Paks had taken a bite out of the green and red apple. Juice flooded her mouth. “This one is good,” she said, swallowing. Kolya had cracked two nuts against each other in her strong hand; she began picking the meats out of the broken bits of shell.
“Yes. Paks—you are welcome to stay here; I hope you do. But—what did you come here for? Was it just to thank the Duke for his help? Or—?”
Paks took another bite of apple. “I’m not sure I can tell you. I don’t know how much you know of what actually happened to me—”
“The Duke told us—the Council—some of it. Nothing to blame you for—”
“He didn’t know all.” Paks could feel Kolya’s look as if it were a hand on her face.
“He said it was the Marshal-General’s fault,” said Kolya. “He’s never blamed you for it—”
“It was not her fault. Not in the way he means. Did he tell you about Kolobia? What happened there?”
“Not really.” Kolya shifted uneasily. “Something about capture, and evil powers.”
“Yes.” Paks struggled for calmness. Surely she should be able to tell this tale calmly by now. “I was taken by the kuaknomi, who serve Achrya.” Kolya nodded, eyes intent on her bowl of nuts. “They offered the chance to fight—to fight for a chance at escape. Or that’s what I thought they offered. Fighting against orcs, for the most part, in a sort of arena they had underground.”
“Most part? How many times—?”
“I don’t know.” Paks set the apple down carefully, as if it were alive. “I don’t remember. Many times, to judge by the marks they left. At the end, I was forced into charmed armor—”
“Mother of Trees!” said Kolya, staring now. She had brought up her hand in the warding sign. Then she looked at her hand, and shook her head. “Sorry. Go on.”
Paks took another apple out of the bowl, and looked it over. “In the fighting great evil entered my mind. It grew beyond my control. This is what the Marshal-General saw, in Fin Panir. She was not the only one to see it, Kolya. Even I, when they—” She stopped to take a long breath. “Anyway. They saw but one possible cure. And the Marshal-General, two paladins, and an elf tried to cut that evil from within. Which they did.”
“And left you, the Duke said, as crippled as if they’d cut off your legs.”
Paks shook her head. “Not so. You—forgive me, Kolya, but you have truly lost an arm. Nothing, now, will make it grow back. I had my limbs—legs and arms both—but not the use of them for awhile.”
“And within? The Duke said they did more damage within, that they had ripped the very heart out of your self, the courage—”
“So I thought, and they thought, but the Kuakgan showed me that this was not so.”
“Are you certain?” Kolya peered closely at her. “We had heard that you were to be a paladin yourself—and here you are without money enough, you say, to buy a sword—”
“Do riches make a paladin? Or do I look so scared, to you?” Paks smiled at her.
“Well—no. You don’t. But you wouldn’t be scared of me, anyway.”
“I would have been. I was. Kolya, I cannot hide this: I was, for those months, as craven as you can imagine. I don’t know what the Duke told you, but he saw me unable to lift a sword even in practice. He saw me afraid to mount a horse—even a gentle one. He saw me—a veteran of his Company—faint in terror because an armsmaster came toward me with his sword raised.”
“You’d been hurt—”
Paks snorted. “You know better than that. Kolya, I have been where very few soldiers ever come—to the fear and helplessness that the common folk have. And I’ve come back from that, with help. Why I’m here—well, that’s a long tale. Tell me, would you think me crazy if I told you—” she faltered, and Kolya looked at her curiously.
“What?”
“Kolya, things have happened to me—since I was first in the Company—which seemed strange to me. In Aarenis—especially the third year—others noticed, too—” It was remarkably hard to say, flat out, that she thought she was a paladin.
“Stammel said something to me.” Kolya cracked another pair of nuts. “He said it had to do with a Gird’s medallion you’d been given by a friend—you could sense things the others couldn’t, he said.”
“Yes. That was part of it. That was why I thought they were right, when they said I could be a paladin.”
“They weren’t?”
