Limits of Power

by Elizabeth Moon

  “My people—our people now—are afraid of dogs, you know, all but the shepherds’ dogs. My uncle used dogs to scare them and hurt them as well as for hunting, so I haven’t brought any in. Kieri didn’t use them in the Company. Would you like a dog, Beclan?”

  “I don’t know, my lord. Hunter was so special…”

  “What about horses?” He said nothing, and Dorrin went on. “If you have never had a feel for plants, I was wondering about animals … a dog, a horse, anything that would help you make that connection to the taig.”

  “I thought the taig was all about trees.”

  “Hmmm. I should have had you talk to the Kuakkgani while we were in Chaya. If I can find Ashwind, I may ask him to come and instruct both of us. My understanding is that the taig is formed of all living things.”

  “My lord Duke!” That was one of the King’s Squires Kieri had sent to guide them through the forest. “We could spend the night in a ranger shelter if it please you.”

  Dorrin nodded. “It does. The queen told me about Verrakaien brigands who’d been killed, and my king would like to know which of the attainted they were. Will rangers be at the shelter?”

  “Yes, we expect to meet some there,” the Squire said.

  The next morning, before resuming their journey west, she and Beclan followed one of the rangers to the grave site, but the ranger’s description of those killed did not give her enough information to identify them for certain. The grave was covered with a dense growth of a vine she did not recognize.

  “We planted that,” the ranger said. “It is good for such places, where evil is buried. Its roots hold fast, and it devours without being tainted. Later it will die, and by its death we will know any evil has been cleansed.”

  “I am sorry my kinsmen caused you such trouble,” Dorrin said, “but glad you have taken precautions with their remains.”

  When they reached the border; their Lyonyan escort turned back. Dorrin and Beclan rode on with only the two Verrakaien militia. The spring sun, the fresh scents of the forest, raised Dorrin’s spirits, and she saw that Beclan was taking an interest as well. After a glass or so, Dorrin felt the taig weakening. “Something’s wrong here,” she said.

  “It feels … sad,” Beclan said. “If I’m feeling what I think I’m feeling.”

  The feeling worsened as they rode on, and then they saw the first deformed tree. Only half the limbs had leafed out; the branches and trunk had lost bark. Others stood beyond, grotesque parodies of healthy trees. Under them grew only a few twisted shrubs and stunted flowers, the blooms pale and already wilting.

  “This is what Gwenno reported last year when she patrolled in this area,” Dorrin said before Beclan asked. “Why my family cursed the trees, I don’t know—unless it’s possible that some form of blood magery works with trees.”

  She turned to her militia. “Ride on until you find a healthy stand of trees and make camp there. I want to study this and see if anything may be done.” The guards saluted and rode ahead. Dorrin dismounted; Beclan followed her.

  “It’s horrible,” Beclan said. “Can we do anything?”

  “We can try, though I suspect it would take a Kuakgan or an elf—or a group of them. Pick a tree.”

  Beclan chose a tree with a few tufts of spring-green leaves on twisted limbs. They both laid hands on it; Dorrin felt its living essence, frayed and sad, through the palms of her hands. “Alyanya’s power,” Dorrin said. “Lady of Flowers, Lady of Peace … if we can help this tree, show us how.” To her senses, the tree seemed to warm, as if a little more life flowed into it.

  Beclan looked at her. “I feel something, my lord,” he said. “It’s not like a pulse, but a … a flow.” He looked up. “But no more leaves.”

  “It will take time, I suppose,” Dorrin said. She sighed. “Do you feel tired, Beclan?”

  “Yes. As if I’d been running.”

  “Enough for today. We’ll eat and rest before riding on.”

  As they sat in the thin shade of the crooked tree, Dorrin felt a tremor in the ground, much like a horse shaking a fly off its skin. Beclan dropped the bread he was holding. They both heard the groan that followed. Then shade thickened; they looked up, and Dorrin saw thrice as many leaves as before and a few sprays of apple blossom, its scent drifting down to them.

  “We did that?” Beclan said, his eyes wide.

  “I would not say so,” Dorrin said. “The taig and the Lady of Plenty did that, but we opened a way for them to work. Come, let us try another.”

