The Deed of Paksenarrion

by Elizabeth Moon

  “Sir king—” began Garris tentatively.

  “Garris, you must not call me that—any of you—until the sword proves me so. Please. Your service I accept, but we must observe the courtesies of this court as well. Paks, it must be before them all, I think: the whole Council. To do otherwise would arouse suspicion. Then if it fails—”

  “It won’t,” said the squires at once.

  “If,” the Duke repeated firmly, “then all will know, and will also know that I made no secret trials. Paks, if you will speak to the lords yourself, it will be better. The prince has no vote, but the Council defers to his wishes where it can; he will determine the hour.”

  “As soon as may be,” said Paks.

  “As he wills,” said the Duke. “You will find him certain of mind. As were all of us, at nearly twenty.”

  “How shall we explain the service of the King’s Squires?” asked Paks, thinking how it would look to have the Duke trailed by those green-and-gold tunics.

  “You asked them to look over some scrolls—old accounts—I had brought with me. I have brought the Company Rolls, at the Council’s request. Will that do?”

  “Certainly.” Paks rose, with the Duke, and preceded him to the door. Outside, the elderly man who had announced her waited. “Sir, might I ask an audience with the prince?”

  “With the crown prince, Lady?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Come with me, then. Is Duke Phelan free to meet with the Council?”

  “Sir, I have asked him to look up something from his records; the squires go with him to take notes. By the time I have spoken to those other lords I must see, perhaps he will be free.”

  The man bowed. “I will inform the Council, Lady.” He called to a page, and gave that message to be taken to all the lords in turn.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  The crown prince received her in his private chambers; Paks found herself face to face with a tall, self-assured young man of nearly twenty. He waved her to a seat with grave courtesy, and handed her a delicate rose-colored cup of some hot, aromatic liquid.

  “I know you are used to sib,” he said as she tasted it. “This is brewed from two of the herbs in sib, and another from the far southwest mountains. I like it better, but there is sib in this pot if you don’t. They tell me you did not stop even to take refreshment.”

  “No, your highness. I could not delay.”

  “And then you asked Duke Phelan some questions, and now you wish to speak with me. I assure you, Lady, that I am too young to have knowledge you need.”

  Paks cocked her head. “I think you do know what I need, your highness. May I tell you?” He nodded, and Paks finished the drink before going on. “I think that Lyonya’s king is in your court at this time. For his safety and reputation, the sword’s test should be conducted openly, before your Council.”

  “He is here? Not merely in Tsaia, but in my court—and you know who it is? Whatever you asked Duke Phelan, then, confirmed your knowledge. Perhaps you asked who had come with him?” Paks had not thought to ask that, but the prince seemed not to notice. “It must be someone he knows—a captain of his, or—” He stopped short. “You are not saying it is—”

  “I am not saying anyone, your highness, at this time.”

  His eyes were bright, watching her. “No—you aren’t saying, but I have wits enough to guess, I think. Gird’s cudgel, this will stir the Council.” He laughed, a boy’s clear open laugh, and poured her another cup. His face sobered. “And give us a problem, as well. The north—”

  “Your highness, I pray you, do not speak of it until the time.”

  “Oh, very well. But you want a Council session, and it must be before we resume our previous business. You may not be aware that certain lords have been asked to swear their allegiance directly to me even before the coronation. In this case—” his lips twitched, but he controlled the smile, “it might prove inconvenient to your purpose.” He poured another cup for himself. “So. A Council session called on special business. The High Marshal will support me there. You will want it as quickly as possible? Yes. Tomorrow morning, then: it will take several hours to arrange, and tonight, as you no doubt recall, is the feast of Luap. We will all be in the grange hall until late, for the High Marshal is knighting a score of youths.”

  Paks had forgotten about the feast of Luap. “It could not be put off?”

  His eyes widened. “Luap’s feast? The knighting? Gods, no. Relatives of these boys have traveled days to be here. Not if a dragon sat smoking in the inner court. If you have concern about the—ah—person, I can assign guards, though—”

  “No, your highness. Only if anyone asks, could you explain that the King’s Squires are looking into the Company Rolls for a name?”

