Echoes of Betrayal (9 page)

Aliam looked around the salle and grinned. “Can I play?”

“Lad, you’ve ridden all night, haven’t you?”

“Yes, but that’s—Granfer and Father both said that’s nothing.”

“True, but I’m not minded to see your grandfather’s face if I put you against rested fighters twice your size. Maybe after breakfast I can find you someone suitable to spar with. And maybe you’ll see something here you don’t see at home.”

Concentrating on the boy, Kieri had ignored his Squires. The boy’s eyes widening a little was his only warning; he lunged sideways just as someone grabbed for his shoulder and knocked him off balance. He fell on his side, rolled, avoided the kick. Arian, of course. She shifted sideways as he came up to one knee and then pounced, but he
was ready with a strike to the back of her knee. She fell, already rolling away, and he made it to his feet. “Enough,” he said. “Our guest needs his breakfast, as do we.”

T
he boy had never been to Chaya before, let alone the palace. Kieri ignored his startled reactions and trusted that the arrival of food would overcome any shyness. He had long persuaded the palace cooks that he needed a heartier breakfast, and platters of sizzling sausage, stirred eggs, and hot breads disappeared as the Squires joined in.

Garris came into the room. “Courier’s ready to go—anything else?” Then he noticed the boy. “Is that—”

“Yes. Aliam sent him ahead to tell us: two days. But I still need to send word of the attacks and the present situation.”

“I could go,” young Aliam said.

“You probably could,” Kieri said, “but your king wants you here for the time being. I have a courier available who slept last night and has already eaten, and I have questions for you when we’re done.” He and Garris left; when he returned, Arian sat with the young Halveric, who was eyeing the basket of honeycakes.

“Go ahead,” Kieri said, taking two for himself. “Do you like sib?”

“Yes, sir king.”

Arian poured for all three of them.

“Do you always have King’s Squires with you?” the boy asked.

“Yes, that is what they do.”

“Could I ever be a King’s Squire?”

“Not until you’re a Knight of Falk,” Kieri said. “After that, we’ll see. You may not want the job. It’s not all living in the palace, you know.”

“I saw them—you, Lady Arian, too—back home last fall. I thought then, if Granfer isn’t going south again, and Father doesn’t want to, then being a King’s Squire would be exciting.”

“It’s not a second best,” Arian said sharply.

“I didn’t mean it that way—only it’s been our family tradition to go south and fight there. But Granfer’s old now, and my father doesn’t want to go again.”

“I wanted to ask you about the rebuilding,” Kieri said. “How is that coming?”

“Oh, it’s almost like it was before. We all worked on it, of course, and the elves made wood join even better than old Sosti, that Granfer said was the best he’d seen. The elves didn’t like having our Old Halveric’s skull up in the attic, but Granfer insisted and so did Gram. She said it belonged there. The elves wouldn’t touch it, but when the roof framing was up, I put it back in. Gram is happy. I wanted an indoor salle, like the one here, but Granfer said wars aren’t fought indoors.”

“He’s right, and he said the same to us when I was his squire,” Kieri said. “I kept thinking I’d build one when I had my own Company, but instead we used the dining hall if the weather was really too cold.”

The boy yawned suddenly, then blinked and widened his eyes. “I’m not really sleepy,” he said. “If there’s something you need—”

“I need you rested for later,” Kieri said. “Sleep now.”

“But it’s daytime. And I’m in Chaya.”

Kieri chuckled. “And Chaya will be here when you wake up again. Come now, don’t argue with your king.”

When the boy was well away, following one of the palace servants to a guest room, Arian said, “I hope our sons are like that.”

“And I.”

“You didn’t tell him about us—”

“No. He’s Aliam’s grandson and should have learned prudence, but he’s at an age to blurt things out anyway. I want to tell Aliam myself.”

“Ah. I have little experience with boys that age.”

Kieri went on, “We need to send word of our announcement and the wedding date to all the kingdoms—today or tomorrow, at least.”

