Once a Princess

by Sherwood Smith

  “I think there is no more I can do here, that what must be done will be done, but easier without me. I will go away. I first wanted t offer you the chance to go with me. The world is changing and only the young will be strong enough to survive what is regretfully going to come.”

  Atanial impulsively launched herself across the tumbled bedding and hugged Ananda. “you are a sweetheart. I really appreciate that, more that you probably will ever know. But while my daughter is in danger and while Math is missing, my place is here. That might change, and if I get only this one chance so be it. But I have to stay and turn my hand to whatever I can.”

  Ananda smiled and stood, her face in silhouette against eh bright window. “I thought it might be so. I did wish to ask. The illusion spell waits for two to leave, if you are reconsidering. But it will be impossible to repeat it. Once I am gone poor Perran will search every stone of this castle and he’ll increase the wards.”

  “Poor Perran? I thought Perran and Zhavic turned into Evil sorcerers.”

  Atanial’s tone was half joking but Ananda did not smile. “They would never turn to dark magic or to Norsunder. There is a terrible rift between our kingdoms mages. Some withdrew completely and live behind wards. The Eban boy is trained by these. Perran and Zhavic felt they had to swear allegiance to Canardan because he was the king. This was to better protect the kingdom for they feared if they didn’t he might bring in truly evil mages.”

  Atanial vaguely remembered Perran. He’d seemed odd back then. Now she pegged him as the kind of guy who’d star at apple computers, designing brilliant software by day and on weekends entirely taken up playing World of Warcraft.

  “I think I see.”

  “Everything is confused,” the queen said seriously. “I wouldn’t say that Zhavic, having thrown in with the king, has gradually shifted allegiance, but he is still dedicated to the kingdom. Despite Canardan’s earnest wish, even his orders, none of the mages really exert themselves to harm the others. There’s always some magical reason why the traitor mages cannot be extirpated, as the war commander often demands. Magister Glathan’s death was...”

  “I know. Randart’s example of how to do it properly. All right I think I see my duty. I think. Anyway with Sasha out there in the world, I must stay. But again thank you.”

  Ananda lifted a hand “the gift is not mine only the thought. I will leave you with terrible trouble, I know but I was never capable of addressing it. However, I beseech you to trust Canardan’s son, though it appears there is much against him. He’s also Feraeth’s son, and she is convinced he walks the knife edge between seeming and truth, but to a purpose and his purpose is good.”

  “I will remember that.” Atanial wondered if she could believe it.

  “Fare you well,” Ananda said softly and she left as silently as she had come.

  Atanial lay back down, staring at the ceiling. The next day there might be a hue and cry, but more likely Canardan would suppress news of the queen’s disappearance as much as he could. She would vanish from history as quietly as she’d lived.

  Atanial let her breath trickle slowly out. So what about her own history? So far, she hadn’t done all that well. But she was here again, and so she had a second chance.

  Plan then? For now, be a model “guest”, make friends with everyone in sight, be visible, friendly, keep talking to people in hopes they would talk to her and about her, so that Randart, at least would have difficulty making her “disappear”. Learn whatever she could.

  And wait to meet this Prince Jehan on whom so much seemed to depend.

  ———

  The senior barracks of the Ellir Academy was located at the far end of the castle, just before the tower above the very top of Market street. Across from market street was the famous brewery and the barracks was away from all the masters and guards. It was the place every cadet yearned to live in. By the time you’d attained that pinnacle though you had also become aware that there was hierarchy not only in the academy, but among the seniors.

  So it was Damedran Randart, the academy commander’s son whose particular group got all the beds down the window side that overlooked the top of market street, the brewery and the harbour beyond. The rules stated that beds were first come first served, but those not part of Damedran’s inner circle who had arrived for the senior year weeks before Damedran had either discovered a taste for the dusty view overlooking the practice courts inside the academy or they suffered a lot of accidents that the masters didn’t seem to notice.

  And so when Damedran came back from seeing his father, he found his friends sitting at the open windows, idly watching market street below.