  He nodded. “That I can do, and will, right gladly. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I will summon the High Marshal on this matter we spoke of.”

  Paks rose quickly and bowed. “Is there aught I can do, your highness, to help with this?”

  “I think not. You will confirm your request, of course, to any lord who asks you—but I think they will not ask.” He nodded, and Paks withdrew, to find a page ready to escort her back to the rooms she’d been assigned.

  Once there, she found Lieth in attendance; her things had been unpacked, and a hot bath was ready for her.

  “I thought—” Paks began, but Lieth smiled and put a finger to her lips.

  “With Garris to look, and Suriya to keep notes, they didn’t need me. Here, Lady, let me take that mail.” Lieth set it aside, and helped Paks strip off the last of her clothes and climb into the tub. “And I thought,” she said very softly, “that you would want no one else near the sword. I chased two chambermaids out of here when I came.”

  “Thank you, Lieth,” said Paks. The hot scented water was delightful; she felt she could acquire a taste for bathing this way. When she was done, Lieth handed her a robe of heavy rose-colored wool that had been warming by the fire. Paks put it on, wrinkling her nose at the silver clasps. “A rich house, the Mahierian,” she commented.

  “Yes,” said Lieth shortly. She went to the door of the next room, and gestured. Two maids came through. “They’ve set a meal out in there,” said Lieth. “Will you come?” She had already gathered the armor; Paks took the sword, and followed Lieth, leaving the maids to clear away the bath things.

  The meal of sliced breads, cold meats, and fruit was spread on a round table beneath a narrow window. In this room as well a fire crackled on a clean stone hearth. Yet another room opened from it, this with a narrow canopied bed. Paks sat down with an appetite.

  “Come eat, Lieth, unless you’ve had something in the meantime,” she said.

  “Thank you.” Lieth sat across from Paks. For awhile they ate silently, each thinking her own thoughts. When Paks finished, and sat back, she found Lieth watching her.

  “What’s wrong, Lieth?” Paks hoped Lieth had not taken a dislike to the Duke. Her first words fed that fear.

  “I came to serve the king,” she began slowly. “I knew nothing of him, but that you knew who he was.”

  “Yes?” prompted Paks, when she said nothing more for a moment.

  “I am glad to have seen him. I don’t know what I was expecting, but not that—and it’s better than I expected.” She stopped again; this time Paks merely looked her question. Lieth shook her head, answering something Paks did not ask—perhaps a question in her own mind. “I am a King’s Squire,” she said finally. “A Lyonyan. A Knight of Falk. Here, in Tsaia, among Girdsmen, with my king unknown and disregarded, I am out of place. Lady, if I heard in Lyonya what I have heard this day, I would know how to answer—” Her hand had crept to her sword. “But I am a stranger. I have no rights at this court.”

  “Lieth, what is it? What are you angry about?”

  “Paks, do you know how many enemies the ki—the Duke has?”

  Paks frowned. “No. Some, but not so many, I’d thought.”

  “Then they must all
be here. Verrakai—I had words with one of his squires, and a servant or so—”

  “Words?” Paks was startled. Lieth had seemed the most placid of the King’s Squires.

  “Just words—so far. They had plenty to say about the Duke, and all of it bad. That your coming here today was his doing, to avoid swearing an oath of loyalty to the prince. That you were no true paladin—and that I argued, telling them I’d seen you fight myself—but they would not believe. They think their lord has a witness who will make it obvious that you and the Duke are both liars and traitors.”

  Paks felt a chill down her spine. “I wonder how, since we’re not. Did Garris and Suriya hear any of this?”

  “I don’t think so. They’re with him; I was looking for your rooms.”

  “Anything from the the royal servants?”

  “No, not really. Some think the Duke’s wild and uncanny, but none seem to harbor any malice. But the Verrakai weren’t all. I ran into the whole group together: Konhalt, Clannaeth, a Sorrestin page, and the Verrakai. They were eager to tell me the worst they knew of the Duke—and of you.”

