A Stranger to Command

by Sherwood Smith

Savona sighed. “I’ll have to go find it. But first. Are you locals? Do you know what we’re supposed to do about brigands who won’t be attacking anyone any more?”

  “That’s an affair for the Road Guild and the local magistrate,” the driver said. “The nearest of either is half a day’s ride away.”

  The brother with the cudgel fingered his weapon. “Where are the rest of you?”

  “Just us.” Savona suppressed a weird urge to laugh.

  The driver twiddled fingers toward the dead. “The two of you did for all of ’em?”

  Savona said, “No. He did. I fumbled around trying to get this from the sheath. After which I lost my horse.” He brandished his rapier, then looked at it. “I don’t suppose those fellows would have stuck with dueling rules.” He tipped his head, unable to resist even so lame a joke.

  The two shook their heads slowly, their faces solemn.

  Vidanric gazed upward at the sky, then he brought his chin down with a jerk of decision. When he spoke, his voice was steady again, though absent of any emotion whatsoever. “We will do whatever is necessary.”

  And so it happened.

  As the two rode off to find Savona’s horse they held a quick conversation, deciding to leave Galdran’s name out of the business—and their own. Word would inevitably travel cross country. You didn’t take out a band of brigands, whoever they were, without people talking.

  They followed the carters to the local town, and before the magistrate (hastily summoned from his dinner) Savona claimed to be from Tussora, and Vidanric from Sarendan, which was known at this end of the continent for its army training at Obrin. Many kingdoms sent young men there, since the academy at Khanerenth was reputed to have been closed due to that kingdom’s troubles.

  The brigands had carried nothing except a hefty sack of new-struck Remalnan gold coins. The sight of those coins effectively ended the questioning. Savona and Vidanric recognized from the magistrate’s grim expression that Remalnan coins on brigands were not unknown.

  The magistrate ruled that since no witnesses could testify, they had to rely on evidence. After hearing the carters describe what they’d seen, he judged the deaths to have been self-defense. He finished with legal words to the effect that the bodies would be Disappeared, and the descriptions and clothing of the deceased written in the record for any families who might come seeking word of them. They impounded the coins. Then the two young men were sent on their way with a haste that indicated the local authorities did not want them lingering.

  Savona was aware of whispers following in their wake through the small town. People came out to stare at the young warrior who’d done for six outlaws all by himself. If Vidanric was aware, he gave no sign of it. Just responded as little as possible, in that even, remote voice that made Savona increasingly uneasy.

  Savona arranged to leave the post horse at the inn, with directions to the owner, and he used some of his stash to buy another horse. They rode on as soon as they’d eaten, stopping only to buy supplies for the animals. Savona listened as Vidanric answered questions with lie after lie: they were from Sarendan, they were going east along the mountains into Ergoramar.

  For the rest of the day, Vidanric did not speak, but either watched the surrounding countryside with that narrow gaze, or else frowned between his horse’s ears. Savona kept his peace. In truth, he had no idea what to say.

  Vidanric broke the silence before dark. “Here’s what I think we should do,” he said. “Buy extra food at the next place we can, after which we ought to leave the road. And cross the border under cover.”

  “Lead on,” Savona said.

  o0o

  Over the next two days, Savona got a learn-as-you-go lesson in covert movement. He also got lessons in the style of sword fighting that Vidanric had been taught. Not that they could drill effectively with a heavy-bladed cavalry sword and thin-bladed dueling rapier, but Savona learned enough to realize that pretty much everything he’d ever been taught was useless except for dueling by the rules.

  The weather stayed comfortable the first day, but the second gained considerably in heat. Summer had arrived at last. Vidanric took off his tunic and traveled in shirt and trousers. Savona found revealing the careful way Vidanric folded the grubby tunic away into his otherwise flat saddle-pack.

  For most of the first day, Vidanric didn’t talk except to instruct.

