Senrid

  Strange, that the kid would throw it (though it was an excellent throw) and not fight with it.

  Then Puddlenose was too busy to do anything but try to keep himself away from the three who ringed him.

  Inwardly he sighed, knowing that this was not going to be any fight he could win. Why did he have to come ashore here? The Captain had warned him. I’m a rockhead, he thought.

  Puddlenose kicked up a fan of sand and the three backed away, one clawing at his eyes and bumbling into the second (there was a strong whiff of stale beer in the air, explaining a lot about the skills of their opponents); Puddlenose risked a glance. Christoph was nowhere in sight, Senrid rolling with a much larger antagonist—who let out a yelp of pain and flung himself backward in the sand, whooping for breath, arms folded across his midsection.

  Three heavies dropped on Senrid then, two more hovering just outside the flailing feet, hands, and kicked-up sand.

  Puddlenose realized a heartbeat later he’d watched for too long. He blocked a strike—late—his arm hurt, the remainder of the patrol rushed him, and the fight was over.

  Senrid squirmed in the sand with his assailants, but moments later they stood up, Senrid gripped on either side. They were all covered with sand, right to the eyebrows.

  Next came an ignominious march up the shore thick, prickly bushes and twisted alder to a sheltered grove of maple and hemlock. The air was noticeably cooler when they reached the shade, not that Puddlenose was comfortable. Their captors bound them tightly and left them under a tree, guarded by several of their number who stood behind them, armed and silent.

  Senrid’s eyes moved about ceaselessly, but he said nothing. Puddlenose didn’t speak either. He waited for a sign from Christoph; as long as he was loose, the game was still to be played.

  Sure enough, the two who’d left returned, motioned to the guards, and Puddlenose and Senrid were hauled to their feet and shoved along a narrow trail through thick, scrubby grasses. Puddlenose saw the dark, waxy leddas plants from which cobblers made shoes and boots, and he wondered again if they were on the border of Everon, or if the captain’s information was old.

  Abruptly they entered a clearing, and found themselves in a tent camp. To the biggest tent they were hustled, and in.

  There, to their surprise, they found not only a commander of some sort—tall, out of shape, pompous face—but Christoph, who smiled innocently and looked at the boys without a trace of recognition.

  “…and I was hoping for employment, since my brother’s group was sent north,” he was saying in whatever the local lingo was.

  “Wait. Who’s this?” the commander asked the guards, indicating the two prisoners.

  “Three-master flying a flag we don’t recognize dropped ‘em offshore,” one of the guards said.

  “What for?” the commander asked, and then he said to Puddlenose and Senrid, “Who are you? Why did you land here?”

  Standing behind the commander’s elbow, Christoph shook his head once, and Puddlenose shrugged.

  Senrid shrugged too.

  “Can’t you understand me?” the commander said loudly—as if volume would translate his words.

  Puddlenose said in Mearsiean, “What’s your game?”

  “Oh, let’s have some fun,” Christoph replied in the same language.

  The captain looked at him, startled, and Christoph said in a smarmy voice, “I learned their tongue when I was young. Shall I interpret?”

  “Go ahead.” The commander gestured. “Find out who they are.”

  “What’ll I say?” Christoph asked. “Want to get in with these guys?”

  “Why not? Maybe we can find out something interesting. At any rate, I don’t want to do the prisoner role,” Puddlenose said.

  “Who are they?” the commander asked.

  “They’re Puddlenose and Senrid, and they escaped from a pirate ship. They’re willing to work.”

  The commander looked them over, stroked his chin, and said, “Hmm. What can they do?”

  “Tell ‘em we’d make great spies,” Puddlenose said, trying not to grin.

  “Carry water, help with the horses. Spy, if you need it, because who’d suspect boys?” Christoph said with a helpful air.

  The commander swallowed that without the slightest evidence of suspicion about Christoph’s fortuitous appearance, and Puddlenose rejoiced inside. Whatever else might be out of date, Heraford’s assessment of the local talent had been spot on. Maybe they’d have some fun after all.

