Oath of Fealty

by Elizabeth Moon

  She might as well put on the informal court dress she had brought to the scullery with her, what the tailor had told her was appropriate for submitting her credentials. She put on the gray trousers, a halfdress shirt with a handspan of lace at the cuffs and neck, a doublet of light blue and silver-gray brocade, dress boots with fancy spurs ornamented with silver chains. Her ducal chain of office; her ducal ring; her sword belt—she slipped her dress dagger into its sheath, the sword into the hanger.

  The Marshal waiting in the smaller reception room had his lips compressed and a look of suspicion on his face. Dorrin expected that. She did not expect his first words.

  “You’re the one who brought Phelan’s troop through the city, aren’t you? I’m Marshal Tamis.”

  “Yes,” Dorrin said. “That was I. You might have heard me spoken of as Captain Dorrin; I commanded one of his cohorts these past tens of years.”

  “I saw you,” he said. “’Twas after Gird’s paladin was freed, and we at last began the cleansing of this city. I saw you ride by with his soldiers, wearing his colors then. I never forget a face,” he added, a little smugly.

  “I’m sorry,” Dorrin said. “I did not notice you—I was thinking only of catching up with Kieri—”

  “What is it you want from me?” he asked.

  “The former Duke did evil magery in this house,” Dorrin said. “I found it full of traps, both physical and magical. Only a few rooms are clear, and in some of them are things I do not know how to clear. He and the others followed Liart; Liart’s symbols and evidence of blood magery are in room after room. I need your help, Marshal, to cleanse the place.”

  “How did you clear the rooms you’ve cleared so far?”

  “The physical traps—the poisoned pins and darts, the contact poisons on window latches and the like—are all things I’d seen as a child, and have disarmed at Verrakai Steading in the days since I’ve been there. The magery—you might as well know, Marshal, that the prince granted me permission to use magery against magery. It was the only way to subdue those of my family I captured and sent here for judgment.”

  “Magery …” He looked at her sideways. “You have the real magery, like the old ones?”

  “Yes,” Dorrin said. “Though I did not know it until recently. It was freed with the aid of Paks and the Knight-Commander of Falk, and was—they thought—the only way for me to carry out the prince’s command to subdue those under Attainder.”

  “Your ruby proclaims you a Knight of Falk.” That in a challenging tone.

  “Indeed,” Dorrin said. “And I have prayed more to Falk and the High Lord since I came to Verrakai Steading than in years of combat in Aarenis. Prayed for wisdom, for the right use of my power … and only with it have I been able to save those who suffered so long.”

  He huffed out a breath, then said, “The evening turns—you have made your bow at the palace already?”

  “No,” Dorrin said. “I was bathing when you came; days on the road left me in no condition to pay courtesies.”

  “Then show me the worst you know of here, and I will do what I can. I understand you will not want to leave me here to explore on my own—”

  “Indeed not, not until I’ve uncovered every trap I can find.”

  Dorrin led him upstairs to what had been the Duke’s study. “This room still has physical traps,” she said. “I have not had time to disarm them all. What I do not know how to disarm is that.” She pointed to the blood smears on the floor, under the horned chain of Liart hung on the wall.

  “Gird’s grace,” the Marshal said. He turned to Dorrin. “Were I you, I would seal this room until I can bring another Marshal. It will take more than one of us. Are there other such?”

  “A symbol of Liart in the bedrooms where I believe my uncle the former Duke, my other uncle his brother, and the kirgan Verrakai slept. Blood marks on the threshold of the doors of those rooms. Symbols in blood on the floor beneath the beds—I do not know their meaning. I have sealed those rooms. I have not gone into the cellars at all; they are clearly tainted.”

  “Where then will you sleep?” the Marshal asked.

  “In that room where you waited,” Dorrin said. “There are more rooms upstairs—the servants’ quarters up in the attics might be safe, but I haven’t had time to check them.” At his expression, she grinned. “Marshal, I’ve slept on the ground or on floors many a night on campaign. A soft bed is pleasant, but not necessary.”

