Michelle West - Sun Sword 01 - The Broken Crown (93 page)

I 
haven't
taken your oath yet
, the young
Tyr'agar thought. He nodded, but said, "Put it away, General. I do not
believe that these soldiers have come to offer us injury."

"You don't recognize their banner," the General said softly,
although he followed the orders of the man-boy that he had chosen to
pledge his sword to. "I do." Valedan noticed that Baredan kept his hand
upon the hilt of his sword.

The men stopped at barked orders. And then one of them stood
forward, and Valedan saw, as the soldier approached, that he faced no
man; this was a woman, sharp-faced and cool. But he had been trained in
Essalieyan; she was not the enigma to him that she was, and would no
doubt always be, to the General. Princess Mirialyn ACormaris had taught
him to ride; it was the Princess, as well, who sparred with him when he
reached a high enough level of skill. He knew—for his mother reminded
him constantly—that in Annagar the women did not do anything so
demeaning as fight or kill, at least not so brutishly; that they did
not choose to smell of horse-sweat, and clomp around gracelessly in
heavy boots and light armor.

But he was not in Annagar, and he wondered, briefly, if he
would ever be. This woman, this Sentrus, was another soldier to him, no
more, no less. Or she would have been, if not for the General's
reaction. As he appraised her, she appraised him, and then she lifted
her arm and performed the Imperial salute. Sloppily.

"It's good to see," the General said stonily, "that the Black
Ospreys of the Kalakar House Guards can still live down to their
reputation."

The soldier, thus rebuked, returned a gaze as cold as the
General's tone. "The Black Ospreys of the Kalakar House Guards
reporting for duty."

"WHAT?"

But Ser Valedan kai di'Leonne stood forward. "I did not
realize," he said quietly, and without the coolness of his General,
"that this company was so… large." He paused. "Do you ride?"

"Me? No—but some of us can. Sir."

"They aren't cavalry, if that's what you meant."

"Good. Are you the leader of this company?"

"No, sir. That'd be Primus Duarte."

"And he?"

She smiled, and the smile made her face look more sharp,
rather than less. "Waiting your permission, Tyr'agar."

"My permission? I've already given it."

He could hear the General sputter, although the man was
absolutely silent.

"Uh, well, yes, sir. But it has been brought to our attention
that the customs of the Dominion are rather more complicated with
regards to the presence of those who are—gifted."

Valedan frowned.

"What she's trying to say," the General explained, his voice
quiet and utterly smooth, "is that he's one of the Imperial mage-born,
and will therefore not approach without your express permission.
Tyr'agar," he added quietly, "there are no Radann here who can perform
the rites of purification."

"There were," was the young man's remote reply, "Radann in
plenty in the Tor Leonne."

His meaning silenced the General.

And the Sentrus.

"Tell your Primus—that is the title?—that I have accepted the
company
as
an Imperial company while we are upon
Imperial soil. He may approach."

Serra Alina was proud of Valedan. She did not show it; did not
so much as change posture or position. But the General was slightly off
guard; it was Baredan who had shown surprise, and quite openly. Valedan
appeared to be in command of the situation.

He had to be.

Take their service, but tell no one
. Her
advice. The only clear path she could see.

But shouldn't I ask
—

That is precisely what you cannot afford to do. You
are the Tyr'agar, Valedan.

But I don't know how to
—

And you will learn. Ramiro di'Callesta is a
dangerous man. Never tell him all that you know unless you wish to set
a Callestan Tyr beside the waters of the Tor Leonne. You may trust the
General
—
he is your man, truly
.

Then I can ask him.

No.

Why?

The look of confusion and annoyance made the only surviving
scion of the once great clan look younger than his years. She smiled
fondly, remembering that expression.

