A Posse of Princesses

by Sherwood Smith

  “Yes! He sees me wearing it at Eskanda. He knows I took it,” she said with cheer.

  Rhis listened in dismay. “You stole it from him?”

  “Oh, from his room. He is not there. If I fight him for it, and win, then there is a feud from his father. If he win, a feud from mine. Many people die. Used to be, in the bad days of old, you fight to the death for your heir raid. Too many died that way.” Her eyes crinkled as she brandished the elegant, lethal-looking silver and black handled knife with the blue gemstones. They flashed blue sparks in the sunlight. “Now, we just make the raid when they are not there. So they do not lose honor.” She smacked her chest. “Jarvas takes two years ago my father’s favorite bridle, the one for parade. But we are not at our tents, we are away on a scout run. But everyone else is there. When we return and Father find it gone, and nothing else gone, how Father cursed and cursed!” She shook with laughter.

  Shera cast a glance at Rhis, then said, “You look funny. What are you thinking?”

  Rhis said. “I just realized I’m grateful.”

  “For?”

  “I didn’t think anything could make me glad to go home to Elda’s lectures again. But hearing about this custom just did it.”

  Shera smothered a nervous giggle.

  Taniva finished tucking the blue-gemmed blade back into her waistband under her smock, where it stayed out of sight. “So this is why I am only stable girl when we go inside, and why I hide my face when you speak. And why I will be one to find pest-princess. I already know my way around.”

  Then she kneed her horse and dropped back in line.

  “I wish she’d told us that before,” Shera muttered. “I hope they don’t have posted signs about royal thieves all over the place, with her face painted on, and her name in big letters.”

  “Shh,” Rhis whispered, trying hard not to laugh.

  When they reached the foot of the bridge, suspicious guards eyed them, one even poking through their saddlebags in a cursory way as Dartha did the speaking. All the High Plains people knew Damatran speech, as they were taught to know their enemy. A few words seemed familiar to Rhis.

  They were waved on.

  Rhis had thought the subliminal rumble she heard was her heartbeat, but as they slowly moved to the middle of the bridge, the mighty waterfall came into view, white spray reaching as high as the ridge. Above rose the enormous mountain, and behind it, ranges of even higher mountains, their ever-snowy tops gleaming coldly in the sun. Just like in Nym.

  She did not find the sight comforting:

  There aren’t a whole lot of possibilities for escape, she thought.

  oOo

  Despite Rhis’s worries and tension, at first everything went pretty much as Taniva had outlined. They rode in without more than a glance from the many guards. Not all of them had yellow hair and pale skin, as Rhis had feared—she did not want to stand out and be considered suspicious. There were dark-haired Damatrans as well as light, and a variety of skin colors, though mostly on the pale side. There were plenty with the golden skin of the High Plains, which made Rhis suspect that, even though the two kingdoms were enemies, people had probably been mixing over time, so it wasn’t so unusual to have a mother from one kingdom and a father from the other.

  Anyway, no one seemed the least interested in Shera and Rhis’s browner skin, or their round eyes, so unlike the slanty ones and broad faces to be seen in infinite variety around them. Still, Rhis was glad of the unusual clothes and braids. She suspected that her own clothes might have caused some second looks.

  They followed the traffic down the broad street between slate-roofed stone buildings (shops below, living quarters above) that led to the castle, and at those gates, again Dartha did the speaking for them. Rhis, this time stepping close enough to hear all the words, was interested to discover that the Damatran and the High Plain languages did sound a lot alike.

  They were shunted off into what appeared to be a servants’ area inside the huge stone castle, again reminding Rhis of home. Only this one was enormous, with far more people lining in it than in her own home castle.

  Rhis looked around—smelled the familiar tang of slightly moldy stone—and discovered for the first time in her life that she really didn’t much like stone castles.

  The horses were left with Taniva at the stable, and they followed a group of people whose clothes were a lot like theirs—in a variety of colors—to an entry-way lined with doors. The people in front, all laden with enormous bags of foodstuffs, were waved off in one direction. The guard looked them over with a slightly puzzled frown, his brow clearing when he saw the tiranthe and hand drum. The girls were waved another way.

