Time of Daughters II

by Sherwood Smith

  Sartorans? No. The garments, not quite coats, were tight-waisted, but with fluttering sleeves, and the skirts long, slit high at the sides and back, revealing trousers in bright colors, and riding boots made of different shades of dyed leddas, with tassels swinging at the top. The boys drew attention away from the woman in the robe so faded that its crimson was no more than pale pink, rose at seams. And every one of them, including the jarlan and her runner, carried swords at their saddles, and bows.

  The boy who immediately who drew the eye had the Olavayir short upper lip, but on him it was an attractive curve, revealing just the tips of two white teeth, in a beautiful face dominated by limpid brown eyes.

  “Connar-Laef!”

  Connar’s attention went to the thin pink-robed woman, her face lined face under sun-bleached light hair. He knew her. She was Calamity Senelaec, met the last time he rode through Senelaec on the way to Ku Halir, back when they were chasing Yenvir the Skunk.

  He approached the party as they reined in. “Did we know you were coming?”

  “You did not. I hope to find your mother free,” the jarlan said as she dismounted, and then, coming closer, “How is Arrow?”

  Connar gave the answer everyone in the family gave while in public hearing, “He’s better.”

  Calamity’s face brightened. “Good! I’m to bring him Wolf’s greetings, if he’ll see me.”

  By then Fnor, Danet’s first runner, had appeared. “Jarlan.” She saluted.

  Calamity looked from one to the other of her party. “I’ll leave you to it,” she said, and followed Fnor inside, her first runner at her heels, carrying the jarlan’s gear.

  Connar turned to the group of teenage boys, dominated by that attractive blond one, who gazed at him with a quirk of humor.

  “And this is....”

  “Don’t recognize me, Brother?”

  The clothes looked Idegan, but that voice was pure Marlovan. “No,” Connar said.

  The boy chuckled, a happy sound. “Well, no surprise there. I’m sorry to report that Grandma, whom you never met, died at the turn of the season, so I’m free—it being much too late for me to run in your academy.”

  “Andas?”

  “In the flesh.” Andas turned his hand in an airy circle, indicating a thin redhead with slanting brows and a crooked mouth, “Evred Tyavayir. His Uncle Stick is at Ku Halir.” And he went on to introduce the rest of his party—all connected to Halivayir, Tyavayir, and a few from freeholds like Farendavan.

  “Come inside,” Connar said, gesturing to Fish to take charge of the other boys. “Noddy will be glad to see you.”

  “I know,” Andas said. “He wrote so many letters to Grandma begging her to let me visit just once. I don’t know what she expected would happen to me here. It doesn’t look all that threatening. Or maybe she thought I wouldn’t go back.” He chuckled. “She probably thought I’d be lured away from business.”

  “Business?” Connar repeated.

  “Farendavans are drapers.” Andas flicked one of his rose-dyed sleeves. “You knew that, surely—”

  “Is that really Andas?”

  Noddy appeared at a lumbering run, and promptly enveloped the boy in a massive hug that threatened to squash him. But Andas only chuckled, and the two started talking over each other so fast that Connar left unnoticed to get back to his day.

  Calamity forgot them all as she followed the runner upstairs. So many years had passed since the jarlans rode to Convocation, though sometimes it seemed only a year or two ago. Danet’s letters ever since had been in response to Calamity’s—who had recognized with that vague sick sense that no matter how hard she tried to be funny and sisterly in those letters, with long descriptions of everybody, Danet’s replies had been courteous, you could say friendly, but they could have been read in the middle of a town square. The private Danet had gone behind the gunvaer door and locked it.

  So Calamity had no idea how this visit would be received, but for Wolf’s sake—for them all—she had to make the attempt.

  Danet had received the news of her arrival with surprise, then consternation, remembering all those wild rumors about invasions. As she ruthlessly cleared her schedule, sending every runner on the second floor dashing in all directions, she pictured some combined force of Gannan and Khanivayir heavies marching on Senelaec to...to do what? Help with the farming?

