things is shaped by these other matters.”
“But that doesn’t explain why he blamed me for Dogpiss’ death,” Inda said. Then he cast a furtive look behind him, which surprised Evred. No one was following them—he’d made that order clear.
Evred was further surprised when Inda abruptly shifted the subject.
“This might seem an odd question, but was there any mention in all those records of a fellow . . . named Dun?”
“Do you mean Hened Dunrend?” Evred asked, surprised at this sudden, completely unrelated turn of subjects.
Inda whistled, long and low. So far, only Signi knew about the ghost riding at his shoulder. Inda couldn’t see him, but he knew the ghost was real, because he’d felt a weird prod inside his head during battle, ever since Dun’s death, when Inda woke up a prisoner of pirates. It—he—had saved his life repeatedly with those unmistakable internal warnings.
Should he tell Evred? No, better to wait; a lot of people didn’t like talk of ghosts, and wasn’t there something nasty about one of Evred’s ancestors and a ghost? So he said, “I knew him as Dun the Carpenter’s Mate. He signed on with me that first day, when Captain Sindan first brought me to Lindeth Harbor. Afterward, well, I noticed things. He talked like the northerners, except some of his words reminded me of Marlovan. And he was really, really good at staff fighting, far better than any sailor. But then it was too late to ask. He died when we were first taken by pirates.”
Evred said, “He was one of the King’s Runners; I don’t know if you remember, but they have their own training. I discovered in my father’s papers that he sent Dunrend to run shield for you, though you were never to know it. If you came back—and I think my father wanted you to, but events got in the way—you could thus never reveal that he’d interfered in my uncle’s decisions. Sindan met with him, after your first journey, and that’s how we found out that you were alive. Did you ever ask him any questions?”
“No. And he didn’t ask me, either. Typical Marlovans, eh?” Inda laughed, the long white scar on his temple creasing. That scar hadn’t been there when Evred saw Inda in Lindeth. “Hoo! Look where we are.”
They stood directly across from Daggers Drawn, the tavern belonging exclusively to the academy boys. There was the weather-worn fox sign with its oddly raptorish face, the same face on Inda’s fleet foresails: the academy fox banner.
“It’s strange,” Evred said, expelling his breath in a not-quite-laugh, “but I have never looked inside that place.”
Inda acted on impulse. “Then you shall now.”
Chapter Eleven
THE custom in those days was for boys new to the academy to be introduced to Daggers Drawn by their fathers. In the cases of boys invited as a result of superior service on their fathers’ part, they were introduced by the nearest relative of the Jarl in whose territory they lived. When Inda came to the academy, it was the first year younger brothers were invited, so older brothers (or cousins) were expected to introduce the newcomers.
Aldren-Sierlaef, Evred’s brother, had so resented this change in tradition he had refused to introduce his brother, and no one else had dared to bring Evred, or to prompt the king, who never thought of it, as he’d had no interest in the place when he was young.
Inda hadn’t thought about Daggers Drawn since he was a homesick sea rat on the Pim Ryala, but now, as he looked at the worn sign with the fading fox face, all the emotions of those days crowded back into his mind.
“I’ll introduce you.” Inda took Evred’s arm. The muscle tensed under his fingers. Puzzled, Inda said, “It’s all right.” Though he had been long away from the customs of home he didn’t make the mistake of pointing out that Evred was king, that the entire city obeyed his will. “You haven’t a father now, or a brother, except me, through marriage. Let’s see if old
“But that doesn’t explain why he blamed me for Dogpiss’ death,” Inda said. Then he cast a furtive look behind him, which surprised Evred. No one was following them—he’d made that order clear.
Evred was further surprised when Inda abruptly shifted the subject.
“This might seem an odd question, but was there any mention in all those records of a fellow . . . named Dun?”
“Do you mean Hened Dunrend?” Evred asked, surprised at this sudden, completely unrelated turn of subjects.
Inda whistled, long and low. So far, only Signi knew about the ghost riding at his shoulder. Inda couldn’t see him, but he knew the ghost was real, because he’d felt a weird prod inside his head during battle, ever since Dun’s death, when Inda woke up a prisoner of pirates. It—he—had saved his life repeatedly with those unmistakable internal warnings.
Should he tell Evred? No, better to wait; a lot of people didn’t like talk of ghosts, and wasn’t there something nasty about one of Evred’s ancestors and a ghost? So he said, “I knew him as Dun the Carpenter’s Mate. He signed on with me that first day, when Captain Sindan first brought me to Lindeth Harbor. Afterward, well, I noticed things. He talked like the northerners, except some of his words reminded me of Marlovan. And he was really, really good at staff fighting, far better than any sailor. But then it was too late to ask. He died when we were first taken by pirates.”
Evred said, “He was one of the King’s Runners; I don’t know if you remember, but they have their own training. I discovered in my father’s papers that he sent Dunrend to run shield for you, though you were never to know it. If you came back—and I think my father wanted you to, but events got in the way—you could thus never reveal that he’d interfered in my uncle’s decisions. Sindan met with him, after your first journey, and that’s how we found out that you were alive. Did you ever ask him any questions?”
“No. And he didn’t ask me, either. Typical Marlovans, eh?” Inda laughed, the long white scar on his temple creasing. That scar hadn’t been there when Evred saw Inda in Lindeth. “Hoo! Look where we are.”
They stood directly across from Daggers Drawn, the tavern belonging exclusively to the academy boys. There was the weather-worn fox sign with its oddly raptorish face, the same face on Inda’s fleet foresails: the academy fox banner.
“It’s strange,” Evred said, expelling his breath in a not-quite-laugh, “but I have never looked inside that place.”
Inda acted on impulse. “Then you shall now.”
Chapter Eleven
THE custom in those days was for boys new to the academy to be introduced to Daggers Drawn by their fathers. In the cases of boys invited as a result of superior service on their fathers’ part, they were introduced by the nearest relative of the Jarl in whose territory they lived. When Inda came to the academy, it was the first year younger brothers were invited, so older brothers (or cousins) were expected to introduce the newcomers.
Aldren-Sierlaef, Evred’s brother, had so resented this change in tradition he had refused to introduce his brother, and no one else had dared to bring Evred, or to prompt the king, who never thought of it, as he’d had no interest in the place when he was young.
Inda hadn’t thought about Daggers Drawn since he was a homesick sea rat on the Pim Ryala, but now, as he looked at the worn sign with the fading fox face, all the emotions of those days crowded back into his mind.
“I’ll introduce you.” Inda took Evred’s arm. The muscle tensed under his fingers. Puzzled, Inda said, “It’s all right.” Though he had been long away from the customs of home he didn’t make the mistake of pointing out that Evred was king, that the entire city obeyed his will. “You haven’t a father now, or a brother, except me, through marriage. Let’s see if old
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