Time of Daughters II

by Sherwood Smith

  Neit’s mouth dropped open. Then she shut her teeth with a click. “But....” She wiped her hand across her face. “They were uneasy with the idea of attack instead of defense. Thinking that Connar might go down to Parayid again, though Rat’s da has it well in hand. Or he might ride against Gannan. Or even the Nob, to retake it. But....” She whispered, “You’re talking about a war.”

  Quill explained his thinking, to which Neit listened in silence. Then Quill said, “I should run my message. But if you should see Rat....”

  “I’ll talk to Ghost Fath,” Neit breathed. “He went down to the lazaretto to visit the wounded. We had a few.” She added, “Tlen had more.”

  Footsteps pounding up the stairs caused their heads to turn. “There you are,” Henad Tlennen said, tall and mud-splashed. “We’ve been looking for you! The king wants everyone there. You, too. You might have to replace me. I need to get back down south,” she said to Neit, who groaned.

  Quill slid by. “I’ll be on my way, then.”

  “Wait!” Neit’s hand stretched out, then fell. “Never mind. Uh, give my best to Braids. If you find him.”

  Quill’s gaze shifted to Henad, who was married to Braids. But she only smiled brightly, until Quill said, “I was sent by Ranet-Gunvaer.”

  Henad’s smile vanished as if struck off her face. She said, low, “Try Wened.”

  Quill was soon on his way.

  Within a few days, after various encounters with runners and outposts, most of them in the environment of Tlen, he began to build a mental picture of confusion instead of the regular relays he was used to. A day out of Wened, he was fairly certain the confusion was deliberate. Someone was mucking up the communication stream.

  He stopped to change horses and to refresh his water flasks at the last outpost. Midway between that and Wened, he heard hoofbeats. There was no reason to hide. He urged his horse to the side of the road to let the party pass—but instead they reined up, and he found himself surrounded by armed skirmishers, Braids at their head.

  Quill blinked away the sudden memory of Colt Cassad and his gang surrounding him. Surely this was a different situation.

  Between their last meeting and this, Braids had hardened. All his round-faced boyishness was gone, leaving a blond, wiry man with a gaze like a crossbow bolt above an unsmiling mouth.

  “Ranet sent me,” Quill said, when Braids didn’t speak first.

  “So I heard.”

  Venturing a shot of his own, Quill said, “Kendred met with my wife in the royal city. He felt he had to confess before he vanished.”

  At that, the Riders sidled looks at one another, and a couple whispered. Braids looked skyward, then clapped his hand to his forehead—and there was a glimpse of the old Braids, never far from laughter. “He would, of course.” Then an accusing look. “Where is he now?”

  “Probably somewhere between the south coast and Sartor,” Quill said. “At least, I think he said he was going there. To seek a healer for his leg. You understand, I didn’t speak to him. Only Lineas did.”

  “Lineas,” Braids repeated, his expression easing again. “She tell anyone?”

  “Only me. And Vanadei. We haven’t told Noddy. It would grieve him so very much.”

  Braids expelled his breath, and Quill noted hands moving away from weapons, and shoulders easing. “Do you need to go into Wened?”

  “Not at all. This journey was entirely to find you.”

  Braids wheeled his horse after a glance at the low, fast moving puffs of clouds. These usually meant rain. “Then we’ll ride south as we talk.”

  They left the road entirely, and again Quill remembered his anomalous position with Colt Cassad, somewhere between guest and hostage.

  Braids ranged up alongside Quill’s horse, as the rest of the Riders formed in pairs ahead and behind. Braids looked across as he said, “I haven’t been able to face Connar since Kendred told me what happened. And I believe him,” he amended. “The details were too specific. And Kendred had no reason to lie. He admired Connar. Maybe still does, though Connar sicced Jethren’s wolves on him, and smeared my name all over the kingdom, getting old Gannan to blame me for Cabbage’s death.”

  Quill flattened his hand. “I don’t think that was Connar.”

  “No? Why not?”

  “I was investigating it, by royal order, before Connar heard about it. The rumors started in the royal city, at a point when Connar wasn’t there.”

  “He could have had Fish spread ‘em.”

