“I had no idea,” Danet said.
“Few do. He hated disturbing others with his weaknesses, everyone knew that. He also hated writing. Really hated it.” She waved a hand at the solid wall of books and scrolls behind her. “Though he did like to read. He bought books, the way his mother had, but you won’t find a scrap of paper in his hand anywhere. Youngsters pestering him for stories of his days of piracy on the seas, and so forth, would cause him to go silent, rocking back and forth, until they learned not to ask.”
Danet opened her hand in agreement, and Linden-Fareas sighed. “This is what you need to think about. You’ve already noticed Hadand’s ways. Let me tell you, she’s not so very different from how Inda behaved as a small boy, I’m told. Oh, she’s got more of it, but the trait is inherited. It was that way with my brother, who’s better off in Sartor, where he can be away from people altogether, and spend his days peacefully translating ancient magic texts that take others three times as long to parse.”
Danet said, “What trait is that?”
“It’s hard to describe, but it’s a way of being here and not being here, then suddenly being here and seeing things that others don’t. The family name for it is ‘the waterfall’. Inda would go around seeming blind or drunk, definitely heedless, while seeing all the elements of battle, then suddenly he’d fit them together faster than actual events, which, I’m told, to everyone else is chaos. The cost to him was terrible, because he didn’t have the nature to be a killer, but events made him one. A good one. And my brother has the trait. He sees the connections between words, no matter how ancient or obscure. It’s something about patterns, and for my brother there’s no terrible heart-cost outside of being tired from working without sleep sometimes.”
Danet’s stomach cramped. She had come to determine why one twin was swapped for the other, and that had been easily seen. She’d thought that would be an end to the matter. But this conversation was making it clear that the solid ground she’d assumed was not so solid—there was an entire cavern beneath.
The Iofre paused and glanced sideways. “My aunt saw, um, we’ll call them ghosts. Again, things no one else saw. You can argue that such things aren’t real, but then, what do we really know about real and not real?”
Danet shifted on her mat. The sudden veer to ghosts made her feel slightly queasy. To her, who spent most of her waking moments ordering what was real, “ghosts” were merely a metaphor for madness.
In a disturbing parallel, the Iofre went on. “We’re told that Fareas-Greatmother feared for Inda’s sanity, because her sister had showed the trait. She was sent to Sartor, but the Adaluin would not let his boys be sent outside the kingdom. We know that the great Tdor Marthdavan, who will never be written about by the scribes, but whose praise we all sing, kept Inda happy, and as sane as he ever could be, until he died.”
She gestured toward the south. “The Cassads believe our two families crossed too many times. We think Hadand-Gunvaer and Greatmother Tdor might have had a letter exchange about that, but if they did, it must have vanished, unless it’s in your royal archive. There’s no sign of it in this castle, and everything of Tdor’s was preserved as a treasure by Greatmother Rialden and her daughter-by-marriage. Anyway, I believe Noren will make a fine gunvaer, especially if you tell me what you would like her studying in the intervening years. But there is a chance her children might inherit some measure of the waterfall.”
Danet’s mind streamed in several directions, but one thought persisted: Arrow. The Iofre was being frank about the possibility of madness in the family, and seemed to be offering the chance to break the betrothal. Danet wavered, then mentally gave herself a shake. Arrow would call it all hearsay. The only betrothal he cared about was this one. If Danet offered to break it, he was more than likely to ride down here and reinstate it.
To gain a little time for thought, she said, “That training,”
The Iofre didn’t react to the shift in subject. “It’s what Inda taught at the academy, refined again by Greatfather Savarend, known as Fox. But it seems to have been largely forgotten during the years when there was no academy.”
Forgotten except by the royal runners, whose chief came from the Montredavan-Ans of Darchelde, and who had always had close connections with the Algaravayirs. The royal runners’ mandate was to serve and protect the royal family. They were in no sense an army.
The one preoccupied with armies, and the Algaravayir name, was Arrow. He and the rest of the Olavayirs, according to....
