King's Shield

by Sherwood Smith

  Inda was like a river, sometimes slow and tranquil on the surface. When he fought he was fast and dangerous as river rapids. At all times he flowed toward the single goal: home. Like a river, there was no pretence, no hiding his nature.

  She did feel anger, and fear, and her wrists would have trembled if she had not learned control.

  She was angriest with herself. After all her years, all her hard-won experience and oft-repeated lessons, how had she—despite all her careful thought—succumbed like the most shallow youngster to the illogic of lust, wherein reason is reduced to making excuses for the actions of the beloved?

  She closed her eyes, trusting to her senses to guide her as she sought the inward way to Ydrasal, the right and true road to honor. It was sometimes called the Golden Tree, because in the realm of the spirit, it shone with golden light, and the same luminosity shimmered around Inda when he was most intense.

  Her path at this moment did cleave with his path. That her inner vision had insisted, even before she knew Inda except as the terrible murderer Elgar the Fox.

  She must be here. She did not know why, not anymore than she knew why Inda, a war leader, should shine with the golden light—unless it was his ghost companion, who, though mostly a blur of light, was sometimes clear and distinct. No, that was a different aura.

  What she did know was that the Golden Tree was not easy to perceive, and sometimes the way toward it was fraught with danger. But she must walk the path.

  She opened her eyes, breathing the dancer’s long breaths of calm and serenity.

  While she concentrated on clearing her mind of conflicting emotions, down the hall in the area reserved for the Runners, Vedrid was talking quickly, half a dozen other Runners listening. From their attitudes, Tau suspected they’d heard Vedrid’s version of their encounter in Bren.

  “You’ll need a blue coat,” Vedrid explained, turning back to Tau. “If you dress as a Runner, then you have more access than if you wear what you have on now. And no one stops you because they expect Runners to be about their business. A foreigner in these times—” He turned his palms up, and Tau could easily imagine these ubiquitous armed sentries stopping him for questioning every single time he ventured out.

  “I have no objection to adopting your dress,” Tau said.

  Vedrid looked relieved. “Then we’ll get you a coat at once. And teach you the Runner signs and signals as well as our own accesses through the castle. What would you like first?”

  He set his and Inda’s gear bags down in the room assigned to Inda. “I’ll admit the first thing I’d like is a tour of this castle. I lost all sense of where the stable was while just following you up the stairs.”

  While Tau was measured and then taken on his tour, Hadand finished the long walk to her public interview room.

  The windows opened onto a view of the women’s outer court. The voices of young women rose on the warm summer air as the guests entered, their manner uncertain. Behind them, Tdor glanced from object to object with the distraction of the seeker of a lost key. She’s been my sister in all but blood since we were small. Does she feel brother-love for Inda, or am I seeing a different emotion? Surely not, after nine years apart!

  So said reason. But who knows better than I that reason very seldom communicates with the heart? Hadand thought with self-mockery. Very well, leave Tdor to her thoughts.

  Hadand needed to find out, first of all, who these women were. Easy and polite questions—Hungry? Thirsty? How was the journey?—on the long walk had elicited equally polite, monosyllabic responses from the dark-haired one. Each woman carried her own bag, which argued for similar status. The dark one appeared wary and ill-at-ease. The sandy-haired one was as devoid of expression as a wind-worn statue.

  Outside the cadenced voices rose and fell amid the clash of weapons, proof that Marlovan women really did fight, as rumor had it. Signi had glimpsed a boot sheath as they’d walked in, before the woman took up her station guarding the door. The woman outside the door wore a wrist sheath beneath those long-sleeved blue robes. Blue! The color mages wore in the Land of the Venn. But here there were no mages. Blue here apparently meant fighters, or fighting servants.

  Hadand shut the door, leaving Tesar watching outside. She faced her exasperating guests, thinking, You’re a queen, you can ask questions. What can they do back?

  She turned her attention midway between the two women, and asked what for a Marlovan was a reasonable question: “So, why did you come with my brother?”

  Jeje flicked a glance at Signi. As she expected, no help there. And Inda had gone off on his own with that king. So much for protecting him!