  “He could have, but I never once got a description that would match Fish Pereth. Whose looks are fairly distinctive, and he’s known in several pleasure houses, where he and his mate go when he gets liberty. But one of the descriptions of these strangers that was consistent was of Rock Alca, one of Kethedrend Jethren’s captains, a man with a scar down the side of his face and a nick in one ear. Alca was spreading around money, buying everyone drinks, talking for a few weeks, then he was gone.”

  “Jethren could have sent Alca on Connar’s orders.”

  “Possible. But it seems unlike Connar, don’t you think?” Quill said. “He’s more direct.” And, because they’d come this far, “For example, right after the king died, I’m fairly sure he killed Retren Hauth.”

  “The lance master?” Braids asked, eyes wide. “What for?”

  “No one knows. Officially he retired. That’s what the records say. No rumors were spread, nothing was said. But he vanished suddenly, right before Victory Day. When I went down to the quartermaster’s to seek Connar, I think it was directly after it happened. I’m sure I smelled blood.”

  Braids gave an explosive sigh. “Yeah, that sounds more like Connar.” He looked upward again, but this time Quill caught the gleam of moisture in Braids’ eyes as Braids rasped, “I couldn’t figure out why he would slander me. Why my father had to throw away the title over lies, especially after what he went through at Ku Halir.” He coughed, then, with a semblance of normalcy, “Does Ranet know?”

  “We haven’t said anything to anyone in the royal family. No one is sure how to proceed. Or even if we should.”

  Braids said, “I know. I’m the same. I just haven’t been able to make myself face Connar, knowing he murdered Cabbage. Not even a duel. Stabbed in the back. And there is no justice for him. Justice,” he repeated with disgust. “What even is that, when it comes to murder? Especially when you accuse a king?”

  “I’ll need to take some sort of message back to Ranet,” Quill said, having decided not to say anything about the possible invasion of Lorgi Idego. That was still entirely speculation. Braids had enough to contend with. “She says all her messages to you seem to have gone astray.”

  “I’ve been avoiding them. Don’t know what to say to her. She has to live with him. Sleep next to him. What good would it do her to know he murdered Cabbage Gannan, then lied about it? And presided at the memorial! When I think of that I want to puke.” Braids’ voice rose, sending a bird squawking in protest from an old, wind-twisted oak at the left.

  He went on to talk about his first year at the academy, which was Cabbage’s last year, how good Cabbage had been in the field, how at least Lefty Poseid was a decent jarl. Someone Cabbage would have picked himself. And so he finally he talked himself around to a less bleak mood.

  “Even though it changes nothing, I’m glad you came. I guess I can face them all now. There’s no use in saying anything,” Braids added. “Connar’s the king. He can do or say anything he wants, and nobody can do anything. Also, I know how bad it would be for Noddy. He thinks his brother perfect. And who wants to be the first to tell him different?”

  He spat into a patch of weeds.

  In Ku Halir, Connar gazed out at the lightning branching over the lake, then turned to his row of captains. “Seems we’re in for a siege by weather. Next year.” He smiled.

  They saluted, and dispersed.

  Later on, in Stick Tyavayir’s quarters, with his trusted runner Snake Wend posted outside the door, Neit sha
red everything Quill had said. She met a profound silence, until Rat muttered, “I wondered if we were preparing for an attack. But I couldn’t figure out who. Unless it was old Gannan, though he hasn’t done anything outside of being a horseapple.”

  “If it’s true,” Ghost began, then shifted his feet, and looked away. “This is still all guesswork. Connar hasn’t said a word about Lorgi Idego. He’s only talked about defense.”

  Stick’s mocking smile had twisted. He crossed his arms. “And if the worst does happen? We all remember what happens to commanders who refuse orders. I hope that Quill is crazy, but if he isn’t, and I never saw him do anything crazy, we’ve got to think up an answer, or we’ll find ourselves riding up the Pass next spring. And the first ones under our sword will be some cousin of the Faths, or the Farendavans, or half a dozen other jarl families with relatives over there.”

  Silence gripped them all, so heavy they could hear one another’s breathing.