  He paused in the doorway, his splendid shoulders set off n the brown tunic (his being tailored, not taken off the piles down in supply), his long, glossy black hair worn loose instead of clipped back according to regs, but who was going to complain?

  He waited impatiently, wondering why they were all staring out at market street when he was back, and they’d all been begging him to find out the final word about the games. “Market street on fire?”

  Gratifying how they whirled around, a couple of them even snapping to attention. He wasn’t a king yet, and they were already thinking of him as one. Good. Maybe uncle Dannath would stop jawing at him think like a king!

  Red, his chief lieutenant, dashed back the pale red hair that made the origin of his nickname obvious. “the sheep managed to waylay a pickpocket of thief.”

  Damedran’s huge cousin Wolfie said in his deep growl, “Least we’re pretty sure it was the sheep.” He raised a huge paw to his unruly black hair, which he wore neatly clipped back. Wolfie did not stand on privilege, he was mainly interested in fights out behind the stable. “Sheep white hair. Not many of those in uniform brown.”

  “None of em wear their hair that long,” Red said. “Has to be the sheep. Only I thought he rode off to Sartor?”

  “He rode in this morning.” Damedran was uninterested in Prince Jehan, except when he was in trouble. “I’m amazed he managed to waylay a single thief. It must have taken at least thirty of his followers.” As the others laughed, he strode into the barracks, nodded at two of the bows, who leaped up and sped to the doors at either end, shutting them and setting their backs to the wood.

  The room now being secure he got right to the subject that interested them all the most. “My father said it’s the king’s own order. There won’t be any yacht runs.”

  “Whyyyyy?” that was Bowspirt Lanarg who was the best of all the seniors at skiff running.

  Damedran saw disappointment to varying degrees in all their faces, except for Wolfie’s. Wolfie just liked fighting. End of subject. Damedran himself hated anything to do with the ocean. Too much work, and anyways kings didn’t go out on the water.

  But he had to sound like he cared. “It’s because of the pirate Zathdar. They think he’s got the old princess’s daughter and so my uncle has been ordered to take the fleet and wipe em out.”

  “Even prince Math’s girl?”

  Damedran snorted a laugh. “Orders are to take her, but hey, if she gets in the way of someone’s sword, problem ended...” As soon as the words were out he saw they were a mistake.

  Not all his followers knew the secret plans. Definitely not Ban Kender, who was his only genuine aristocrat follower. Ban’s family had been deposed when Locan Jora took over the western prtion of the kingdom. Handle him like a thoroughbred plains runner, his father had told him in private. That whole family they’re romantic. To them we’re heroic though outnumbered fighting for ancient rights. See you don’t disabuse em of that notion.

  “They’d kill her?” Ban said, sure enough. And the rest (except for Wolfie who never changed expression) reflected his dismay. “She sounded as gallant as any ballad heroine.”

  The others muttered in agreement.

  They’d all heard the gossip about the mysterious appearance of Princess Atanial’s daughter at the ancient tower, followed a day or two later by the
princess herself at the home of the ex-palace steward.

  Damedran said quickly, offhand, “You heard about her fighting skill, but you didn’t hear about her screaming orders at the criminal who brought her out of the other world. Last thing anyone heard was her yelling about them forgetting to bow, and where was her coach and six, and did anyone take her father’s jewels?”

  Damedran watched Ban, relieved at his fain expression of disgust. The others muttered about swagger idiots who did she think she was anyway? Damedran didn’t listen to any of them. Ban’s opinion was important maybe almost as important as his own. Weird, when Ban never strutted.

  “We don’t need that kind of trouble,” Ban said at last. “Not right now.”

  Damedran nodded and the others exchanged looks. They weren’t supposed to talk about the secret plans to retake Jora, but they all knew. That was one of the good things about being in with the war commander’s nephew.

  Damedran was amazed that his lie actually worked. Then he got another idea. “no, we sure don’t. Cowards, those Zhavalieshins. Skipping out and leaving us with the Siamis trouble, and now that things are settled, dancing back and expecting us all to bow down to them.”