A glimpse of vivid memory—that fast drilling in secret—and shock iced Danet’s nerves: she was certain she had the last piece of the puzzle now.
Mathren had been even more obsessed with Inda-Harskialdna’s fame and name. What other purpose could that secret army be stationed directly to the north be, but to swoop down to take and hold the legendary lands of Inda-Harskialdna?
And the Iofre had expected it. The Tenthen people drilled to resist attack, not from the Venn, or pirates sailing up the little harbor at Luwath, but from their fellow Marlovan. Over a name and its bloody fame.
No, that was too simple. Over what the Algaravayir name meant to those who wanted power.
Danet pinched the skin between her brows. “I truly appreciate your telling me this history,” she said, her voice firming. “We would be glad to have Noren come to us. As for her sister, if you can find a cousin to send in her place to send to Manther Yvanavayir, that would be a great help. I know that the Jarl of Yvanavayir was also pleased to unite with your family.”
Linden-Fareas Algaravayir suppressed a sigh. She had expected no less. “I will see to it,” she promised. “There are several suitable girls in my maternal family.”
Two more pleasant days passed.
Danet managed to exchange a couple of brief, child-simple conversations in Hand with Noren, who was patient and attentive, in contrast to Hadand, who didn’t seem to see Danet even when she signed a greeting. Danet did little better trying to speak slowly and enunciate, as Noren watched her mouth.
Sage took her aside to tell her that over-enunciating was wrong, and that Noren had trouble seeing speech in people she didn’t know. “But the Iofre is going to bring in tutors,” Sage said cheerfully. “And Noren is going to work on maths, as you suggested.”
The following day, a perfect spring morning, Danet called for their departure.
As soon as they were clear of the walls of Tenthen, the rolled Inda tapestry carefully packed as a gift from Noren to Noddy, Danet said to Lineas, “You spent the most time with Noren. What did you think of her?”
Lineas knew the gunvaer was not interested in what a wonderful time she had had, and how much she liked Uncle Aldren. Likewise, she was not going to tell anybody that she’d seen Hadand staring at the ribbons of color in the air that she thought nobody but she saw.
The gunvaer would want to know about Noren, who was expected to marry the next king and would someday give Lineas and the other royal runners orders.
Lineas said, “Noren is very good to her sister.” And, conscientiously, as she’d been taught, she offered witnessed evidence. “Whenever Hadand interrupted us to tell us again the birth-lines of each horse, going back a hundred years, Noren acted as if it was the very first time. Noren also lets her put the mats right around the table before sitting down, and doesn’t get upset if Hadand has to put them just so. I saw Hadand go back and fix them three times, yesterday morning, but Noren told us to wait....”
She went on with similar anecdotes, but that was enough for Danet. Noren seemed a promising prospective gunvaer—she couldn’t have asked for better. Furthermore, Lineas, a serious, hard-working child without a mean bone in her body, might be the right First Runner for sweet, animal-mad Bun.
Yes, all in all, though Danet no longer enjoyed camping outside, and dreaded the prospect of the long, uninteresting journey home, she had learned a great deal.
She waited until Lineas was finished, thanked her, then said, “You and Sage and I wi
ll speak in Hand from now on, until we return to the royal city.”
Sage saluted, hand to heart, thinking of the private conversation that she’d been invited to the previous night.
“You’ve met the gunvaer, and talked to Lineas,” the Iofre had signed to Noren, as rain roared overhead. “Is this marriage still something you want to do?”
Noren looked from Sage to her mother. She signed slowly, “Can I change my mind?”
“Of course you can,” the Iofre had assured her. “But the closer we get to a possible departure, the more difficult it becomes. However, if you find you cannot do it, we’ll manage.”
Sage waited, and when Noren turned her wide gaze her way, she signed, “I like what Lineas told me.”
“Then we are going to have the first of some adult discussions. If you do decide to go to the royal city, they’re going to be looking at you and expecting to see the glories—” On this word she snapped her fingers, face wry, indicating irony. “Of our past. So here’s my thinking. We want to change that, yes?”
