Echoes of Betrayal (46 page)

“I liked her,” Duke Serrostin said. “No question about that. And I did not think it a charm—though I am not sure of my judgment there. My wife, as well. Said she was odd but felt sound. M’wife’s a fine judge of horseflesh and hounds.”

What that had to do with judging people, Arcolin did not know.

“And the Marshal-General: I relied on her judgment,” Mahieran said. “Surely, as head of the whole Fellowship of Gird, she would sniff out any taint of evil.”

“And you think she did not?” Arcolin asked. “That Dorrin—Duke Verrakai—was so tainted?”

“No,” Mahieran said. “But I think she was wrong without being evil. A life spent as a soldier, with no experience at court … It was unfair; there were things she could not know.”

“And a Falkian,” Serrostin said. “I’ve heard they’re closer to Kuakkgani than the Girdish are.” He looked away for a moment, then back at Arcolin. “You know about my son?”

“Yes, I heard.”

“He would have been crippled—lame and thumbless—but now has two legs and one … 
twig
. Was a twig, at least, though it now looks somewhat more like flesh. His heel-strings were mended with
spruce needles
and singing, Duke Verrakai said. She said, and my son
confirmed, that the local Marshal, the Captain of Falk, and she herself all tried healing and were unsuccessful.”

“The witnesses agree,” Mahieran said.

“I asked if they tried healing while she was not there,” Serrostin said. “And they told me yes. She had a surgeon in as well, but he would do no more than dress the wounds.”

“It troubles you that a Kuakgan healed him?”

Serrostin scowled. “It troubles me that a Girdish Marshal could not, when our family has been Girdish for generations. The Marshal said only that the gods did not give the healing … but then they did give it to a Kuakgan. If it was the gods.”

“And it contaminates the boy with green blood,” Mahieran said. “Tell him the worst.”

“I talked to the Kuakgan myself,” Serrostin said. “He said he had not the strength to heal the other thumb at once, but that if the graft took, then the green blood might perceive the correct pattern for Daryan’s body and … and bud another thumb on his other hand.
Bud!
” He strode the length of the chamber and back. “I would not wish my son a cripple, of course. I am grateful, beyond words, to the gods for allowing his healing. But this—”

Arcolin could think of nothing to say, neither comforting nor useful. When the silence lengthened, he finally said, “Do you then blame Duke Verrakai for the Kuakgan’s healing?”

“Not … exactly. But how he was taken—” He went on with the same story Arcolin had heard from Valichi and the king. Before he could answer, Mahieran began.

“And she had been sending them out—all the squires—in command of small squads, to patrol her domain, take census of the vills, and so on. That is how my son was taken,” Mahieran said. “He was farthest away when the invasion began; she chose to go directly to Harway rather than await his return.”

“You know that was the king’s orders,” Serrostin muttered. He was staring out the window.

“Yes, but—yes, I know. And she sent word for him to return directly and bade him bring what troops he could raise.”

“What happened?” Arcolin asked.

“I don’t know exactly. I know what he’s said, but it seems … hard to believe. I’m sure the king told you as much as I know.” With
that, Mahieran launched into a much longer account. Arcolin thought of the tall, handsome, confident squire he’d met the previous fall in Verrakai House. He could easily imagine that boy being excited at the onset of war, eager to prove himself, insisting on changing routes, insisting on splitting his force, pushing his authority as far as he could. Dorrin, he was sure, would have given Vossik guidelines that allowed her squires some independence—that was how squires learned. He hadn’t been surprised Vossik stayed with her or that she’d assigned him to Beclan. Vossik had been to her what Stammel was—had been—to him: utterly reliable in any crisis. He believed the boy’s version, that Vossik had killed himself rather than be taken over. Stammel would have done the same.

“Vossik was a nineteen-year veteran,” Arcolin said, nodding to show he had been listening. “Good man. I’m sure he did everything he could—”

“But he’s dead. And no witnesses to back up Beclan’s story.”

“He’s your son. Do you not believe him?” He could not keep the surprise out of his voice.

