Time of Daughters I

by Sherwood Smith

  Ran sighed. “You know it’s gonna end. Da told me before he rode east that next year I can ride with him’n Uncle Yipyip, as Cousin Ranet is old enough to take my spot in the patrols.”

  “Next year you’ll probably have to do the Beard Spell.” Trot’s eyes rounded.

  Ran didn’t mention that sometimes, when he was alone, he looked at his reflection in his knife to check for hairs on his chin, as he didn’t have any anywhere else. So far, they were few, and as blond as his braids.

  Fnor said, “Oh, let’s have Ran with us. Wouldn’t it be a blister?”

  “It’s dangerous,” one girl murmured, half-ashamed.

  Sure enough, the others turned on her with Senelaec scorn. “That’s what makes it fun,” Young Pan stated. “All Ran has to do is act like usual. The Marlovayirs haven’t figured it out. Why should anyone in the royal city?”

  Ink jerked her head in a nod. “Let’s do it. But it’s going to take planning, or one day out, you know someone will come after us hot and yank us back by our braids.”

  She turned her eagle eye on Kit, Ran, and Cousin Ranet. “You’ll have to help.”

  Kit had already been told she couldn’t go, and she didn’t insist. Nobody ever said anything, but she knew she wasn’t ever going to be as good as Ran, as she seemed to have gotten her da’s and Uncle Yipyip’s lack of distance vision.

  But she was a loyal sister, and clapped her hand to her skinny chest. “Sure!”

  This decided, they broke up lest someone come around curious to see what the conclave was about, and anyway everyone had chores.

  As they parted, Trot elbowed Ran. “You’ll look really weird with your hair in a horsetail.”

  He snorted. “Who cares? I don’t have to see it!”

  FIFTEEN

  As summer wore on, those who made it their business to notice such things were aware that the king was rarely seen at Hliss the weaver’s, but the royal runner chief was often there.

  Danet, who knew her sister better than anyone, suspected from subtle signs that Hliss, for the first time since their teen years, had found her heart’s mate. She couldn’t get a read on Camerend, but since no one was communicating with her, she kept her surmises to herself.

  As summer ripened toward the end of season expectations, she had the girls’ games to plan for—and that usually prompted all the old questions about purpose.

  One fine summer evening she sat at her desk, hesitating over which games to arrange, when Arrow burst in, scowling and bringing a strong waft of hard bristic.

  “If you’re drunk,” Danet said, laying aside her pen, “you can walk right out again.”

  Arrow flung his hand toward the door. “Hliss’s with him again. Camerend.”

  “So?”

  Arrow prowled the room. “I went to see her. He was there, eating with her. Sitting where I do when I eat with her. They were....” He screwed up his face, trying to express what he had seen in their faces, in the way they sat shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, how their voices blended. “I hate it! She’s—everybody in the castle has to know....”

  “So? She can pick who she wants, just as you do, and I do, and everybody else who didn’t make a ring vow.” When she saw his scowl deepen, her voice sharpened. “Arrow, if you dare start in about how a king shouldn’t have to, or what a king expects, I am going to puke up my dinner.”

  Arrow flushed to the ears.

  Danet said in a softer tone, “I’m glad those two have one another. I think it’s good for them both.”

  “But I—”

  “Arrow, you aren’t in love with Hliss.”

  “Yes, I am. Well, most of the time,” he amended, and when she uttered a dry laugh, he glared at her. “It’s not funny.”

  She sighed. “No, it’s not. Feelings are, well, feelings. They splash everything. The truth is, she didn’t go looking for this kind of love. It came. Seems to be the same with him. As for you, Anred-Harvaldar, you’ve got an entire kingdom full of women who’d love being a king’s favorite. Let her go.”

  “But I miss her. It’s not just the sex.”

  “So go sit with them. I don’t think either of them would ever turn you away. I know she still has good feelings for you, and Camerend has always been our best help.”

