Oath of Fealty

by Elizabeth Moon

  “The Lady will not be pleased to know you talk of war,” Amrothlin said.

  “I will not be pleased if I fail in my duty to protect my land and people,” Kieri said. “And I talk of war only to prevent it—in the words I used before, to give the lamb a safe haven from the wolf, as I am now the shepherd. It is my duty to see the danger and protect.”

  “I am not so sure,” Amrothlin said, “that protection is all you intend. You have fought Pargun before, more than once, but under another’s command. Perhaps you only want the chance to do so unchained—as sheepdogs, loosed, may turn on their sheep.”

  Now all the Council looked really scared. Kieri stared at Amrothlin, until, amazingly, the elf looked away. “If you truly think that of me, Uncle,” he said, “then you must question the Lady’s reading of my heart and her judgment in approving my kingship. That is a matter you may take up with her, if you wish.”

  “You brought this up now so that you would be our crowned king, not our king-elect, didn’t you?” Carvarsin said. “Now we cannot naysay you, unless we all agree.”

  Kieri looked at the Council again, one face at a time. “That is true,” he said. “But consider this: If it is not by Falk’s Will and the High Lord’s will that I am here, despite so many ill-chances, then I challenge you to explain why I am alive and in this seat. Why, when you were desperate for a king and sent a paladin to find one, I was there to be found, and proved by the sword.” He nodded to it, hanging on the stand. The jewel in its hilt flashed as if he’d touched it. “You swore you would accept whoever she found, and both when she first presented me, and again at my coronation you swore you accepted me. If you are so light in your thoughts that you would twice forswear yourselves before you grant the crown, why should I stay to be the plaything of your passions?”

  A moment’s stunned silence as the councilors chewed that through.

  “I support you,” Sier Halveric said, and slapped the table. A ragged chorus of slaps followed his.

  Kieri looked at the two elves. Amrothlin shrugged. “It is not for me to accept or not accept: that is our Lady’s place, and she has consented. But do not push our Lady to the brink of her patience, Falkieri my nephew. Wiser heads than yours are at risk.”

  “We are all at risk,” Kieri said. “I seek to lessen it.”

  “And unfledged birds seek to fly by falling out of the nest,” Amrothlin said.

  “I shall endeavor to grow feathers enough before I fall,” Kieri said. To his surprise, Amrothlin laughed and so did the others, if a bit nervously.

  “What, then, is your plan?” Sier Davonin asked. “For I am sure you have one.”

  “We have unstable peace,” Kieri began. “It is unstable because only a river divides us from an enemy.”

  “We have river forts,” Sier Galvary said.

  “If the Pargunese were unwise enough to attack the river towns, the forts might hold them off. But why would they not go around the towns?”

  “The forest itself—”

  “Is a partial protection, but is also my responsibility. It would be better to find a way to live peaceably with the Pargunese. That is not something I expected to say, ever, as I was convinced the Pargunese had no interest in peace, but I am advised that I might be mistaken. If they are not interested in peace, then we have much to do before the land is safe from invasion.”

  “You speak of an army.”

  “Yes.” Kieri sighed. Through long association, the humans of Lyonya had absorbed many elven—he dared not call them notions—about conflict and war, most of them, to his mind, inaccurate. He had been where they had not. “The rangers are excellent at what they do, patrolling the forest and keeping our people safe from brigands and the occasional raid from Tsaia—something we won’t have as much of with the old Verrakaien gone. We have the small city militias in those river forts, and the Royal Archers … but we do not have a force fit to meet even a single cohort of Pargunese, should they take it into their minds to invade.”

  “But why would they?”

  “Me,” Kieri said. “I warred with them on the borders of Tsaia; I killed one of their Sagons myself, and only realized much later it was their king’s brother. Moreover—and I found this out only recently—it’s possible their quarrels with us and with Tsaia come from very old wounds. The elves say their ancestors were driven out of their lands by magelords of Old Aare—they came to Pargun and Kostandan looking for refuge and then met what they saw as old enemies across the river.”

