Kieri frowned. A single cohort in Aarenis—that would be hard to manage, unless Arcolin took along extra support staff. Had he thought to do that? Then he shook his head. Arcolin was no longer his concern. His concern was here and now: Lyonya’s west border and the Verrakai. They had recently lost a battle—how much had that degraded their ability to attack? Dorrin’s cohort was all he had—if he gave that up and sent her back to Tsaia, he’d have no real troops so far as he knew. He wondered if Aliam Halveric’s company had left for Aarenis yet. And how many forest rangers were there? Who commanded them?
He asked Garris to find Sier Halveric. Halveric came back into the room looking worried.
“Here’s the word from Tsaia,” Kieri said, handing him the letter. “I wanted to talk to you before telling the whole Council, since you seem to have more grasp of our defensive situation. What forces do we have, to oppose the kinds of trouble you think likely?”
Halveric ticked them off on his fingers. “Our forest rangers, to the number of perhaps a thousand. Not many, to cover the entire realm, but the greatest number are deployed along the western border. They operate in small groups—mostly a hand or so, rarely more than three hands unless one calls for help—”
“What are their arms?” Kieri said.
“Blackwood bows,” Halveric said. “And swords, of course.”
“Training?”
“Woodscraft, primarily, and archery and fencing.” Halveric made a face. “Aliam’s pointed out to me before that they are not trained as a regular fighting force, the kind he uses. Archers, he says, are an adjunct to soldiers in formation, soldiers armed with polearms or sword and shield, like his company. Then he goes off into a spiel about mixed-arms tactics and I get lost. But I do understand that we have nothing that counts as an actual army, unless you count the Royal Archers.”
“And what are they?” Kieri asked.
“A longbow archery company, two hundred strong. You’ll see them at the coronation. They march and drill just like other foot soldiers.”
Kieri thought back to Aarenis. No one there used longbows; he’d had one of his cohorts trained in crossbows and had hired or allied with specialist crossbow units as well … but two hundred longbows …
“I suppose longbows haven’t the range of crossbows,” he said. “Or do they? They must be more awkward to carry and handle.” In his mind, he saw archers struggling through the woods, the longer bows catching on every vine and twig.
“Hardly,” Halveric said with a smile. “Didn’t Aliam talk about them? And doesn’t your paladin have a blackwood bow she got from our rangers? Talk to her, and find out why we never export bow-length blackwood.”
“But two hundred archers … against the Pargunese—” The Pargunese, he knew from paid spies and his own observations, could put two thousand troops in the field.
Halveric raised an eyebrow. “Do you know what happened during the Girdish wars?”
“No.” And what could that matter, as long ago as those wars had been.
“Quite a few Tsaian magelords thought it would be a good idea to shift into Lyonya, and drive us out. They knew we had no standing army, and even though they had been held back when the magelords first came over the mountain, they thought they had the resources to succeed.”
“But they were already fighting the Girdsmen,” Kieri said. “Why would they start another war?”
“They didn’t think they were starting another war,” Halveric said. “They thought they were invading a helpless neighbor who didn’t have the population or will to stand up to them. They knew that the humans in Lyonya were the same stock as those they’d conquered. And they knew somehow—how, I don’t know—that the Ladysforest elves were away, involved in something else.” He paused, and picked up a pastry from the tray. “They expected us to break as easily as this—” He broke the pastry. “And to be as soft inside. But they failed.”
“Because of blackwood bows?”
“Blackwood bows and those who know how to use them, to advantage.” Halveric spread his hands. “I know what Aliam does, what kinds of troops he has. He told me how you fought in Aarenis. Open ground, for the most part. Sieges of walled fortresses and citadels. Blackwood bows—if you could even get them—might not do as well there. But here … I think you will be pleasantly surprised.”
“Who commands these forces?” Kieri asked.
“You do, Sir King, if you choose to act directly. In the past hand of years, the king has left such matters to the Council in whole, and the Council has not been much interested. I am seen as dangerously influenced by my brother, but in fact Aliam’s descriptions of war terrify me. Only, like Aliam and you, I see that intending no harm is no protection.”
“But in the field—who decides where they go and what their orders are?”
“The forest rangers are divided into four groves, one for each border, and each commanded by a grove-captain. These have their orders from here—from me, if it seems needed. It was my decision, for instance, to move a half-grove from the southeast to the southwest, to provide more protection from Tsaian problems. Most of our southeast quarter, after all, is within the Ladysforest.”
“A wise move,” Kieri said. “What protection for the riverside?”
“The northern grove of rangers, and the three river towns with forts,” Halveric said. “The forts are manned by city militia … perhaps twenty or thirty in each.”
Clearly inadequate to prevent a river crossing. Though, he supposed, archers shooting from the forest cover could make rowing across the river very difficult.
“And who commands the Royal Archers in the field?” he asked.
“In the field? I have never known them to be more than a half day’s march from Chaya. They have a captain, of course. You should meet him, I suppose.”
“Indeed I should,” Kieri said. He sighed, thinking how far all this was from any real defensive force. Bowmen skulking in the woods could certainly delay an attacking force, but he wanted better. “How do you think others will react to this news?” He tapped the letter.
