years. That had been her own decision, but the heart has its own logic.

  Or maybe it was that Noddy had shown real remorse that day, and had asked about Andas ever since, in contrast to Connar, who’d just shrugged and then had run off, towing his older brother. And had never, once, asked about And
as afterward. It was as if Andas had ceased to exist.

  It might not be true that he thought that way—she knew that Connar and Noddy shared everything, including news. And it certainly wasn’t fair to judge boys by the same standards as one would an adult, so she kept her feelings to herself, all the more before Danet’s and Arrow’s obvious pride.

  But as the meal wound toward its end, and Arrow and Connar rose to go across to the king’s chamber, she remembered that stillness in Quill when he heard the fanfare. She knew he had spent a year in Connar’s company.

  In a pause after an idle conversation about new sashes for Connar’s coats, she said to Danet, “I think I’ll leave for Darchelde tomorrow, now that the rain has lifted.”

  “Already?” Danet asked, brows up. “Isn’t it early for that?”

  Hliss opened her hands. “The flax is bedded until spring planting. And Blossom misses her father.”

  Danet sighed. “Connar will probably be off again, too. I wish I could keep everybody bottled up. Certainly. Go whenever you feel best, and give my regards to Camerend.”

  “I will.” Hliss hugged Danet’s familiar bony form to her, and suffered a quiver of sorrow when she noticed gray threading Danet’s brown braids. “I intend to take Quill as my escort,” she added as she stepped back. “And might I take Lineas as well? I’d like her to tutor Blossom in Hand.”

  “Of course,” Danet said, her mind clearly already moving on. “Now that things are quiet, we can spare two royal runners. Take whomever you want.”

  It was a relief when Connar and Arrow were alone in the king’s suite, with the huge map spread out on the floor between them, and Connar at last could release the words that had been tangling in his head for weeks.

  It gratified him to see how closely Arrow paid attention to everything he said, whistling long and low when Connar described the avalanche that took down the two towers at the top of the pass.