  “Where did they come from, then?” Halveric asked. “I thought they were of mageborn origin themselves, probably crossed the river from Tsaia.”

  “Not according to my elven tutor,” Kieri said, nodding at Orlith, who sat silent and still in his place. “He won’t say more than that they came from across the eastern ocean, and the same who tormented me tormented them until they fled.”

  “Do you believe that?” Belvarin looked at Orlith and Amrothlin, then back at Kieri.

  “In essence, yes. About the details, I don’t know. But if they had reason to fear and hate the Tsaians—the magelords, I mean, and know some of them moved here—and they’ve had me as their enemy these four hands of years and more, that could well be enough to bring an attack. We are less defended than my stronghold in Tsaia. That’s full of trained soldiers, and they’ve learned to let it alone.”

  “So you want us to raise an army to make peace?” Belvarin said. The edge of scorn in his voice emphasized the apparent contradiction in that.

  “I want us to raise a defensive army to make invasion less likely until—gods willing—I can convince the king of Pargun that I do not wish war.”

  “Raising an army’s hardly likely to do that,” Belvarin said.

  “Not raising one is likely to have our roofs fired over our heads,” Kieri said. They looked worried at that, as he intended. “It is true, I went to war year after year, and hired out my company to fight—but some of that, Siers, was garrisoning forts, defending and not attacking. I know what it takes to protect our river border; it will not be the muster of such an army as could invade Pargun.” He paused, meeting every Sier’s gaze. “I have no intention of going beyond the bounds of Lyonya with troops ever again.”

  “But will Pargun believe you?”

  “Not at first. But with time.” Maybe. He still had doubts—no, he still had the firm belief that Pargun was up to no good and would always be up to no good. But either way, for the sake of his realm, they needed more than scattered rangers.

  “So what do you think we need?”

  “I want to move half the rangers off the west border—remember, that force was doubled because of concerns about Verrakai aggression—and use them to keep watch on the river. The Royal Archers have the potential to be a useful force—I’ve been observing them—but they’ve not actually fought for a generation or more. Yet we’re paying them. I want to give them some formal training in combat arms, and have them paired with rangers.”

  “Will that be enough? That’s not so bad; it costs us nothing more than it does now.”

  “It will cost us more,” Kieri said. “Even an idle army is expensive, and moving one about more so. But that is not enough. We need two or three cohorts of trained, competent soldiers—ideally, as mounted infantry.”

  “We don’t have the resources—” Galvary said.

  “Or the men.”

  “Or anyone to lead—”

  “Right now,” Kieri said, “you have a company perfectly suited to Lyonya.”

  “What?” They all stared at him.

  “Aliam Halveric’s company. He is not taking it south this year, he told me. It’s smaller than it was; he didn’t take it south last year either, and some of his troops moved on, to find other employment. Most of the ones who stayed are from Lyonya originally. They’re well trained and experienced in all kinds of warfare. Far better than hiring foreigners—I’ve been the foreigner hired, so I know that for a fact. Far better than starting from scratch with raw
recruits. We should ask Aliam for the loan of them this season and through the winter. If he wants to campaign them again next year or the year after, we’ll have time to plan for replacements.”

  “I know he’s your friend, but—isn’t that—I mean, shouldn’t we have—”

  “Others? Of course we should. We should have a small, but efficient, standing army under my colors. But it takes almost a year of training, and then a season of combat, to produce seasoned troops. If Pargun attacks this fighting season, Halveric’s is what we have available. All the other mercenary companies are in the south already.”

  “Your own?”

  “I hope so. I told Arcolin to take a contract if he could—troops are expensive to keep idle—and at least one and maybe two cohorts of mine should be on the road to Aarenis right now. Besides, I would not bring my—my former—cohorts here except in an emergency. They’re not Lyonyan. They’re foreign, just like Golden Company or Clarts or any of them.”

