Arrow threw his hands up, as if he was going to beg or plead. Lanrid had always liked that, and Arrow saw the corners of Mathren’s mouth cinch upward in an angry grin.
“Why? Why are you gonna kill us?” Arrow said, letting his voice crack as he took another step. Mathren moved to face him, as Arrow said, his voice cracking, “We never did anything to you!”
Mathren’s gaze followed his empty hands, for of course Arrow hadn’t come armed. Livid with rage, he whispered, “My son was to sit on that throne. But he’s dead. He’s dead!”
“What?” Arrow yelped, and tightened his right hand: Now.
Jarend’s huge fist smashed into the soft bone behind Mathren’s left ear. Mathren spun in a circle, then dropped in a groaning heap, the sword clattering next to him.
Arrow lunged for the sword, blood-smeared as it was, and used both hands to drive it down into Mathren’s ribs until the point caught against his spine. Mathren groaned, blood bubbling obscenely in his mouth as he tried to spit out threats. Arrow whacked the sword down two-handed to the man's neck. Mathren stilled.
Jarend choked. The sound halted Arrow’s white rage. Arrow yanked the sword out and straightened up, sanity rushing back as he stared down at what he’d done. Bile clawed at the back of his throat, his entire body shivering.
Jarend massaged his bruising knuckles with his other hand, a slow, convulsive movement as he said in a pleading tone, “That’s what you wanted, Arrow? Like we did when we got back at Lanrid? You gave me the sign. It was right, wasn’t it?”
Arrow wrenched his gaze from the sprawl of death at his feet. Jarend stood near, distraught, his voice strained and high, veins stark in his forehead. Arrow swallowed again, then forced his voice to calm, though his heart jumped against his throat, and his stomach boiled. “You did right, Jarend. You did very right. Mathren killed that old runner there. He killed Evred. He was going to kill us.”
A little noise from the inner room alerted them both.
“Who’s there?” Arrow demanded, and snatched up the sword again.
Tarvan crept to the open door, his face stark with fear and disbelief. “Mard made me hide,” he whispered. “Please don’t kill me.”
“We won’t,” Arrow said. And then, on a different note, “You’re a witness. You saw Mathren kill Evred, right?”
“I heard it. I heard everything,” the boy bleated.
“What do we do now?” Jarend asked, his voice as high and as strained as Tarvan’s.
Arrow gritted his teeth, his breath short against the stink of fresh blood that roiled his stomach even worse. He gulped air, fighting the urge to puke, as black dots swam at the edges of his vision. Time counted out in heartbeats as he fought the black spots, and won.
He looked up. Jarend and the little runner both stared at him as Mathren’s words echoed, The truth is whatever I say it is.
The truth? The entire day had erupted in truth—and truth had turned out to be deadly. Arrow cast a look down at Mathren. Lanrid, dead?
He couldn’t think about that now. Arrow’s gaze flicked to Tarvan, and he knew that whatever he said would be repeated by this boy.
He knew he had absolute right. Mathren had killed Evred. He’d killed that poor old runner. He’d said, right out, he was going to kill Arrow and Jarend, and then blame all the deaths on them. It was self-defense if anything ever was.
But would all those people Mathren commanded throughout this castle believe it? According to what they’d discovered that very day, Mathren had lied so much that no one knew what was truth and what wasn’t. If Arrow called for the Royal Riders, they might take one look at their precious commander, and charge on a killing spree in revenge.
He blinked, as Tarvan gazed fearfully at him.
Arrow realized he still held Mathren’s bloody sword, and threw it down next to Mathren’s lifeless fingers. The weapon of murder ought to be seen at the murderer’s hand. “Runner—what’s your name?”
“Tarvan.” It came out in a pitiful squeak.
Who in this place wasn’t a madman or a murderer? Arrow recollected the conversation earlier, and let his breath out in relief. He took a step toward the door, then looked down at himself. That damned sword had sprayed blood across the front of his coat. No one would let him get by unquestioned.