  “That could be bad indeed,” said Paks placidly. She did not fear Lieth’s opinion.

  “It was bad to hear,” said Lieth grimly. “Girdsmen. I’d have thought even Girdsmen would have more respect for a paladin.”

  “Even Girdsmen?”

  Lieth flushed. “Lady, your pardon. It was unseemly.”

  Paks shook her head. “Lieth, these may not have been Girdsmen. While you are here, try not to remember all you were told of Girdsmen by the Falkians, eh? I’m a Girdsman.”

  “Yes—I know. I’m sorry, truly.” She looked suddenly worried. “Is he?”

  “The Duke? No. But his wife was.”

  “And she is dead. He must marry again. Will he, do you think?”

  Paks thought a moment. “Lieth, if he has given his word, he will do more; he is that kind of man. He has said he will take the kingdom; I daresay he knows what that means, and will do more than his duty. But I am not one to speak of kings’ weddings.”

  “You spoke to the crown prince?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what is he like, may I ask? Will he be an ally of Lyonya?”

  “He seemed nice enough.” Paks did not know how to explain that she could sense only strong evil and good—not the average mixture most men carried. As well, she had no experience of princes. If he had been a recruit or a squire, she would have been well-pleased with him, but as a prince she had to hope the same qualities would serve.

  They were interrupted by a polite knock on the outer door. Lieth rose at once to answer it; Paks waited at the table. Lieth came back with a curious expression on her face.

  “It’s a boy—he wants to see you. He says he knows you.”

  “Knows me?” Paks looked down at herself quickly; she couldn’t receive anyone in a bathrobe, even with silver clasps. But Lieth was already handing her a clean undershirt.

  “Here—says he’s a young Marrakai. Aris Marrakai—did you ever meet such a one?”

  Paks remembered the boy she’d met her first night in Fin Panir—and often thereafter. “Aris—yes. Fourth son, I think. Thanks.” She looked at the mail and decided against it, pulling on her swordbelt over her clothes instead. Then she went through to the front room.

  Aris had grown even taller, and looked much older in his squire’s livery, the dark green and blue of Kostvan House, piped in the red and green of his father’s colors. His black hair was longer, cropped just below his ears, but he had no facial hair. He stood stiffly by the door until Paks was halfway across the room, then grinned as widely as ever.

  “Paks! I mean, Lady Paksenarrion—I’m sorry. But they said—and I kept telling them you would come back. You look—” He paused, examining her with his head cocked. “Fine,” he finished. “But don’t you have mail? Silver mail?”

  Paks found herself laughing; even Lieth was smiling. “I have mail, Aris, but even paladins take it off now and then.”

  “Oh.” He looked crestfallen. “I was hoping—when Juris, that’s my brother who’s Kirgan, said he’d seen you today, I wanted to come—and then I could say I saw it, you see?”

  “I see. You wanted to make an impression on the other squires, eh?”

  Aris blushed as red as the clothes he had worn that first night. “Well, Paks—Lady Paksenarrion—it’s like this—”

  “You’re the youngest squire,” said Paks inexorably, “and they tease you, and when you told them about your three estates someone pounded you, didn’t they?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And you think this will get you out of some scrape?”

  “You didn’t used to be like this,” said Aris.

  “No, and you used to be a little boy. Now you’re a young man, not my pet brother. You are the fourth son of a powerful Duke, and you should have better things to think about than impressing other squires by claiming acquaintance with a paladin.”

  Aris nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not. I’m glad you came to see me, and if the others think it’s because you’re a vain young boy trying to shine by reflection, perhaps they won’t pay too much attention to you.”

  “What?”

  “Aris, listen. I know you’ve wits enough in that head.” With that he stood still again, eyes gleaming. Paks went on. “Yes, indeed. As someone told me recently, Marrakaien are all one brew, and that a heady one. I’ll tell you what, young Marrakai—you keep your wits about you and you’ll have something to hold up your head about—and I’ll see that it’s known.”

  “Can I do something for you? Really? What can I do?”

