Treason's Shore

by Sherwood Smith

  “No. No one told me.”

  “Then she goes to Llyenthur. I guess you can speak for the Idayagans, eh?” Chim’s gaze was acute. His voice lowered to a rumble. “Reason I’m here instead o’ Kavna, I’d like to be assured there won’t be no cost to you. Not after all you did for us. Because unless I miss my guess, and I know I didn’t, you’d be goin’ direct against your king. And nobody has ever talked about Marlovan mercy. So what,” he persisted, “is the personal cost to you for this here treaty?”

  Inda looked away, then back. “Nothing I haven’t required men without number to pay.”

  The Dei Treaty was written out fair before the ships passed the inner island.

  Evred, they want their freedom. That includes from us as overlords.

  They will be free from attack, from interference by their neighbors’ greed, Inda! We will guarantee impartial peace. Make them see it.

  I can’t. I don’t see it myself, not a peace that begins with me cutting old Chim down on his own dock.

  Along the harbor stood warriors in burnt orange, but they were not armed for war. They were an Honor Guard.

  Tap, went the locket.

  Kavna, proud, happy, tired, introduced to Inda his sister, Queen Kliessin, who was impressive in glittering gems and brocade. She was amazed to find the infamous Elgar the Fox a fellow younger than she, and about her height, who dressed like an old deckhand, one arm in a sling. The only proof she had that he was really Elgar the Fox was the ruby earrings at his ears—and the deference everyone gave him, though she would swear he did not even notice. His one good hand brushed occasionally against his chest as he stood there where the royal pier adjoined the wharf, looking weary and absent while the signatories signed then made self-conscious speeches (hoping someone was writing them down) in celebration of a true Historic Moment.

  Now intensely curious, Queen Kliessin said, “Commander Algraveer. To celebrate this occasion, please honor me with your presence at a banquet.”

  Kavna said cheerfully, “They’ve been cooking for days, Inda. I found out all your favorite dishes from Lorm.”

  “No,” Inda said, his gaze bleak. Tap, went the locket. “I have to set sail for home.”

  He was rowed back to his ship as snow began to fall.

  On the ebb of the tide the Fox Banner Fleet set sail, the deck crews busy and everyone else below. Inda was far forward, on the bow, curtained by soft white snow as he stared down into the dark waters. When the locket tapped again, he yanked it from around his neck and flung it far out into the sea.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  AS far as the world knew, Elgar the Fox sailed east to fight pirates infesting the west coast of Halia off The Narrows.

  It would actually be true—for the red-haired Elgar.

  Fox enjoyed fighting pirates. So he would do it for a time, building a navy for his homeland. Not because he cared a whit for that homeland, but someday he would return, and he wanted a child of his to be able to get a foothold in the life of the kingdom again. He had his own work to do, a private project already begun in the black-and-gold bound book he kept locked in a private cabinet.

  Until then he would equip and train a navy: as the more independent of the Fox Banner Fleet tired of regular patrols and returned to Freedom, or moved on, he’d replace them with Iascans and any Marlovans who felt no lure of the plains.

  Much as he would have liked to keep Inda by his side, there was no stopping him. Or defending him in Iasca Leror’s royal city—Fox knew his own presence would just about guarantee Evred Montrei-Vayir’s ire. Though he did not say anything to Inda, he hoped his own cooperative spirit would in some measure mitigate what he knew lay ahead.

  And so it was just Barend and Inda who disembarked from Jeje’s Vixen on the Tradheval coast of Idayago at the beginning of spring. Overhead curved a sky of pure deep blue, the air cold after sleet had blown through. No one was around to witness the quiet farewells. “Fox says you’re not staying with the navy. Where will you go?” Inda asked, after giving Jeje a hard, lingering hug.

  Jeje shrugged, her mind on the tide. “Oh, I’m staying with the fleet. I just don’t want to be part of any navy. I’ll help Fox fight pirates until I can’t stand his tongue anymore, then I’m going back to Freedom Isles. Promised Dhalshev I would. I like fighting pirates. It’s good work. I also like Freedom.” She grinned. “Come see us soon as you can.”

  Inda remembered what Dhalshev had told him about convincing Jeje to be his replacement. He turned to Tau. “What shall I tell them? Will you be back?”

