Oath of Fealty

by Elizabeth Moon

  “I didn’t want to … but it hurt so much …”

  “And now you think you’re with child?”

  Efla hung her head; Dorrin could barely hear her voice. “I didn’t bleed.”

  “If you are with child, I promise you again it is a human child, not a demon’s. Those monsters were human men, in robes and masks … not anything but that.”

  “And the Bloodlord won’t come to take me away if I … if I unsay it?”

  “No. But you can’t undo what’s done, or unsay what’s said … you can say differently this time.”

  “They said we all had to,” Farin said. Now she looked worried; the other kitchen help edged nearer. “And once we swore, the Bloodlord would know and we could never get away.”

  “That’s not true,” Dorrin said. “Anyone can turn from evil if they want to; the gods act through people—through us.” Almost always; Paks had that circle on her forehead through a direct act, but she was a paladin.

  Thinking of Paks, she thought of the Duke—the king, she reminded herself yet again. She counted the days … was it two or three until the Spring Evener? She looked around the great rooms, dimming as the winds brought a layer of cloud across the sun … nothing like the palace in Chaya, full of color and life. So easy to imagine the bustle of servants, guests, the talk and the laughter, the music—no. That was self-pity, and she would not indulge.

  She found Selfer still supervising the removal of salvageable items from the tower. “Shall we burn it now, or hope that’s rain enough to keep any flames from the other buildings?” he asked.

  “I’m thinking perhaps we should do it on the Spring Evener,” Dorrin said. “A day of renewal and also balance, restoration.”

  “I think you’re right,” he said. “But if it rains—”

  “Barrels of oilberries,” Dorrin said. “We’ve enough oil to burn even the old dry wood. In fact, we can start pouring that on it now. And light it on the Eve.”

  “We can call it an honor to the king at his coronation,” Selfer said, grinning.

  “And it will be,” Dorrin said. “If I could, I’d light fires for him all the way to Aarenis.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Valdaire

  On the road south, at the head of his cohort, Arcolin half ignored the Vonja agent who wanted to chatter about his new status. His mind ranged ahead to Valdaire and the south, and behind to the north where his domain—his domain—waited. He made plans—his plans, not that different from Kieri’s, but his own. Rain came as it always did; the road was a quagmire where it always was; the cohort stopped in the usual places.

  “Gettin’ back to it, is he?” he heard over and over. Arcolin nodded and waved without pausing to explain. When they finally made it over the pass and he saw once more the Vale of Valdaire opening below, his heart lifted.

  The Duke’s great barracks just outside the city on the northeast, originally a caravansary, had been sublet by his factor to another company. Valdaire did not permit troops to camp near the city, so Arcolin found them cramped accommodation in an inn northeast of the main market. His cohort filled every available room; some slept in the stable loft as well. Arcolin went out at once to deal with the business that held them in Valdaire: money and the need to hire captains.

  News of Kieri Phelan’s new position as king of Lyonya had reached Valdaire as a rumor, widely disbelieved but a good item of gossip. As he chatted with men at the hire-sword hall, everyone had a different version of the rumor, and they all asked for more. Arcolin turned the questions aside and asked his own, interviewing everyone who looked like officer material, talking to the other captains he knew.

  “So, Captain, they’re saying your duke turned out to be royal-born.”

  Aesil M’dierra, the only woman commanding a mercenary company, stirred her sib and then sipped it, eyeing him over the rim of the mug. Arcolin hoped for her assessment of the freelance mercenaries hanging around the hire-sword hall. He had a short list of possible captains.

  “What have you heard?” Arcolin said, not answering. M’dierra, he knew, would expect some verbal sparring before an answer she could trust.

  “The moneychangers’ courier, some ten days ago. The one who brings the current exchange rate to the Guild League cities.”

  “Bannack?”

  “That’s the one. My senior captain buys him dinner and drinks, and we get the news from the north.”

  “So,” Arcolin said, in a joking voice, “what wild story did Bannack hand you?”

