Limits of Power

by Elizabeth Moon

  “Behold the king of Tsaia, Mikeli of the house of Mahieran.”

  Dorrin bowed in the saddle, as did her squires and escort.

  “Be welcome, lord king, to Verrakai lands and Verrakai House.”

  “Thank you, Duke Verrakai,” the king said. “Ride with me if you will.”

  Dorrin edged her horse nearer the king’s as the standard-bearers once more led the way and her squires spread to either side.

  “Lord king, if I may—my kirgan—”

  “Is he here?” the king asked.

  “Lord king, he awaits at the house, but I have an urgent errand for him elsewhere if it please you—”

  “I’m glad he’s here; I will greet him, and then he must leave. I must meet all heirs, and … I want to see and judge him for myself. I will explain later.”

  “As you will, lord king. He is ready to leave on my signal.”

  “I will tell you.”

  “Your command, lord king.” She bowed again, then faced forward. Verrakai House looked well—the broad meadows spangled with wildflowers in all colors, the cattle at a distance, the house itself with the royal colors draping the entrance and windows, the children, backed by servants in Verrakai livery, flanking the way up to the steps, flowers in hand. She glanced at the king.

  He looked as handsome as ever, erect in the saddle, his skin touched more by the sun than she’d seen before. Perhaps the days of riding in the fresh summer air, away from the city and the confines of court, had relaxed him. He smiled as he caught sight of the children. “You have outdone yourself, my lord Duke.”

  “They’ve never had a chance to see a king,” Dorrin said. “They’re so excited—I hope they remember to toss the flowers softly and not jump up and down and squeal. They did practice.”

  He chuckled. “They won’t spook my mount, not after the days on the road. My father used to tell me nothing settled a horse like days of riding. He was right; we’ve had no jigging about since the third day.”

  They came up to the waiting children and servants; his trumpeters blew another fanfare. Beclan waited to one side of the entrance. At Dorrin’s hand signal, he moved another step to the side. Now the king rode forward; the children tossed their flowers to form a gold and white carpet on the grass—only a few forgot and squealed—and the royal party rode up to the foot of the steps. Dorrin’s grooms waited to hold the horses.

  Up the steps; the king gave Beclan a quick nod, then turned to face the little crowd below the steps. Dorrin had stopped a step below him with her squires a step below that.

  “It has been many generations since a Verrakai duke welcomed a king of Tsaia here,” he began. “And I for one am glad it is this duke, Dorrin Verrakai, who has welcomed me. May Gird’s grace and Falk’s honor rest here, and as long as my standard is planted here, any who wish the king’s justice may apply.” He looked down at Dorrin. “My lord Duke, present your kirgan and the others.”

  Beclan looked startled; Dorrin signaled him to take a step forward. He went to one knee. “Sir king,” she said. “I present my kirgan, Beclan Verrakai.”

  “Kirgan Verrakai,” the king said, and nodded; Beclan stood again and bowed. “I understand your duke has an urgent errand that only you can accomplish. I give you leave, therefore, to go upon your Duke’s command.”

  “Sir king,” Beclan said, bowing again. He looked at Dorrin.

  “Beclan, you have my seal of authority in this matter; you may go now,” Dorrin said.

  Beclan bowed to her, again to the king, then entered the house. Dorrin knew horse and escort awaited him outside the stableyard walls in back. He would not return until Dorrin sent word that the king had gone.

  The king’s party was even smaller than she had expected, and only he and Duke Marrakai, the High Marshal, and the peers would stay in the house itself. Everyone else, he said, would camp in the meadow.

  “Sir king, would you prefer to refresh yourself before a meal or eat now?”

  “A bath would be a delight,” the king said. “Your way shelter is adequate, but I have ridden several days, and it’s warmer than I expected.”

  “This way, then.” Dorrin led him upstairs to her own apartment, now set aside for his use; she had had a bath prepared, and it lacked only another can of hot water should he desire it. She left him with his squires to attend him and showed the others to the chambers prepared for guests.

