“No, Sir King,” Andressat said. “I must get home; I must see what is happening there, and prepare my domain for whatever that man does next. Indeed, I have been gone too long; I fear that he has already brought force against my people. My sons are experienced in war, having fought against Siniava, but it is my duty to be with my people at such a time.”
“I understand,” the king said. “And I commend your sense of duty … and also your wisdom in traveling mostly incognito. For that reason, I will not send an escort of Royal Guard with you—it did not save Kieri Phelan from attack, and it is impossible to hide the fact that whoever is so escorted is of particular importance to the Crown. Instead, I recommend that you remain here a few days while I organize a less conspicuous party for you to travel with, one that any single traveler might choose for safety from ordinary brigands. It’s too late to pick up a trading caravan headed south. In the meantime, meet my nobles and speak before those of the Council about Vaskronin and the threat he poses.”
“Thank you, Sir King,” Andressat said. The king’s plan made more sense than for him to set off alone on a road he had never traveled.
Less than a tenday later he was on the way south, once more riding with Selfer and his cohort, for Count Arcolin had sent orders for Selfer to take the cohort to Valdaire. The mounted troop traveled faster than any caravan; Selfer did not hesitate to cross winter-bare fields when necessary to bypass a muddy section of road, and only the foul weather—slightly less miserable for being at their backs—kept Andressat from seeing the first loom of the Dwarfmounts ahead.
When they turned to parallel the range and zigzag through the foothills, the weather lifted a little. “Can’t we go straight?” Andressat asked Selfer.
“No, my lord,” Selfer said. “This is the only road the gnomes allow across their domains. It’s a very old agreement and they’ve no mind to enlarge upon it. It would be worth our lives to cut across even this—” He nodded to a bend in the road where it seemed an easy bound or two for a horse, though not a wheeled vehicle.
“We have no gnomes in the south,” Andressat said. “I had not realized they were such fierce warriors.”
“It was gnomes who taught Father Gird about military discipline,” Selfer said. Without waiting for Andressat to show interest, he began describing the history of the Girdish rebellion.
Andressat recognized the enthusiasm of a true believer and tried to nod and keep an interested expression on his face, but the appearance at the roadside of six small gray-clad figures with pikes startled him into ignoring Selfer.
“What—who?”
Selfer stopped in midphrase. “Who—oh, rockbrothers. Gnome boundary watchers.” He reined in and bowed from the saddle. “Rockbrothers, I greet you. Selfer of Phelan’s Company.”
“It is late to be traveling this road,” one of them said, in a flat tone devoid of expression. “Caravans ceased.” Dark beady eyes looked up and down the column. “It is that all are soldiers, is it not?”
“All but one,” Selfer said, with a gesture to Andressat.
Andressat felt pierced by that cold dark gaze. He said nothing.
“It is that this one has a name?” the gnome said.
“This noble has reason to travel nameless,” Selfer said.
“Nameless to men, mayhap, but not to us,” the gnome said. “It is the prince’s wish to know all who travel here out of trading season.” At Andressat’s hesitation, the gnome stepped into the road; the others followed; they held their pikes as a bar across the road. Behind Andressat, a horse stamped; he could feel the rising tension. “And the truth, human, not some false name to befuddle fools.”
“Jeddrin, Count of Andressat,” he said. “Going home.”
The gnome’s brows rose. “Are you indeed?” He looked at Selfer.
“To my knowledge, and I have traveled with him from eastern Tsaia, that is his real name,” Selfer said.
“It is a pity you left home,” the gnome said. “And a wise thing to return. Far travel never profits.” He gestured with his pike, and the gnomes moved aside, three to each side of the road, pikes lifted. To Selfer, he said, “You know the permitted campsites. Do not stray, even if you see no more bound-wards.”
“I will not,” Selfer said. He pulled out his Girdish medallion. “I abide the Law.”
The gnome nodded, his expression softening for the first time. “The Law abides. Go safely.”
