Kings of the North

by Elizabeth Moon

  Kieri, I write you as a friend—as one of Aliam’s dearest friends—for I fear for his life. Something is wrong, I know not what nor how to act, but since Paksenarrion left us last winter, when she went to find you, he has sunk bit by bit into a strange torpor. Your coronation brought him out of it briefly, but as soon as we were home, it began again. He is older, but so am I. He takes no joy in life, Kieri. Please—I do not know what you can do, but as you love him, please come. See for yourself. I believe he will be dead by Midwinter if you do not. Estil.

  Kieri looked at Andressat, who was watching him closely. “Does Aliam seem in bad health to you?”

  “Much older than two years account for,” Andressat said. “Exhausted, I would say, and full of some sorrow too great to bear. If he were one of my family, I would say he has the death-wish on him, but I do not know why.”

  Kieri felt a nudge, a sense of urgency even stronger than Estil’s letter. He raised his voice. “Berne!” The Squire outside the door opened it and came in. “Berne, make ready to ride to Halveric Steading as soon as possible. They have need of me. We will need extra horses.”

  “At once, Sir King.”

  Kieri turned back to Andressat. “My lord, I’m sorry, but I must beg you to tell me the rest of your concerns as quickly as you may. Aliam is my oldest and dearest friend, and if you and Estil are right, I have scarce time to reach him before some crisis.”

  “Sir King, it is the archives—” Andressat repeated what he had told Aliam Halveric. Kieri listened, trying to be attentive, but with half his mind on Aliam and the sense of urgency he felt. Still, he felt the hairs rising on his arms.

  “My lord Count—I suspect I may know what some of those things are. Did your archives mention the Verrakai?”

  “Yes—and also some great evils—” Andressat stared at him, as if expecting Kieri to produce a miracle: answer and solution in one utterance.

  Kieri gathered his thoughts. What Andressat said had importance both north and south, but Aliam needed him immediately; he felt torn. “My lord, you are welcome to stay here, and rest as long as you need—until I return from the Halverics, if you choose—but you must, before you return south, visit the new Duke Verrakai, my former captain, Dorrin. She found relics her family kept hidden for hundreds of years; I believe they may bear on your problem. I will send word to her that you are coming—”

  “I do not know her,” Andressat protested.

  “She was my captain; you met her. She is trustworthy, and now stands high in the court of Tsaia.” After nearly being killed, but Andressat didn’t need to know that. “I understand that you have had a hard journey and must rest. But Dorrin Verrakai must have this news, and Tsaia’s king as well. I will supply an escort; you will not be traveling alone. Before that, however, rest here awhile, as long as you like.”

  “I—I suppose I must,” Andressat said. “If you must leave—I was hoping …” His voice trailed away, then he spoke again. “You—my pardon, Sir King—but you seem oddly younger.”

  “They tell me it’s my elven heritage,” Kieri said. “Once I touched the sword—” He nodded to where it hung on its rack. “—its power released that heritage, and as half-elven I am not considered old at all.”

  A knock at the door; Arian put her head in. “Sir King—if you wish to leave tonight, we will be ready immediately after dinner—or within a half-glass if necessary.”

  “But it’s raining now,” Andressat said, glancing at the window, where a dreary autumn rain fell steadily.

  “I would ride through worse to help Aliam,” Kieri said. “He saved me, long ago. Will you take dinner with me, or would you rather rest first?”

  “I’ll eat with you,” Andressat said.

  “Dinner in a quarter-glass, my lord,” Arian said, and shut the door.

  “Time enough to wash up,” Kieri said. In the passage, he signed to Gavin, the youngest Squire. “This is Count Andressat, who will be staying here as long as he finds convenient, and then going to Tsaia, to Duke Verrakai. See that he has everything he needs. When he is ready, arrange an escort of honor to Verrakai’s estate. If he wishes to stay until I return, he is welcome to do that, too.”

  Gavin guided Andressat toward one of the guest rooms; Kieri ran up the stairs to his own apartments, where he found Garris just strapping together a pack of his clothes. His riding clothes and all-weather cloak were laid out on the bed.

