Senrid by Sherwood Smith
On the wall, Tdanerend saw her face turn toward them, and again he did the summons spell.
Kitty appeared, and groaned, pressing her forearms against her roiling stomach. “I hate that!” She sucked in a deep breath. “Leander says, no black magic.”
But Senrid had already seen it in their faces. By the time Tdanerend registered the news, and was ready to start on the offensive, Senrid had already begun on a series of spells.
And Kitty was in a panic.
On one side Tdanerend’s voice, so loud and grating, poured out vile invective. On the other Senrid whispered steadily and a nasty, whining hum made all the hairs on Kyale’s neck lift and her teeth ache. She felt as if the world had gone unsteady—and then snap! The hum was gone, but Senrid leaned against the wall, his face greenish.
Tdanerend glared at him, pointed a finger—but before he could finish a spell Senrid disappeared.
Tdanerend’s expression was truly frightening. Kitty ducked her head and ran for the tower door, the skin over her shoulder blades crawling. She hunched over, listening for Tdanerend to order his guards to kill her, but he’d already forgotten about her, and the guards, lacking orders, ignored her.
They watched Tdanerend, weapons gripped—and to their surprise, he, too, transferred!
Kitty made it to the tower door, threw it open, got inside, and collapsed against it, her entire body trembling. She put her head in her hands. The black crown, loosened by her fall from the horse, dropped off and clattered to the stone floor, but she paid it no heed.
No one came—no one bothered her.
She ran downstairs, not to her room, but to the servants’ quarters, and found Llhei, Nelyas, and a couple of the others gathered in one of their rooms. All looked up, startled, when she appeared in the doorway.
“Tdanerend—he—they—” She pointed, stopped, her head so light and dizzy she had to sit down abruptly.
Llhei sprang forward. “Never mind, child. You can tell us the news later. Right now, let’s hide you here, and you can rest. Tdanerend has never once poked his nose in this wing.”
While Kitty snuggled down in Nelyas’ bed, a tray of biscuits and hot steeped leaf on her lap, Leander and his group were making their way back up the road into town as fast as they could. Since there was no one left to negotiate with, but a lot of shiny swords threatening anyone who came near the castle, Leander felt it was better part of wisdom to retreat. No one argued.
“He must be going to fetch reinforcements,” Alaxandar said. “And when they show up, we’re going to be in it hot.”
“Why reinforcements?” Lisaeth asked, her arms held out wide. “They already outnumber us about two-hundred-fifty to one! Think they might need a few more, just in case?” And she flexed her skinny arm.
The others laughed, but Alaxandar shook his head. Loyal he was, and strong, but not exactly first choice in anyone’s mind when it came to a sense of humor.
“Magical reinforcements,” Alaxandar said. “Didn’t you see that weird shimmer over the wall? Something’s going on magic-wise.”
Leander frowned. “Something’s missing. Something else is wrong. Who was that spell aimed at, since nothing happened to us? It was one big spell. Something happened. And right after it Tdanerend transfered so abruptly—to where? Could he have Latvian there, and they’ve fallen out?”
“Who cares?” Arel asked, flapping a dismissive hand in the direction of the royal castle. “At least they let us retreat.”
“If we can use it…”
Veria sighed, her gaze skyward. “What we need right now is shelter. Look at that! If we don’t have a blizzard coming at us, then I’m a hoptoad.”
Leander looked up, saw the sky darkening to a flat, threatening gray. The atmosphere was tense. It could have been magic, or the weather, or both. One thing for certain: a storm was building with frightening speed.
At the crossroads, no one was in sight.
Leander said, “Let’s disperse. Arel, will you and Lisaeth sneak back and scout the castle?”
Lisaeth threw back a braid and laughed. “Sure! Nice chance to be warm—”
“No it isn’t,” Arel said grimly. “Tdanerend doesn’t like fires—except in his own personal living quarters.”
“At least you’ll be out of the weather,” Alaxandar said. He turned to Leander. “Leave scouting his army to me. I want to know where they are camped and what they’re doing before we make any more plans. We seem to have been granted a respite, and we have to use it well. All we know for certain is that we’ve got Tdanerend’s foot busy with our mine, but those horse-boys should have been here long ago.”
Leander nodded, grateful to surrender the military thinking to someone who knew how to do it.
Alaxandar added in a low growl, “And if you don’t hole up and sleep somewhere, I’ll brain you myself.”
Leander groaned. “Ah, it hurts too much to laugh. Truth to tell, if a blizzard keeps them nailed down for a day, I’ll be as happy to hole up. And sleep. And eat. And did I mention sleep?”
The blizzard was not an overnight visitor.
It howled for five days, pounding the countryside with a white blanket that mired travelers, kept warriors huddling in tents, and had Lerorans grateful for homes to hide in while they dug up old weapons or tried to fashion farm or building tools into fighting tools for the coming battle.
There were a few brief encounters. The worst was near the mines, when a desperate group of farmers tried to flood out the warriors camped in the lee of a cliff by diverting a running stream onto them. They were spotted by vigilant sentries; they were caught—they fought—were shot.