  They looked at one another, avoiding Sier Halveric’s gaze until he spoke. “It’s like a gift to my family,” he said. “Let me provision them—as a gift to the Crown.”

  “That is generous indeed, Sier Halveric,” Kieri said. “But too much burden for one family. Suppose you half provision them, and let me know if you run short for your own people.”

  “Thank you, Sir King. It will be an honor to serve the Crown.” Halveric looked around, challenging the others. One by one they assented to asking Aliam Halveric to hire out his company to the Crown, for use in the north.

  “Sier Galvary, if you will draft a formal request from the Crown, I will sign it and it can be sent tomorrow.”

  One by one the invited foreigners came to pay their respects before leaving; the lady of Pargun, uninvited, also came and made the briefest of farewells. Kieri interrupted Kirgan Marrakai’s obviously memorized speech to ask him about the night of the assassinations.

  “I hear you were actually there, Juris. Dine with me, if you are not leaving until morning; this is something I should know.”

  “If you will, Sir King.” The young man scowled briefly, then looked up. “It was a dirty business.”

  Alone with the kirgan that evening at dinner, Kieri let the young man tell the tale as he would. Like most Marrakaien, Juris told a story well. Kieri could feel the prince’s shock at the news of Verrakai treachery, the young men’s eagerness to do something decisive, the older men’s steadying influence.

  “They kept wanting us—Mikeli and me—to sit down, think things through. And we finally did. Roly had gone to bring maps so we could see where they might attack the palace. And then Verrakai came in—” Juris took a breath. “No one knew he could change appearance. I thought for a moment it was my father—and before I realized the truth, in that moment he had us all, silent and motionless as stones.” Another pause. “We could do nothing. We had to watch, Mikeli and I, while he took a sword out of the Knight-Commander’s rack and killed him where he sat, and then the Marshal-Judicar, and still we could not move. He told us he would kill Mikeli next, then me, and put the sword wet with Mikeli’s blood in my hand. If it hadn’t been for Roly—” He told the rest in a rush, down to the death of Verrakai’s brother in the stableyard. “I didn’t see that, but I heard.” He paused again. “It wasn’t anything like it is in the tales.”

  Kieri managed not to chuckle at that; Juris deserved better. “It never is,” he said. “And you never forget your first serious fight, even if it doesn’t go badly.”

  “I always thought—we all did—we’d do better. We’re trained from childhood—”

  “You’re alive,” Kieri said. “You and the prince, and your enemy is dead. Yes, you lost friends, but you did well.”

  “My father said that. It doesn’t feel right, though.”

  “No, and it never will,” Kieri said. “That’s part of being the kind of man you are—you’re Girdish and that means just winning is never enough.”

  “How did you deal with it?”

  A Marrakai approach—direct as a sword thrust. Kieri answered as the question deserved. “Looking back, I was an arrogant idiot for half a year or so, trying to pretend it didn’t bother me; Aliam took me out back of the camp one day and chewed me up one side and down the other. Said not admitting what I felt was as bad as dragging around long-faced as some did.”

  “It bothered you less, in time?”

  “Yes, or I could not have stayed in soldiering,” Kieri said. “But still—if someone I care for dies, it hurts. It’s supposed to hurt.”

  “The others—our friends who weren’t there—they don’t seem to understand—”

  “They will when they’ve been where you’ve been, and gods grant that it’s not exactly the same. Be patient with them. You and Mikeli and your friend Roly will always have a bond they do not have, but don’t rub it in.”

  “No, Sir King. I won’t. Thank you.”

  As the days passed, more applicants for King’s Squire service came in from outlying areas. Kieri had them all assessed and then, as time allowed, interviewed them one by one. All who had been rangers were hardy and skilled, but some found they did not like the prospect of living in a city or palace. They preferred the green aisles and solitudes of the forest. Those whose training came from other sources varied in their abilities; some humans were not fluent enough in elvish, and others, trained in weaponry only at home, lacked the fighting skills Kieri knew his Squires might need. A few were too quick of temper.