  He shook his head. “When I think of you as Phelan’s captain, riding past at the head of your troops, I can believe it. But in court clothes, as Duke Verrakai? The only Duke Verrakai I’ve seen was very different.”

  Dorrin rode the short distance to the palace with only one of her escort at her side, as requested. At the gates, the palace guard looked far more like guards and less ceremonial than she had seen on other trips through Vérella. As Dorrin rode up, an officer stepped forward, the knots of a Serrostin in the collateral line on his uniform shoulder. He clearly expected her.

  “My lord,” he said, with a slight bow. “If it please you, dismount and let a groom take your horse and show your escort to the servants’ hall, he will be taken care of while you proceed—the prince will see you shortly.”

  Dorrin dismounted and handed her reins to a groom in livery.

  “And I’m afraid I must ask you to disarm,” the officer said. “Your arms will be borne for you by one of the guard, and returned when you leave, or if the prince grants permission to carry them yourself …”

  “I understand,” Dorrin said. She took off the belt, sword and dagger still attached, and handed it to the officer, who passed it to another guard. “I wore no hidden weapons today, sir, though if you find it necessary, you may ask to search. I do wear mail, as I am aware of the hostility directed to my family—understandable, but I do not wish to die of it before I can report to the prince.”

  He gave her a long look, as if making up his mind in lieu of specific orders, and then shook his head. “No need, my lord Duke. Duke Phelan trusted you; the prince trusts him. Redeem that trust, if you will, or my honor is forfeit.”

  Serrostins, she recalled, were as honor-minded as Marrakai, another ancient family whose roots were somewhere in the deep south. Her family had sneered at them as having no magery, losing it early to presumed intermarriage with ignorant peasants.

  “My relatives chose one path, sir,” she said, meeting his gaze. “I chose another. Indeed, your honor risks nothing in trusting me.”

  “I am glad to hear it, my lord,” the man said. “I will now lead you to the prince.” He turned away and Dorrin followed him across the great outer court to the palace entrance. Paks had described it; she recognized the stairs, the pillars, the carvings.

  “I must beg your courtesy,” Dorrin said, as they neared the steps. “I spent my life as a mercenary captain, as you know. I had no training, after early childhood, in the etiquette of nobles greeting one another, or indeed a ruler, and none at all here in this court. Foreign courts were likely very different, and besides, as a mere mercenary …” She stopped. “The truth is, I do not know whether to bow or bend the knee to the prince when I meet him. I do not wish to offend in my ignorance, either this evening or at any of the ceremonies to come. To whom may I look for guidance?”

  He almost stumbled, coming to a stop four steps up. “You—don’t know any court protocol?”

  “Not at all,” Dorrin said. “I never came to this court, even when I came to Vérella. I did not wish to see my uncle the Duke, nor he to see me—my name was blotted out of the family records. Kieri or Jandelir reported to the palace—I mean,” she said, seeing his confusion, “Kieri Phelan and Jandelir Arcolin.”

  “You will need a guide,” he said. “Unfortunately, I cannot serve as your guide, beyond this meeting; I have duties that fill my time. I can introduce you to the Master of Ceremonies, but he, too, is busy organizing the coronation.”

  “I told Paksenarrion about this,” Dorrin said. “She sug
gested I find a boy she knew—Aris Marrakai—”

  “Marrakai! She told a Verrakai to ask a Marrakai for help?” He rolled his eyes. “My lord Duke, that suggestion could have come only from a paladin! It is in defiance of all Tsaian history, ancient and modern.”

  “I gathered,” Dorrin said. “But at the same time, it is a paladin’s suggestion, and a Girdish paladin’s at that. Have you another?”

  “No.” He turned, and continued up the stairs. “I do not, and if Marrakai assents, it will do much to maintain your skin entire. Kirgan Marrakai is one of the prince’s closest companions, as is my cousin Kirgan Serrostin.” He nodded to the guards at the palace doors, which stood open to catch the evening breeze and led her inside. “I can tell you, my lord, for this first meeting you would be wise to go to one knee, heart-hand to your breast, like this—” He demonstrated, half-turned to her. “It is more formal than normally required, but it will look well.”