A couple of other skirmishes near Crestel also occurred, to the detriment of Leander’s people, who were untrained and ill-equipped.
Each time the news made its way back to Leander he felt sicker at heart, because each incident not only caused fresh grief for families and friends, but served as a harbinger of the inevitable.
How to avoid it, he had no idea.
At least Kyale was all right. Lisaeth and Arel both managed to get into the castle, as servants—desperately needed—and they reported that Llhei had her in charge. He would wait to see her until he had the strength to deal with her evasions, well-meant as they were.
So where was Senrid?
On that fast ride from the camp to Crestel, he had not been idle. Fortified by enough coffee to make his hands tremble, he’d concentrated on magic spells. All those years of drill, and repetition when his uncle made mistakes, aided by a naturally clear memory, made it possible for him to recall and practice several sets of spells. All were dangerous, all could backfire and take him with them, but he was committed now.
To turn back was to die for certain.
As soon as he had seen in Leander’s face the (not unexpected) rejection of his indirect offer of aid, he rattled through the first set of spells, which dissolved all his uncle’s remaining wards.
He’d trusted to Tdanerend’s temper, his inability to concentrate on any one thing when he was in a fury; that was his only protection, and it worked.
He had just enough energy left to transfer to his old guest room in the castle, the only close-by destination he could envision. He did not have the strength for a more distant transfer. Just as he’d trusted to Tdanerend’s temper, he would have to trust to his arrogance; Tdanerend would never believe Senrid would have the temerity to hide right in his conquered stronghold, so he wouldn’t send anyone to search. Or so Senrid hoped.
Senrid collapsed on the bed, but as soon as the transfer reaction eased, he braced himself for the next set of spells. With painstaking care he placed his own ward, with a tracer spell on transfer magic; he suspected Tdanerend was now busy poring over the magic books, desperate to reestablish his wards. Maybe try to set up some traps. Well, that would keep him busy for a time—but if he transferred home for help…
He needed to know where his uncle would go.
If the Regent thought of physically leaving
And so, for the last spell:
The weather.
He’d seen snow moving slowly in. Using strength from the land itself, he packed the storm with power, a spell so strong it left him lying dizzy and weak, unable to do anything for a long while.
But he’d managed what he’d intended: to pin down the various combatants so he could deal with them one at a time.
Then, shivering with reaction, he dropped into long-overdue sleep.
When Kitty woke up after a refreshing nap, she got up and made her way slowly to Llhei’s room. That nightmare horse ride had left her legs feeling like barrel staves, only much sorer. The servants were all gathered there. The room was warm, and smelled of chocolate; the wind-driven snow drummed against the windows.
“Oh,” she exclaimed. “Where’s mine?”
“Right here,” Llhei said comfortably. “I brought up an extra cup in case. Here, let us get you into a fresh gown.”
The room was inordinately crowded. Arel leaned against the bedstead, wearing livery. Lisaeth, the one who Leander said was so good at spying, sat on the floor, dressed in a plain gown with an apron, and mending in her lap. What she was mending was a ripped Marloven tunic. Kitty blinked, feeling as if she hadn’t really woken, but was lost in a dream.
She followed Llhei back into Nelyas’s room, and gratefully took the cup. She sipped hot chocolate. It was warm, and tasted wonderful.
“Now,” Llhei said, standing with her back to the door. “When I went up to your room to get something for you to wear, I heard a noise down the hall, and discovered that that boy is here—”
“You mean Senrid?” Kitty asked, making a face.
“Yes. He’s asleep right now in the guest suite, snoring fit to tear the roof off. I’m not sure, but I think he may be ill. If I so much as mention it to Arel or Lisaeth, they’ll rush right up and slit his throat. Is there any reason why I shouldn’t?”
Kitty opened her mouth. Oh, she’d said—plenty of times!—how glad she’d be if Senrid croaked, but the fact remained that he had, for some reason, saved herself and Leander. She couldn’t tell Llhei that, but she could tell her why.
“Don’t,” she said. “He’s fighting against his uncle. He wants him to go home and he thinks the plot about the mines is stupid.”
Llhei’s eyes narrowed. “And you heard this how?”
“Warriors talking. While I was a prisoner,” Kitty invented hastily, and she slurped up more chocolate in order to hide her face.
When she looked up again, Llhei shook her head. “I’ll speak with him shortly. In fact, he might need sustenance as well.”
“When you do, I’ll go with you,” Kitty said. “So I can report to Leander.”
Llhei shrugged. “Very well. Now. Let’s get you through your frame and changed into a warm gown before you end up as sick as that other one sounds.”
Senrid woke up abruptly as the wind shrieked round the stone tower above him on a rising note. His mouth was dry, and his head ached as if someone had been hammering on it. He was hot and cold at once.
Oh, just what he needed now. He was sick.
He sat up slowly. Had someone been in the room? The air current moved softly against his cheek, as if the door had recently closed, and though his nose was stuffy, he did catch a whiff of an herbal scent.
He lay back, but only for a few moments.
He could not stay. There was far too much to do. Gherdred had to be found—but he could use magic now to transfer to him—and then there were the foot…and last, there was Tdanerend.
