“What we know now is that the Pargunese were befooled and then led by Achrya into moving above the falls—into land the rockfolk had denied them, land containing two hills in which dragons had laid clutches of eggs, supposedly guarded by gnomes.”
“But there are no—” someone said.
Kieri held up his hand for silence. “Under Achrya’s urging, the Pargunese took some of those eggs and broke them, releasing an immature form of dragon. In a later change, the immature dragons became a form of fire, uncontrolled and uncontrollable by humans. The Pargunese thought they had a weapon—thought they could control it—but they had released what Achrya wanted: chaos and terror that only the gods—or a dragon—could control. That is what burned Riverwash and a Halveric encampment; that is what we saw the other night.”
“If the Pargunese have them, they could send more,” Sier Halveric said. He looked more angry than frightened.
“They do not,” Kieri said. “The dragon—and yes, there is a dragon; Arian and I both met it—will prevent that; the dragon means us no harm.” He paused, but no one spoke. “That is good news, but I have better: King’s Squire Arian has consented to become my queen, and the ancestors and the taig and the Lady of the Ladys forest have all agreed.”
Stunned silence, then a burst of applause that ended when Kieri held up his hand. “Because of the perils just past and the uncertainties of the future, I believe it wise to marry sooner rather than later, and Arian agrees. We will celebrate the engagement formally on the day of Midwinter Feast, and the wedding will be on the half-Evener.”
He had thought that would make them happy, but disappointed looks went back and forth.
“You could wait until the Evener,” Sier Hammarin said. “Half-Evener—it could be storming; snow won’t have melted. It’s a royal wedding; there’ll be guests to invite who must travel a distance. Evener, or even Midsummer, if you wanted, would be better. Now that you’ve found someone …”
“We don’t want to wait,” Kieri said. “And oaths given on Midwinter are unbreakable, as you know.”
Hammarin chuckled. “Young folks are always in a hurry, but you surely know, sir king, the custom—no need to wait the way you mean.”
It took Kieri a moment to understand that; he felt his face heating up. “That wasn’t what I meant,” he said. No one laughed. “But you may be right—” Hammarin was right, he realized. Next to the coronation, his wedding was the most important state occasion, requiring time for planning and consideration of the guest list. “Arian?” he said, turning to her. “What do you think?”
“Spring Evener’s better,” she said. “Especially after the war, you must invite the other kings as well as our own people.”
“And just enough planning time now,” Sier Belvarin said.
I suppose,” Garris said after the meeting, “you’re going to appoint another King’s Squire to replace her? We’ve lost enough that you might well hold another examination anyway, especially as she’ll need her own Squires once you marry.”
“Arian will stay with the Squires until we marry, as she wishes,” Kieri said. “But no dangerous assignments, Garris. She can serve in the palace.” He pushed away the memory of the two Squires who had died in the palace … no more Pargunese assassins, at least. He yawned.
“When did you last sleep?” Garris said.
“Um … I’m not sure. Not last night; I wanted to get back here and reassure … people.”
“Arian.” Garris smirked.
“And the Siers.” Kieri grinned. “But of course Arian most of all.”
“I’m glad for you,” Garris said. “But go on to bed and let me send out my messages. If you yawn in front of me anymore, I’ll fall asleep myself.”
Kieri fell asleep almost as soon as he lay down, only to wake in the dark of night. He stretched, then wondered why he’d wakened. No sound disturbed him; coals still glowed in the fireplace. He felt no menace. So … what? Arian? No, of course not. The Council? No, they were as content as they could be, knowing he would wed. Squires, Royal Archers, forest rangers … nothing came to mind that would wake him up.
Where were the elves? He blinked, trying to clear his mind. They had been there, at the end of the scathefire track, that first day after the attack. The Lady had sworn her aid to heal the land. He had ridden back to Chaya, leaving the elves behind, thinking they would defend … but when he returned, the Pargunese had come, hindered only by that mixed force of humans and a few part-elf rangers.
