King's Shield

by Sherwood Smith

  To the echoing sound of drums, and voices chanting the oldest and most stirring of Marlovan ballads, Hawkeye’s and Noddy’s men passed through the back gates of the castle into the city streets below. Inda, Evred, the Randviar, and the male and female sentries watched them wind through the old streets to the northern gates of Ala Larkadhe, under the shadow of the ancient tower. The northern gates stood open and beyond them lay the first great curve of the pass.

  After a generation of Marlovan rule, the city was a mixture of adaptable Idayagans, Olarans, and Marlovans who had moved in as families of warriors and to carry on subsidiary business. Those who could not abide the conquerors had moved away or been forced out.

  The atmosphere was tense and moody, with pockets of cheering, under the first heavy wet splatters of another storm. To civilian eyes, these gray-coated men with their shields and helms and jingling chain mail seemed a great army.

  The women on the walls watched soberly. Their men were mostly in the castle guard, impatient to be riding after the dragoons. Fala stood next to the Randviar, motionless despite the rain streaming down her face, through her hair, dripping on her clothes. Her fingers gripped her bow tightly.

  When the last of the wagons rumbled out of sight, Tdiran-Randviar and Fala turned away, the older woman scowling deeply.

  The Randviar, Tdiran Vranid, was Hawkeye’s great-aunt, who had come to run the defense of the castle when Dannor left the spring before. She glanced back just once as the last of the strings of remounts walked through the northern gates and vanished around that first curve.

  She turned away and dealt Fala a well-meaning buffet. Fala lifted her head. She tried to smile, failed, and walked away silently to the women’s guardhouse to keep herself busy making arrows until her next duty rotation.

  Inda and Evred ducked under the awning outside the upper level sentry guard station; while splats of rain felt pleasant on the face, the prospect of having to wear a soggy coat through the rest of the day wasn’t.

  “Better get used to it,” Tdiran-Randviar said to Evred and Inda, cackling as rain hissed in gray arrows against the stone walk and towers, the overhangs pouring sheets of water. “The locals are all saying this here is a little breeze. To let us know the winds are bringing a big one.”

  Blue flickered above the mountain peaks, mostly obscured by clouds. Inda wondered how far up Cherry-Stripe and Cama had gotten, hoped they wouldn’t be struck by lightning. Then he swung around to face the Randviar.

  “So. Now that it’s just us,” she began.

  Inda had learned by now that when people said the obvious, they usually had something else on their minds. Something that might be problematical. So he said to the Randviar, “What kind of defense—”

  “Inda!”

  The shout echoed up the tower stairwell.

  “Tau?” Inda said doubtfully.

  “Inside,” Evred said.

  They entered the round room, bare stone except for the battered table of the guard captain on watch, the duty roster, and an ensorcelled jug of water.

  Tau leaped up the stairs and dashed through the door. “There you are,” he croaked, and bent over, hands on knees, to catch his breath.

  He was almost unrecognizable in his sodden civilian garb, his hair hanging loose over his long tunic, wheat-colored even when wet; his linen deck trousers flapped like loose sails at his ankles. There were blood splotches down his right side, but they did not appear to be his.

  “Tau?” Inda prompted.

  “Inda . . . the Venn,” Tau wheezed.

  “They’re coming?” Evred’s voice was sharp.

  Rain dribbled down Tau’s forehead and dripped off his nose to the floor. “No.” He sucked in air. “They are here.”

  Chapter Ten

  THE air above the Destination on the captain’s deck flickered darkly. A moment later Erkric appeared, groped with one hand, sat down on the waiting chair so that the residue of transfer sickness could pass.

  Durasnir signed to his Battle Group Captain to retreat; the crew of the Cormorant flowed around them, attentive to their duties. Captain Gairad, long accustomed to serving under the fleet commander, saw to that.

  Erkric turned up his hand. “The Marlovans in Ala Larkadhe figured out the ruse.” He did not add—they wouldn’t understand anyway—that the transfer token that they’d sent to the Marlovans had had a secret ward on it that would permit Erkric to send an assassination team of Erama Krona if his ruse failed. But that ward had been blocked and he could not trace the token, despite a tracer spell he’d put on it himself.