  “I should come, too,” Garris said. “Whatever’s wrong at Halveric’s—”

  “No,” Kieri said. “I need you here, at the center of my courier service. You’ll have to organize Andressat’s travel to Tsaia for me. There’s no one I trust more, Garris.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “I don’t know yet, but I know I must leave now, not tomorrow. If you don’t get regular reports from the river patrols, send a courier to demand them. Something’s going on there. I’d feel better if the king had replied to my letter about Elis.”

  “Kieri—tell Aliam I love him too.”

  “I will, Garris. Gods grant I’m there in time.”

  He changed to riding clothes and went down to dinner. Andressat waited there, eyeing the dishes arriving on the table. “What is that?”

  “An apple sweet the cook here makes; I don’t know what she calls it. My lord Count, pardon me, but I need to eat quickly.” Kieri nodded to the servants, and they withdrew. He stacked slices of meat on a thick wedge of bread and bit into it. Andressat put slices on his own plate and investigated the pots of sauces, smiling when he found the one with southern peppers.

  Andressat was still eating when Kieri excused himself. He rode away in the wet night, raindrops sparkling in the torchlight. He knew Andressat would consider his abrupt departure discourteous, and wished he had not needed to ruffle the old man’s composure, but he had no choice, not if he was to arrive before Aliam died. The taig itself now urged him on, hinting at some danger beyond even Aliam’s death.

  From Chaya to Halveric’s steading could be a long road or a short one, depending in part on the weather, forest rangers, the elves, and the forest taig itself. Kieri tried to infuse the taig with his own sense of urgency, and a way seemed to open, almost straight and wide enough for several to ride abreast. Still, it was days of riding, in the shifting autumn weather—that wet night was followed by a dry morning, with a cold wind blowing up behind them. The forest darkened their way even as some leaves blew before the wind. A day—another day—even with extra mounts they had to stop to rest the horses, and Kieri slept in snatches, but for the one night they spent at a farmstead deep in the forest, where the startled housewife insisted that the king must have their best bed.

  Then they were coming out of the woods into the lower fields of Halveric Steading, and the familiar house and outbuildings were there before him. The same as always—but not. He could not define the difference. Kieri let his standard-bearer ride ahead of him, the royal standard snapping like a whip in a brisk wind.

  Estil and Aliam both met him at the gate; Estil’s eyes thanked him silently, but Aliam scarcely smiled. He looked as Andressat had described: old, tired, sick, a man ready and willing to die. Kieri hugged them both, then said, “Invite your king indoors, man—we’re cold and hungry!”

  Aliam winced; Estil said, “Come in! There’s sib still hot, and I’ll heat spiced cider.”

  Kieri led the way; he knew every stone of that courtyard. He shed his cloak in the main passage and hung it on one of the hooks out of sheer habit. He could see, from the alert glances his Squires gave, that they, too, felt some menace here. Arian started to speak to him, but he shook his head; he had to speak to Aliam first.

  “You don’t understand,” Aliam said. They had drunk sib and eaten a quick meal, then he’d led Kieri to the little walled garden—an odd choice, Kieri thought, in that weather. Aliam sat hunched on the bench, as if he feared a blow. “If I had only said something … all those years, all the pain … Tammarion and the children would not have died if I’d s
aid something. They’d have been safe, here—”

  “I’d never have met Tammarion then,” Kieri said. “Never had children.”

  “But they were killed—”

  “Would you wish Cal unborn because he was captured and suffered Siniava’s torments?”

  “Cal is still alive. Your wife and children are dead, and it’s my fault.”

  “It is not. Aliam, listen to me. Without you, I would be dead, dead of starvation or, if I survived in body, dead in soul from what my captor did to me.” Aliam stirred a little. Kieri felt a rush of warmth, as if the taig touched him. “You saved my life,” he went on. “You saved my sanity. You were my father, my elder brother. From you and Estil I learned what goodness is, how good people behave. From you I learned how good men govern others, how they lead others, how even in war honor and wisdom have a place. From you came the ideas that first let us—you and me and Aesil M’dierra—form a code of honor for mercenaries in Aarenis. If, years from now, my people think I was a good king, it will be because of you, because of your kindness and your example.”