Where were the elves? He had seen no healing of the scathefire track, no new growth. Had they but awaited his departure and then gone back to the Ladysforest? Surely not, for the taig had calmed … He reached out for it and tried to trace its fabric all the way to the river. Here … and here … were the rents the scathefire had made. And there, on the other scathefire track, he felt … not the elves, but the effect of the elves. Pain lessened. Fear calmed. And it was winter, he reminded himself: not the time for new growth.
So they had not deserted completely. But why had they left the place where he’d found them? He tried to use his taig-sense to reach them, to find his grandmother, but met only fog … or so it felt.
He rolled to his other side. So now he knew where the elves were … why had he wakened? He didn’t feel sleepy now, nor did he feel menace near. He pushed the covers aside, fumbled his feet into fleece-lined slippers, and went to the window above the courtyard. He pushed the curtains aside and let the night air, frigid as it was, roll in. The clouds had blown away south; starlight glittered on the snowy roofs of the lower buildings—the stable, the smithy, the storehouses. Kieri leaned out into the cold air. He could just see sentries moving silently where they should go and the loom of the King’s Grove trees, streaked with snow.
So still a night … He breathed in deeply and then looked up at the stars. Nowhere near morning, just after the turn of night. A touch of warm air on his face startled him; he jerked back. Nothing. But not nothing … her. “Tamar?” he whispered. Another touch of warmth. Joy flooded him—her joy, he realized—and then a buffet to his shoulder that knocked him into the window frame hard enough to dislodge a chunk of snow frozen there. And she was gone.
The snow fell onto the swept stones below—a small sound, but one of the sentries turned and came across the courtyard, peering up at the wall, alert.
Kieri leaned out. “My fault—I was stargazing.”
“Sir king! Is all well?”
“Very well,” Kieri said. He could not see the expression on the man’s face, but he could imagine what he thought: the king, up in the middle of a cold winter’s night, leaning out the window. “I woke, and it was so quiet, I wondered if it snowed.”
“Shall I tell someone—”
“No. I’ll go back to bed.” Kieri stepped back and pulled the curtains closed. He slid into the covers that still held the warmth of his body and lay for a time thinking of Tamar. That she approved of Arian did not surprise him, but the buffet? What had that meant? She used to do that when she thought he’d been foolish … What had he done this time? Laughter ran through his mind, then faded. She was gone. She had given him a buffet when he left, if he lingered in farewell … he understood, and with that he fell asleep.
Next morning he was in the salle when a servant brought word that a courier had come from Aliam Halveric. “Bring him here,” Kieri said.
The courier was Cal’s son Aliam, about the age Kieri had been when he himself had come to Halveric Steading. “Sir king, Lord Halveric will be here in another two days, if the weather holds. He asks that you send word where you want his troops to camp or if you want them to march straight on to join up with Captain Talgan in Riverwash.”
“Captain Talgan was lost,” Kieri said. The lad paled. “Riverwash … burned.”
“The—the whole town, sir king?”
“Yes. The strange fire weapon the Pargunese had threatened. I wrote Aliam about it.”
“How—did you stop it?”
�
�I did not. What they called scathefire is instead dragonspawn … and a dragon stopped it.”
“A dragon? I thought there were no dragons anymore.”
“So did I,” Kieri said. “But there are, and I have spoken with one. Tell me, young Aliam, have you breakfasted?”
“No, sir king. Granfer—Lord Halveric—said stop for nothing on the way. Don’t you eat or sleep, he said, until you’ve seen the king.”
“Well, you’ve seen the king, and if you can wait while I finish exercise, you can eat breakfast with the king as well.”
Aliam looked around the salle and grinned. “Can I play?”
“Lad, you’ve ridden all night, haven’t you?”
“Yes, but that’s—Granfer and Father both said that’s nothing.”
“True, but I’m not minded to see your grandfather’s face if I put you against rested fighters twice your size. Maybe after breakfast I can find you someone suitable to spar with. And maybe you’ll see something here you don’t see at home.”
