Time of Daughters I

by Sherwood Smith

  He drew both women’s appreciative gazes as he reined in, tossed the lance he’d carried to one of his runners, and sprang down from the saddle pad. As he strode away, he called over his shoulder to his second runner, “Kend! Leave the horses to the stable hands, and come with me. I want you to run a message to Captain Gannan.”

  He vanished through the doors to the tower, yellow horsetail and gray coat skirts swinging.

  Tesar turned to her adopted aunt and her mouth fell open. She had never before seen anyone actually turn ghost-pale until now.

  Gdan stared after Mathren, her eyes stark as the words, the cadences, the timbre of that voice echoed back two decades, to when she was fourteen, and working in this very stable.

  She knew that voice. She had heard it in nightmares for over twenty years.

  She groped blindly, stumbling forward with no awareness of doing so, until Tesar caught her by the arm to steady her. Gdan flicked her gaze to Tesar’s anxious face, which was paling as well. “Auntie?” she whispered.

  What now? What now? Gdan ran shaking fingers over her face. “Where are they?” she muttered voicelessly, the lecture forgotten.

  Tesar whispered, “Come.”

  She led the way into the stairwell, and, unaware that Gdan had lived here as a child, began explaining where things were. Gdan heard none of it as she fought to get her heart to slow down, and to conquer the tremble in knees and wrists. He hadn’t looked at her. And even if he had, he didn’t know who she was. It was twenty years ago!

  But still, her shoulder blades crawled as she tried to work out what to say.

  Danet and Tdor Fath were both in the guest suite, the former having visited the kitchen as she did every day, to write out the previous day’s requisitions slate so that Kitchen Steward Tam wouldn’t have to. Arrow had just returned from drilling his Riders out behind the barns, idling until Evred should waken and summon him. And Tdor Fath, with free time on her hands now that Rabbit’s beloved Nunka was back, had been making up a fresh dose of listerblossom in case Jarend needed it.

  All turned when Tesar brought Gdan in.

  Gdan tapped fingers to chest in salute, saying, “Jarl-Indevan is dead.”

  Arrow let out a hoarse gasp as though someone had kicked him in the gut.

  To his distraught face, Gdan gave the report on his death. “...a letter lying by his hand, saying that Lanrid had taken his favorite Riders up the Pass. Which we already knew—they left directly after you did.”

  “The castle must be a mess,” Tdor Fath said, half-starting up from her mat, as if she could instantly run to Sdar and Ranor’s sides.

  “Sdar-Randviar sent me before the memorial,” Gdan said in a weird, flat voice that at any other time would have caused question. “The message was, Come home.”

  Danet and Tdor Fath looked at each other, each trying to read the thoughts behind the other’s bewildered gaze: after weeks of tedium, suddenly life was changing much too fast.

  Tdor Fath glanced toward the inner door, and lowered her voice. “Evred is declaring himself to be new king, and he seems to want Jarend and Arrow to stay until his coronation before the jarls at Midsummer.”

  Gdan didn’t hear a word. She said, still in that strange, creaky voice, “Who was that? In the courtyard? Leading?”

  “If it was the lance drill you saw going or coming, that would be Commander Mathren,” Arrow said, his arms tightly crossed over his chest. “He always leads it.”

  Gdan recoiled at the name “Mathren.” Then: “It was him. It was his voice.”

  “Him?” Tdor said.

  “Who?” Danet said.

  Arrow got it first, and took a step toward Gdan. “You’re the stable hand, the witness, right?”

  Gdan pressed back against the door, fingers spread wide and tense. “I am,” she whispered, her face blanched. “I know that voice. He—said almost the same words. Same voice, same tone. I recognized it at once.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything before?” Tdor Fath asked, instinctively backing to the side door, where she could see Rabbit peacefully asleep.

  “Because I didn’t know who he was. I’d never heard Mathren Olavayir speak. I was a stable hand, sent by Ranor-Jarlan to oversee the animals brought by Keth and Tana—that is, the Jarlan’s first two sons....”

  “My elder brothers. Assassinated along with Garid-Harvaldar,” Arrow whispered.