  The boys expressed loud disgust. Then Bowsprit, who always had one eye on the weather and the other on the sea whenever he could, hooked a thumb toward the window. “Why is the sheep’s yacht warping out?”

  “He can’t be going anywhere.” Damedran snorted. “My uncle made it clear enough even to him he has to stay put. He’s supposed to preside at the games.”

  As he spoke he and the others moved to the windows. All minor boat traffic beyond the royal pier had cleared the way so prince Jehan’s beautiful yacht could be rowed out a ways from the dock.

  They didn’t have to warp far. The tide was right, the wind was shifting, judging from the lower layer of clouds coming in under the high wispy ones. In silence they watched the exquisitely cut curved mainsail drop and sheet home. It filled, the craft gathered speed, then the sail was brailed up again. The anchor dropped, and the yacht sat alone out in the roads, just east of the fleet of ships.

  “Well he certainly won’t get to sit on it and watch us compete in the harbour,” Damedran said, and Bowsprit groaned. “Maybe uncle Dannath ordered him to anchor out in the trade roads in case the pirate tries to grab him on shore.”

  Wolfie said, “or maybe the sheep is so afraid of the pirate he gave the order before the water games were cancelled.”

  Hoots of derision met this suggestion.

  Damedran waved a dismissive hand. “or maybe my uncle is commandeering it for his pirate hunt. The important thing is, the games are now confined to ground, and we’re to win, right?”

  The boys cheered. Damedran regarded them in satisfaction. The plans were all set, his father had said. Beginning with his win in every competition this year the songs about them all winter, and on the rising tide of his reputation, his leading all the young aristocrats in galloping over the hills to liberate Locan Jora in spring. He’d be the hero who reunited the country...while prince Jehan did what? Probably sat around watching some old geezer paint daisies.

  With this prospect in mind, he laughed, triumphant, happy, burning with anticipation. As the bell clanged for the midday break’s end, and the beginning of afternoon practice, he led the way out at a run.

  The others stampeded after. Or most of them did.

  Ban followed more slowly. He was thinking hard until he noticed Bowsprit also lingering, his pointy nose pressed against the window. After one last glance out at that beautiful yacht, Bowsprit said, “How I’d love to crew it, just once. I don’t care what stupid orders the sheep gives.”

  Ban grimaced. Truth was he hated that “Sheep” business. It didn’t seem respectful. But his father had said if regaining your mother’s family lands from those ruinous Jorans means putting up with Merindar boot heels all over custom for a time, then we put up.

  Bowsprit poked his arm. “And you wouldn’t care if it was a fish scow. What’s wrong?”

  “I just now remembered. The other night, when I had to leave, it was the night my mother’s friend’s son arrived in town. He’s a patrol leader. Wounded at that old castle the mages talk about. Samdan was invalided home. Got there right before supper, and at the time I was annoyed that he interrupted. I was afraid we wouldn’t eat and I’d have to report back hungry...” Ban noticed Bowsprit’s impatience at all that explanation, and got to the point. “this fellow was there when Prince Math’s daughter came to the old castle. I really wasn’t listening but I heard some of it. How the pirate wounded him, how she was easily as hot with a blade. They thought she was a fellow at first, because she’s tall and really fast.”

  “You mean she wasn’t a coward?”

  Ban closed his eyes. “No she did faint, but that was after the fight. She did some kind of healer’s spell on the one of the pirate’s people who got a cut on the arm, and there was poison on the knife.”

  “How about the coach and six?” Bowsprit asked.

  “Well that might have been later. But she sure didn’t do it at the castle. Samdan said she come out in the court, picked up a blade, and she and the pirate whacked their way through the prince’s patrol. Then she healed the boy, who my sister says is probably Devli Eban. She didn’t try to kill anyone either. Just like the pirate. Then they were gone by magic transfer.”

  “Who’s Devli Eban?”