  Shutting down her chattering mind, she ordered the chamber runner to fetch cold water, fresh fizz, and whatever the cooks had prepared for midday, and then sat behind her low table, hands gripped in her lap, as the sound of quick women’s footfalls preceded the appearance of Fnor escorting Calamity.

  The two women studied each other, each shocked at how much the other had aged. Calamity had practiced her salute and made it now, then began her prepared speech, “I know this is a vast intrusion, Danet-Gunvaer, but for the sake of—”

  “Sit down, Calamity.” And because of her own stupid surmises, she added, “Is Senelaec being invaded?”

  “No!” Calamity dropped on the guest mat as if someone had turned her knees to water. “Horrible thought. We lost far too many people at Ku Halir. I don’t think we could fight off a gaggle of granddas with one leg and one eye between them.”

  Food and drink appeared then, and both waited until Danet sent the runners out again with a glance at the door.

  Calamity was hungry and thirsty, but she had to get this out first. “We know all about Gannan’s threats. He tried to get Knuckles Marlovayir to join! I never thought I’d be grateful to him—he still talks about the Night of the Moons as if it was the funniest thing that ever happened—but that’s far different than Gannan and his poison. Anyway, I needed to get here before Braids does. He’s going to offer to relinquish his command—”

  “Of the Eastern Alliance?”

  “All of it. Everything. If that’s what it takes to shut up Gannan and those other old farts.”

  “No chance. Connar wouldn’t let him go.”

  “That’s what we tried to tell him, but I think he feels terrible that he wasn’t somehow able to prevent Cabbage’s death. He chokes up if the young man’s name even comes up. As if Braids could save everyone on the field!” Calamity sighed, then said, “Wolf sent me to you to propose this: that Braids be left as he is, and nothing will change on the surface. Except when Wolf dies, the jarlate can die, too. That is, it can go to whoever Arrow thinks best. So many of our best died on that road that day...we’ve always been short on farming, but now it’s worse than ever.” And Calamity recounted sobering, even shocking numbers.

  Danet grimaced. She had skimmed the reports numbering the dead after that nightmare at Ku Halir, confining herself to what she could deal with, which were the numbers pertaining to supply and rebuilding. But deep down she had not wanted to know how much the Senelaecs had sacrificed.

  “Old Tdan Tlennen said when she came out for the wedding New Year’s Week—though everything was iron hard, under black frost—she could tell by what grows and what doesn’t that we have more sand than soil in places. One look, and she knew! I didn’t know that, and I’ve lived there since I was ten! She said it has something to do with how the rivers used to be long, long ago. I don’t know how much of that is true, but, well, one thing I do know is, you’re always having to come to our rescue from the royal harvest storage, even though Arrow forgave our taxes twice.”

  Danet winced as Calamity glanced up, clearly trying to keep the suspicious gleam along her lower eyelids from brimming over.

  Calamity continued with determined cheer, “It was so very good to have a wedding, instead of memorials. Thank you, by the way, for agreeing to let them marry.”

  “I told Braids years ago he could pick his wife. And I know Henad’s first betrothed was killed at Halivayir, which left her without anyone.”

  “They were so very close, too. Grew up together, knowing they’d marry one day. We thought she’d never get over him, but there she was, fighting alongside Braids, and, well, somehow the
two of them....” She thumped her heart, her mouth crooked.

  Danet had the sudden thought that Calamity was like a bird. It was ridiculous on her own part to resent a bird for being true to its nature. Even if Calamity lived to be old, she was always going to be flighty.

  “Calamity. Drink some of this fizz,” Danet said, and now she sounded like the Danet of old. “Or the cook will be insulted.”

  Calamity blinked down at the purple liquid, tasted it, then sat back, her lips rimmed with red. “That’s delicious! What’s in it?”

  Danet talked about fermented berry juice recipes, and from there they went on to catch up on family details until the meal was over, then she sent Calamity off to enjoy a bathe and a rest while she walked down to the garrison side to find Connar.

  As soon as he saw her, he broke away from the knot of men he was talking to, and advanced quickly to her side. “No change,” she said in an undervoice. “But I’ve something that has to be discussed. I would like you there. It concerns you, and you might be able to see something differently from me.”