  “Thank you,” Dorrin said. “I will do so.”

  Her passage through the palace brought many long looks, some hostile; Dorrin ignored them. She had no idea which rooms were which. They went this way and that, up a set of stairs, down another passage. The officer spoke to a guard at one door, who knocked, and announced “Guard-Captain Serrostin and a visitor” then flung the door wide for them to enter.

  In a room lit by oil lamps, a cluster of men stood at one side, near windows that let in a cool breeze. Most were young; the prince and his companions, Dorrin thought. The older man in rose and white would be one of the prince’s uncles; the other older man wore Marshal’s blue.

  “My lord prince, Duke Dorrin Verrakai,” the officer said. Dorrin went down on one knee. She could feel the tension in the room.

  The prince moved from the others and came to her, his expression guarded. “Duke Verrakai, do you come to tell me all your renegade family are safely confined?”

  “No, my lord prince. I come at your request to pledge fealty and see you crowned rightful king of Tsaia.”

  “I have heard, from sources I do not fully trust, of a secret crown and secret realm.”

  Dorrin said, “My lord prince, there are matters we must discuss, but by your leave I would rather bring proof than words.”

  “You name me rightful king. Do you mean that?”

  “Yes,” Dorrin said. “With all my heart.”

  He put out a hand. “Rise, then, lord Duke, and be welcome here until such time as you choose another allegiance or play me false.”

  Dorrin took his hand and stood. “I intend neither,” she said.

  “The gods do not always cooperate with human intentions,” the prince said. “Come, I will introduce you.”

  “My lord prince,” the guard-captain said. “The duke’s arms?”

  The prince looked at Dorrin. “You would have known the paladin Paksenarrion—”

  “Yes, lord prince.”

  “Where is she now, do you know?”

  “Watching over Verrakai lands, my lord. She came from Chaya and urged me to accept your invitation, which I had been loath to do because I had not yet captured all you commanded. She said she would watch it for me, and indeed there is none I trust more.”

  “Well then, I will trust you to bear arms in my presence the same as any other noble of your rank.” He nodded at the guard captain. “Return the duke’s arms, and inform the palace guard that the Duke is as privileged in that regard as any other peer.”

  “At once, my lord,” the guard-captain said. He gestured to the soldier who carried Dorrin’s belt and sword. “If the prince will excuse me now—”

  “Of course,” the prince said. He smiled at Dorrin. “And now, let me introduce you—”

  Dorrin recognized the colors, and had seen some of the nobles on the streets of Vérella; she had never met them. The older man, Duke Sonder Mahieran, the prince’s uncle. High Marshal Seklis. Kirgan Marrakai, Kirgan Valthan Serrostin and a younger brother Rolyan, Kirgan Konhalt. All young men of breeding, near or just over majority, heirs of noble fathers. Dorrin bowed to each, and each bowed in return, though without real warmth.

  “You arrived today, I think,” the prince said.

  “Indeed, my lord. It will seem strange to all of you, but—having been estranged from my family for so long—I had never been to their residence here, and finding it—and making it safe to inhabit even in part—took up the rest of the day.”

  “But you have been in Vérella before,” the prince said.

  “Yes, with Kieri Phelan’s company, as his captain, guiding troops through the city. My dealings were with merchants, on occasion, or on Duke Phelan’s business with his banker. Not with my family, and not here, where I might have met them.”

  “Your family’s property was forfeit to the Crown as a result of the bill of attainder,” the prince said. “I exempted the Verrakai lands, for the time, but the house here—we would have seized it, but that we could not. I grant you the use of it while you are here on court business, but nothing more, for the time being. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, my lord prince,” Dorrin said.

  “Funds in the bank your predecessor used have been confiscated—that banker, we found, was involved in the Thieves’ Guild, to the great embarrassment of the Moneychangers’ Guild where he held an office of distinction. The Crown will release such funds to you as you require for attending us at our command, but the rest will remain in our control until such time as we are satisfied.”

