A Stranger to Command

by Sherwood Smith

  “I think that’s courtly gesture. My grandmother, who went along as escort when King Indevan fetched his wife down south, said to watch out for it.”

  “Why? Never mind, I don’t want to know. I don’t even care. But if you’ve got a heart-burning for him, either feed the fire or put it out. Talk to him. And if you like talking, go ahead and kiss him.”

  Senelac sighed. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “Just keep it out of the academy,” Maddar warned.

  Senelac flicked the map lying below her on the plain boards of her floor. “As if I’d forget.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  So when Shevraeth finished his lance drill on what was already a hot morning, and rode wearily in for the brief respite of the midday meal before a full afternoon of duty and practice sessions, he was surprised to see Senelac among the girls standing there to take their mounts. Except for command class and the bakery, he hadn’t seen much of her so far this season.

  He did not know that she had quietly made it her business to discover his entire schedule, so she could whisk herself out of range when he might see her—but somehow, almost every day, she’d found some way to pass where he was shooting, or riding, contact fighting, or throwing knife or javelin, just to see him at it.

  He dismounted, trying hard not to let his face heat up, and said with what he thought was a casual, cool voice, “Morning, Senelac. How’s—” He remembered that the command class was supposed to be secret, but a quick look around showed nobody facing their way, and those closest were all talking to the girls or to one another. “—the assignment,” he finished under his breath, flushing to the ears.

  “Research instead of experience,” she said.

  He laughed, the quick, soft laugh she found so dazzling, so different from the loud brays typical of the other boys. Then he made one of those court gestures. Cymbal dancer—huh! It was amazingly graceful, complicated, and intriguingly oblique.

  “Same here,” he admitted.

  And it was out before she could call it back, “Want a study partner?”

  His brows went up, his lips parted. She tried not to stare at his mouth, which was so entrancing a curve—

  Stop that!

  She half-turned away, furious with herself, when he said, again in the low voice, “Bakery? I have liberty tomorrow.”

  “I’ll meet you there. Take you somewhere less popular with the academy,” she murmured, and then she did turn away, leaving him staring after her somewhat bemused, wondering if he’d somehow offended her.

  He was still puzzling over her reaction the next day when they met one another in the street outside the bakery, both carrying their slates. She had her map as well, rolled up neatly.

  She glanced up into his face, thinking He’s so tall—are all his people like that? and he thought She isn’t growing as fast as I am because he didn’t realize yet that Marlovens tended to be on the short side—and she, being older than he was, had already reached her full growth.

  She said abruptly, “This way.” She turned her back on him, leaving him to follow or not, and walked rapidly up the street past an inn, a glazier’s, a saddle-maker sharing a shop (as was common here) with a cobbler, and then led the way up a short side street toward the east wall. The street zigged and zagged, the buildings older, with thicker honey-stone walls and smaller windows, then around a corner and into an eatery that smelled delicious. He noted again that there were no written street signs, only obscure swinging boards at some corners, painted with stylized objects that were not shop signs. He found it difficult to figure out where they were, without straight lines or even street signs to navigate by.

  The place she chose caused him to breathe in the aroma, and smile. “Why don’t we get to eat like that?” he murmured.

  He hadn’t meant to be overheard in the noisy crowded room, but Senelac seemed to have quick ears. She flicked a dark-eyed look over her shoulder and said, “Because it’s coastal cookery. Rualese. We got trade going with them again, last year. They trade big in spices from over on Toar.” A flick of her hand indicated the continent on the other side of the western sea.

  The eatery offered rough wood tables and benches, but people obviously didn’t come for the furnishings. All the members of two families were busy delivering to the tables full plates, the most common dish apparently some kind of fish grilled in caramelized onions and spiced wine sauce, with small potatoes and carrots. Bowls of what appeared to be pudding with fresh berries or honey on it. A boy and a girl his own age hefted sweating jugs of what smelled like dark rootbrew and ale. Others lugged stacks of dirty plates, cups, bowls.

