Kings of the North (35 page)

With coinage the banker considered legitimate, Arcolin paid the troops enough to let them go—one tensquad at a time—into the city for a few hours, while he visited Marshal Harak and the others.

“I’d like to see him again,” Harak said. “I’m sure Tir’s Captain would, too.”

“I’ll tell him,” Arcolin said.

“What’s this about the Blind Archer?”

“You’ve heard of that?”

“It was all over the market last week: the Blind Archer has returned. I thought at once of Stammel, but surely—”

“He can shoot a crossbow,” Arcolin said. “And when we were attacked, he stood there in the open and called out that he was the Blind Archer—I’d never heard that story—and shot the first man that yelled at him. And then others. Eventually about half of the attackers fled. Don’t ask me how—it must have been the gods.”

“Hmm.” Harak turned and pulled a ragged scroll from the stuffed pigeonholes in his office. “It’s in here: Cornlyn’s Instructive Stories. Sometimes it’s told of Falk, but in this …” He unrolled the scroll, frowning. “Here. Balester of Gaona—not on any map we have—being blinded and exiled by the malice of Tagrin for having failed to kill the princeling and heir of the former and rightful king as ordered but instead placing him in safe fosterage, learned archery by the grace of the Master Archer and returned to kill the said Tagrin of hated memory, to the glory of the Lord of Justice and as proof that no infirmity need make a man—or woman—incapable of serving the right.” He rolled the scroll again. “A southern tale; I doubt Gird ever heard it, but I’ve used it in homilies. So did my predecessor. And so now Stammel thinks he’s the Blind Archer?”

“He’s blind, and he’s an archer—he’s too sensible, I think, to believe more than it’s a tale with a use—and a good use he made of it.”

At the Field of Falk, the Captain greeted him warmly. “I have the Halveric sword cleansed, blessed, and ready for travel,” he said. “I took the liberty of having our Field leatherworker make it a scabbard—it may not be the Halveric scabbard, but it is good quality and will not dishonor the blade.” Arcolin thanked him, took the sword in its scabbard, and went to find the Captain of Tir.

He found the gruff-voiced Captain bare to the waist and trading buffets from a stick with two soldiers. “So, how is our blind hero?” the Captain asked. “I hear tales of the Blind Archer returning to end corruption and evil.”

“Not that,” Arcolin said, and explained.

“A brave man,” the Captain said. “An honor to Tir, that one. Send him to me; I would give him a blessing before he leaves. And Tir’s
thanks to you, for not wasting his courage, for letting him return to the life he knows.”

Back at camp, Stammel was on the point of leaving with Suli for guide and another eight. Arcolin told him he should visit Marshal Harak and the Captain of Tir, and Stammel nodded. “I meant to,” he said.

The night before they left Cortes Vonja, Arcolin offered Stammel a choice.

“I must go north, to Autumn Court in Vérella,” he said. “I will be granted the North Marches permanently then, and from there I must go north again, to the Duke’s—to my stronghold. Burek is well able to command the cohort on the road and in winter quarters. It is up to you whether you come with me or stay in Valdaire. You would be of use either way. If you choose to stay south, I’ll take Devlin.”

Stammel thought for a long moment. “The cohort needs a sighted sergeant,” he said. “Burek, too. He’s good, but he’ll need someone who knows all the local tricks.”

“Well, then. We ride tomorrow, you and I, at speed.”

O
ne of the horses went lame between Foss and Fossnir; they had made good time before that, and Arcolin decided they would stay at an inn that night since they had arrived far too late to ride on. On a whim, he thought of the Blind Archer, which proved to be, in the way of inns in Foss Council towns, a clean whitewashed place with good stables.

They came into the common room to eat; it was moderately busy, mostly with obvious merchants. Arcolin chose one of the smaller tables to one side of the main entrance, where he could see both the door and out the window to the busy street. They ordered, and while they were waiting for their food someone behind him—a man he had barely noticed—asked for paper and ink in a querulous voice. A voice he knew—but the other conversations in the room grew louder; he could not hear the man’s voice anymore.

Stammel leaned forward. “It’s Andressat,” he said softly.

“What?” Arcolin did not turn around. “How could it be?” But Stammel was right. It could be Andressat’s voice.

Stammel shrugged. “I don’t know, but it must be.”

They ate when their food came; Arcolin wanted to turn and look, but did not. What he could remember of the man from his first casual glance around the room had not matched his memory of the Count of Andressat.

Later, in their room, a knock came on the door. Arcolin opened to find one of the servant girls, who curtsied and handed him a tightly folded paper. He opened it.

You do not know me, but I recognize you and your uniform. I have urgent word for your Duke. I travel incognito. I would speak with you. Jeddrin, Count of Andressat
.

“It’s Andressat,” Arcolin said. “He wants to talk to me; he’s traveling under a false name. And being Andressat, he names no place or time, nor does he give his alias; I’m supposed to find it myself.”

He went back downstairs. Andressat had wedged himself into a back corner seat, hat pulled low. In the room full of merchants and travelers, all chatting amiably about something, he might as well have been dipped in whitewash. Arcolin went over and without lowering his voice said, “There you are! I forgot to tell you earlier, the price of that cloth in Cortes Vonja was only two natas a roll lower, and the transport—well, you know. So can we make agreement on the price now?”

A few heads had turned casually at the greeting, but an almost completed agreement for the purchase of a few rolls of cloth wasn’t as interesting as their own conversations.

