From what I saw on the mountain, the double-knife fighting is only useful when you don’t have shield and sword, which is expected in battle. I’m thinking you could teach the King’s Runners, and we’ll see how it works out.”
Inda signified agreement, thinking, I won’t say anything about rubies in ears. But I’m not going to pay any attention to ’em, either .
Under racing gray clouds, a small boat smacked through the white-capped, choppy waves outside Twelve Towers Harbor. It was two weeks after the fleet’s return. Now they were sailing again, the fleet anchored beyond the Dragon’s Claw in readiness.
Vra Seigmad tended the sail and her husband leaned his strength into the tiller. He was seventy-two, she was nearly that. Either of them could have ordered young, strong ensigns or servants to take Vra Seigmad ashore after her husband’s curtailed liberty, but then they would lose this precious time alone. No witness but sea and sky.
They bumped and rolled through the splashing waves until they were midway between Seigmad’s warship and the outer finger of Dragon’s Claw, at which time she spilled wind from the sail, and he eased the tiller.
“Seigmad.” She slowly worked her shoulders, wincing at the thin ice-shard protests of old bones. “Last night I thought I’d pee myself trying not to laugh when Fulla Durasnir ranted like a mad skalt. ‘My captains and I have explained ourselves before the Frasadeng. We should not have to defend ourselves to our wives.’ Heh!”
Her husband gave a chuckle. He sagged everywhere—she had braced herself against his not returning from the long southern campaign. But here he was, frost-haired, lined, but still hearty. “No buxom young Tharfan offering to marry me!” He struck his chest.
Though they laughed, they knew Parfa Tharfan wanted to father a Breseng boy, if Fulla Durasnir really would be divorced by his wife—but that was a sham. Further, a badly acted sham, to those who knew Durasnir.
She shifted impatiently. “Brun can’t talk to me, not until she knows where all the spiderwebs are. Is that all the dags do these days, make ways to spy on us?” She struck her fist on the gunwale. “And Rajnir ordering the south fleet to Goerael? Either everyone has gone mad, or I’ve gone mad from the questions in my head that go without answer.” She leaned forward. “First tell me straight what happened in the south.”
He squinted at the flagships, all hives of activity as carts rumbled down the dock, full of supplies. “If the king hadn’t died, we’d yet be on Halia. Probably sitting out in the ocean trying to plan a coastal attack in the west. The Marlovans are tough. More of ’em than we’d thought, if what Talkar reports of their trap in the pass is any indication.”
She made a noise of disgust. “So why did Brun Durasnir get us wives in black and make us into fools?”
“Didn’t you see young Dyalf Balandir?”
She spat over the side. “That for the Balandirs. Especially that boy. I never look at him, not since—”
“Never mind what he did to our boy. They’re not boys any longer. If you’d paid young Dyalf attention, as you do to a diving death bird, you would have seen how he looks from one side to the other at every gathering. Hoping Durasnir will rebel while the kingship is in question, with Rajnir shadowed by defeat. Hoping we, the Oneli, will rise in Durasnir’s name.”
“And Dyalf Balandir would join, or fight against you?”
“Whichever gains him the most power.”
She made a noise of disgust.
“Erkric is no idiot. He sees and hears all, through those spiderwebs. So he’s commanded us to go put down the revolt in our colony on Goerael, though our ships are still gutted from carrying the Hilda, and all need to be heaved down and overhauled.”
She leaned on her oars. “ Erkric’s command? Has the Tree fallen, making a dag into a king? With my own ears I heard Rajnir’s speech before the empty throne.”
“But
Inda signified agreement, thinking, I won’t say anything about rubies in ears. But I’m not going to pay any attention to ’em, either .
Under racing gray clouds, a small boat smacked through the white-capped, choppy waves outside Twelve Towers Harbor. It was two weeks after the fleet’s return. Now they were sailing again, the fleet anchored beyond the Dragon’s Claw in readiness.
Vra Seigmad tended the sail and her husband leaned his strength into the tiller. He was seventy-two, she was nearly that. Either of them could have ordered young, strong ensigns or servants to take Vra Seigmad ashore after her husband’s curtailed liberty, but then they would lose this precious time alone. No witness but sea and sky.
They bumped and rolled through the splashing waves until they were midway between Seigmad’s warship and the outer finger of Dragon’s Claw, at which time she spilled wind from the sail, and he eased the tiller.
“Seigmad.” She slowly worked her shoulders, wincing at the thin ice-shard protests of old bones. “Last night I thought I’d pee myself trying not to laugh when Fulla Durasnir ranted like a mad skalt. ‘My captains and I have explained ourselves before the Frasadeng. We should not have to defend ourselves to our wives.’ Heh!”
Her husband gave a chuckle. He sagged everywhere—she had braced herself against his not returning from the long southern campaign. But here he was, frost-haired, lined, but still hearty. “No buxom young Tharfan offering to marry me!” He struck his chest.
Though they laughed, they knew Parfa Tharfan wanted to father a Breseng boy, if Fulla Durasnir really would be divorced by his wife—but that was a sham. Further, a badly acted sham, to those who knew Durasnir.
She shifted impatiently. “Brun can’t talk to me, not until she knows where all the spiderwebs are. Is that all the dags do these days, make ways to spy on us?” She struck her fist on the gunwale. “And Rajnir ordering the south fleet to Goerael? Either everyone has gone mad, or I’ve gone mad from the questions in my head that go without answer.” She leaned forward. “First tell me straight what happened in the south.”
He squinted at the flagships, all hives of activity as carts rumbled down the dock, full of supplies. “If the king hadn’t died, we’d yet be on Halia. Probably sitting out in the ocean trying to plan a coastal attack in the west. The Marlovans are tough. More of ’em than we’d thought, if what Talkar reports of their trap in the pass is any indication.”
She made a noise of disgust. “So why did Brun Durasnir get us wives in black and make us into fools?”
“Didn’t you see young Dyalf Balandir?”
She spat over the side. “That for the Balandirs. Especially that boy. I never look at him, not since—”
“Never mind what he did to our boy. They’re not boys any longer. If you’d paid young Dyalf attention, as you do to a diving death bird, you would have seen how he looks from one side to the other at every gathering. Hoping Durasnir will rebel while the kingship is in question, with Rajnir shadowed by defeat. Hoping we, the Oneli, will rise in Durasnir’s name.”
“And Dyalf Balandir would join, or fight against you?”
“Whichever gains him the most power.”
She made a noise of disgust.
“Erkric is no idiot. He sees and hears all, through those spiderwebs. So he’s commanded us to go put down the revolt in our colony on Goerael, though our ships are still gutted from carrying the Hilda, and all need to be heaved down and overhauled.”
She leaned on her oars. “ Erkric’s command? Has the Tree fallen, making a dag into a king? With my own ears I heard Rajnir’s speech before the empty throne.”
“But
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