“Well—yes. In a way.” Paks found that she was sweating. “The fact is—I—do have some gifts. They are somewhat like those paladins have, but I never finished the training and took vows. Master Oakhallow thinks they were given directly by the gods. And if so—” She stopped again.
“If so, then you are a paladin of sorts, is that what you mean?” Kolya glanced sideways at her. “A remarkable claim. Not that I doubt your word—” She went on quickly. “It’s only that—I never heard of such a thing. When I think of a paladin, I think of those I saw, when I was in the Company. They were not as you are now.”
“I know.” Paks leaned forward, elbows on knees. “And I trained with them: I know what you’re remembering. Shining mail, on a shining horse, so bright that anyone would follow. I don’t claim to be that sort of paladin yet, Kolya. I do say that something—and I believe it to be the High Lord, or Gird his servant—has called me here for a purpose. I sensed, in the inn, some evil thing—and felt in myself the answering call: this is what I came for. I cannot see how this will harm the Duke or his realm, unless he has turned to evil, past all belief.”
“Will you tell him this openly?”
Paks shook her head. “No. As you say, I don’t look like a paladin. I have no clear message for him. I can but be here, and ready to serve his need, when it comes. I think it will be soon.”
Kolya stirred in her chair. “I cannot believe you lie. Master Oakhallow bids me trust you—I have reason to trust him. And what I know of your past—by the Tree, Paks, I wish I understood.”
“So do I,” said Paks.
“And you are not a Girdsman?” asked Kolya again.
“I cannot say. I am not—I cannot be, any longer—under the command of the Marshal-General. But I swore to follow Gird’s way of service: that oath I would not break.” Could not, after what had happened in the magical fire.
“The Duke will not be pleased with that.” Kolya’s voice held some emotion Paks could not identify. Satisfaction? Envy? Paks followed a vague hunch.
“Can you tell me what he has against the Girdsmen, Kolya? I know it is something more than happened to me, but I don’t know what. Master Oakhallow wouldn’t say.”
Kolya’s lips tightened; then she sighed. “What do you know about the Duke’s lady?”
“Not much. Only that he was married, and she died ten or twelve years ago. He blames the Girdsmen, somehow. Did you know her?”
“Yes. We were in the Company at the same time. Before she married the Duke.” Kolya sighed again, and stared at the fire. “Paks, we don’t speak of her much—he doesn’t like it—but I think you should know the story. It might help you understand.” She took a deep breath, and her hand clenched and unclenched as she began.
“Her name was Tamarrion Mistiannyi; we all called her Tamar. She was a fighter, one of the very best. Tall, strong, and—” Kolya shot Paks a glance. “Much like you, though her eyes were bluer. She had the same way of moving. She was a Girdsman when she came—most of the Company were, in those days. She tried to convert me, but gently. The whole Company liked her. She was always cheerful, didn’t quarrel, worked hard, and—by all the gods, to have her beside you in a fight! She had a temper, and that’s when it showed. Her eyes would go very blue, and she’d laugh just a little, and I never knew anyone to lay a blade on her. Not by the time I came, though she had scars to show.
“The Duke was only a few years older than the rest of us. I think any of the men would have bedded her gladly, but she didn’t care about it, or about women, either. But the Duke—He fought with the ranks back
then: the Company was just the one cohort, a few over a hundred, and they fought side by side often. And he married her, at the end of my first campaign season.” Kolya shifted in her chair again, and picked up one of the striped apples. Paks did not interrupt, and finally Kolya went on.
“Things were very different then. The Company so small, and the stronghold more than half earth walls and wooden huts. Tamar never played the lady with us, but worked as hard as ever, the Duke’s other self. Together they planned the buildings there, and in the villages, and together they went over the contracts for each season. Not so much in Aarenis, then—the Duke had to garrison the stronghold by the terms of his grant. Those were good years. I’m no Girdsman, but it was a good Company then, and the contracts meant fighting where you had no doubts. They had a Marshal living in the stronghold. He pestered those of us who weren’t Girdsmen, but we liked it anyway. You could trust your companions, and do your work without worrying about what kind of work, if you understand what I mean.” Paks, remembering the last campaign in Aarenis, understood very well, and nodded.