  “Kieri Phelan’s an elf king’s son and he’s off to some elvenhome kingdom to be king of the elves. He was stolen away at birth and hidden in a castle—locations vary from across the sea to here in Aarenis.” She took another swallow of sib. “I don’t believe that; elves can find elves, and anyway he doesn’t look like an elf. That story might work over the mountains, but here, no. Kieri is not an elf and though he could be a king’s son I can’t imagine whose.”

  “Interesting,” Arcolin said. “Always helps to know what rumors are running.”

  “Fast horses aren’t the strongest,” M’dierra said. “Now are you going to tell me, or do I have to buy you a meal and pretend to admire your handsome face?”

  Arcolin laughed. “Let’s share a meal. I’ll tell you about Kieri and then ask your opinion of some men I’m thinking of hiring as captains.”

  “Well enough, but I must reassure my anxious employers that I’m not switching sides just because I’m seen dining with you. Get us one of the side rooms at the Golden Fish, for two full glasses from now.”

  Arcolin nodded and she rose, a woman near the Duke’s age, dark-haired, tall, lithe, though he noted she moved a little more stiffly than she had a few years before. On the way out of the inn’s common room, she signaled two Golden Company soldiers, her escort.

  His own employer’s agent, across the room, saw her leave and came to Arcolin. “What did she say? Who are you hiring?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Arcolin said. “It was just a cup of sib; we’re having dinner to discuss business. Speaking of which—” He rubbed thumb and fingers together.

  “Oh. Well, I haven’t had time to see the bankers today; tomorrow will do, won’t it?”

  “On arrival in Valdaire,” Arcolin said, trying for Kieri’s tone.

  “But the banks—you don’t want to wander around with a sack of gold.”

  “On arrival,” Arcolin said. “And we arrived before noon.”

  Grumbling, the agent admitted that he did, indeed, have that part of their payment; Arcolin went with him to the Golden Fish, not really surprised the agent was staying at such an expensive inn. On the way, he told Jamis, one of his escort, to fetch a pack mule.

  The Golden Fish advertised its elegance with fresh paint on the doorframes and shutters, pots of flowers out front, and two stout door guards alert to keep out anyone they suspected of not having enough money. They ignored the agent, Arcolin, and Arcolin’s remaining escort; Arcolin paused and told the nearer guard that Jamis would be coming with a mule to take away the ale he was planning to buy.

  “He can’t block the entrance,” the man said.

  “No, of course not.”

  “In uniform?”

  “Yes. Phelan’s Company.”

  “Good enough. S’long as he don’t park a mule across the entrance, we won’t bother ’im.”

  Inside, the floors shone with oil; the common room smelled of fresh herbs. The innkeeper came to meet the Cortes Vonja agent, then led them to the inn strong room with its impressively iron-bound door and heavy lockplate. Inside, shelves held labeled sacks and boxes. In the presence of the innkeeper the agent opened a box with Cortes Vonja’s city seal on the lid, and counted out the first installment of southern gold, natas and nas with the Guild League and Cortes Vonja mint marks. Arcolin and the agent both signed a paper stating Arcolin’s receipt of the money. The innkeeper signed as witness.

  “As you see, Captain, I have a good, secure strong room and wou
ld be happy to protect your payment overnight, until the banks open tomorrow.”

  “No, thank you,” Arcolin said. To his eye the strong room was not proof against anything but casual and incompetent thieves. Valdaire abounded in such, but also had a branch of the Thieves’ Guild. “I have ample guards. I will, however, buy two kegs of your best ale, if you have it to spare.”

  “Certainly, certainly,” the innkeeper said, beaming now.

  “And in a glass and a half, one of your side rooms for the evening. M’dierra dines with me.”

  “Yes, of course, my—Captain.”

  “You’re dining here?” the Cortes Vonja agent said, frowning.

  “M’dierra’s choice,” Arcolin said. “You object?”

  “Er … no. I just wondered.”

  “Captain, Jamis is here,” Tam said.