  So he shifted to the good news. “Hilda Commander Talkar’s advance force has taken Castle Andahi, and found access to the tunnel. The army is now making its way through the tunnel to march up the pass.”

  Durasnir said to the waiting scouts, “You are dismissed,” and they left.

  Rajnir paid them no attention. He smiled over the rail toward the land, his fair hair blowing in the wind. The gold in the tree embroidered across his breast glinted with each breath. “We are on the march at last!” he repeated, but then his brow furrowed. “Why were you gone so long, Dag Erkric? Was it necessary for you to come to the aid of the army again?”

  “No, no. The army has done well,” Dag Erkric said, motioning to an orderly for something to drink. “But I had to make several transfers, including investigating the failure of the ruse.”

  “Well, now that all is as it should be, take me there,” Rajnir commanded. “So that I may at last see them on the march. That is what we have been awaiting, is it not?” He brushed his hand down his silver and gold armor, the fine battle-tunic beneath.

  Dag Erkric raised a hand. “I do not deem it safe even so,” he said. “Remember, this is no longer drill. It is an invasion of a people desperate for bloodletting.”

  Rajnir stared at him in dismay, then whirled around. “Tell him, Hyarl my Commander. Tell him to take me there, so I may see my warriors march to victory.”

  Durasnir resented so strongly the position this statement put him in that he could not trust himself to speak for a long, tense moment.

  It was long enough, and tense enough, for Rajnir to abandon his own worries to turn around, question overcoming his desperation. “Uncle Fulla?” It slipped out without his awareness.

  The mage only smiled.

  Durasnir said, “You know the oaths we make, my prince. I can only advise you in matters of the sea.”

  The mage made the bow and gesture of pacific acceptance, and Rajnir sighed, and once more relinquished decision making into the mage’s hands.

  Durasnir lifted his glass and swept the distant line of rough mountains. He could see nothing of import, but it gave his hands something to do, and his face a semblance of cover as he considered what lay behind the mage’s sudden worry about the prince’s safety. Was there a chance he did not, after all, have control over the magical part of this invasion?

  The more Durasnir considered it, the more it seemed possible. That would explain Erkric’s protracted absence. Otherwise, it would have been far more characteristic of Erkric to sweep Rajnir to a pinnacle somewhere so the prince could look down in triumph as his will was translated into the action of thousands of tramping feet. So he could revel in the power of a prince.

  So he could revel in the power of a king.

  Inda led the way through the sentry walk arch onto the top floor of the tower, where the guard station was. Everyone crowded in behind him, Tau standing in the middle, water pooling at his feet. Rain roared on the awning outside the door, running off it in hissing sheets. Vedrid shut the door, diminishing the noise.

  “How many Venn?” Inda asked.

  “Looked like an advance force, a raider group.” Tau shaped a wedge with his hand. “Hull up in the west, probably a dozen warships. I’d guess with their attendant Battle Groups, but it was too hazy to see.”

  “Raider group?” the watch captain asked.

  “Raiders are bigger, have say a hundred men. Scouts h
ave about thirty,” Inda quickly translated for the Marlovans. “Think of ’em as cutters, or tenders.” And when those two terms earned him blank looks, “Nine scouts serve each raider. Nine raiders serve a warship. They make up all their Battle Groups in nines, like we do. Call it somewhat over a thousand men.”

  “Where?” Tdiran-Randviar asked.

  “Standing off to the southwest.”

  “Ships?”

  “Landed, or—”

  “Tried a landing. Buck Marlo-Vayir fought ’em off.”

  Inda had always admired the way Tau seemed to effortlessly handle any situation with people. Now, as everyone (except Evred) shot questions at him he not only seemed to hear them all and answer in the order of importance, he also answered intent instead of just words. This was until Inda said, “So what about Ola-Vayir?”

  “Ola-Vayir is not here.”

  “What?” Evred snapped.

  Everyone had seen Evred express irritation, though it was rare. No one had ever seen him in a cold rage. Vedrid’s neck tightened. That pale face, with the hectic color high on the cheekbones, most of all the wide, angry stare—Evred had never looked more like his brother, the Sierlaef.