  Together they went up to the king’s suite, where they found Arrow lying on his bed in fresh clothes, his hair braided loosely to keep it from snarling around his neck and face, as no one likes lying on a pillow with his hair clasped high. One of the runners had brought in fresh herbs whose acerbic scent Arrow liked, and set them between the bed and the open window. Arrow’s eyes were open, and his head turned to track them.

  Danet sat down by the bed and took Arrow’s right hand in hers. The fingers twitched. She squeezed them gently, her throat tight, but she spoke steadily, restating everything Calamity had said.

  Connar frowned when she reached Braids offering to give up command, but then his expression smoothed when Danet got to Calamity’s and Wolf’s counter-offer. “This is a royal decision, Arrow. We need to know what you want here. Senelaec lost more than I realized.” But she would make up for that. Her guilt was not his burden to bear. “They seem at peace with the idea of releasing the jarlate on his death. Which no one can claim is a traditional one. In fact, its creation was the beginning of that stupid feud. There might even be some oldsters alive who can remember it. But Calamity assured me that the Marlovayirs are not any part of Gannan’s allegations.”

  Arrow stirred, and out came a stream of nos and yesses as he looked to the side. Danet let go his hand. He groped, the yesses rising in frustration.

  “What do you need? Water? Are you hungry?”

  “No, no, no, no, yesyesyes....”

  The word slurred as Arrow turned his head again—and Connar understood: that was the cabinet where he always kept the jug of bristic he’d secretly shared with the boys on some Restday evenings, after the queen had gone to bed. “I think he wants a drink,” Connar said. “From the cabinet.”

  “Well he can’t,” Danet retorted sharply.

  “Not even a taste?” Connar asked, as Arrow’s voice rose, yesyesyesno!

  This was the first definite response either of them had seen that Arrow’s mind was indeed present. Danet sighed. “Arrow, this is not me denying you, it’s the healer. If he thought it would do you any good, I’d sit here and hold you while you drank as much as you liked. But he said that any of it might kill you. We had the runners take it all away. We’ve got fresh-made fizz in your jug now, if you don’t want water.”

  Arrow collapsed back, closing his eyes.

  Danet firmly suppressed tears, and spoke gently. “So, about Senelaec. Are you agreed that Wolf remains jarl until his death? After that, Braids stays commander of the Eastern Alliance, but he won’t become a jarl as well as head of the Alliance, which I suspect is the real sticking point.”

  She sighed. “As for Braids killing Gannan’s boy, Quill brought me three separate testimonies from Cabbage Gannan’s own people. These three rode the entire battle with Braids, who was never anywhere near Cabbage Gannan. All three offered to be questioned under white kinthus. I can write up a formal response to Gannan refusing the hearing, including copies of all these things, if you agree.”

  Arrow’s fingers groped, and when she took his hand, he gripped hers.

  “That’s agreement?”

  “Nonononoyesyesyesss.”

  Connar met Danet’s eyes. “I think he’s saying yes.”

  “I do, too.”

  Arrow pulled his hand away, frustrated that his mouth wouldn’t say the words that he wanted: he didn’t see any need for Wolf to make such a promise, or for Braids to resign his command, and old Gannan was a lying pile of road apples.

  But as usual, no one understood him. Disgusted, he gave up. It was good to see the family, but except for Bunny, it was always a relief when they left, for they always tried to get him to talk.

  Maybe it was all her years of tending to animals, large and small; Bunny never tried to make him talk, but softly combed out his hair in a way that felt so good on his scalp, and rubbed his feet so that they didn’t jerk and twitch, and she crooned nonsense words in a small singsong. It wasn’t a beautiful voice. He still had not found anyone whose voice matched his memory of Sinna, lost so long ago, but he liked to listen to her until he drifted into dreams.

  Connar didn’t see either of the visitors for the remainder of the week. He’d forgotten about them until he nearly ran into Andas, who had wandered over to the garrison court to watch the castle guards at morning drill.

  Andas looked up at Connar, and grinned. Today he wore plum and light blue, with those absurd sleeves that would get in the way of everything.