  The captain said, “We could use a couple boys for the scut-work. You’ll need to translate.”

  “Well, I did come looking for a job,” Christoph said unctuously.

  The commander waved at the guards, who untied the two boys. They were promptly put to work doing various chores around the camp—all the dirty, tiring work no one else wanted. But while they worked, they listened as the guards talked.

  And talk they did, the more freely because the boys supposedly didn’t understand them. It was soon obvious that the fracas on the beach had been the most activity they’d seen for weeks. (And a couple of them endured some ribbing for the broken bones and the knife-wound that Senrid had dealt out, items of interest that Puddlenose noted but kept to himself.) One or two tended to look askance at Senrid, who did what he was told, his face bland and his smile cheery.

  Puddlenose found Senrid’s reactions interesting, and impossible to figure out. They didn’t talk much; the border rovers got suspicious if they did, so for the most part the boys were silent.

  Christoph oozed around flattering them all and asking nosy questions. From the resultant bragging and hot air a picture emerged, pretty much what Captain Heraford had indicated.

  With one important difference: orders had recently gone out to pull the forces inland toward the capital. It seemed that someone in the high command thought that trouble was brewing, and wanted the cause winnowed out.

  When Puddlenose was alone with Senrid, fetching pails of water from the nearby stream along which grew all the leddas, he said, “That’s it—we gotta warn them.”

  “Who?” Senrid asked.

  Puddlenose shrugged. “We’ll find out.”

  FOUR

  Kitty awoke abruptly when gravel clattered against her windows. She sat up in bed, and two or three catheads lifted as well. The sound of gravel tinkled down the row of windows.

  She sprang out of bed and ran to her casement, flinging it wide.

  The morning light was blue, the air frigid. “Who’s there?” Kitty called.

  “Arel. Important message.” She saw the man’s breath.

  “Just a moment.” Kyale sighed, running to get her robe, which she pulled tightly about her.

  All the way downstairs she scolded to herself. Here they lived in this big castle, and Leander refused to hire any more servants. Said he didn’t like people waiting on him, doing things he was perfectly capable of doing himself—and had for years.

  Kitty told over the old arguments as she pattered barefoot down the cold marble hallway. “But a king oughtn’t to be doing those things!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because that’s the job of servants!”

  “Cleaning up after oneself should be everyone’s job.”

  How many times had they had that argument? A few of his old gang still worked at the castle as servants—but since their return from the water world he’d sent most of them off to the west on various spy and messenger trips. Including the two who used to serve as footmen.

  She sighed again. Leander did his best to treat her like a sister, and not hold her mother’s actions against her, and she did like him. She did. She didn’t stay with him because she wanted to be a princess, though she’d heard that hinted at once. It wasn’t true! She had nowhere else to go, but even so, she did like him. He was smart and funny and liked games, but he didn’t take time to play nearly often enough. He also studied way too much, and brooded over things that didn’t matter—and ignored the things that did. Li
ke living the way royalty ought to. So, she reasoned, her job was to help him learn how to be a proper king.

  Appetizing smells drifting from the kitchen broke into her thoughts. So the cook and her crew were up. Kitty considered calling whoever was there to help, but then she shrugged. She was already awake, and here, and she could manage the door if Arel helped. The princess waiting on the fellow who should by rights be doing the carpentry work around the castle! At least she’d be the first to hear whatever news there was.

  So she ran into the great hall, and struggled with the big iron bar across the front doors. As soon as she got it clear of the iron support Arel shouldered the door open.

  “Come on in,” she said. “Hurry.” For, cold as it was in the hall, the outside air was much colder.

  Arel came in, stamping his feet and rubbing his hands. His nose was red, his blond hair tousled.

  “Go wait in the kitchen,” Kyale said, wishing she had a proper anteroom—and a steward to do the running. “Warm up. I’ll go wake up my fathead of a brother.”

  Arel looked at her blankly.

