Sasharia En Garde (40 page)

She ran toward him, fists pressed together under her throat.
“What is it?”

“Stop there.”

She jolted to a stop, her hands flinging out wide as she
pressed herself against the wall.

“It’s the wards,” he finished.

“I get it.” Her brow cleared. “If I cross, the mage spies
know. Or if you cross.”

“Right. Chas is busy cleaning up the mess in the king’s
rooms and making sure none of the other servants get a look at his papers. We
probably have a few moments to talk.”

Atanial clasped her hands again. “You saw Sasha. She’s
really all right?”

“She’s fine, as of last night. Riding west of Ellir. Listen.
My father agreed to a hearing for the conspirators.”

Atanial did not waste time quibbling over the term. “And?”

“And so it frees you, do you see it?”

She frowned down at her tightly clasped hands, then looked
up, eyes narrowed. The expression, so much like her daughter’s when she reached
a conclusion, acted like a hammer inside his chest.

She said, “He can’t use their lives against me, not now. Is
that it?”

“Yes. I will see what I can do to get you out.”

“Tell me more. Tell me what’s happening.”

“The cadets from Ellir Academy are on their way to their
siege. Most of the harbor guards from three harbors are marching inland,
ostensibly to war games.”

“That much I gathered. What does it mean? It’s not really
war games at all?”

“Oh, they’ll play their extended war game through the
harvest season, right enough. But the games will go on so long that they will
be caught by surprise by the first snow, in which case they’ll have to winter
along the border—”

She drew in a breath. “I see.”

“—where supplies will be carried over the next two months,
stockpiled against spring, as harvest goods are carried in all directions. They
can then launch an invasion over the border at the first snowmelt.” Because she
not only seemed to comprehend, but was waiting for more, he said swiftly,
“Leaving the harbors and coastline all but unguarded. Randart is busy making
sure the coast is safe by his definition right now.”

“Pirate hunting, right?”

“The excuse is pirate hunting, but what he’s really going to
do is clear the seas of anyone he deems inconvenient.”

Atanial said, “I don’t understand. So you rescued Sasha from
the pirate?”

“I am the pirate.”

She pressed her knuckles against her forehead.

“I’ve been—”

“Wait. Wait. What were you doing before we showed up in this
world?”

“Raiding the coast to keep the army pinned down there. Well
away from the border.”

“And dropped everything to chase after my daughter?”

“I found out about Prince Math’s ten-year spell at the same
time as Zhavic and Perran did. I couldn’t get to your world to warn you, but I
got to the old castle in case they brought either of you back.”

She let out a long breath. “Our timing,” she said with
Sasha’s crooked smile, “could hardly have been worse. Though it was not our
fault we’re here in the first place.”

“Yes,” he said, because there was no time for anything but
the truth.

“Does Sasha know that?”

“No.”

Atanial rubbed her eyes again. “I see. She wouldn’t listen.”

“It was a matter of trust.”

“I know. I’m afraid that’s my fault—”

A soft whistle from below caused her to freeze, poised for
flight.

Jehan motioned her back to her rooms, and they parted, both
frustrated to the max.

Voices echoed up the marble stairwell. They belonged to Chas
and Kazdi. The boy was busy shuffling gap-mouthed around outside the prince’s
rooms, cleaning up the stones.

“. . . where is the royal heir?”

“Haven’t seen him,” Kazdi replied in his adolescent honk.
“We’ve been here trying to restore order. The windows were open, and—”

The voices faded behind Jehan as he soft-footed down the
hall in the other direction. He slipped into the dusty royal guest chambers,
unused for years, and through the servants’ door there, as Chas reached the
landing where he’d been before—to find it empty.

Chas cursed, ran back downstairs and dispersed with a few
curt words his other trusted spies, who had been ordered by Randart to know
where the prince was at all times.

When at last they found him, he was sitting peaceably at a
table in the heralds’ archive where the air was still and cool and the storm a
rare low mutter. He was busy translating an old Sartoran treatise on the
symbolism of flowers. He began a long, cheerful explanation of the treatise to
Chas. “Do you not think this a fine gift for the Colendi ambassador when she
reschedules her barge party?”

Chas bowed, effaced himself, and placed a servant on watch
in the outer chamber. Idiot!