  “All right, I do miss the sex,” he muttered. “But she said she’s exclusive now. And don’t tell me it’s easy to find someone like her. There isn’t anyone like her.” He also didn’t like women who obviously wanted something besides him, the ones he thought of as just like Fi. Nor did he like them too young. The sex was great, but afterwards, and lately even before the sex, the way they looked and talked was different from when he first became king. They made him feel old. And it was harder to find professional women closer to his age, as a lot of them tended to retire to other lives.

  He looked around Danet’s empty room, then said, “Can I stay here tonight? With you?”

  Danet gazed at him in surprise, for it had been years since he’d shown any interest in her that way. But they were married—in fact, another year or so, and she would have been married as long as she’d been alive. “Of course you can,” she said immediately; Sage could intercept Noth. “If. You’re done with the bristic for the night.”

  Arrow halted mid-step, for he’d been about to fetch his cup and jug.

  “Never mind.” He slammed out, and went off to one of his regulars in town, who wasn’t any Hliss, but at least she never gave him any trouble about how much he drank.

  Far to the north, a stronger current of cold air than usual bullied its way into the streams of warm air breathing across the continent, smashing into hundreds of smaller whirlpools that towered into angry clouds, hammering the land below with thunder and driving rain.

  In Marlovan Iasca, these storms caught ridings of girls converging on the royal city, forcing them to find whatever shelter they could as the roads turned into brown streams, and rivers became torrents.

  Between the storms the travelers raced for the royal city, and so arrived in waves, as the puddles steamed and shimmered in summer heat.

  When the Senelaec girls left home the day after Andahi Day, amid shouts of farewell and exhortations to win, Ran was seen riding with his younger sister and her patrol, heading east for a border inspection that usually lasted about ten days. A day out, Kit covered for her brother when he claimed he had to return due to a bad knee, and the patrol continued with eight.

  They returned ten days later. Kit had been practicing her story about Ran and his bad knee, but counted without Calamity and Wolf knowing immediately on their arrival that something was amiss: eight riders, no Ran. He had not been seen since the two ridings departed.

  With twin expressions of grim dismay, they returned to the house, leaving poor Kit trembling with trepidation—and hidden excitement.

  “You know as well as I do where he is,” Wolf said heavily when they got inside.

  The old jarlan, who had accompanied Cousin Ranet from Sindan-An and remained for a visit, snorted. “What did you expect? He’s just like you two.” She sighed, then said with trenchant relish, “Better prepare for the King’s Riders to turn up demanding your heads.”

  “I’ll ride to the royal city, and throw myself on Danet’s mercy. There must be something of the Danet we met, somewhere inside that gunvaer,” Calamity exclaimed.

  “No.” For once Wolf wasn’t smiling. He looked like someone else to her. Older, harder; the Wolf she knew even grinned when he rode into battle. “At heart, this was about my avoiding sending my son to the academy. I’ll go.”

  “Take all the Riders,” she said. “Everybody who can lift a sword. You know every single one would volunteer.”

  Wolf flattened his hand. “First of all, I want to be fast. Catch the girls before they get there, if I can. But if I don’t, whether I’ve got two or two thousand Riders at my back, if we start fighting our own people, then nobody wins. If Arrow wants me to stand against the wall, it should be only me, and I’ll make
him look straight into my eyes when he gives the command to shoot me.”

  He walked out, calling for his personal runner, while ten days to the south, Ran—secure in the belief he’d gotten away with it—grinned along with the others as they finally spotted the towers of the royal city on the horizon.

  They’d vowed to reach the royal city in a record run, until the first of the storms caught them flat.

  Now, ten days later, with what seemed to be every fiber of their gear gritty with mud, as well as both their skin and that of their mounts, they splashed across the river, their pennons as unrecognizable as those of the other two ridings of girls they met at the road on the other side, where it curved toward the distant city.

  “I’m Pony Yvanavayir,” the lead rider from one of the other groups spoke as soon as they were all in earshot. Pony swept all the rain-washed faces, and said, not without sympathy, “All new to the royal city, then?”

  “Yes,” Ink said, speaking for the Senelaecs, and introduced herself.