Because, Na'Vale. He is your man, but he flutters
about you like a nervous mother. Or wife. When you return to the
Dominion
—
if you indeed return
—
the
men of the clans will look first to Callesta and then to the General
before they see you. If the General flutters and hovers and waits, if
he seems to be the source of your strength and your wisdom, then it
won't matter whether he's your liege, your loyal liege, or not. They
will know that you are weak. And they will not follow
.

Or do you wish to be a Tyr in exile ?

He watched as a man detached himself from this group of
soldiers. Watched, lifting his chin slightly, as that man approached.
He wore the colors of the Kalakar House Guards, that much, Valedan knew
clearly from his years in Avantari. What he did not recognize—and what
Bare-dan obviously did—was the black bird that plunged, claws extended,
beneath the more familiar colors.

But he knew from the General's reaction that this crest, and
this House, had not been friendly in the wars that had been the cause
of his exile.

Exile
? As the Primus—he knew the rank by
the golden quarter-circle above the sword across the right shoulder—
approached, the unspoken word echoed in the emptiness that the massacre
had made of his life. He did not clearly remember the Dominion of
Annagar; could not easily recall all the details of the Tor Leonne—the
seat of power which, coveted, had caused the death of his distant
father—even though there were some images that would never leave him.
But he could recall, at will, the colors of The Ten; he knew their
leaders on sight, and knew, further, many of their lesser nobles.
Solran Marten and Kallandras of Sennial visited often, and if he was
quiet enough, he was allowed to listen to them sing. He knew the
ranking Patrises and the merchants who, holding no title, held the
power of Royal Charter; he even knew, by sight, some of the Magi and
the man who ruled the most important guild in the Empire: the guild of
the maker-born.

Exile?

He knew the healer-born, and the men who served as healers
although their skills were learned and not granted; he knew the
priests, and their golden-eyed masters, and privately
knew
that the Annagrian view must be wrong, for these men and women could
not be demons. He knew
Morrel's Ride
and
Moorelas'
Fall
—knew, as well, the arguments that surrounded the
"correct" use of this Northern hero's name—and he knew what the Six
Days meant.

This was his home.

Or it had been.

The Primus saluted, and the salute was a sharp one. "Primus
Duarte AKalakar reporting for duty, Tyr Leonne."

"And will you protect me from demons, Primus."

Valedan said, as he looked at the restive rank of the men and
women who followed, "or from them?"

At that, the Primus froze, and then he lifted a brow.
"Permission to speak freely?"

"Granted."

"You look like a boy. You stand like one. You even sound like
one."

The silence that followed the words was a thick one; no one
moved.

"You can ask a question like that; you've got an edge to you
beneath that youth. If you intend to go South, sharpen it." The Primus
smiled. "These are the Black Ospreys. They serve Kalakar, except in
time of war."

"Then?"

"They serve the Kings."

"And what do they owe to me?"

The Primus smiled again, as if he was surprised at the
question. Valedan was—and he was the one who asked it.

"Inasmuch as your commands do not conflict with The Kalakar's
or the Kings', we owe you service and protection."

"And who decides when those orders are in conflict?"

Silence a moment, and then the Primus smiled grimly. "Not the
General," he said, acknowledging for the first time the man who stood
so stiffly to Valedan's right.

"No," Valedan said, remembering Alina's words, the sharpness
behind their strength. "The General serves
me
,
and he will abide by my orders, once given.

"But perhaps we did not understand each other clearly. I
accepted your
service
. You will tell me what that
means."

"It means—"

"To you."

Ser Fillipo par di'Callesta listened from a discreet distance,
watching the boy with a measured calm. He recognized the banner as
quickly as the General had; perhaps more so. Bloodied but unfelled, it
cast a long shadow in the memory of a man who had served in the
campaign that led to the Averdan valleys. He stepped back, thinking
that this was not a decision that he could have made, or could have
accepted. Wondering what Baredan felt. What Ramiro would feel, upon
seeing them himself.

Boy
, he thought, for he had never thought
of Valedan as anything else,
your blood is stronger than we
thought
.

