Oath of Fealty (8 page)

“She’s the only adult Verrakai I can exempt from the Order of Attainder, precisely because she was estranged and was said to be blotted from their records. Not every Verrakai is evil—I know that—but at present I cannot take risks. The innocent will clear themselves at trial, in time, but I dare not leave Verrakaien loose on the land that long. We have evidence they’ve colluded with Liart’s priests—it’s a danger to both.”

“But—” Arcolin could not imagine the Duke’s Company without Dorrin any more than he could imagine it without the Duke. He shook his head to clear it. “We were expecting her to return—the Duke said her cohort had been sent for, as escort, but are they staying?”

“I don’t know yet. They went with him into Lyonya; if she takes up my offer—which is contingent on her gaining control of Verrakai and sending those resident at Verrakai House to Vérella—she may
well want to keep them with her and I’m assuming the king or his successor as duke will agree to a contract with her.”

Arcolin considered the situation back north … were two cohorts enough to protect the dukedom and Tsaia’s borders? Probably. It had worked that way for years, with even fewer at the stronghold during the fighting season.

“I’m pleased to hear your opinion of Dorrin Verrakai,” the prince said. “It accords with everything Phelan ever said about her, and I see her as the best hope to make Verrakai a healthy, sound, and loyal steading. There’s a young man in another branch—whom I personally believe is loyal and not involved—who, after his trial, should be a good possibility as her successor, as she has no children and is unlikely to breed.”

“Likely not,” Arcolin said, almost choking at the casual use of a term that, applied to Dorrin, made her nothing but a prize cow.

“And that leaves the problem of Phelan’s domain,” the prince said. “For my part, I would let it stay in his name awhile, and consult with him on a successor, but the Council is concerned. They do not wish so large a domain to be under the control of Lyonya’s king, more especially as it adjoins Pargun.”

“I understand,” Arcolin said, when a pause seemed longer than necessary.

“Tell me,” the prince said. “I know he sent word to you—what were his orders?”

“Before he came south, to prepare the troops for a contract; he was hoping to get your approval to take some of the Company south again. Then this—” Arcolin handed the prince Kieri’s letter. “I have a one-cohort contract with Vonja, if the Council approves.”

“I don’t think you’ll have a problem,” the prince said, handing the letter back. “Phelan maintained more troops than other nobles—every one knew it was because he was a mercenary—but some worried.”

Arcolin privately thought they had simply wanted an excuse to control Phelan, but he said nothing about that.

“But they expect me to appoint someone—at least temporarily, though they’d prefer a permanent status. I thought of you, of course, and he suggested it.” The prince cocked his head.

“Me? But—I’m not of noble birth—”

“No one thought Phelan was.”

“But—”

“He taught me that what justifies an appointment—any appointment—is how the person carries out their duties, not their birth. He thought you’d be capable, Captain, and his judgment has proven itself over the years.”

But I’m taking the cohort to Aarenis
almost escaped Arcolin’s lips; he held it back and instead said, “I’m honored by his trust, and yours, my lord. However, I would need to take contracts, as Phelan did. Otherwise, I could neither afford the soldiers’ keep, nor would it be legal under Tsaian law.”

“I have no objection, and for the reason you state—our laws—it is as well that you continue to take them south. Moreover, as Phelan himself went south every year with the Company, you should be permitted to do so as well. The Council will want to know, as they did with him, who is in charge in your absence every year.” The prince shifted in his seat. “What I would like is this: to change as little as possible now, when great change is happening in the East. Dorrin Verrakai as Duke Verrakai is shock enough; the trials of the other Verrakai will occupy the lords in Council for the rest of the year, at least. If you can protect the borders and maintain the same routine as Phelan, that seems best to me. I can call a Council meeting for to-morrow; can you be ready to present such a plan?”