  “Yes,” said a girl who appeared to be Ink’s age, from the third riding. She did not introduce herself, and Pony was too impatient to assume command of the combined parties to ask. Yvanavayir was the most prestigious House—and Pony had worked harder than she ever had on her skills. This was her year to be first in everything.

  So why not begin leadership now?

  “As it happens,” Pony said, “we’ve been going since the first time. Just follow me, and we’ll show you everything you need to know.”

  The Senelaec riding, completely oblivious to this establishment of hierarchy, gratefully accepted this offer.

  Pony then turned to one of her runners. “Dip our pennon in the river and get rid of the mud. Then ride ahead, so the gate sentries will see Yvanavayir yellow to give us our salute.”

  She turned her head, and called, “If any of you are jarlans’ daughters, of course you should get your pennons out. Fall in behind me.”

  The Senelaecs exchanged furtive glances. Ink’s gaze fell on Cousin Ranet, and she jerked her chin at Fnor, who shifted her gaze back and forth between them all, then joined the Yvanavayir girl at the riverside. After all, waving their banner wasn’t giving anything away—it seemed to be expected.

  Pony wound her hand in the air, and her riders formed into column.

  Ink turned toward the silent group of girls whose banner was still rolled. They waited in a line, their horses perfectly disciplined.

  Impressed by these displays of order, the noisy Senelaecs fell in behind Pony Yvanavayir’s group and for the first time ever, and with hisses and chin-jerks, jockeyed each other by riding in more-or-less spaced pairs.

  “Who are they?” Ran whispered to Ink, as the third group fell in behind, two by two.

  A shrug and a roll of her eyes was all she answered, as Cousin Ranet looked on with huge eyes. Tdor sidled her mount over and hissed. “Sit up. You’re supposed to look sixteen.”

  Cousin Ranet, a thin, flaxen-haired girl who strongly resembled her mother, jerked upright.

  The big party had rounded the first low hill when the outriders began to canter, and all three banners rolled out as the horses' hooves kicked up thick mud clots.

  They could now make out all the towers of the city, which looked enormous to those who had never seen any city.

  Pony reveled in the fact that she rode at the front of a long column—in fact, a flight, as three ridings made a flight—as they topped the last rise and there before them lay the royal city.

  She grinned, and made the twice-pumped fist command for a charge, thinking that it would be grand for the city to see them galloping through the gates as the trumpeters blared the chord for Yvanavayir. The girls obediently urged their horses into the preliminary trot.

  But as the outriders reached the city, the girls barely made out the splotches of color flapping: crimson, yellow....

  And green? A silver owl on green!

  Pony dropped her hand and her followers began to gallop the last distance, as the trumpeters blasted the fanfare for a prince.

  Prince? There was only one family rating that fanfare: Algaravayir.

  Pony realized her mistake as her riding splashed through the gates, and people stared round-eyed from them to the others approaching more sedately.

  “We should have waited,” Fnor breathed to Ink as the waiting outriders each fell in with their own party.

  “They didn’t say anything,” Ink retorted.

  All eyes turned to the head of their column, to Pony, who had told them to fall in behind without asking who anyone was.

  The city people drew to either side of the street, staring as the Algaravayir girls rode through in twos. Everyone had to take a look at the first Algaravayirs to come through the gates since the days of the last Montreivayir king.

  And the inevitable whispers ran along ahead, faster than the wind: the Yvanavayirs had taken precedence over them.

  Pony caught what seemed like a thousand affronted gazes, and as their column proceeded more slowly toward the stables, she waved her girls ahead and lingered, addressing the first pair of Algaravayirs, “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “You didn’t ask,” a younger girl signed and spoke.

  Her sturdy blonde partner silenced her with a cool look, then gave a slight nod to an older girl, who said neutrally, “We don’t mind following. As you said, this is our first time in the royal city. Lead the way.”

  Pony did, but all the pleasure had gone out of showing off her inside knowledge. She pointed out the main buildings until they reached the castle stable, where royal runners waited, Lineas and Bun having raced down three flights of stairs and along four halls after the gunvaer’s first runner burst in on them at lessons, saying, “Noren Algaravayir is here!”