  Tau could not speak for a long moment. He had fought a silent battle alongside Inda, but because he was powerless to help, he would not burden Inda with the intensity of his regret.

  “Kiss Hadand for me,” Tau said, his voice husky.

  Inda lifted his dunnage, Barend hefted his, and they began trudging up the beach toward the newly rebuilt castle they could see on the rise behind the harbor, a little way north of their stretch of beach.

  Jeje’s grin vanished as she and Tau pushed the boat back into the last of the ebb. They worked in silence to step the mast, Jeje frowning back occasionally. Finally, when they were midway between shore and ship, she said, “That hug. It felt like . . . like forever. Did he say anything like that to you?”

  Tau seemed absorbed in the exact set of the sail. She was just beginning to feel irked when he gave her a quick smile. “No,” he said. “Want the tiller?”

  Cama’s outer perimeter riders spotted the two shabby sailors not long after they’d trudged up the long, white, marshy beach to the road.

  “We’re here to see the Jarl,” Inda said.

  The riders betrayed surprise at hearing accent-free Marlovan from sailors, but no questions were asked. They carried the two back to the castle, where Cama had been spending the winter in order to get to know his newborn son. His expression, when he recognized the arrivals, went from surprise and delight to a narrow, considering gaze.

  That night they sat in Cama’s private room. His wife Starand—unaware of the identity of the two weather-worn sailors her husband had welcomed, stalked away to her own concerns—though that would not stop her, in later days, from bragging out of her husband’s hearing of the night she had entertained so famous a pair. Cama’s First Runner, who recognized them as fast as Cama had, quietly saw to it that no one came near.

  Over food and spiced wine, at Cama’s encouragement, Inda began with his sea journey and the naval battle. Cama frowned in concentration as Inda used game markers to illustrate marine strategy and tactics, as he always had an interest in the craft of war. But his interest intensified as Inda came to the matter of most import: his refusal to carry out his subsequent orders.

  Inda’s narrative was hopelessly tangled, plunging into the past as he attempted to define political motivations. Cama said little, as was his way. Finally Inda’s voice hoarsened, and he shook his head. “And so I gave the orders for Fox to cruise the strait, and our coast as well. But he won’t interfere with harbor affairs beyond our border.”

  Cama looked grim. “And so you came back.”

  Inda shook his head. “I had to. I brought the treaty I signed in Evred’s name. If he wants to flog me to death as a traitor, well, that will be bad, but at least it’ll be over. I can’t be an exile again, for the rest of my life.”

  Cama’s breath spewed out. “Inda, what do you expect Evred to do? You disobeyed an order. Not just one made in private, but sworn before Convocation.”

  “I know.”

  “And so your sense of honor requires that Evred put you to death? Do you have any idea what the cost of that will be, and you think going off to one of your pirate hideouts would be worse?”

  Inda rubbed his hand over his face. “All the honors Sponge gave me. I made an oath. I can’t throw it all over, like it doesn’t mean anything.”

  Cama hesitated, his one eye flicking Barend’s way.

  Barend stretched, uttering a dry laugh. “The King of Ymar, and
Prince Kavna, and that lord fellow all told me in private they were going to name these waters the Elgar Strait, now that the Venn are gone.”

  “That’ll last a month,” Inda retorted, unimpressed.

  Cama wondered why Barend had said that, then dismissed it as irrelevant. It was plain that Inda still did not know about Evred’s personal devotion, and the world still seemed to be colluding to hide it from Inda’s finding out. Here he was, the bloodiest-handed commander left standing after years of war. Yet he was in some ways still the boy they’d all bunked with in the scrub barracks under Master Gand’s stern eye, nearly twenty years ago.

  “I’ll have to send a Runner to Evred,” Cama said finally, giving up.

  Inda held up his scarred hand, the knuckles gnarled. A gold ring glinted on one finger, disconcertingly fine. “You may as well spare the man and the horse. Evred always knows where I am.”

  It was a full three months later that Rat Cassad, sent by Evred on special duty, met them at the ancient Marlovan inn at Hesea Spring, where the three great roads converged.

  Inda and Barend arrived on hired mounts to find Cassad pennons planted out front, and Cassad waiting inside, with a host of armsmen.