  “I understand, Lord Prince,” Dorrin said. She understood, but she did not like the thought of applying to the prince’s clerks for money to buy every butt of water, every stick of firewood.

  “We do not enjoy being harsh, but events—events have forced us to more caution than we otherwise would choose.”

  “Of course,” Dorrin said.

  “Then sit down with us. This is not a Council meeting, you perceive, but I wanted these men to meet you, and you to meet them. Two others will join us later.” The others took off their swords and put them in a rack to one side; Dorrin did the same. The prince waved to the table, and Dorrin sat where he bade her. Duke Mahieran went to the door and called for a servant to bring refreshments, then came and sat beside her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  “When did you join Phelan’s Company?” asked Duke Mahieran. “Was he then a duke?”

  “He is some years older than me,” Dorrin said. “I had met him at the Falkian Hall, where we both took training—he being already a veteran, having fought with Halveric Company a season or two in Aarenis. I was one of the youngest accepted, as he was one of the oldest, so it was years before I saw him again. I needed work, and the Captain-General of Falk sent me to Aliam Halveric. He knew Phelan was looking for a junior captain, and recommended me. It was his first independent command.”

  “I know about that,” Kirgan Marrakai said. “My grandfather gave him a horse.”

  “I didn’t know a Verrakai was in his service until he told us, the day the sword proclaimed him,” Duke Mahieran said. “And yet I’ve seen Phelan’s troops coming through Vérella spring after spring, and you were sometimes with them. To my shame, I saw only the mercenary captain.”

  “It is no shame to you, my lord,” Dorrin said. “That is what I was, most of my life, and you saw the truth of it. I never expected to use my family’s name again or take any part in the life of nobles.”

  “It did not bother you to set that wealth and luxury aside?” High Marshal Seklis asked.

  “Marshal, if you knew what it was that you call luxury—I was glad to escape, and that was not my only attempt. I wanted nothing they had to offer me.” Dorrin clenched her fists in her lap to stop them trembling. “The current Knight-Commander of Falk knows some of it. I told him, and Paksenarrion. If I must—”

  “Not if it pains you,” the prince said, holding up a hand. The two older men looked as if they would hear more.

  Dorrin shook her head. “It pains me, my lord prince, but it is what made me what I a
m. I would prefer not to have it become a … a tale of dinner gossip. It is not trivial to me.”

  High Marshal Seklis frowned at the younger men. “Can we trust you youngsters not to chatter?”

  They nodded. Dorrin looked them each in the face. They had been someone’s squires, or were now: they should know how to keep secrets. She repeated again what she had told Kieri Phelan and Paks; the telling was no easier for being repeated. From their faces, they were first disbelieving, then horrified, disgusted.

  “That’s horrible!” the younger Serrostin burst out. His brother put a hand on his shoulder. “How did you—how could a child—survive—?”

  “I don’t know. I can remember little—so if there was someone who helped me, taught me—I do not know who it was.” She went on, as quickly as she could, ignoring their exclamations and finished with the story of her final, successful escape and the sanctuary Falk’s Hall had given her.

  “A remarkable story,” Duke Mahieran said, with an undertone of if true.

  The young men were looking at her as she had had young men look before: squires to captains who had just revealed something of their own youth. High Marshal Seklis shook his head. “I believe it is true, Sonder. And the paladin is her friend. Whatever the other Verrakaien believed or believe, this one is not like them.”

  “There’s still that story of conspiracy,” Duke Mahieran said. “Mikeli’s my nephew, my prince, and soon to be my king. We must know what she knows about that.”

  “I do not know what you have heard,” Dorrin said. “But in my uncle’s study in the house in our domain, I found proof of … of something. I don’t know exactly what; I brought … things … here, to give to the prince.”

  “Liart’s foulness, I suppose.”

  “No, my lord. I would still rather show, than speak of them. They are at the house, under guard.”