  “Lindeth knew the Venn were there?” His voice had dropped to a whisper. But they heard it.

  “Had to.” Tau sucked in breath, and threw back his wet hair with a loud smack against his back. “The first night, I hired a boat. Saw them hull down on the horizon, straight west. The Lindeth fisherfolk all knew they were there, and knew those masts did not belong to any fishing fleet. Came back. Started checking around.”

  “So Lindeth wants these Venn to attack us?”

  Noise on the stairway brought Nightingale Toraca, one hand clutched tightly to the opposite shoulder. Blood darkened one arm, spreading in a dark purple smear down the side of his coat. Rat and Barend followed behind him, ready to spring to his support.

  Nightingale wiggled his fingers interrogatively, and Tau said, “I’m getting there.” To the others, “I spent the rest of the night doing some talking. To make certain. Here’s what I don’t think you know. There were a couple of murders earlier in spring—”

  “The old guild mistress, and some fellow they said was a Venn spy,” Barend said from behind Nightingale. “We’ve already been through that, including the blame being assigned to us.”

  “Well, he was a Venn spy. And she was in the pay of the Venn.”

  “What?” three voices exclaimed.

  Nightingale grimaced, swaying on his feet. “That old hypocrite,” he murmured, hoarse and breathless. “How she used to go on about our evilness.”

  “She was killed by the Resistance. One of ’em couldn’t keep his mouth shut, especially after their leader, er, died.” Tau tripped over that one. Maybe now was not the time to reveal that the vaguely familiar man he’d killed in the market town pleasure house had been none other than Skandar Mardric, head of the Resistance.

  “Lindeth has been divided since,” Tau went on. “Half think the Venn preferable to Marlovan rule. The rest think that’s crazy. Those people are divided between putting up with the familiar, and pursuing the Resistance goal of getting rid of all overlords.”

  He coughed.

  Vedrid, always thoughtful, brought water. Tau gulped it down, briefly amused at the irony of being soaked to the skin yet thirsty. It was a familiar sensation from life on the sea.

  “Go on,” Evred said.

  “That’s it. With a strong application of sympathy and flattery, I got them to accept me as an ignorant easterner, and last night they opened up. Several rounds of the local barley wine helped.” Tau saw Inda shift impatiently. Evred hadn’t moved. Tau sensed his wrath; his nerves coruscated. “They were stalled during what I gathered to be some very heated arguments about whether or not to let you know that the fishers had sighted the Venn on the horizon. Standing on and off for just under a week.”

  “A week,” Inda breathed. “Waiting on a signal?”

  “I don’t know. Whatever cause, the Venn raiders sent that advance attack toward land before dawn today. I was taking a last sighting before returning to report my talk with the fishers. Spied shaded lights bobbing about, the same way lights move when someone else in the fleet is climbing down into boats. Had to mean a landing, so I took to horse southward.” He made a quick, self-deprecating gesture. “I—” He shook his head.

  Inda’s eyes widened. “You were going to attack them yourself?”

  “I don’t know what I was going to do,” Tau confessed. “I’d been up how many nights? All I could think of was, you wanted me to scout, so I’d better go see for myself. Which is how I met him.” He gestured toward Nightingale, who leaned shakily against the wall. Crimson drips from his limp hand pooled beside his foot.

  Evred made a flat gesture, quick and sharp. “You said Buck.”

  “There,” Nightingale whispered. He was just barely hanging onto consciousness.

  “Right. Buck first.” Tau jerked his head up, his fine brow furrowed. “I need to go back a bit in Nightingale’s report, which he told me on our ride here. The Jarl of Ola-Vayir never received his orders.”

  Pause for exclamations; Evred made another of those quick, flat moves of his hand, and everyone shut up.

  “And we can corroborate that because one of the brags the rope maker in Lindeth made was of the Resistance having killed a Runner.”

  The reaction this time was no more than a whispered curse.