Of course Noren agreed, her eyes wide.
“But to change it, you have to gain their respect. With something that isn’t war or battle related. But something you enjoy.”
At that Noren’s solemn little face transformed. “Riding?”
“Exactly. There is no one faster in the kingdom than the royal riders, but they don’t compete with the academy. Never have during any of the academies. Grandpa Dignose says he’ll train you. So if you do go, you’ll be ready to earn their respect in a way that has nothing to do with Greats-Grandpa Inda or battle.”
Noren flashed happy agreement and ran off.
Sage then said, “You still have misgivings? Why hold to the betrothal, if so?”
The Iofre said, “Because I like Danet, and the king doesn’t sound like the worst of his Olavayir forebears. Danet’s staff seems to be content with her.” When Sage signed that it was true, the Iofre went on, “Plus this betrothal is a protection of a kind. If we broke it, then we would surely be pestered by others, most certainly that Lavais Nyidri in Feravayir, who calls herself Queen of Perideth.”
Sage looked startled at that.
“Never mind,” the Iofre said. “It’s possibly a clash of personalities. The main thing is, Noren will be happy, and the gunvaer will leave Hadand be. We’ll find a volunteer right away to gradually take Noren’s place in Hadand’s life.”
Sage left, and the Iofre turned to her own women. “Let us make certain that when Noren goes to the royal city, she’ll give them the Algaravayir they expect to see. That’ll make it easier for her to hold to our plans.”
NINE
“Olavayir Tvei, hold up.”
Connar reined in his mount, looking at Master Hauth in surprise, as the other boys trotted back toward the stable. They’d just finished mounted hand-to-hand on a clear morning, as rain puddles lay on the green-tufted ground, reflecting the sky. The midday watch had begun, and his stomach was already gnawing with hunger.
But Connar waited obediently, hoping he hadn’t been that bad. At least he hadn’t fallen right out of the saddle, like Tevaca. But Master Hauth was legendary for strictness, and this was their first year with him. He mostly taught the big boys.
“Not bad,” Master Hauth said, his one eye narrow, the other hidden behind a wicked-looking patch. A puckered white sword scar extended down from it to his jaw. “You don’t have Olavayir Ain’s reach, but then few do.”
Connar touched two fingers to chest in acknowledgement. Noddy was big and strong, everybody knew that.
“You could, with some work, match him for skill,” the master said.
Connar gazed in surprise. “Me?” Sometimes he dreamed about being as tough as Noddy, but he kept those imaginings strictly to himself.
“You.” Hauth dipped his chin slightly. “But it would take work. Extra work.”
“How?” Connar asked dubiously.
“Start lance practice early.”
Glee thrilled through Connar, as he imagined surprising his entire class on their first day of lance practice—which was notorious—only he wouldn’t fall out of the saddle, or catch the lance on the ground, or smack some other boy across the head while losing control of his horse. He’d gallop straight for the target, and bam!
Except nobody bammed the first month. Or the second.
The vision faded and he gave the master a wary, puzzled look. Everyone admired Hauth because he was the biggest master, bigger even than Stad the archery master, and looked the toughest because of the missing eye and the scar. The older boys had scared the first-year scrubs by insisting that there was a burning red eye under the patch that could see in the dark.
And this master had stopped to talk to him?
Master Hauth said, “You expect one day to be the kingdom’s army commander. That means you must be the man everyone wants to follow. Your birth father was that type.” He was careful not to say real father. “As was his father.”
Connar scowled. “That traitor?”
Hauth’s mouth tightened; too soon, far too soon. He made an effort to ease his voice. “Never mind what happened at the end. When Mathren Olavayir was not much older than you, he worked harder than anyone else, he rode faster, shot straighter, never lost a duel, and everyone wanted to follow him. Would you like to be that kind of commander?”
Connar wanted nothing more. He dismissed Mathren Olavayir from mind—easily done, as he was just a name—and there again was that delightful vision of him surprising everyone with his lance skill. “What do I have to do?”
