“Word has been sent,” Kieri said. He put down the box on top of the other things, picked up the small knife, and walked over to the captive. He could feel the man’s anger and loathing as if it were visible waves of color. “He has been given food? You know the king’s orders about that—?”
“Yes, my lord. Food, water, and a blanket at night, though we dared not unbind him in the dark.”
Kieri squatted down in front of the captive. In Pargunese he said, “This is not a fisherman’s knife. It is not the knife for gutting, or the knife for scaling, or the knife for filleting. With this knife, you would only poison a fish and make it unfit to eat. Why would a fisherman poison a fish?”
The man spat, but the gob of spit did not reach Kieri. Then the man looked away.
Still in Pargunese, Kieri said. “If I were minded to kill you, you would be dead already. If I were minded to hurt you, your flesh would already be torn. You claim to be a king in your own land—what are you doing here?”
The man looked at him again. In Pargunese he said, “Your king stole my daughter.”
Kieri’s brows went up. “Our king steals no women. And why would a king who believed such come himself and not send envoys or an army?”
“Envoys were with her; they came back without her. Stolen away, she was, sent to a brothel, a house of soldiers. That is not a matter for armies; that is a matter for a man of honor to meet her betrayer man to man. I must feel his blood hot on my hands myself; I must pull his guts from his living body myself.” Fury flamed in those pale eyes.
“You intend to kill Lyonya’s king,” Kieri said. It scarcely seemed possible that an assassin would admit his intent so baldly. And the accusations—he could not take them in: they were unbelievable.
“And display his villainy for all to see,” the man said. He seemed absolutely certain and, though angry, perfectly sane. “He debauched his own soldiers, and yet Tsaia would not denounce him. Even the Girdish, prigs that they are, made no complaints of him.” He spat again, but this time more politely, to one side.
“I did not know this,” Kieri said. He had never fully understood the Pargunese hatred for him personally; it had been a fact of his adult life, and nothing more.
The man nodded sharply. “None of you mageborn treat women with real respect,” he said. Kieri heard a stir behind him and put up his hand; no one said anything. He nodded to the man, who after a look around shrugged and went on. “Your king,” he said, squirming a little as if to settle into a more comfortable position for a long tale. “He held land in northern Tsaia; that you surely know.” Kieri nodded. “He had a mercenary company before—perhaps you know that.” Kieri nodded again. “Well, then. I know that in other lands, women train in weapons skills. So also a few of ours; it is not good, but it need not be an offense to the gods. Your king—your king—sent men out to find girls, young girls who knew nothing of weapons or war, and brought them to his stronghold. Far from their families, far from any protection of their kin, and there—there his soldiers took what pleasure they wanted.”
Kieri fought down the urge to defend himself, explain. If this was what the Pargunese believed, then perhaps their enmity made sense of a sort.
“They became soldiers—they had to, to survive; they could not go home after such disgrace. Living among men not their families, alone—what else could they do but whore and fight?”
Kieri made an indeterminate sound, and as he hoped, the man went on.
“Never to marry, never to bear children for their family’s honor, forever ruined—and yet, and yet, you gave him the crown. How you could endure such—”
“So how did he get your daughter?” Kieri asked.
The man grimaced. “He seduced her long ago, I fear. She was always rebellious; I blame her mother, who was from Kostandan, where women are allowed too much freedom. Her mother learned obedience before her death, but there is something in the blood. At any rate, my daughter would learn weapons lore from her brothers, and was happier on a horse than afoot.”
“Pargun breeds good horses,” Kieri said.
“Horses are well enough,” the man said, “but ships are a man’s wealth. It is by ships we know the most of your king’s behavior. In far Aarenis, which no one else in the north regards, our captains visit every port, and there they have seen your king’s soldiers, men and women alike, walking bare-legged in the marketplace. They bear themselves like harlots, those women—shameless and proud.”
“Still …” Kieri said, letting his voice trail off.
“Your king is unmarried,” the man said. “It is said he was married before, to one of his own soldiers, who bore his children. But he left her alone in the north, and she was killed because he did not protect her. Even so, as a king, I thought he must be surrounded by those who would keep him from such vileness. So, with due care, I sent my rebellious daughter to his court. If he married her, and proved honorable, it might bring peace to the north. She alone of my daughters might, I thought, be less apt for his abuse. If he insisted she ride and hunt … well, she would not mind so much.”
Kieri stood up. “You must come to Chaya,” he said, “and see the king.”
“As a prisoner?” the man said. “To be killed like any common criminal? If that is your notion of honor, kill me here. Boast to your king of it, then. My brothers and sons wait across the river; they will avenge me and my daughter.”
Kieri had not imagined this as his first meeting with the king of Pargun. “The king may not kill you,” he said. “But you must make your accusations formally, in front of witnesses, and you will want to see your daughter—”
“I do not want to see her as she is now,” the man said. “If I see her I must kill her, for her honor and mine.” His eyes blurred with tears suddenly, the first emotion he’d shown other than anger. “You—if you do not have daughters, you cannot imagine what it is—those little soft faces, little flowers, we call them. Hers was as bright as any—she was willful as the early spring flowers that push through snow and will not droop or fold for frost or wind. We quarreled much as she grew older—but when she still had milk teeth and would climb into my lap …” The man shook his head.
