King's Shield

by Sherwood Smith

  Now the ritual was done.

  Evred ended with formal thanks and dismissal to his Sier Danas, giving them leave to return home.

  The Marlo-Vayirs were never subtle. They rose together, Buck aided by the ready Runners. Together with Cherry-Stripe their Runners carried Buck out and straight to the wagon already prepared and waiting. The brothers would not spend a moment more in Tya-Vayir than they had to; Buck was very soon insensible to the constant, searing pain, having drunk from his Runner’s anxious hand a mixture of green kinthus and liquor that probably would have killed a lighter man.

  Rat and Tuft did their best to make conversation with their hosts as benches scraped and people began rising, talking in low voices, some repeating stories, or singing snatches of song, others discussing logistics of the long rides ahead.

  Evred beckoned to Inda.

  They walked out into the open air of the lakeshore. Evred didn’t trust Stalgrid not to have spy holes riddling the castle, so he waited until they were down by the rippling, plashing water. “If you are ready,” he said, “I want you to go home tomorrow. You have a long journey ahead, and I would like to have you and Tdor back in the royal city to make your oath at Convocation. Hadand will welcome Tdor as Harandviar. There is much work ahead for us all.”

  Inda turned around to search Evred’s countenance in the golden light from the castle windows, but Evred gazed over the dark waters of the lake at the glimmering reflections of the stars.

  “I will.” Inda touched hand to heart. “But about my marriage. If I’m your Harskialdna, does that mean Branid is going to be Adaluin?”

  “Yes, of course.” Evred flung his hands behind him, clasping them tightly. “I wish there was a way to hand that rank off to Whipstick Noth. But Branid is Algara-Vayir. Reports state he’s been trying to cooperate, and is in fact eager about defense. He can have the title, it will probably keep him to duty. But I want your children to inherit, not his.”

  Inda hit his fist to his chest, and Evred walked along the water’s edge under a clump of willow, and past a row of late-blooming queensblossom, the pale petals just opening.

  Inda followed. Tau had been right: Evred’s mood had been terrible that first day they rode out, but not for long. He’d been quiet since, but not the tense, terrible quiet of those days right after the battle. Calmer. But not happy. Not the way you’d think a king would be after a terrible enemy ups and goes away, even if you didn’t really defeat him.

  Hurry, Barend, Inda thought. He needs that treasure, in whatever form you bring it.

  Evred said in a low, tired voice, “And when you get to the royal city we can discuss Durasnir’s words. I can’t see them returning next spring, not unless they have another invasion force waiting, and their kingship problems are all resolved. But it seemed he was trying to tell us something without actually telling us—”

  “Ah, there you are. Enjoying the stars from the walls?”

  They turned, Evred sharply, as Dannor walked up, hips a-swing. With supreme confidence she walked right between them, but her attention was fully on Inda. “It is beautiful here, is it not?” She plucked up some queensblossom, sending a sharp fragrance through the summer air. “Though damp, soooo damp in winter. Is Choraed Elgaer damp?”

  “I don’t really remember,” Inda said. “It seemed fine to me, or at least I remember it that way.”

  “I’ll say good night,” Evred put in, and turned away.

  Inda wanted to call him back, but for what? They wouldn’t talk about anything important now.

  I don’t want to be alone with her. Why not? Dannor was not about to pull a knife on him! “What a joy, to return in triumph to your homeland! Hadand and Tdor have said so many wonderful things about it,” she said, shredding the petals and dropping them.

  Inda grimaced after Evred. “Uh, yes. It’s beautiful. From what I remember.”

  “And you’re leaving? To go home?”

  “Yes, tomorrow,” he said, relieved.

  “My life is totally free.” She turned her back on the lake. The rising moon reflected in her wide eyes, off her golden braids. In her teeth. Funny, how her mouth was shaped like Cama’s, but her grin was just like Stalgrid’s. “I can go anywhere I want. Do anything I want.” She stretched her arms out. The sharp-sweet scent of bruised blossoms filled the air as the petals fluttered to the lake water.

  “Great,” Inda said, looking around for an excuse to decamp. “So you should.”

