Limits of Power (6 page)

“Indeed,” Arian said.

He looked around. “I wonder if there are more such patterns, though I cannot imagine the Lady needing to arrive directly in every room and outbuilding. But before I have a mat put over this, can you draw the pattern, do you think, without looking at it?”

“Yes,” Arian said. “Although if it is a pattern of power, it might have the same force on paper.”

“We must chance that,” Kieri said. “Or you can leave a break in some of the lines—that might be enough to make it useless. We need a record of it in the palace archives.” He touched her shoulder. “You came with a purpose—what was it?”

“That journey to the Tsaian court,” Arian said. “Duke Mahieran is anxious to leave soon; he says he will have stretched his king's patience as far as it will go, being here with his younger son so long. Do you still want me to go, or have these other happenings changed your mind? It would be half-summer before I could return, and we both want a child.”

“And you are still recovering from losing our child,” Kieri said. “Are you sure you're strong enough after the poisoning? We should not rush—either the child or the visit—if you are not.”

“I'm sure,” Arian said. “I talked to Estil Halveric and a midwife who has cared for other half-elven. They said it was not too soon if I truly wished it. And I do; the taig agrees.” She looked down. “Estil reminded me … you lost children before, as well as your … as Tammarion. I have been thinking only of my own feelings…”

“We both grieve,” Kieri said. He closed his eyes a moment, those two child faces floating clear in his memory, then fading again. “And we will both rejoice when our child is born. Whenever that is. I trust Estil's experience and a midwife's, but—this was poison.”

She nodded. “Now is a safe time—we know there is no poison here right now. And that is why I want to try and then travel at once, while I can. If I were carrying a child at this moment, I would leave today, before that traitor or another brought more poison or something else…” Her voice trailed away, then strengthened again. “I don't want to be away from you—but I don't want to be here, waiting, uncertain—”

“You won't stay away the whole time!” Kieri stared at her.

“No. No, my love, I will not. But long enough to—perhaps—convince a traitor that the chance has passed.”

“I will talk to Sonder, then,” Kieri said. “Your visit can certainly be delayed until we engender another child. Sonder will understand that and can explain it to Mikeli if he returns immediately. But perhaps he would stay until you could travel if Dorrin and Beclan left. I'm sure she's anxious to get back to her steading, and it's the king's command that he and Beclan have little contact that makes him anxious to leave. It should not take us long…” He looked at her, and she looked back at him. They both grinned, though he saw the glitter of tears in her eyes.

North Marches, Tsaia

W
elcome home, my lord.”

Jandelir Arcolin, Count of the North Marches, nodded his thanks. His face was near-frozen with riding into the north wind. It bit even through the layers of wool.

He dismounted, handed his horse over to the grooms, and stamped, banging his hands together until he could move his fingers. The courtyard was almost empty; he had seen the recruits drilling far out on the plain as he rode up from Duke's East. At least here, the rest of the stronghold broke the wind's force, and he could look forward to a hot bath soon.

“Any news?” he asked one of the servants.

“Not up here, my lord. There's a message for you from the Duke—I mean King Kieri, my lord, sorry.” More than a year since Kieri had left on his last journey, and he was still “the Duke” to most here in the north. Probably always would be. “Come across country by Lyonyan courier, not ours. He's gone these hand of days.”

What could be important enough for Kieri to send his own courier so far? Rumor in Vérella had it that Kieri had pledged to one of his Squires at Midwinter, but Mikeli had said nothing about it. An unmarried king, as he and Mikeli both knew, would collect gossip and rumor. But maybe it had been true. He couldn't himself see Kieri courting one of his Squires: not the man who had been so careful to distance himself from his troops. Except for Tammarion, of course, but that was only the once.

Inside the officers' courtyard, his household staff waited, and soon he was warm, clean, and refreshed by two mugs of sib and a hot meal. Now for work.

The green velvet sack with the gold-embroidered arms of Lyonya lay alone in the center of his desk; lesser messages were stacked to one side, a courteous gap between them and the royal missive.

Arcolin opened the sack. A letter from Kieri, in his own hand, and a wedding invitation in multicolored inks, clearly the work of a palace scribe. He read the letter first, brow a little contracted. Kieri was marrying one of his Squires but no youngster—she was his age, half-elven like Kieri but on her father's side, not her mother's. Dark-haired, dark-eyed, a Knight of Falk … Arcolin nodded slowly. He understood: a king must wed and get heirs. So should he himself. A king must consider a queen differently than a light-of-love. And yet … Arcolin's gaze blurred as he thought of Kieri's first marriage. That had been love, combined with character. Would his second be only character?

He looked at the next passage in the letter.

Do
not
fear, old friend, that this marriage is mere statecraft. For beyond my hopes, Arian has true affection for me, and I for her. I have not been so happy for a very long time.

Well. If it was not too late for Kieri … perhaps it was not too late for him. Though where he'd find a wife, what with spending near-half his time in Aarenis or on the road and the rest up here in a fort, he did not know.

The wedding, he saw as he worked his way through the fancy scrolls in scarlet, gold, green, blue, and silver, was to be on the Spring Evener. Arcolin shook his head. He wanted to go, but Kieri knew the schedule he must keep to get his troops to Aarenis on time. Four hands of days to and from Chaya he simply could not afford.