  At last Kieri had four hands of applicants who had passed every test he devised, and who all—to his mind—would serve equally well. With the other Squires who did not wish to leave his service, that made five hands and one. Most had been rangers, as the rangers had provided the only part-elf applicants.

  Organizing the Squires’ service might have taken longer if Garris, the eldest, had not offered to take over that task. “I’m getting a bit old for the rest of it,” he said to Kieri. “You can dismiss me, if you want, but I do have experience, and I can save a clerk’s wages doing the paperwork for you.”

  Kieri had been wondering how to suggest that Garris might want to retire; this was the perfect solution.

  “Thank you,” he said. “That’s a weight off my shoulders. I suppose we need a ceremony.”

  “Of course,” Garris said. “Pledging an oath to the king—that’s when we get the gold bands. I’ll organize that, when I find out how long it will take the tailors to make up the uniforms.”

  Kieri took the list of names off to the office he’d now established, and stared at it, reminding himself which faces went with which names. He was amused to find that he remembered the women’s faces best; everyone’s hints about marriage and heirs must be affecting him. But these women were too young, like Paksenarrion, like the young women trailed past him at his coronation. As Tammarion would be, if she came to him now as he had known her first. He tried to imagine Tamar as she might be now if she had lived: there would have been silver in that golden hair, though in memory she was always young.

  That thought hardened his resolve to find someone older to marry; it was not fair for someone like him—his age, his experience—to marry a woman scarcely out of girlhood. In the ceremony a hand of days later, he was pleased to find that he remembered all the names and faces, male and female, and that he could look on his Squires as he had once looked on first-year soldiers.

  Shortly after that, Paks bade him farewell and rode away, this time eastward. He knew better than to ask why—she would not know, herself, until she reached whatever goal the gods had given her. His new Squires, mixed with the experienced few, began their new duties. He sent couriers to Tsaia—one to Verrakai lands to find out how Dorrin was faring, one to Vérella, with messages both for the prince and to send on south to Arcolin, and one to his former stronghold.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Aliam’s response, when it arrived some hands of days later, was the first contingent of troops, a half-cohort with Talgan, one of his jun
ior captains, at its head. The palace steward brought Kieri Aliam’s letter and Talgan’s word that they planned to camp in the river meadow near the palace.

  Kieri unfolded the stiff parchment. Aliam’s handwriting, he noted, had not improved with a year off fighting.

  My Lord King:

  Greetings and prayers for your good health. Your request was far too flattering to us but comes timely, as you know. Caliam is needed here, and the boys are all too young to command, but the captains I send are known to you and competent. If it pleases you to tell Talgan what you want done, he will send word for the rest. I have two hundred I would be grateful if you could find employment for, and another hundred could be spared.

  Something about Aliam’s tone bothered Kieri, but he couldn’t quite understand it. Of course Aliam and Cal would stay at Halveric Steading—no need for them yet, at least. He headed for the kitchens, where he found the steward talking to the cooks.

  “What have we for tonight’s dinner?”

  The cook started listing the meats; Kieri held up his hand. “That’s ample,” he said. “We have fifty hungry soldiers to feed out of this kitchen tonight—can you do it?”

  “Yes, my lord king!” The head cook looked happy at the thought.

  “Good. They’ll have marched most of the day; they’ll be hungry. Plenty of meat and bread, anything else you can cook in a glass or two.” He nodded, dismissing the cook, who turned at once to the assistants.

  “Have a horse saddled,” Kieri said to the steward. “I’ll ride out presently to speak to Aliam’s captain.”

  The camp, when he came to it, looked a proper camp: they had not dug ditches or made a barricade, but the tents were set up in neat rows, and a safe fire pit already flickered, though no pots hung over it.

  “My lord king,” Talgan said, going down on one knee. Kieri remembered him only slightly; he had been Seliam’s replacement, but Aliam had always praised him.