Concentrating on the boy, Kieri had ignored his Squires. The boy’s eyes widening a little was his only warning; he lunged sideways just as someone grabbed for his shoulder and knocked him off balance. He fell on his side, rolled, avoided the kick. Arian, of course. She shifted sideways as he came up to one knee and then pounced, but he was ready with a strike to the back of her knee. She fell, already rolling away, and he made it to his feet. “Enough,” he said. “Our guest needs his breakfast, as do we.”
The boy had never been to Chaya before, let alone the palace. Kieri ignored his startled reactions and trusted that the arrival of food would overcome any shyness. He had long persuaded the palace cooks that he needed a heartier breakfast, and platters of sizzling sausage, stirred eggs, and hot breads disappeared as the Squires joined in.
Garris came into the room. “Courier’s ready to go—anything else?” Then he noticed the boy. “Is that—”
“Yes. Aliam sent him ahead to tell us: two days. But I still need to send word of the attacks and the present situation.”
“I could go,” young Aliam said.
“You probably could,” Kieri said, “but your king wants you here for the time being. I have a courier available who slept last night and has already eaten, and I have questions for you when we’re done.” He and Garris left; when he returned, Arian sat with the young Halveric, who was eyeing the basket of honeycakes.
“Go ahead,” Kieri said, taking two for himself. “Do you like sib?”
“Yes, sir king.”
Arian poured for all three of them.
“Do you always have King’s Squires with you?” the boy asked.
“Yes, that is what they do.”
“Could I ever be a King’s Squire?”
“Not until you’re a Knight of Falk,” Kieri said. “After that, we’ll see. You may not want the job. It’s not all living in the palace, you know.”
“I saw them—you, Lady Arian, too—back home last fall. I thought then, if Granfer isn’t going south again, and Father doesn’t want to, then being a King’s Squire would be exciting.”
“It’s not a second best,” Arian said sharply.
“I didn’t mean it that way—only it’s been our family tradition to go south and fight there. But Granfer’s old now, and my father doesn’t want to go again.”
“I wanted to ask you about the rebuilding,” Kieri said. “How is that coming?”
“Oh, it’s almost like it was before. We all worked on it, of course, and the elves made wood join even better than old Sosti, that Granfer said was the best he’d seen. The elves didn’t like having our Old Halveric’s skull up in the attic, but Granfer insisted and so did Gram. She said it belonged there. The elves wouldn’t touch it, but when the roof framing was up, I put it back in. Gram is happy. I wanted an indoor salle, like the one here, but Granfer said wars aren’t fought indoors.”
“He’s right, and he said the same to us when I was his squire,” Kieri said. “I kept thinking I’d build one when I had my own Company, but instead we used the dining hall if the weather was really too cold.”
The boy yawned suddenly, then blinked and widened his eyes. “I’m not really sleepy,” he said. “If there’s something you need—”
“I need you rested for later,” Kieri said. “Sleep now.”
“But it’s daytime. And I’m in Chaya.”
Kieri chuckled. “And Chaya will be here when you wake up again. Come now, don’t argue with your king.”
When the boy was well away, following one of the palace servants to a guest room, Arian said, “I hope our sons are like that.”
“And I.”
“You didn’t tell him about us—”
“No. He’s Aliam’s grandson and should have learned prudence, but he’s at an age to blurt things out anyway. I want to tell Aliam myself.”
“Ah. I have little experience with boys that age.”
Kieri went on, “We need to send word of our announcement and the wedding date to all the kingdoms—today or tomorrow, at least.”
“Already?”
“Yes. It will be slow going—winter weather—and though we are not waiting until summer, I do not want it to seem a hasty, careless affair. Duke Verrakai will be in Harway, I’m sure, in defense of Tsaia. She could not come to my coronation, but I hope she will be able to come to the wedding.”
“She’s … remarkable,” Arian said.
