Limits of Power (66 page)

Vérella, Tsaia

S
o this is one of your gnomes,” King Mikeli said. Dattur bowed; the king inclined his head. “I thought they were all in the north, in that land you granted them.”

“Dattur was separated from them some time ago, sir king,” Arcolin said. “But he is of the same tribe, and has helped me in learning gnomish language, customs, and their Law.”

“It seems to me,” the king said, “that you are holding more responsibility now than even Kieri did when he was duke. A prince of gnomes. A commander of the same size force Kieri had. Lord of one of my largest domains. And—last winter—a wise advisor in the matter of Duke Verrakai and my cousin Beclan. It has pleased me, Jandelir Arcolin, to find you as able as Kieri in the roles he held and now in this new one.”

Arcolin was sure the king was leading up to something, but what?

“And,” the king said, “you are both Girdish and widely experienced; you know the south as well as Tsaia; you know people of other beliefs.” He leaned forward and spoke to Dattur. “Dattur, does this man please you as your prince?”

Dattur bowed again. “Lord king of men, it pleases me.”

“And does it please the Aldonfulk?”

“It does, lord king of men.”

Mikeli looked back at Arcolin, a spark of mischief in his eye. “It is in my mind and heart, Jandelir, that it would more suit your responsibilities if you were a duke instead of a count. At Midsummer Court, two of the other dukes told me so, and the others agreed when I asked them.”

Arcolin bowed but said nothing.

“I took the liberty of contacting your steward in the north, asking for ducal court dress to be prepared for you. They said Kieri had left you his … so those were sent. But it is up to you … because I warn you, there will be even more work for a duke. As you have reported—as Duke Verrakai has warned, there is more trouble coming, and I will need you.”

“Sir king,” Arcolin said, “I am yours to command. If this is your will, it is my will.”

“And so, at Autumn Court, you will be elevated to duke,” the king said. “The ceremony is different—rare, in fact, for usually a duke's heir is confirmed in the duke's place, and not since Kieri's own elevation from count to duke have we had a count elevated.” He grinned. “I was a mere babe then, not allowed to witness, so we shall hope I carry it through properly.” Then he sobered. “We have much to talk about when you have your new rank, but I will not burden you with that now. You will want to confer with my master of ceremonies and prepare.”

Arcolin bowed again. “Thank you, sir king—for the honor and for the courtesy of giving me time to prepare.”

Later, he stared at himself in the mirror. Kieri's court clothes fit near enough, he thought, though the royal tailor was busy with pins and needles, picking out a seam here and resewing it there. Dorrin had told him of her own reaction to seeing herself in ducal finery in a palace mirror. Now he saw himself transformed from the sunburnt mercenary captain fresh from the South into a … the word “fop” rose to mind, and he pushed it down. A court gentleman. The short bloused pants, the stockings, the ribbons and buckled shoes with their ornaments.

“You'll need a new plume, m'lord,” the tailor said through the pins held in his teeth. “That one's beyond repair.” He spat the pins into his hand at last. “Now let's see how that robe drapes.”

The robe—not Kieri's robe now but his—lay on his shoulders as if made for them. In that dimension, he and Kieri had always been alike. The deep burgundy, Kieri's—his—arms in silver on the back, the fur edging to neck and sleeves. Deep inside, a moment of recognition followed by laughter. As a boy, he had looked in the mirrors at Horngard more than once, imagining himself in the formal robes of nobles—though there it would have been a surcoat over long trousers tucked into tall shiny boots, not this. But here he was, where he had once longed to be—and then given up any such notion. Change. Transformation, as Dragon would have said.

“It will do well enough,” the tailor said. “To remove the fur at the bottom and raise the hem a finger might be wise, but not necessary. It will be ready, m'lord, on the day.”

At the ceremony itself, when he knelt to pledge a duke's fealty to his king, the last remnant of desire for Horngard vanished. He had no regrets for having given Dragon the ring he'd held secret all these years. Fox Company, the North Marches, the gnome tribe that now looked to him … that was enough for any man.

The dukes settled themselves in one corner of the reception: Mahieran, Marrakai, Serrostin, Verrakai, and now himself, Arcolin. “A full hand of us once more,” Mahieran said, clapping Arcolin on the shoulder. “And I hope, Jandelir, you're soon to wed and provide yourself an heir. Unless you have one hid somewhere.”

“Alas, no,” Arcolin said. “But I take your point.”

“Duke Verrakai's got a Marrakai squire—” Mahieran began, but Marrakai put up his hand.

“You do not want that one,” he said. “And it's not because I mislike your character, Jandelir.” He turned to Dorrin. “From what you've said this visit, she's bound for the Bells or Gird's Hall in Fin Panir; isn't that right?”

“Yes,” Dorrin said. She looked more at ease this visit. “She's not ready to settle down; she's got a touch of Paks-fever.”

Arcolin laughed. “I'm not looking for a wild girl,” he said. “Nor yet a soldier. Someone steady enough to manage an estate while I'm gone, who won't mind being up there in the north with a military training camp, yet young enough…”

“We do have a list,” Serrostin said. “Though perhaps we should apologize for making one without asking you, but after … events … everyone's been concerned about pedigrees this year, and we want you to be safe.”

“Safe?”

