In the Caves of Exile (Tale of the Nedao Book 2)

by Ru Emerson

  “She'll be all right. When she's calm again, let her know how proud I am of all of you. The road was ambushed, too, but Marckl's men fared worse than you did. The Mathkkra thought the herds an easy mark and found otherwise. Now,” she went on, “Lord Corry's men will be here shortly. See that the herds are got back to the pens. We won't try to overnight them in the fields for a while. Make certain the two dead sheep are brought in. We can't afford to waste them.”

  “Yes, Ma'am.”

  “And Nold, will you see personally that Danila gets back to the Bowmaster's house?”

  “Of course I will.”

  “Good.” ‘Nisana, are you staying with her?’

  'Awhile, not long. I'll come back as soon as I'm able.’

  She watched from the main upper, balcony, over the reception, as the herds were driven into the pens; watched, too, as the children and their guards came on past the Tower. Danila's small head drooped, and Nold was practically carrying her. Ylia smiled. The girl would sleep tonight—that at least. And Lev would be good for her, he'd help her sort out her misery. Ilderian—well, Ilderian had a good heart. Though the Mothers knew she hid it well enough. Go easy on the child, Ilderian, she's fragile, and may crack.

  Actually, I frequently spent some time at Nedao's Midsummer Fest, for there were often good things to eat—and enough soft-hearted children or women to see I got a taste of them. And as one so completely removed from all possibility of sword use, I found it intriguing, and after so many years of living in Nedao, came to enjoy the formal crossings, the tests of skill.

  Of course, I would never have let Ylia know that—any more than the old Swordmaster would have told her she was the most important thing in his life.

  23

  First-morn of the Midsummer Fest dawned cool and bright, cloudless and with little hint of the heat to come later. Already folk were crowding into the City, dressed in what finery they had, and those who had stalls were busily setting out food and wares. The smell of yushas—long strips of spiced meat, strung on wooden skewers and cooked over an open fire till they crackled—mixed oddly with that of fresh breads, corn pats and a variety of teas.

  Ylia staggered out not long after sunrise, not readily but well aware of her duty to the Fest. Malaeth brought her bread and fruit, dressed her hair in plaits without comment and brought out the blue breeches and shirt, the silver-thread edged tabard. “The rest of ’em are dressed bright, so should you be. And it washes, same as the green.” Ylia cast her a guilty look, but the old woman was past anger. "And," she added, “it's a good color for you, make the Narrans take note.”

  “Malaeth, you haven't espoused young Ang'Har's cause, have you? Because if you have, I swear—!”

  “Which one's he, the baby with the pretty clothes? Wonder which of ours will be first to copy him?”

  “That's easy. Erken, of course. Followed, if she bullies her mother far enough, by Lennett. I'll warrant you didn't know Lennett's worn Ilderian down to the point of breeches for the crossings tomorrow.”

  “Of course I knew it,” Malaeth replied huffily, “and you should be ashamed, giving the girl such an example. Little flibbertygibbet! Breaking her poor mother's heart, that's what.” She sighed. “Ilderian should have taken a harder line with the girl and her father both, I suppose. Her own fault if the girl's beyond her now.”

  Ylia laughed. “Look at me and say that, do you?”

  “You,” the old woman said accusingly. “As much your fault as anyone's. Nevermind, I'm not arguing with you today, and that's flat! Now.” She snatched the thin band of gold out of Ylia's fingers. “You wear the more visible one today. That circlet isn't suitable for Fest. Nor Narrans.”

  “Malaeth, it'll fall off and break.”

  “No, it won't, not if you behave yourself like Nedao's Lady and don't join in the wrestling!” Malaeth fastened the plain gold crown in place with a handful of pins, slapping Ylia's hand away impatiently when one scraped her scalp. “Hold still, you're as bad as when you were a child!”

  “You're worse,” Ylia grumbled, but resigned herself and closed her eyes. Malaeth shoved four more pins into place and stepped back.

  “There. The plaits are not seemly, to my way of thinking, and certainly no way to deal with those Narran nobles, but it's useless to argue with you.”