  “But still—” Aliam was sobbing now, tears running down into his beard. Kieri’s eyes burned, but this was no time for tears. Either he was a king, with a king’s powers, or he was a title only, hollow.

  He reached out and pulled Aliam into a hug, as Aliam had once hugged the terrified boy he himself had been. The taig’s power he’d felt before surged up in him from the earth below; he could feel it reaching outward to Aliam, warming them both. “But still, Aliam Halveric, I tell you as your king that you did me no harm. You did me only good. As your king, Aliam, I tell you that you are my oldest friend, my dearest friend, and nothing you have ever done or would do will change that. And as your king, I command you—lay down this guilt you feel. Walk away from it. I believe it was put in your heart by some evil being.” He pushed Aliam just far enough away to see his face, to see the startled look, the relief that showed in Aliam’s eyes, as whatever pain held him was lessened … faded … and blew away like smoke on the wind.

  “I feel—”

  “Better, I hope,” Kieri said. “A visit from your king is supposed to have that effect, they tell me.”

  “What did you do?” More life, more alertness came back into Aliam’s face, as if he were waking up from a long illness.

  “I have been taking instruction in the arts of kingship,” Kieri said, as lightly as he could. He was still gripping Aliam’s shoulders; he could feel in his fingers some change in the man, something that felt like the difference between a diseased, dying tree and a healthy one. Had he really done that? Or was it just his words? “My elven relatives,” he went on, “tell me that here in Lyonya a king’s main task is restoring harmony and health, not resting his royal rump on a throne being flattered.”

  Aliam made a sound between a sob and a laugh, then drew a long, shaky breath. “Well … Sir King … whatever you did, and however you did it, I feel … better. I still think—no, all right, I won’t say it. I feel better. Almost … almost younger, though at my age that is not a possibility.”

  “Why not?” Kieri asked. “I feel younger, too.”

  “But you’re half-elf and I am not.”

  “Aliam, this is no time to start an argument.”

  Another shaky breath. “You’re right, Sir King—”

  “And didn’t I tell you to call me Kieri, at least when we’re alone? And do you see a horde of courtiers standing around ready to be jealous?”

  “Er … no … Kieri. But it’s so … I don’t know what—”

  “Something … I know there’s something but not what. You would not have felt that much misery all on your own.”

  “You remember I said—in Chaya—”

  “Yes, and I remember what I said and that you were—or you acted—reassured. Were you trying to fool me then, Aliam?”

  “No. I think I was reassured then, there in Chaya with you. I wouldn’t try to fool you anyway; you were always able to see through me, at least as you began to grow into your ability. That was one of the things that made managing you difficult when you were a squire. And made you a comfortable friend, once we were grown.”

  “So something happened … something or someone changed your heart, your mind … when did it start, can you think?”

  Aliam shook his head. “Before you came—last winter. Maybe it was just the long winter closing in … not enough to do … brooding indoors … and then after your coronation, when we came back here … I thought it was the summer heat …”

  “Nothing to make you think one of the evil gods might have laid a curse on you?”

  “Not since Paks left to find you.”

  “What?”

  “The night before she left. The … um … Lady had been here.” Aliam looked startled suddenly. “I haven’t—we couldn’t say it—but I suppose I can to you, as you’re her grandson …”

  Kieri waited as patiently as he could.

  “The Lady came to talk to Paks; the elves did not at first think you were fit to be king, as you know. Paks insisted; the Lady agreed that at least you should have the chance to prove yourself. Then the Lady locked our tongues about her visit; only Estil and I remember it, and we cannot speak of it.”

  The elves had opposed his kingship? For a moment Kieri’s mind veered to that, but then he pulled his attention back to the immediate problem.

  “What exactly happened the night before Paks left?”

  “Achrya came. The Webspinner. To attack Paks, but she spun webs throughout the house. Paks routed her; we cleared the webs, and then Paks left. We’ve seen nought but ordinary little spiders since, and no harm in them.”

  “Maybe,” Kieri said. “But I suspect she used some other bane to cloud your mind.” He looked around at the garden walls, his gaze caught by movement, a flake of stone perhaps, breaking off and falling to the ground behind the peach trained on the wall. “Come with me,” he said, drawing Aliam closer once more and laying an arm across his shoulders.