  Eventually they ended up in a room with a miscellany of people, all of whom shared only one characteristic, they were to be interviewed before being sent along to whatever they’d come for.

  Rhis was again reminded of home. Nym had had too many troubles in its past for wandering players to be admitted to the king’s or queen’s presence without an interview first. There had been more than one assassination attempt by pretend entertainers.

  But by the time the harassed woman in charge of such things got to them, the lamps had all been lit, or glowglobes clapped on, and the wafting smells of spiced rice and braised fish made it clear the castle workers were all going in to supper.

  “We will see your offering tomorrow,” the woman said slowly in two or three languages, adding grimly, “We are now in need of such.” She made a warding sign at the window—which afforded a view of that enormous tower.

  Rhis was surprised at her tone, and the gesture, as they were shooed off to a long barracks room with narrow wooden beds and bumpy hay mattresses. They were offered blankets, which looked too thick and scratchy (they were wool) for summer, even the cool summer of the mountains. So, after each of them had gratefully stepped through the cleaning frame and felt grit and grime snap away from their bodies and clothes, and after they’d passed all their travel clothes through, they curled up in now-clean cloaks and lay down beneath the wide-open arched windows. The Damatrans seemed to believe in plenty of fresh air, and the summer’s heat evaporated rapidly so high in the mountains.

  Rhis tried to compose herself to sleep, but she was far too nervous and excited. Also the room was full of noise. Not loud noise. But here a wooden bed frame creaked as someone tried to find a comfortable position on what had to be an extra-bumpy mattress, and there someone snored; farther down the long rows of beds someone else coughed, and at the other end a pair of girls whispered—and everyone around uttered sharp “Sh!”s which were much louder than the whispers.

  Rhis finally realized what made it impossible to sleep: though the three High Plains guards were with the other two princesses and her, Taniva still had not joined them.

  She was worrying about Taniva’s saddlebag and dreaming about searching for it without realizing she’d dropped into a restless sort of slumber when a hand on her shoulder jerked her awake.

  The dormitory was silent, except for the sounds of deep, heavy breathing. Weak silvery light in the high windows barely outlined a face with looped braids.

  “Huh?” Rhis mumbled.

  The shadow bent close. “It be me,” Taniva whispered, her breath warm on Rhis’s forehead. “You come. Now.”

  Rhis rose, reached for her saddle-bag. Sleepiness vanished as she joined the others, all carrying their gear. No one spoke. With soundless steps they made their way out of the dormitory.

  Taniva led them down a couple of twisting, turning halls, past an area that smelled of baking bread. Light leaked from below closed doors, behind them came sounds of people moving about.

  Twice they stopped, each time to wait for slow-walking sentries to wander past. Taniva kept them pressed still and flat against the cold stone walls until the sentries rounded corners, then she sped off in the other direction, followed by the rest of them, Rhis and Shera laboring under their saddlebags. Yuzhyu and the High Plains people did not seem to notice the extra w
eight.

  Though Rhis’s mind bloomed with questions, Taniva did not speak until they’d traversed what seemed to be an entire city’s worth of plain stone hallway. Again they waited for sentries to pass, and then started up the narrow stone steps of a tower.

  On a landing, Taniva stopped.

  “Guards outside now. She is up here.” A jerk of the thumb toward the top of the tower.

  Rhis understood at once. Iardith was imprisoned at the top of the tower. They’d get her out, take their stuff to the stable, and as soon as the gate opened, they’d ride out. Nobody, she hoped, would care whether or not a bunch of girls had had their audition—not if they could get away before the princess was discovered to be gone, and the alarm went up.

  “Hurry,” she said, and Taniva whirled around and started up the stairs three at a time.

  The others trundled after, soon breathing hard and sweating under their loads.

  But at last they reached the top landing, which was just a narrow space before a sturdy wooden door. Taniva gestured to one of her guards, who brought something out of a pocket, edged past Yuzhyu, knelt, and inserted something into the lock. In the faint moonslight lancing down from the slit window above, Rhis couldn’t make out what she was doing—but a few heartbeats later the guard gave a grunt of satisfaction and the big door swung open.