He got up, and the room swam. He made it to the dressing room door, and through. The zap-tingle of a cleaning frame pulled the grittiness from his clothes and skin. It even seemed to unclog his nose slightly. Though he still felt clammy.
He drew in another deep breath, walked to the bed, and flopped down, cursing himself. He was still cursing when he slid right into sleep, waking when he heard the door open.
Darkness had fallen, and a candle flared. It was that old woman, the one with the Sartoran name.
He sat up, wincing against the headache. Llhei came in slowly, the candle set on a tray.
“Kitty wanted to come,” the woman said, “but she’s asleep too. I was going to say that you children should not be playing at war, for it is likely to kill you, but if your uncle is any example the adults are even worse.”
Senrid said—discovering that his voice had gone hoarse—”I’m not sure I can parse that.” He tried to laugh, but hadn’t the strength.
“You don’t need to parse it.” Llhei bent to touch the candle flame to another candle, which she set into a holder beside the bed. Then she moved to the windows to draw the curtains, so that the light would not be visible through the fierce storm outside. “Just accept it as true. Now. Here is some healer’s brew, and some food. Kitty says that you are endeavoring to get rid of your uncle, and leave us in peace.”
“I want my kingdom back,” Senrid said. “Get him on home ground first. Leave you people alone. There’s nothing I want here.”
Llhei nodded. “Very well, then. The Marlovens don’t come up here any more—they think it’s deserted. Tdanerend settled into the old royal bedroom on the other wing. The servants report he’s ranting and raving in there over his books. I’ll see to it you have food and drink, if you’ll stick with what you told Kitty.”
“All right,” Senrid said. “What else did she tell you?”
“Just that.” Llhei paused at the door, looking back. “Is there something else to be told?”
He was annoyed with himself. How could he slip like that? “I lifted Tdanerend’s magic wards. As a challenge to him.”
Llhei picked up her candle, smiled slightly, and left.
Senrid ate, drank, tried a spell, but the magic started to burn inside his head—he knew he couldn’t hold it. He abandoned it, and slept instead.
The next day, he made it to Gherdred, who was holed up in a bad position in the western portion of Sindan-An. Senrid did not tell him that magic had caused the storm—and that the magic was his. He did tell him where Leander’s hideout was, so that Gherdred could relocate his wing there and hole up more securely.
When he got back he found food waiting, and lukewarm steeped leaf in a closed container, as Llhei had promised. He had enough strength left to eat, drink, and then collapse.
The third day, after some locals tried to unfreeze a stream above the foot warriors, who were weather-bound in the mountains, he made it to the trapped riding and ordered the commander to march back to Marloven Hess.
“On whose authority?” the commander asked.
“Mine,” Senrid said. He stood before the man with his arms crossed. Opening one hand and murmuring a spell he’d rehearsed all the night before, he pointed at the wall of snow blocking the road upward to the west, and fire erupted, steam billowing up from the melted snow. “I am taking my throne back.”
At least the cold made his voice sound deeper, but if he talked much more, he’d lose it entirely. He stopped there, hoping the threat was implicit. Otherwise, one more spell and he would pass out.
But it was enough.
The man said, “As soon as the weather clears.” And his palm smacked against his heart.
Senrid made it back. Just.
On the fifth day, he woke up feeling the pull of magic.
Tdanerend had finally succeeded in breaking Senrid’s wards, and was reweaving his own wards. Senrid would have to act now.
Murmuring the transport spell, he envisioned Tdanerend and zapped down to the confrontation he’d wished could be avoided until he was well.
Even though her legs were still sore from that horrible ride, Kitty was bored.
She was so bored she decided to do some scouting on her own. Why did Arel and Lisaeth get to do it all? Didn’t Kitty have ears too?
He had said that she could have them, but that didn’t seem right. And anyway, she didn’t like the idea of being all alone in a whole wing by herself, especially where her horrible mother had once lived.
The storm had kept the Marlovens from doing much. The castle ones mostly stayed in the garrison, except for a few guards on wall and hall, and those all tended to be posted at the entries rather than walking about in the wind.
Kitty prowled along the servants’ corridor outside the morning room, and when she heard voices, she stopped and pressed her ear to a wall.
It was Tdanerend!
A hand touched her arm.
She gasped, whirled around. Llhei! She sighed in relief.
“You ought not to be here,” Llhei whispered. “And you definitely ought not to be eavesdropping.”
“But it’s him. And I think Senrid, too!”
“Just remember what I said about eavesdropping.” Having given her reminder about manners, Llhei pressed her ear to the wall—promptly joined by Kitty.
Who was frustrated because she couldn’t hear the talk. It sounded like voices had on the water world, until they’d been given their magic bands.
Burble, burble, burble. Then Tdanerend shouted something, and Senrid laughed.
More shouts—and Llhei gasped at the foulness of Tdanerend’s language. Kitty felt her face go red, but she kept her ear in place, hoping to find out what was going on.
“Traitor!” That was Tdanerend. “[Mutter mutter] treason! [Mutter mutter] execution—”
“Huh,” Kitty whispered to herself. “See how you like hearing that stuff, Senrid.”
The argument escalated again, both voices talking at once, then silence.