“Jostin Hamilson, my lord,” he said almost meekly.
“Thank you,” she said. “For Jostin, then, and see that he has whatever he needs. I’ll be in my office with this—” She lifted the pouch. “We’re expecting the headmen of Kindle, Rushmarsh, and New Quarry this evening, are we not?”
“They’re here already, my lord. I suggested they walk in the garden.”
“Very well. When you’ve arranged Jostin’s situation, send them to me in the office, please, and bring your notation book.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Dorrin nodded to both of them and headed for her office; on the way she passed the kitchen, and Farin waved. “Supper late, my lord?”
“Yes—but a snack now. Pastry and sib, please.”
In her office, she emptied the courier’s pouch onto her desk, finding the expected scroll case tied with ribbons in the royal colors. By the time she’d picked apart the elaborate knot and settled into her chair, a kitchen maid had brought a pot of sib and two pastries.
The letter Mikeli had sent was startling—Prince Camwyn, attacked by what everyone had decided must be kuaknomi trying to steal the regalia, had nearly died, only to be whisked away by the same mysterious dragon as the only way of saving his life.
We most earnestly beseech you, whatever cost it may be, to come at once and remove these things from the treasury. That it is not your fault, the Crown knows, and yet you are the only one who can remove them. We can no longer risk their presence here. The dragon has said Camwyn may never return.
Dorrin shuddered, imagining the prince—scapegrace as he was—facing those kuaknomi and their poisoned blades. The king was right. She must take the regalia away—
Home. Go home.
She could bring it here. If done in secrecy, who would know? She considered how that might be done … It could not travel in the large chest she’d put it in when she gave it to the king. At that moment she remembered the jewel found earlier in the day and pulled it from the pocket of her doublet. It flashed in the lamplight. How many such, she wondered, were lost under a rock or in the soft remains of a rotted hollow tree? As she closed her hand around it, she felt a pulse of something like joy, but a knock on the door interrupted her.
“My lord—the villagers to see you.”
Dorrin slipped the jewel into her pocket. She had begun the meetings with villagers before the end of her first year as duke. The former duke had never conferred with village councils, but after the first few meetings, the villagers had become used to the routine. The meeting did not last long, and when it was over, Dorrin began packing for her journey to Vérella, considering what to tell her heir, her squires, and her staff.
The king wanted her to take the regalia away … and the crown wanted her to go to Aare. She knew only one way to go—through Valdaire, down to the south coast of Aarenis—but that was madness in the face of Alured’s army. She could not go west even had she known a way over the Dwarfmounts and west of the Westmounts, with Fintha in turmoil over magery. North—going to Arcolin’s domain might make Vérella safer but got her no closer to Aare. East—she had never been deeper in Lyonya than Chaya, let alone to Prealíth. How long would it take to cross Lyonya and Prealíth? She would have to take ship from Prealíth—they had ports; she knew that. She would have to sail—and she had never been on a ship—all the way around the Eastbight, down the coast of Aarenis, and then—what? Alured held the Immer river ports. Pirates infested the whole Immerhoft Sea.
She tried to estimate the time it might take. Ships traded from the Immerhoft to the north, but she had paid no attention to their schedules the one time she’d been in the Immer ports. Did they make one voyage a year? Two? And did any of them go to Aare itself? All legends claimed it was barren, uninhabited. Could she just land there, set the regalia down, and walk away?
No. Find the home. Another vision rose in her mind: three white towers, all broken but still taller than the dunes of red sand, and a cliff above a vast chasm. Not a tree or bush or blade of grass showed in the vision, only wind-sculpted sand and the empty towers.
Dorrin paused in her packing to look around her bedroom with its bed, its chairs, the inlaid table, the sword rack and stand for her mail—mail she had not worn for a quarter-year now—the fireplace, the window open to the garden and orchard below. Here in this room was the most comfort she had ever had; here she had allowed herself to enjoy the beauty, even some of the luxury, she had inherited.
