King's Shield (18 page)

“Arrrrrrah!” the wail rose to a pitch that caused her neck to prickle.

“What? What?”

That was her first mate, the toughest man on her crew, pointing, his eyes distended.

She whirled, peering through the dissipating smoke, scarcely aware of the numbing sting of sleet as—impossible,
impossible.
From the ghostly gray vapors emerged a sinister black trysail, masts raked back, sails flashing in thrilling precision. That knife-lean predator was famous the world over as the flagship of Boruin Death-Hand.

Who was burned to death by Elgar the Fox.

Scarf’s crew erupted into a frenzy of anger, accusation, shouts screamed at one another—demands that no one heard, all of it the result of gut-gnawing fear.

She pounded down the length of her deck, whacking people with her sword. Her first mate pulled himself together to follow and deal out similar blows, as she screamed for their attention. But even while screaming, she watched—they all watched—the trysail begin its running attack.

Impossible, her brain wailed, but there it was, Elgar’s flagship, last seen two years ago, riding in the middle of the sea of burning wreckage of Marshig’s fleet. Though she outnumbered Elgar, she knew her crew was already falling apart. The single thing all pirates agreed on was that no one could beat Elgar the Fox on the sea. Even Norsunder obeyed his command—they’d all seen that rip between sky and sea at the end of the battle just as the sun was coming up, a sky-high rift opening onto an eternal night into which Marshig and his favorites had sailed, and vanished.

All right, when battle doesn’t work, treachery does.

“Signal for a parley,” she bellowed. “Every ship—truce and parley flags.
Now!
”

Chapter Sixteen

AFTER his castle tour, Tau decided to explore the city. He had to ask directions to get out of the castle. Every person he approached regarded him with puzzlement until he added, “I am Indevan Algara-Vayir’s First Runner, and I’m lost.” Inda’s real name cleared their faces like sunshine through clouds, and their manner was invariably interested, often friendly, as they offered detailed directions.

When the sunset watch change bells tolled in all the towers, the massive, brassy bongs echoing along the stone streets and off the heavy walls, he fumbled his way back to the guest chambers.

His shipmates were gathered in Inda’s room, Jeje at one end staring out the window at one of the many courtyards, and Inda and Signi huddled together near the fire, intent on a low-voiced conversation.

Biscuits, wine, and ale had been set out in shallow ceramic bowls. Tau poured wine into the strange flat cup that one had to use with two hands, then Jeje summoned Tau with a jerk of her chin. “We’re waiting for the king to finish kinging, then we’re to have dinner with them.”

“What happened?” Tau asked, watching Signi shake her head and raise a hand as if warding something. Inda twined his fingers through hers, and Tau heard a brief, “Evred would never hurt you. Try not to see them as enemies.” Then Inda’s voice dropped to an indistinct rumble.

“She got grilled by the king. Then Fox’s sister showed up.
She
grilled everybody she could catch—including Signi—then rode off into the sunset.”

“Fox has a sister?”

Jeje snorted. “From all he’s ever told us about his family, I thought he’d hatched out of the ground.”

“Hatched? From the ground?” Tau repeated, brows aslant.

Jeje waved a hand dismissively. “Last, the king booted everyone out. When I woke up from my nap, someone brought me here, and I found these two. I think Signi wants to renew spells. I guess they haven’t had mages here in ages. But that king of Inda’s made it real clear he doesn’t trust her far’s he can spit into the wind.”

“Who’s the tall woman who was standing with the queen on our arrival?”

Jeje made sure Inda and Signi were busy with their low talk, and turned her back on them. “Tdor. Inda’s future wife. I got that out of Inda’s sister. They’ve been promised since she was two and he was born. That’s the way they do marriage here. With the rankers, anyway. You don’t choose someone to share your hearth and home and children, it is done for you, by treaty, before you’re born.”

Tau whistled soundlessly.

“Tau! You’re back!” Inda reached for an ale cup. “Where’d you go?”

“I am now your personal Runner. Whatever that means.” Tau raised a hand toward the window. “So I went exploring in order to learn where to run. As much as I could in a city that seems to have yet to discover the benefits of street signs. Do the streets actually have names?”

