Senrid

by Sherwood Smith

  The tray also contained a small pot of cream, and some honey. He poured both on the oats, drank the steeped leaf, then ate. He finished it all, and felt incrementally better.

  Experimentally, he made a small transfer spell. The tray and its contents vanished from the bed and appeared by the door.

  Good.

  Moments later, the flash and stirred air of transfer magic made him look up. Hibern said, “You did magic.”

  “Just transferred the tray from here to there.” His voice was almost gone.

  She nodded. “Don’t do anything outside of this room, or my father will discover you are here. He has mirror wards up.” She was taken by a sudden yawn. “Ugh! Read half the night, seeking the strongest possible wards. We both read.”

  “Kyale can read?” Senrid asked skeptically.

  Hibern said, her dark gaze steady, “She doesn’t like being ignorant, but no one bothered to put her in the way of a real education until recently. Leander’s too busy to really direct her first steps, though I understand he does his best. She read some records that I have copies of…” She smiled. “You remember CJ Sherwood?”

  “Do I,” Senrid said, without enthusiasm.

  Though he’d initially liked CJ, he’d endured far too many of her insults on the other world to maintain any kind of goodwill. And he couldn’t just shrug her off as a hypocrite and fool, as he did Kyale, because she wasn’t either, and he knew it. Once he’d recovered from his initial fury at the discovery of her masquerade, he’d respected the courage it had taken to go into the midst of his own stronghold, surrounded by enemies, protected only by a flimsy illusion-spell. And that transfer of the prisoners right under his own and his uncle’s noses had been a superlative piece of work.

  “The Mearsieans,” Hibern said, “have stumbled into Norsunder’s attention, and CJ has written about the experience. Kyale wanted to read up on it, considering your situation here.”

  “That man yesterday,” Senrid said. “Did she tell you about him?”

  “Yes, but before we go on, I have some questions for you,” Hibern said, sitting down on her wingchair and folding her hands.

  And Senrid remembered that they were enemies. Despite the situation, which seemed absurd—he in her bed, wearing her nightclothes, and she protecting him from his uncle—even here there was danger.

  She said, “You tried to kill Kyale, and Faline, and you would have killed CJ—and Leander—if you’d gotten the chance, am I right?”

  He opened his mouth, and hesitated. She was unlike anyone he’d met yet. She was a Marloven born and raised, but she studied white magic. That had to mean she’d accepted as guiding principles the moral standards that white mages professed. That made her a ‘white’, the pejorative his uncle had never uttered without scorn. White meant weak.

  A ‘weak white’—like his own mother.

  Further, if what Kyale had let fall was true, she was part of a network of people with the same views, here in his very own country. People who had actively worked against his uncle—against him. A fact he’d kept secret from Tdanerend all this time, until he could assess it. Well, the time for assessment seemed to be now.

  Third, she knew a lot more magic than he did.

  He said, “Probably, yes.”

  “Probably?”

  He didn’t miss the tone of extreme skepticism. He said, “If CJ and Leander hadn’t interfered, Kyale and Faline would be dead, along with 713, true. I don’t know if it makes a difference, but I found it a disgusting prospect, and if I could have figured a way around it that would not have led to my uncle curtailing what few freedoms I had—on the grounds of weakness—I would have. As for CJ and Leander, my first idea was to hum ‘em down, bring them back to Choreid Dhelerei, and while my uncle was busy gloating over them and preparing one of his executions, to secure the kingdom. If I could.”

  “All right. Go back to the first execution, the one that almost happened. Never mind the warrior, I’m talking about two girls who never harmed you in any way. So you had some sympathy—while going right ahead with the plans. But you believed your sympathy was weakness, didn’t you? So you could ignore the fact that what you were doing was not in any sense justice in the true meaning of the word? Do you know what justice is?”

  These were questions he’d been avoiding all along. He couldn’t answer any of them for himself, and wasn’t about to get into the subject of justice with her.