Andressat spoke up before he realized he would. “Sir gnome, my respects, but I came north to warn of danger in the south. Your friends here will no doubt warn you as well, but let me make that an early warning. There is a bad man in the south who means to conquer it all, and the north as well.”
The gnome stared at him. “Did not Siniava die?”
“He did. This man’s name was Alured, known as the Black, but also as Duke of Immer and the new name he has chosen, Visla Vaskronin. It is my belief he will not abide any law.”
“It is that you came north only to warn, and not to make profit?” A hint of disbelief there.
“If it is profit to warn allies of danger, then it was both,” Andressat said. “I cannot stand alone against him.”
“Ah. Exchange, then.” The gnome thumped the butt of his pike on the ground; the others followed. “By your leave, Captain of Phelan’s Company, this man might tell his story to our prince, and your troop bide this night in our camp.”
Selfer looked at Andressat and then at the gnome. “Sir gnome, I am charged with this man’s safety as far as Valdaire by my king. The Law compels me to follow orders.”
“It is not his safety at risk,” the gnome said, putting fist to his breast and bowing. “Nor that of your troop. I deem his words of value, and value given must be for value received. If the prince deems my estimation of value wrong, then the debt will rest on me, as commander of this group of bound-wardens.”
Selfer looked at Andressat. “It is acceptable?”
Andressat felt adrift; he could tell that the gnome was intent on this and Selfer felt no danger in it, but he had never met a “rockbrother” before. “I suppose …”
Very shortly the slope held fifty or more gnomes who seemed to rise out of the ground itself. They led the troop aside from the road, into the scrubby trees and then upward, until they came to an arched opening in the side of a grassy slope. Andressat, looking around, realized that it would not be seen from any bend in the road.
“It is that you can make a camp?” the same gnome asked Selfer.
“Yes, we have tents,” Selfer said.
“Then over there—” the gnome waved. “A stream for water. Vektran will show where to dig jacks. Andressat Count come with me.”
Andressat shot a glance at Selfer.
“I will come, too,” Selfer said. “I was not to leave his side. My sergeant can organize the camp.” He dismounted; Andressat followed. The soldiers followed the other gnome off to the side of the open area, and Andressat, Selfer, and the first gnomes approached the opening.
“How do I address your prince?” Andressat said. “I would not fail in courtesy.”
“That is well thought of,” their guide said. “For visitors of the young races, we find the full courtesies overfull for their memories. Let you greet him as most noble prince and law-warden, and that will be enough.”
Andressat had caves enough—natural caves, uneven in their shape, cool in summer and most often used to store wine, though a few people built dwellings in them. He had thought of rockfolk as primitives who lived in such caves … what he now entered amazed him. Not a natural cave but a vast edifice hollowed out by masons of great skill. A level floor, neatly carved steps to change elevation, and a hall larger than any in Vérella or his own domain.
His guide had spoken only in gnomish to the wardens at the entrance and those along the way, one of whom had run ahead. And now they stood before a raised dais on which the gnome prince sat in his stone chair. He wore gray as plain as the others but for a silver chain and a great
clear jewel like a drop of water, big as a hen’s egg.
His guide spoke in gnomish for some minutes; Andressat wasn’t sure what was being said or what he should do—staring at the prince seemed impolite. He let his gaze wander a little, to the other gnomes standing behind the prince, only two of them armed. He could read nothing in their faces; he could scarcely tell one from the other. All wore gray; all stood silent and motionless. Behind them was a pierced screen of stone through which he could not see; it had been carved into curves and twists that led his eye hither and thither.
A touch on his arm got his attention. “Do not look there,” his guide said. “It will enchant you.”
He did not know how long he had stood there; his guide was now making the introduction in Common.
“—the Count of Andressat, who rules in Andressat, a domain over the mountains. He gave warning of danger; I deemed it wise for him to speak in person to you. The other is known to us, a captain of Duke Phelan, who is now king in Lyonya.”
