“Could they not find another to send?” Cuvis asked. He handed her a moss-stuffed cushion, the kind they used for sleeping, and she eased herself down onto it.
“No,” Arian said. They asked no more; King’s Squires were not required to account for themselves to anyone. “But if you have not heard about the king of Pargun and the situation in the north—”
“Nothing.”
“Then I will tell you about that.” While Mards unsaddled her horse and rubbed it down, Forlin handed her a mug of sib. Arian took a long swallow and said, “Had you heard about the king of Pargun coming across the river to kill our king?”
“That was true? I thought it was just a rumor.”
“It was true. The Pargunese king was captured when he landed, and our king went to meet him and had him brought to Chaya. The Pargunese were told that our king had dishonored the princess Elis, and sent her to a brothel.”
“What?!”
Arian explained as best she could, though Forlin, also a Knight of Falk, was outraged that anyone would suggest Falk’s Hall was a brothel. She hurried through the rest: the conference in Chaya, finally convincing the Pargunese king he’d been lied to, manipulated by his brother and his brother’s friends, the hasty plot to get him back to Pargun alive, the message sent to the king’s friends in Pargun, and then the ride north, the confrontation, the traitor and his death.
As she talked, Cuvis served the meal, and they all ate. Despite the tale she told, Arian felt herself relaxing into the familiar setting—a ranger among rangers, eating together at the end of a winter’s day. The tale slowed to that rhythm, until she came to the end.
“And then our king healed the king of Pargun, with magery—”
“Elven?” asked Forlin.
“I don’t know,” Arian said. “What he said was he tried to do what the paladin had done for him.”
“But she’s Girdish, isn’t she? He can’t have used Girdish paladin powers—”
“The dagger the Lady gave him at his coronation was involved,” Arian said. “So I’d think it was elven magic alone except it had a different flavor.”
“He is both magelord and old human on his father’s side,” Forlin said. “I suppose the others could have awakened. After all, the new Duke Verrakai’s powers were.”
“And how is the border with Verrakai now?” Arian asked. She did not want to add to her own story … not that night, at least. “Is it quieter, do you have fewer raiders?”
“It’s been quieter since Midsummer,” Mards said. “Right after our king came, we had a rush of refugees—some injured soldiers, some scared peasants. Then we had a little trouble, some kind of magic users or wizards, but we took care of those—”
“Shot them?” Arian asked.
Cuvis grinned. “They didn’t think blackwood bows could reach that far.”
“Six, altogether,” Forlin said. “I’m guessing Verrakaien or half-bloods. All with Liart’s symbols, when we searched the bodies.” He stretched. “Not much since then, barring a little poaching right at the border. Nothing new in that. Sent ’em back with a lecture. What I hear is the new duke won’t have any Bloodlord nonsense and she’s making it stick.”
“Did you send word to her about the six you killed?”
“No,” Forlin said. “Why ask for trouble? If they’re her relatives—”
“She was told to send them all in for trial—they’re all under attainder.”
“What’s that?” Mards asked. Arian explained what Kieri had told her. The rangers looked shocked. “The entire family?”
“Yes. But this family has been trained to evil a long time, and they even killed their own children to transfer the spirits of elders—”
“Stop.” Forlin held up his hand. “That is not something to talk about in the dark.” His hand trembled. “Arian—if I did not know you for a truthful person—no, I cannot hear this. Not now.”
Arian nodded. “You are right. And I am tired, so let me check my mount and then sleep.”
Morning came with low gray clouds fat with snow.
“How far do you ride today?” Forlin asked, as they drank sib.
“I do not know,” Arian said. “I was going west. Who is on duty at the border?”
“Brek, Taris, and Vorlas have this section, but they are forbidden to cross—we all are. You Squires, though, go where the king wills. If you are on your way to Tsaia, to the court, you would pass Verrakai lands near enough.”
If she were on the way to Vérella, she would be on the road to Harway, and they must know that. Arian looked down. “I will think on it,” she said. “It is true that the duke needs to know some of her relatives have been killed. Did you keep anything that might identify them?”