  “Oh, don’t mind me,” she said with false cheer. “I’m always dressed thus formally at dawn.”

  The young man blinked as though he hadn’t heard, and she wondered if he had gone deaf—either that or he had been riding all night and was half frozen. “Kitchen,” she repeated, and ran out.

  Leander was not in his bedroom. As usual.

  She thumped down the hall, muttering about frozen toes, and ran into the library—and sure enough, there he was, asleep with his head on the desk amid a welter of books and papers.

  She kicked him. Not hard, but hard enough that he snorted and sat up, hair in his eyes, his cheek creased from the edge of a book.

  “Arel is back with a message,” she said. “There are no servants around. I had to let him in myself. Nearly freezing my toes off—”

  Leander did not seem to hear. He slammed the book closed and shot out the door before she could finish her lament.

  Shivering, Kitty decided that whatever news Arel brought could wait on warmer clothes, and she continued down the hall to her room to change.

  Leander took the stairs two at a time, skidding into the kitchen, where he found Arel.

  The cook said, “We lit a fire in the morning room, if you’d like to talk in comfort there.”

  Leander grinned. “Meaning we’re in the way here?”

  The cook snorted a laugh. “Well, if you want these pies any time soon…” She waved at her daughter. “Nelyas. Breakfast rolls in the morning room. Butter.”

  “Some hot tea, and chocolate for Kyale, would be nice if you can manage,” Leander added.

  “Easy,” Nelyas said, flapping her apron to shoo him out. “Be there soon.”

  “Come on, Arel. Are you frozen?”

  “Not so bad,” was the chattering answer.

  “Horse all right?”

  “Portan was in the stable, took her over. Came straight along. Door was locked, as the princess said.” He frowned. “No one on guard?”

  “They’re all up in the hills on either side of the pass. That’s where the Marlovens have to come over, if they do come. What’s going on? Any news on Senrid along the border?”

  “Not a word.”

  Leander sighed. “Nor from Collet inside the kingdom. What can that mean? I’m afraid it can only mean one thing: if he transferred home like we did, then Tdanerend was waiting. That day we got thrown off-world, he’d said something about taking over his own affairs. That has to have gotten back to the Regent.”

  Arel nodded slowly. “Rumor is the Regent killed him with his own hands, no witnesses. There’s been no sight whatever, and Collet said that my cousin reported there’s been lots of magic done in the capital—Latvian’s been there helping Tdanerend.”

  “Traps,” Leander said. “Has to be. Traps laying for Senrid. Anything else?”

  “Yes. Tdanerend’s not in the capital.”

  “Uh oh. Where?”

  “No word.”

  Leander sighed. “Then all we can do is keep watching, and find out more information. If we can. I’ll go up to the pass and put down more illusions, and if I can master this time spell—ah, never mind.”

  Arel smiled. He was a thin-faced young man whose preferred calling was woodwork. He’d been mixed in politics ever since his Uncle Alaxandar, the former queen’s captain of guard, had switched sides in disgust. His sister was up in the hills as one of the watchers; Pertar, Portan’s twin, was the other messenger. “We’ll keep on the lookout—” He paused as the door opened.

  Nelyas shouldered her way in, bearing a heavy tray.

  The two helped themselves to hot tea and rolls, and Kyale appeared, smiling when she saw the chocolate pot. “What’s the news?”

  “Tdanerend is missing, and so is Senrid. I’m afraid Tdanerend’s being out of the capital might be bad news for us.”

  “It’s not fair,” Kitty raged. “Why should he harass us? We never did anything to him! Why should he be able to harass us? What’s the good of there being magicians in the world, if they don’t protect us?”

  “Because there’s always someone stronger. That’s what happens when people go after power,” Leander said, rubbing his eyes.

  “What does he really want with us anyway? Everybody in Vasande Leror could probably fit into his capital and there’d be room left over!”

  “Everybody in Vasande Leror could be working in the old mines, or starting new ones, if he gains both sides of the Aurum Hills,” Leander said. “A military country always needs steel—and people to dig it out and make it. Preferably not his people.”