Hours later Jehan finally was able to get to his rooms and
grab a moment of privacy. Not that he expected any messages. Surely the entire
kingdom had been grounded by the storm.

But there was one. From Owl.

Lost her in the storm
.

Oh, nice going,
Sasharia Disaster Zhavalieshin.
I stared in dismay at the cheerful faces
surrounding me.

There was absolutely no chance of escape. The mare drooped
in exhaustion, and I shivered so violently I didn’t think I could walk, much
less ride.

They were waiting for an answer, and I hadn’t even heard the
question.

Not that it wasn’t easy to guess what they wanted to know:
Who are you and where are you going?

What kind of lie could I possibly tell now that wouldn’t
just cause more questions? Various stupid scams flitted through my mind, but it
was one of the warriors that actually gave me my out.

“Maybe she’s a foreigner,” one muttered.

“That would explain her getting on the military roads,” a
woman as tall as me spoke next, tossing back her short, curly auburn hair. “A
foreigner wouldn’t know about the laws.”

“Likely blundered over at the river bend,” a fellow behind
me said. “It’s the only place the two roads are close. Mare probably found the
better footing, and there she goes.”

So far, they weren’t suspicious or angry, only curious. Or
resigned, as they briefly disparaged the “river-bend turn,” one of them adding
in a sour voice, “You know who’s gonna be detailed to build a wall between the
two roads.”

I worked my numb lips, gesturing with my cold hands. They
all fell silent. Marshaling all my knowledge of cartoon-character fake accents,
I said, “Sheep. Shi-i-i-ip?” I mimed going up and down on waves. “Sailor.” I
hit my tunic front with a loud, wet smack. I scowled. “Pie-rats.”

“Pirates!” the tall woman exclaimed. “Wager you anything
they got hit by Zathdar’s gang.”

The others all made noises of agreement.

She turned back to me. “But what are you doing inland?”

I stared, uncomprehending, and one of the fellows said in a
loud, distinct voice, as if loudness magically translated into other languages,
“Where-do-you-come-from-and-why-are-you-here?”

I dismounted, my sodden clothing slapping against my limbs.
I patted the horse, and pointed outside. “Home. Road.” I pointed west, waving
my hand in a circle that encompassed most of the broadest continent in the
world.

“Her ship must have been grounded by pirates. Or they were
raided, and the crew turned off.” The woman addressed me slowly and loudly.
“Where you from? Not Locan Jora—”

“Naw, they talk like us,” someone else said.

“Not Colendi either, I know a Colendi accent,” a younger guy
spoke up.

“Oh, well, your kingness,” the big guy behind me retorted,
and they all laughed.

“But I do! I got a cousin in service inside the—”

“Stow it. And your cousin too. She’s no Colendi, or where’s
her coach and eight matched horses, diamonds and the like?”

“They’re not
all
toffs. That’s not even possible. My cousin’s a cook—”

“All Colendi swank,” the woman said, and the others made
derisive noises of agreement.

The young guy sighed, eyes rolling up toward the ceiling.

Then they all started guessing, naming kingdoms—Devrea,
Arland, Sarendan, Gyrn, Deshlen. Recalling some of the names I’d seen on that
exquisite map aboard the ship while practicing the Khanerenth alphabet, I
waited until they reached a couple of countries a bit farther west, and when
one said, “Melia!” and another, “Couldn’t be Tser Mearsies?” I nodded
violently, pointing somewhere between the two.

Triumph turned into a sick hiccup when the big guy came
round front. He was a full head taller than I, broad face like granite, and a
pleasant, helpful expression as he said, “Doesn’t Farhan speak Mearsies?”

I tried to hide my dismay.

The woman thumped him on the arm with her fist. I was
surprised she didn’t break her knuckles. “Don’t you remember? Farhan got orders
to run with one of the siege attack teams.”

They expressed sympathetic disappointment on my behalf. I
beamed, unable to hide my relief, and they took it as a complete lack of
comprehension.

“Never mind,” the youngest one declared to me, loudly and
distinctly. “Come. We show you. Eat. Dry out.”

“Ee-e-e-et. Dry-y-y-y ou-u-u-ut.” I nodded like one of those
bobbing toy things some people put in the back windows of their cars.