  She said in her best Iascan, “I’m the captain of Inda’s scout cutter—” Then paused. The two women waited, polite but blank.

  Maybe she was supposed to say Lord Indevan. Or put dal in there somewhere? Neither of the Marlovans seemed angry, though. More puzzled. So she plunged on ahead. “And Signi over there is his lover.” There, that was innocuous enough. Except why did the short one look so startled, and the other go stiff? “And you are?”

  Hadand was indeed startled—it’d seemed impossible that her little brother could have a lover. Oh, he was no longer the small boy she’d seen in memory all these years, she had proof of that outside in the courtyard. He was twenty, so a lover wasn’t surprising. What surprised her was that the lover was the old one rather than the young.

  Of course he’d have a lover, Tdor thought. And—firmly—I’m glad.

  “I am Hadand-Gunvaer. This is Tdor-Edli Marth-Davan, my foster-sister. Who is the blond man?”

  How to define Tau? Jeje smothered a laugh and stated, “He’s my lover. And we came along in case, well, Inda needed, um, help.”

  Hadand smiled, and Tdor raised her brows and rounded her lips in appreciation. Then, in a valiant effort to keep some sort of conversation limping along, “What is a scout cutter?”

  Jeje suspected these women had exactly as much interest in ships as they had knowledge—which would be none—nevertheless, she resolutely picked up her cue and launched into a definition of types of ships and numbers of masts, broadening (on their encouraging nods) into trade ships versus pirate ships versus warships. She was slogging grimly and bravely into the intricacies of fore-and-aft rigging (as opposed to the Venn’s square) when a door opened.

  In came people in gray smocks and baggy trousers with crimson piping. They carried platters of rye biscuits with toasted cheese on top. Jeje hadn’t eaten since long before dawn. These were pan biscuits instead of the baked ones she’d had in childhood but they smelled good. Her stomach rumbled as the platters were set on the low table.

  Everyone settled on the mats. But before they could begin to eat, an authoritative thump at the outer door stopped the talk. A tall woman in a blue robe entered and made a sign to Hadand and a heartbeat later a new woman strode in.

  The newcomer was dressed like other female Runners, her blue robe splashed with mud up to her thighs and curls the color of ripened wheat escaped from her braid. Her manner was definitely not that of a Runner as her wide, intense brown eyes searched the room. Familiar eyes, though Jeje had never seen her before.

  “Shen!” Hadand exclaimed. Then, in a more cautious voice, “How did you get here?”

  “A Runner rode through Darchelde.” Shendan Montredavan-An thumped her fists on her hips. “Said Indevan Algara-Vayir was in Marlo-Vayir territory, coming here. We know Foxy sails with him. I took my Runner’s robe, which got me across the border. Marend didn’t come only because we were afraid the border guards would balk at two of us.” She flung back her hair. “As for your Evred, as long as he doesn’t see me, he can pretend I’m not here.”

  Your Evred. Hadand let it go by. She’d come to realize that nothing was going to mend the resentment between the Montrei-Vayirs and the Montredavan-Ans, at least not until something was done about that exile treaty. For the rest, as usual, Shendan was right. Evred knew that she was Hadand’s friend, so although he had to
know that she was in the castle, he wouldn’t interfere unless forced to.

  Shen said, “And I’ll be gone as soon as one of you gives me news of my brother.”

  Jeje had her placed now. That broad brow, the sardonic eyes, the sharp-cut bones: Fox’s sister!

  Jeje set down her untasted biscuit. “I think I can help you there.”

  Except for the brief roughness in the road when Fox’s name was introduced, Inda’s and Evred’s minds galloped parallel, so free and effortless neither was prepared to hit the stone fence of divided boundary.

  As they walked back, Inda talked fast, describing what he’d seen on the Ymaran plains. Evred’s two years of hard-won experience in the north enabled him to follow the swift stream of Inda’s thoughts and to ask questions. “What kind of horse bears those tall men? How fast? Have they changed to our swords, or do they rely on ax and straight sword? Do they use the composite bow now? They were known for their great longbows, with the tremendous reach.”