  “Good, I'm glad you don't intend to.” She stood, brushed crumbs from her lap. “You'll be down later, of course.”

  “Haven't missed one yet, have I?”

  There were people everywhere and the square was four-deep already for the ceremony to begin the sword crossings. Most of the folk disbursed immediately after she spoke the greeting and stepped back onto the covered dais, since the first day was given over to preliminary bouts and the first morning to novice class. Only relatives and instructors stayed for the novice crossings, there was too much else going on to spend the time on them.

  Ber'Sordes and his household remained, though. She sent one of her warders to offer them a seat in the shade.

  “Lady. This is a genuine pleasure, it grows warm out there.”

  “Just wait,” she said. “They'll be toasting yushas on the rocks here by late afternoon.” He cast her a startled glance, smiled appreciation of the joke as he caught it and turned back to watch the fight in progress. Several of his men withdrew on errands of their own, leaving finally only the ambassador and his nephew and three of the household.

  Be nice to the child, she reminded herself, he's part of the embassy, and maybe he'll dissuade.

  “Two of my men,” Ber'Sordes said, “have signed for your competition. They'll be up this afternoon, early.”

  “Good. Our men need competition more their own size, and friendly for a change.”

  “Yes, I'd think so. Tell me,” the older man said; “if you will, of these creatures your Lord Corry calls Mathkkra. I've never heard of them before.”

  She paused a moment to watch the two boys backing each other around the square and to collect her thoughts. Corlin obviously told him little. Don't add the wrong things to that. “They were Plains-dwellers when our kind first left the Isles and came north. We thought them all dead if they'd ever really been,” she said finally. “Unfortunately we ran across them, my companions and I, when we came through the mountains after Koderra fell. Since then, we've seen them off and on. They avoid daylight, and they prefer odds balanced heavily in their favor. They're not brave or good fighters, but they can overwhelm by sheer number.”

  “So Lord Corry said. He also said,” Ber'Sordes added curiously, “that they are blood drinkers, and that they nearly sent you to join your ancestors.”

  “Damn,” she laughed ruefully. “He was not supposed to spread that around.”

  “He's not the only one, Lady,” Ang'Har said diffidently. “Your Champion told me how you saved his life, last night.” His face was a mixture of the previous night's awe, astonishment, a certain degree of uncertainty as to whether he'd been ragged—and something else: she could almost hear his thought. Ladies do not wear swords and men's pants, and ladies are gentle creatures to make songs of, and ladies must be protected and sheltered from evil and even bad thought, but... It was absolutely painful to watch him carefully meet her eyes, and not look at her marred cheek.

  Suddenly, she could almost feel sorry for him, irritating as his adoring gaze had become. It had to be hard on a boy, brought up to chivalrous behavior as he'd been, to come up-river to meet Nedao's young Queen—someone who should be all things a chivalrous, gentleman could wish—and to realize she was nothing of the sort. Particularly after his first sight of her, in that feminine bit of green. Poor child. He'll learn, if he stays here long enough.

  “Well, yes, I did. But he saved mine a few times, too. We all pretty much took care of each other that way. We didn't keep track after a while—I didn't. Don't,” she laughed, “take all Brelian says straightly, not about me. He'll tease you.”

  “Ah.” Ber'Sordes clearly didn't believe her, and Ang'Har wasn't certain.
She stood.

  “Stay here if you like, I'll return. I have to speak with Duke Erken.” Ugh. The thing couldn't be put off any further. She owed him an apology for making him look small before his men, if nothing else.

  It was awhile before she found him: The small City was full of happy people, the narrow streets crowded, and it was difficult for her to see far. She finally ran him down in front of the barracks.

  He sat on a bench in the shade of the northern wall, talking with three of his young sword-sworn who were scheduled to fight before noon-meal. He looked up as she approached, motioned the three to leave and stood, rather stiffly. Ylia dropped down to the bench, patted the place next to her where he'd been. “Come on, man, I'm not going to hurt my neck staring up at you. Sit!”