“We are not looters!” Mards said.
“I didn’t mean that,” Arian said.
“No,” Forlin said, more calmly. “We did not think of needing to identify them, more than that they were Verrakai and attacking. We buried them with all their gear. I suppose, when the bones are clean and raised—though we had not planned to do that—some of their things might be found to name them. Others were there, though: Brek and Taris, but not Vorlas. Embres and Salzir, from the next border group south. I did not ask them.”
“I will ask, if I see them as I pass,” Arian said. “It would be more help to her if I had the names, or something from which she might infer the names. If not, it may be no use at all. Tell me all you remember—how many, what age they seemed—”
“Six. Two appeared to be in their forties or more, a few strands of gray in their hair, but still strong. One looked well grown but younger, perhaps late twenties or thirties. Three were younger again: perhaps twenty, a few years more or less. All male. They wore Verrakai blue under rough peasant clothes, and all bore Liart’s symbol somewhere.”
“It’s snowing,” Cuvis said, coming in with an armload of wood. “If you’re not in a hurry, Arian, stay here with us another day.”
She still could not feel the taig, she’d realized, and without that could scarce tell one direction from another without sun to guide her. “I will,” she said. “And thank you.”
“You can repay us by telling us what roiled the taig yesterday and why it’s so reticent today.”
“Yesterday—” She could think of no way to tell it that did not distort it. “The king and the Lady quarreled.”
“Quarreled!” They looked as horrified as she felt. “Why? About what?”
“Me,” Arian said. “The Lady is wroth with my father, an elf, and through him wroth with me. And the king is angry with her, for assuming I am like my father.”
Forlin blinked. “That … does not seem enough to upset the taig …”
“You were not there,” Arian said. “They were in the King’s Grove, in the heart of it, and angry—”
“Ah. Well. But what had you done to anger the Lady?”
They were all looking at her now, appraising her as they would anyone. “It is a matter of the king’s honor,” she said. “And not something I should speak of, but to say his honor is unstained.”
“And it affects the taig,” Forlin said, not quite a question.
“It could, but it will not, hereafter,” Arian said.
“Will you be back at court for Midwinter?” Cuvis asked, breaking the long silence that followed Arian’s words.
“I don’t know,” Arian said. “It’s unlikely, late as it is, and if snow comes. Perhaps I’ll be in Vérella of the Bells or—if my mission takes me on—in Fin Panir. The paladin who came with our king told me about the High Lord’s Hall there.” They asked nothing more.
Snow fell all day, silencing everything but their talk, mostly rangers’ gossip. Sometime that night the snow ceased, and the following morning, though not clear, showed the high clouds that meant no snow for a time.
Forlin sniffed the air. “You should have a fair day’s travel, Arian. If you need provisions—”
“You have fed me a day and more,” Arian sai
d. “I have enough to make it to the next village, and they’ll have supplies. I’ll clean up for you—I have the horse, after all.”
“Thank you,” Forlin said. “Last time we had a horse here, we fed winterwards.”
The rangers filled their packs and left, their footprints showing clearly on the snow-covered trail. Arian packed her own gear, tied her mount outside the lean-to horse shelter, and cleaned that, leaving a shovel of manure under each of the trees on the summerwards side of the clearing. The others had already raked the coals out and dumped snow on them. She scoured the pot they’d made porridge in, gathered more wood and stacked it with the rest in the hut, and brought in a bucket of water from the spring. By then the coals were cool; she ran her hand over the fire-pit and found no warmth that could kindle into dangerous flame.
With the camp tidy and ready for the next visitor, she had nothing more to do, but felt reluctant to leave. She leaned against a yellowwood tree, ungloved hands open on its broad-furrowed bark, hoping the taig would open to her. That tree responded, but when she tried to reach the larger taig, once more she could not. Tears filled her eyes; she thanked the tree, then stood back. No doubt now that she had been right to leave Chaya, if the taig still refused her.
