Treason's Shore

by Sherwood Smith

  A week after spring’s first thaw, the perimeter riders up on the ridge behind Piwum Harbor reported seeing Whipstick Noth riding at the head of the green-and-silver banners of Algara-Vayir.

  At noon Horsepiss Noth, King’s Dragoon Commander, came out of the harbor garrison to welcome his son, whom he was surprised to discover in command of the border riders, instead of the new Adaluin of Choraed-Elgaer, Branid-Dal Algara-Vayir.

  Since the bell had just rung for the noon meal, Noth took Whipstick into his modest house adjacent the newly built barracks.

  A gaunt woman burst in, grinning as she enfolded her son in a hard hug. “Senrid!”

  Whipstick grimaced. “Aw, Ma. What have I done?”

  “That’s the name I gave ye. It’s how I think of ye in my heart.” Marlovan his mother was, from the knives in her sleeves to the calluses on her fingers from years of archery, though she still spoke with the coastal Iascan accent she’d been born to. “I’m glad to see ye, but I didn’t expect to. Where’s young Branid? He looked mighty fine trotting through here last spring, mighty fine.”

  Whipstick thought back a year. Branid had indeed looked like a ballad hero Adaluin at the head of the Riders, young and blond and strong, laughing in a way that reminded many of his cousin Tanrid. Branid had been happy then. He had the rank he’d been raised to think belonged to him and was newly married as well, to a handsome woman of rank, one he liked.

  Whipstick jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Branid sent me instead.”

  “So ye can come see us, then. Good! Now, when will ye marry? Give me grandchildren?”

  Whipstick’s smile faded. Noren had gone to the royal city. And he just didn’t want to marry anyone else. “I’m in no hurry.”

  “Your boys would have a place at the academy,” Horsepiss said. “Your service is owed that.”

  “As if Inda wouldn’t see to it personal,” Ma Noth said, flipping her hand at her husband. “How’s life with the new Adaluin and Iofre? Why isn’t he riding? Though glad I am to see ye.”

  Whipstick rocked back on his heels, thinking. Branid had left Whipstick in charge of Tenthen while he relied on Captain Vrad of the Riders to show him the route through Choraed Elgaer. What to say? He thought of Vrad’s bitter accounts of stupid orders, like running the horses until they were nearly wind-broken just because the countryside was boring. The extra drills ordered if Branid heard laughter in the column because he was convinced they were laughing at him behind his back. Most of all, how he’d angered the men on what should have been a good ride, because he wouldn’t listen to how Jarend-Adaluin had always relaxed discipline while the men were alone on the road. Branid didn’t even try to learn any of the names of the scattered people who housed them along the way. He didn’t listen to their yearly reports, just grandly said to write it all down to be handed to the king when he rode to Convocation.

  That had been Vrad’s report. Branid’s had been as different as night from day: how boring it was, just riding around for six months while every day got hotter when it wasn’t thundering, how stupid the people, all whining about hardship and begging for things he was sure they could make themselves, how slow the horses and how badly disciplined the men.

  “He wasn’t raised to the ride,” Whipstick said finally. “As for Tenthen, while he was gone, the carts arrived with all Dannor’s furniture from Yvana-Vayir. Grand stuff it was, but Badger and Beaver Yvana-Vayir didn’t want it.”

  “Their wives didn’t,” Ma Noth commented.

  “Maybe so. Now they’ve got them a fine palace up there.”

  Horsepiss made a spitting motion over his shoulder, and his wife thrust her hands into her sleeves. “And?”

  Whipstick leaned back, staring through the window at the gray sea. “When they’re not arguing, she keeps him up there the whole day. I guess that’s good. Then they’re out of the way. But when he doesn’t fall in with her wants, and he’s as stubborn as she is, they fight like a couple of wolves.”

  “So she doesn’t run him?”

  “Not anymore. First, after they were married, yes. He was happy. Gave people things. Liked to be thanked, liked to surprise people. Get praise. That’s all right. It was good for everyone, but she didn’t like it. Said he was raising expectations—the people were taking advantage of a new Adaluin—if he gave them things they wouldn’t respect him.”