Andressat, hunched over a bowl of fish soup, glared at Arcolin, then gestured. Arcolin sat down. “You didn’t say when or where,” Arcolin murmured. “Or what name you were using, or what occupation you claimed. But cloth merchant is safe enough, and I would have the authority to bargain for cloth for uniforms. Wool, winter-weight.”

“I—” Andressat cleared his throat. “It is nothing. I have chosen this out of necessity, and I must carry it through. I need your help.”

“I cannot delay my journey,” Arcolin said. “I am summoned to Autumn Court in Tsaia. But if I can help without delay, I will do so.”

“Phelan is now king of Lyonya, I hear,” Andressat said.

“Yes,” Arcolin said.

“The legitimate son of a former king, it is said.”

“Yes, indeed,” Arcolin said. “Half-elven—none of us knew that, including him.”

“I must see him,” Andressat said. “I found—” He leaned closer. “I found things in the archives—in Cortes Andres—he must see and know. You must ask him to come and see for himself.”

“I am not likely to see him,” Arcolin said. “I doubt he will come to Autumn Court in Tsaia, and from there I must go north, to take formal possession of the land that was his, and is now mine.”

Andressat sat back, scowling. “You cannot go to Lyonya first? It is not far, is it? I thought all the northern lands were just the other side of the pass at Valdaire.”

“The Eight Kingdoms are larger than all Aarenis,” Arcolin said. “I have maps with me—would you like to see?”

“I—yes. I suppose if you cannot—but you are a hire-sword, can I not hire you?”

The Count, Arcolin realized, was frightened, being out of his own place. No one had ever heard of Andressat traveling—and so ignorant of lands he did not know that he thought a side journey from Tsaia to Lyonya would be a matter of hours or a day or two. “I’m sorry, my lord,” Arcolin said as gently as he could. “I am bound to my liege, you must understand, and when he bids me come on a day, then I must come.”

“I see that,” the Count said. “But—but it is most inconvenient.” He looked around the room, flinching a little as someone banged a jug on a table in a demand for more ale.

“What name do you travel under?” Arcolin asked. “It will seem more natural if we call each other by name. I’m Jandelir Arcolin; a merchant would call me Captain.”

“I am naming myself Manis Turgold,” Andressat said.

Arcolin pushed back his chair and stood. “Well, Master Turgold,” he said, “come up to my room when you’ve finished your meal, and we’ll settle it then. Third floor, end of the passage, left side.”

“Certainly, Captain,” Andressat said. “Less than a glass.”

Up in Arcolin’s room, Andressat was the same proud, prickly man Arcolin had met before, though he seemed far more provincial than Arcolin had suspected. When Andressat looked at the maps Arcolin showed him, he seemed astonished at the size of the land north of the mountains.

“And the duke—the king—is over here? How many days’ travel? And I must visit the Tsaian court as well, I suppose.”

Arcolin shook his head. “No, my lord, at this time I do not advise it. They’ve had trouble this year and are wary of strangers. Take the southern trade road—go with a caravan, if you can, as far as the Lyonyan border, then ask directions to Aliam Halveric’s from there. You know him, and he will give you the best route north to Chaya.”

“You have been there?”

“To Aliam’s? Yes, but never to Chaya. You are welcome to ride with us—with me and my sergeant—to Valdaire and over the mountains; when the road turns north, it forks; the east fork is what you want. In Valdaire I can find out which merchants are headed east to Bannerlíth; you can travel with them safely enough, and then, as I said, turn aside once in Lyonya to find Aliam. Send a courier ahead to Kieri—to the king. You do have some of your people with you, don’t you?”

“I do,” Andressat said. He glanced aside at Stammel. “Send your man to the stable to find Daslin and bring him here.”

Arcolin shook his head. “My pardon, my lord, but I have reason to keep him close. An inn servant can go.” He rang the handbell on the table.

The next day, Andressat and his servants rode with Arcolin and Stammel on the road to Valdaire. A three-day march, it was but a two-day ride with a change of horses. By then, Arcolin was sure that Andressat’s sergeant could find the way to Lyonya; the man had traveled to Valdaire before and even over the mountains once on the count’s business.

“South trade road, yes, sir. I never took it, but you say it’s well-marked. But how do I find Lord Halveric’s place?”

“Ask one of the Lyonyan rangers. I can see it in my head, but I can’t think how to tell you.” Arcolin wrote a note to Aliam and another the man could show to anyone in authority in Lyonya, explaining that the king knew the Count of Andressat and this was his courier. “Go ahead of him, so they know he’s on the way and can prepare a welcome.”

When they reached Valdaire, the winter quarters compound was empty and clean; the gate guard seemed to be expecting them and
made no difficulty about unlocking the gates. Arcolin invited Andressat and his men to stay with them, but the count looked at the bare, swept rooms, the plain furniture, and asked where to find a good inn.

“White Dragon, foot of the hill.” Arcolin pointed. “I’m going there shortly, if you want a guide, but I’m putting these horses up first.” Andressat shook his head and rode off down the hill.

T
he next morning, Arcolin visited his banker. Kavarthin seemed glad to see him, but then—Arcolin told himself—bankers usually were glad to see those who arrived with money or letters of credit. Arcolin handed over Kostin’s letter and explained the extent of what his cohort would be bringing in to sell.

“And I have news for you,” Kavarthin said. “When my son looked into your factor’s books, he found the man had been less than perfectly honest, as we suspected. Did you get the letters I sent?” Arcolin nodded. “Good—mail from the east has been dilatory this year, and I was not sure. Well, then. Your factor was cheating you, both years Phelan did not come south. My son has recovered from him a large sum, rather than drag him before the court, where the fees would cost you most of it.”