“Well, then,” Kolya went on, “when the children were born—”
“Children? I never knew the Duke had children.”
“No one mentions them. They died with her. The elder was a girl, maybe eight when she died—she would have been about your age had she lived. The boy was just three. When they were born, the Duke wanted Tamar to go somewhere safer, but she never would. Of course she didn’t fight for awhile each time, but I remember her riding and working out when she was this big—” Kolya gestured to indicate advanced pregnancy. “And as soon as she could get back in armor, she started training again. She began to stay here, with part of the Company, when he took contracts far away, but she was no fine lady sitting at a loom.” Something more than respect warmed Kolya’s voice.
“Then one year the Marshal-General—not this one, the one before—wanted the Duke to take the entire Company to some war in Aarenis. It had been cleared with the court of Tsaia. The Duke wanted to leave a force with Tamar, or have her come, but she wanted him to take them all, for the glory of Gird. She said the children were too young for a southern campaign, and she’d be safe with the Tsaian militia that were supposed to come for the summer. She said a member of the Duke’s household should be on his land, in case something happened to the king. We all knew, by their way with us, that they were fighting—and we knew they were both high-tempered, not that they didn’t—” Kolya faltered a moment. “They were as close, Paks, as any man and wife I’ve ever seen, close as comrades and lovers both. But if anything, she was bolder. Certainly where Gird was concerned. She finally convinced him to take both cohorts. He started south, leaving her with the children and perhaps ten men-at-arms until the militia came. And the craftsmen, of course, and the steward and servants, and the Marshal. He was no mean fighter himself. Not that it did any good.” Kolya got up and moved restlessly around the room for a moment. “Do you want anything to drink?”
Paks was not thirsty, but thought it would ease Kolya to stop for awhile. “Water—that ale was strong.”
“Yes. Just a minute.” She disappeared to the back again, and returned with a jug. She took two mugs from the dresser and poured into them. “Here.”
“Thanks.” Paks took a swallow, and shifted in her chair. She wondered if she should say something. Finally Kolya settled back in her seat, after poking the fire up.
“Nobody knows what happened. We think she went out for a ride with the children—maybe hunting. The steward and the Marshal were with her, and a couple of soldiers to help with the children’s ponies. They didn’t come back at lunch. No one worried, then. After all—five warriors, all mounted—and there hadn’t been any trouble for over a year. But they didn’t come back by dark. She would have sent a messenger if they’d intended to stay out.
“The sergeant started searching an hour or so before full dark, and didn’t find anything. He took torches, and dogs, and they tried to trail through the night, but something got the dogs off scent, and they didn’t find anything until the next day. Back up on the moors, north of the stronghold, they found the first body. That was the old steward: he’d been shot full of arrows, and slashed with a knife or sword. Then they found the rest of them. They must have tried to take Tamar alive, because there was a stack of bodies around her and the children. Young Estil had tried to fight, too—she’d already been training with a little practice sword, and Tamar let her carry a dagger. It was bloody to the hilts. She had fallen across her little brother. We don’t think they bothered the children’s bodies, but Tamar and the Marshal had been stripped and hacked at. Their armor and weapons were still there, in a heap.”
Paks had felt her eyes fill as Kolya talked. She could see in her mind the five adults, desperately trying to protect the children, and the little girl—she thought of herself at eight, wrestling with her brothers—defending the boy with her dagger.
“What were they, Kolya, that attacked? Pargunese? Orcs?”
“Orcs and half-orcs, by the bodies. We found twelve dead, and blood-trails of others. Two more bodies, about a mile away.”
“Were you here, then?”
