King's Shield (10 page)

He touched his hand to his heart and held it out to Hadand; they brushed their fingers together. Then Evred sat down, turning Tdor’s way with an air of puzzled courtesy. He did not recognize her. That was obvious.

“Tdor is joining us,” Hadand said, as Tdor saluted, hand flat to her heart.

Evred’s brows lifted. “Tdor Marth-Davan?”

“Yes. My mother sent her to ask who the next heir should be.” Hadand chuckled. “So I asked her to stay. Who better to be here to welcome Inda, after all these years?”

“Who better indeed?” Evred said, the faint aloofness gone. Now he seemed merely a quiet, rather reserved young man. “Welcome, Tdor. I confess I hadn’t expected to see you here, but Hadand is right. I am sorry about your father,” he added.

Tdor murmured her thanks, not saying that she’d never really known him, that her reaction, on hearing of his death the year before, had been sorrow on her mother’s behalf, but not her own. Even on her yearly visits, which had stopped when she was in her mid-teens, her father had paid no attention to her whatsoever. She scarcely remembered his features except for a glaring frown. He had been too bitter that he had not had a son. “My mother writes that Cousin Ander, uh, Mouse, is a good Jarl,” Tdor said.

Evred’s polite smile broadened to real warmth. “Mouse Marth-Davan was with me in the academy, did you know that?”

“Yes. Whipstick says that during his academy days he became proud of being called Mouse, though I confess I do not see why.” Tdor laughed, a rich, soft chuckle, her smile transforming her plain face. “But then I’ve never understood how Whipstick could abide his own nickname. I didn’t even find out he had a given name until he’d been living with us several years.”

Hadand put her chin in her hands, pleased at her husband’s relaxed face and Tdor’s happiness, which seemed to radiate summer warmth in her smile, her eyes, even in her voice. “I never even thought of that. Like his father Horsepiss. Somehow those Noths wouldn’t have ordinary names. What’s Whipstick’s?”

“Senrid.”

“Oh, how boringly everyday. I’d hoped it was something more awe-inspiring, like Adamas—for Adamas Blacksword of the Deis—or Savarend, which has the mystery of former kings plus the appeal of the forbidden.” Hadand laughed.

Evred gave Tdor a rueful smile.

Tdor smiled back, wondering if Evred knew that the Montredavan-An heir, using the name Fox, had been one of Inda’s companions out on the sea. And would Fox be coming back with Inda? If so, his sister Shendan, so loyal all these years, would want to know. Should she bring it up?

Not knowing how Evred felt about his family’s history with the Montredavan-Ans—which felt unsettlingly current, like the question of marriage treaties—Tdor shifted the subject. “Whipstick says if he hears ‘Senrid’ he thinks his mother is angry with him, and he insists she’s even tougher than Captain Noth.”

Hadand whooped and this time Evred chuckled as servants passed round dishes of spiced rice well laced with cabbage and slow-cooked chicken.

Then Tdor said, “Whipstick rode all the way to Marth-Davan to hear the details of that last pirate battle. You can imagine how many songs there are about it in the south.”

“I shall have to hear some,” Evred said. “What tidings of Jarend-Adaluin bring you? And Fareas-Iofre?”

Tdor made a business of helping herself to the rice while she considered what to say about Hadand and Inda’s parents. She sent a quick glance at Hadand, who gestured palm up.

“Jarend-Adaluin does not do well in winters,” Tdor said. “We think his mind wanders endlessly in the past. Fareas-Iofre is well, and bade me carry her best greetings. She cherishes those copies of Old Sartoran texts you made her when you were up north. They give her much—” she avoided the word “comfort” and settled on “—pleasure.”

Evred lifted a hand in acknowledgment and the talk slid easily to her journey, and thence to defense preparations at Castle Tenthen against possible invasion.

Hadand watched the last of the too-habitual tension ease from Evred’s brow, and smiled at Tdor in gratitude. She always knew what to say and do, she had a gift that way.

As for Evred, he did not remember having met Tdor, and had scarcely given her much thought, but he found this tall, thin, sober-browed young woman quiet, knowledgeable, and interesting. She had a low, pleasing voice, quiet yet brisk. She would make an excellent wife for Inda, now that he was coming home.