  “Did you want something?” Connar asked.

  “Just watching,” Andas said, and added in a way typical of seventeen, “That drill is so easy. I learned it by the time I was thirteen, when I first rode with the Faths on perimeter runs.” He smothered a yawn, then admitted, “Anyway I ran out of coins. I thought when we came I couldn’t possibly spend everything Uncle Brother gave me. But I’ve never been in a city before.”

  Amused, Connar said, “What did you spend it on? Surely not clothes—I’ve never seen that kind of thing you’re wearing anywhere in the city.”

  “These are Idegan fashions,” Andas said, shaking out his sleeves. “I go up there twice a year to sell our linens. Most of us, except Evred Tyavayir, have family on both sides of the mountain. And no, I wouldn’t buy anything here. Except maybe those boots you all wear. Ours look good, but one season and they sag at the ankle, or have to go back to the cobbler for soles and heels. But I don’t have enough coin left to order any. The boys at the Sword are expensive.”

  “So are the girls,” Connar said appreciatively. “There are a lot of Marlovans up in Idego? I thought they all spoke that mush-mouthed type of Iascan.”

  “Mush-mouthed.” Andas snickered. “They all think it’s descended from real Sartoran. But no, only the old people sometimes speak Marlovan. Like, those over thirty, and even older. Everybody else up there speaks Idegan. They dress like this, but their drills are tougher than that.” He canted a thumb toward the whirling swords in the courtyard. “And the riding is like what we do.”

  “So no one seems to want to reunite with the south?” Connar leaned against an archway, crossing his arms.

  Andas pursed his lips, gazing upward, then turned his wide brown gaze to Connar. “Why would they? Business is better, the old folks all say, Tax is completely different, and nobles don’t pay any taxes, because they defend the harbors when the king calls. We get more for our linens up there, because they like colors, so it’s worth the hire of caravans. My cousin—well, he’s a fifth-cousin, the second prince. He told me that Idego is twice as wealthy as it ever was while part of Marlovan Iasca.”

  “Do they regard you as a prince up there?” Connar asked.

  Andas snorted. “Grandma said only to use that to buff the price of linens, which sell to the best. Grandma told me all the time that being a Farendavan was better than any king.” He turned a shrewd gaze to Connar. “Are you asking, do I want to ride down here to be third in line for ki
ng? No. I’ve heard all the stories about all the Olavayirs fighting each other over the throne. Grandma made sure of that. But if someone attacked Noddy, I bet I could raise all Lorgi Idego to back him.”

  It sounded like seventeen-year-old bravado, but his gaze was steady.

  Connar said, “Backing Noddy is my job.”

  Andas’s quick grin returned. “That’s what Noddy says. I don’t know you, but Noddy’s letters always bragged about you. So did Da’s,” he finished soberly. “I hate seeing him like that. Can’t talk. I blabbed a lot, but I couldn’t tell if he understood a word I said. Except he held onto my hand like I was towing him in a lake, and when the healer brought out the willow steep, he made a face like he was going to puke. I hated watching him try not to drink it, and how they talked to him as if he were a little child.”

  “The healer is doing his best,” Connar said. “He believes that a diet of willow infusion and the berry draft somehow makes his blood flow better.”

  Andas turned up his palm. “I offered to bring Da some dark ale—he used to write to me about how much he liked that—but the healer landed all over me, and that’s when I came away. I didn’t ride all the way here to get jawed at.”

  “The healers say it would kill him,” Connar stated.

  “Oh. He could have said that, instead of jawing all over about how thoughtless I am, and laloo haloo. If he isn’t going to change, I guess it’s better we’re riding out after Restday.”

  A step on the other side of the arch, and there was Jethren. “The lancers want to know if you’re riding out with them,” he asked, Moonbeam at his shoulder.

  Connar turned. “Tell Needle to saddle my horse. Andas, want to watch?”

  “Will you do targets or just evolutions?” Andas hedged. “Evolutions are boring—lances going in circles—but if you’re charging targets, and the lances might break, that’s fun!”