“
Is
he my son? That’s the question, Count Arcolin. We know now—we saw at Mikeli’s coronation—that evil magelords can take over others’ bodies or force them to obey. What I know for certain is that Beclan’s body came alive out of that cursed place. Whether it was his spirit … Was it really your sergeant with that—that evil spirit inside him?”

“Yes,” Arcolin said. “I have no doubt of that. How he acted after that—every detail—was the man himself, a man I’ve known for years. I would not have detected that evil inside.”

“But Duke Verrakai did.”

“Yes. She said only a man of his strength could have withstood it, forced it into hiding so long.”

“But she insisted it be expelled?”

“Yes, of course.” He saw from Mahieran’s expression that it was not “of course” to him. “My lord, no one would want such a thing inside—something that might, over long time, find a way to attack again, seek control again. Stammel—my sergeant—had suffered enough. He was glad to have it out.”

“Are you sure there was something to come out?”

“Oh, yes.” Arcolin described what he’d seen that day and Stammel’s
own description afterward, the sense of lightness, the end of bad dreams. “Have you had Duke Verrakai examine your son, my lord?”

“No.” Finality in that.

“Anyone? Marshals of Gird?”

“No. It is too dangerous to bring him here—even to our household. He is … in a safe place.”

Arcolin doubted that. “My lords, it is not my place, but if you will hear me, I have a suggestion.”

“Go ahead.”

“You surely know there are rumors abroad about both your sons. Nothing had reached me in the far north, but on the way here one of my captains reported gossip he’d heard from another count. About your son, Duke Serrostin, it was your displeasure with the means of his healing and his refusal to come home. But”—Arcolin turned to Duke Mahieran—“things are being said about yours that could bring evil upon him if he is not invaded, or loose more evil if he is. Both renegade Verrakaien and Bloodlord priests might seek him out. You must find out what his true condition is. I suggest a Marshal with a potent relic of Gird could be sent to test the truth of his tale. A Marshal might be fooled, but not one of the true relics.”

“Sonder, he’s right! Why didn’t we think of that? A Marshal—two, perhaps, a High Marshal, even the Marshal-General—relics—” Serrostin paced back and forth. “If we sent now, even in winter, the Marshal-General could be here in—”

“We can’t risk it, Parlan. If he is—if he took over a Marshal—Gird forbid the Marshal-General—think, man! It could be worse—we can’t let him contact anyone—”

“My lord, you can’t do nothing!” Arcolin started to say more, but Mahieran forestalled him.

“I know you’re Duke Verrakai’s friend—”

“This is not about Duke Verrakai,” Arcolin said. “It’s about your son. If you don’t find out, you put more than him at risk.”

“But risking a Marshal—”

“Gird risks us all,” Arcolin said. “Marshals, yeomen, paladins …” He felt a sudden burst of compassion for Mahieran—the man had lost a brother this past year to assassination, had nearly lost his nephew the king and his son—and had never, so far as Arcolin knew, faced
the kinds of risks he and Kieri and Dorrin had faced year after year as mercenaries. “Trust Gird,” he said more quietly. “Gird and Falk and the High Lord will surely help you find the truth.”

The two dukes looked at him as if he had sprouted wings and then at each other.

“We can at least ask High Marshal Seklis what he thinks, Sonder,” Serrostin said.

Tears glittered in Mahieran’s eyes; he blinked them away. “We can,” he said. To Arcolin he said, “Count, I am reproved by your faith.”

“You say you have him in a safe place,” Arcolin said. “Well guarded, I assume.”

“Yes, by Royal Guardsmen. He cannot escape—no one can get in. He is forbidden speech with any, on pain of death—”

“Death!”

“As you yourself recognized, Count Arcolin, if he is invaded, he is a danger to the king. We cannot allow him a chance to invade anyone else or weapons to attack his guards.”

And so they had locked up a boy who had just survived an attack by evil, who had made his first kills, with no one to talk to, no way to defend himself if the guards were overcome. How better to ensure that he would cooperate with any who came to free him, no matter who they were?

“Test him,” Arcolin said. He had no appetite now, his imagination picturing the boy sinking into a potent stew of grief, rage, hopelessness that he remembered all too clearly.