  “I have to think.” Rat got heavily to his feet. “I have to think.”

  At the same time, as rain roared overhead, Connar sat with Jethren, who had ridden in from Tlen that day. With a triumphant smile, he threw down the note his grass-runner had brought in the night before, sent straight from Larkadhe.

  “As I thought, the Idegan army is drilling to go up to claim the Nob. Of course they won’t leave before next spring. It would be suicide to attempt those mountain trails in ice, and winter comes fast up there. It’s already too late even if they had them all mustered.”

  Jethren grinned back, euphoric. All his work through spring had paid off. He’d won twice. He hadn’t been able to go against Rat, but apparently Rat had said himself that Jethren’s wins were faster.

  Connar went on, “Rat will second me. We’ll take Andahi. Ghost Fath can deal with Trad Varadhe, and Henad Tlennen will run the skirmishers. You’ve proved to be good at everything. I want you fourth in the chain of command, running logistics.”

  Jethren’s blood turned to ice.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  As Connar’s entourage gathered in the stable yard for departure, Rat Noth approached him. Squinting a little against the morning sun, he said, “We know enough about defending castles. Storming them.”

  Warmth shot through Connar at the image of Rat leading the attack that broke Ku Halir’s formidable defense. “That, you proved,” Connar said genially. Rat was a prince now, but no hint of presumption. Straightforward as an arrow, and Connar’s fond smile acknowledged it, observed with corrosive jealousy by Jethren a few paces away.

  Rat said, “Next year. Let’s run on the plains, eh? We’ve got good charging grounds at Hesea.”

  Connar laughed. “Perhaps.” He hoisted himself into the saddle.

  Rat squinted up at him, a tough, rangy figure, his forehead high as his hair thinned above his temples. “I’ll fight to the death against an invader,” he said.

  Connar gazed down at him, knowing that Rat spoke the truth. He always spoke the truth, and had since they were small. He was utterly loyal—and utterly without vision. “I know,” he said. “You’ve proved that. With captains like you, the days of heroes are not over, whatever our fathers say.”

  Rat wiped the back of his hand under the jut of his chin as he glanced away at the riders forming into column, banners stirring in the rising wind. “My da said that heroes only emerge in terrible times. And most of ‘em are villains to other people. I’ve no wish to be a hero.”

  “Too late.” Connar laughed. “There are already ballads about you.” Another chuckle at the sight of Rat’s lean cheeks reddening, and he lowered his voice. “There will be more ballads, after we reunite the kingdom.”

  He clucked to his horse, leaving Rat standing there staring after him. “Get used to it,” he called over his shoulder, laughing again.

  Ghost Fath and Stick Tyavayir, standing a pace behind him, flicked glances at one another. Neit, behind Stick, looked down at the rain-wet gravel below her feet, muttering, “Oh damn. Damn. Damn.”

  Jethren mounted, keeping a correct horse length behind his king. He waited until the brassy royal fanfare echoed from tower to tower as they trotted through the gates. No gallop, not at the beginning of a long ride in the humid summer weather.

  Once they reached the open road, Jethren said, “I don’t think Rat Noth likes the idea of the kingdom reunited.”

  Connar had seen it, too, but his confidence in Rat’s steadfast nature sustained his ebullient mood. “He’ll follow orders.”

  “Until he doesn’t,” Jethren muttered, but under his breath.

  Connar’s mood stayed sunny as they rode fast through the warm summer days. The nights had begun to cool, refreshing riders and horses alike, and the journey to the royal city was quick.

  Connar lifted his hand to those gathered on the walls and lining the main streets on the way to the castle as the fanfare reverberated between stone walls and shivered on the air. He relished the heart-stirring sound, the lines of smiling faces, some singing ballads, others banging drums and pots and pans, drowning each other out. It was sheer noise, but then music had always been noise. They were doing it for him, and he knew he would never tire of it.

  The horses clattered into the royal stable yard. As they dismounted, he said to Cheese Fath, “Arrange a banquet for the captains.” Pleased as he was, he didn’t want to listen to either speculation or questions that he wasn’t going to answer, so he added, “Summon the dancers.”