Jarend whispered, “Don’t leave me.”
Arrow stepped over, reached—saw his bloody right hand, and patted his brother on the shoulder with the back of his left. “I’m right here,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere without you.” He paused, his throat raw with ache. He longed to escape, to ride for home. Sneeze and the rest were down there waiting—
And then what? Be hunted down by the Royal Riders as murderers? If they ran it would look terrible. And anyway, there was no running home any more. That is, no running home to Da, who always made sense, who had sensible plans. Da was gone.
Arrow looked up at Jarend’s pleading eyes, and knew he had to act. Now. Before someone else did. Get someone he could trust, who would know how to lock down the castle, if it was possible.
He turned to the boy. “Tarvan? Your duty right now, as I see it, is to go fetch that royal runner. Camerend. He’s the one. Don’t talk to anybody else. He’ll know who we can trust, to get control of the castle.” I hope. “We’ll wait right here. We don’t want any more killing, right?”
“No,” Tarvan said huskily, with absolute truth. His shaking hand brushed clumsily against his skinny chest, as his neck knuckle bobbed.
“Right,” Arrow said, trying to sound calm and encouraging. But his own voice sounded weird, like someone else was using his throat to speak. “You’ve got the most important job here, so run your fastest. Get Camerend, tell him to send the right person to secure the castle. And don’t step in the....”
Tarvan had already hopped past the pooled blood, slammed into the doorway, righted himself, and lurched out onto the landing.
There he stood, his knees so watery he was afraid he might fall. He gulped in a breath and started down the stairs, his mind reeling. Instinct drove him to avoid the careless brutality of bored landing guards, and he ducked into the moldy old servant corridor with its tattered webs, his usual route. Jink. Jink. Jink—he had to cross public halls twice, then slip into unused rooms as few of those old corridors led in a straight line.
But he finally reached the main stair that led upward to the royal runners, and he breathed a little easier. Commander Mathren had issued strict orders never to talk to the royal runners, but he was dead. And Tarvan had new orders. From an Olavayir.
His resolve stiffened, allowing him to face the woman at the top of the landing who held out her hand to stop him. “I’m to fetch Camerend and not talk to anyone else,” he said, with no idea how terrified he looked.
“Wait.” The woman pointed to the floor in front of his feet and rushed away, her robe billowing behind her. She returned with a familiar royal runner, the one who was always nice. “Tarvan, isn’t it? Mard’s assistant? Speak,” Camerend invited.
Tarvan glanced cautiously behind him before it all came out in a rush.
The two adults stared at him with twin expressions of grimness, but no anger, and no hands raised to strike.
When he finished on a sob as his numb emotions began breaking loose, Camerend said low-voiced, “Tarvan. You’re safe. Wait here.” To the duty runner, “Could you get him something to drink?”
It was Camerend’s turn to take to hidden routes now. He fought the instinct to race straight up to the tower to see for himself what Tarvan had described, but those words about securing the castle had been spoken twice.
Camerend’s mind raced faster than his feet. Whom to go to? That was easy enough. Though all the captains were loyal, or they would not have survived this long, most were loyal to Mathren. Many, maybe even most, were also loyal to the kingdom. He needed one for whom the kingdom came first, no divided loyalties. Who was as honest as the summer sun.
Camerend stepped out of the empty har
skialdna tower into the garrison side court, and forced himself to slow. Now was not the time to draw attention. With moderate speed he made his way to the city patrol duty station, and asked for Captain Noth.
Shortly after Camerend stepped into the noisy command center, he found Jarid Noth listening to a night patrol leader issuing his report as a scribe wrote it down.
Noth wasn’t much older than Camerend, though he looked it at first glance, with gray streaking his hair at the temples, and lines at the corners of his eyes. He took in Camerend, who wondered what in his own demeanor gave him away, as Noth abruptly dismissed the patrol captain and the aide, and closed the distance between them.