“They’ll be frightened,” Halveric said. “As I am. Worried. And the Tsaians want that cohort back. I was half hoping you’d retain it permanently.”
“It seems a time to press the Council about defenses,” Kieri said. “I was going to wait until after the coronation, but this gives reason.”
“They’ll balk,” Halveric said. “I would advise waiting—but then, they will balk any time.”
“They must at least know what the news is,” Kieri said.
He called the Council in, and read them the letter from the crown prince.
As he’d expected, they were frightened.
“They can’t make you send your soldiers away,” Galvary said. “Can they? They’re yours—”
“Mine when I was a duke in Tsaia,” Kieri said. “They’re Tsaian. Besides, only days ago you were wanting me to send them back, remember?”
“Yes, but—but if the Tsaians are going to cause trouble we need something—”
“We do,” Kieri said. “But until we know what Captain Dorrin’s orders from the Crown are, we can defer this discussion.” Down the room, the elves and Sier Halveric all gave short nods of approval.
CHAPTER TEN
Dorrin Verrakai had just returned from her morning visit with her cohort, and settled into one of the small reception rooms with pen and paper to write the necessary orders for the next hand of days, when one of the palace servants knocked on the door.
“Captain—there’s a messenger from Tsaia.”
“For the king, I presume … did the king ask my presence?”
“No, Captain. This messenger is for you. In the royal livery.” The servant’s demeanor was perfectly correct, but Dorrin could see intense curiosity in his glance. Did he wonder if she were being recalled to stand trial?
“I’ll see the messenger here,” Dorrin said.
The messenger, in Tsaia’s rose and white, bowed to Dorrin as he came
into the room. On one shoulder was the gold and silver knot that meant he was of noble birth, assigned to carry messages for the royal family only, and on his collar the silver bell signifying a knight in the Order of the Bells. Such would not usually bow to her, a mercenary, even though she wore the ruby of a Knight of Falk.
“Sir,” she said courteously, with a bow in return.
“I bring an urgent message from the prince and Council of Tsaia,” he said. “It concerns you and your family, and the welfare of the realm.”
The welfare of the realm? Considering the behavior of her relatives, the only welfare of the realm she could imagine meant eradication of the entire family. But would the prince or Council really send her a message consisting of “present yourself for execution”? To cover her surprise, she tried courtesy. “You have traveled far,” Dorrin said. “You will take refreshment, surely.”
“Not until I’ve done my duty,” he said. He pulled from beneath his messenger’s mantle a red leather scroll case. “I am to hand this to you personally and remain at your service to answer any questions you may have.”
Dorrin took the scroll case, untied the intricate knots, and slid out a scroll sealed with the royal mark as well as bound with a twist of rose and silver ribbons.
“He wrote it himself,” the messenger said. “He wanted no scribe to have knowledge of it.”
Dorrin slid her thumbnail under the seal and cracked it, then unrolled the scroll. It began as all royal documents did, flowery and formal … Greetings from the Crown of Tsaia to Captain Dorrin Verrakai, formerly under command of Kieri Artfiel Phelan, Duke of Phelan, now rightful King of Lyonya … but then the sense of the next section hit her. It is Our wish that you accept the charge here laid upon you, to take the title of Duke Verrakai …
“You … he … cannot be serious.” Dorrin was sure her face had paled. It would not do to say that the prince was crazy, but he must have lost all reason to think elevating an exiled Verrakai mercenary to the dukedom would work. She had not been there—she had refused to think of it as home for over two decades now—since her last, successful flight.
“I assure you, Captain, that the prince is serious. Pray read the rest. No other member of the family is free from the taint of treason; you alone are known to be a loyal friend to Kieri Phelan. The prince charged me to tell you that he is convinced breaking up the duchy would create more problems. It needs a strong duke—duchess—and you have both command and combat experience.”
She did, that was true. She read the rest, the formal phrases explaining why her uncles and aunts, her siblings, her cousins, were under order of attainder. Haron Vasli, the Duke who was, and his brother Kalin, are dead, following a merciless attack on my person, resulting in the deaths of the Marshal-Judicar and the Knight-Commander of the Bells. Dorrin shivered. Other Verrakai have ignored a summons to court. We have reports that Haron’s next brother fled south, to Konhalt. That she could well believe. Konhalt, a minor family, had been allied to Verrakai since the Girdish wars, though with one branch that had moved north and away. We need decisive, quick action to take control of Verrakai and prevent open rebellion. Indeed they did need that. You are authorized to use whatever force you must. Did that mean—could it mean—using magery against magery? But even if he allowed it, hers was too weak.
Dorrin read on; the prince explained why he had decided against breaking up the Verrakai holdings and handing them over to others. Doing that before he was finally crowned would cause more chaos, possibly even civil war. He could not afford to wait until his Midsummer coronation. He must act quickly. If she accepted, he would send further instructions to meet her on return to Tsaia.