  The tower room had windows all around, flooding it with silvery-blue light.

  Iardith sat up in bed, her long black hair braided for the night.

  She clapped.

  “No—too late at night for light—guards get suspici—” Taniva began, but it was too late.

  The light from the wall-mounted glowglobe was blinding to their dark-adjusted eyes. And of course the light would be visible to anyone outside who cared to look up at that broad arched window.

  But that was only a fleeting thought. Because though Rhis had from time to time imagined Iardith’s reaction to their appearances as rescuers, she’d always thought the princess from Arpalon would welcome them with relief . . . fear . . . joy . . . all expressions difficult to imagine on that beautiful face.

  What they got was sardonic disgust, as Iardith said with cordial sarcasm, “You idiots!”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “We’re here to rescue you,” Shera exclaimed.

  Iardith flung back a shining loop of braid. “Do you really think that I am stupid enough to need rescue?”

  The group stood there aghast—except for the guards, who didn’t follow the rapid conversation. One stood at the door, the other two outside on the landing.

  Then Taniva burst into laughter, slapping her knee. “You abduct him!”

  Iardith gave a kind of sour laugh. “Let’s just say that I let him take me away.”

  The Damatran guards outside were definitely efficient enough to care to look up: Dartha entered, saying, “They come up stairs.” And gripped something inside her clothes, her face grim.

  There was no way out; would the women really fight?

  Rhis felt dazed and sick as she looked down at her—

  Moving fast, she pulled her tiranthe from the saddlebag, and while the others stared at her as if her wits had flown, she began to strum in a fast, crazy manner.

  Before she could speak, Taniva snapped her fingers. She laughed silently, beckoning to her guards. “Sing! Dance!” she ordered.

  Yuzhyu, breathing fast, pulled out her hand drum and began to tap it; the two older guards were blank-faced as they clapped, but Dartha grinned, a quick flash that was a lot like Taniva’s grin. She began twirling in between the others, dancing round the handsomely furnished cell as if she did this sort of thing every day.

  Shera began to sing the song that Rhis played. Rhis joined in, ignoring the dryness of her throat.

  And so, when four guards entered, swords in hand, it was their turn to stare in amazement.

  Iardith still looked sardonic, but at least she played fair. She crossed her arms across her front, not the least discommoded to be found sitting up in bed in her nightgown, as she said loftily, “I wanted some music.”

  The guards turned eyes of various pale shades from the regal princess to the group of players who plied away, ending a song and plunging into another. Dartha danced toward them, forcing them to lift the ready swords and step back.

  One of them gave a faint shrug, said a single word, and they withdrew—relocking the door behind them.

  Rhis lifted her hand, but at Taniva’s quick gesture, she resumed playing.

  “Do not stop,” she said, pointing to the open windows.

  “That was fast thinking,” Iardith said cordially. “But if Jarvas is the one to come up here to investigate in the morning, he’ll recognize you at once.”

  Taniva retorted, “Then will ask why you do not recognize us.”

  “I will of course say that all servants look alike,” Iardith snapped back.

  Rhis glanced at her group—how very different they were from one another—and snorted a laugh despite her wildly beating heart.

  Iardith added, “Besides, it won’t really matter what I say. Jarvas does what I want.”

  “So you can want him to send us away,” Shera said, as Rhis kept strumming the tiranthe.

  “Oh, yes,” Iardith said with an indifferent shrug. “At least you did come. Though I wonder why? No matter. You can go right back, with some messages to the rest of those fools. Beginning with that disgusting little toad, Dandiar the Scribe. So I shall always think of him.”

  Rhis felt her sympathies swinging—quite unreasonably, she reminded herself firmly—to the real Prince Lios. Beside her, Yuzhyu looked down at her drum, her face crimson.

  Iardith never even glanced her way.

  “So you find out,” Taniva said. “Hah!”

  “He told you?” Shera asked curiously, her brow crinkled. Rhis wondered if Shera, like Rhis herself, imagined Dandiar confessing the truth before a marriage proposal.