Camerend made the palm-up gesture for open air, and Noth’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t speak as he led the way up the narrow switchback stair to the sentry tower, leaping up the stone steps three at a time. Camerend ran after, and they proceeded down the wall until they were out of earshot of the sentries.
On his walk, Camerend had mentally ordered Tarvan’s sprawling, nearly incoherent report into a succinct summary, which he gave quickly and bluntly.
Noth’s eyes widened, and because he was scrupulously honest, he said, “Why did you come to me and not to my commander?”
Camerend, aware of the press of time, said, “Because you are loyal to Marlovan Iasca.”
He watched Noth’s eyes narrow, then color stained his weathered cheeks and his chin jerk up minutely.
“Where are they?” Noth asked.
“Still there, as far as I know. But I cannot vouch for how long that will be true.”
Noth turned up his hand, then said, “That order to secure the castle is a good sign. What I would have said myself.”
Camerend agreed, but his mind had raced down another path, that of the investigator. “May I suggest sending someone right now to secure Mathren’s office, before anything else? The new king is sure to want that done.”
The new king. As he’d hoped, the promise of orderly transfer of power seemed to bypass the suggestion coming from a runner.
Noth turned, and they ran back down the stairs four at a time, Noth stopping only long enough to issue some terse orders, and Camerend ran ahead to fetch Tarvan, the only witness.
In Evred’s tower, Jarend stood rooted, one big hand massaging the other fist over and over as Arrow looked around for something to clean his hands. He spotted a water jug on a side table and plunged his hands into it, rubbing his fingers until the water had turned red, then he wiped them on Evred’s new shirt, which lay on a trunk. Poor Evred wouldn’t be using that again.
The way Jarend gritted his jaw, muscles bulging on either side—it had been that way ever since they were little. Jarend had to be regretting what he’d done, though it was defense, it was necessary. But all their lives, Jarend had never liked hurting anyone, even Lanrid at his worst. He’d always been surprised at his own strength, and the only times he’d been punished was when he’d inadvertently used too much of it.
“Jarend, you did right,” Arrow said when his hands were more or less clean and dry. “Mathren was not only going for us, but I’m sure he’d finish off our wives and the babies as well. But now we have to make sure they are safe. Right?”
Jarend’s painful expression eased as he raised both fists to touch his heart. “Right, Arrow. Right. What do we do next?”
Arrow thumbed his temples, as if the pressure would force clear thought into his head. What would his father say? Lock down the castle.
Noise from the stairwell caused Arrow to stiffen, and he bent, fingers outstretched toward that disgusting sword in case he had to defend them...but the first one through the door was Tarvan, who stuttered to a stop at the sight of the three dead men sprawled out on the floor. He slunk to the opposite wall.
Camerend entered behind Tarvan, his face utterly impassive as he took in the sight at a glance. He said, “City Guard Captain Noth is with me. He stopped to give some orders.” He gestured toward the inner door.
The sounds of approach echoed up the stairs. Arrow ranged next to his brother, as two armed guards appeared, swords ready. At their shoulders, a broad-shouldered, trim captain with thick gray-streaked brown hair. This had to be Noth.
The guards stepped to either side. Captain Noth eyed Arrow and Jarend, brushed two fingers to his tunic, his other hand on his sword hilt, then took in the scene. The room was so silent that Arrow could hear Noth’s breathing.
When he looked up, Arrow told him what happened.
“That’s right,” Jarend said several times. “That’s right.”
At the end, Noth glanced at Tarvan. “Tell me exactly what you heard.”
Tarvan stammered his way through a fairly accurate account. Arrow suppressed the urge to correct details. He was afraid he’d sound like he was inventing a story. Like Mathren. So he forced himself to stay silent until it was done.
Noth looked around once more, and his hand dropped away from his sword. “Commander Mathren losing control like that—I would have said you made it up. He never loses, lost control. But if he just found out that his boys are dead....” He didn’t finish his sentence, and shook his head. “I can check with that runner who arrived a while ago, just to make certain, but I believe you. I believe you. So what now?”