  “Should what?” she asked sweetly.

  Inda said, puzzled, “Go anywhere you want.”

  “Oh, I know what I want! To visit my old friend Tdor. What could be better? Thank you, thank you—your last kindness tonight is to make a widow happy. You honor me with your generosity,” she crooned, emphasizing the magic word, honor. How stupid men were if you just tapped that word into whatever you said! “I will be waiting whenever you want to ride.” She leaned forward, grabbed him by the ears and kissed him.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  “SIGNI, will you tell her to go away?”

  They lay in their bedroll in their tent, Inda whispering into Signi’s ear.

  She shook with laughter. “Inda. You fight fleets of bloodthirsty pirates, yet cannot find a way to rid yourself of one woman?” But then she heard the hiss of his breathing: he really was in distress. “I beg pardon. I did not understand.”

  “It’s how she turns words inside out. Like a sock,” he whispered. “I feel like I’m falling. She says ‘Oh, I am a widow’ and I know how I’m supposed to act toward a widow. But she’s not acting like one. Do you see?” He breathed out, “It’s like being with Wafri, all but the beat ings.”

  “I see.” Now she felt sick.

  “Whenever you go off to do your dancing drills she talks at me.” His breath hissed again. “She wants to marry me! For me to set aside Tdor—she thinks Evred will do anything for me, even that. I’m pretending I don’t understand what she wants, but now my words are starting to turn inside out. Here.”

  Inda sat up, snapped one of Signi’s glowglobes on. The light would be visible to the other tents, but at least no one could see what he was doing.

  He fetched a scrap of paper out of his bag, and dug out the golden case that he’d half forgotten, then, as Signi watched, scrawled:Tdor: Dannor is with us, trying to trick me into marriage. Can you have the wedding ready as soon as we arrive?

  He tucked that into the case, carefully activated the spell, and lay back, dousing the light. “Don’t leave her alone with me.”

  Signi had her chin tucked on Inda’s shoulder, her lips to his ear. “I won’t.”

  Tdor got to her feet, then sank back down as black spots swam before her eyes. Two deep breaths and they were gone, and she rubbed her eyes.

  This time she got up more cautiously, but as the dizziness and disbelief washed away in the rushing heat of happiness, she ran out of her room yelling, “He’s coming home! Inda’s coming home!”

  Fareas-Iofre heard the sound of her voice, and the tone, not the words. She left the preserving shed, wiping her hands, then stopped in the practice court when Tdor came dashing down the north tower stairs, her brown braids flapping on her back just the way they had when she was ten years old.

  “Inda’s coming home,” Tdor cried, flushed and smiling. She really did look just like a girl again. “He’s coming home.”

  “Oh.” Fareas sat down suddenly on a barrel, and drew in a deep breath. Joy chased fear, braiding like starlings in flight. She did not know if she dared to believe the news: she would see Inda again.

  “What’s that?” Whipstick called from above. He leaned out his office window, which was in the tower between the guard barracks and the house proper.

  Whipstick and the men had arrived back in Choraed Elgaer from their coastal watch days ago, on receipt of orders from one of the King’s Runners sent down the coast. He and Fareas-Iofre and Tdor had been debating whether or not it was too late in the season to do a full border ride.


  “Inda’s coming home!” Tdor laughed. Then wrinkled her nose. “Mudface—er, Dannor Tya-Vayir is with him, which is why he wants the wedding right away.”

  Looks like that settles that question, Whipstick thought, laughing to himself as he turned back to his summer’s worth of reports to catch up on.

  “Right away?” Fareas-Iofre repeated, looking around. “At harvest time? There is so much work to do . . .” She whisked herself off. “We’ll talk tonight!” she called over her shoulder.

  Tdor went about the rest of her daily chores, buoyant with happiness. Even Branid appearing from one of his war games out in the stubble fields couldn’t irritate her. She smiled at the castle children, she smiled at the Riders, at the women, even at Branid. The thought of Dannor Tya-Vayir was irritating, but only mildly so. Tdor could put up with her for a few days.

  As for Signi . . . Tdor told herself firmly that she was welcome.