  “Some time back, the Lindeth people were arguing with this Mardric fellow about how little the Resistance had accomplished. Mardric claimed he’d killed all the Venn spies, and got stung by their lack of belief. Double stung by their lack of gratitude.” Tau paused to drink again. “Anyway, Mardric decided to make a grand gesture and issued an order to attack any Marlovan Runners they saw, after squeezing their orders out of them. They tried. All but one Runner killed their attackers instead. The one who died was an older man, they said. But as tough as any of the younger ones. Sifting through the brag, I figured the only reason they brought him down was because they were traveling as a gang. He took out half of them before they brought him down. The rest, ah, didn’t bother with kinthus when they tried to pry his orders out of him.” Tau grimaced.

  Evred’s fury intensified, mirrored in them all. “Go on.”

  “The man died without speaking. When they cooled off, some of them were fairly sick about what they’d done. When word got around, most of the Resistance decided not to go after Runners anymore. Too costly, and for no benefit that they could see. Mardric got angry, and they were shaping up for some in-fighting when he turned up dead in a market-town pleasure house.” He glanced Evred’s way.

  Evred’s mouth opened on a soundless Ah.

  “Which seems to have ended the Resistance, as envisioned by Skandar Mardric. Back to Buck. He arrived in Ola-Vayir, thinking to ride through his city, collect any messages or things left behind, and follow up the north road after the Jarl and his men. Get in a dig about how much faster Buck was, if he did catch up.”

  A smothered laugh from Rat; Evred hadn’t moved, but they felt the gradual lessening of his wrath.

  Tau coughed again, and continued. “But to his surprise he found the Jarl and his people busy planting, training horses, so forth. The Jarl was astonished, according to Nightingale. Let’s see if I can get this right, being as I am employed (does this job come with pay?) as a Runner. Here’s how Nightingale gave me the Jarl’s words.” Tau shut his eyes, dropped his voice to a gravel-rough intensity underlined by a high note of fear: “I will swear on my knees before the Convocation no such orders arrived.”

  Tau had been trained in dramatic reading; his rendering of the Jarl’s words were probably truer than Nightingale’s had been.

  This time Evred’s “Go on” was almost in the normal range of extreme tension, a storm cloud instead of cataclysm.

  “So they consulted on what to do. Decided Buck would ride north to Lindeth, as ordered. They wouldn’t
send a Runner since one had already vanished, and nobody knew why. Instead, Buck and his men would make the fastest run they could. Ola-Vayir was going to strong-arm everyone in his land to ride on their heels, though it would take time to send the word out. But no one would be permitted to rest until they had.” He rubbed his exhaustion-marked eyes. “Nightingale reached Buck’s people about four days south of Lindeth, turned around, rode back with them. Said his locket wouldn’t send his report.”

  Barend shuffled his feet at this out-loud mention of the secret lockets, but Evred did not move.

  “When Buck heard about the mystery of orders not received, he figured the only answer was someone targeting Runners. Buck insisted Nightingale not try to ride ahead, that they were about as fast as Runners, or as near as damnation.”

  A brief flicker of humor; all of them could hear Buck’s voice.

  “So Buck saw this advance attack?”

  “Correct. They’d gotten up before dawn to ride, thinking to reach Ala Larkadhe by sundown. Saw just enough winks from imperfectly covered lanterns out on the sea to raise suspicions. Buck told Nightingale if the lanterns had been swinging free, they would have assumed these were fishers, and ridden on. But a wink or two? They decided to lie up in ambush, did, and though the boats were obviously going to outnumber them, Buck remembered something Inda had said on his first visit, during spring, about how the worst possible moment of a landing was when the breakers take the boat and the men start leaping out into shallow water. So he commanded the men to hold up until then, arrows nocked and ready. They shot as each boat reached the breakers. Dropped three boats full before the others back oared, and hung off the coast, by now shooting too.”

  “Me,” Nightingale muttered, clearly fading fast. “Buck.”

  Tau held up a hand. “Buck decided to send Nightingale north to report. Unfortunately, the light was up enough by then for the Venn to make out his blue coat, and Nightingale became the target. His horse caught one in the flank, and he caught two, one along the ribs, and the worst one went through his arm into his side. He, ah, insisted we cut it out.”