Camerend stood inside the door, unnoticed as he reflected on how decision—not quite the same as command—had passed from Arrow to Camerend himself to Noth. Though by now Noth’s most trusted men were surely deploying through the castle, if it came to a fight, no one could predict what was going to happen.
The obvious course seemed to prevent that fight, and that meant following chain of command, all signs of order, no matter how ephemeral. He said, “I can send Mnar to escort the grand gunvaer to the throne room, if you like?” He addressed the center of the room. “Right now she’s the senior authority.”
Captain Noth studied Arrow and Jarend, eyes narrowed consideringly. “This probably isn’t the time to get into it, but I don’t know what’s right, here. Camerend told me on the way over that you have a witness, after twenty years, who saw Commander Mathren kill Garid-Harvaldar, Evred’s father.”
As always, Jarend looked to his brother, and Arrow said, “She didn’t see him. She heard him, and ran—she was a stable girl. Fourteen. It wasn’t until today, when she came with messages, that she heard him speak and recognized his voice.” And Arrow described what Gdan had told them.
The suspicion in Captain Noth’s face eased to a frown. He propped his fists on his hips, his gaze now falling somewhere between the two brothers. “Fact is, every damn change of kings for the past three generations has been bloody, the worst finger-pointing always in your family.”
Arrow bit the inside of his cheek to keep from shouting that he was telling the truth. In his mind the loudest voice yelling “I’m telling the truth!” was always Lanrid, always justifying himself. He wondered how to prove that what he’d said was true.
Noth glanced down at Evred, his expression bleak. “If what you say is all true, it seems clear enough now the commander never intended to let that boy sit on the throne. And some will justify it.” He glanced over at Mathren’s sightless eyes. “Then there are some of us who disliked how that boy was handled. Marlovan princes always trained in the academy, when there was an academy. Everyone in the previous generation says, that’s what holds us together. Inda-Harskialdna was proof of that.”
Arrow’s temper flared. “Did you know about Mathren’s private army?”
“His what?”
Camerend, standing behind Noth, grimaced as Noth’s and Arrow’s voices echoed down the stairwell. He heard the scrapes of footsteps and the mutter of male voices from below; word, or rumor, was already spreading.
“Camerend, you tell him,” Arrow said. “You’re the one who guessed about the army.”
Camerend jerked his attention back to Noth, and he gave a succinct report.
Noth said dubiously, “Mathren’s third runner Thad took off this morning wi
th recruits for Hesea Garrison.”
“How do you know they’re really going to Hesea Garrison?” Arrow retorted.
Noth’s lips parted, then he passed a hand over his face. “I don’t.”
“They’ve only been gone a short while,” Arrow said. “Can you send search parties?”
Noth said reluctantly, “The Royal Riders won’t take orders from me. Chain of command is strictly enforced, and—” He stopped, glancing down at Mathren’s body, took a breath, then said with a glance of approval at Camerend, “I did give orders to my own men to seal off the commander’s office, as well as secure the castle. If they were able to do so, then his papers will be untouched.”
He swung back to face Arrow. “In any case, that’s going to have to wait, if this private army is not actually storming the gates. Unless you want fighting to break out all over the castle, we need an orderly transfer of command. You can say the old gunvaer has authority, but she’s been locked up for years. For her safety. That was Commander Mathren’s doing, too, but again, he always had reasons for everything, and he was the hero who saved the prince.”
The bitter irony of that struck them all at once, and Noth bit down on a curse. He had scarcely finished with sending off the baby belonging to one of his Cassad-territory Noth cousins, after Kendred’s assassination, ordered by…. His gaze drifted to Evred, sprawled in death.
He breathed out, shifting his gaze to Mathren as he said heavily, “He was strong enough to keep order for twenty years. Now that he’s gone, most will be looking for equal strength as well as order.”
Time of Daughters I Page 20