Inda grinned. “Yes, but they change around. When we took over the royal city from the Iascans, the king had all the old names changed, which meant taking down their markers. But then he decided it was better for defense never to put any up. So there aren’t any. It’s not like a lot of foreigners come visiting.”

We,
Jeje thought.
Nine years away, and he says “we.”

“All right. So there’s a reason, even if it seems slightly demented. Second question: why are the bells so loud here? Is it that the entire city is made of stone with those extra high walls?”

Inda looked tense, though he was obviously trying for lightness. “The bells have to be audible on the plains below the city. When ringing alarms, not just watch changes. What else did you find?”

Tau observed Signi’s strained expression, the smudges under her eyes as he said, “That there are no fan-makers or ribbon-makers, that musical instruments other than drums and reed-pipes seem yet to be discovered, that most of the business one sees relates to horses in some way. Horses, food, and war gear.”

“Well, in a harbor, everything relates to the sea.” Jeje shrugged. “Outside of trade goods going inland.”

“Anyone who wants instant wealth has only to draw the meanest set of traveling players over the mountains and set up a theater. There is no such thing here, can you imagine?”

Inda sat back, one arm round Signi’s shoulders. She leaned into him, her eyes closed. Tau’s gaze shifted to the flush along Inda’s cheeks that indicated he’d been drinking. A rarity; the last time Tau remembered seeing Inda downing anything potent was the night before the Brotherhood battle at The Narrows.

“We read ancient Sartoran plays when we’re tutored,” Inda mused. “I didn’t know people did other things than read ’em.”

“Plays,” Tau struck a pose, “are meant to be performed.”

“Maybe they wouldn’t like that here.” Jeje yawned, not because she was tired, but because she was restless. It had been a stupid idea to come here. “Unless you’ve got some about battles and horses.”

Tau wondering why Inda was drinking, why his free hand traced round and round the top of his cup. He was home at last, where he’d wanted to be for almost ten years, and the trouble that had kept him away appeared to have been summarily banished by his friend, the king.

Ah, yes, the king. Had Inda understood that look of hunger? Did he even see it? More to the point, what was the responsibility of the friend who had definitely seen it?

But the subject was plays. “Anyplace you can walk into the meanest inn and hear people singing twenty verse ballads, unerring, with carters and hay-pitchers correcting the slightest omission, sneering at the tiniest fumble in cadence, you’ve an audience waiting to discover the joys of the stage.”

“You can stay and try it, or ride with us tomorrow,” Inda said.

“Ah. Am I to hear the reason why we have to renew our just-healing butt blisters? I confess I assumed we were to stay in this royal castle more than a day. Unless they decided we’re pirates after all, and are about to come in force to toss us out?”

A distant bell rang, and Inda got to his feet. He looked strange with his hair pulled up high. Binding his hair up was something new, a heavy, ornate silver hair clasp fashioned in the shape of an owl in flight.

“I’ll explain on the way to supper,” Inda said, and did.

 

 

 

Dinner was in a room down the hall, with low tables and more of those flat wine cups. The same three people who had come to greet them were there. During the interim Hadand and Evred had worked feverishly hard to set in motion the enormous chore of equipping an army overnight; Tdor had shown Inda and Signi the way to Inda’s room.

There she had endured an uncomfortable stretch as they all made painstaking conversation in Iascan, which Signi barely understood. Tdor’s heart had wrung at how hard all three of them tried to find something of interest to the others.

Tdor did not know how long that excruciatingly boring conversation about horses would have limped along until Inda muttered something that caught Signi by surprise. The dag turned her head, her trembling fingers just touched his, and his hand tightened round hers as they leaned into one another. It was only a moment, but it was so profound a withdrawal from the world, a cleaving to one another that left Tdor out at the same moment she had been wondering if she could sniff his hair—did he still smell like a puppy?—she wanted to touch the scar by his eyes—

No, she wanted to kiss it.

Just then the two caught themselves up—they remembered her—and consciously pulled away from one another. Signi asked a polite question while Inda poured out three cups of wine that no one wanted. All well-meaning, all consciously including her. But she had found herself business elsewhere as soon as she decently could, and went to walk in the cool air until she heard the bell for dinner.