Through the rest of his visit, he could not get Beclan Mahieran out of his mind. He laid out his suggestions for the realm’s military to the Council and, as he expected, found they differed little from Dorrin’s.

“It is not because we are friends,” he said firmly. “We are both experienced field commanders—we both have twenty years and more of military experience. You, my lords, have not … and that is no insult to you, for in the same way I do not have twenty years’ experience as a count, nor has she as a duke.”

Someone said, too audibly, “That’s certain!” Someone else snickered.

Arcolin held his peace and let the last murmur die away. When they were all attentive again, he said, “My lords, whether you like
me or Duke Verrakai or not—whether you think we do not dress to your liking or not—we are both soldiers with experience in the field. What you want in a commander is the experience we have. If it were my choice, I would choose her as Constable, because she is that small margin better than I am at handling mixed forces. A small margin wins battles, my lords.”

“Would Kieri Phelan say the same?” came a voice from the far end of the room. Arcolin wasn’t sure which count it was.

“Indeed he would,” Arcolin said. “He did, in fact.”

“But you were senior, weren’t you?”

“Yes. I joined him earlier. I’ve no doubt that if Duke Verrakai had been hired first, she would have been senior. For one thing, she was also a Knight of Falk, trained in Falk’s Hall: I came to Kieri from Aliam Halveric’s company. I was a sergeant until he made me captain.”

That silenced them for a while, and they accepted his agreement with Dorrin’s plans and suggestions without further argument. After the Council meeting, he had another with the king.

“Duke Mahieran tells me you suggested having his son tested by Gird’s relic,” the king said, as soon as they were alone. “We have spoken to High Marshal Seklis; he agrees this is a good idea and is considering which of the relics here in Vérella might be most suitable. I thank you, as does he, for the idea.”

Arcolin bowed. “You are most welcome, sir king.”

“You must not speak of it to anyone,” the king said. “I know the rumors … Let them be wide of the mark, if they will; the lad’s location is secret, and any contact with him must be secret as well.”

Arcolin barely stopped himself from pointing out that a location, however remote, with a circle of Royal Guards around it and the necessary supplies arriving would not be secret, but he had trespassed enough on higher ranks. “I will say nothing, sir king, of course.”

“Especially not to Duke Verrakai.”

“Certainly not, sir king.” Better to tell Duke Verrakai than some peasant driving a cart full of food for the guards, but it was too late for real secrecy, anyway.

“You asked about taking your troops south … you have my permission to do so. Having met the dragon, I have no concerns about our eastern border for the time being, and your troops in the south are likely to do us a service by learning if danger really threatens
there. And if an invasion is attempted, you will be best placed to intervene.”

“Thank you, sir king.”

“For the time being, I am leaving Duke Verrakai as she has been, as Constable. Who are you leaving in command in your domain?”

“Captain Arneson, sir king. He has taken over from Captain Valichi—Kieri Phelan’s recruit captain, now retiring—and I have found him honest and reliable. He is from Aarenis but of northern parentage. The village mayors are the same as before.”

“Very well. I will want to know your employer, when you have a contract. Do you plan to make contract here or in the south?”

“Here, if I can; with your permission, I will visit their embassies in the next day or so.”

The king nodded. “Do so, then.”

A few days later, Arcolin settled with the Foss Council representative, a full-season contract for three cohorts. “We worried last year, when you couldn’t deliver more than one cohort—understandable, but we need a larger force.”

“I’m glad to be able to put the Company back together again,” Arcolin said.

When he came to the palace to present a copy of the contract for the king’s approval, the king’s senior clerk took it instead. “He’s taken a few days for hunting,” the clerk said. “But I know he’ll approve a Foss Council contract. Will you be staying or heading back north?”

“North,” Arcolin said. “There’s always something more to do to get troops ready to march.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t ask you to take over as Constable,” the clerk said, marking the contract with the date of delivery. “I suppose you’ve heard about Duke Verrakai.”

“Many things,” Arcolin said. “Most of them untrue.”

“They can’t all be,” the clerk muttered.

Arcolin thought of Dorrin and her squires all the way back to the stronghold. Then he was faced with all the decisions that must be made and work that must be done before he could march two full cohorts south in order to reach the pass almost as soon as it opened.