Sasharia En Garde (5 page)

I sighed, not wanting to explain that I had actually missed
Sartorias-deles terribly, so much that I had read every fantasy I could get
from the library, and later, the bookstore. Most of those books were
delightful, making me wonder if the writers secretly saw another world and just
hid it behind the guise of fiction, for whatever reason. I’d read for escape,
and also for answers, hoping someone would have a story set here, though I had
never encountered one.

To tell the truth, I’d badly wanted to come back, all my
life. But I wanted to come back to Dad, and a happy existence, like my early
childhood. I did not want to be taken back without my consent, especially to be
thrown into what was beginning to sound like the same mess we’d escaped—only
worse. Because Dad was still missing.

Zathdar regarded me with that puzzled look. I did not want
to talk about my dad to a pirate. So what was the previous subject? Oh yeah,
apostrophes. “Even when you love the stories, when you read a lot, sometimes
certain, oh, what we call in English ‘tropes’ tend to show up over and over. I
guess some writers read them when young, and think they have to use the same
ones. Like the flyspecks in names.”

Zathdar nodded, to my surprise. “The same can be said for
ballads, and certain types of music. Yet we listen even so, past the familiar,
for whatever it is that draws us.” He tilted his head. “Sounds like Devli and
Elva are almost ready.” He got to his feet, and as I followed him into the
bigger chamber, he smiled back at me. “The search perimeter won’t have reached
this far yet but that assurance will become less trustworthy as time passes.”

“Ready.” Devlaen pounded in, lugging a knapsack full of
jutting corners. Magic books, obviously.

“Ready.” Elva appeared from the other direction, a bag over
her shoulder. She held an armload of clothing, which she thrust at me.

Since they were all standing there, I slipped the voluminous
shirt over my T-shirt, and pulled on a wide-waisted coarse-woven riding skirt,
hiding my jeans. The skirt promptly tried to fall off.

Zathdar’s mouth quirked as he undid the Day-Glo green sash
and handed it to me. The silk was warm from his touch. “And
this
makes me less noticeable?”

All three nodded, Zathdar’s smile broadening.

I sighed, then tied the skirt up as best I could. “Ready.”

Devlaen led the way down a short tunnel to what smelled like
a stable annex—the clean smell of fresh hay mixed with horse. Again, childhood
memories hit me straight in the heart.

Elva glanced at my head, then shrugged. I didn’t have to
look down to see that my braids were fuzzier than ever. Apparently many braids
were exotic but acceptable here too, even scruffy braids, for she did not
speak, only beckoned for me to follow.

The sun was just about to set when we rode out, Devlaen
trying to arrange his bulky pack of books on the back of a skittish young mare,
Elva watching in all directions. Zathdar seemed content to glance around once,
but I remembered that comment about search perimeters. It surprised me that
pirates, or rather privateers, talked about search perimeters. I thought their
action was confined to water, which you didn’t have to search, since there were
no convenient mountains, trees, or castles to hide behind.

No
, I thought,
watching the fringes on his bandana swing gently with the even pace of his
horse.
Don’t get paranoid because the guy
is competent. Competent is good when it saves your sorry butt.
Besides,
privateers had to train somewhere, and maybe it was as easy on land as at sea.
One thing for sure, he was ready for action. He carried a cavalry sword across
his back and the rapier in a saddle sheath.

Elva wore her weapon, which whapped against her leg at every
step of her mount. Devlaen seemed to be entirely occupied with his bag of
books, and while I had my gear bag clutched to me, it didn’t contain any
weaponry.

We emerged from the hillside opening into spring-green
leafing trees, similar to beech, and I was stunned by the purity of the color.
In L.A. you did not breathe such champagne air, or see such color, unless it
has rained for a couple of days—something that happens rarely enough in
Southern California that it’s always a headline news item.

In the distance, on the opposite side of the river valley, a
hamlet lay charmingly terraced up the sides of the rocky canyon. Some of the
single-story houses were whitewashed, some colored a warm shade, like
honey-butter. No people in sight. Bad sign? Good sign?

“Where to?” Zathdar asked Devlaen and Elva.

Devli opened his mouth, then looked confused. “I guess
Cousin Nad’s is out.”