Tau lingered at the back as everyone filed into the dining room. He wondered what the role of Runner was supposed to be.

He watched Evred-Harvaldar for clues. The king’s hazel gaze brushed past Tau with no invitation, but no rejection, so he followed Jeje in. And on impulse Tau threaded himself expertly through the where-should-I-sit shuffle to a place next to the tall, brown-haired Tdor, Inda’s affianced wife, who had effaced herself so quietly that morning.

“We can all speak Sartoran, I trust?” Evred-Harvaldar opened a hand toward Signi.

His reward for making it clear she was not to be shut out was Inda’s sudden, wholehearted smile.

Servants brought the food in, setting it out for everyone to help themselves. Evred spoke to one; the servants touched hand to heart, but there was no bowing, and at no time did Tau ever hear the customary honorifics such as “Your Majesty” that were common elsewhere. The servants then left.

Conversation skimmed the surface with scarcely a splash: the ride from Marlo-Vayir—food—harvest—food in port cities—worst food ever eaten. Jeje sparked the first laugh with her scathing portrayal of the terrible food at Freedom Harbor’s pretentious Colendi eatery.

Everyone laughed but Signi, whose head ached from the demands of this exceedingly long day. For now she would listen. These Marlovans all spoke the quaint Sartoran of generations ago, soothing to the ear.

Evred laughed, but absently, and gradually withdrew into watchful silence; the weight of enormous preparation for riding out pressed on him and he longed to take Inda and be about it. But his mother was an Adrani, she had raised him to be aware of outland expectations due to guests. He would not be perceived as a barbarian.

“. . . I’m chief mate of
Vixen,
like I said. Scout crafts don’t have captains. And Tau didn’t want to be a captain,” Jeje was saying to Hadand.

Jeje’s Sartoran was difficult for the Marlovans, a blend of Inda’s accent and something flat and odd—Chwahir, in fact, though the Marlovans did not know it. Jeje had learned the language from a former crewmate who had sailed back to Chwahirsland after the pirate defeat.

Sensitive to the subtlest motion of hand or eye, Tau became aware of a furtive but persistent scrutiny. He glanced up once to meet the steady brown eyes of the queen.

Hadand flushed and concentrated on Jeje talking about Inda’s fleet, leaving Tau to study her with interest. Hadand’s wide brown gaze was unexpectedly like Inda’s. He was intrigued by the slight tension in her shoulders, the nearly imperceptible flare of her nostrils that revealed her awareness of his attention. She appeared to be about his own age.

“. . . and that’s the last of ’em now,” Jeje finished.

Evred forced himself to speak. “You say they have sailed to the south, then? Away from us?”

“That was the plan,” Jeje said warily.

Inda said, “Even if we hadn’t lost most of Eflis’ tail of small craft in the sail west—they were worthless anyway—we couldn’t take on the Venn’s southeastern fleet.”

Evred said, “I understand that. Your former ships won’t turn on us, then? That’s my only concern.”

“No,” Inda said.

“No,” Jeje stated, now glaring a challenge.

Inda sent her a mild look of reproach. She flushed, her black eyebrows an unbroken scowl-line across her forehead, and busied herself with her food. At Tdor’s prompt, Inda described Freedom Islands.

Of the Marlovans, only Hadand had been beyond the borders, and she remained silent. Tau shifted smoothly to the royal city, and his appreciation of the local music. Tdor showed her good nature by talking determinedly about old ballads, as if anyone cared. With Tdor the center of attention, Tau sat back, turned his head—and there were Hadand’s light brown eyes again. This time he sustained her gaze.

Tdor was thinking:
Is it beauty creating a universal resemblance, a high art of human structure, or does he really resemble Joret?

Hadand was thinking:
those eyes really are gold . . . yellow-flecked light brown that blends into gold, surrounded by long, curling lashes
. . . perhaps she should stop drinking wine. She was staring. And the room seemed far too warm.

Then he raised his cup in salute. He had beautiful hands. Strong and graceful, slender wrists emerging from the cuffs of a fine linen shirt that, though he’d worn it all day, was not rumpled like Inda’s clothes. It fitted in a smooth line over his well-shaped shoulders and the contours of strong arms—