“Yes. I—Estil, the girl, liked to play with me. Tamar had asked me to stay, until the militia came. That day I had gone into the mill—we had no village here then, only the mill—to bring back a load of flour. When I got back that afternoon, the sergeant was just getting worried. We never knew why they had gone north—of all directions, the most dangerous—or why such a large party of orcs had come out in daylight. Something must have drawn them, but we never could find out what.” She cleared her throat and took another swallow of water.
“Well, we brought the bodies back, and sent a courier to the Duke. All of us were terrified. You’ve seen him, when he’s really angry—not something you want aimed at you. And then we felt we should have done something—anything—to prevent it. I must have cried every day for a week; I think everyone did. Then the Duke came. Just about what we’d expected: I thought the very ground would smoke where he stepped on it. He asked each of us, of course, where we’d been, and why we hadn’t been with her, but it was all very straightforward. When we had talked to him, he said nothing to condemn us. But all that anger went toward the Girdsmen: he blamed the Marshal-General for taking him away with all his troops, and for Tamar’s encouragement. It was very . . . difficult.” Paks thought it must have been more than that. “He went storming off to Fin Panir, and Vérella. We were afraid he might disband the Company, but he didn’t.
“He did start enlarging it, though, and took a contract in Aarenis every year. He wouldn’t have a Marshal around, though he never interfered with Girdsmen, and still recruited them. He began to hire mages for healing. He wasn’t as choosy with recruits—not taking riffraff, exactly, but not as careful as they had been. In most things he himself didn’t change. Had I still both arms, I’d fight for him, and gladly. He is as brave as ever, as fair and just a leader. But—I heard some things about that last year in Aarenis, Paks, that would never have happened if Tamar had been alive. He wouldn’t have wanted to do them.”
Paks thought of the death of Siniava, and stared at the fire a long time after Kolya stopped speaking. Finally she looked over to see that Kolya’s eyes were closed and tears glistened on her cheeks. “Thank you for telling me. It must be hard to speak of, to one who never knew her—”
“But you are so like her!” Kolya interrupted in a hoarse whisper. “When you joined the Company, Stammel saw it at once. He told me, when I came as a witness that time. When you were well, I could see it myself. And he told me what you did, in Aarenis—when you stopped the Duke. Paks, it must have been like hearing Tamar’s voice from the Afterworld—that’s what Stammel said. No one else could have stopped him. I think that’s why the Duke was so furious when the message came from Fin Panir about you. It was like having it happen all over again—”
“But he never said anything—”
“No.
Of course not. You’re his daughter’s age, after all. He wouldn’t tell you. But what did he say when he gave you his ring?”
“That if I ever needed or wanted his help, to bring or send it.”
“That’s what I thought. When he came back, he told us—his officers, the Councils of Duke’s East and West—that if you showed up, or the ring showed up, we were to do anything to help you. Anything. Without question. Spend our last copper, if we had to, or kill if you were in danger, and he would make it good. Whatever. That’s why Piter wouldn’t take your money. He’d give any Duke’s man a meal once, but tonight was the ring, and what the Duke said.”
Paks blushed. “But Kolya, I’m all right now. I don’t need—”
“He couldn’t be sure. You aren’t carrying a sword. The Duke said you might look like anything: beggar, thief, slave, common laborer, guard—but unless you showed up mounted, in full armor, we were to assume that you needed our help. And that you’d not admit you needed it.” Kolya paused, and sighed. “You are going out there after what I’ve told you?”
“Yes. Tomorrow, unless you have a reason to wait.”
“No. Go on. It will bother him that you don’t have a sword.”
“You said he would hire me—perhaps I’ll earn one from him.”
“Oh, he’ll have you. He’s had fever in the stronghold this year.”
“Where did he campaign this season?”
“He didn’t tell you? No, I suppose he wouldn’t. About the time you left the Company, he heard from the Regency Council in Vérella. They’d found out that he had taken the whole garrison south, and they were furious.”
The Deed of Paksenarrion Page 114