Would she ever come back? A lifetime spent traveling back and forth from Aarenis to northern Tsaia, from place to place in Aarenis … a count of days rose in her mind as she estimated the distance across Lyonya, across Prealíth … She had no idea how long a trip by sea would be, but surely the distance was longer than from Vérella to Valdaire. A quarter-year, perhaps, to reach the south coast of Aarenis. How long to sail across the Immerhoft? She had no idea. Hands of days, certainly. And then, once in Aare—without a guide, without a map—she must go some undetermined distance inland to find a place that matched the vision. If she could do that—without being robbed or killed on the way—then she must find her way back. Twice the time, if no ill befell her, but traveling alone—with a treasure—she could not expect to escape danger.
She would be gone at least a year. Perhaps more. Perhaps never—but she pushed the thought of death away.
She walked to the window, breathing in the cool night air. She did not want to go. She was through with adventure, with travel; this was her place; these were her people.
Mikeli was her king, to whom she had sworn her oath. If he told her to go, she must go. If he told her to go forever, give up her rank, her holdings … Would he? He wanted her to take the regalia away from Vérella. She could keep it here for a time—perhaps. But in the end—and she could not hide this from herself—she must take it where its destiny—and hers—lay. She turned away from the window, back to her packing.
Beclan arrived just as she finished; she went downstairs to meet him. Farin Cook had left dinner in the warming oven for him, and they sat at the kitchen table while he ate. “I’m leaving you here,” she said after telling Beclan about the king’s letter. “I’m not risking my heir’s life on this journey, and besides, you’re my legal representative.”
He frowned. “I won’t abuse the power.”
“I know that. You’ve matured a lot, Beclan; I trust you for everything but the experience you cannot yet have. Should anything befall me, I know you will have the sense to make use of the experience of others.”
“You really think it’s dangerous? I mean—so soon after the attack on Prince Camwyn?”
“Yes. I don’t know whether the kuaknomi are allied with Alured—hard to believe they’d bother—but they held the entire palace in a glamour except for the prince and Aris Marrakai. They want the regalia; Alured wants the regalia. And worst, I have no idea how to hide it again other than blood magery, which I will not use.”
“Of course not,” he said in a tone that revealed the very lack of experience she’d mentioned.
“I expect—and hope—to return here, though only briefly, using speed to foil enemies. But if something happens …”
“What about the new settlers? If more come, I mean. Where do you want them put?”
Dorrin stared; she had forgotten them and the strong possibility that more were already on the road, headed to Verrakai holdings. “Most important is that they have written permission from their lords to come here. If they’re farmers, we want them in vills with more tillable land than they’re using. Though if some are foresters, we’ll settle them near useful forest land. Stoneworkers—doubt we’ll get many, but if we do, New Quarry has room for more families. New settlers don’t give oaths for a full quarter after they come; we want to know if they’re the kind of tenants we want.”
“What about Gwenno and Daryan? What if something delays you and you can’t make it back?”
“Send word to their families and suggest an escort be sent for them.
Their contracts cannot transfer to you. I will confer with the dukes when I reach Vérella; they may prefer to terminate those contracts at once.”
Beclan looked stricken.
“I know,” Dorrin said, softening her tone. “It will be a hardship on you if—when—they must go. You will have no companion your age here. But you will soon be of age to begin your knight’s training, anyway. Grekkan can manage for a time; that’s what stewards do.” And a guardian—how could that be arranged if she had to leave the kingdom? She left that for the moment and went back to the other squires’ situations. “They should not travel alone, and you should not disperse Verrakai armsmen. I suppose I must write something—” She was tired; her head hurt from trying to think of everything at once, but Beclan was right. At the end of squires’ terms, their families were due a formal report, including, if warranted, a recommendation that the squire was now ready for knight’s training.
