Limits of Power (34 page)

T
he next day, they rode out to Kindle vill, where the king saw the well and drank water from it. The people there were less impressed with the king than Dorrin could have wished, but they were respectful. They plaited him a crown of spring flowers, which he put on. From there they rode on to the next vill and on again, stopping for a picnic lunch in the shade of woods.

“You have considerable woodland,” the king said. “And the cultivated fields seem small.”

“Indeed,” Dorrin said. “That is what I meant when I said I wanted to accept new settlers, good farmers if I can get them. Verrakai produces almost nothing to trade, barely enough to feed its own people. I did not realize, when I left home those years ago, how poor it was. The losses in the attack on Kieri reduced the workforce even more. There is only one mill, for instance. Many homes still use hand-mills.”

“Yet the lords Verrakai always appeared wealthy when at court,” Duke Marrakai said.

“From other business perhaps,” Dorrin said. Business she preferred not to contemplate. “But I have enough to do here. Roads are but the first step on the path I hope this domain will take. We must have towns as well, crafters and merchants in addition to farmers.”

“Some of the smaller domains have complained there's not enough land for their population,” Marrakai commented. “I don't know if their people would want to move here, but some might.”

“I would welcome younger families, people with energy and the will to work,” Dorrin said. “It's easy enough to find malcontents—I've had some of those show up—but I want to settle good people on the land. If they're also active in a grange, that's an advantage.”

“Can you feed them the first year?”

“Depends how many,” Dorrin said. “That's always the difficulty—Kieri had the same in the north when we were starting there. He had the advantage of starting with retiring soldiers who knew him, but he needed specialists, too. The miller, for instance. Cost at least half the profit that year to set up the mill and hire the miller, who wasn't at all sure he wanted to move to the wasteland, as he thought it.”

“Well,” Marrakai said, “wasn't that count in the south … Lordal, wasn't it? … saying he was overcrowded?”

“Yes,” the king said. “You might speak to him at Midsummer Court, my lord, and offer for some of his farmers.”

“That's an excellent idea,” Dorrin said. “Thank you.”

A
fter the royal procession left, Beclan came back to the main house. “Why did he let me stay to greet him, then send me away?” he asked.

“He says he must know everyone's heir,” Dorrin said. “In fact, he does trust you and care for you, but it's the way things are—he must be seen to distance himself from you. He asked how you were coming in your study of magery. He wants you to continue.”

“He does? But then—after you—I mean—not that I want it—” He had turned deep red with embarrassment.

“When you succeed me,” Dorrin said, emphasizing each word, “he will have a known magelord as duke here, yes. He knows that; he seems to have accepted it. He'd rather have you than any of Verrakai blood, Beclan. Whatever your name, you're his cousin.”

“I see.”

“Not completely, I fear. But I'm glad he gave permission—nay, encouragement—for you to continue learning about your magery.” She would not tell him now about the king's presentiment that she herself would leave with the crown that spoke to her, and her oath bound her not to tell him about Camwyn.

“What about Gwenno and Daryan? You did not want me attempting any magery in their presence except the dinner candles.”

“I still think that's wise, and not so much for secrecy as for their protection. Your magery appeared without warning, with no indication at all that you might have it. If they have the same potential, we do not want to waken that by accident.”

“You think—? But they couldn't. Their families never married into Verrakai.”

“I think no one knows where the old strains of magery went or how they might rejoin. No one knows who might have had buried magery two or three or more generations back. So we will not shake the box to find out if its contents are breakable.”

Beclan nodded. “I see the wisdom in that, my lord.”

“All Gwenno and Daryan need to know is what they already know: you're studying with me. But beyond that, it is our business. Family business, if you will.” She paused. “Have they been asking you about magery?”

“No, my lord. Gwenno said you'd asked them not to, and they haven't. It's—it's really strange to see Dar's thumb growing out, though.”

“It is indeed,” Dorrin said. “And I think the other one's going to bud, as he hopes.”

“He feels better about his family after his father's visit. I'm glad for him; it's hard to be separated.” Beclan's voice sounded husky on that last.

“Well,” Dorrin said. “You had that time in Chaya. Another may come. Now: let's get to work.”

Beclan had been practicing, she found, but despite his increasing strength, Prince Camwyn's magery was much stronger.

“Have you thought more about Falk?” she asked, when he could do no more.

He looked worried. “My lord—must I change allegiance to Falk?”

“To become a Knight of Falk, Beclan, yes. Right now you are barred from study with the Knights of the Bells, as you know, and I had thought the Knights of Falk—”

“But they were enemies, weren't they? Falk was a magelord, and Gird hated magelords.”

“Falk was not in Gird's time,” Dorrin said. “Nor here in the north. Falkians and Girdish have been allies before, you know.”

“I know, but … I grew up Girdish.” That in a low voice.

“Beclan, you're not asked to abandon Gird—whom we both believe saved your life by awakening your magery. If you find you cannot follow Falk without feeling a traitor to Gird, then you must stay Girdish, though it may mean you cannot gain a knighthood.” Even as she said it, she remembered that a company of Girdish knights had a training hall in Fin Panir. Would the Marshal-General allow a young magelord to train with them? Unlikely, though she could ask. Still—neither Arcolin nor Paks had been knighted.