  She seemed to see it in his face, because she sat back and said, “Never mind. At least you didn’t spin out some kind of lie. In truth, there are more people in our country than just you wrestling at midnight with the same questions—including, from what I understand, some of those archers who were pointing arrows at the midsection of a harmless red-haired little girl from another country who wasn’t even remotely capable of military stratagems.”

  A network of spies that included servants—or guards—right in his own castle, then. Senrid felt a headache behind his eyes. How would he ever sort all these factions out? He wouldn’t. He was going to die, probably in some stupid, pointless way, and figure in history as the boy-king who never actually ruled a day in his life.

  A derisive laugh escaped him, which brought on one of those coughing fits that left his chest on fire and black spots floating across his vision. He flopped back onto the bed, breathing fast.

  “I should let you sleep,” Hibern said. “But I’m trying desperately to figure out if you really are in fact my enemy, and if my harboring you right now is a danger to those I am trying to protect.”

  “No,” he whispered, his eyes closed. “If Tdanerend disappeared today, I would never shoot Kyale. Though I would send her. Back to her brother. As the biggest curse I could possibly give him. And the Mearsieans, I hope… Never to see again.”

  “So,” the voice persisted, “if you had the throne today, for what would you be fighting? To clear out the corruption in Tdanerend’s government, I know about that from other sources, but to what end? To better enable you to conquer the neighboring kingdoms?”

  “I want…”

  He searched back in memory, and saw his father’s face, the cheering crowds, the whispers down through the years that had haunted Senrid’s dreams: barely understood words, the most important one being justice…

  “Justice,” he repeated. And his eyes opened. “If I knew what it really was. But I know we don’t have it now.”

  Hibern gave a short nod. “Fair enough. Go to sleep. I’m going to do so myself. I’m tired, after setting up what I hope are strong enough wards to keep Detlev from a return visit. But if we’re going to be facing Norsunder outside of this tower, we’re both in for some long nights of study.”

  Senrid closed his eyes, and was very soon asleep.

  When he woke up again, the light had changed, and Hibern was back, now looking very worried.

  “Kyale’s not here,” she said.

  Senrid said voicelessly, “I’m grateful.”

  Hibern waved a hand. “You don’t understand—she’s disappeared.”

  SIX

  When Kyale woke up, she saw Hibern asleep on a narrow sofa, an open book near her hand. The day was well advanced. She let her gaze travel about the study. All those records—exciting adventures happening to people. People she knew! CJ Sherwood, and Faline, doing really heroic things. It was obvious from her records that CJ didn’t see herself as any kind of hero, but Kitty sure did.

  No one would ever think of me as a hero, she thought morosely. But then, I don’t do anything heroic.

  She sat up on the pile of rugs Hibern had made into a bed for her. What could she do? Not fight, certainly. Can I find out something everyone wants, some secret?

  Secret—spies. Who better to visit than a spy, particularly a friendly one? Hibern had mentioned her cousin Collet the night before, and Kitty remembered hearing about her during the summer, not long after Senrid’s first visit. Hibern had put her and Leander together.

  Hibern had spoken about the possib
ility of introducing Kitty to Collet, a smart and fun girl. She and her mother were part of a network of people seeking to change the government of Marloven Hess, something Kitty had scarcely listened to. Changing governments was boring. But girl spies were interesting.

  Kitty not only wanted to meet her but talk to her. Maybe even be the first to find out some sort of interesting news no one else was aware of.

  Yes, Kitty thought, exulting. I can visit Collet, before anyone wakes up. Then, when Senrid snouts in again, I can tell him her news, if she has any, and that ought to shut him up about me being unable to do anything.

  She got up, pleased with her plan, and made the sign to go downstairs. Senrid was sound asleep in the bed, snoring away like people do when they can’t breathe through their nose. Folded neatly on a chair were his clothes, and underneath the chair his boots, side by side. She glared, disgusted at his neatness. It seemed a silent reproach to her, who refused to put things away because that was the job of servants. Wouldn’t it be fun to kick him and watch him scramble!

  Instead, she moved silently to the wardrobe, a handsome piece of furniture with several gowns hung inside. She stepped in, stepped out, felt the delicious zing of being clean.