  The king came down in lighter clothes, only a short rose-colored cape around his shoulders with the deeper red rose of Mahieran embroidered on the back. “Now I’m hungry,” he said, rubbing his hands.

  The long table was laid in the front hall for the midday meal: platters of sliced meats, loaves of bread, fresh greens from the garden, the earliest fruits of the year. They set to eagerly, their talk initially all of the journey.

  “I cannot believe,” the king said finally, “that I’ve never been so far from Vérella before. I understand why my guardians did not want me traveling around. Some of them did not trust the former duke here, and that was, as it turned out, wise. I don’t imagine that had I visited here as a prince, I would ever have come out alive. But being away from the city and the palace—not just on Mahieran estates or the royal hunting preserve—has already taught me a great deal.”

  “You came to Marrakai once as a small boy,” Duke Marrakai said. “You might not remember—”

  “I don’t … not for certain—”

  “And that’s west of Vérella, not east. I have never been here either, my lord. I see you have worked on the track from Harway.”

  “I had to,” Dorrin said with a laugh. “When I first came, it was nearly impassable near the border—intentionally. It is not yet as smooth for wagons as I could wish. But the old Middle Trade Road—that I spoke of, sir king—will be the main road someday. My kirgan and I have been alternating in the supervision of that construction.”

  “Is the purpose trade?” Duke Marrakai asked.

  “Yes, primarily, though the king’s forces need an interior route to move troops as well. There was no way to get our products to market or resupply here but by pack train. Isolation suited the former duke, but it does not suit me.”

  “That old road is on the oldest maps in our library,” High Marshal Seklis said. “What do the Lyonyans think about it?”

  “King Kieri favors it,” Dorrin said. “I believe he expects to start work on it from Chaya next year. This year he wants to work on the River Road. The middle road would be shorter and serviceable in seasons the River Road is a morass from floods. If my neighbors to the west agree.”

  “I will make that case to the count involved,” the king said. “Will you want to found a town on its way through Verrakai lands, or will it come near this house?”

  “The straightest way—the old way—would pass south of here,” Dorrin said. “I had not thought of founding a town, though I had in mind suggesting another new road connecting Harway to some southern town east of Fiveway—”

  “Brewersbridge, for instance,” said High Marshal Seklis.

  “Yes. That would allow movement of both trade and troops if necessary.”

  “Do you really think we need to garrison our border with Lyonya?” the king asked, brows raised.

  “From danger in Lyonya? No, sir king. But at the moment Lyonya bears almost all the burden of border watch. They have had incursions of brigands from here. They would be glad if we kept our criminals from crossing the border.”

  “I see. That would involve you and Konhalt—and those south of Konhalt as well. Perhaps we could remit some of the Crown levy this year for those contributing to the construction of such a road.” The king looked at Count Konhalt. “Do you have any sort of track along the border?”

  “There are forest tracks but nothing like a wagon road,” the count said. “But like Duke Verrakai, we have few outlets for our goods—we formerly traded only through the Verrakaien, who took a toll—” His look at Dorrin was not entirely friendly.

  “I’m sure
my uncle did,” Dorrin said.

  “If you build this middle road,” High Marshal Seklis said, “will it be a toll road?”

  “It must be,” Duke Marrakai said. “No one can afford to build a road for nothing. Even maintenance—”

  “I haven’t decided,” Dorrin said. “Considering what my family did … I would prefer rather to serve than take. But you’re right, my lord: my family left fewer resources than I really need.”

  “Other roads are tolled—even the Valdaire road is tolled in some stretches,” High Marshal Seklis said.

  “Indeed,” Dorrin said. “One thing the Crown should insist on is free passage for Crown business—royal couriers or troops moving at royal command.”

  The king nodded. By this time they had quit eating; Dorrin nodded to the servants, who cleared the table.

  “High Marshal,” she said, “the Marshals sent here have asked if you will have time to visit them while you’re here. We have three granges—or will have when the buildings are finished. Darkon Edge was here when I came, though the Marshal who fought bravely was assassinated later—probably at my uncle’s command. Marshal Nemis is building a grange along what will be the middle road from Tsaia to Chaya; Marshal Fenold has a circuit of villages, including Kindle, a little west of here. Marshal Istan took over Darkon Edge. Marshal Daltor isn’t founding a grange yet; he says the population in my southern half is too thin, but he’s traveling about meeting people.”