“You haven't told him?” Mahieran said, turning to Dorrin. “Even after the king made the proclamation?”

She shook her head. “My lord, you know it would have been unwise: what if the message were intercepted in Aarenis before it reached the duke?”

“True. Well, then—”

The story he told chilled Arcolin's blood. Beclan proved to have active magery, stricken from Mahieran and now Dorrin's heir? His mother still confined to the Mahieran city house? If a Mahieran could have active magery, who else? Surely not the king—no, but the king's brother, and many more in families humble and high both.

“Even though it now seems it is not a matter of mageborn blood—or anything to do with Verrakai,” Serrostin said as the tale ended, “we sought to find potential wives for you who were not related within five generations to Verrakai or Konhalt. My children qualify, but all the girls are married or already pledged. Please do not be insulted that our list is taken from lower nobility.”

“I'm not insulted at all,” Arcolin said. “I had not thought to seek a high marriage in any case.”

“Well, then. There are two barons west of you who have daughters you might consider; they don't come to court, but their fathers declare them sensible young women. And a niece of Duke Gerstad Elorran, a widow. Of course, you may have your eye on someone else, but—”

“Thank you,” Arcolin said. “Are any of these ladies at court now?”

“As a matter of fact, they are.” Serrostin's eyes twinkled. “That was another reason to put these on the list.”

W
hen one of the king's messengers called him to the palace, Arcolin thought it must be a question about gnomes, recruitment, magery, or the search for a wife. Instead, he found a royal courier with the king.

“Your Captain Selfer sent a courier to Fiveway and demanded this be taken by one of mine with all urgency—his courier waits there for your answer and hopes to return over the pass before it closes for winter,” the king said. “I do not know the message. Read it to me.”

Arcolin pulled the roll from its tube and glanced at it. “Sir king—it is what I feared might be true but was not confirmed before I left. The Duke of Immer has Andressat's youngest son—”

“Andressat—the old man I met last year?”

“Yes. As I said before, rumor had it his son had disappeared, supposedly between Andressat and Cortes Cilwan. He was taken somehow—is now captive of the Duke of Immer. The Duke of Immer also has the necklace which is part of the regalia you hold and has moved up the western branch of the Immer. He controls Immervale and Lûn and will probably take Cortes Cilwan sometime this winter. Andressat's daughter and son-in-law, ruling Cortes Cilwan, have fled to Andressat.” He looked at the king. “Sir king, Vaskronin has sworn to flay Andressat's son alive if Andressat does not yield his holdings … and if Vaskronin has Cilwan and Andressat—which Siniava never captured—he is well placed to threaten the pass. Selfer has spoken to those who saw the man use magery, whether of his own talent or by blood magery, he does not know. Selfer asks my permission to make contract with Foss Council as representative of the Guild League—with whom we had the contract this past summer—to serve through the winter as necessary.”

“And will you then go south to command them?”

“That is your choice, sir king.”

“
My
choice!” Mikeli looked grim. “My choice would have been to come to my crown in peace, for my cousin Beclan to have escaped peril, and for magery to lie quiet through my reign.” He stopped abruptly. “Kings have few choices, my lord Duke,” he said, in a quieter tone. “We have necessity. You must not go south now. I need you in the north. If your Company can hold the pass, well and good; if not, I need you and the forces you have in the north here. It is not a matter of distrusting Duke Verrakai, but of needing two experienced in war in my councils.”

“I suspect, sir king, that Vaskronin waited until I had left to make his attack, knowing I would be far away.”

“Then let us hope your young captains have wits enough. If word can still pass the mountains, tell your Captain Selfer to make what contract he will with the Guild League.”

Arcolin wrote notes to Selfer, to his banker, and to the Foss Council magistrates he had known before, giving permission for Selfer to make the contract and do all other business necessary. “I will be down as soon as the pass opens in spring,” he added at the end. “If you can find a gnome trader in Valdaire, ask if he can take word to the prince of the Aldonfulks in these words: ‘That which we spoke of is begun.' ”

The king summoned another courier and sent him on his way south “with all possible speed.” He turned to Arcolin. “And should we move troops to the south end of the kingdom now, lord Duke?”

“No,” Arcolin said. “There's much to do—and more to learn—before we move troops. Vaskronin is wily, and he has control not only of the Immer from Immervale down to the sea but of the coastal cities as well. What if this is a feint, meant to make us think he will attack overland? He might instead mount a fleet to sail out of the Immerhoft into the Eastern Ocean and come by boat all the way up to the falls of the Honnorgat with no hindrance. Pargun and Kostandan both traded to the south by sea. He will have heard of at least one river port. If he's heard that Pargun was defeated, he might plan to land in Pargun and march overland.”

“I will need to talk to Duke Verrakai and you both within the day,” the king said. As Arcolin took his leave and turned away, the king added, “And do not forget to find a wife and get your heir.”

When Arcolin found Dorrin, he showed her Selfer's letter; she agreed with his advice that no troops be moved yet. “Supplies,” she said. “We should have stockpiles of supplies ready for either invasion route, and right now the stores are full. I'll see about moving them. When did the king want to meet?”

“After dinner,” Arcolin said. “And in the meantime I'm supposed to find a wife and get an heir.”

Dorrin laughed and shook her head.