  “Expectations of what?”

  “That’s what he asked, and when she started giving the orders, beginning with no more gifts, well, that’s when the fights started. We all heard them, they didn’t shut the windows, and we were all in the court, at drill. I think she wanted people to overhear. So they’d feel scolded, too. I don’t know.” Whipstick grimaced. “She said they’d expect to snake out of duty. Expect him to pay for things they should do themselves because they’d think he was weak. You know how much he’d hate that.”

  Noth whistled.

  “She doesn’t cross Fareas-Iofre, but she sure does run the other women, especially anyone Branid dallies with, or tries to, when she’s locked him out of the bedroom after a fight. She stopped running castle drills soon’s when the weather got cold. The tapestry, too. She even lies abed for Restday drum, although no one says anything, because the people like Fareas-Iofre handing out the bread. And Fareas-Iofre’s out in the drill yard every morning now, gray-haired as she is. Back on schedule, too, instead of whenever She decides to get out of bed. That’s what they call her, She, after she had young Jdar flogged for telling them about ‘Mudface.’ She went through the whole house, questioning everybody. Jdar took the blame just to end it.”

  Horsepiss Noth shook his head. He’d never liked being called Horsepiss, but he’d learned early that if you laughed and took it, the worst name became a banner. If you raised a ruckus, then they used it behind your head and felt they had some kind of power over you.

  “The Iofre-Edli knows order comes of schedule,” Ma Noth observed.

  Whipstick shrugged. “Branid’s granddam always said order comes of knowing your place. The prince commands, people obey. Prince is order, so he can do what he wants when he wants. Well, Dannor’s just the same.”

  Horsepiss shook his head. “That’s bad. Then if you flog the men for lying abed, you’re punishing them for doing what you do.”

  Whipstick turned his thumb up. “Branid yells when he takes a stick to a man’s back, ‘I’m the prince! You owe me obedience!’ Men don’t like that. Vrad came to me just last week, before Branid told me to take the border ride this year. Said his wife got an offer as a bow captain at Fera-Vayir, and they said they could use him. I think it’s just to get away. Jdar is going with them. She says their old headstall maker is getting slow.”

  Horsepiss said, “Vrad is a fine Rider captain. He’ll be a loss.”

  Whipstick flicked his thumb up. “So, here’s the thing. I didn’t send any report to Inda over the winter, not with him all the way north. But Flatfoot says he likes the reports about Tenthen, no matter what he’s doing, he drops everything to read ’em. He’ll be on the road home from the north by now, and I expect if there’s nothing waiting when he gets to the royal city, he’ll send someone to us. Should I tell him what I just told you?”

  The Noths both said no.

  Horsepiss added, “Inda’s the king’s man now.”

  Ma Noth said, “You’ll just worry him, since he has no hold over Choraed Elgaer. The men respect you, you’ll just have to find a way to get things back to rights. Maybe Branid will wake up to his duty when he has to report to the king.”

  Horsepiss finished, “No one ever said being a Randael is easy.” He clapped his son on his thin, bony shoulder. “I hope you’ll have better news for us come next spring.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  INDA and his company arrived, horns blowing the charge. It would have been dashing except for the pools of snow melt that slowed the horses to a sluggish pace. The riders were mud-splashed, the animals almost unrecognizable.

  Evred a
waited them in the stable yard. “Go to the parade court,” he said, after a swift glance at each face. “Vedrid here will take the new Runner-in-Training in charge, and Hadand is going to introduce her.”

  “I’m two days late!” Inda protested.

  Evred laughed. “They’re all lined up waiting for you.”

  So Inda urged his tired horse along the narrow passage from the royal stable through the mossy archway between the Great Hall and the throne room. He had to duck his head low.

  Keth followed, but as soon as he was through he walked his horse to the back. A year of the academy had given him a vivid picture of what the bigger boys would say of his riding out front with the Harskialdna.