  The second day the snows melted somewhere inside him, and he did not stop talking. Savona heard about kingship, command, the obligations of duty, the pressure of deciding for all the lives entrusted to one, and at night, under the forgiving starlight, in a low, swift, sometimes uneven voice Danric wondered if any of the men he’d killed had liked starlight, had been evil, what had Galdran told them? Did someone love them, and would grieve to discover they were dead?

  To which Savona replied, “They took orders to kill two fellows not even of age, Danric. Fellows they didn’t even know. So they got killed instead. I’m not saying it is right. I don’t know what’s right any more. Not the way we’ve been living. But I am saying you didn’t murder them.”

  “No.” Vidanric’s voice was almost too low to hear. “I killed them. I did what I was trained to do. What my father sent me to learn. But I am going to have to question every single act. Or I will turn into—” He shook his head, his profile somber as he gazed out over the peaceful valley.

  Savona sat companionably with him, offering what comfort he could.

  Presently they slept.

  The third day he was more like the Danric that Savona had first met on the road, talking normally, laughing, even. A few days later they reached a height from which they caught their first glimpse of Renselaeus’s ruling city before the great falls. Vidanric had remembered his map from childhood, for which Savona was grateful. He also absorbed the implied lesson about knowing one’s map.

  When they reached the road up to the city they had been two weeks threading along animal trails through the mountains. The food they’d bought had gone stale, but they rationed it again and again until it was gone, after which they filled their stomachs with cold, clear spring water, and lots of wild-growing berries. Though they used the springs to wash as best they could, their clothing was grimy, and Savona shared the clothes he’d chosen without much thought, stuffing the dirty ones into the saddle bags amid laughter and rude jokes. He was relieved when Danric laughed with him.

  With the sharing of Savona’s clothes came the sharing of minds, and then hearts. By the time they reached the last mountain they had recovered all their old understanding and then surpassed it, reaching a new, adult consciousness. There was nothing, from strength to weakness, that either sought to hide from the other. They were no longer unthinking boys. They talked about fears, about failures, about the little triumphs that one usually keeps inside. Savona heard the entire story of Vidanric’s relationship with Fenis Senelac, and Danric every flash and rumble of Savona’s stormy relationship with Tamara Chamadis. More entertaining—leading to speculation about girls and their motives and intentions—Savona extravagantly described all his flirtations during the times Tamara and he were enemies... which never lasted, though each time they parted they swore it Was For Ever, and Do Not Speak To Me Again.

  When the beautiful mountaintop palace of the Renselaeuses became visible, Vidanric withdrew once again behind that new, remote countenance.

  After a while, Savona prodded him for a reason.

  Vidanric said, “I’m angry with our border riders. They’re slack.”

  Savona protested, “Hey! The Blues might not be up to your Marloven standards, but I assure you they aren’t lying around drunk in some tavern.”

  “They should have seen us by now,” Vidanric retorted. “If we can sneak up on my father, so can anyone.”

  Savona had no answer to that.

  o0o

  That same morning Prince Alaerec found his wife sitting alone in her private chamber overlooking the falls, her hands gripping her upper arms tightly as she r
ocked gently back and forth.

  “I am sorry, my darling.” His breathing caught as he eased himself painfully onto the window seat next to her. “Do you wish to hear what I discovered?”

  She turned her head, her eyes bleak. “I do not wish, but I must. We will share it together.”

  He raised a hand. “Nothing about Savona. Or Vidanric. I know no more than you at this moment. But... I realize I ought to have investigated long ago. I do not know why I did not. I thought the Scribe Guild was somehow above politics. They do take oaths. Still. The woman in the supervisory position who has served us these past ten years so blamelessly has a sister in service to the Merindars. To be precise, a scribe under the marquise.”

  Princess Elestra stiffened as though she’d been struck.

  “I am certain of two things. First, that the Merindars must have heard about Vidanric’s letter sent from the harbor. Second, I believe that the answer I made was never actually sent. I had one of my independent traders check. I just now received his note.”

  Her eyes closed. “It’s been too many days. For the boys.”