  “As you please, Lady Ylia.” And he sat, a proscribed distance from her. His expression was aloof.

  “Erken—all right, I'm sorry. Don't look at me like that! I'm trying to apologize! I had no right to speak to you in such a way, certainly not before your men and Marhan's. I was upset. It wasn't entirely your fault.”

  “All right. I was angry myself,” Erken said evenly. “Mostly because I feared you would be among the losses, Lady.”

  She bit back anger. That wouldn't solve anything. “I understand that. I'm grateful for your concern. But remember what I said last night. I'm not backing down from that, either. You'll have to accept that I'm Father's heir. I'm Nedao's Queen, and Nedao's rulers have always fought at the fore of their armed.”

  “It's not necessary for you to do that. You have armed, you can use them.”

  “It is. Erken, if my brother had lived to take the ruling, you'd never have said that to him!”

  “That isn't so.”

  “You know better! At least be honest with me, Erken.” They gazed at each other for a long minute. “Think about it. I've sword skill, I've my mother's magic, and by that, I've twice the protection Leffna had when she led Nedao against the Llhaza and the Tehlatt, and when she fought the pirates and their Ragnolian allies.” She paused; he just looked at her, his face unreadable. “I'd wager anything she faced the same arguments you're giving me. She still led from the fore. Just as Father did. Just as I do. And will.” Still silence. “That's how it is, Erken, and I'm not going to argue about it with you, not now, not later, because it's simple fact. Nothing you or Marhan or anyone else says is changing that.” His mouth twitched. “I'm sorry I lost my temper last night, sorry I shouted at you. That's all I came to say. Father would never have done that.” Silence again. “Dammit man, say something!”

  Erken shook his head, laughed quietly. “By the Black Well, you're Brandt's equal for stubborn! All right, no more argument. For all the grey hairs you've given us, I notice you're still alive and unharmed. So far.”

  “I'll stay that way,” she assured him seriously. “I've already taken my novice marks.”

  Mothers. She'd had to remind him of that, hadn't she? He seldom noticed her face these days. He was used to it and tan was hiding what was left of that faint line. Thank all the gods at once she brings enough prestige in name and land to overshadow that scar. If she were merely noble, she'd likely die husbandless. And thank the gods also that Brandt didn't live to see it, he thought. He drew a deep breath, expelled it in a rush. “I'm sorry also. Friends?” He held out a lean, sunbrowned hand; she met it halfway.

  “Friends.” She eyed his three boys, who were trying to run another set of crossing patterns. “You'd better get back to them. They need your help.”

  He groaned. “I try to remember that boys all start rough. It doesn't always help.” He stood, handed her up; there was a gleam in his dark eyes. “And speaking of rough, when do your women compete?”

  “Just after boys’ novice class. I decided on fifteen of them, finally. Fewer than the boys. I thought I'd save everyone such long-drawn agony.”

  Erken laughed, motioned his three back to his side. “Equal honors on that one, Lady.”

  “Equal indeed. I got you under the ribs and you know it! I'd better get back to the Narrans, speaking of boys’ novice crossings. I left poor Ber'Sordes watching them.”

  “Ah. Well, watch out for the pretty one, then,” the Duke grinned cheerfully. Ylia groaned.

  “Gods and Mothers, is it as obvious as all that? Tell me you haven't added him to your lists!” she implored.

  “What? That puppy? You're supposed to have children, not wed ’em!”

  Ylia laughed. “Don't worry, my friend. He's undergone a bit of a change since I hung the sword from my belt again. This morning he looked like he'd bit an apple and found a worm in it.”

  “Huh. Puppy,” Erken muttered to himself. “Are the Narrans serious?”

  “I'd never try to second-guess a Narran. But now you know how I feel,” Ylia said, and left him.