  Cassad looked the two tired travelers over, their shabby sea clothing, Inda’s arm in a sling, no weapons in sight, and waved off his armsmen.

  “Drink,” he said, pushing mugs of ale toward them. He added, as they thirstily downed the good home ale, “My Runners spotted you days ago. Truth is, I don’t really know if I’m an Honor Guard or a Watch Guard.”

  Inda’s smile faded. “I will not interfere with whatever orders Evred has given you,” he said bleakly.

  Cassad sighed. “You are an idiot, Inda. At first he thought you were dead. The locket didn’t work. But the ring still moved—and he thought—” His eyes met Barend’s, and he faltered. “Well, never mind. He’s waiting.”

  Evred was on the watch long before dawn the next day. He shut the doors against everyone, even his wife, and stood glass in hand at the window of his office at the archive, which was closer to the main gate than his private office at the residence, which overlooked the academy. For months he had fought his way through the entire range of human emotions, taking both sides of imagined conversations, but nothing prepared him for the sight, at last, of the thin figure, arm in a sling, face shockingly like his father’s, that rode in the midst of Cassad’s armsmen late that morning.

  The banners and the horns signaled the approach of Cassad. Evred had not told his people to expect the Harskialdna, and Rat had not sent Gallopers ahead.

  He watched the riders until they reached the gates, watched the morning light reflect in Inda’s eyes as he lifted his head to study the walls. Studied every detail, from the untidy sailor’s queue and the gold-mounted rubies Inda still wore in his ears to the long, dusty unlaced shirt, vest, deck trousers, mocs. There was no sign of the Marlovan about him, though he rode like one; Evred was still pondering that when they rode in the gates and vanished from view.

  Vedrid was waiting in the stable.

  Inda raised a hand in greeting, then said under his breath, “Well, what’s it to be? The garrison prison again for me?”

  Vedrid turned up his palm. “He’s waiting.”

  Barend dismounted.

  Vedrid said to him, “Alone.”

  Barend didn’t make any overt threat, but his stance shifted, both hands within reach of weapons. “I’m going with him. It’s why I’m here.”

  Vedrid struck his fist over his heart. “As you will, Barend-Dal.”

  Barend grinned. “You mean on my head be the fire.”

  Vedrid did not smile back. There was far too much tension spreading through the castle with the news that the Harskialdna was back.

  Vedrid was about to offer Inda the chance to visit his rooms and dress properly, then he hesitated at even that. His orders had been exact. “Come with me,” was all he said.

  The two followed him upstairs and down silent halls, past watching guards. At last the door opened, and there was Evred, wearing his old gray riding coat, booted feet planted on the great crimson rug, hands behind his back, his face an unsettling reminder of his father and his uncle.

  Evred nodded dismissal to Vedrid, then turned his head, brows raised. “Barend?”

  “Whatever happens to him happens to me.” Barend raised a thin hand, palm out, as Inda pulled from his gear the carefully wrapped copy of the treaty. “You may’s well know that I signed that treaty, too, as trade envoy.”

  Evred winced, looked away, then back. “Leave, Barend. Nothing is going to happen now. Just leave us alone.”

  Barend turned from one to the other, and when Inda tipped his head toward the door he gave a slight shrug. After a last, speculative glance at his cousin, he went out, and shut the door softly behind him.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  INDA brushed his good hand down his sailor’s togs. “Sorry about the ship gear. I handed off my coat to the fellow pretending to be me before I left. Didn’t want to borrow any coming down here, things being how they are.”

  Evred pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose but the drum and surge of heart and blood would not go away. “Inda. You know what our law is.”

  “Yes.”

  “You know why we have that law.”

  “Yes.”

  “You know that to show favoritism is to show weakness, and you can name every Jarl who will be panting at the gate in hopes I’ll open the way to compromise.”

  “Yes.” Inda’s voice was so low, and tired. “Yes, Evred, I’ll stand up against the wall. Or if you’re going to flay me at the post, then do it. I won’t argue. I know what I did. Please. Just do it.”

  “I do not want to do it,” Evred retorted with barely suppressed violence.

  Inda recoiled a step. Never had he heard that tone in Evred’s voice. Then he thought, I earned it.