  The two found a tiny table in a corner as four people got up to leave. They sat down, Senelac piled together their dishes, and handed them to a young girl who showed up a moment later to take them away.

  “Did I do something wrong?” Shevraeth asked.

  Senelac sat up in surprise, then leaned forward again, color ridging her cheekbones. “No. It’s just—I, ah, am somewhat ambivalent about this class. I mean, I know I’ll never lead any war party.”

  He laughed. “Nor will I.”

  She frowned. “Then why are you here?”

  He spread his hands. “Because my father thought it better that I learn, in case things at home get worse. Let me rephrase. I hope never to lead a war party at home. But meanwhile, I’ve never even commanded one of the afternoon games.”

  “That will come next year, is my guess.”

  He leaned on an elbow, enjoying the excuse to look at her face. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because last year you were the foreigner to everyone. Now you only are to those who want the old ways, bad or good. Last year, to put you in command would be to make things harder for you. This year you’re a rad, and not really a part of whatever competition your House has going. Next year, except for the old ways sticklers, they’ll think of you as one of us. And a former rad. Won’t be the same problems.”

  “Except,” he said wryly, “if I’m a bad commander.”

  “I said, same problems. Not that there won’t be problems.” She grinned, nerving herself to meet his gaze. His eyes, when you looked at them straight on, were larger than you’d expect, and though from a distance his coloring was unremarkable, up close gray eyes were curiously compelling. “As for being a bad commander, well, then you’ll deserve what you get.”

  “That is true. So, if I haven’t done anything wrong, why are we squeezed in here? Not that I mind,” he added quickly. “If the food is as good as it smells.”

  “Because the rules on us girls are strict. We’re on trial, so to speak. Isn’t fair, but there it is.”

  She could drown in those eyes. She looked away, scanning the room for any sign of gossips. They were not out of bounds, they could meet here quite properly, but she loathed the idea of talk spreading all over the academy pairing her with the foreigner.

  “In your histories there are references to women in the military,” he said, still leaning on one hand, watching her face. That gaze, it really was scorching.

  She shrugged, firmly resisting the urge to fuss with her map or tap her fingers or finger her hair. “Off and on over the centuries. As defenders. Then as runners and guards for women of rank. Then as archers on the flanks of light cavalry. My grandmother was one.” She gripped her fingers together in her lap. “But the Regent hated women, and with one stroke of the pen sent us back to raising horses and waiting on men.” She grimaced. “We still had bows in our hands, but not where any of his people could see.”

  “Ah. And so, because there are so few of you, what, the academy authorities don’t want you becoming the focus of rivalries among the older boys?”

  Her forehead cleared at his instant comprehension. “Our armsmistress—who was one of those archers I mentioned, back in the old days of our king’s grandfather—told us to keep our...” She would not say flirts! “Our friendships with boys here in the city, at liberty times. In the academy, we stick to business. If we al
l obey the rules, then the boys will, too, because they know what to expect.”

  “So that explains why the girls don’t ever talk to anyone at mess?”

  She nodded, grinning. “Well, we talk to one another.”

  He laughed. “Right. But you otherwise have the same rules—last names only, same rank structure?”

  “More or less. Obviously we’re not part of the army, though that will change, we’re told. And last names, yes. Easier, for one thing: nearly half of us sixteen down to about ten are named Ndand because the Regent made it really, really clear that he expected loyal families to name daughters after his daughter.”

  “The Regent had a daughter? First I ever heard of that.”

  “She vanished.” Senelac winced. “The king insists it’s to somewhere good. But not here in the kingdom. In any case, none of us really knew her. The Regent tried mind control spells on her, in his plans to control the king.”

  Shevraeth was appalled—and saw his own emotion reflected in her face.

  “Anyway.” She made a quick, self-conscious look around. “Most of the girls are Ndand, so we have nicknames among ourselves, but you boys use our last names, same as for each other.”