“Meet me in the training corral behind the barns every day before sunup,” Master Hauth said. “And don’t tell anyone.”
Connar stared. “Why not? My brother—”
“He doesn’t need the extra practice.”
“But he’ll help me rise early. I know he’d love to see me get stronger.”
“Maybe now,” Master Hauth said. “But when you get older, and the competition is tougher?” He watched doubt furrow Connar’s forehead, and then came the narrowing of his eyes in wariness. Hauth said easily, “Even if Olavayir Ain doesn’t follow the trail of most older boys, wouldn’t it be fun to surprise him? You know how much he’d like that.”
Connar’s brow cleared. “He would!”
“So. Another part of command is learning to keep your own counsel when necessary. Here’s your challenge. I’ll know how serious you are by your actions: if anyone finds out about these lessons, that will be the last. And I’ll pick another candidate,” he added, as he had seen by now that though the heir had no vestige of competitive spirit, Connar was driven by it.
Connar gazed up at the master, longing and doubt evident in the tightening of his jaw, the set of his shoulders. So very like the father he would never meet—it hurt Hauth to see.
Connar was debating mentally. He and Noddy always told each other everything. They shared everything. Their stalks were more fun together. Noddy had protected him from the older boys when they got too rough, and if someone had a nasty tongue, it was Connar who defended them. He didn’t like the idea of keeping a secret from Noddy, even a fun one.
It even felt kind of wrong, somehow, coming from a master with nobody around, instead of orders from Da, or even from the headmaster. But then there was that image of surprising everyone one day....
What was right? The impulse to ask his mother seized him, but she was far away.
Hauth saw that debate so clearly in Connar’s puckered brow and averted gaze. Twice now he’d used his nephew-by-marriage to cast doubt on Connar’s birth and status in Connar’s mind, but both times, it seemed, the gunvaer had blunted his arrow. This was why he’d chosen this moment to approach Lanrid’s son on his own, while the gunvaer was safely gone.
If he got to Connar successfully, by the time the gunvaer returned from her journey, Connar should be established in a new habit. To boys that age, a couple of months was akin to a couple of years.
Time to dangle the b
ait. He said in a doubting tone, “It’ll be tough. Maybe too tough.”
And of course that did it.
Connar put two fingers to his chest, his chin lifting in decision.
Hauth said, “Tomorrow morning. No, don’t worry about getting a horse. It’ll be a long time before you try anything mounted. There’s plenty of work on foot to be done first.”
Connar discovered the truth of that the next morning, when, shivering and bouncing on his toes, he slipped out after a sleepless night, in the inky darkness with only the faintest smear of color above the eastern hills.
Master Hauth was already there. He put Connar through a series of exercises that very swiftly warmed him up, and then left him water-kneed and sweaty. How was he going to get through the rest of the day?
“Tomorrow morning,” Master Hauth said grimly. “If you aren’t here, then we’re done.”
Of course Connar was there, and the day after.
It had become a regular thing by the time early summer had dried up all the puddles.
One sunny morning the gunvaer and her party rode through the castle gates. Danet didn’t like fuss and parade, but her guards knew what was proper, and the scouts riding a little ways ahead signaled to the wall, so that when Danet’s dusty cavalcade rode through the gates, the queen’s fanfare not only cleared the streets, but her three children, over at the castle as it was Restday, came running.
In the courtyard, Danet looked about in satisfaction, glad to be back. First order of the day, a bath.
Sage quietly went about unloading the animals, looking forward to catching up with Loret and Shen. Loret would want to hear any news of her homeland.
Lineas was probably the most excited. She could hardly wait to see her classmates again, and exchange news. Then there was always Quill; every conversation she had with him was faithfully recorded in her journal.
She pulled off her saddlebag, and waited to be dismissed, when three figures shot through the doorway, right through the Evred ghost hovering there, and shouted, “Ma!”
Time of Daughters I Page 38