King's Shield (7 page)

“Partly Kepa’s lies. Then Kepa’s father called in old promises. Ruse to get rank out of the Harskialdna, and it worked.” Cherry-Stripe spread his hands wide. “But we didn’t find that out until a lot later.”

“A Harskialdna is a Royal Shield Arm,” Jeje whispered behind her hand to Signi. “It’s the king’s brother. I mean, if he has a brother.”

Signi gave a sober nod—of politeness, not of sudden comprehension. Jeje suspected that the Venn mage probably knew more about the Marlovans than she did, and blushed. But Signi’s grateful smile made her feel slightly less stupid.

The escape to the past was now over, they all sensed it. In the Marlovans’ minds these past events connected directly with the threats of the present.

“We called that one the Summer Without a Banner,” Cherry-Stripe said.

Chapter Six

“THE Summer Without a Banner,”Cama repeated,his rough voice quarry-deep with regret.

“That summer changed a lot of things, though we didn’t see it at the time. We were just boys.” Buck gazed into the fire.

“And
we
were only Tveis,” Cherry-Stripe said.

Later on Tau learned what that meant—second sons, defenders and spare heirs. Inda and his friends had been among the first class of brothers brought to the academy to be trained under the Harskialdna instead of by their families, as was traditional.

“What about Sponge?” Inda’s expression was troubled. “Did he say nothing?”

“After you disappeared he cried himself to sleep every night,” Cherry-Stripe said, grimacing as he scratched under his horsetail clasp. “Heyo, most of us blubbed. Dogpiss dead, you gone, and no one would say where. Ev—Sponge—we call him Evred now, y’see. He talked among
us
—Noddy, Flash, Rat—”

“Rat?” Inda interrupted. “Rattooth Cassad?”

“Yep. We call him Rat now. And Cama—” A gesture toward Cama, who turned his thumb up, firelight gleaming in his good eye.

“His Sier Danas.” Cama swept one hand in a circle. “May’s well call ourselves that. No strut, not anymore. Not when Evred said it at his coronation.”

Cherry-Stripe grinned. “We arranged a nine-times-nine drum corps. He was only going to have the second-son-inherits nine.”

“We had so many volunteers, it was hard to keep ’em to just eighty-one.” Cherry-Stripe rocked back on his mat, grinning with pride.

“Good.” Inda radiated pleasure on behalf of Sponge, they all felt it.

It was so odd, having Inda back. Especially looking like he did, with nearly ten years of unimaginable experience evidenced on his face, and in his strange clothes.

“You should have seen Horsebutt when Evred called us the Sier Danas,” Cherry-Stripe gloated. “Like he’d bit into a berry and found a worm.”

Inda said, momentarily distracted, “What does being official mean? I remember that the Sier Danas in our day were just you horsetails with the Sierlaef.” He indicated Buck. “I don’t mean translating the words into Iascan. I know that: King’s Companions. But the real meaning. At the academy, you were the heir’s allies. You could strut around, break some academy rules even, and no one touched you.”

Buck turned his palms up in silent agreement.

Cama said, “What it means for me is, I can leave Tya-Vayir on King’s Business, even though I’m a Randael. But the king’s order comes first. And since Horsebutt never lets me do anything at home anyway, I’m under what you could say is permanent order from Evred.”

“And if there’s war, we’d be his first choice for commanders.” Cherry-Stripe thumped his chest, laughing. “Anyway, that summer he talked a lot about justice, but we all knew there wasn’t going to be any. The strangest thing is, the Harskialdna wanted my Ain here—” He indicated his brother with a thumb. “—to be the Sierlaef’s Harskialdna someday. Not Sponge. We never did know why.”

“I know why,” Buck said, and everyone turned his way. “It was because Evred
thinks.
I never did. Not in those days, anyway. I believe the Harskialdna thought he’d be alive forever, commanding Aldren-Sierlaef when he became king instead of t’other way around.”

“Isn’t that—no, I guess it isn’t treason.” Inda’s elbows thumped onto the table, hands pressed over his face as he tried to impose all these new notions onto his old understanding of his homeland.

“Not as the Harskialdna saw it,” Buck said. “He saw it as protecting the kingdom, but it all had to be done his way. The Tveis had to be trained his way, so everyone would obey him if war came to us. I think Evred scared his uncle, so he had to be kept down, for everyone’s good. ‘Good’ being everyone thinking like Anderle-Harskialdna.”

