Oath of Fealty

by Elizabeth Moon

  She nodded; it was both agreement and acceptance. “Not because I wish it though,” he said. “It must be your consent to your prince—to Mahieran, to Tsaia, not to me. I cannot be your commander any longer.” Regret softened his voice.

  “I don’t know the prince,” Dorrin said. “I avoided court, as you know.”

  “Yes. And now you’ll have to get to know Mikeli. He’s going to be good, I judge. His father was. You may have some problems with the Council, until they know you—”

  “They certainly know the Verrakai name,” Dorrin said.

  “We both face challenges. Do you think you’ll have problems with Verrakai troops?”

  “Probably,” Dorrin said. “Even if they aren’t disloyal to Tsaia, they’ve been told that I’m a traitor.”

  “Take your cohort,” Kieri said. “They’ll go with you willingly, and the prince has asked me to return them to Tsaia. Jandelir is headed south with a cohort—they are giving him the North Marches.” Dorrin noticed that Kieri did not say “my domain.”

  “But they’re not mine—”

  “Essentially they are,” he said. “Ask them, tell them I approved it. See what happens.”

  “I—” For an instant her vision blurred. She blinked back tears. “You really think I can do it.”

  “Don’t you?” Answer and challenge both.

  She stared past him, out the narrow window; snow fell again, fat flakes in twisting curtains. “Yes,” she said. “I can. I will.”

  “Then let me be the first to congratulate Dorrin, Duke Verrakai,” he said, holding out his hand. “And let us toast it.”

  Dorrin clasped his hand, tears stinging her eyes. For so long he had been to her the elder brother she never knew, the father she never had—just, honorable, kind. And now she must take the lessons she had learned and apply them … without him.

  Tsaia’s messenger rode off the next morning before dawn; Dorrin marshaled her cohort in the inn’s common room and marched them to their usual drill field, thinly covered with snow. Weak sun bloomed the clouds to pale gold; the snow was soft, already melting.

  Instead of drill, she called them into close formation. “A messenger arrived from Tsaia late yesterday. A message to me from the prince.”

  They stared at her, some faces showing confusion and others calculation.

  “Most of you know that I am a Verrakai. You all know we were attacked by Verrakai soldiers on the way here. That act of treason was compounded by an attack on the royal family in Vérella. The entire family is under an Order of Attainder—all except me, because I have been estranged from them for so long. The prince has asked me to take over as Verrakai. I have agreed to do so. Now I ask how many of you will come with me. King Kieri does not command, but says you may come if you like.”

  “To serve under you, or someone else?” Selfer asked.

  “My command,” Dorrin said. “And you would be going back to the Duke’s—to the North Marches—eventually. Arcolin’s been granted that domain; he’s on his way to Aarenis.”

  They looked at each other, saying nothing. “I will walk,” Dorrin said. “You will think.”

  “I don’t need to think,” Sergeant Bosk said. “Captain, I’ll follow you anywhere. To Verrakai, to clean up that mess—of course! What better could we do, with our Duke—the king—gone?” Others nodded.

  Dorrin felt a surge of elation. “All of you?”

  “Well, you aren’t like that other Verrakai. You’re loyal to the Duke—to our king, aren’t you?”

  “I will be swearing allegiance to Tsaia’s king.”

  “Of course, Captain, but he’s Phelan’s friend, right? And you’ll need some loyal soldiers to start with. Couldn’t trust those Verrakai soldiers.” He spat into the snow.

  “They probably outnumber us,” Dorrin said.

  “They outnumbered us on the way here,” Bosk said. “They’ve had one lesson; we can give them another. They’re not worth a worry, Captain.”

  “Well, then.” The first lift of elation, of possibilities other than dire, filled her. “Let’s get to work. The prince has sent troops to Verrakai; he should get my message that I’m accepting his offer. We can’t wait for Kieri’s—the king’s—coronation; we should go on as soon as may be. Jens is still unable to travel, and we need to ensure that all our mounts are fit.”