“I, too, lost a daughter,” Kieri said. He shut his eyes on the memory of Estil in his own lap.
“But not to such dishonor, I will guess,” the man said. “My daughter’s life is my pain, not her death.”
“You must come to Chaya and meet our king,” Kieri said again. “I thought at first you were a fisherman mind-mazed by fever or some demon, but now I think you may indeed be the king of Pargun. But since you came not openly in your own person, with proof of your identity, I am bound to send you thither a prisoner, though I will tell these men to treat you with respect.”
“When I am dead, these trees will burn,” the man said. “My army—”
“Do you wish to send word to them what happened and where you are going?”
“No. They have their orders. I have time enough to reach Chaya and your king, kill him, and return. If I do not, they will attack.”
This was not what Kieri wanted to hear. He turned to the others and said in Common, “I now believe this man is indeed the king of Pargun.” The king of Pargun undoubtedly knew more Common than he was comfortable speaking; he expected the man to understand. “He has a grievance against our king because of the matter of the princess. He must be taken to Chaya under close guard, but with all due respect. I will send horses, and send messages to Chaya, that the king’s Council be prepared. Take all his things with him. One of you come with me.”
Kieri mounted and rode off, meeting his Squires out of sight of the clearing. At a hand gallop, he rode for the reserve cohort, and explained that an attack might come at any time. “I need eight of your reserve horses: send them with this Archer, who will show the way. The king of Pargun must be conveyed safely—and swiftly—to Chaya. With not a word to him about me or his daughter, whatever you know or think you know.”
“At once, Sir
King.” The cohort’s captain had men and horses ready with commendable speed. “And?”
“Word to all near the river. The Royal Archers will inform the rangers. The Pargunese plan to fire the forest, burn Lyonya to the bare ground. They must come by boat; the Royal Archers and rangers should be able to cut their numbers, unless they come at night and cannot be seen … which is exactly what they’ll do. I must go.”
As he rode for Chaya, he tried to think what else to do. The Sagon of the west would be there of a certainty. Would they strip their eastern and northern borders as well? How many troops could they muster, and how fast? How many boats would they have ready? And how could he convince the king that he had not despoiled Elis? Without risking her life?
All this because he had let that wicked old woman Hanlin think he wanted peace. He did want peace—that was no lie—but he did not want the peace of defeat.
He changed horses at the first relay station, riding on through the night as Elis herself had, but with more awareness. If he had known the Pargunese thought women soldiers were all nothing more than whores for the men … if he had known the king would think an entry to Falk’s Hall was a disgrace and not an honor … what else could he have done?
They were insane, the Pargunese. They had strong women and destroyed them, just for the men’s pride … how was that honorable? He tried to imagine the king of Pargun and his grandmother talking … surely an elven lady could convince the man that strong women were not dishonorable. That imagined image dissolved as it came: the king of Pargun would believe he had been managed with elven magery, and he would never agree.
Another relay point—he chuckled as he remembered that he’d thought he wouldn’t need so many personal mounts. Through the night, he found himself thinking of one mistake after another he’d made since he became king. Most, he knew, were trivial, and he’d corrected them, but this—this one could plunge his realm into war.
At the third relay point, near dawn, he stopped to eat; his Squires looked less tired than he felt, but not as alert as usual. He had explained to them, while riding, what the king of Pargun thought. They’d been shocked, first angry and then thoughtful, as he was. Now, after the meal, he shook his head when one of them stood. “We will rest until the sun is two hands higher,” he said. He stretched out on the ground, feeling the healthy life beneath and around him, and fell asleep at once.
He woke before his Squires; the rangers at the relay station had more food ready, and he drank and ate before they were off again. Kieri thought about the taig, and what the Kuakgan had done the night of the battle. He had “roused the taig,” Paks said, and the Pargunese had been afraid to enter the trees.
Could he do something like that along the river and inland? Make the forest impassable so the Pargunese could not reach it to burn it? Or did they have engines of war able to throw stones—or fire—the distance across the river? They traded all the way to Aarenis—he had not realized that—and so their captains would have seen such engines.
Back in Chaya, he collected his Council at once, adding several of the elves not usually part of it. He outlined the situation.
“They think you sent her to a brothel? Falk’s Hall?”
“He has no conception of a woman choosing to be a soldier, and being one, other than coercion and rape,” Kieri said. “He knows I’ve commanded units with men and women both, which in their terms means the women are being exploited by the men.”
“That’s—obscene.”
“I agree. But he sees our behavior as obscene.”
“But—he sent the girl to you—”
“To kill me. That poisoned knife she gave me, you recall? It was meant for me, on our wedding night.”
“Gods! How can those people live?”