Everyone considered the Harskialdna, the only sound the flutter and snap of the fire.

Buck shook his head, bright blond horsetail swinging. “I never said anything. No use. But I was beginning to see I didn’t want that.”

“As for us, we banded together, us against everyone.” Cherry-Stripe wound his rough-palmed hand in a circle. “We used your plans, over and over, Evred building on ’em. And we won. All the time, though for years no one noticed. The Sierlaef was out of the academy, see, and started chasing your brother’s Joret all over the kingdom, then there was war against the north—and, well, the short of it is, when the Harskialdna did finally notice we’d become real Sier Danas, he broke us up fast, sent us home, and Evred off to the war.”

Cama said, “But it was too late. Evred saw us as his Sier Danas, and he never forgot you. He always brought your name up, wondered where you were.”

Awash in rye-spiked reminiscence, Cherry-Stripe stumbled over the first hurdle he’d earlier scouted around. “Tanrid’s man told us once that Evred was going to have someone search the ports for you, the word having spread you’d been put to sea.”

“Tanrid? He promised Tanrid?”

Cama sent Cherry-Stripe a one-eyed glare.

“Your brother was sent north as his commander,” Buck said reluctantly.

Inda straightened up. “He was? But Tanrid’s good with command, isn’t he? That brings me to my next question, may I borrow a Runner to send word to him—”

An indrawn breath from Cama caused Inda’s gaze to snap to the three. He found shock, anger, dismay. “What? No, he can’t be—”

Buck cast a look of distrust, almost of dislike, at Inda’s visitors, wishing he could shove them out of the room. They were outsiders, not fit to hear personal tidings. But they sat there, uncomprehending, and he was honor-bound to show them hospitality. “You must first know that he died with honor. In an ambush. Took most of them first. As to who set it, well, he too is now dead.”

“The Harskialdna,” Inda whispered, all the old pain back again, strong as ever. “He always hated my brother. That much I could see. Though I couldn’t see why.”

“Actually, it was the Sierlaef,” Cherry-Stripe said, and then the two exchanged glances. On his brother’s slight nod, Cherry-Stripe added, “Look, you’re here for what, better horses and some gear, right?”

Inda had his hands pressed to his eyes. His last memory of Tanrid was so vivid, there in the guard cells: Tanrid looking so old and tough, his fingers tousling Inda’s hair behind his ears—

Strange, how grief hurt far more than a sword cut. But now was not the time to sit and bleed. He was here for—

The reminder of the Venn wrenched his mind to the immediate. “Yes. Yes! I came back because the Venn are coming. To take word to Sp—to Evred.” He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes again.
Tanrid is dead.

Cherry-Stripe grimaced; Cama was the first to comprehend Inda’s news. “Venn? When? And where?”

“Venn?” Buck and Cherry-Stripe said together.

Inda looked up. “Soon as the winds change. Maybe sooner, though I doubt it. But they have to suspect when I broke their line up north that I’d come here to warn the king.”

Cherry-Stripe’s mouth dropped open. “You mean they’re really
coming?
”

Buck added, “After all these years?”

“The army’s other side of the strait, the ships maneuvering. We slipped past the whole southern war fleet.”

“Then we’ll need to get you on your way,” Buck said. “I’ll send a Runner tonight to warn Evred. What should I say? Prepare for invasion?”

Inda raised a hand. “No. That is, tell him I’m coming, but not why. Better if I’m there to explain it. That way rumor doesn’t start traveling around, getting crazier with every new person shoving their opinion in as fact.”

“Right,” Buck said, grinning. “Coming and news it is.”

“And you better get some rest,” Cherry-Stripe said.

“But first Baukid has to string you.” Buck went to the door, and sent his Runner to summon the tailor to measure Inda. Trying to recapture their earlier good feeling, he added, “And I’ll find you a hair clasp. You’re going off to the royal city looking proper, not like something the Venn dug out of a pirate’s port.”