  “There might be any number of reasons why the journey has taken so long.”

  The prince folded his arms around his wife’s trembling body. After a time she relaxed against him. Neither spoke as the waters thundered and thundered beyond them, not until there was a rustle from outside the room, and someone scratched outside the tapestry.

  The princess said, “Enter.”

  A footman ran in. “Arrivals on the road, your highness.”

  The prince and princess rose, their fingers intertwining. Bad news or good, they would face it together.

  Hand in hand they entered the reception room off the main court. There was a great stirring of Blue Riders in their sturdy blue tunics, who poured in, their manner excited. In the center of their group walked two mud-spattered, exceedingly grubby young men.

  One was Savona. The other—tall, slender, straight, with short pale hair—familiar gray eyes—

  “Oh, my son!” the princess cried, and flung herself into Vidanric’s arms, crying and laughing.

  The prince limped up behind her, tears in his eyes. Wordlessly Vidanric extended his hands and pulled his father’s thin, frail body in, so that they sandwiched the princess between them.

  For a time they stood thus, the three of them, arms tangled about one another, too overcome for words. At last the prince lifted his head and faced Savona. “Thank you.”

  “Do not thank me. It was Danric who saved our lives,” Savona said.

  At that the little group fell apart, the princess smiling and wiping her eyes on her dainty lace sleeves.

  “Father, here’s my suggestion. One question and answer will not do, so why don’t we bathe and meet you wherever you wish. Only I hope it will include food. We’re both starving, as we came cross country. But I itch as much as I stink, and I want to burn these clothes I’ve been wearing the past two days.”

  “Hey,” Savona protested. “Those are mine! A cleaning frame will do.”

  On unsteady laughter they all parted, the princess speeding on the light steps of joy to see to an instant, and substantial meal, the prince limping to his private chamber to await them.

  When Vidanric reappeared, he wore his uniform, which had been put through the cleaning frame. He and Savona had resorted to the great bath, soaking away their aches. They joined Vidanric’s parents, their hair still damp, Savona elegant in pearl gray and pale pink, with silver embroidery.

  “Dear boy, will you give us your report?” the prince asked.

  Vidanric began in Marloven, stuttering to a halt as he blushed crimson. While his parents and Russav Savona watched, he had to make the mental shift to report mode in his own language.

  But he found it, and began with a swift statement of result, then briefly filled in the details of his journey from the harbor, meeting Savona, the brigands, what they did afterward.

  The Prince heard him out, then said, “I recently discovered that the Guild Scribe chief is connected to the Marquise of Merindar. I never thought to inquire about any of my scribes, who have always been exemplary until now. But when you did not answer my response to your note sent from the harbor, and then days went by—” He shook his head. “As well that I used my old contacts for private messages, and the Scribes for general communications. I very much fear that much of Renselaeus business has passed through at least one pair of Merindar hands.”

  Vidanric tossed his hair from his eyes. “Father, that brings me to what I would not say below in the court, but I should not have been able to come thus upon you without being seen.”

  The Prince nodded slowly. “You are going to take over training the Blues, but you will have to contrive it from a distance. I suggest you train your equerries while you are away, and send them to me. I will see that they train the rest, once I have ascertained who is trustworthy and who a plant.”

  “You cannot send him away again,” the Princess cried, turning on her husband. Then she frowned. “Of course. If we have spies in the Scribe guild, and possibly inside the principality...”

  “The Scribes can’t know I’m here,” Vidanric said, sick at heart.

  “We may rejoice that no one saw Vidanric until he arrived at the palace today,” the prince said. “I will vouch for the loyalty of the palace Blues. Some of the others? There has been little consistency in their hiring and training. That will have to change. Right now, though, he has to leave, because the king will be finding some excuse to comb through our land if he thinks the boys escaped his brigands.”

  The princess sighed, her thin fingers pressed to her temples. Then she opened her eyes. “Danric, dear, if you are to train the men, I desire you to train my women as well. Rinda Nessaren, my chief equerry, says her daughter Yora cries herself to sleep at night, wanting to defend the kingdom.”