  “But I heard your friend call you Fenis,” he said tentatively, tasting the word.

  The sound of her name on his lips gave her an inward shiver. To hide her reaction, she said, more sharply than she’d intended, “We’re here to work, aren’t we?”

  A gangling teen-aged boy appeared, plates on either arm. Shevraeth looked up, glad to have a distraction while he tried to figure out what he’d done wrong in saying her name. The boy was offering one of two choices, and he pointed at the nearest one without noticing what was on the plate.

  She chose the other. The boy slid the plates expertly onto their table, and went to the next waiting group. Shevraeth discovered that he’d chosen fish cakes and asparagus as well as the little potatoes. Senelac had the savory-smelling fish with onions and wine sauce.

  They busied themselves with their food, which was delicious, but at first they scarcely knew what they were eating. He regretted his lack of finesse, and she wished she could take back her words.

  But you can’t take back words. So the next best thing was to pretend she hadn’t spoken that last nasty, snotty bit. But what to say? The subject had been Ndand... With her spoon suspended midway in the air, she grinned. “Another reason not to use first names is that there are some real problems. Like, Ndand Maddar really hates Ndand Fath, who flirted horribly with her twin brothers last year, who were third-year seniors. Identical twin brothers. Share everything. Even after years together, some still couldn’t tell them apart. But what does Fath do? Flirt with one and ignore the other, then switch on them—flirting with Keth and ignoring Havid—to see what they would do. She thought it immensely funny.”

  Shevraeth’s lips curled with faint distaste.

  He could see Fialma Merindar finding that quite entertaining. No, Fialma liked physical cruelty best. Tamara Chamadis, yes, she’d probably enjoy that, only she’d be more likely to flirt with both at the same time.

  Senelac wrenched her gaze away from his lips, and twirled her spoon in a circle. “So last names are best.” She returned to eating, not speaking until she was done, then she smiled. “I have the map, but I forgot my chalk. Give me yours, and I’ll sketch out the terrain.”

  o0o

  . . . I’ve met this girl—

  No, that wasn’t quite right. Shevraeth neatly lined the words out.

  Last year one of the girls—

  That sounded stupid.

  There’s this girl—

  He’d heard people begin like that before, and watched the auditor’s eyes shift focus as the talker went on and on with increasingly trite terms. He wouldn’t do that to Savona. Or to Senelac... especially as he didn’t really know what his own feelings were. Other than that he really, really liked being around her. Looking at her. Listening to her. Sniffing that elusive scent that reminded him of sage. Was it really scent, or just her?

  Shevraeth grimaced, then tore up the expensive paper into tiny, tiny shreds. He threw down his pen. Then glanced at his slate, which was wiped clean. But he had the solution in his mind, along with the images of Senelac’s capable brown hand sketching out the terrain before they worked on where they’d put their forces.

  He had no idea if their solution was any good or not, and he’d forgotten to retrieve his chalk. None of that mattered, really. He knew he could hardly wait for command class so he could see her again.

  And on her side of the austere compound, she lay in her bunk over the stable, listening to the wind through the open windows, and the sounds of the horses below her. And when Maddar passed by her open door, she saw Senelac lying there on her bunk, tossing a piece of chalk on her palm, her black eyes wide and unseeing in the light of a single candle.

  TWENTY-SIX

  “Well, that was embarrassing,” Shevraeth commented as he and Marec left Commander Keriam’s chamber after command class a couple of weeks later.

  “Which embarrassment would that be?” Marec retorted, his grin more grimace than smile.

  “I think the word ‘that’ about covers us all. At least, us new ones. Though he did seem to have a few, ah, vivid remarks reserved for the seniors when they found our solutions funny.”

  Marec squawked a laugh, then sneaked a guilty look behind him. But the seniors were all trooping off toward their end of the academy, leaving Marec and Shevraeth alone on the path to the Puppy Pit. Stad and Evrec had not been at command class as the second-year boys were gone on an overnight, but they’d turned in their solutions early.