For the entire first meeting, Duarte held his breath and
prayed. A lot.
I'm too old for this
.

But no one had said anything completely offensive, and after
the right amount of time had passed—an eternity, more or less—the
Ospreys had been dismissed to quarters, with commands to report back in
the morning.

They didn't make it.

They got out of the Arannan Halls and halfway across the
courtyard before the first outraged outburst; made it to the edge of
the footpath before they'd stopped completely, demanding answers,
reasons, explanations. From him.

At least, praise Kalliaris, they'd waited. He could be
thankful for that much.

"I know it's asking a lot—"

"It's asking more than a bloody lot," Cook said grimly. He'd
done something he rare did: straightened out. He was a
big
man.

"But we don't have a choice." Duarte had managed, against all
odds, to get the Ospreys
to
the palace. But he'd
done it not by dint of threat; he'd done it by the clear expedient of
simple fact. It was a
direct
order. They could
obey it, or they could be cashiered.

But having got them here, he was under no illusions: Ospreys
and orders they didn't like were oil and fire.

We can fight the Dominion
, he'd told The
Kalakar,
but don't ask us to
serve
the
Southerners. Ask any other company. Please
. Close as he'd
come to begging since he'd turned fifteen. Hadn't got him anywhere.

"We've always got a choice," Auralis said, in the smooth, warm
drawl that made anyone who knew him well very nervous. "We've followed
orders we didn't like before."

Trust Auralis. The Ospreys could do everything short of
outright mutiny under the guise of following orders. They'd done it
under The Berriliya's very brief command.

"We don't do it here."

"Duarte—" Alexis began, but he cut her off.

"No. Maybe you don't realize what's at stake."

"Sure, we do," Auralis said, his voice even quieter. "We're
supposed to put our lives on the line for a bunch of Annagarian
nobles." He paused. "For a bunch of Annagarian nobles who serve,
directly or indirectly, the interests of the Callesta clan."

Callesta.

He hated the name.

Hated the use of it, hated what it brought back. The Black
Ospreys had lost two thirds of their number on a single day, and a
quarter of those who had made it off the field never made it across the
border again.

I 
told her
, he thought,
seeing the grim,
white line of The Kalakar's lips. Knowing that she felt as he did, and
that she wouldn't fight the Kings for the right to stand apart. To
honor the dead, by refusing, years later, to
serve
their killers.

"It was General Alesso di'Marente who ordered the slaughter,"
Duarte said, his voice weak although it was wrapped around fact. "And
that General will rule the Dominion if we don't intervene."

"And if we don't intervene," Cook said, his voice heated where
Auralis' was smooth, "Marente and Callesta will fall in on each other.
Marente served under Callesta, Duarte. We're not idiots. Not a man who
served there could forget it."

"Then state your position. State it clearly. Make your choice."

"Let me make it for you," a new voice said.

They turned, as one, to look upon the still features of the
man that they had been ordered to protect: Valedan di'Leonne. The son
of a man whose death not a single Osprey mourned.

"I will not take your service where it is so reluctantly
given. You," he said to Cook, "may continue as you like in the service
of the Kalakar. I do not know how well she tolerates disobedience; it
must be very well.

"You," he said, turning to Duarte, "may also continue under
her service. But you will not serve
me
. Keep your
old wounds, and let them bleed as you like; I have need of whole men."

"So," Alexis said slowly, "the pretty boy speaks."

He turned, as if seeing her for the first time; she smiled
with teeth. But she'd forgotten momentarily that this pretty boy had
been raised in Essalieyan; he didn't even blink at the sword by her
side. He did flush, though; his cheeks lost their pale, even neutrality.

And then, for just a moment, he looked young.

"You've come without guards," she said casually, as she
noticed Auralis sidling round his side.

"This is
Avantari
," the youth said with
a shrug. "Here, I don't need them."

"This is
Avantari
," Alexis said, with
the slightest of nods, "but we're the Ospreys."