  But the next attempt exhausted Beclan; he crumpled to the ground, pale to the lips. “I’m sorry, my lord,” he said when his eyes opened again.

  “It is not your fault,” Dorrin said. She felt tired, too. “You are new to this; you did very well. When you’re able, we’ll ride on to camp.” Her guards had set up tents and had hot food waiting when she and Beclan arrived. She wondered as she ate how many trees were damaged and how long it would take to heal them.

  On the last day, dusk was closing in as Dorrin caught sight of the house. Her guards picked up a canter, riding ahead to announce her return. Dorrin held her mount to a walk. The guards had not reached the house yet, but lights flickered in the windows of the great front room. They had not known when to expect her … Who was there at this hour?

  Torches appeared on the porch, and mounted torchbearers rode out of the stableyard as she came to the ford. Light glittered on the moving water; rain had fallen here, and swifter water tumbled over the stones, knee-high on the horses. Torchlight lit someone … a visitor … in red and silver. A royal? Then she was close enough to recognize Duke Serrostin. Had he come to demand his son’s return?

  “They thought you might not be back for days,” Serrostin said, sounding more cheerful than she expected. “I’m on the king’s business, my lord Duke. He’s decided to make a progress, and you are the fortunate first domain he will visit.”

  Dorrin had a moment of stark panic. The king? Here? When? Surely not before Queen Arian’s visit to Tsaia …

  “He plans to come between the queen’s visit and Midsummer Court,” Serrostin went on. “And perhaps he’ll have time to visit Konhalt, depending on when the queen leaves.”

  That left time to prepare. “Thank you,” Dorrin said. “We will welcome him, of course. Do you know how many will travel in his party or how long he will stay?”

  “Not certainly, though he said he did not intend to impoverish his people; he will bring supplies with him. Possibly the prince, certainly one or two peers, a small staff; he’ll send a courier with details a tenday before he leaves.” Serrostin turned his mount to parallel hers and lowered his voice. “I’ve seen Daryan.”

  “He’s matured,” Dorrin said.

  “Yes. He informed me very firmly but with perfect courtesy that you had jurisdiction here and I could not take him away without your consent since there was no proof of maltreatment.”

  “He thought that’s why you had come?”

  “Yes. I finally got a word in to reassure him. Since then he’s been a gracious host in your absence, since both your kirgan and Gwenno Marrakai were out of the house.” He smiled at Beclan. “Hello, Beclan. Daryan said you were wife hunting in Lyonya.”

  “I was not! I was just … I had the chance…”

  “He was teasing,” Dorrin said. Beclan subsided.

  “So tell me, my lord, do you know when the queen will come?” Serrostin asked. “We had thought she planned to leave Chaya within days after the marriage.”

  He must have missed the courier sent to Mikeli, Dorrin realized. “I have news both good and bad,” she said. “But let me save that for a private conversation.”

  “Of course.”

  Later that night, after a pleasant dinner at which Daryan served, his wrinkled brown thumb uncovered as he handed platters around, Dorrin took Duke Serrostin into her office and related all that had happened while she was in Lyonya.

  “The elf queen dead! I cannot believe it—they’re immorta
ls—”

  “Not with a sword in their vitals,” Dorrin said bluntly. “It will change Lyonya; Kieri doesn’t yet know how, but it’s clear the elves are in disarray, with no elvenhome. What King Mikeli needs to know—though he should have had a courier by now—is that King Kieri intends no change in his own policy toward Tsaia.”

  Next morning Serrostin started back for Vérella. “I’ve had a very pleasant several days here, my lord Verrakai,” he said. “It’s not what I expected, very homelike.” The laughter of children sounded from the kitchen garden as they spoke. “Our king will enjoy his time here, I’m sure, and I’m glad I had this chance to meet with Daryan and reassure him I was not as upset with his … his Kuakgan influence as I had been earlier. A father’s panic, for which I hope you will forgive me.”

  “Of course,” Dorrin said. “Any father would be upset—and angry—to have a son first injured and then defiant.”