  “Farrier came by yesterday, Captain,” Selfer said. “All trimmed and all loose shoes reset. We’re down three mounts, though, and seven pack animals … all but two could travel in another hand of days maybe, but not sooner. I’m thinking you’ll want us to be fully supplied?”

  “Yes.” Dorrin thought. “I’ll ask at the palace about buying spare animals. Make up a supply list—ten days on the road, if the weather worsens. I don’t know what the road conditions are, once we’re in Verrakai lands. I’ll try to find out. I’ll be back at the inn soon after midday, if not before. Do we need any additional weapons?”

  “We can always use more,” Selfer said. “The smithies are backed up, so if we could get twelve swords, fifteen shields new—if there’s an armorer here—”

  “If there is, I’m sure you can find him,” Dorrin said. “I’ll go check on mounts and pack animals, and the routes we might take.”

  By early afternoon the sky cleared from the west to a hard blue. Dorrin had found, as she expected, few available mounts outside the royal stables, but pack animals and even wagons were available. She found maps in the palace library, but only one trader who admitted any knowledge of the roads into and through Verrakai lands.

  “Charge a ruinous toll, they do,” he said. “Unless they order goods, they don’t want trade comin’ through ‘less they get a profit. I was hired to bring in southern wine and silk two years agone. Road’s a mess, once you get past Rockwater crossing; they leave it that way for protection, they say.”

  “Better with pack animals, then,” Dorrin said.

  “Better, yes. You’ll find some brigand bands, like enough. Damned Duke starves his peasants; it’s no wonder. But they’ll steal if they can. You’ll want to be careful.”

  “We’re armed,” Dorrin said.

  “I hear the Duke’s in trouble with the Council,” the man said.

  “His men did attack the king on the way here,” Dorrin said. “What else did you hear?”

  “You’re one of his captains, right? I heard he brought his own army with him, and everybody knows he was a mercenary. We worry about war here.”

  “He doesn’t want a war,” Dorrin said.

  “I suppose you would know,” he said. “But a man who’s lived by war all his life … what kind of king will he make, and what will that mean for us, the traders?”

  “When you’re in Vérella next,” Dorrin said, “you should talk to the Merchants’ Guild about trade to his dukedom. It’s been profitable and he kept the roads in good repair. I expect he’ll do the same here.”

  “I hope so. I’ve always traded on the east-west routes, not to the north, but if that’s true … then good.”

  Should she mention that she knew Kieri wanted to include merchants in the Council here? No, that was for him to say.

  By late afternoon, Dorrin had conferred again with the king and Selfer. On her way back to the palace, she stopped by the stables to check on her own mount, hoping to find Paksenarrion there. Paks, indeed, was in the stall with her paladin mount.

  “Good evening, Captain,” Paks said. “Did you ride out today?”

  “No … Paks, I wanted to talk to you, if you’ve time.”

  “Certainly.” Paks stood up, giving the red horse a caress as she left the stall. “What is it?”

  “The prince of Tsaia has asked me to take on the Verrakai matter,” Dorrin said. “I believe you know that I am Verrakai by birth … I left home and they erased my name, they said, but—”

  “Why are you telling me?” Paks asked.

  “It’s complicated.” Dorrin stopped in front of her own horse’s stall. The sturdy bay put out his
head and she stroked it absently. “I hated what they did; I ran to Lyonya and entered the Company of Falk. At one time, as a girl, I had dreamed of coming back to them as a … a paladin, like you. Breaking the bonds of Liart’s barbed chain, making them better … but I was not chosen for such training.”

  “They don’t need a paladin,” Paks said. “They need a good ruler. Paladins don’t govern … I told the Council here that.”

  “Why?” Dorrin asked. “I always wondered about that. Why wouldn’t paladins be good at it?”

  “I’m not sure,” Paks said. “Perhaps because good governance requires different gifts. Rulers must stay with their land, wherever it is, while our calls to quest may take us anywhere. It would not be good for a land if its ruler left suddenly.”