  Bun had been somewhat lackadaisical in practicing Hand. She regretted it now when Noren, immediately recognizable from the crowd by her fast fingers, exchanged greetings with Lineas at lightning speed.

  The Senelaec and Yvanavayir parties dismounted—Cousin Ranet thoroughly intimidated now—as Lineas turned at Noren’s open gesture to say, “Noren Algaravayir gives everyone greetings.”

  Cousin Ranet stared at the older girl who was exactly her height, though much stronger in build. Here was the person she was going to be serving under for the rest of her life. Feeling entirely out of her depth, she said slowly and distinctly, “I’m Raw-net. Sen-eh-lay-eck,” she added.

  Pony rolled her eyes. “She’s deaf. Not slow.”

  Cousin Ranet flushed scarlet, her gaze dropping. Fingers touched her wrist, and she looked up as Noren tapped her chest then made the forefinger-up, thumb out sign next to her chin.

  “She’s telling you her name is Noren,” Lineas said.

  Cousin Ranet turned to her gratefully. “How do I tell her my name is Ranet?”

  Lineas showed her the common sign for the name Ranet, and Cousin Ranet copied the gesture, earning a brief smile from Noren. The others went on to exchange introductions, Ran hanging back with Ink.

  Then Bun said, “Come with me! I’ll show you where you stay.”

  Thus Pony lost the leadership again, perforce following the pack as hands fluttered here and there, and high voices chattered.

  Cousin Ranet watched Lineas, Noren, and Bun carrying on a silent conversation, and mentally resolved to find someone to teach her this new language. She was good at languages. She’d already had to learn Marlovan when the decision was made to send her to Senelaec, as she had been born in the western hills of Sindan-An, where a dialect of Iascan was still the everyday tongue.

  Ran trailed them all, walking between Ink and Fnor. No one had given him a second glance so far.

  His first challenge occurred unexpectedly, when they reached the barracks and nearly ran into a pack of Marlovayir girls coming out. What might have been a bad moment almost anywhere else was averted by the fact that both ridings were self-consciously on their best behavior.

  But as Ran followed the rest inside the
barracks, he heard a couple of Marlovayirs muttering back and forth: “Did I get that right? That scrawny rat is Ranet Senelaec? She looks like she’s twelve!”

  “Probably rides like a twelve-year-old, too, hah!”

  “All the better, ha ha ha....” They vanished around a corner.

  Ran caught up, to discover the rest of his riding muttering among themselves.

  “Just stay away from them,” Ink reminded them in a scolding voice. “You remember we promised Calamity-Jarlan. No trouble.” She rolled her eyes meaningfully Ran’s way, in case any of them had missed the hint.

  The barracks was filling fast, but the Senelaecs were ready for that. They chose the end farthest from the door, so fewer would pay attention to them, and tossed their gear onto the beds surrounding Ran’s, so that he’d sleep in the middle.

  Then Cousin Ranet, eyes bright with anticipation, said, “Let’s see if the prince is around.” Because of course he’d be as interested in seeing her as she was in seeing him—or so she thought.

  Pony overheard, and because she couldn’t stop herself from attempting to reclaim the position of experiential (if not moral) superiority, said airily to the entire room, “They won’t be. They’re still days away at their big wargame.”

  And so they would have been, had not the Great Game been declared a washout, after all the tents collapsed and half of them had vanished in the same storm that had forced the girls first to take cover, and then to ride covered in mud.

  The senior royal runner in charge of the girls appeared in the doorway. “The gunvaer is going to address you now,” she said, and everyone hastened out, falling into the pairs they customarily rode in.

  A row of boys, including both princes, lay flat on a rooftop as the girls passed below them. It wasn’t the Senelaecs who caught their interest, once Cousin Ranet passed below their hidden parapet. The notion of wives belonged to the hazy future for both Noddy and Connar. The boys were all there, for word had passed about the fanfare, to see the descendant of Inda-Harskialdna.