“I understand,” Beclan said. “I suppose I can learn fighting skills with you, can't I?”

“You can, though both of us have other duties. I may have to import an armsmaster specifically for you squires.” As she said it, she realized how sensible that would be—relieving her of the need to supervise their practices.

Marshal Fenold, when she called him in to talk with her and with Beclan, nodded. “You explained about your squire's difficulty when you brought him back, my lord; I have no problem with the king's command that he learn more magery, or with his taking instruction at Falk's Hall. We learn about Falk's Oath of Gold; we honor Falk.” He turned to Beclan. “I honor your thinking on this, too, Beclan. You're loyal to Gird for the right reasons, not just that you grew up Girdish. But you have need of guidance in the use of your powers—powers Gird did not have. I don't think Gird will mind if you study with Falkians.”

Beclan moved his hands restlessly. “I don't know if I can pledge to Falk.”

“No need to decide that now, Beclan,” the Marshal said. “But I advise you to consider Falk when you are practicing magery, just as I advise you to consider Gird when you pick up a hauk. It doesn't hurt a man to have more than one friend, down here or up there.”

“I hadn't thought of it that way,” Beclan said. “I wouldn't have to give up believing in Gird?”

“Of course not. I've been known to call on Falk myself in some circumstances, and I was born and brought up in Fintha. That should tell you something.”

“I see.” Now he looked more cheerful. “My lord Duke tells me they're much alike in their rules.”

“So they are. When I studied in Fin Panir, we read all we could about all the great saints and the gods too, what little is known. I met Knights of Falk before ever I met your duke; they were welcome at our table. If you become one someday, Beclan, I will welcome you to the grange just the same as I do now.”

“Thank you, Marshal.”

Valdaire, Aarenis

C
ount Arcolin, commander of Fox Company, led a column into the outskirts of Valdaire as he had many times before. Cracolnya rode beside him; Versin had dropped back to the rear with Cracolnya's cohort. The recruit cohort was first, as always on arrival.

Arcolin halted the column at the gate, and the familiar game played out—the troops in the compound snapping into formation with unnatural speed. The recruits looked as stunned as always. Arcolin took Selfer's and Burek's salutes, nodded, and for the first time since Kieri's departure, the three cohorts of the Company were together, in the South, with a contract. It felt like the old days, though without Kieri and Stammel it could never be the same.

Within a turn of the glass, the recruits had been given their final assignments, filling in the two southern cohorts and bringing them all slightly overstrength. Arcolin, in the Company office, listened to Selfer's report of his cohort's journey and the winter's events.

“You did exactly the right thing about the oaths,” Arcolin said. “We'll have a formal ceremony day after tomorrow, just to make it clear, but that was very well done. And I approve your releasing those who wanted to stay with Dorrin.” Selfer looked relieved; Arcolin remembered his own first time away from Kieri, his worry that Kieri might not approve decisions he'd made. “Harnik—yes, a mistake, but how could you have known? Even Kieri hired bad officers at times. I don't blame you for that. How did the next substitutes do?”

“Captain Ivats is back with Clart Company, my lord.” Selfer was still very formal. “But he was a great help over the winter—made a solid training schedule possible. M'dierra's nephew will make a decent squire in time; he's just young and still dazzled by the big city and all.”

“Is he still here?”

“Not today, no,” Selfer said. “Because of his youth, M'dierra asked that he be given one day in ten off to visit Golden Company. Today was his day. He'll be back in the morning.”

“And you, Burek—how have things been with you?”

Burek grinned. “It seems I'm no longer in bad odor with Andressat, sir. It's a long tale, but the short of it is that the Count has acknowledged me his grandson and offered me a name and place. I chose to stay with the Company, and he accepted that choice.”

Arcolin felt his brows rising. “The Count of Andressat? I heard from the king he'd been through Vérella after going the long way around—I thought he was going to Lyonya.”

“Indeed, and he did.”

“And you came back to us … why? Not that I'm not pleased.”

“I belong here,” Burek said. “It is a place I have made for myself—with your help, of course—and I am happier here than I have ever been.”

“Good.”

“How is Sergeant Stammel?” Burek asked. “Did he—can he see?”

Arcolin shook his head. “No, he's still blind. And there is another long tale. I have several. Have you heard of the war in the north?”

“War!”

“Over now. Pargun attacked Lyonya in the winter, following some dispute between their king and his brother. It's a long story, but Achrya helped the traitors find and hatch dragon eggs—”

“Dragon eggs! But—but that's just a legend,” Selfer said. “Dragons haven't been seen since—well—Camwyn Dragonmaster drove them all into exile.”

Arcolin almost laughed. “That's what we thought. But I've now seen a dragon myself, talked to one. Dragonspawn burned out an entire town in Lyonya before they were stopped, and the dragon—” He shook his head. “You will not believe this, but Burek, you remember Stammel as the Blind Archer.”

“Yes…” Burek let his voice trail away.