  “Excuse me.” Arcolin bowed and looked around the common room. How long would it take the innkeeper—? But there he was, behind two servants, each with a keg. “This way,” he said to the servants, leading them to the front door. As he paid the innkeeper, Jamis and Tam packed the money first, and then the kegs on top of them. Arcolin went on ahead. Kieri had an arrangement for after-hours deposit at his banker’s. Arcolin gave the coded knock, a guard opened the door, and when Jamis and Tam arrived, the money went into a vault far safer than the innkeeper’s strong room.

  “So, when’s himself coming down again? Or is it true what I hear, that he’s become a king somewhere up north?” Fenin Kavarthin, the banker, gray-haired and a little stooped, secured the vault door while Arcolin looked politely the other way.

  Part of the banker’s pay was information. “He’s the new king of Lyonya,” Arcolin said. “That much is true. He’s the son of—I think it was the second last king before the one that died this winter, sister of the last queen. But the whole story’s long, and I have an appointment.”

  “So—who’s going to take over the Company? And his domain—he had a domain in Tsaia, didn’t he?”

  “I am,” Arcolin said.

  “So you’re a duke—the Duke—now?”

  “Lord of the North Marches,” Arcolin said. “Nothing more now; the Council knows I’m from Aarenis. And not nobly born.”

  “He wasn’t either, that they knew about,” Kavarthin said. They went up a flight of stairs; Kavarthin paused at the landing. “When will you want the money out, Captain?”

  “Some tomorrow, to pay for expenses here.”

  “You know we still have money Phelan deposited two years or more back. And it’s earned. You have his seal and authority—what should I do with that?”

  “Send half north with the first Guild caravan, to his usual bank in Vérella,” Arcolin said. That had been Kieri’s practice: leave most of a season’s earnings in the bank in Valdaire, but once the first campaign money was paid, half went north. “Send it to Captain Cracolnya; he’s in charge up there for now.”

  “Not that good-looking woman captain? I thought she was second to you.”

  “By your leave,” Arcolin said, “that’s another long story. Tomorrow, if it please you, but now I must go.”

  A soft mist drifted down as he came out into the street, the afternoon darkening to evening. Jamis and Tam had left with the mule and the kegs, to deliver ale to the cohort. Arcolin checked the hang of his sword and walked swiftly.

  For a wonder, the streets were silent on his way to the Golden Fish, idlers urged back inside by mist that turned to drizzle, then to thin rain as he walked. When he arrived, he saw someone leading Aesil M’dierra’s horse away from the entrance; she was silhouetted in the doorway. Arcolin stretched his legs and caught up before the door wards closed the door behind her. He handed his damp hat and cloak to a servant and they followed the innkeeper to the private room Arcolin had reserved. It was nicely furnished, the table covered with a clean cloth and set with dishes bearing the golden fish emblem of the place, chairs cushioned with padded leather, a weapons rack on one wall, more sweet herbs scattered on the shining floor.

  “Very nice,” M’dierra said, sitting in the chair to the heart-hand side; Arcolin took the other.

  During dinner, they didn’t talk; both had the soldier’s habit of eating while food was available. But when servants had taken away the meager remains of the leg of lamb, the pastry stuffed with steamed grain, vegetables, and bits of chicken and pork, the buttered redroots, the bread, and brought in a compote of mixed fruits simmered in spices and honey, M’dierra said, “Well?”

  “I didn’t see it myself, but I heard it from those who did,” Arcolin said, ladling a serving of dessert into the small bowls the servants had put down on fresh plates. “Including Tsaia’s prince. You remember Kieri’s wife, Tammarion.”

  “Indeed I do.” They both understood the slight edge in her voice.

  “At the wedding, he gave her a sword, a sword that Aliam Halveric had found in the forest up there in Lyonya. It was a pretty thing, they both thought, and fit for a lady.”

  “The one with that green stone?”

  “Yes.” Arcolin explained what he’d been told about the sword’s origin. “I don’t know more than that, but I do know that Aliam had no idea whose it was, nor Kieri, and Kieri had vowed not to hold it, when he gave it to Tammarion.”