Inda was coming home.

The potential joy was like the feel of the summer sun after what had seemed an endless winter storm, and yet there was the instinctive question, the readiness to disbelieve. There had been too many disappointments in the past.

With the ease of practice he shut away his emotions and bent his attention on Tdor, but she sensed that the meal was over.

They parted amicably, promising to meet for breakfast, which Hadand assured her later was rare on Evred’s part.

“He’s worried about the north,” she said. “He’s received word from his Runner there that no Venn warships at all are in sight, and the people have been dancing victory dances. Should we call Barend and the forces on the north coast back home, as soon as the weather holds good? Especially with all this trouble over who pays to support them?”

“If he calls them back, who defends the north?”

“That’s exactly the question. I hope Inda brings an answer, because we do not have one.” Hadand sounded tired and tense. “Who defends the north?”

Chapter Ten

EVRED woke at a touch.

His room was dark. He smelled the mingled sweat of horse and man, heard a quick step. The guards would only let a Runner past—

Runner? His heart thumped.

“It is I, Evred-Harvaldar,” came the familiar voice of Kened, the Runner he had been expecting. “I just arrived. Indevan-Laef is half a morning’s ride west.”

“Thank you.” Evred’s mouth was dry. “You met him?”

“Yes. As you instructed.”

“Does he ride with banners flying?”

“No.” Kened chuckled as he thought about the scar-faced young fellow, barely older than the academy horsetails by the look of him, who rode barefoot, hair hanging down in a scruffy round braid. His gaze was keen for all that. “He wants to come in quiet. No noise, is what he said,” Kened finished.

“Good. Then quiet it shall be. Go get some rest.”

If Inda had wanted a formal welcome, Evred would have roused the city to give it, complete to an audience in the throne room, bone-chilly from the long winter. He felt his family owed that to Inda.

A short time later Evred, bathed and dressed, stood at his window gazing out into the night-black west. They would probably be up and riding by now. Evred had glimpsed Inda once, right after the defeat of the Brotherhood of Blood, though Inda did not know that. No one did. Inda had been dressed like a pirate, not like a Marlovan. Evred wondered if he still dressed like a pirate. Well, such things no longer mattered.

 

 

 

But Inda knew what was due to his old scrub mate.

At drill that morning they wore the old clothes they’d slept in, as usual. Then they retreated to the tents to change and pack for the last ride to the royal city.

Tau was surprised when Inda emerged with his hair bound up, and his new coat smooth and buttoned instead of hanging open, the green sash Mran Cassad had managed to find (the proper green of Algara-Vayir) neatly tied around his waist. The biggest surprise was those boots Inda had gotten from Cherry-Stripe Marlo-Vayir. They’d given him terrible blisters the second morning when at Buck’s heavy-handed invitation Inda had commanded all the castle males, from Jarl to the youngest runner-in-training, in one of Fox’s drills.

Inda had used a single knife. Marlovans thought of the left arm as the shield arm. Only women used two knives, their feet, and above all, balance and the power of motion. What little Inda showed them of Fox’s style of fighting had puzzled most, and inspired some—Cama most of all. Drill had been protracted that day; halfway through the morning Inda had kicked off the boots and finished his routine barefoot, leaving pink smudges of blood on the courtyard flagstones from where the boots had rubbed him raw. His feet were not yet healed after their hard ride southeast to the royal city.

Inda minced with meticulous care. “I put two pairs of socks on,” he complained. “Can’t believe those blisters still hurt.” He twitched his brows, then shook his head. “While I’m whining, may’s well get it all out: it hurts my scalp, my hair tied up like this. I wonder if the horsetails ever noticed at seventeen.”

“What, you’re an old geezer at twenty?” Jeje laughed.

“He’s only twenty?” One of the Marlo-Vayir Runners sent as guides said to the other, as they saddled the horses.

The second Runner pursed his lips. He was surprised too. It wasn’t just the scars, it was the way Inda moved; he was too stiff in the early morning, and too powerful when he got warmed up. More like a man of experience.

Tau said, “At seventeen you’ll do anything to look tough. Like pierce your ears and hang golden hoops through ’em.”