  “We’d only been there a month when it happened. I never met any of the royal family, only saw them from a distance. Never heard them speak. I saw them sometimes when they rode in and out, but never heard them talk. And after I heard the assass—him, and saw the dead queen’s face, I caught the loose horses and galloped straight north.”

  “But Mathren’s so duty-minded, so loyal to the kingdom, everyone says so.” Tdor Fath spoke in the same urgent undervoice, as if invisible ears might overhear them though the door was firmly shut behind Gdan. “Could it be Mathren was searching for the assassins—that he merely found the dead?”

  “The accounts all put him inside the castle, rescuing Evred and Lanrid in the nursery,” Arrow muttered. “My father....” His voice hitched on the word father. Then he scowled, and continued in a higher, strained voice, “My father told me that much. And if Mathren did find the dead king and queen, and my brothers, why didn’t Gdan hear him yelling for backup? I’ve heard the story over and over, ever since I was small: Mathren was in the garrison with the swordmaster. Someone reported seeing armed brigands. Mathren ordered the alarm bells rung and ordered out a company to search, then went to secure Evred, who was in the nursery with Lanrid, both guarded by his wife. The search company split into ridings, one of which found the king and queen. He wasn’t anywhere near the site of the attack.”

  Everyone fell silent, staring at each other, then Arrow walked up to Gdan. “Think hard. Did the alarm bells ring before you found them, or after?”

  “I don’t have to think.” Gdan’s trembling hand turned palm down. “I was at the stream watering the remounts, because the king was going to join the game. I went back, heard that voice—his voice—and hid. Saw the queen lying dead. It was well after I ran away, I heard the bells in the distance, and I was terrified, thinking they were somehow after me.” She flushed. “I was fourteen. The thing is, I know the bells came after I heard that voice.”

  Danet spoke now. “My question is, who exactly gave the alarm, and what did they see? I always thought ‘assassins’ meant an army storming the castle.”

  Gdan snapped her hand away. “There was no brigand attack. Everything was peaceful. King and queen talking about where they should eat supper, and the last I heard before they sent me to water the horses was her saying they never could keep grit out of the food after all the dust had been kicked up in the wargames. I never heard shouts or swords clashing. They were killed in silence, or I would have heard the fighting.”

  Everyone pictured Mathren—so very good with weapons—approaching the king, his elder brother, maybe even smiling and talking casually, then cutting his throat, and stabbing the queen on the backswing before she could draw in a breath to yell.

  Tdor Fath said, “Then Mathren lied.”

  A soft knock at the door, and Gdan jumped away as if she’d been stabbed.

  Tesar moved to open it, as Tdor Fath drew Gdan into the inner room.

  Camerend stood there, taking in the shocked faces. “I came with news, but perhaps you already know?”

  “That the jarl is dead?” Danet asked, since his gaze fell on her face. She gulped in air. “Or that Mathren Olavayir was at the site of the assassination twenty years ago?”

  Camerend’s reaction was subtle, no more than a tightening of the muscles around eyes and mouth, and a shift in his stance to readiness. His voice was so low they could barely hear him. “Commander Mathren? No, that question must wait a moment. I came myself, as I have information relating to our earlier discussion.” He faced Danet. “One of my fellow royal runners, who just returned from a message run, o
nce saw Parnid writing on the kitchen requisition board. It was before dawn a month or two ago, and he thought nothing of it—”

  Arrow jerked his hand up, cutting Camerend off. Then he wiped his hand over his face. “Who’s Parnid?”

  “It’s that name I found in the tallies,” Danet said, low-voiced. “Remember? I told you.”

  Arrow rubbed his eyes again, struggling to master far too many shocks, but his mind kept coming back to Da is dead.

  Danet said, “Come in.”

  Camerend entered and shut the door behind him before he spoke. “I thought it best to deliver this report to you. Ivandred said he wondered why Commander Mathren’s second runner was writing a false name on the requisition board, but figured he was substituting for another runner. We don’t know all Mathren’s people—he has them spread between the three closest garrisons, and they are forbidden to interact with us, except to deliver orders.”