  When Duke Serrostin and his escort had ridden across the ford, Dorrin turned to her squires. “We have work to do,” Dorrin said to them. “In addition to the usual patrols, we must prepare for a royal visit, and I find no record of any such in the rolls. So you, and Gwenno when she comes back from patrol, will be helping me with this. Food, housing, supplies for the king’s entourage, fodder for the extra animals, some kind of welcoming ceremony. And safety, of course. Beclan, you’re to find a place to go on legitimate business while the king’s here … the new middle road, perhaps. Have you ever surveyed anything?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “Time you learned. Since you’re going to inherit all this—” Her arm swept out, indicating the entire domain. “—you’d best know how big it is and every part of it. I’ll start you with Sergeant Natzlin: she’s good with a rope.”

  “A rope?”

  “For measuring distance. You can practice with the house and stableyard for a day or two. Daryan, it would be good for you to learn this as well, but I have another errand for you.”

  Gwenno arrived back from her patrol that day; Dorrin was in her office, examining accounts, and saw the girl ride in, straight-backed and steady. She counted quickly. No one missing: no need to ask questions yet. Dorrin ran her finger down the page, checking every line. She trusted Grekkan well enough, but the Verrakai domain still bled money, and her reserves in gold had dwindled with frightening speed. So much needed to be done, so many gaps mended.

  She turned at a knock on the door frame. Gwenno bowed.

  “My lord, could I speak with you?”

  “Come in,” Dorrin said. “You look troubled; what is it?”

  “Beclan,” Gwenno said. “It’s not fair.”

  Dorrin had expected this eventually. “That he’s kirgan?” she asked just to be sure.

  “No, my lord. Well, not exactly … It’s not fair what the king did to him, making him give up his family. It wasn’t his fault any more than Daryan’s thumb—”

  “It’s different,” Dorrin said. “The king did what he must to protect the Crown and realm.”

  “But it wasn’t Beclan’s fault, and he’s punished—”

  “He could be dead,” Dorrin said. Gwenno shut her mouth, eyes wide. “By the laws of the land, Gwenno, he could have been charged with treason and executed. Not only was he in the line of succession and showing mage-power, but there was an oath between him and the king—”

  “He was too young to swear—”

  “He chose to swear as an adult. The king warned him what that would mean. And then—then he admitted his magery. It could not be left as it was, Gwenno. The other peers—the people—would not have accepted that.”

  “It could have been a secret.”

  “A secret such as my family kept?” Dorrin shook her head. “It would not do. Not so close to the Crown. The king did the best for Beclan he could while doing his duty to the realm.” Gwenno looked thoughtful now. “And though Beclan’s inherent mage ability is not his fault, his choices led him to this end. He knows that; he has admitted that. His grief, Gwenno, is not just that he had to leave his family but that his own choices led to the deaths of all those men … his escort and, later, the guard put around him. He might have gone through life with unwakened magery, with no one—including himself—the wiser.”

  “But if Gird waked it—”

  “We cannot know for certain,” Dorrin said. “It may have been Gird—I think it likely—but it might also have been Beclan’s own fear.” Before Gwenno could say more, she went on. “And you are right in one thing—it is not fair. But here is a truth to ponder: many things are not fair. You will have unfairness in your life, and you will then decide how to handle it. Will you bleat ‘Unfair, unfair’ like a child or make the best of the situation you can like an adult? Like a knight of Gird or Falk?”

  Gwenno said nothing for a long moment. “Beclan does not complain.”

  “No. He was shocked, and hurt, and frightened, but he has chosen to make the best of it.”

  “I just wanted to … to help…”

  “You have a good heart, Gwenno. As you learn, you will find other ways to help Beclan—or anyone else. What he needs now from you and Daryan is respect and acceptance. Nothing more. He will fight his own battles.”

  “It comes of being the oldest sister in my family,” Gwenno said, flushing a little. “Mother warned me. I—I thank you, my lord.”

  “I’m not scolding, Gwenno. I would rather have squires care about one another, defend one another, want to help one another, than be at odds. And all three of you have grown since last summer—remember that quarrel about grooming horses?”

  Gwenno laughed. “Yes, my lord. We were prickly then, for certain.”

  “I do caution you, Gwenno, as I cautioned Beclan: he is not to practice his magery around you or show you how it is done. Your father does not think there’s any magery in his family, but if you have any buried talents of that kind, we do not wish to wake them. It will be tempting, I’m sure, but do not try.”