“My lord—must you leave tomorrow? It’s late; you were riding most of today …”
“I should; the king said it was urgent—” But was that true? Her duty to the king required all possible haste, but her duty to her own land and people also mattered. She must write to the squires’ fathers—including, in the peculiar situation still existing, Beclan’s father. She must write to the training halls for the knights, as well. She could not write that many messages tonight and then ride at dawn for Vérella; she was simply too tired.
“You’re right, Beclan,” she said finally. “Given the danger—though I believe I can escape it—I must make better preparation here. I will need you here tomorrow, though I may send you out to the nearer vills. In the morning I’ll send word to Gwenno and Daryan; they may be close enough to arrive before I leave. Tonight I’ll write the king and let his courier take that.” She headed back to the office with him. “I was very pleased to see how well you’re getting along with the road workers, Beclan. And the way you were able to present yourself as kirgan so quickly today.”
“Thank you, my lord.” He yawned. “I could copy messages for you if that would be helpful.”
“Bring the rest of your supper into the office and keep me company while I write to the king,” Dorrin said. “And bring sib and an extra pastry if you see one.”
“Yes, my lord,” Beclan said.
She had just rubbed the inkstick in water when he arrived with a tray of food, dishes, and a pot of sib. It smelled so good Dorrin’s stomach rumbled. She unwrapped the writing paper and pulled a sheet from the top of the stack, covering the rest and retying the ribbon, then dipped her quill in the ink and began her letter to the king.
“My lord.” Beclan set a mug of sib and a plate on the desk.
“Thank you.” She glanced up and realized he’d piled the plate with slices of roast lamb, redroots, steamed barley.
“Cook left a plate for you, too, my lord. And you did not eat when I did.”
Dorrin grinned. “Thank you, Beclan. I forgot supper in my haste to pack and then tell you what the situation was. I’ll eat when I’ve finished this.” A short letter was all Mikeli needed; she finished it, blotted it, and set it safely aside before eating. She was aware of the silence in the old house—not ominous, just … still. Children asleep upstairs; servants gone to their beds. The chink of knife on plate seemed loud.
When they’d finished, Beclan took the tray back to the kitchen. Dorrin let her hand take light and went to the front of the house, opening the heavy front door to the night air. A breeze brought the scents of a spring night leaning to summer—and the moo of a startled cow grazing near the steps. Several loud plops—more than one cow, then—and hooves thudded away. Dorrin laughed. It was a clear night, the stars softened by moist air but spangled across the sky. Cows grazing quietly were proof nothing was outside but the night itself.
She stood in the cool air, listening to Beclan walking back to the stairs, up them to his own room. She had been so determined to get away from this place as a girl; she had never expected to become fond of it, let alone so quickly. Again she felt a pang at the thought of leaving, going somewhere strange.
Come, Queen, and claim your crown before it is too late.
And there was the challenge. A crown she must now wear, sworn as she was to Mikeli as his vassal. And why too late? Too late for what?
The vision assailed her even as she stood there: waves of sand rolling across the fields and forests she knew, scorching heat, the great river drying in the sun until all lay barren.
Next morning before dawn, she handed the courier the message bag. “The king will understand,” she said. “I will make all haste, but must ensure the security of the border.” Much less arrogant than he had been the night before, he bowed and said, “Yes, my lord. Of course.” He rode off at first light, and Dorrin started in on what promised to be a very busy day.
Grekkan was not surprised when she told him she must leave and for an indefinite period.
“War, my lord?”
“I don’t know,” Dorrin said. “If it were an invasion, I’m certain he would have said so, telling me to bring what troops I could, but it’s some matter of great importance. I will learn more when I reach Vérella.” Not exactly a lie, as Alured’s known desire for the regalia posed a military threat. “I’m leaving Beclan here; I hope he will rely on your advice, but he is staying as my kirgan.”
Grekkan’s brows went up. “My lord—”
“He’s underage, I know. But should the king’s command lead me into a prolonged absence or … or danger, then he is my heir, and the circumstances have not permitted me to name guardians. I intend to do that in Vérella. I am taking Gwenno Marrakai with me but leaving Daryan Serrostin as companion to Beclan; I will speak to both their families about canceling their contracts if, again, the king’s commands require a long absence. Beclan won’t hold their contracts no matter what happens to me.”