  Then she looked at the door—hesitated—glanced out the window. Snow. Ugh.

  She made the sign and transferred back up to the invisible room. Now, what was it Hibern had said? No magic outside the castle. But she’d said that Senrid could do some downstairs.

  That had to mean that if Kyale did the transfer spell from inside the castle, she’d be perfectly safe! And though she’d promised Leander that she wouldn’t mess with his books, she’d made no such promise to Hibern.

  Moving with silent stealth, she removed a few of Hibern’s older magic books, leafing slowly through them until she found the transfer spell. But how would she get back? She didn’t mind taking Leander’s books along—or hadn’t—but she was afraid that Hibern might think she’d stolen it, if she woke up while Kitty was at Collet’s.

  Kitty looked around and spied a pencil and some scraps of paper. She carefully wrote the spell out, folded it, and tucked it into her sash.

  Then she leaned over the book, firmly saying Collet’s name as she did the spell. At first the familiar weirdness of the magic shifting one through space was all she felt, but then the magic changed, a blinding, wrenching change as if she had run into lightning, only a cold, numbing lightning as thick and terrible as a wall of ice.

  When it released her, she gasped for breath and fell onto a cold floor of black marble. Footsteps approached; she let out a wail when she recognized Marloven uniforms.

  Hands gripped her arms, yanked her to her feet. She was dizzy. She almost dropped, so they held her up in a harsh grip. Her head rocked on her shoulders as they bustled her down a long hall into a vast, cold room—the throne room.

  She was in Choreid Dhelerei!

  She saw the glint of torchlight on golden medals, then Tdanerend emerged out of the shadows, his expression of expectation altering to disappointment, which turned immediately to rage.

  “That one! What are you doing here? How could you, of all the idiots I contend with, transfer into my tracers?” Quick suspicion pinched his features and he waved away the silent guards. As she wavered on her feet he grabbed her shoulder, painfully pulling her hair as he shook her. “Were you with Senrid? Where is he?”

  “Dead, I hope,” she yelled, pain-tears blurring her eyes. What could she say? What could she say? She couldn’t mention Hibern! “I borrowed my brother’s magic book.”

  “Where were you? You blocked the destination tracer—either you or someone else, but you did not ward the mirror transfer.” His rapid words seemed more to himself than to her.

  They certainly did not make any sense. Kitty struggled to free herself from those bruising fingers.

  “Well?” He shook her again. “You were within my border, I know that much! Where? Why?”

  Still dizzy, Kitty blurted, “I ran away from Senrid, who’s at the head of a giant army, and they’re marching this way!”

  “You’re lying.”

  Kitty winced, and shrugged, invention utterly giving out.

  “Take her out and shoot her,” Tdanerend said in disgust, flinging her away. She landed hard on the marble flooring-”And then we’ll send her corpse to that soul-damned brother as a warning.”

  He stalked out.

  Kitty trembled so badly she couldn’t get up. The guards each took an arm, lifting her up and plopping her onto her feet. She began a violent struggle against their grip.

  And kept struggling, dragging her heels and yelling as they bustled her out of the throne room, back down the corridor, and then through a door into a much plainer hall.

  But here they were stopped by two more guards.

  “His Majesty has superceded the orders,” one of them said. “Wants to put her to the question, and we’re to take her along. You’re to resume your post in the transfer room against anyone else coming.”

  The silent ones let go of Kitty and she heard them walking away. The new ones grabbed her and bustled even faster into yet another corridor. Here the guards paused, and to Kitty’s surprise, one of them let go of her arm and bent down.

  “Princess,” he whispered. “Don’t you recognize me?”

  Kitty gaped, as the ubiquitous uniform and square-cut yellow hair resolved into Arel’s cousin, he who used to have long hair and favor forest clothing. He was Leander’s spy in Choreid Dhelerei, she realized, almost sick with relief.

  “Now, run,” he said. “We’re going to safety.”

  She needed no urging. The guards moved very fast; she had to skip and trot.