  Outside the walled garden, his Squires waited.

  “Sir King,” Arian said. “By your leave, I must speak.” He nodded, then stepped away from Aliam. She spoke quietly. “My lord, there is a daskdraudigs …” Kieri raised his eyebrows. “A rock serpent,” Arian explained. “Evil invading rock—it comes alive. We must get them out at once, and call rangers. I have only one daskin arrow, and none of the other Squires have any; it is not enough.”

  He remembered now: Paks had mentioned a daskdraudigs, but he’d been more interested in her healing than what had come before. “Aliam,” Kieri said, as casually as he could. “Would one of your people know where the nearest forest rangers might be?”

  “They have a camp at a spring about a half-day’s walk sunward,” Aliam said. “The children love to ride out there to escape their chores; we know they’re safe, if they overnight with the rangers.”

  “Send one of your people, then, and ask them to come here quickly.”

  “A problem?” Aliam asked, looking worried.

  “Yes.” Kieri tried to keep his voice light.

  Across the courtyard, a girl perhaps shoulder-high led a bay horse from the stable; she wore riding gear and had a long green feather in her cap. “Estilla!” Aliam called.

  “Granfer?”

  “What do you ride for?”

  She turned red. “Um … sir … to … exercise Bayberry …”

  “Exercise him to the ranger camp, then, and ask them to come here. The king wishes to speak to them.”

  A smile broke out on her face. “Yes, Granfer! At once!” She mounted and reined the horse toward the gate.

  “Quickly, Estilla!” Aliam called.

  No answer but the horse leaping into a gallop, and the beat of its hooves on the turf outside, rapidly diminishing.

  “We call her little Estil,” Aliam said, as if that weren’t obvious. “She’s actually named for her mother’s mother, as is proper, but she’s exactly like Estil at the same age. Even her m
other’s mother calls her Estilla.”

  Cal Halveric came out of the stable. “Father? Is there trouble?”

  Kieri spoke before Aliam could. “I feel something wrong with the taig, Cal. I want the rangers’ help in understanding what it is.”

  “Should I call alarm?” Aliam asked.

  Kieri extended his taig-sense. There—the garden wall. The house? He could not be sure. But the garden wall and … the back wall of the stable.

  “Do not say the name loudly, Sir King,” Arian said quietly. She was watching the garden wall. “It must not know we know.”

  “Quietly, then,” Kieri said to Aliam and Cal. “Do not go into the stable yourself, Cal, but have your grooms bring the horses out—to—to show me their paces in the field, especially any in the south aisle stalls.”

  “We haven’t been able to keep horses in there since late winter,” Aliam said. “They fret, but we couldn’t find anything wrong. What about the house?”

  “Move everyone from the garden side, just in case.”

  “Outside,” Arian murmured. “A picnic?”

  “It’s a clear day,” Kieri said. “Let’s make a party in the meadow, watching the horses. Tell Estil.” Into Aliam’s ear he murmured, “Daskdraudigs.” Aliam startled, then nodded.

  Aliam went back inside; Kieri watched the garden wall. Were the seams between the stones moving? He couldn’t tell, for the cover of vines and the branches of trees espaliered there. He remembered Paks had said only daskin arrows could kill one. Arian stood near him, saying nothing; Kieri had bade the other Squires help bring out the picnic.

  People streamed from the house. One of Aliam’s daughters-in-law shepherded a string of giggling children, all carrying bundles, out the gate. Grooms led horses from the stable, held them back while another gaggle of children scampered past with pillows on their heads.

  Would the daskdraudigs know alarm had been given? Would it wait to strike? And how did it do what it did? Kieri stood still, trying to feel the extent of the danger without alerting it, as more people, more animals, passed behind him and out of the main courtyard to what he hoped was safety. Aliam’s older grandsons and some of his soldiers lugged the big camp tents and their poles … Estil herself, bow slung on her back, had one end of a pole on which two steaming kettles hung; another daughter-in-law held the other end. Back and forth, back and forth. Kieri watched another flake or two fall off the wall, sparkling in the slanting light, until the garden enclosure had lost the sun for the day.