“Already?”

“Yes. It will be slow going—winter weather—and though we are not waiting until summer, I do not want it to seem a hasty, careless affair. Duke Verrakai will be in Harway, I’m sure, in defense of Tsaia. She could not come to my coronation, but I hope she will be able to come to the wedding.”

“She’s … remarkable,” Arian said.

“Yes. And she is in a difficult situation, as the only Verrakai not attainted
and thus not proven in the royal courts to be free of evil magery. Mikeli had to trust someone and trusted her on my word, but she must know others suspect her, especially as they know she has magery. It was well she used it to save the king’s life, but many Tsaians will still have their doubts.”

“That crown will not have helped,” Arian said.

“No, indeed. I wish I knew more of that,” Kieri said. “She has been sparing in her letters to me, saying the king does not wish it talked of. I have not asked Mikeli, in case he took offense that she had mentioned it to me. But it seems to me such regalia would be a reason for someone to seek it—it’s an unclaimed crown, and it must belong somewhere.”

“Well, it’s safe in the Tsaian royal treasury, at least. All but the necklace.”

“The necklace?”

Arian told the little she knew, what Dorrin had told her about the necklace. “And then it was stolen from Fin Panir, she heard.”

Kieri shook his head. “Worse and worse. Rumors of a lost crown being found … a necklace from the same suite of jewels on the loose …”

“Duke Verrakai says she told the king it would draw trouble.”

“As honey draws bees, yes. And I’m sure she’s thinking of the same trouble, from the south.”

“But that’s Tsaia, isn’t it?”

“No. It’s everyone. What touches Tsaia touches us—and Fintha—and Pargun and, through all of us, the rest. What I learned from Pargun’s king is that Pargun and Kostandan trade all the way to Aarenis.” He felt a sudden chill. “And I hadn’t thought—there wasn’t time—but Alured the Black doesn’t have to invade through Valdaire—he could sail up the river. I must tell Mikeli that. Ships can’t get past the falls, but land an army on the shore below, and … here I thought our danger might be over for at least a few years.”

“Well,” Arian said, “you’ve thought of it now. So we can plan a defense, and surely he won’t show up this winter.”

“No, I think not. But he had been a pirate on the Immerhoft—the sea down there—and he will have ships and men who know how to fight from them.” He ran his hands through his hair. “What a day! I
must write those letters, to Mikeli and the Marshal-General as well. And still there’s the rest of the Pargunese invasion to deal with.”

By late afternoon, the letters announcing his engagement and—for Tsaia and Fintha—his assessment of the new danger from the south were on the way, along with a letter each to Dorrin and Arcolin. The party he’d left to follow him had arrived with the prisoners—bedraggled and tired, but no more injuries or deaths.

Kieri went down to the courtyard to look them over. Chaya had no large prisons. Smaller than Vérella and more orderly, it had small jails meant to house the occasional violent drunk until he or she had slept it off. He could not leave them in the courtyard, without any shelter, in winter. They were a dispirited lot anyway, pale and pinched with hunger and exhaustion, most with at least one bandaged limb.

His Council had sided with Sier Halveric—these were dangerous enemies. They had killed Lyonyans and tried to burn the kingdom down. They deserved to die. If Kieri had not fought so many years in Aarenis and argued for the Mercenary Code against so many who saw no reason for it, he might have felt the same way. But though enemies, these were military prisoners, and the code was bone-deep.

He had a chair brought out and set before them. All around, Royal Archers stood with arrows nocked. He sat down in the chair and set the great sword in its scabbard across his lap.

Then Kieri spoke to them in Pargunese, as he had to Torfinn. “For your attack on my land, your lives are forfeit. But you were ensorcelled by evil, and for that reason alone I will not kill you here and now. You will be fed and housed, to be returned for judgment to your own king, if he wills.” He waited a moment; all those pale eyes stared back at him, and none moved. “You will give me your parole, one by one, to attempt no violence on those who guard you or those who bring you food and other needs until such time.”