  “I thought we had a truce about that,” Kitty said, frowning. “I vaguely remember my mother talking about it. And I know I saw lots of boring stuff about mines, and the Aurums, in that book of treaties.”

  “Well, we did and do, but Tdanerend wants it all. Also, white magic makes mining easier—but it takes a lot of patient work and care to set up the spells. Black magic rends and spends. So he wants us doing the work so he can get the steel. Now, how do we keep him out? Help us think of a plan.”

  “Good riddance to both, is what I say,” Kyale stated, looking up expectantly at Nelyas, but she was vanishing through the door. With a small sigh, Kyale reached to pour herself a cup of cocoa, into which she added a heavy dollop of fresh cream. “Kick them both from here to the moon when you do find them.”

  “That’s better than any of my ideas,” Leander said.

  Arel folded a couple of rolls into a kerchief, drank off his tea, and rose.

  “Don’t you want to thaw out?” Leander asked.

  Arel shook his head. “Tea did that. Rolls will help. I smell snow on the way, and I want to get back up to camp first. Portan said that Amber is fresh and rarin’ to run. I’ll leave Berry with you.”

  “Thanks,” Leander said.

  The man nodded, bowed in Kitty’s direction, then left.

  “I’ll have to spend the day at the pass doing magic,” Leander said. “I don’t have that time-trap spell mastered. I wish I did! Tdanerend might be worthless as a magician but Latvian isn’t. My illusions aren’t going to hold against someone with his abilities.”

  “What else can we do?” Kitty asked.

  Leander sighed. “What I’ve done. Warned the towns to be ready. Sent my best up to watch. We can’t stand against any army, or even a portion of the Marloven army. I hope Arel makes it back all right. He and Alaxandar are the best we’ve got. They know something about military maneuvers, they’ll know what they see, and I hope they’ll know what to do. Our best chance is forewarning.”

  Kyale said, frowning, “Arel doesn’t show proper respect, Leander. He should really call you ‘your majesty.’ After all, you’re no longer stuck in the forest—”

  “Say!” Leander leaned forward. “Is that your underwater band on your arm?” He pointed toward a faint line in her silken sleeve.

  Kyale fussed with the ribbon bind
ing her sleeve. The question had been a subject change, and perhaps a week ago—a month ago—she would have treated it as it deserved. Not now, though. Not after all those nights when his library was lit until dawn, or nearly, while he wrestled with magic books and worries about the kingdom. Kitty ran the ribbon through her fingers, repressing a sigh. He didn’t want to listen even for his own good! What could she do?

  She shoved her sleeve up to expose the golden band on her arm. “There it is! Handsome, isn’t it? Since I’m not exactly drowning in jewels.” She laughed—she didn’t care a whit about jewels. Pretty gowns she liked, and she had plenty of those.

  “Why didn’t you give your band back?” Leander asked.

  Kitty shrugged. “I wanted to keep it. As a keepsake. Autumn kept hers too,” she added defensively, in case he was going to complain.

  “Well, it might be of use some day,” Leander said, smiling.

  “That’s what I thought!” Kitty grinned in relief. “Since I don’t know how to swim, but this way I never have to be afraid of water.”

  “Sounds all right to me,” Leander said, buttering another roll, “if they’d needed them all back, they would have asked. But if you change your mind and want it off, I’m afraid it’s going to take a spell.”

  “I know,” she said, shrugging. “Um, this is yummy.” She reached for more chocolate. “So that creep of a Senrid is gone for good, huh?”

  Leander looked out the window. The truth was, he felt ambivalent. He remembered those first days, before they found out who he was, how much fun they’d had. The lengthy periods of talk. What’s more, he would wager anything Senrid regretted them as well—he was fairly certain he’d caught signs of it while they were on the water world.

  But to say that out loud was to invite an angry response from Kitty, who had not only endured the close call with the execution, she crabbed with what Leander knew was jealousy whenever reminded of his short-lived friendship with Senrid.