Her imagination flared, showing her the great steading as it had been, the old stone of the original keep still standing, the more modern mansion and outbuildings around it. She saw herself arriving there with loyal troops behind her, striding up those steps worn by the feet of centuries, into the great hall … her imagination stopped short before peopling that hall with any of the relatives and servants likely to be there. Not her uncle the late duke, or her uncle his brother or her father, dead a decade by rumor. Her mother? Perhaps. Her aunt? Cousins? She shivered. She could not go back there, not after all these years, not to face their malice, their magery.
And yet. If not Dorrin Duke Verrakai, who could possibly take over? Did the people Verrakai ruled deserve to be scattered, handed over to strangers who might not understand what they had endured? If Konhalt also fell, as the prince’s letter suggested, who else—?
“It is not a royal command,” the messenger said, when she looked up. “The prince realizes that you have been estranged from your family these many years. But it is a heartfelt request.”
“He will need an answer quickly,” Dorrin said. “It must be settled …”
“He is sorry to inconvenience you …” the messenger said.
Dorrin almost laughed. Inconvenience? If she accepted, governing Verrakai would be far more than an inconvenience. “My situation here must be settled before I give my answer,” she said. “I must speak to the king, and arrange for someone to command the troops I brought with me.”
“Then you accept?”
This weight she had never sought, never wanted, never dreamed of, settled on her shoulders. “I will give you my answer when I have spoken to the king, who is still my liege.”
But he had read her real answer in her eyes, for now he was smiling. “Of course, my … Captain.”
“And now,” Dorrin said, ringing for servants, “you must take refreshment, and rest. Whatever my answer, you have a long, cold ride ahead of you.”
The king was studying rows of figures and making notes as she came into the small dining hall.
“Sir King,” Dorrin said. He looked up and smiled.
“What, Captain?” His expression sobered. “You’re upset … the troops?”
“A messenger from Tsaia, from the prince—for me.”
“He wants the cohort back,” Kieri said. “He wrote me.”
Dorrin shook her head. “Not that—he wants me to take over Verrakai. As the only—as he puts it—honorable Verrakai of my generation.” She laid the scroll before him, and watched as he unrolled it.
“That’s … interesting,” he said as he read.
“No, Sir King, that’s terrifying. And worse, I feel a pull …”
“You’d be good, Dorrin,” he said, looking up. “You are the best Verrakai; you could change the family history.”
“But you know my story, my lord. The family hates me, and I left …” He gestured to a chair and she sat, too tense to relax into it.
“Dorrin. Captain. Change comes. I must give up my land and my Company, abandon the home and life I made for myself, the people I swore to protect and care for, to assume the responsibility for these people, this place … to assume the responsibility of a king. Even the Company will not be the same—”
“I know.” Tears stung her eyes. The Company without Kieri Phelan—she had already contemplated that, with misery. Jandelir Arcolin was a fine man, a good commander, but he was not Kieri Phelan.
“Then perhaps it is time for you, too, to take a bold leap.”
“I understand that things will never be as they were. But this—this is different.”
“And yet you feel a pull. At some level, Dorrin, you want it. You have always wanted to redeem your family.”
She sighed. “Yes. But I cannot imagine how it can be successful. How to go about it.”
He laughed, startling her. “Oh, Dorrin—do you not remember when we were building the stronghold in the north? No one thought that would be successful. An upstart no-name granted land and title? No family fortune? And yet you joined me, and now—barring the fact that I can no longer be there—it is a thriving land. You have more experience than I had then.”
“If I can gain the support of the people, who have known only bad Verrakai.” And if the magelords still there didn’t kill her outright.
&
nbsp; He cocked his head. “What you really doubt is yourself, not your people.”
Your people. He said it as if he knew already that she would take it on.
“In a way, yes.” She spoke slowly. “Back there, in that setting, away from the Company—from you—what if it comes back?” The fear, the immobility, against their power.
“What is it you fear, Dorrin?”
“I never told you what the Knight-Commander told me—”
“You wear the ruby. You would not have been knighted if there’d been much wrong.”
“Yes, I wear the ruby. But I wanted more. Wanted to be what Paks is. He said I bore the same flaws, heart-deep, as those I fled. That no Verrakai could be free of them—”
“You wanted to be a paladin?” He sounded surprised, but less so than she’d feared.
“I wanted to go back and change them all. I thought that was the way. He said I was unfit for that.”
“You were then, yes. Like me, you were a youngster with little experience and few skills. And I would agree that you are not a paladin. Nor am I. We were born with other talents, Dorrin. We are meant to govern. You have been doing that, superbly, since you joined my Company.”
“Under your command. And not exactly governing.”
He gave her that challenging grin she had known so long. “You know better. Each of you captains has had independent command, and you’ve all been involved in the dukedom. Come now, Captain: If I can go from running a mercenary company and a duchy to this—” He waved his arm at the room, encompassing the kingdom. “—and face my formidable elven relatives, then you can deal with mere humans and a duchy that desperately needs an honorable sane leader.” He paused; she said nothing. “And there’s this,” he said. “I expect trouble with Pargun, as well as some internal upheavals. Having you on my flank, someone I know and trust, would help me. I would not expect miracles, Dorrin—I know there have been cross-border raids and there will be more. But you will not be trying to undermine my kingdom.”
Oath of Fealty Page 11