  “True. I had not thought of that.”

  “And most rulers have heirs of the body,” Paks said. “Paladins are vulnerable in their loves … we are not encouraged to form families as rulers do.”

  “So it is not simply that we lack abilities that you—that paladins have?”

  “No … I think not. We are not perfect, Captain, just different. A sword and a plough are both useful, but for different things.”

  “My family have done bad things, Paks. Very bad. I do not know how I will change their habits.”

  “Do you know why they follow Liart?”

  “They say it is the only way to preserve and strengthen the mageborn abilities,” Dorrin said. “They tried to initiate me, as a child. I was uncooperative. A spineless coward, as my father and uncle put it. But the others consented. I do not know how willingly.” She swallowed. “Because the Code of Gird forbids magery, some magelords fled into exile—”

  “Into Kolobia,” Paks said. “Or so I suspect from the information in Luap’s writings.”

  “My family would not give it up or go into exile. They hid it except in their own domain, using Liart’s power and blood magery to preserve and strengthen it.”

  “This will come out now,” Paks said. “Or will you try to hide it?”

  “No. It must come out and it must end,” Dorrin said. “But there is more.”

  “What?”

  “This.” Dorrin ducked into the shadows of an empty stall, almost dark in the late afternoon. Light flared from her hands. “I have a little magery. I do not use it, but I have it.”

  “The light of truth,” Paks said.

  “No. The light of fire. It will burn.” The light died. In the darkness, Dorrin went on. “You saw my sword flare in Rotengre. It has its own magic, yes, but the light is its response to mine.”

  “You’re certain it’s the old magery?”

  “What else could it be? I never trained as a wizard. I’m not a paladin. The Knight-Commander of Falk made that clear.”

  Paks led the way out of the dark stall into the stableyard. “Did you have any training in your magery? Anything useful?”

  “No. What they wanted to teach me, I didn’t want to learn. I can light candles or kindle a fire, but nothing like the light you produced for the battle.”

  Paks frowned. “I don’t know what other magics the magelords were supposed to have … though the Marshal-General said the evidence out there in Kolobia suggested a variety of things, from lifting rocks to healing.”

  “The archives list a number of abilities, but they’re all supposed to require training,” Dorrin said. “Making light is the one they watch for in children, to see if they have the talent. Others are less likely to emerge without it, though it does happen.”

  “What does it feel like, when you make the light?” Paks asked. “Does it feel hot, there in your hand?”

  “No. I don’t feel anything. Do you?”

  “Only inside,” Paks said. “In my heart, there’s a … a feeling of being … partly somewhere else.” She shook her head and chuckled. “I can’t describe it. Something feels open, and the light comes. Master Oakhallow told me that paladins’ powers come from the gods. But we ask for light, or healing, and it may or may not be granted.”

  Dorrin looked at her, remembering the tall, yellow-haired peasant girl who’d impressed all the older veterans with her likeness to the Duke’s dead wife. But every recruiting season brought peasant girls and boys, artisans’ sons and daughters, into the Company, and Paks was not the only one who seemed special at first. She was not even the only one who had reminded them of Tammarion.

  Now she bore the High Lord’s silver circle on her brow, proof of the ordeal she had endured and the reward she had more than earned, and Dorrin was torn between resentment, admiration, and relief.

  “I am not a paladin, but I would do what my people need,” Dorrin said. “The king told me to take my cohort, if they were willing, and they have agreed. I’m not sure it will be enough.”

  Paks grinned. “Nothing’s certain, is it? But what bothers you most?”

  “I’m not sure I’ll recognize everything that needs to be done,” Dorrin said. “I’m not sure I can stand against the magery they have.”

  “The strength of their talent, or their training? Do you think your power is that much weaker, or is it that you don’t know how to use it?”

  “Training, I suppose. Like a novice picking up a good sword, but having no skills, no experience.”

  “You believe they could overpower you? Kill you?”