  When you were a king, there was no worry about schedule conflicts. After the first runner carried out this order, the troupe’s chief, a woman nearing fifty, who now only danced in the background and otherwise choreographed and managed their finances, called everyone together. “The king is giving one of his banquets.”

  “Ah-ye,” someone exclaimed happily from the back. The king giving a banquet usually meant largesse.

  “We still have this evening’s performance, remember. So those who want an after-hours romp get ready for the royal castle. The rest, we’ll set aside Shendoral Lost Time and do Three Couples In Search of a House. One good thing about these Marlovans, they don’t know the difference between something new and dances so old our grandmothers thought them out of fashion.”

  Laughing with anticipation, dancers scrambled to change places, led by those who wanted a crack at a king. Especially that king. They were already familiar with him and his ways—he rarely went with anyone twice, and always months apart—but many, both male and female, had hopes they’d be the one to dazzle him and take up the easy, lucrative life of a king’s favorite.

  The evening was a spectacular success, carried on the king’s expansive mood. The food appeared and the captains enthusiastically got outside of it; the dancers danced, eyes meeting eyes with question and promise; those who wished to pair off did, but the king walked away alone.

  When he got to the royal wing, he heard voices and laughter spilling out of Noren’s chamber across from Noddy’s. Ranet was just leaving, light gilding her fair hair and outlining her slim silhouette as she glanced down the hall, noted Connar, checked, then continued on toward her room.

  She was about to enter when the quick ring of heels caught up, and Connar reached past her for the door latch. “What were you celebrating?” he asked. “Victory Day is well past, but we’re not yet at Noddy’s Name Day.”

  Ranet extended her hand toward Noren’s suite. “Do we need a reason? As it happens, Noren wanted to salute the first cool day in what feels like years. We had hot spice wine.” Maybe a little too much spiced wine; looking up into Connar’s smiling blue eyes ignited fire in her veins lightning-quick, negating all her hard work to cool her heart to indifference.

  Then he extended his hand. “Why stop now?”

  She laid her fingers in his warm, strong hand marked with hard calluses across the palm, and drew him inside her chamber. And once again it was sweet passion and fire, falling down and down into the glowing embers of contentment, then slumber, to wake up alone.


  But, for the first time in so very long, at peace.

  She had caught his good mood, though she wasn’t quite ready to trust it. The next weeks gave them a last, unexpected burst of summer warmth, cool in the evenings, which lifted everyone’s spirits. Connar came each day to breakfast in Danet’s chamber.

  As it was tax-gathering season, Danet had plenty to do, but she was used to keeping her labors to herself: The columns of numbers she found so revealing and fascinating were random dullness to everyone but Noren. But Connar asked, and showed interest in her observations. Noddy was happy to see Connar smiling, and sitting next to Ranet instead of across from her; Noren, with the sensitive nose, sniffed for the gerda herb that women must ingest in order to become pregnant.

  But there wasn’t any.

  Ranet had decided there was plenty of time. Right now Connar seemed to be coming for her rather than to make a child, and she wanted to see if that would last.

  Even after the weather abruptly turned vile, voices and laughter rang down the second floor, mixing with the shriek of giggling girls as Iris and Little Hliss gamboled in and out. All that autumn Connar spent time with his family, worked harder than ever in the captains’ drill court, and formulated his plans, discussing them privately with Jethren, which exhilarated the latter. But there was still that threat of being demoted to logistical support for the reunion of the kingdom to gnaw at him.

  Winter began to threaten, scarcely noticed amid the bustle of autumn. The first blow, softer than the first tentative snowfall, went entirely unnoticed, so busy everyone was: Neit had yet to show up. Though Danet had sent her to keep an eye on the first-year senior girls among the academy students at the Ku Halir/Tlen game, and those girls had long gone home until spring.

  The second blow was equally misconstrued at first: Ghost Fath wrote to Connar, resigning his captaincy in the army as of the New Year.

  According to the old king’s rule, we’re to serve ten years. No more than that expected of those of us with other responsibilities. Even if I am not yet declared a jarl, I have a jarl’s tasks, including helping Leaf with our boy now that he’s gone from crawling to running.