  “Why?”

  Arcolin shrugged. “I never understood it myself, or why he didn’t use it after she died. But it hung on the wall at the fort all those years until the night the Duke’s steward and a priestess of Achrya tried to kill us all.” He hurried through that part. “Then Paksenarrion rode off with it, having a call from the gods, and the next thing we heard was a summons from the Council for the Duke to come to Vérella along with representatives from the village councils of his domain.” Aesil said nothing, but put a piece of fruit in her mouth. “Then I had his letter telling me he was going to Lyonya to be king. And when I got to Vérella, I heard from the prince about the Verrakai attacks, not only on Kieri but on the prince, his uncle, and the Marshal-Judicar.”

  “The Girdish will be out for blood. What about the other Verrakai?”

  “Order of Attainder. And on the Konhalts.”

  “So Tsaia has three domains up there with no, or new, commanders. Where I come from, that would mean war.” M’dierra scowled. “The situation here is unstable too. Has been since the last year Phelan was down here.”

  “A bad time,” Arcolin said.

  “Bad indeed,” M’dierra said, her voice low. “We did things—”

  “We all did things we aren’t proud of,” Arcolin said. “But now it’s your turn. What’s the situation, and—most of all—what’s your opinion of these five?” He laid his short list on the table in front of her.

  She tapped the first name. “What did he tell you about his experience?”

  “Served with you for two hands of years, half as sergeant. Decided to go out on his own while he still could.”

  “Eight years, and two as sergeant. He’s not bad, but he’s not as good as he thinks he is, and he’ll tell you what he thinks you want to hear. He’s a competent soldier, less so as a sergeant; too much temper and too fond of ale. An excellent swordsman, though, and capable with several weapons.”

  “I wondered,” Arcolin said. “I thought I remembered seeing him in the ranks that last year.”

  “You did. Now this young fellow—” She tapped the next name. “He’s someone’s bastard, won’t say whose, but claims he knows. Last season, he took a short contract with Sobanai and they offered him permanent, but he wanted varied experience, he said. I hired him on another short contract, in the fall, to take a cohort on escort duty to Andressat and back; the sergeant said he was diligent and honest. Andressat had some complaint—you know the Count, how fussy he can be. I’ve contracted to Andressat many times; can’t afford to have anyone he won’t tolerate, so I let him go, but have nothing against him.” She put the list down.

  “I need more than one,” Arcolin said. “We’re short of captains—and I haven’t
told you about Dorrin.”

  “Dorrin! Was she killed?”

  “No. But the prince and Council have named her the new Duke of Verrakai.”

  M’dierra stared at him. “What? Dorrin? Why?”

  “She’s a Verrakai. And she’s had nothing to do with them since she ran away to the Company of Falk.”

  M’dierra said something in her native tongue that must have been an oath, and said, “If you need help up there, Jandelir, consider hiring Golden Company.” She was serious; she almost never used his first name.

  “I don’t think bringing mercenaries over the mountains would calm the situation.”

  “Perhaps not, but—why are you here, and not there?”

  “Contract. And money. We were running short on supplies, with so many troops quartered up there.”

  “Ah. Well, then—” She looked at the list again and put her finger on the fifth name. “Here’s another possible for you. I’d hire him if I had an opening. You don’t want the others. You’ll want to send someone reliable north, am I right?”

  “Yes. Two, if possible.”

  “My advice: Send this one, Versin, north; keep the young fellow with you. And the Blues let one of their captains go, Talvis Arneson; he lost an eye last year, nearly died of the infection, but survived. Good man, but you know them—won’t spend on their wounded. True, he’s only got one eye, but every other way, he’s worth the chance, especially for training recruits. He’s looking shabby now, and living rough, but my captains can find him.”

  “Send him to me tomorrow, if you will, and thank you for your help,” Arcolin said.

  “What will you do, without Kieri?”

  “What I did before,” Arcolin said. “What he taught me. Take good contracts, do the work honestly, treat my people honorably. Stay out of politics.”

  “And—what have you told them up north about your past?”