  “I want to know the extent of the division in the Council—who opposes your father on what issues, and why, if you know.”

  “Oh. Right now?”

  “If you have anything to tell. But come into the next room; you can take a look at my mail, and have something to drink.”

  Once seated at the table, Aris recovered his usual ebullience, and told Paks what he knew of Council business with expressions that had Lieth on the edge of laughter. Paks did not correct him, for she wanted his first impressions, scurrilous though they were.

  “Part of it’s the Red Duke,” he said, coming to what interested Paks without any prompting at all. “They call him the fox, and I can see why. Oh—that’s right—you know him. Well, then, you know what I mean. My father says it’s not slyness, just intelligence, but some of the others don’t trust him at all. They say he got too rich too fast. No one could be so lucky as that. Someone had to be helping him, and of course they think it’s Simyits or something. Even worse.” He took a swallow of ale from the mug Paks had poured him, and went on. “But Lord Verrakai, the Duke’s brother, he told his page that he had proof of Duke Phelan’s wrong. Someone who had been with him in Aarenis, and seen it.”

  Paks managed not to move, merely raising an eyebrow. Aris scurried on through his tale.

  “A veteran of his, who left because she didn’t want to stay with such a man, or he mistreated her, or something. And she’s supposed to prove you aren’t really a paladin, too.”

  “That may prove difficult,” murmured Paks.

  “Well, of course. You are one.” Aris snorted. “I haven’t seen her, but Dorthan—that’s the page—swears he has. Big and black, he says, and shoulders like an ox. But then Dorthan’s so skinny he thinks I have big shoulders.”

  Paks could not think of anyone matching that description. “Do you have a name for this witness?” she asked.

  “No. He didn’t know that. Why? Would you know her by name?”

  “I might, if she fought in the Company the same years I did. Go on.”

  But that was all Aris knew of the mysterious witness. He told a long involved story going the rounds of the squires concerning a second son of Clannaeth’s younger brother, and Konhalt’s heir, and a girl of the Destvaorn household, which supposedly explained why Konhalt was supporting Marrakai’s position on t
he size of the Royal Guard, but Paks found she couldn’t follow either the positions or the reasons. She was about to send him away when another knock on the outer door drew Lieth. Aris looked scared.

  “If that’s Juris, do you have to tell him I’m here?”

  “Would he be angry?”

  “That I came? Yes. When I told him today that I knew you, he said to let you alone.”

  And then Lieth announced the Kirgan Marrakai. Paks got up and jerked her thumb at Aris. “Come on, Aris, and see what the protection of paladins is worth.”

  In the other room, the Kirgan looked both embarrassed and annoyed.

  “My pardon, lady, for disturbing you, but I feared my brother might—aha!” as he caught sight of Aris behind Paks.

  “Kirgan Marrakai, your brother has given me information I greatly needed, and being unacquainted with the household, I knew not anyone else to ask.”

  “You asked him here?” The Kirgan’s eyebrows lowered.

  Paks smiled. “Not precisely, no. But I may say I valued his loyalty in Fin Panir, as I do here. I should not have kept him so long, perhaps, without asking leave of Lord Kostvan—”

  “I had leave for the afternoon,” Aris piped up. Paks and the Kirgan both stared him down. She looked back at the Kirgan and smiled again.

  “And now that he has quite finished,” said Paks, emphasizing the words, “I hope you have a few minutes to give me.”

  “I?” The Kirgan was clearly astonished.

  “You. There are things the pages and junior squires know, and other things which heirs to titles know. Would you?” She waved a hand to the other door, and the Kirgan came forward, throwing a last glare at Aris as he hurried out the door.

  “Did you really need him,” said the Kirgan, “or were you in league with the scamp?” Despite the words, Paks could feel a warmth in his voice.

  “A paladin in league with a scamp?” She spoke lightly. “No, he was a pestiferous little mischief in Fin Panir, and no doubt still is—but he was always loyal and honest, even in his worst moments. I asked, Kirgan, for gossip—because I needed to know it—and he told me what he knew, which I needed to know, and could not ask.”