  She purchased—though the good woman tending the stall would have given them to her—a mug of fruited wine, a stick of well-toasted venison bits, and wandered back to the square. Two of Ifney's youngest and greenest were there now, and Ber'Sordes and his personal servant alone occupied the shaded dais. Behind them and down near the River a horrid clangor was rising, as a pair of smiths began a race to cast and finish a complex harness clip. There was an enormous crowd around them, apparently undetered by the full sun and the heat rising from the forges: she could see wavering farms and fields behind it. She had passed the honor, of presenting that prize to Corlin.

  She slid into her seat, brushed damp hair off her brow and sipped her wine. It had been cooled in buckets of river water and so had the fruit, to the point it was almost too cold to drink.

  “This is highly amusing,” Ber'Sordes commented. “We have nothing like it in Nar, and the Ylsans seldom indulge either.”

  “Well, it's primitive, or so I'm told. But not as primitive as others—”

  “I've heard from your man Golsat how his mother's folk celebrate the day. You dare not call this primitive,” Ber'Sordes protested with a smile. “From things he's said, I wonder anyone is yet alive here.”

  “They've been filling your ear, haven't they?” Ber'Sordes smiled again.

  “Narran curiosity.”

  “Well, you can't trust Golsat, either,” she replied with a smile of her own. There was a flurry of applause as one of the two boys—more by chance than skill—disarmed the other and made his touch.

  “Perhaps not. He tells a good tale, though.”

  There was a council meeting with noon-meal: short in honor of the Fest, absolutely essential in light of the attacks. Marckl, of course, still slept, though his wife sent word that he seemed otherwise well. Brelian could not be found at all, and even Lisabetha had no idea where he might be.”

  “Well, it's clear to me there's a hold of the little nasties right close!” Ifney snapped. Marckl's near-death sat hard with him. “Now, whether they were somewheres about first, or saw us coming and took us for easy prey isn't important. Fact is, they're here, and what do we intend to do about ’em?”

  There's something wrong, though,” Erken said. “As many of us as there are, and so many of us armed. That is not what the tales say of Mathkkra.”

  “You're forgetting Lyiadd,” Marhan said.

  Erken shook his head. “Even so, even changed: they can hide themselves with magic, they're more aggressive, they have the Fear. There were only a handful of us in the valley for several 5-days running, and we saw nothing of Mathkkra. This must have been a band that set upon us as a test, and having failed it, they will not come back. Doubtless they are ten leagues away by now, and still running.”

  “Do you believe that, we may all be dead by Harvest,” Marhan growled.

  “Lyiadd may not be dead,” Levren said in the deadly silence that followed the Swordmaster's words. “If he is not, he would send Mathkkra to harry us.” He glanced at Ylia, but she was staying out of it for the moment. Sensible. Stay still, let us bring Ifney and Erken around, he thought.

  “Remember, too,” Marhan added sourly, “that e
ven five hundred years ago, Mathkkra were fond of Nedaoan sheep! If your mind balks at the greater horrors, Duke, then remember that. The sight of so many sheep could bring Mathkkra.”

  Erken shook his head stubbornly. “I was not arguing that we fail in vigil, or in preparation. I merely state what no one else considers at all, that with or without this Lyiadd and his female, these may have been attracted by a few men away from their weapons, attracted by sheep and only a handful of guards and children with them. That's all. If we're to consider all possibilities, then consider, I beg you, that this is also one!”

  “All right.” Ifney, surprisingly, came to Erken's side and held out both hands for silence. “The Duke's right. We have to consider that, even though we stand prepared for the worst! I say,” he added, “that we begin a search. If they are nearby, let us find the nest of them as Merreven did, and wipe them out.”

  Ylia cleared her throat. “Useless. Remember what else I told you? In the Foessa, none of us were aware of them until too late. Nisana and I had searched intensely with the Power only a short time before, and they hid from us. They can shield from the Power. More, though, we had Golsat, Marhan and Levren watching for danger. They're among the best trackers we have.” Ifney favored her with a sour look but refrained from comment and resumed his seat. “If you want to search, though, by all means, let's do it. There are plenty of young armed who could use the experience, riding circuit on the Valley. Golsat; if you have the time, teach some of them tracking. We don't have enough who can do that.”