  “All right,” Arrow snapped, overwhelmed by frustration, grief, and a sickening sense of helplessness. “Got that. What’s it mean?”

  Danet said, “If Parnid is Mathren’s man, then Mathren is skimming increasing numbers of army supplies. But why would he do that? He already commands all the garrisons, including this one here.”

  To the rest, who stared, bewildered and angry, Camerend said with deceptive gentleness, “May I suggest a possibility?”

  Arrow snapped his palm up, grief choking him. Da, you should be here to solve this problem.

  Camerend said, “I believe it means that Mathren Olavayir is building a private army, possibly unknown to Kendred, certainly to everyone else. Judging by the increasing numbers in the requisitions, which one of us has been checking,” he added, flicking a glance Danet’s way. “He could very well be training them here, a few at a time, then equipping them and moving them somewhere else. Another riding went out this morning along with Commander Mathren’s lance drill; according to the stable hands, these were new trainees being sent to another garrison.”

  “I still don’t see why the commander of the Royal Riders, the chief of the kingdom’s military, needs a private army,” Danet stated.

  Arrow said truculently, “Probably to attack us, up in Nevree. He and Da hated each other, that much I know, though Da always said he’d tell us why if Mathren ever broke the treaty.”

  “True.” Tdor Fath flicked her palm up. “I heard him tell Jarend that at least twice.”

  Arrow began pacing, throwing words back over his shoulder. “What do you want to wager he plans to sic that army on us, and give Nevree to Lanrid? He could do it right now, with Jarend and me here, under his thumb. Damn! Damn! Damn!” He struck his fist against the stone wall.

  Camerend’s face tightened as he looked away, then he tried to recover a semblance of neutrality as he said, “Whether or not that is the case, who wouldn’t like to have a covert army to carry out their personal will, without having to justify it to the jarls until it’s done? Mathren cannot call up oath-stipulated warriors from the jarls unless we’re under attack.”

  Arrow moved restlessly along the back wall. “While all around us is a castle full of guards who only answer to Mathren’s orders. Camerend. Do you know the defense plan for the castle?” he asked abruptly.

  Camerend said, “I do. It’s something we’re taught when young, as we generally live on the third floor. Why?”

  Arrow shifted from foot to foot, longing for his father to make sense of everything, to take command. But he’s gone. He said, “I’ve been checking. Nobody is in any of these other rooms around us. But here we are, a long way from the stable end. If someone wanted to attack us, not saying who, they’d have us boxed from either end.”

  Camerend said, “Not to deny your supposition, but you truly are in one of the royal guest suites. Those to the left are the royal suites, in the middle of the hall, deemed safest. You’re right that the defense plan is indeed to close in from either side to protect the royal family. But I could see that as a threat as well.”

  He ran a thumb over his jawline, then turned his gaze to Arrow. “If I may request we return to the previous subject, what’s your proof that the commander was at the assassination site?”

  Arrow side-eyed Gdan, who stood against the wall. He recognized that sick expression on her face: she was terrified that Arrow would reveal who she was and what she’d heard all those years ago.

  Arrow crossed his arms. “Let’s just say that twenty years ago, there was a witness who saw the king and queen left dead. The witness heard Mathren’s voice giving orders right after the murder, and ran away back to Olavayir. Didn’t recognize his voice until today. So until we know more, I don’t trust Uncle Mathren.” As he said the words, previous annoyances altered to oblique threat. “Or the Royal Riders, who won’t let any of us near them. Keeping my Riders out there beyond the barns.”

  Camerend studied them, reflecting that for the first time in years, he was hearing the truth without having to spy and dig for it. It did not seem to occur to this particular set of Olavayirs either to lie to him, or to order him to confine himself to running messages.

  He made a step toward trust. “If,” he added, “something dire were to occur, those old servants’ stairs in the far wall have been unused so long that they aren’t in the defense plans.” He pointed toward the narrow door at the back, which Danet had ordered blocked by a sturdy trunk. He could see the gleam of tears along Arrow’s eyelids—the numbness of the news about his father had to be wearing off.

  “Good.” Arrow’s voice had gone husky.