  “No, my lord, I won’t.”

  “Good. Now, is there anything else?”

  “No, my lord. Oh—just that I finished the stable supplies tally you asked me to do—” She fished a group of tally sticks from a pocket and handed them over.

  “Thank you,” Dorrin said. “If that’s all, I need to finish these accounts.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Gwenno bowed and went out.

  Daryan came next to report on the patrol he’d been on most recently. Everything had been calm, he said; no sign of brigands or vagabonds. “About Beclan,” he added.

  “Yes?”

  “Shouldn’t we call him kirgan? I mean, when I meet Kirgan Mahieran or Kirgan Marrakai and I’m a squire, I have to give them the honor—”

  “It’s different here,” Dorrin said. She had explained this once to all three squires, but then Beclan had gone off to Lyonya with her. “He’s my kirgan, yes, but he’s also my squire. And since he has not grown up here, with the knowledge of this domain he would have if he were my son, he cannot take on the responsibilities of kirgan without more time and experience. As far as you and Gwenno are concerned, he’s a squire—the same as you two—and you owe him no deference, only the courtesy due a fellow squire.”

  “It’s sad,” Daryan said. “I didn’t realize that at first.”

  “Yes, it is. But it’s also sad that you were captured and tormented and had to have Kuakkgani healing.”

  “I don’t know…” Daryan looked down at his hands, the scar on one and the peculiar-looking thumb on the other. “Nobody else I know has a thumb with bark. I hope the other one buds. Dressing will be easier with two thumbs.”

  Dorrin struggled not to laugh. “I’m glad you accept it that way,” she said. “Though if you turn Kuakgan, your father will be angry with us both all over again.”

  “Oh, no,” Daryan said. “I want to be a knight, like Roly. I don’t think Gird will mind.”

  After he left, Dorrin wondered if Beclan would be next but remembered he was off learning
surveying with Natzlin. She had seen them start out that morning with a collection of ropes and sticks and other necessary gear. With no more interruptions, she finished the morning’s work with the account books.

  In the kitchen she found Farin Cook chatting with Sergeant Natzlin. Natzlin looked brighter than she had since Barranyi left the Duke’s Company. She saluted Dorrin. “My lord, Squire Beclan has learned to make square corners three ways this morning and will show a creditable plat of the orchard.”

  “Excellent. If my kirgan can learn accurate surveying, I may not need to hire anyone. Did you come in to report to me?”

  “Yes, my lord. I just stopped here to … to…”

  “You’re a soldier; it’s a kitchen,” Dorrin said, chuckling. “You notice where I am—we eat when we can, eh?”

  A look passed between Farin and Natzlin, and then Farin said, “She was telling me about the old Company. And I said, stop a bit and have a bun. Those scars she’s got—takes good food to heal up.”

  “Indeed,” Dorrin said. She felt she was intruding, but it was her kitchen. “Any leftover buns for your duke?”

  “Always something,” Farin said. She looked at the kitchen workers. “Efla—fetch the duke some sib and a plate of those pastries with honey and nuts.” She looked back at Dorrin. “In your study, m’lord?”

  Go away, that meant. Dorrin leaned back on the main worktable. She valued Farin—and Natzlin—for the years of her service in the Duke’s Company, but she was not going to be driven out. She glanced at Natzlin, whose expression she remembered from years before. So. Farin and Natzlin? Unlikely as it seemed—veteran soldier and cook—Farin would be a far better companion than Barranyi had been. If it gave Natzlin peace … well enough.

  “If the two of you wish to partner,” she said, staring Farin down, “that’s fine with me. It’s not my business. However, with the king coming to visit, this kitchen is my business.”

  “The king is coming?” Farin said, turning pale.

  “Yes. After Queen Arian leaves Vérella—and we don’t know when that will be—he’s coming here with an entourage. I need your best estimate of our reserves and what we can expect in eggs, milk, and garden produce tenday by tenday until Midsummer—he’s coming before then. There’ll be no more use of any fancy foods—nuts, preserves—we can’t replace within, say, two tendays.”