“Yes. And she is in a difficult situation, as the only Verrakai not attainted and thus not proven in the royal courts to be free of evil magery. Mikeli had to trust someone and trusted her on my word, but she must know others suspect her, especially as they know she has magery. It was well she used it to save the king’s life, but many Tsaians will still have their doubts.”
“That crown will not have helped,” Arian said.
“No, indeed. I wish I knew more of that,” Kieri said. “She has been sparing in her letters to me, saying the king does not wish it talked of. I have not asked Mikeli, in case he took offense that she had mentioned it to me. But it seems to me such regalia would be a reason for someone to seek it—it’s an unclaimed crown, and it must belong somewhere.”
“Well, it’s safe in the Tsaian royal treasury, at least. All but the necklace.”
“The necklace?”
Arian told the little she knew, what Dorrin had told her about the necklace. “And then it was stolen from Fin Panir, she heard.”
Kieri shook his head. “Worse and worse. Rumors of a lost crown being found … a necklace from the same suite of jewels on the loose …”
“Duke Verrakai says she told the king it would draw trouble.”
“As honey draws bees, yes. And I’m sure she’s thinking of the same trouble, from the south.”
“But that’s Tsaia, isn’t it?”
“No. It’s everyone. What touches Tsaia touches us—and Fintha—and Pargun and, through all of us, the rest. What I learned from Pargun’s king is that Pargun and Kostandan trade all the way to Aarenis.” He felt a sudden chill. “And I hadn’t thought—there wasn’t time—but Alured the Black doesn’t have to invade through Valdaire—he could sail up the river. I must tell Mikeli that. Ships can’t get past the falls, but land an army on the shore below, and … here I thought our danger might be over for at least a few years.”
“Well,” Arian said, “you’ve thought of it now. So we can plan a defense, and surely he won’t show up this winter.”
“No, I think not. But he had been a pirate on the Immerhoft—the sea down there—and he will have ships and men who know how to fight from them.” He ran his hands through his hair. “What a day! I must write those letters, to Mikeli and the Marshal-General as well. And still there’s the rest of the Pargunese invasion to deal with.”
By late afternoon, the letters announcing his engagement and—for Tsaia and Fintha—his assessment of the new danger from the south were on the way, along with a letter each to Dorrin and Arcolin. The party he’d le
ft to follow him had arrived with the prisoners—bedraggled and tired, but no more injuries or deaths.
Kieri went down to the courtyard to look them over. Chaya had no large prisons. Smaller than Vérella and more orderly, it had small jails meant to house the occasional violent drunk until he or she had slept it off. He could not leave them in the courtyard, without any shelter, in winter. They were a dispirited lot anyway, pale and pinched with hunger and exhaustion, most with at least one bandaged limb.
His Council had sided with Sier Halveric—these were dangerous enemies. They had killed Lyonyans and tried to burn the kingdom down. They deserved to die. If Kieri had not fought so many years in Aarenis and argued for the Mercenary Code against so many who saw no reason for it, he might have felt the same way. But though enemies, these were military prisoners, and the code was bone-deep.
He had a chair brought out and set before them. All around, Royal Archers stood with arrows nocked. He sat down in the chair and set the great sword in its scabbard across his lap.
Then Kieri spoke to them in Pargunese, as he had to Torfinn. “For your attack on my land, your lives are forfeit. But you were ensorcelled by evil, and for that reason alone I will not kill you here and now. You will be fed and housed, to be returned for judgment to your own king, if he wills.” He waited a moment; all those pale eyes stared back at him, and none moved. “You will give me your parole, one by one, to attempt no violence on those who guard you or those who bring you food and other needs until such time.”
“Why?” asked a man in the front, tall, burly, with bandages on his head and sword arm.
“Why not kill you? Blood shed in anger harms the taig, the spirit of the land. If your king judges you must die, that blood is on his hands, not mine. Why feed you and house you in the meantime? Because that is the code I live by—the code we mercenaries swore to in Aarenis.”
“We’d of killed you if you was our prisoner.”
“I do not doubt that, but my way is not your way. Though if you choose to die, you may.”
Echoes of Betrayal Page 6