  “An excellent idea,” the king said before Seklis could answer. “You can report to the Marshal-General, Seklis. I’ll be here a few days; we can spare you the time.”

  Seklis nodded. “Sir king, that is what I’d hoped to do. If Duke Verrakai could provide an escort who knows the ways—”

  “Of course,” Dorrin said. “And a pack mule, as well, for supplies.”

  “I’ll leave tomorrow, then,” Seklis said. “A night in a real bed will do me no harm.”

  Later, Dorrin took the king, Duke Marrakai, and Count Konhalt into her study to show them the maps she had and her plans for the roads.

  “What is the best route from here to Konhalt?” the king asked, running his finger along a thin dotted line.

  “I’m not sure,” Dorrin said. “There’s an area of damaged trees—trees both Queen Arian and the Kuakgan Ashwind said had been damaged by evil magery, though whether by Verrakaien or by kuaknomi they aren’t sure. My squires have patrolled there without difficulty, barring the ugliness. It’s more open than the deep forest, but there’s no actual road. It extends down to the Konhalt border.”

  “Count?”

  “I have always gone in from the west,” Count Konhalt said. “Though it’s but a crooked, narrow track.”

  “Perhaps the Verrakaien damaged the trees to make travel easier without the work of building a road,” High Marshal Seklis said.

  “Perhaps. Do you think it’s safe to travel that way, my lord?” the Count asked Dorrin.

  “I would think so,” she said. “The Kuakgan Ashwind came from the south; he said he cleared the evil ahead of him. And the king’s escort is amply large enough to deter any small brigand band.”

  “But I’m not going on,” the king said. “That was the plan, but Queen Arian’s visit was delayed—and I’m delighted she came, late or no—and then our progress here was slower than I expected. I must be back in Vérella by Midsummer Court, and my escort will go with me. Do you have no one who could guide the Count to his domain?”

  “Only to the border,” Dorrin said. She turned to Count Konhalt. “I’m sorry, Count Konhalt, but I have found none who have traveled into your lands. I would gladly lend you one of my militia, but he would know no more than you.”

  Konhalt nodded and turned to the king. “Then, sir king, if you will excuse me from Midsummer Court, I will travel back west and south and enter Konhalt by the only way I know.”

  “If you have nothing to bring before me, I excuse you,” Mikeli said. “But you must then attend Autumn Court without fail.”

  “Of course, sir king. Thank you.” He turned to Dorrin. “I agree that it would be better to have more access, Duke Verrakai, and I would participate in road building from here south, if it please you.”

  “It would indeed please me. We need more communication, not less,” Dorrin said.

  “I would like to see some of your vills,” the king said to Dorrin. “Especially the one where you healed the well. Since I’m not going farther, I thought I might spend a hand of days here; we have things to discuss.”

  “Of course, sir king,” Dorrin said. “Kindle, in fact, is near enough to reach this afternoon if you like.”

  The king shook his head. “To be honest, I would rather spend the rest of this day on something softer than a saddle.”

  “Of course, sir king. Whenever you wish.”

  The next morning, High Marshal Seklis rode away with a small party to make a round of the new Marshals. Scarcely a turn of the glass later, the king came in from the garden, where he had been walking with the others after breakfast, and found Dorrin.

  “Do you have a secure place to confer, Duke Verrakai?”

  That sounded ominous. Had he changed his mind about Beclan? Dorrin nodded. “Yes, sir king. My office. Down this passage.”

  “Come along, Camwyn, Aris,” the king said. Dorrin glanced back, surprised. Prince Camwyn might need to be privy to the king’s concerns about Beclan, but Aris Marrakai, she’d heard from Gwenno, was the veriest mischief. Why include him?

  “In here, sir king,” Dorrin said. The king entered and looked around. Dorrin shut the door; whatever this was about, the king would want no eavesdroppers.