They surrounded me, everyone using loud voices, as if I were
deaf and stupid. I shrugged, smiled, and hefted my pack over my shoulder.

The warriors led me through a side door into a long hall
that smelled of old cabbage, the oil they use on their weapons and wet wood.
When we reached a big office, they all straightened up.

The woman seemed to be taking a silent vote with her
eyes—she was chosen—so she motioned me into the big room, where we found an
older man seated behind a desk, a woman maybe ten years older than I at the
wall, in the process of sticking pins in a big map. They turned around. After a
quick exchange, the commander gave permission to house me until morning in the
women’s barracks, adding, “Make certain she gets to the civ road at first
light.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Next upstairs, where ten or twelve bunks lined the walls of
a steep-roofed room. “Here’s where you sleep.” My guide pointed to the single
bed with no gear hanging next to it and no chest neatly stored beneath it. As I
hesitated, thinking of my wet pack, she took it out of my hands, which were beginning
to tingle as they warmed, and yanked it open. “Here, let’s spread your things
out. See? Spread. Out. Make sure dry.” She gestured with one hand, as she
pulled things out with the other, hesitating when she saw the rolled firebird
coverlet. She whistled. “Where did you get
that
?”

I grinned, rubbing my fingers with my thumb. “Buy. Much
gold!”

“Oh yes, I’d say. You must have used half a year’s pay,
unless sailors make ten times what we do. Phew, either you really love your
family or you’ve got one handsome fellow waiting at home. Marda, come here, see
this.”

“What? You got the foreigner in there?”

Three women entered, all of them exclaiming. “That’s a
Zhavalieshin firebird! Aren’t those against the law?”

“Naw, only banners.”

“That
is
a
banner.”

“And someone who knows it’s against the law obviously sold
it off. Very sensible. She probably got it for a fraction of the real value.
Hey! What’s this?”

As they spread the firebird coverlet out with careful
fingers the innkeeper’s letter slid out and landed on the clean-swept wooden
floor.

Another woman picked it up and looked at the address. “Three
Falls Inn. Zhavlir. She must be running as a courier, to save the scribe-runner
cost.”

“I would,” someone else spoke up. “You run letters,
especially for inns, they almost always give you at least a meal, sometimes a
free bed.”

“Wonder how they got the idea across.”

My auburn companion grinned. “They probably do the same in
Tser Mearsies. Just because she lacks our language doesn’t mean she’s ignorant
about regular life.” She turned to me. “What’s your name?” She thumbed the
front of her tunic, saying, “Britki. That’s Marda.” She poked one of her
friends. “Name! Britki. Marda.”

I was ready for that one. “Lasva.” I patted my soggy
clothes, which made a wet smacking sound.

“Poor thing, she’s got to be icy in that stuff. Let’s get
her before the fire.”

“Cleaning frame first.” Marda laid my coverlet out on the
bed.

The third one put the letter next to it and they led me to
the cleaning frame, which zapped away sweat and mud. The women took me
downstairs, chattering past me as they decided between them that because of the
wicked Zathdar my ship had been raided and the sailors set ashore.

As we gathered round a long plank table, they happily cursed
Zathdar, whose raids had kept a lot of their friends on double-duty patrolling
along the coast all during the summer, until the fleet recently set sail.

Then out came dinner: fresh cornbread, a thick pepper soup
with cheese crumbled on top, and three kinds of layered fruit tarts. They got
tired of shouting questions at me while I shrugged and smiled. Gradually they
fell into their own conversations.

They reminded me of armed-services people at home—most of
them big and buff, cheerful, neat either by inclination or by habit after years
of inspections, full of jokes told in their own particular slang, jokes aimed
at one another as well as their daily routine. The atmosphere was one of
friendly rivalry, but the really creative commentary was reserved for the upper
command.

“Didn’t I say? Didn’t I say?” one guy demanded, waving his
fork, after someone commented about the storm. “We’re going to end up way out
in the field up to our butt cheeks in snow before the rankers wake up and
notice winter’s here.”

“No they won’t,” a woman retorted, arms crossed. “Because
they’ll
be kipped out inside the castle,
whooping it up in disgusting luxury. It’s only
us
who’ll be frozen.”