“Away,” Elva said shortly, and pushed her mount ahead of us
all, so that she was in the lead.

“My flagship is anchored right here at the mouth of the
river.” Zathdar pointed downward in one direction. We were as yet too high to
see the river.

“We need to get away.” Elva sounded a little desperate. It
was clear she had no ideas, either, except that she didn’t like his.

We rode single file, as the path was narrow, bendy, and the
shrubs and trees grew close. I grimaced down at my mount’s bony neck, and
busied my fingers with untangling the coarse mane hair. Smells, sights, even
sounds bombarded me, bringing up memories I thought I’d forgotten. I didn’t
know which hurt worse, the happy ones or the bad ones.

Zathdar had fallen behind me, going last. When I turned in
my saddle, I found him studying me. “So what can you tell us from your own
perspective?” he asked, voice lifted so the others could hear. “A summary will
do. We know you were small when you left this world.”

His slightly tilted head, the faint sympathetic smile, made
me aware that I’d tightened up from neck to knees. “Right.” I tried for an easy
tone. It was a perfectly legit question. “What I remember is King Canary. Uh,
that’s a joke we came up with, me and my mom, though he hardly looks like any
small yellow bird. Do any of you know him by sight?”

“No,” Elva said from the front. She frowned back at us
frequently.

Devlaen grimaced. “From a distance. In parades.”

Zathdar just gestured, his palm turned up, which I
interpreted as an invitation to go on.

“Well, he’s tall, with reddish hair. Eyes a real bright
blue. I remember his smile. My mother says he’s handsome, but all I remember is
that big smile, and how tall he was. Things at the castle were fun. Then the
old king—my grandfather, that is. He finally died. I don’t remember him much at
all—”

I was descending into the personal memories I’d wanted to
avoid, and so I shook my head. “He died, as I said. Next thing I knew we were
traveling. Then we were on the run. The grownups didn’t tell me much, just that
we had to be very quiet, and careful. We hid in a forest, we hid on a smuggling
ship. My father got us to that old castle. I remembered some of it, though it
was at night, during a heavy storm. He sent us through the Gate. Said he’d come
for us. Never did.”

I paused when we reached a forked path. Elva scowled,
running her fingers along her scabbard. She was clearly tense with indecision.

Zathdar said, “Keep to the right, is my suggestion.”

“I agree. Left looks like it goes back toward the old
castle.” Devlaen turned around in his saddle. “That all?” he asked me.

“That’s what I remember. Here’s the basics of what I know.
My mother said Canary began flirting with her as soon as my father brought her
over from Earth. Dad was sent to Earth to see other worlds and gain
perspective, since he was a second child. Canary had urged him to do that. Mom
and I think now that he, Canary I mean, thought Dad would never come back.”

“Magister Glathan thought so, too.” Devli nodded slowly.

We’d reached another branch of the trail. Elva cast a quick
look back. Devli shrugged in non-answer.

Zathdar said pleasantly, “Left-hand trail goes down to the
river. I feel obliged to remind you that if War Commander Randart is anywhere
behind us, his searchers will find that cave retreat by morning. If not
sooner.”

Elva sent a darkling look at her brother, who said
defensively, “How was I to know our rescue party would turn into a war party?”

Elva muttered, “Hold my spot on ship defense, that I can do.
Not against the king’s entire army.”

“Let’s go left, sis.” Devli gave an anxious look at the
mountaintops.

I could have pointed out that Randart’s searchers wouldn’t
be stupid enough to make silhouettes if they were really up there, but kept
quiet, and Elva reluctantly headed to the left.

“Would you continue?” Zathdar asked me. “You had gotten to
King Canardan and your mother and father.”

I shrugged. My story wasn’t all that exciting. Maybe he
thought my natter was better than sullen silence from up front. “Dad didn’t die
on Earth. Nor did he carve out a new kingdom, or whatever it was Canary thought
he’d do. Along the way on his journey through California, he met my mom, at a
Renaissance Faire. Um, never mind what a Renaissance is. Just think of it as
people dressed up in costumes. Mom didn’t know he was a prince. She was a
hippie activist because it was romantic and exciting and seemed destined to
make the world better. Anyway, they became friends. Same sense of humor. Then
they fell in love, and he wanted to marry her. So he sprang the prince business
on her and said that getting married over here in this world would make her
being a princess more official in the eyes of the people of Khanerenth than a
marriage back on Earth.”