Andressat bowed low. “Most noble prince and law-warden, it is a great honor to greet you.”
“Rise up and show your eyes,” the prince said. His Common was heavily accented but understandable. He stared Andressat in the face and then looked at Selfer, who also bowed and repeated Andressat’s words.
“What warning?” the prince then asked.
Andressat repeated what he had told the bound-wardens.
“Is this man Girdish?” the prince asked; Andressat did not at once know whom he meant and hesitated. “Alured,” the prince said.
“No, noble prince,” Andressat said. “I do not know what gods, if any, he follows.”
“Has he ever broken human law?” The emphasis on “human” was contemptuous.
“Yes, noble prince,” Andressat said. “He was a pirate on the seas—attacked ships and killed and stole for profit.”
“So also do war companies,” the prince said, looking again at Selfer. “Is it not true of you, Captain, that you make war for money and not to uphold the Law?”
“Sometimes,” Selfer said. “Not always. We may be hired to uphold the Law.”
“Did you ever see this Alured?”
“Yes,” Selfer said. “When I was a squire to Duke Phelan, I saw Alured the Black many times during the last year of Siniava’s War.”
“Was he a lawbreaker?”
“He had been,” Selfer said. “And after Siniava was killed, he did things that were … if not against human law, against Girdish law.”
“You are Girdish?”
“Yes.”
“Do you not consider Girdish law human law?”
“Not entirely,” Selfer said. “Gird learned about the giver of Law from gnomes, and what he learned he used in writing the Code of Gird—”
“Little enough,” the prince said. “But the Code of Gird is not as corrupt as much human law.” He turned and spoke in gnomish to one of the gnomes at his shoulder; that one hurried away. The prince looked back at Andressat.
“So: do you think this Alured most dangerous because he is a lawbreaker, or violent, or a strong leader?”
“I do not know,” Andressat said. “He is all of those and cruel besides. Some things I know only by hearsay, but this captain may have seen.”
“Captain?” the prince said.
“I saw him at Aliuna and other cities of the southern coast after Siniava’s death,” Selfer said. “He took pleasure in the fear and suffering of others. We had not seen that until then—it was a war, we were not always fighting on the same field, or nearby. It sickened me, and others, and even the Duke.”
“Even the Duke? Was he, then, prone to cruelty?”
“No,” Selfer said. “Not at all. But when angry, when Siniava had tortured his own troops, he swore vengeance.”
“Vengeance is not justice; vengeance is not wise. So the Lawgiver said, and so the Law demands that justice be done, not vengeance taken. What does human law say?”
“My lord prince, human law varies. Here in Tsaia, in times of peace, private vengeance is unlawful: those accused must stand trial, and their deeds be shown to fall inside or outside the law. Across the pass, in Aarenis, the Guild League cities have one law, and others hold differently. But in time of war, against an enemy …” Selfer faltered.
“All are lawbreakers then,” the prince said.
“Not so, my lord,” Selfer said. “This Company, in which I am now captain and was then squire, and several others, had formed an agreement on law as related to war—”
The prince’s brow rose a moment, then lowered again. “Those who fight to make the rules of fighting? That is strange indeed. And was any heed paid to the true Law?”
Selfer nodded. “My lord, our agreement with one another said that no matter what those who paid us wanted, we would not mistreat prisoners taken, but feed and house them, and tend their wounds. That care be taken, on the march, not to rob those a troop passed, nor harm those who did not seek to harm the troop. War always means killing, but it was our intent to limit it as much as possible to those whose business it was.”
The prince drummed his fingers on the arm of his throne, then turned to Andressat. “And you, Count of Andressat?”
“We had a code of honor very like that of the mercenaries’ code,” he said. “No torture, no unnecessary killing, no attacks on those not armed. No destruction of orchards or fields, though a crop, in war, must be counted lost if an army came through. I will say, of Duke Phelan’s Company, that they marched all through my domain and not a stray goat went missing because of it. No vines were harmed, no oilberry trees hacked. The same cannot be said,” he said, “of Siniava’s troops.”