  Hall after hall, stairs, an empty courtyard, neatly cleared of snow, and then she entered a door in the castle wall. In the distance she heard kids’ voices, and she smelled food aromas.

  Then into a plain, small room, with only a desk and a few chairs. The curtains were drawn shut, but she still heard kids’ voices, and the occasional clang of steel.

  The cousin (she’d never troubled to learn his name) and his friend let her go and stood silently at the door. Almost immediately the door opened again, and a fat man in an apron entered, followed by an older woman and then a uniformed Marloven with medals and a sword.

  Kitty glared at him, wondering if danger had entered with this man, who was tall, old, with gray-flecked black curly hair.

  This man came straight to her, and in an urgent voice said, “Where is Senrid? Is he still alive?”

  Kitty turned to Arel’s cousin, who motioned for her to talk.

  “He’s sick, but he’s resting, and I don’t think the fever is back,” Kitty said.

  The man gave a long sigh of relief, and turned away to face the drawn curtains. Kitty stared in amazement at that broad back. Why would he hide his face? Someone cared about Senrid? That was more than she would ever have guessed.

  When the man turned around again, there was indeed moisture gleaming in his eyes, but his expression was grim. Before he spoke the door opened yet again, and more guards clattered in. This time there was no speech. The old one with the medals glanced up. One of the newcomers, who looked barely older than Leander, gave a nod, his expression bleak, and the older man shifted his glance from them to the door.

  The newcomers left without having spoken. Kitty realized that some kind of nasty order had been carried out, and reported on, all in those exchanges of glances. She winced, remembering those two guards whom Tdanerend had told to see her shot.

  Fear gripped her insides so tight she felt queasy.

  The older man said, “You must give Senrid this message. It is desperately important. I am Keriam. Tell him Keriam awaits his command. Tell him that Gherdred is neutral. He will not follow an order to strike against our own people, but he will fight to defend. Tell him that the entire mounted is behind that, or most of them. The foot is under Tdanerend’s direct control. Can you remember that?”

  Kitty nodded, bu
t looked accusingly at the cousin. “You almost let me get killed last month!”

  The adults all exchanged quick looks, difficult to interpret.

  “We couldn’t act,” the cousin said. “It was too quickly done, and we couldn’t get near you, as the Regent had you three marked off in his own playground down below. Even the king couldn’t interfere, other than seeing to it Rathend or any of the Regent’s other pet torturers didn’t go down there to play. Against you children, I mean. We couldn’t do anything about the warrior.”

  Kitty realized what he meant, and her insides twisted again. She remembered Faline saying, during their long night of talk, I can get us outa the cells, but we can’t get past any of the guards at the doors—way too many.

  “We do have orders now. Just this morning, from the king, our king, himself: To render Senrid whatever assistance he needs.” He smiled. “We stretched that to include you.”

  Kitty sighed. “So these people are all our spies?”

  Keriam said, “No. The rest of us are Marlovens. Only this pair—” He nodded at the cousin and the fat man. “Those are Lerorans, and I knew about them from the beginning, but since the castle guard is also under my control, all except for the Regent’s personal guard, I permitted them to stay. The time has come, we believe, to join forces.”

  Kitty stared from one to the other, one of Leander’s wry comments coming back to her: I’m afraid it was too easy to get them in. I hope this isn’t going to recoil back on us.

  The cousin said, “There are allies all over this kingdom. We have been slowly finding that out as they come to trust us. That young one whose father aids the regional governor, she didn’t tell us until recently, but there’s a much older webwork in this land.”

  “Collet?” Kitty whispered.

  Keriam nodded, smiling faintly. “What we don’t have are the civilian contacts in the central regions. I suspect that young girl knows them.”

  Kitty said, “But I don’t know if I can—”

  “You don’t have to do anything,” Keriam said quickly. “Just tell Senrid to find out who they are. He has to contact them all, one at a time. Show himself. The people are ready to rise and march on Choreid Dhelerei and demand the Regent revert to King Indevan’s Law, and if Senrid has chosen to uphold those, the factions may all unite behind him. But he has to stand forth and say so, and then confront the Regent.”