  “Son of the palace steward during Prince Math’s days. He was a mage student with my sister, though he’s out now. Price on his head and everything, for being resistance.”

  “Oh.” They reached the door, and Bowsprit paused. They could hear the thunder of the others boots diminishing down the stairs below. No one else was around. They were all racing to the practice courts. “so your cousin’s friend’s father, or whatever was wounded. Maybe he didn’t hear everything.”

  “Said he was two spear lengths from them.”

  Both considered in silence, each remembering times when Damedran’s version of truth hadn’t quite matched with what they’d understood. But did it do you any good to doing such things out? Not when the liar is the son of the academy commander, and the nephew of the kingdoms war commander. And rumour had it but never when Damedran was around that if anything happened to Prince Jehan, the king was looking his way for a possible heir.

  Bowsprit knocked Ban in the arm again. “Let’s go.”

  In silence they followed the others, each thinking without coming to any conclusions. Sometimes it was better not to say what you thought and other times it was useless even to think.

  ———

  Jehan paused as the two sober faced boys passed him on their way to the quarterstaff court.

  He was certain they were two of Damedran Randart’s followers, though he only recognized tall dark haired Ban Kender. But he’d been watching the games, and how the academy had been changing under the Randarts command for years.

  He waited until they’d rounded the stone archway between command and the barracks, and followed but instead of turning toward the courts, he continued across the parade ground to the stable, his expression so thoughtful that Owl, who was dressed in stable homespun and lurking around on the watch, pursed his lips.

  They were long practiced at deception. Jehan inspecting the highbred horses reserved for those in command and the scrappy redhead who looked like so many others in this part of the world so close to Sarendan where red hair was quite common, busily swept out the stalls.

  When they knew they wouldn’t be overheard, Owl said, she’s alright. Other than mad as fire.”

  Jehan nodded. “I know. What troubles me more at the moment is Lesi Velleg, who I discovered is on the sick list. The official report is that she tripped, but Elkin tells me one of Damedran’s boys got her drunk while on duty and stretched a cord across the bottom two stirs when she ran down.”

  Owl winced. “what for? I thought he’d outgrown the bullying.”

  “He stopped
doing it for fun. This one might be to a purpose. Its happening right before the games is too suspicious to be accident. So the question is, what purpose?” Jehan shook his head. “Never mind that. What about Devlaen Eban?”

  “He’s on his way back to his cousin’s new hideout, with the mages who wouldn’t swear allegiance oath. Promises to relay the messages to the mages asking them to shadow Perran and Zhavic.”

  “And Elva?”

  Owl said, “Devlaen told her the news about their mother being held prisoner. That sobered her enough to get her to agree to keep her mouth shut. I think she will. She’s stubborn but honest. I left her in line at the hiring office, as she turned down my offer to join our crew. Her parting words to me were that she wanted to get to sea and forget all of us.”

  Jehan shook his head. “I really stumbled there.”

  “Maybe.” Owl pinched his nose. “But not as badly as I did.”

  “We can’t slip like that again.”

  They watched past one another’s shoulders as they talked but now they looked around to make extra certain. The stable was empty.

  Jehan said, “back to the games. Damedran’s going to sweep all the categories, that much we can predict. What I wonder is if that connects with the rumoured order for more weaponry from abroad? The war games ordered for autumn, including a castle siege, expensive as that is. And the requisitions for increased supplies for the guard in spring. Separately these orders seem a little odd but not extraordinarily so. Together they add up to a very odd indeed. Has Randart set the time for his invasion at last?”

  Owl watched him as he moved dust around on the ground. He’d known Jehan for years, and was used to living life at a run. This was the princes method of thinking aloud.

  Jehan turned his way, his chin lifting. He’d reached a decision. “we have to intercept that weapons shipment. Get Aslo down to the harbour master’s to underbid the others for the ships being hired to deliver the weapons. I don’t care how much he has to scant off his profit. I’ll make up the shortfall. It’s to be a sober merchant ship hired into that fleet.”