  Inda dipped his chin at each point. “I couldn’t see much, only distant movement. I did see some horsemen, but there was always dust. Looked like they kept trying charges, but they always had to pull up short. From what we—I—saw, it looked like their favorite defense is these squares. Big men in front. Curving rectangle shields instead of the round ones. Longbows in back, and on flanks, and the old ax and straight sword at front.”

  “How did they handle their horses?”

  Inda wriggled his shoulders, then tipped a hand as he searched for the right word. “Heavy.” He stumbled over a loose stone in the street, making a face at the ground. “I will ride with you to the north, but I don’t mind going as your Runner, or as a scout, or as anything, really. Don’t you have any commanders?”

  “The best of the older commanders are dead, except for the Jarl of Cassad, and he can no longer sit a horse. And he never faced the Venn. None of us have, young or old. Don’t you remember the speculation when we were boys?”

  “But what about Gand?” Inda exclaimed. “I can’t believe Master—Captain Gand—couldn’t lead them. Ho, Sponge, everything I ever did right was because I had a memory of Gand’s voice in my head. You’ll learn as much as we can teach you because the more you know, the fewer signals needed. Didn’t that turn out to be true! ’Course I don’t know if signals can foul as easily on land as on sea—oh, listen to me yap. Don’t tell me Gand is dead?”

  “No, I called him in, almost my first command once I got back here. He runs the academy. Told me he can’t command, which was why he never made it above captain. He said—and you tell me how this makes sense, I just accepted it because I didn’t dare not—he said that he only sees the shape of individuals, not the shape of battle.”

  Inda tipped his head back. “Oh, yes. I see. Tau’s that way, too. Funny, how you remember someone being all-knowing. Gand! He sure was good with us!”

  “He’s good with the academy now.”

  “Hoo, that was well thought. So what about everyone our age? They’ve all seen action against pirates, haven’t they? Your cousin Hawkeye—that’s who I was trying to remember! Didn’t he run command at the front under you in the north? He was your Harskialdna, wasn’t he?”

  “He can’t command,” Evred said slowly. “Oh, he’s dashing at the lead in skirmishes. No one would question his courage. But his idea of command is to lead whoever’s around him straight at the biggest mass of enemies. That worked fairly well against pirates, but will it against Venn?”

  “No,” Inda said, remembering those big men and the heavy rectangular shields held edge to edge. “They’ll hold. Then use those shields to shove, and the swords between ’em to spike our horses or us if we’re on foot. I could see that much.”

  “Then we lose lives to no purpose, except added verses to the tragic ballads. Hawkeye will take orders from you if I make it clear that is my will. He certainly understands chain of command. We’ve all been raised to it.”

  Inda said slowly, “One thing I’ve learned since I left is that chain of command might look like a ladder on paper, but you really get twists and bends. I could make the plans, but won’t the rest of the Vayirs expect to see him riding beside you, right behind your banner?”

  “You forget his father’s disgrace.”

  “Oh.” Inda’s eyes were so candid and earnest—and so painful to meet. “Don’t misunderstand.” Inda opened his hands, palm up. “I want to ride as your Royal Shield Arm for this battle. Very much! But it seems wrong somehow. Frost. Like there’s no one else in all Iasca Leror.”

  Frost in the old academy slang of boyhood meant arrogance, the assumed superiority of rank. Evred said, “Inda, you have forgotten my uncle, and what he did to those who showed command ability.”

  Inda drew in a sharp breath. “Then I wasn’t the only one?”

  “You were the only academy boy exiled, and I do believe that was actually my father’s idea, or maybe Sindan’s. I saw my uncle’s papers after he died. Most of those he found a way to shift out of the possibility of command accepted disgrace, or their families accepted for them. You were the only one who stuck it out—and your father apparently was willing to back you.”

  “I never knew that,” Inda said, and sighed. “How could I?”