Inda cracked a laugh, flicking his rubies with his fingers. “Still don’t know if it was a good idea or a stupid one.”

“Oh, it was a good one.” Tau’s mouth quirked with irony. “We stood out. It was swagger without us having to say a word. We’re going to stand out here, too. Whether that is good or bad, you’ll have to tell me.”

“We’re about to find out.” Jeje waved a hand at their tent, which was still standing. “
If
you ever stop blabbing and help me pack that thing so we can go.”

A low band of gray rain clouds wept a sleety mizzle, darkening stone and clothing and the wood of wagons, so that Tau’s first view of Inda’s royal city was dreary indeed. The city was surrounded by a vast high wall whose line was broken only by intimidating towers. In sunlight the stone of the walls and towers glowed a warm honey color, but in the gloom and wetness of rain it had darkened to a flat dun. The gate was massive, giving Tau and Jeje the sense that once it closed there was no possibility of escape.

Surmounting gate and walls were gray-coated armsmen, some standing, others moving, all with weapons at the ready, all alert. On the inner walls prowled gray-robed women, equally armed, equally alert. They had bows strapped across their backs, making Jeje wonder what the men did in times of trouble. Maybe they scrambled down to fight hand-to-hand, while the women shot anyone crazy enough to attack a Marlovan castle, from their vantage point. It figured the women would have the position that made the most sense.

All those Marlovan eyes watched Inda’s small party join the traffic at the gate, peaceably following carts and other riders. Jeje hated being stared at by so many people bristling with weapons, whatever their gender, and glowered at her horse’s ears.

The interior of the city was equally unnerving to Tau, who marveled at how alike these people dressed and acted. But he did not see the fear nor the servile attitudes that he expected to find in such grim surroundings after years of hearing slander against the Marlovans.

Tau mocked himself, ending that thought trail. He knew better than to assume Marlovans were any more of an indistinguishable “they” than any other body of people. He met gazes, not hiding his interest anymore than others did theirs. The range of expressions was what one would expect anywhere: curiosity, wry glances at their exotic clothing, soberness, and glances of frank appreciation from some of the strong-looking robed women either standing guard on walls or driving wagons in the streets.

Tau turned his attention to his companions. Jeje scowled at her horse’s head. Signi’s brow and hands subtly betrayed her strain. Inda was oblivious to the mage’s distress. He slewed back and forth in his saddle with an intensity Tau had rarely seen in him, his breathing audible as he tried to take everything in at once.

Inda was overwhelmed. There were two places he loved most in the world: the academy and his home in Choread Elgaer. After nine years of resisting the stubborn homing spirit, he was approaching one of those places: the royal city was home to the academy.

 

 

 

The Marlo-Vayir guides led them a short way into the broad street beyond the gate and then up a slightly narrower street to the left.

Just inside another set of gates, the courtyard traffic cleared, deferring to the three people who emerged from a tower archway, a tall man and a short woman in the lead.

Inda uttered an incoherent cry and vaulted from his horse. His companions watched him hurl himself at the short woman, who closely resembled him. He picked her up into the air, kissed her smackingly, and then took in the tall red-haired young man just beyond her. “Sponge!”

Laughter rose from guards and armsmen around and above them, and a curious crowd gathered by ones and twos outside the gate.

Inda thumped Hadand onto her feet again, and faced Evred. He clapped his right fist over his heart, then opened his hand to indicate the other three. “Signi, Jeje, and Tau.” Inda’s voice was high, almost unrecognizable. “We stopped over a day at Marlo-Vayir, rain making the roads into rivers . . .”

While Inda gabbled a disjointed summary of their journey, all attention was focused on him, with two exceptions.

Tau was one. Tdor was the other.

She had walked out with Hadand, but on the approach of the newcomers, she had stepped deferentially aside so as not to hinder the royal pair. After her first glimpse of her childhood companion, Inda, now all grown up, and scarred, and dizzyingly alien and familiar at the same time, Tdor turned to Evred for her cue to step forward and be noticed.

So she and Tau were the only ones who caught Evred’s intense gaze, and bloodless, compressed lips, the passion that for a long breath the guarded young king could not mask.

Two heartbeats only, then he regained his self-possession. Inda paused for breath, and everyone began talking at once.