  “Was it in here you found the regalia?” he asked, pointing to the niche on the far wall.

  “Yes, sir king. That niche was covered by the portrait I told you of, now burned.”

  The king gave the niche another long look, then sat down at the table and gestured to a chair for Dorrin and the two boys. “We have grave matters to discuss,” he said. “I must have your word you will not reveal what I say to anyone—anyone at all—without my leave.”

  “Of course, sir king. On Falk’s honor, I will not.”

  “First you must know that the crown you gave me now speaks to me as well as to you.” Dorrin said nothing; he went on. “It bids me set it free—it wants you, Dorrin Verrakai, despite your oath of fealty.” Another pause. Dorrin could think of nothing to say. “I ask you, on that oath: have you told it what to say?”

  “No,” Dorrin said. “On my oath of fealty, I have not. All I have said—thought—in return to what it tells me is that it should bide where it is and be still.” She shook her head. “But I cannot rule it; it continues to speak to me—and now to you.”

  Two seats down from the king, the prince stirred. The king turned his head. “Camwyn? You have something to say?”

  “By your leave, sir king,” the prince said.

  “Not yet,” the king said. He turned again to Dorrin. “The second thing we must discuss I learned about only on my way from Vérella and is a graver matter yet.”

  “What is that, sir king?”

  “Camwyn is a mage.”

  Dorrin stared. The myriad implications of that tangled in her mind. She looked at the prince. “You? Have magery?”

  The boy nodded. He looked frightened and embarrassed, as well he might.

  “Show her, Cam,” the king said.

  The prince pushed back his chair and lifted his hands above the table. One was glowing, bright enough to cast shadows.

  Dorrin glanced at the windows, murmured “By your leave,” and went to close the curtains. The stableyard outside was full of activity, but for a mercy no one was staring at the windows. In the dimmer light, the prince’s hand showed brighter.

  “Show her the rest, Cam,” the king said.

  The light in the prince’s hand faded, but as Dorrin watched, he lifted from the chair, face taut with effort. One handspan, then another. Floating. He slid sideways in
the air about an armspan, then landed hard on the floor.

  “That is my problem,” the king said. “My brother the magelord. The very illegal magelord. Can Beclan do that?”

  “No,” Dorrin said. “He can light all the candles on the dinner table at once and shift a few papers or a tossed ball to one side. He can’t lift it off the table by magery, let alone lift himself.”

  “You know what this means,” the king said. “I will have to give up the throne. The law—”

  “Sir king.” Dorrin’s tone, more commanding than she intended, stopped him. “Sir king, as your Constable, I advise that you not give up the throne while the realm faces possible invasion. Who could take the crown instead? Not the prince—leaving aside his magery, he’s not of age nor trained. Not Duke Mahieran, as the father of another mage. Not his son Rothlin, as the brother of a mage. And in what other family will you find a king? You are our king; you are the one person born to and chosen for this duty. You must not shirk it.”

  “But the law—when people know, they will demand my abdication. The High Marshal—”

  “Yes, the law … and the Fellowship of Gird.” Dorrin held up a hand again when the king opened his mouth. “You should send a courier to the Marshal-General at once, explaining what has happened. Ask her advice—”

  “After I talk to the High Marshal?”

  “No, sir king. You should have her ruling on this before you tell him—or at the very least tell him you have applied to her. This is a matter of command. She heads the entire Fellowship of Gird. Whatever comes out of Fin Panir will have authority; Marshals in Tsaia will align themselves with her, including High Marshal Seklis. When you have a command problem—when you need a decision—go to the top.”

  “But the High Marshal will feel I did not respect him. And the Marshal-Judicar—”

  “No, sir king. When they think about it, they will realize that any decisions about magery appearing in the Tsaian peerage cannot be made in Tsaia … not without bending the Code of Gird to breaking point. The Marshal-General will have a broader view. Because if magery can appear in a family where it has not been known for generations, who is to say it cannot appear in Fintha as well? In any family, anywhere?”