The other messages were routine. Marshals of the two granges on his domain, reporting on the membership and training schedule of each. Captain Valichi, reminding him that he intended to retire as soon as the troops left for Aarenis, reporting that the neighboring Count Halar had agreed to let Fox Company recruit in his domain and shared more gossip about Dorrin Verrakai. Mayors of Duke's East and Duke's West, their usual reports, including—from Duke's West—a request for one more Count's Court to hear a case that had arisen while he'd been in Vérella. Best to get that over before he took the troops south.

Before the afternoon was over, the gnome estvin arrived seeking audience.

“It is that the stone is welcome,” he said.

“It is large enough?” Arcolin asked.

“It is,” the estvin said. “And the lord's king? It is that the king agreed?”

“Yes,” Arcolin said. “By Gird's Code, as I said.” He paused, wondering whether he should mention the dragon's appearance at court. But why not tell the estvin something that concerned the gnomes? “Before I came,” he said, “the dragon visited the king.”

The estvin paled. “Dragon said to king?”

“That the land the dragon claimed must be released. The king agreed—”

The estvin muttered something Arcolin could not understand.

“And the king agreed to the grant of those hills to you and yours forever,” Arcolin said. “You will be safe, in your own home, I hope. Did my steward give you the food I promised?”

“Yes, lord,” the estvin said. “It is that in … in new stone kapristi have no need of as much. By midsummer at earliest will need no more from our lord.”

Arcolin started to say he did not grudge their need and was not their lord now that they had moved out, but the estvin's expression was set. Better not to argue now, he thought. “You will have food until you say you need it not,” he said. “Do not, I beg you, go hungry. I want you to prosper and grow.”

“It is that my lord is … is beyond the Law,” the estvin said.

“Beyond—have I broken the Law?” Arcolin asked. To a gnome nothing was more serious than their Law—as far as they were concerned, the only law that mattered, rigid and immutable.

“No! Not to break. My lord is … is … more fair than fair.”

“It is Gird's command,” Arcolin said, having found that a useful phrase before in dealing with the gnomes' intent to exact precise trade between them.

“Yes, my lord,” the estvin said, bowing. “Will my lord come with me to the cellars to see if they are now acceptable?”

Acceptable? What could the estvin mean? Arcolin went with him into the space the gnomes had occupied. He had assumed they'd leave it clean, but he had not imagined that they would leave it polished, plastered, and whitewashed as well. The stones of the floor gleamed; a little frieze of dark red foxheads ran around the top of the whitewashed walls. When had they had time to do this?

“It is pleasing?” the estvin asked.

“It is very pleasing,” Arcolin said.

Back upstairs, he explained that he would be gone almost a half-year on campaign, not to return until after Autumn Court. “For whatever you need, ask Captain Arneson or the steward. They have my orders to supply you.”

The estvin bowed again. “My lord goes to serve the king?”

“To fulfill a contract made with Foss Council,” Arcolin said. “And to obey the orders of my king that I find out more about the danger to the South. A very bad man seeks to gain power he should not. I will be sending reports to the king during the summer and at least one or two all the way here, to Captain Arneson. If you wish to send me word of your welfare or any problem, you can do so using the same couriers. Only tell Captain Arneson.”

“It is not to write language of men,” the estvin said. “It is that my lord reads kapristi writing?”

“Um … no, my pardon. I will endeavor to learn,” Arcolin said. “But Captain Arneson or one of the scribes here would write down your words if you spoke to him.”

The estvin bowed again. “If my lord permits, it is time for this one to return.”

“Of course,” Arcolin said. “I do not know yet the exact day I will leave, but it will not be for another three hands of days at least. I hope you will come again before then.”

“As my lord says,” the estvin said. With a last bow he withdrew.

In the next days, Arcolin worked through all the reports, held Count's Court for both Duke's East and West, conferred with Captain Arneson on the readiness of the recruits, and discussed with him and with those who had been on recruiting duty before the likely intake for the coming year.

“The king wants to be sure we have enough troops in case of invasion,” Arcolin said. “I know the Marshals are keeping the civilians and retired in at least basic training, but I'd like to see larger recruit cohorts even than Kieri had. We have the space, and with Foss Council's contract this year I'll have the resources.”

“We'll need cloth to replace what the gnomes used,” the quartermaster said.

“Already ordered when I was in Vérella,” Arcolin said. “You should have it in plenty of time to make the tunics before the new recruits arrive. The weavers said they'd have it on the way by the Evener.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“And I have permission from the king to recruit this far afield,” Arcolin said, pointing to the map. “Valichi has talked to Count Halar and has permission for me to recruit there. I'm going to leave you an extra recruit team, Captain, to handle the larger numbers. Don't hesitate to release the ones who don't work out, but let's try to retain at least a hundred ten. On the basis of past recruitment, you'll need to start with at least twenty more.”

“Yes, my lord,” Arneson said.

“I will be short of senior enlisted,” Cracolnya said.

“I know. We'll discuss that later.”

Cracolnya nodded.

“This year's intake is looking good,” Arcolin said to Arneson. “Are there any you have doubts of now?”

“Barring serious injury in the coming days, no, my lord. We'll be ready to march when you give the word.”