  “I suspect so,” Dorrin said. “It’s not the danger to myself that I worry about—much, anyway. It’s what will happen to the land and people should I fail. Not just Verrakai land, either, but the whole of Tsaia. I don’t suppose you feel a call to come help me …”

  “No,” Paks said. “I feel no call at all right now, but I can think of a way to help you, if you are willing.”

  “And what is that?”

  “If it is training you lack, then let us train your talents. Now. Perhaps it will not take as long as you think.”

  “You could do that? You would do that?”

  “I can try. We can try.” Paks grinned like a child about to try swinging from a vine over a river, all glee and eagerness. “What do you need most, do you think?”

  Dorrin ticked them off on her fingers. “A shield against their magery, protecting not just myself but those I lead. A way to lock their magery, so they cannot use it. I saw one of my uncles do that once, to a half-breed, one of his bastards, who showed fight. Healing, if that’s in me—by legend, it had become the rarest of the gifts, and I never saw any of my family use it.”

  “So first we find out what your gifts are, and waken them,” Paks said. “We should start, then, with the one you believe most difficult, healing.”

  Dorrin felt her belly clench. Her family’s stories of the healing magery all involved loss, despair, weakening … but Paks was right.

  If it could be put to good use, she might save some of the children that way, healing whatever hurts had been done them … and being able to heal might win supporters from those long damaged by her family.

  “Let’s go to my room,” Paks said. “Quieter there.”

  Dorrin was expected at table with the king; she was sure Selfer or Bosk would come looking for her. “I must leave word that I’m busy—”

  “I’ll tell them I wanted to confer with you.” Paks grinned. “For now, nobody interrupts me.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Paks’s room, at one end of the palace complex and a floor higher than her own, looked to have been a servant’s once. Plain, a pair of narrow beds separated by a carved chest, a bare wood floor. A wardrobe stood against one wall; the opposite had pegs at various heights. Paks’s cloak hung on one; her pack, neatly rolled, was at the foot of her bed.

  “They could do no better for the paladin who saved their king?” Dorrin asked.

  “They could, but I chose to move here,” Paks said. “I needed solitude, not care, for a while.” Her face had sobered, but now it lightened again. “Besides, this gives us the privacy I’m sure we need. Here—sit down on that bed.”

  Dorrin sat, bemuse
d by the shift in authority, as if she herself were a recruit facing a captain for the first time.

  “Give me your hand,” Paks said next. Dorrin held out her hand; Paks’s hand on hers felt warm and dry and oddly soothing. Dorrin waited; Paks said nothing, but looked past her, into something Dorrin could not see. Slowly, she felt something else, something that seemed to pass from Paks to her, a strange tingle that ran up her arm and from there into her head, and down her torso. She wanted to pull her hand back, but Paks had a firm grip. She glanced up. Paks’s eyes were closed, her face unreadable, the slightest furrow of a frown between her brows, as if she were concentrating.

  When Paks released Dorrin’s hand, she sat down on the opposite bed. Dorrin waited.

  “That was … interesting,” Paks said. “Someone blocked your magery long ago, except for that light. Did you know that? Do you know who?”

  “No,” Dorrin said. “I suppose my uncle, or a cousin.”

  “I don’t think so,” Paks said. “From what you say, their contact would be evil, and leave a residue I should pick up. This was not an act of malice, but of protection. Who, that could do such a thing, might have chosen to do so?”

  One name came immediately to mind. “The Knight-Commander of Falk,” Dorrin said. “When I trained there, when he found out who I was, I told him about my small talent. He let me stay, but said I must not use any magery while there, having learned only its wrong uses. He might have blocked it.”

  “And not told you?”

  “I can think of no one else,” Dorrin said. “He is the only one outside my family who knew that I had it.”

  “Then we should ask him,” Paks said.

  “He died,” Dorrin said. “Some years after I was knighted, I heard that he had died. The new Knight-Commander I have never met.”

  “Ah. I wonder if he has the same powers. At least he is here; we can ask.”