“Yes, my lord. Do you … do you foresee any difficulty should there be a … ummm … gap?”
“I think Beclan has more sense now than to push his authority, if that’s what you’re asking. They should not be sent on the road alone, is my concern.”
She left Grekkan with a list of things to be done and not done. Messengers had already gone out to find Gwenno and Daryan, who should be on their way back from patrol. Farin had the kitchen staff at work preparing food for the journey.
Around midday, Gwenno and her patrol rode in; they had scarcely dismounted when Daryan’s arrived. Dorrin looked out on the stableyard full of horses and watched the two squires properly organize their patrols for dismissal. They had both come a long way. Gwenno was certainly ready to enter the Bells if her family could persuade the Bells to admit a female member—and they might even send her to Fin Panir. Daryan needed another year as a squire.
They appeared at her office door shortly. “My lord duke, what service?”
“I have been summoned to Vérella by the king,” Dorrin said. “From the tenor of his message, I may be absent for some time—longer than you should be left here without my presence. If the king needs his Constable’s presence in Vérella, you might stay with me there and continue as squires, but with the threat of war from Aarenis, his need may be other. It might be something dangerous enough that neither I nor your families would choose to risk you with me. I will not know the extent of the duties he requires until I am there—”
“We could stay here,” Daryan said. “Beclan’s not so bad.”
Yes, Daryan was still too young for the Bells. Dorrin shook her head. “If I must be gone for a long time, you cannot. Your family’s contract is with me, not with my heir. I do not deny you would be helpful about the estate, as you have been, but that makes no matter.”
Gwenno opened her mouth and shut it again; Dorrin nodded at her. “You may speak, Gwenno.”
“I just thought … if you might be kept in Vérella, should we go with you? Or would you rather we stayed here until you sent word?”
“I was coming to that,” Dorrin sai
d. “The situation is slightly different for each of you. Beclan and you, Gwenno, are now old enough to begin training as knights, even though your squire terms are not over. Ideally, you would continue as squires another year, but you have both had more responsibility than many squires outside of active military units. It’s my understanding that novices are inducted into the Bells around Midsummer. If you, Gwenno, were to come to Vérella with me, your family might be able to arrange your entrance.”
Gwenno grinned, then sobered, with a glance at Daryan, who looked stricken. “Daryan?”
Dorrin looked at him. “You’re still too young, Daryan. You have made remarkable progress, as I will tell your family, but you are still shooting up in height, and that—as I’m sure our armsmaster has told you—means you should wait at least a year before entering the Bells. In addition, your second thumb is budding; you should not be in heavy training until it is full-grown and you can use it as easily as the other. If I am able to return quickly, I will be glad to continue training you as squire and then present you to the Bells myself.” She paused; he said nothing. She went on. “There is another possibility. Duke Arcolin, I hear from him, has a squire with the recruits in the north, a lad about your age. Duke Arcolin has married, and his lady and his adopted son, a boy scarce learning his letters, are staying north while he’s campaigning. I know of my own experience how useful another squire might be up there.”
The two of them looked at her, now both wide-eyed. “Or you may stay here and await the news.”
“What about Beclan? Are you sending him away?”
“Not yet. All will depend on what the king tells me when I get to Vérella. Now: this is my decision to make, but I want to hear your reasons for coming with me or staying here. Gwenno, you first.”
“For staying: I would be a help here. Continuing the patrols as usual would give me more experience, and there’s still much to learn. I could also be a support to Daryan and Beclan, and as the only girl, I could continue to show the little girls that a girl can be strong without being mean.” She paused. Dorrin nodded, and she went on. “But if I went with you, then if you had to end my contract with you, I would be near my family. I hope they would send me to the Bells or perhaps to Fin Panir if the Bells will not take a girl.”
Crown of Renewal Page 24