She decided then to go to Tsaia, where she’d never been, and find Dorrin Verrakai. Dorrin had known Kieri for years … she would understand his actions, perhaps even his thoughts, as Arian could not yet. Though that would not matter, so long as the taig would not open for her and Kieri.
Two days later, she crossed the border on a trail Brek and Taris had told her of. “The Verrakaien use it to come here. No reason you can’t use it the other way; you’re a Squire, after all.” The forest on the other side of the invisible line looked the same, smelled the same. It had a taig, of sorts—she could sense it, unlike the taig of Lyonya. She sensed damage in it, but recent healing. Even so much connection eased her heart, and strengthened her belief that she had been right to come this way.
She rode cautiously, aware that some in Tsaia might think her an invader. Once more she wished she had not left her Squire’s tabard back in Chaya; it would have given her legitimacy. For most of a day she saw no sign of human habitation other than stumps of trees someone had cut—here five or six, there a single one. Toward evening, she smelled smoke and halted. Foresters? A farmstead tucked into the woods? Or—far more dangerous—brigands, even fugitive Verrakai?
Dismounting, she slipped the bit from her mount’s mouth and tied on a nosebag with a few oats to occupy his mind while she went scouting. The low winter sun, this late, barely lighted the forest, though a few gleams picked out a lichen here, a tuft of moss there, far up on the tree trunks. Now she could hear voices—male voices—and she moved ever more carefully, alert to every hint the forest could provide. Smoke from an open fire: dried wood, not green. Oak and cedar, she thought. The breeze, moving toward her, brought a whiff of horse and some kind of meat cooking.
She reached out to the taig and felt its calm unconcern. She felt into the tree she hid behind, and received the same feeling, flavored with its own pick-oak resonances. Like all oaks, it had absolute certainty in its own rightness, stiff to its twigs. Through it, she felt up and down and sideways, to the root hairs that almost met the root hairs of the other trees nearby, to the twigs that touched now and then in the wind.
So those ahead had set sentries … that suggested something more dangerous than foresters cutting firewood. There—there—and there. A voice called, loud enough to break her concentration on the taig. Then a clanging: someone banging on a pot with a spoon, probably. Whoever it was feared no listening ears.
Arian went back for her horse. Mounting, she rode toward the camp sounds and smells, and when a horse somewhere ahead whickered, she let her own mount answer. Voices now louder … she rode on, following the obvious trail.
“Halt!” came a voice, and two blue-clad riders blocked her way. One was a young woman whose blue tabard had a knot of red and green on her heart-shoulder; the other was an older man who looked like a seasoned soldier. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
“I’m from Lyonya,” Arian said. “I am seeking Duke Verrakai. Are you Verrakaien militia?”
“Are you from the king?” the young woman asked.
“No,” Arian said. “But I have news, told me by forest rangers, I believe the duke will want to hear.”
“You have not yet given your name,” the young woman said.
“Nor have you answered my question,” Arian said. “We know in Lyonya that Verrakaien were attainted and only the new duke’s militia is legitimate. Are you Verrakaien militia, or fugitives?”
The man laughed. “You’re bold to ask that question, coming alone as you are … but in fact we are the Duke Verrakai’s militia. I served with her when she was your king’s captain.”
“And you might have known by my colors,” the young woman said, flushing a little. “I’m a Marrakai, now squire to the duke.”
Arian bowed slightly. “I’m Arian, a former forest ranger myself, which is why they trusted me with their message. I have no surname; we half-elves do not use them. And my pardon, squire; I do not know Tsaian colors.”
“Be welcome in our camp, then,” the young woman said. “We return to Verrakai House tomorrow; we can guide you.”
“That suits me well,” Arian said. “I have been in Tsaia before, but only in the south, as far as Brewersbridge twice and once to Thorngrove.”
At the camp, Arian found men and women in Verrakai blue, most older than the squire. The veteran she’d first seen was their sergeant, and five of the troops were veterans of Phelan’s Company. The others were native Verrakaien.