  But Iardith said, “He didn’t.” She looked up at the windows, her long, pretty fingers twiddling with her braid in a rare fussy gesture, then she dropped her hands into her lap, making one of her graceful poses. “Lios did. Or whatever that lackey calls himself.” And in a calm voice, as if describing an everyday occurrence, “The party was about to end, and the fool had yet to come to the point. Since the world knows I cannot go home empty handed—I have to marry a crown, and my own honor demands that it be a better one than my father’s—I followed him to his room after the concert. I thought a little flirting and romantic talk would hurry him along. But as soon as I tried to kiss him, he panicked. As he should! He knew right well what my father would do if some servant tried to flirt with me.”

  Shera’s and Rhis’s eyes met. Marry a crown, Rhis thought. Lios might have been a stick of wood or an old hedgehog, just as long as he would get her a crown.

  As though her thoughts paralleled Rhis’s, Iardith said, “He is a handsome enough lad, that I will say. Though dull as can be. All he likes is sport—racing—shooting—wrestling—fencing. Tchah! Anyway, he panicked. It was quite funny, really, though at the time I was just angry. Told me who he really was, and who Lios really was. When I stamped out, ready to murder that snake of a scribe for daring to lie to me, there was Jarvas. I’d been ignoring him, though he’s almost as easy on the eyes as that Lios-lackey. Damatras might be big, and everyone is afraid of them, but the truth is, they are almost as poor as Arpalon. I want to be rich,” she finished. “But beggars cannot be choosers, and when he started trying to argue with me about not having danced with him—that I was playing with his feelings—I cut through the rot and said I wished someone would take me away.”

  She shrugged, and smiled. “So he did.” She laughed. “I must say, he catches a hint fast. Better, he organized everything himself. I didn’t have to do a thing, yet we were gone by sunup. Though that journey left much to be desired—I can see it will take some time to teach them how a monarch ought to travel. And be treated. But I can wait to civilize these barb
arians. I need that crown on my head first.”

  She huffed out a breath, then went on briskly, “So, that brings me to my messages. You must see to it that my father knows that this was my idea. He can bluster all he wants—he may get a better settlement that way—but he’s not to rubbish up my plans by sending an army.”

  Taniva said in a low, rough voice, “So at least you think of those who must fight in your cause. And of the lands trampled in the fighting.”

  Iardith shook back her braids. “I don’t like fighting and blood, no. Especially when Arpalon would come out the worst of it, I dareswear. I do not want a disaster associated with my name.” She pointed imperially at the floor. “So now they’ve all heard you plinking that thing, and no one has come back upstairs to investigate further. Unless you want to knock and deal with the night guard, they’ve probably forgotten all about you. I suggest we get some sleep. They can let you out in the morning.”

  Taniva gestured to Dartha, who dropped to the floor, peered beneath the door, then rose, shaking her head. She held up six fingers. Six guards now on the landing, where there’d been none before.

  Taniva sighed. Rhis suspected she wanted to break out the way they’d broken in. They sure couldn’t now. If it were home, Rhis thought, someone would be wanting to know who let us up here. I don’t think they’re going to forget by morning.

  “Tomorrow will be another long, no doubt ghastly day. It’s going to take real work to make this place half-way civilized enough to spend my life in.”

  Iardith flung herself back on the bed, and clapped out the lights, leaving everyone else to dispose themselves as best they could on the floor.

  Rhis did not want to ask her to share the bed. She realized everyone else felt the same when Shera said accusingly, “You might at least spare us a pillow or two. You don’t need all those.”

  Fluff! Fluff! Two down-stuffed pillows landed, one on top of Rhis, the other farther away. “Shut up,” Iardith said.

  oOo

  Summer or not, the tower room was chilly, open as it was to the outside air. When the sounds of footsteps clattering beyond the door woke Rhis, she found Shera’s hair tickling her nose. They’d curled up together, under both cloaks. When Rhis raised her head, her temples panging, she discovered Yuzhyu’s bright hair just behind her; she’d shared their pillow, facing the other way.