  The Prince gave a nod of agreement.

  “Whoever wants to learn.” Vidanric thought of Senelac’s goals for the girls of Marloven Hess. “Girl or boy, I don’t care.”

  “Excellent,” the Prince said. “Russav, you will go home tomorrow. You will never speak of being here. To anyone. If you never refer to what happened, the king can’t, because he would reveal that he knew about the brigands. Danric, tonight we will have to ourselves, but tomorrow you will take an honor guard of our best Blues and get yourself out of the kingdom the same way you entered it.”

  Vidanric’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest. “Where do I go, Father?”

  “Colend.”

  “But Norsunder—”

  “We cannot let the troubles threatening other kingdoms interfere with our plans. If the world erupts into general war, then everything changes. But—so far—indications are that there is at least as much trouble between the Norsundrian commanders as they are making with us. So far it seems to be a war of mages. While that is the case, it is less likely that they will attempt to take Colend.”

  Savona frowned. “Why is that?”

  Vidanric said, “Ah.”

  The prince nodded to Vidanric. “Tell him, my son.”

  Vidanric turned to Russav. “Consider the map. Colend has no defendable borders. Colend might be easy to take—I don’t know what the status of their defenses are—but would be difficult to hold unless Norsunder has enormous occupying forces, because then they have to defend those open borders.”

  “Correct.” The prince was pleased. “Vidanric. You are to make your way as swiftly as possible to Colend. You will take the most expensive lodging you can. My friend the Sartoran ambassador will introduce you to court, perhaps even to the king, though he stays sequestered, while an informal Regency Council rules. You will talk everywhere of oddities you’ve seen traveling. Leffain has been across the continent, and even over to Toar, writing you a travel diary specifically for this purpose. You will send the latest fashions to us, here, which will pass through the Scribe Guild’s hands.”

  “So you will not get rid of the Merindar s
py?” Vidanric asked.

  “No.” The prince’s smile was sardonic. “I will cherish her, for nothing is more useful than a known spy. If I get rid of her, I will only get another foisted on me. Instead, she will share with the king what I want him to see.”

  Politics. It seemed... dishonorable, somehow, after the straightforward days in Marloven Hess. Straightforward and brutal, Vidanric thought, remembering Sindan Hotears, and the result of his trouble-making. Militarily minded machinations were as bad as political scheming. Was there no civilized method of governing?

  “After I discover who the spies are among the Blues, I will send them as couriers to Colend. You will then write letters to Russav, challenging his status as Remalna’s chief fop and flirt. Your life’s goal is to gain a reputation as the Marquis of Shevraeth, Colend’s most famous fashion fribble. Before you come home, your reputation will be even worse than Savona’s. The Marquis of Shevraeth will have a new identity entirely.”

  “Hah!” Savona laughed, teeth flashing.

  And so the title takes yet a new meaning, Vidanric thought. “In short, every single thing I’ve learned over the last few years will be wrong.”

  The prince smiled. “No. But you will learn another way of life. Not only the manners and mores of the Colendi, but how a different people cooperates among themselves to make a successful government.”

  Everyone under the same law, that’s what Senrid’s father had desired for the Marlovens. And he’d died for it.

  Shevraeth shook his head. “I can’t believe King Galdran will ever want anything I’ve learned.”

  “No.” The prince’s expression sobered.

  “But the people might.” The princess touched his hand. “It’s easy to complain about the king. It’s far more difficult to get everyone to agree on what ought to be done.”

  “So you, my son, will go to Colend. When your hair is grown out—I should think two, at most three years will do it—you will proceed home with a huge train of baggage and expensive but frivolous presents, as an excuse to hire at least fifty extra guards, and you will of course have your trained servants. You’ll send equerries ahead to turn out the most famous, expensive posting houses. Your return is going to be gossiped about in every kingdom, making it impossible for you to be quietly ambushed. People will line the roads to look at you.”