“It is a bad thing when a man formerly lawful falls into lawlessness through passion,” said the prince. “It creates imbalance. Tell me, how did this Siniava die?”
“Aliam Halveric cut off his head,” Selfer said.
“Without torment?”
“Yes.”
“And how was he captured? In battle?”
“No … trying to escape through the lines disguised as a woman. One of our soldiers, Paksenarrion, was on guard, and spotted him. She’s now a paladin of Gird.”
“Paksenarrion! One of our people owes a debt to her; if you see her again, tell her to bring the ring, that the debt may be paid.” The prince tilted his head. “Or possibly the debt should be paid to the Girdish command, as she is now theirs.” He looked back at Andressat. “As for your news, Count Andressat, we had heard of unrest in the south. None spoke of invasion across the pass, or anything that threatened us directly. But you think this is possible?”
“Yes, lord prince. As I told Tsaia’s king, not this coming summer but later. The king assures me the other regalia are secure, but I believe this means Alured will come with force to take the crown, as soon as he has enough troops and control of the south.”
“Foreign mercenaries stopped Siniava—why not Alured?” The prince turned to Selfer.
“My lord prince, I lack the experience of senior captains, but the south is still recovering from the former war, and if Alured has already suborned some of the Guild League cities, such an alliance as faced Siniava may not be possible.”
“And yet you go south …”
“Under orders, lord prince. Nor do I know who might contract with us this coming year.”
“Well.” The prince turned to their guide and spoke a time in gnomish. Their guide bowed. He spoke again to them in Common. “It is that it was a good thing you brought this word of warning to me. Value was received; value will be given. If it please you, we will grant you and your companions swift travel to the pass, through our ways.”
Andressat was not sure what this meant, but Selfer answered for them. “It is most gracious, lord prince, and if it suits Count Andressat, I accept.”
“He rules you?”
“No, lord prince, but as I said, I am bound by my king’s orders to accompany him as far as Valdaire.”
“It is a bo
on rarely offered,” the prince said; he looked at Andressat.
“I—I accept,” Andressat said, hoping he was not making a mistake.
“Their companions have already made camp, lord prince,” their guide said.
“In the outer day, then,” the prince said. His companions on the dais picked up the throne—with him in it—and turned it around so he faced away from them.
“Come now,” their guide said, and led them back outside into the raw dank wind that penetrated even the thick woolen clothes Dorrin had given Andressat. He shivered. As before, he shared the young captain’s tent that night.
He woke at dawn; the camp was already astir, and Selfer gone from his pallet. Andressat hurried to ready himself for travel. All but the captain’s tent had been struck and packed; as soon as he was out, that, too, came down.
As before, Andressat was impressed by how fast and completely these soldiers cleaned up the campsite, pushing sod back into the tent-peg holes, covering over the jacks after the last had used it. Selfer, he saw, was asking the gnomes who had come out to lead them away how they wanted the fire-pit cleaned.
To his surprise, these gnomes—not the same as the day before—led them away from the arched entrance he’d used before, more westward, along a narrow trail where they could ride only single file. Half the gnomes led; the other half followed. Andressat followed Selfer, chewing on a strip of dried meat that served instead of the hot sib and porridge he’d had so often on this trip. The trail trended upward and west, into rougher country than the trade road. Andressat caught but one glimpse of it between the tall rocks that now hedged them in, a little curve of beaten earth on the slope far below.
Sometime after midmorning, a cleft in the rock opened before them. “We go here,” their guide said. “Big enough inside, but lead horses …”
Andressat shivered. The dark hole looked more like a natural cave, and he had no wish to spend days or weeks wandering in the dark. But Selfer had dismounted and followed their guides, and Andressat could not—in that narrow place, with the whole troop behind him—do anything else.
Kings of the North Page 47