“Fifteen of us stayed behind when the rest of the duke’s cohort went back to the north,” the sergeant said. “We’d all been helping her get the locals trained and organized, so now she’s split us up.” He leaned closer. “It’s partly to give these youngsters command experience, you know. This ’un is a Marrakai daughter; she’ll make a decent captain someday. Still young, o’course. Younger than you.”
Arian forebore to tell him how old she really was. The squire came back from checking on the sentries and sat down near Arian. “My name’s Gwenno Marrakai,” she said. “I expect he’s been telling you what a novice I am.” She said that without any rancor. “I’m lucky to have an experienced sergeant—my lord Duke made sure we each did.”
“I don’t know the correct courtesies,” Arian said. “Your duke’s a woman, but you say ‘my lord’?”
“For her, definitely,” Gwenno said. “She’s been a soldier all her life, and in Phelan’s Company they don’t use different terms.”
“It’s much the same with our forest rangers,” Arian said. “What else should I know?”
“She’s not as formal as some,” Gwenno said. “I think it’s mostly military courtesy with her.” She flushed again. “I like her. I know that’s not supposed to be important, but I do.”
“Forgive my asking, if it’s discourteous, but I always wondered—I know Tsaians are mostly Girdish, and the Girdish train men and women together in their granges. But I never saw a woman squire … of course I saw only one noble household, and that briefly.”
“It’s unusual,” Gwenno said. “Many households don’t want the responsibility. My father’s a duke, too, and he was glad when Duke Verrakai was named, because she’s a woman. I had been begging him to find me a place, and he’d kept saying there wasn’t much hope.”
“So … do noble-born girls not learn fighting skills?”
“We do, in the grange, just like our brothers. But beyond the grange we have to beg lessons from our family armsmasters or relatives. Father sent my younger brother Aris off to Fintha to train with the Girdish knights, but he wouldn’t send me there.” She paused. “Is that a Falkian ruby? Are you a Knight, then?”
“Yes, I’m a Knight of Falk,” Arian said.
“And you’re not that much older than me,” Gwenno said.
“But at least I’m a squire now … and my lord Duke has said she’ll sponsor me to the Knights of the Bells if I’m satisfactory. They don’t take girls—women—that often, but I’m sure she can convince them.”
Arian looked at the unlined young face and kept her own counsel. Through the evening, she saw evidence that the young woman, despite her age and inexperience, had the respect of her small troop.
The next day they rode off again. Arian was glad to ride in company that could distract her from her own thoughts. She sensed that the taig here was recovering slowly from grievous wounds—evident when they passed small areas of blight that made Arian shudder. What had the old Verrakai done to cause trees to look like that?
When they came out of the woods and Arian saw across a river and its meadows the big stone house and its outbuildings, she felt a difference again—here was health only. One of the soldiers unfurled a pennant of Verrakai blue with a device like a many-pointed star; by the time they rode up to the house, a hand of riders had come to meet them.
In the center, a tall figure wore a chain of office—was that the duke herself? Arian reined back a little so that Gwenno Marrakai reached the other group first. Yes. That had to be the duke, from the courtesies exchanged. She had only moments to assess the woman she’d come to see. A face like a blade, but with laugh-lines as well. Erect in the saddle, broad-shouldered, weathered skin, dark eyes, steady gaze, intelligent and commanding. This was someone she could trust. And someone who knew things about Kieri she herself needed to know.
“This is Arian of Lyonya,” Gwenno Marrakai was saying. “A former forest ranger, who brings news from Lyonya.”
Arian met the Duke’s gaze as Duke Verrakai turned to her.
“Are you one of Kieri’s messengers?” she asked. “I thought he was using King’s Squires now.”
“The message is not from him, my lord. Forest rangers asked me to bring you this word—best given in private, I would judge.”
“Very well,” the Duke said. “Be welcome here, and I will hear your news when we are warm inside.
“Settle your troop,” the Duke said to her squire. “Then eat dinner with us. Beclan left this morning for the south, so we will be a small group—Master Feddith has another of his headaches. You need not serve.”
Kings of the North Page 43