  “I would not say it before anyone else, because we must seem united, but it comes so clear in my uncle’s writings. He had a reason for everything he did because he trusted no one but himself and my father. The shadow of the assassin’s knife haunted him all his life, worsening when my grandfather died. Some said under suspicious circumstances, others believed it was a riding accident.”

  “Your uncle thought it was conspiracy?”

  “Oh, yes. Then he really did believe, or talk himself into believing, that any Vayir with the gift of command who didn’t fall right in behind him was a future danger to my father, to my brother. And so the best left the academy early—heaped with praise—to go home to guard, or if they were not Vayirs they were promoted—heaped with praise and promises—and sent to the borders. And to the coast.”

  “Against the Brotherhood?”

  “Yes. A few died in action, because his orders were always clear: we ride like our ancestors, commanders in the lead. Others died under circumstances that their personal Runners could not explain—the Runners who survived, and too often they all died too. Mysteries we might have solved if my uncle’s personal Runner, Retren Waldan, had lived, because apparently Waldan’s orders were never written. But he himself was assassinated after Yvana-Vayir’s Conspiracy. I don’t know by whom. Another mystery.”

  “No one knows any of what you’re telling me?” Inda asked, grimacing.

  “Only Hadand. And Barend, somewhat. He didn’t want to know the details, as his own father was behind them. Here’s what I am sure of. The only one who really understood command in the strategic sense, I believe, was Captain Sindan. When I look back, his suggestions to me were not just sensible, but far-reaching. And it was his grasp of Idayagan territory and tactics that turned the Battle of Ghael Hills from a terrible massacre into victory. But he is dead.”

  Inda pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes in the old, remembered gesture, then came the snort of decision, the outward flick of his hands. “All right. I’m just going to have to learn on the run. Well, I’ve done that all along.”

  Tension released its grip on Evred’s skull.

  Inda thumped his fist on a barrel top as they turned the corner outside a tavern. “Here’s what I’m thinking. I haven’t seen Marlovans drill for battle since I was a boy, and I’ve never seen them fight. You know I barely started training to fight on horseback, and isn’t that what we do?”

  “We will drill on the march north. Every day.”

  “Yes. Yes.” Inda turned his thumb up. “That to start. But Sponge,” a sudden turn, sidestepping a pack of tail-waving dogs being chased by laughing children, “what kind of battleground are we looking at? What can you tell me about the Idayagan terrain?”

  �
�I know it well.”

  “And you saw our limitations, which is a place to start.” Inda took a wider step to avoid another loose stone—where was all the road guild? Off defending the coast, probably. He grimaced. “Damn these boots anyway.”

  “Boots?” Evred was bewildered.

  “Cherry-Stripe’s old ones. He said they were soft as butter, but when you go barefoot most of the year—” A shrug. “What I need to know first is the exact terrain of the pass.”

  “I’ll give you that. But we in turn need to know more about the Venn. If only you had gotten more detail from your source!”

  “Well, we can ask,” Inda stated, and that was when they hit the stone wall.

  “What? A Venn? Here?”

  “Dag Signi. With the women.” Inda opened his hand toward the castle towering over them.

  Evred’s face blanched. “You brought a Venn spy into my castle?”

  “She’s not a spy, she’s a mage.”

  “She’s a what?”

  Inda stopped, looking up at the castle tower without seeing it. They were surrounded by haywains being brought from the storage sheds to the great stable yard, amid shouts and clopping hooves, and the smells of summer and horse and sweat, but Inda had gone blind and deaf.

  Evred stilled, his rage visible to the men and women on the walls, who watched uneasily, some reaching for weapons.

  Inda brought his chin down, his expression perplexed. “A mage, but on parole,” he said as he rubbed his eyes. “She can’t go back, they’d kill her.”

  “All that could be a ruse. How do you know it’s true?”

  Evred’s sharp voice caused Inda to swing around and crash head-on into the wall of Evred’s white anger. “I—I trust her.” He groped with one hand, a gesture of appeal. “I love her.” As if that explained everything.

  Evred’s face had hardened, reminding Inda of Evred’s older brother, the Sierlaef: angry hazel eyes, the rigid stillness that threatened violence. “So pirates think with their prick?”