  One of the masters had already summoned a stable hand, who took charge of Keth’s horse, and Keth joined his mates, muddy as he was. He ignored the covert whispers out of motionless faces and the nudges on either side. He knew they were hoping for a tale of brigands or desperate Venn spies instead of roads that had turned to lakes.

  Up front, Inda looked at the expectant faces, from the big boys nearing adulthood to the little boys poking and whispering in the back. His tired, annoyed horse, having smelled the stable and then unconscionably been bustled by his rider to this flat area full of two-legs, shifted and tossed its head.

  “Here we are, ready for another year.” Inda lifted his voice. “I don’t care what you think of one another, you are not the enemy.” The last word echoed off the castle walls. “We’ve got enough enemies outside the borders. But last year you were too busy fighting one another to listen to me. So I’m starting over. I’m going to watch your regular drills and practices and see how hard you work before we have any more extra training. And if you don’t want the extras, that’s fine. I know your dads didn’t have them, and Marlovans are strong. I know it, you know it, our enemies know it. But one thing’s for sure. You start scragging each other again and there won’t be any extras for the academy. Just for the boys—and, uh, the new girl—over in the King’s Runners-in-Training. What you’ll get is drill.”

  Angry whispers buzzed through the boys in anticipation of the loathsome swagger of those pugs and turds in the King’s Runners training. They thought themselves so tough . . .

  Sudden quiet as Gand strolled out to join Inda.

  “You boys get over to the stable. Let’s see if any of you can lift a lance after a winter of slacking off,” he said genially to the horsetails. “Rest of you, line up for the shearing. As soon as the Harskialdna-Dal returns to us, we’ll begin.”

  Inda laid rein to his animal’s neck and it promptly trotted back to the royal stable yard, where Inda vaulted down and tore off to the baths.

  The shearing was no longer on his mind. He knew they’d wait, since they’d already waited two days. Though it was not his business, he wanted to see Han Tlen introduced to the King’s Runners-in-Training. After traveling in her company for weeks, he’d grown fond of the child, who reminded him strongly of Tdor at that age. They even looked a little alike—something about their long, earnest faces.

  Vedrid had taken her off to the queen’s training buildings so she could bathe. While Han took the fastest bath of her life the Runner Vedrid had sent her new uniform, which was pretty much like her old clothes, except in Runner blue.

  Vedrid gave her a hasty tour of the main portions of the castle on the way back, explaining as he went. It was kindly meant, but she was totally bewildered by the time they reached the annex perpendicular to the Residence Wing, which housed the Runners.

  Inda caught up just as they walked into the big main room set aside for the youngsters in training to work and play. All the Runners-in-Training shared these quarters, and some of their training, the King’s Runners separating off for more rigorous work when the others were on stable and sentry duty.

  So Han found herself stared at by many new eyes. All the Runners-in-Training were lined up against the walls, boys on one side, girls on the other.

  The King’s Runners against the far wall. All boys.

  Hadand stopped Vedrid and Han just inside the door, and said with a smile, “Welcome, Captain Han. Because you’re the first girl to train as a King’s Runner, you’ve three choices: bunk with the girls in queen’s training over on the other side of the castle adjacent to the guards, in a little room to yourself where the queen’s staff lives, or with the rest of the King’s Runners, who are all at this end, nearest the archive.”

  Inda knew how she’d answer that.

  “I’m used to bunking with everybody under fifteen at home,” Han said. “I don’t want to stand out. I mean, anymore than I already do.”

  Inda grinned as he stepped to the doorway and peered between Hadand’s and Vedrid’s shoulders. He wanted to see Han welcomed by Goatkick Noth and the rest of the boys, the best of whom he’d learned to know during the long march north before the Venn attack.

  Instead, they stared at her in silence. Vedrid took her down the row, naming each, and as Inda watched those covert, resentful peeks at that winking ruby in the girl’s ear, he wondered if he’d made a very bad mistake.