  Late that night, after the castle people had separated off to night duty or to their own chambers, Whipstick and Tau entered the archive room together. They found Fareas-Iofre reading an old history aloud to Tdor, who was busy finishing up Inda’s wedding shirt.

  The princess laid aside the book. “We had better discuss our plans,” she said.

  Noren, Tdor’s Runner, went to the door, looked out, then shut it and put her back to it.

  “Branid’s gone down to the pleasure house at Cedars,” Tau said. “Vrad promised to keep him there.”

  “We’ll have to let all the kin know, of course,” Fareas-Iofre said. “I wonder if we can get Branid to ride around with the Riders as honor guard to do that?”

  “Oh, what a good idea.” Tdor poked her needle through the cloth. “He can strut all he likes, and he’ll be out of the way. Let me try to figure out how to get him to think of it himself, since you know he’ll complain and whine if we just ask him. What I wonder is, what will we do with Dannor?”

  Tau grinned. “Shall I do my best to distract her?”

  Whipstick snorted a laugh. He’d gotten a lot of secret entertainment from watching how the sober, hard-working Tenthen guardswomen almost fell off their sentry walks if Tau bent over to pick up a practice blade in the drill yard. “I’d say that would be a good plan.”

  “Here’s another thing I can do.” Tau turned his hand down toward the great hall. “I’ll take over the wedding organization. I enjoy putting together parties.”

  “Thank you.” Fareas-Iofre smiled with relief. “That would be a help, since we’ll have to be rearranging furnishings for Inda and—”

  She stopped herself when Whipstick shook his head, his smile gone.

  “What is it?” Tdor asked, needle in the air. “Do you know something we don’t? Dannor can’t have—”

  “No.” Whipstick leaned forward. “There’s something I think you have all forgotten. Inda’s the Harskialdna now. That means he won’t be living here. He can’t. He’ll have to go straight to the royal city, soon’s the wedding is over.”

  “Then so will I,” Tdor said in disbelief.

  They were all looking at her. “It is a great honor, to be Harandviar. The highest honor a woman can have besides being queen,” Fareas-Iofre said, her eyes anxious.

  “You’ll be with Hadand-Gunvaer,” Whipstick pointed out, but his tone was tentative.

  Tau did not say anything, but he was thinking, Inda will miss his home as much as you will. And as much as these people are already missing you.

  “I look forward to it,” Tdor said, because of course she must.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  AUTUMN had come and harvest was over by the time the little party reached the outer boundary of Choraed Elgaer.

  Inda began saying, “That’s familiar.” Or, “I know I remember that stretch.” At the end he rode in silence, studying their surroundings with a fervor Dannor mistook for stupidity. Signi watched in silent empathy, the more poignant because she knew she could never go home again.

  As Inda’s silence grew protracted Dannor was subdued, watching for clues that she could use. She had to find a home, and she was afraid this was her last opportunity. Too many men their age had died; there were far too many women who would end up without rank or establishment, who would be forced to go home as an unwanted extra pair of hands. She was not going to be one of them.

  When a long line of tall trees rose like the teeth of a comb on the southern horizon, at last Inda spoke. “We’ll get there soon. This is part of the castle’s outer perimeter, and all that way are the farm fields. The lake is down that way. We used to have riding practice out here.”

  He would have gone silent after that, sunk into the memories that he had struggled so hard to forget for so long, but Signi kept gently making comments, asking about why this castle had a name when most didn’t, asking about the Tenthen family, or were they all Algara-Vayirs now?—easy questions all. Dannor did not listen to the answers. She had no interest in the fact that the Algara-Vayirs had married into an Iascan family instead of taking the castle, like her own ancestors.

  And then they rounded the line of trees at the far side of the lake, and there were the golden walls and towers of Tenthen. Inda thought, How small it is, but his eyes blurred. At first he didn’t see the people on the walls, or hear the cheering. Or rather, the cheering blended with the memory of the day he left, for they’d cheered then too, and blew the trumpets, Tanrid riding there, Joret over there . . .