Inda glanced down impatiently at his shirt, vest, and the deck trousers below. They were terrible to ride in. “No,” he admitted. “I guess you are right. There’s been nothing proper in my life so long I’ve forgotten what proper
is.
”

“Don’t ask me,” Buck said, smiling faintly as he thought of the events of the previous year. “But you’ll have a proper coat come morning.” He appraised Inda. “Baukid can remake my old first-year horsetail coat. You’re no taller than I was at seventeen. Shorter. But you’re a whole lot broader here.” He smacked his own chest. “Do you have a decent sash?”

 

 

 

Mran showed the guests their bedchambers, and the Marlovans parted as soon as the tailor had measured Inda.

Fnor, giving in to her yawns at last, said to her husband, “Who
is
that piece of art Inda brought? If I thought all pirates were that pretty I’d go to sea tomorrow.”

“No you won’t,” Buck replied, kissing her on the neck.

Cherry-Stripe, Mran, and Cama wandered down the hall the other way. “That was bad, having to tell him about Tanrid,” Cherry-Stripe said low-voiced across Mran to Cama. “And after we were so careful not to tell him that his father was there that day. Should we tell him the details?”

“You leave that to Evred,” Cama replied. “Now, who’s sleeping where?”

Mran slipped her hand into Cama’s; Cama turned his eye to Cherry-Stripe, who returned a comical grimace. He considered going over to the pleasure house, where he had five current favorites. But no, he did not want to risk oversleeping and missing Inda before he left for the royal city. So he retired alone—for once.

“Did you understand any of that?” Jeje asked Tau when they stopped outside the row of rooms Mran had showed them.

“Some,” Tau began.

“Was
that
Inda’s big secret? Somebody slipped and died? At first I couldn’t figure out if Dogpiss was a little boy or a horse,” Jeje said.

“They were all little boys,” Tau reminded her. “Sounds like the older people used them in their own games. Makes it worse, somehow. And explains a lot about Inda.”

Jeje stretched. “You’ll have to tell me how, but later. Who would ever call himself ‘Cherry-stripe’? What can that possibly mean?”

Tau yawned. “No idea. I didn’t really follow what the little one said just now. Do we get the same room, I hope?”

Jeje grinned. “I thought your balls were crushed?”

“Let’s find out, shall we?”

 

 

“What are you thinking?” Inda asked Signi, as he closed the guest room door behind him.

She sorted through her impressions of the great, imposing castle, the short light-haired people with martial comportment, so like the Venn and yet so unlike, and shook her head. She had not comprehended much, except how they’d said the word
Venn
at the end with attitudes of hatred. She was worried what would happen when they found out who, and what, she was. Inda seemed too overwhelmed by emotion at being in his homeland again to have considered this. She would not disturb him now. “They are fine friends, these brothers,” she said.

“And to think old Cherry-Stripe was once my worst enemy in the world,” Inda said, laughing silently. “Oh, to have life that easy again.”

“But it was not easy at the time.”

“No. All our little matters were just that: little matters. Though we thought ’em life and—” He grimaced.

“Yes?”

“Mmm. I was going to say that at least they didn’t touch others’ lives, but even that turned out not to be true.” They were silent as they climbed into bed, and then she heard him say softly, “Oh, Tanrid.” Shortly followed by the compressed, shuddering breath of grief.

She slid her arms around him and held him until at last, at last, he slid into sleep.

Chapter Seven

INDA’S former fleet drifted into Parayid Harbor on the tidal flood, stripped to fighting sail, armed crew hidden along the rails.

Fox, at the helm of the middle ship, the knife-lean, black-sided trysail
Death,
knew very well how sinister they must look from the harbor. He did not order signal flags raised. No one would believe them anyway. They drifted in slowly.

Nobody wanted a fight, but the last time any of them had seen Parayid, just after they’d defeated Marshig’s pirate federation, the Brotherhood of Blood, Inda’s fleet had been mostly driven off by people fearful that the victors would be as merciless as the Brotherhood had been.

Fox Montredavan-An had begun his command by thrashing anyone who started a sentence with
But Inda always did it this way,
or
Inda always says.

He had two claims to that command. First, Inda had handed the fleet off to him, before the eyes of all. Second, he could wipe the foredeck with anyone in the fleet in hand-to-hand fighting—including Inda.

Otherwise, instinct had prompted him to avoid having to explain himself over and over to a fleet made up of independents, privateers, and even outright pirates, most of whom had joined to follow Inda because he always won, and not because they shared Inda’s ideal of dispensing rough justice against pirates.