  Camerend slipped out. Arrow was about to yell for him to stop, to tell them what to do, but of course he couldn’t. Camerend was a royal runner. They carried messages, they didn’t give orders.

  He turned to the wall and knocked his fist against it one, twice, and again. His breath hissed out, and he drew it in sharply, almost a sob.

  Then he tensed all over, swung around, and said to Danet, “I’d better find Jarend myself.”

  The door banged shut behind him.

  Danet turned to Tdor Fath, down whose face silent tears dripped. Danet was aware that she ought to feel grief, but she mostly felt sad for Tdor Fath and Arrow; she had only seen the Jarl of Olavayir so very briefly.

  Danet said as gently as she could, “I think I’ll check that nasty stairway, just in case. I’ll get a lamp.”

  Tdor Fath longed to shut herself in her room to cry out her sorrow, but she couldn’t. She knew Jarend was going to be hurt far more than she was feeling right now. And here was Gdan, looking as if someone was going to cut her throat.

  Tdor looked wildly around, her eyes stinging, her throat aching. She hated this castle, its unanswered mysteries, and above all the inescapable lour of threat. But nobody was interested in her opinion. All that was left was duty.

  NINETEEN

  Evred woke late that morning, aware that it was the last day of the year. By tomorrow he would be king.

  He sat up, fighting the usual back-of-the-eyes-banging headache, and found his morning dose of willow-bark waiting by his bedside. He drank it down and lay back with his eyes closed, waiting for the throb to lessen.

  Why didn’t mages invent something useful, like a spell for taking away all effects of drink? Or one that gave a king the strength of a full riding—a wing! Willow-bark was so bitter, and it only diminished the pangs. Listerblossom made him want to sleep. Kinthus—so hard to get, he had to steal it from the healers—blanketed his mind. Sometimes he liked the way it helped his mind just float, as if he drifted in a summer stream, but when it wore off, he wanted to puke, an effect that worsened with each dose he sneaked.

  Stupid, grasping mages. They probably had all kinds of spells for themselves. Otherwise why would anyone want to study magic, just to fix bridges and water barrels?

  He sat up, irritable and impatient at the need to get through another dreary day before he could start giving orders. At least Kendred’s memorial was over and no one the wiser; his mind shied away from ho
w it might have happened. He’d paid his picked men double to make it fast.

  Better to think ahead. That’s what Kendred always said when he was treating Evred like a baby, that time would pass fast enough, and Evred needed to...Evred ought to...Evred should...always orders, and scolding.

  Well, he’d looked ahead. He’d sent all Kendred’s worst runner-spies off to the jarls to report that he was now king, all without Mathren knowing, because the uncles never gave commands to each other’s runners.

  That was being smart, and looking ahead! He’d picked his men, gave orders, and they obeyed. The actions of a king, and now he was king!

  He was almost king.... There was still Mathren. Evred had to be sure that everything would go right when he sat on the throne tomorrow. At last. But he had to see everybody obey. If the servants did what he wanted instead of running off to check with the damned uncles—now only one uncle, but the most powerful one—he would give orders to Mathren. And if Mathren saluted properly, then Evred would know he was king. If Mathren didn’t...well, then he’d be forsworn, right? But who would the Royal Riders obey?

  No, they were no longer the Royal Riders, they were now the King’s Riders. But that was a name, just a name if they only obeyed Mathren….

  Evred got up and fumbled for his winter robe, sucking in a breath to yell for a runner, then he saw his private staircase empty and dark. Oh yes. He’d sent all Kendred’s spies away. All he had left was blind old Mard, and Tarvan, the pipsqueak runner in training.

  Evred groped his way down the staircase, hating the way the lantern swung at each step, making the stones appear to move under his feet. He usually had four runners holding lanterns steady.

  Maybe instead of keeping Arrow and Jarend around until the jarls came, he could send that bonehead Jarend north to escort Hard Ride Arvandais part-way south, then he could take his enormous, lumpish self back to Olavayir. He could put Arrow in charge of the King’s Riders. Or something else he’d like, because Arrow was pretty decent, overall. And Evred knew at least he’d obey the king’s orders.