  Evred didn’t see the reaction. He paced the room. Too easy to superimpose Inda’s face over that of Hawkeye’s father, almost ten years ago, dying at the post one flesh-ripping cut of the whip at a time.

  Evred had spent his entire kingship proving his strength and determination to the Jarls, underscoring that no one stood outside the law. And here was Inda, ready to submit. His old friends would submit, but he could envision the censure in their eyes. None would interfere, or it would have happened by now. One of Evred’s many nightmares in recent weeks had been of waking to an army of Inda’s friends riding at his back. Except that Inda would not have permitted that to happen.

  The only ones who would take pleasure in the proceedings would be Horsebutt and old Ola-Vayir and his cronies, and that not because of any sense of justice, but entirely because they wanted to see Evred in humiliation and defeat over the disgraced Harskialdna he’d promoted above them all.

  And all because of the Marlovan oath binding one’s honor to obedience to orders, the oath that Anderle Montrei-Vayir, Evred’s own ancestor, had made law.

  Evred knew the justifications, but he’d also dug in the records back far enough that he could not avoid the truth: his ancestor had made that oath law because he had broken trust when he stabbed Savarend Montredavan-An in the back.

  Evred whirled around. “Inda, you swore before Convocation to be my Harskialdna. To serve as my Voice. And you accepted my order before the entire Convocation.”

  “Yes.” Inda spoke to the floor. “But I came to see that the order was wrong.”

  The white lightning of rage stilled Evred—he did not even breathe. But the battle for self-control was as old as he was. When he trusted himself to speak, “So Taumad Dei talked you into that?”

  Inda looked up. “No. That is, I’d already come to that conclusion before we talked. Tau stayed out of it, after those notes he sent to you. I think he figured out the cost if you didn’t agree to his treaty.” A thumb toward the open window and great parade ground below, where Hawkeye Yvana-Vayir’s father had died the death of treason. From beyond
floated the voices of boys at training, calling “Yip! Yip! Yip!”

  Inda lifted his head, listening, and then turned away from the window, his expression bleak. “I tried to explain to you, but those little pieces of paper—I never was any good at writing—”

  “Explain it to me now.”

  Inda groped left-handed in the air, then began the old pacing, though limping in a way painful to watch, his right arm dangling because it didn’t seem proper to have it in the sling. “It’s Tdor’s net. That’s how I think of it.”

  “I am not calling Tdor to defend herself.” Evred flicked out his hand.

  Inda’s face whitened.

  Evred took a swift step toward him, and then whirled away, and paced to the window. “That was an attempt at humor. Forgive me. The matter is entirely between us, Harvaldar and Harskialdna.” He turned his head. “Whatever happens, at no time will your family suffer, you have my promise on that.”

  Inda sighed. “It’s right for my life to be forfeit. There was a day . . .” He stared into the distance. “I told you about my conversation with Ramis of the Knife. But in general. I don’t remember telling you what he said just before he sent me away. I didn’t pay that much attention at the time. I was seventeen or so, I thought I knew what I was doing. And why.”

  He paused, and Evred said, “Go on.”

  Inda closed his eyes. “Consider how many of our kings and heroes define honor by the worthiness of their enemies. Things will only change when we define honor by our works.” He opened his eyes again. “That might not be every word, but it’s the gist of it. By our works. Just before I took ship again. I was in the north, wearing civ. Stocking cap on. No one saw these damn rubies. No one knew who I was. The wind was right, so I knew we’d sail on the tide, but I saw a glassmaker. I stood there outside his window all afternoon. Just watching him make a goblet.” His gaze went diffuse, his words slowed to a rumble in his chest. “He made things. I’ve never made anything in my life. Other than a couple of shirts. For myself. When I was a ship rat. I’ve just destroyed things. People. Ships. Land, if you count what a battle does to the ground. Maybe there’s some unseen court of justice somewhere that will be satisfied if I bleed my life out on those stones down there.” He hooked his thumb back toward the parade ground. “All I could see was that the alliance had come to trust me. High to low. Even Deliyeth, when I kept to my word. It was a net of mutual trust, d’you see? It was strong enough for them to follow me into battle against the Venn, though we were outnumbered.”