A distant shout rang through the woods. Zathdar’s hand
smacked to his blade. He twisted in his saddle, alert as a greyhound, while
Elva was still looking around saying, “What was that? Where?”

A voice answered from much closer—a little kid. “We’re still
berrying, Papa!” and another even younger voice added, “Our baskets are almost
full!”

I stayed quiet until we’d rounded the bluff away from the
unseen berry pickers, then looked back uncertainly.

Zathdar made a polite gesture to continue.

“Mom didn’t know anything about being a princess except what
we get in stories, but she loved him, and the idea of adventure. So they came
here. She loved Khanarenth, and people seemed to like her. Canary made a big
fuss over her, like I said. She thought it was harmless flirtation. Cracked
jokes, hand kissing, never carried it beyond public gatherings. And my Aunt
Ananda, my father’s sister, didn’t seem to mind even though she’d very recently
married Canary. Though Mom said she was a couple tacos short on her combination
plate—”

“What?” three voices asked, right in a row. At least they
were listening, I thought, laughing to myself.

“Oops. Uh, Aunt Ananda wasn’t very worldly, which didn’t
seem to bode well for a future queen. And Dad and Mom were really popular, even
though Dad wasn’t all that much more worldly, for he’d been studying magic for
years. To support his older sister when she ruled.”

Elva hesitated again.

Devli slewed around to give me an inquiring look as his
sister scowled down into the river valley.

Zathdar’s expression was impossible to interpret as he
checked the horizon constantly. I don’t want to say he was inscrutable—he
didn’t do Sinister and Mysterious—but his smile was just a pleasant smile, with
no clue to his thoughts.

Elva clucked to her horse, and we moved.

“I’m almost done,” I said into the heavy silence.
“Everything seemed fine to Mom. But she says, what does an L.A. hippie chick
know about royal politics? Anyway. When the old king died, Canary stepped
forward to rule in my aunt’s name because she’d gone crazy from grief over her
father. Canary sicced the army onto us, claiming my dad had somehow managed to
commit high treason. Isn’t that the usual charge usurper kings throw at the
good guys?”

Devli spread his hands. “I don’t know. I’d just been born.”

“My ma says it’s traditional,” Elva called from the front.

“Don’t ask me,” Zathdar said when I glanced his way. “The
charge I worry about is piracy, even though I am actually a privateer.”

“Okay. So War Commander Randart was apparently Canary’s old
friend from his youth.” Three nods confirmed that. “He’d suddenly been promoted
to commander in chief of the military.” More nods. “He sent what seemed like a
zillion soldiers to chase us.”

Elva made a spitting motion over her shoulder. I remembered
that pretending to spit was a lot like cussing. Actual spitting was worse than
any of the sexual cusswords you hear all around you on Earth.

“Oh yeah. At some point someone told Dad that Canary claimed
my father had ruined my aunt’s wits with his magery, so he could get the throne
to himself. I do remember that, because it was right before he took us to the
castle and put us through the World Gate. I guess that was the high treason.
Until recently there was no further contact. Nada.”

Devli’s mount stumbled on a rock half-buried in the dusty
path, causing Elva’s to whicker and sidle. She bent to soothe the animal, and
Zathdar said, “What about the magic your father taught you?”

“What about it?” I asked.

The privateer lifted a hand. “Anything of use? By which I
mean, to find your father?”

“No.”

“I don’t know much about magic, but it does seem that spell
you used in the castle courtyard was not parlor illusion.”

“It is a strong spell, that much I know. Papa wanted to
teach me more, but we were always on the run. Maybe he thought I could use that
one.” I waited for someone to call me a liar. Because I
was
lying, at least partly.

It was true I was not even remotely properly trained. It was
not true that I knew only that spell. I knew another powerful spell, one a
beginner ought not to have been taught, but Papa had been desperate. And so,
though I had yet to discover if he even lived, I kept the promise I’d made to
him before Mom and I fell through the Gate away from him. I would keep that
secret.