“I don’t know,” Kieri said. “But we must be ready to listen and try to understand if we do not want fires in our land. I’m sending to Halveric to come as soon as he can, house or no. I need whatever trained troops all of you have, as well. Untrained won’t do: the Pargunese army is not a bunch of farm lads with sticks.” He looked at the elves. “You must also help, if it comes to that. He has sworn to burn the forest to the mountains; I do not know enough yet about the taig to prevent it, without your aid.”
“The Lady could convince him,” one of the elves said.
Kieri shook his head. “I don’t think so. His ideas are so fixed—he would believe it was all magery and not listen to her reasons.”
“And you think he will listen to yours?” the elf asked.
“He may not,” Kieri said. “I will do what I can to persuade him … I don’t intend to let him kill me … and I do not know if he will return home if he doesn’t.”
“It seems incredible that he would come alone, in disguise.”
“Yes. I don’t know why he did that, either. Everything they’ve done—sending the old lady, sending Elis without warning, his appearance—makes no sense to me. Yet he is not a stupid man, or insane; we were enemies across a border, and everything he ordered there made sense, inconvenient as it often was.”
“He’s had an illness? He’s had an injury?”
“Not that I could tell. It must be, as with this thing about women soldiers, that he thinks very differently … and he thinks we have the same ideas, just different values.”
It did not escape Kieri’s notice that he felt much more competent preparing for an invasion than he had in planning for peace. He set in order the movement of supplies, of reinforcements, pored over the maps … realizing that for the first time in his life he must trust distant field commanders rather than take the field himself.
Regular couriers brought word of the Pargunese king’s progress toward Chaya. Orlith and other elves wanted more time to teach him more about the taig; he could spare very little. What he wanted was someone who could teach him more about the Pargunese, but Orlith knew little more than he’d said before.
“We left those eastern shores long ago,” he said.
“To come here?”
“No. To Aare, most of those who had been east of the water. We did not like it. Too far from our people here in the west, and too full of rockfolk. Mountains come close to the sea there, north and south both, and they were not pleased if we did not stay on the coast. The Seafolk then were farther south and avoided us; we knew them little.”
Interesting history, but what he needed now was some useful information, something that would help him persuade the Pargunese not to attack Lyonya.
On the third day, the Pargunese king and his escort arrived in Chaya. The king rode well, as Kieri expected. He watched from an upper window, and saw his people greet the king courteously. He would have delayed their meeting to give the king a night to recover himself from the journey, but he could not, with the Pargunese army poised to attack. The king would be fed, bathed, and dressed in what Kieri could only hope were acceptable clothes, and then they must meet.
Kieri chose to receive the king in the smaller reception room. When he went down to check the room, it was prepared as he had asked. No weapons in the room, no breakable carafes or goblets … and the guest’s chair, massive and deep, would not make a throwing weapon.
“I still think you must bind him,” Berne said. Arian nodded.
“It is gross discourtesy; he has been humiliated enough,” Kieri said.
“He said he wants to feel your blood on his hands.”
“I know. I was there. But he will not want it less for being bound. He talks of honor; let us see if he will give his word, and keep it.”
“And if he does not?”
“He has no weapons, and no poison on him; he has been bathed and dressed in our garments. Aside from that, if he wants to fight me barehanded and is foolish enough to do so here—I am not incapable.”
“I know, my lord king, but your life is our responsibility.”
“You will be within call.”
“We should be in the room with you. What if he calls up an evil demon?”
&nb
sp; Kieri shook his head. “He could have done that to escape those who captured him. Let us not make up trouble for ourselves. Just outside the door will be well enough; he can’t lock it against you.”
He moved to the door himself, hearing approaching footsteps. The king, under close guard, was coming down the passage. He wore the garments he’d been offered, a velvet tunic over heavy wool trousers and low soft-soled boots. He stopped abruptly when he saw Kieri.
“You!” he said in Common. “You are the king? You lied to me.”
“No more than you to me,” Kieri said, “when you sent that old woman to spy at my coronation and she said you wanted peace. She should have described me better.” The king said nothing. Kieri went on, this time in Pargunese. “You spoke to me of honor. If you give your word that you will not attack me while we talk, you will not be bound, and my Squires will leave us alone. Will you?”
“Why should I?”
“Because, if I wished it, you could be bound like a herdbeast and killed, or locked in a cell. If you are intent on killing me, you will have time. If there is a way of having peace between our people, yours and mine, I want to find it. And you will be more comfortable unbound.”
“I cannot swear never to kill you.”
“No one could swear that,” Kieri said. “That is not what I ask. Swear not to attack me for one turn of the glass.”
“And then you will kill me?”
“Not if I can avoid it,” Kieri said. “Though I do not expect you to believe it.”
The king looked at the King’s Squires to either side of him, and shrugged. “It makes no difference, I suppose, one glass. You can lie, and I will listen, if that is what you want. But one of us will die, and if it is I, your land will suffer.”
“If either of us dies, both lands will suffer,” Kieri said. “My people would like to hear you say it in Common, if you will.”
The king uttered an oath in Pargunese, then said in Common, “I have given my word not to attack your king for the full turn of a glass. I would see the glass.”
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