  Shevraeth and Marec passed a troop of guards muttering and glancing skyward as they headed for the stairs leading to the wall and sentry duty.

  The boys shot through the archway leading to the academy, where an errant hot breeze blowing along the walls’ narrow stone canyons brought the distinctive whiff of warm stables.

  “I think, on consideration,” Shevraeth said after they’d passed by the colts’ court, “Stad’s came off the best.”

  “Uhn. Told me yesterday that Lennac gave him some pointers last year,” Marec replied. “Don’t know for certain, but I suspect Lennac is in the senior command class. Always been good.”

  Shevraeth sighed. “Experience seems to be one of the missing elements. Experience is not only seeing what’s happening. That I’ve come to understand. A little, anyway. But directing events.”

  Marec frowned down at the stone pathway.

  Shevraeth said, “If you have something to say...”

  “Why are you studying with that girl?” Marec didn’t look angry. Offended was more like it, and Shevraeth wondered what unspoken rule he’d broken this time.

  “She asked,” Shevraeth said, after the slightest hesitation.

  “If you wanted a study partner, you could have asked me.”

  Shevraeth opened his hand. “I didn’t know I wanted one, but when she asked it seemed a good idea. She knows the terrain—she even had a map. I would have had to make the time to go to the library on my next liberty, which was yesterday, and get and copy a map, and how long would I have had to work on a solution myself, when I haven’t the remotest idea where to begin?”

  “Maps all over the academy. Can ask to borrow one and no one thinks anything of it.” Marec scowled. “Hold hard. Most don’t. Some are incurable noses, but you know who by now.”

  “Marec, I am still trying to comprehend the invisible rules here. Ones you grew up with. Senelac offered, so I figured there was no hidden problem. I am not being jocose.”

  Jocose. Marec suppressed a snort, but his sense of humor vanished when Shevraeth added, “You might remember the last time I didn’t take your invisible rules seriously I nearly got my ribs kicked in.”

  Marec half-raised a hand, the signal of a hit in sword-fighting. “That was Sindan. Ought to know by now I wouldn’t kick your ribs in if you wanted to study with me. I
mean, we’re there together in the Puppy Pit.”

  Shevraeth hesitated again. “I made plans for our next study session. It would be rude to turn her away. But there’s no rule against you and I studying together as well, is there?”

  “No.”

  “So what do you suggest?”

  Marec ran a hand through his red hair so it stuck up in red fluffs, then he laughed. “We have a whole barracks full of scrubs. Lennac’s been running his ideas on ’em, why can’t we?”

  Shevraeth whistled. “Now that is what I call a brilliant idea. Would that be command thinking?”

  Marec gave his squawking laugh. Then he said, somewhat tentatively, “You don’t really need to resort to the girl.”

  Shevraeth sent him an appraising look. “Is this a specific or general observation?”

  “Specific or—oh. You mean, on Senelac. No, I don’t know anything about her at all, except she’s hot with the horses. Senelac family is hot at whatever they do, but, see, girls don’t command. So why ask someone even more blind than you are, when you want to see something?”

  “Because she knows your history. Seems to have good ideas. The king has to have invited her for some reason.”

  “As a swat-down to the big mouths yapping on and on about the good old days, if you ask me.” A quick, pensive look. “Do girls command where you live?”

  “Nobody commands. Except the king. Which is why I am here.” Shevraeth ducked through their archway, then stopped, well out of earshot of the scrub barracks. “Our royal family has disapproved of martial ability, except for dueling, for generations. It’s a matter of royal policy, you might say.”

  Marec made his characteristic half-smile, half-grimace, as he struggled with new ideas, one of which was that Shevraeth did not always say everything he meant. But still, the idea seemed pretty clear they had a tyrant on their throne. Meaning the recent problems here with the Regent were not isolated Marloven problems, but others had them as well.