  Two weeks later, the first outland messenger arrived from the eastern border. This year, among the messages from Anaeran-Adrani was one from even farther away, all the way from Bren.

  Evred, my dear son,

  I trust by now you have been apprised by your cousin Barend of the exertions I am making on your behalf. With this missive you will find seven letters of credit, each from different banks. With Barend’s permission I have engaged Iascan traders who have been out of business for years. They carry a guild sved from Barend and me, and, armed with it, are sailing for the islands to begin your coffee trade; I convinced Barend to send some to the Nob, as he wished, but to sell the bulk here, as you will gain three times the price anyone in Iasca Leror can pay at present.

  Events are turbulent, with alliances making and breaking over the question of Ymar, its independence, and how to protect the strait. There is no use in telling you the latest news as it will be half a year old when this reaches you.

  Barend tells me you are still relying on those love lockets that I brought as a bride-gift for your aunt. My son, I entreat you to overcome your distrust of scroll-cases. You can afford the price of trustworthy ones now. You need a trusted venue that does not limit one to a handful of words.

  You also need an envoy to see that your interests are represented as every royal voice talks about free trade but strives for precedence. Sending a messenger over the mountains for nearly half a year and then waiting another half year for a response isolates you more thoroughly than the Mage or Guild Councils possibly can. I say this because no one outside your border understands Marlovan, and what people do not understand, they tend to ascribe the worst motivations to. Your envoy must not only act for you, but must explain you to the rest of the world.

  You now have what your grandfather wanted: control of every harbor on Halia. That means you not only control customs, but I suspect what is more important to you, communication between guilds. I’m sure it suits you to keep contact with the world confined to four harbors, maybe five, but does it suit your kingdom?

  I know only you can answer that, but consider how much of an advantage it would be for you, your kingdom, and for the world if you were to send to me an envoy who can speak on your behalf, someone with skill and finesse. Prince Kavnarac, among others, insists that the ideal person would be Taumad Dei, who we understand traveled back to your kingdom to visit his friend Indevan Algara-Vayir. If this is so, I hope you will speak to him.

  Wisthia Shagal

  Dowager Queen of Iasca Leror

  Princess of Anaeran-Adrani, Ambassador to Bren

  “Remember, the audience is here,” Tau said, waving a hand toward the benches across the front of the old stable annex being turned into a theater.

  On the bare stage (a flat square made of the wood of the former stalls) his players lowered their weapons and turned his way. They shuffled and coughed and looked
around; Tau could feel them struggling to remember what he’d spent nearly half a year teaching them: play-acting is not real.

  “You’re forgetting your audience. Angle toward me. And when you fight, you strike the other’s weapon, not his body. High, low, high. Stadas, you aim for the head. Tama, you duck, then swing for Stadas’ feet. Stadas, you—”

  “Leap, then the handspring, I remember. We just thought it was too slow, we’d put some muscle into it. Make it more exciting.” Stadas was a tough young ironmonger with a fine singing voice and a hankering for drama.

  “If you’re fast, it’ll be exciting enough, without nearly decapitating the rest of the players and knocking down the flats.” Again.

  He didn’t say it, but they all heard it.

  The fellows squared up to resume their mock duel. Tau had tried hard to convince them that mock duels could be just as exciting as real ones, if you planned them out and practiced. Not until he’d begun to use the word “drill” did they comprehend the concept of rehearsal. Drilling your play? Now, that made sense!

  Then they’d balked at the older ballads, because, as one put it, “Nobody wants to ride all the way to Ola-Vayir just to borrow the first Jarl’s tunic. Everyone says old Ola-Vayir’s a horse apple.”

  Tau had been astonished that it was so difficult to get across the idea of theater, of representation. But at nights, when he dined with the royal pairs, he’d seen in Tdor’s face how accepting new ideas came in degrees as he described his daily efforts. Didn’t matter that the elements of theater—mock battles, words put in heroes’ mouths—were already familiar from ballads in play form. These elements had never been put together.