  Dannor gasped as the most beautiful man she had ever seen walked alone through the gate. He was dressed in some outlander fashion—a long tunic that fitted his lovely body, trousers tight across the hips and widening down toward the feet, a style she’d never seen before but liked instantly.

  And he walked right up to her, and raised dark-fringed golden eyes. “Are you Dannor-Jarlan?” he asked, his smile entrancing. “Let me show you inside.”

  Dannor followed him without a backward glance.

  Inda snapped back into the present when he saw his mother. How small she was, how old!

  She held out her hands, weeping and smiling both, and he closed his arms around her. He tried not to crush the life out of her as she buried her blurring eyes in his shoulder.

  Tdor stood transfixed by the sight of a ring on Inda’s finger. Didn’t rings mean heart-bonds in Sartor and other countries? Do not assume anything, she scolded herself.

  “Father?” Inda asked, looking around.

  “Asleep.” Fareas-Iofre wiped her eyes across her forearm in the exact gesture Inda used. “He’s best in the mornings, generally.”

  “All right, then I’ll wait and see him tomorrow.”

  Tdor was right behind the Iofre, gaze searching his face. Inda met that regard with a sense of relief that he couldn’t explain. They didn’t speak at all, but it felt like they had. Then there was everyone else to greet: Branid, towering over everyone and anxious to be noticed before anyone with lesser rank, and there were all the castle children grown up. Inda recognized each instantly.

  Finally, there was Whipstick, looking like a tougher, leaner version of Horsepiss Noth. “Inda.” Whipstick smacked his hand to his chest. “Welcome home.”

  That was all, but memory came back in another wave, bringing Dogpiss’ laughing face. Inda wiped his eyes, then pounded Whipstick’s lean, strong shoulder.

  Then they were inside, and there was food. Everyone talked at once, but Inda couldn’t follow any of them because he was distracted by yet another half-familiar face, or by the way the light fell, and there was memory again. This time he was running through the house, a stolen rye biscuit in his mouth, as he raced up to the archive . . .

  “Inda.” Tdor’s voice broke through, and he discovered he was standing in the children’s old dining room. Here was the battered old table where they’d eaten. From the look of the worn mats, they still did. “We’ll have the wedding tomorrow,” she said from the doorway. “It’s all ready. You can thank Tau for that. He knew exactly what to do. I’ve been busy with harvest, and we ha
d to get everyone resettled since Whipstick and the Riders were released from harbor duty, and it was too late to do a border ride—”

  “Sorry, Tdor.” Inda backed out of the room. “I’m hearing one word in five. Walk with me? I just want to look around.”

  Tdor glanced at that ring, and braced herself to hear what it would mean in their lives.

  As they walked through the work rooms, the Iofre led Signi upstairs. “This is the heir’s suite,” she said, pointing. “And here is Inda’s old room. I don’t know where he will want to stay. For now you can have Joret’s old room, which is here.”

  She opened the door onto a small, pleasant room whose stone walls were rendered more peach than honey-colored in the morning light. The furnishings were plain, carved with rough horse heads. Signi liked the room, and this kindly-faced older woman with Inda’s eyes. She set her little bag down, and the Iofre took her down the back stairs and out on a castle tour.

  By the time Tdor and Inda reached the front stairs, three Runners had nearly blundered into them, all seeking Tdor. And Inda hadn’t even spoken. He was lost inside his head, just like in the old days. She turned away, issuing rapid orders.

  When his reverie ended he found himself alone, unaware of the castle people ushering everyone else away on Tdor’s quiet order; at least, Tdor thought with relief, Branid wasn’t complaining about something.

  Branid was busy with the pretty one who’d come with Inda. Dannor Tya-Vayir, a Jarl’s daughter and a Jarlan in her own right, whose husband had died in the war. Pretty? She was better than that cold icicle Joret! Inda was obviously too stupid to notice, because everyone whispered the old one was his favorite.

  Dannor had been disgusted to discover that the gorgeous Taumad had no rank, no name, nothing but his looks. She’d stayed with him just long enough to find out who was what in this family, and before the dinner bells, she’d found a chance to single Branid out.