“Why?” asked a man in the front, tall, burly, with bandages on his head and sword arm.

“Why not kill you? Blood shed in anger harms the taig, the spirit of the land. If your king judges you must die, that blood is on his hands, not mine. Why feed you and house you in the meantime? Because that is the code I live by—the code we mercenaries swore to in Aarenis.”

“We’d of killed you if you was our prisoner.”

“I do not doubt that, but my way is not your way. Though if you choose to die, you may.”

The man scowled. “A hard death, I’ll wager.”

“You lose. If you would rather die than give your word to abide my commands until you return to your king, you will have a sword-stroke to the neck.”

“You would give war-honor?”

“Yes.”

“And we return to Pargun … when?”

“When I have word of your king and meet with him to learn his will in this.”

“But Einar is dead.”

“Not Einar. Torfinn, your true king.”

“Torfinn has no honor,” another man said. “His daughter—”

“Is Pargun’s ambassador to this court,” Kieri said, raising his voice. “But that is not to the point. Here it is: you will give your parole to me personally, each one of you, or your life is forfeit. When my messengers find your king, or his legitimate successor, you will be sent to him for his judgment of your rebellion. I cannot say what he will do. I have said what I will do. What say you?”

The first man who had spoken looked back over either shoulder, first heart-side, then sword-side. Then he shrugged and nodded. “I say you speak truth like a man. How do I swear?”

The old mercenary ritual of surrender and parole would not suit this occasion; Kieri’s observation of the Pargunese lords at his earlier meeting had given him a better idea.

“You will kneel and kiss the scabbard of my sword. If you intend falsehood, this elf-made sword will tell.”

“I do not swear falsely,” the man said. He took two steps forward and went to his knees. Kieri led him through the oath, in Pargunese, and the man kissed the sword.

“Now go over there,” Kieri said, pointing. The man stood, bowed, and walked off to the area Kieri had marked off for those who had given parole.

He was halfway through taking the oaths—so far all had sworn—when a small party of horsemen rode into the court. One was a King’s Squire, and one was Aliam Halveric himself, flanked by his son
Caliam and the Knight-Commander of Falk. Kieri took the oath of the man kneeling before him, then held up his hand to forestall another coming forward. He stood, peering over the heads.

“Did you marry her yet?” Aliam yelled in a voice that could have carried to the Tsaian border.

Kieri laughed. The prisoners shifted uneasily. In Pargunese he said, “That is an old friend, from my days as a mercenary. Do not fear.” To Aliam he said, “Get over here, man of war: I need your advice.”

The group dismounted and made their way around the remaining prisoners and the Royal Archers. “We made better time than I thought we would,” Aliam said as he came close enough to speak in a normal tone. “Cal wanted to be sure the sprout had made it.”

“He did; he had breakfast with me and is somewhere inside, in care of a King’s Squire.”

“And Estil said to ask you first thing if you’d married her.”

“Who?” Kieri said, but he could feel himself reddening. “And no, I haven’t married yet.” He looked closely at Aliam. Kieri had worried after leaving Aliam’s steading that he might relapse. Now it was clear that the friend he’d known was—though a little balder and grayer—healthy in mind and body. “I’m glad you brought Cal,” he said. “When I’ve taken these oaths, I have something to show you. Go on inside, see if you can find young Aliam. I’ll be with you when I can.”

He finished taking the rest of the oaths and then explained what he would do. “We have no great prisons here—nor even empty granaries, not in this season. For the present, you will be housed in the outbuildings here—some in the stables, some in the other spaces, as we can make room and contrive bedding. You will keep your own spaces clean, and fetch your own food from the kitchens, and return the cleaned pots and dishes. Now, is there one among you with more rank whom you consider your leader?”

Eyes shifted back and forth, and finally one said, “Makkar.” Others nodded. The same man who had spoken first turned and looked at them.

“You want me?” He sounded surprised. Some nodded, some didn’t. “Who else?”