Arcolin had not felt ready for any of the things that happened since Paksenarrion returned to them, but life did not wait on readiness. “Yes,” he said. “I can be ready.” He felt every moment of the day’s ride, but one thing he’d learned from Kieri was that tired was just a word. “I will need more paper than I brought—”

“Of course,” the prince said. “In fact, we’ve assigned you my late uncle’s suite, as I haven’t yet appointed a new Knight-Commander of the Bells. And I’ve assigned you a clerk, in case you need anything from the library, any research.”

“My lord prince,” Arcolin said, very carefully, “you are more concerned than you’ve said, are you not?”

“I have a—a strange feeling. It’s not over, with Verrakai’s death. I don’t know what … but … I feel a menace.” The prince swallowed.
“Not just danger to me, but to the whole realm. And yet—it’s only a feeling, and when there
was
danger, before Verrakai’s attack, I felt nothing.”

“Nothing? After what you told me of the attack on Kieri—on the king?”

“Not that night. Beclan—my uncle—had told me they thought they’d found all the Liartian priests. At dinner with my friends, it felt normal—I missed it somehow—and now I don’t know if my feelings are trustworthy—”

“If you are asking me whether to be concerned, my lord, the answer must be yes. Of course you must be. Gird may be giving you warning, as well as your own senses. From my experience I would say that such actions as Duke Verrakai took are not taken lightly, or without deep planning; I doubt that his death and that of his brother end it. Your Order of Attainder is certainly necessary.”

“He held me motionless, Captain,” the prince said. “I cannot get over that. I thought Gird’s power was stronger than evil; I thought my faith was enough. This was not wizardry—this was the old magery that Gird once defeated, back again in today’s world.”

The prince looked angry; Arcolin knew that look. All the young squires looked that way the first time they were truly frightened.

“My lord prince,” he said, “I believe the gods are stronger than evil, but faith must marry with deeds. Gird had his cudgel, after all. Yeomen of the granges do not merely pray for faith, but train for deeds as well.”

The prince looked at him, almost indignant at first and then, his expression easing, rueful. “You are right, Captain. This was my first experience of violent death. I saw my uncle, whom I loved, killed before my face and could do nothing. And the Marshal-Judicar, as well.”

“Yet you lived, and killed the killer, did you not?”

“That was mostly Roly,” the prince said. “If he hadn’t come in and bashed Verrakai with a map rod and then stabbed him with a stone knife, I’d be dead. Neither my sword not Juris’s would bite, for Verrakai’s magery, until Roly’s old stone saveblade got him. Then the magery failed.”

Arcolin could imagine the three noble youths, trained in weaponry but inexperienced, against a man like Verrakai, whose own sword
skill was well-known at court. And with magery as well—even if it proved wizard-work at the last—

“You did well,” he said, as he would have to a squire. “And I rejoice at your survival. Let me go to work now on a plan to present to your Council tomorrow.” He put aside any thought of visiting Kieri’s—and now his—banker that day.

“I nearly forgot,” the prince said. “There’s another of Phelan’s people—a councilor for one of his villages—who came south with him. A one-armed woman.”

“Kolya Ministiera, yes,” Arcolin said.

“She was staying in an inn, but for her safety I had her come to the palace—I’ll see she knows you’re here.”

B
y morning, Arcolin had a plan that—according to the palace clerks who had helped him—would fulfill the requirements of a grant-in-lieu-of-heir. They praised his foresight in bringing fair copies of the newly signed village charters. Kolya Ministiera signed the new Duke’s East charter and congratulated him on the grant, but they had little time to talk over what had happened. Though he’d had little sleep, Arcolin was awake when the seneschal asked if he would care to breakfast with the prince; they discussed his plan through breakfast and the prince nodded.

“This should do,” he said. “They won’t give you a title at this time, but they should confirm you as grant-holder until you come back after the campaign season. Once I’m crowned, I can insist on a title, though not a dukedom at first—it wasn’t for Phelan, either.”

“I remember, my lord prince.”

“Well, then. The Council meeting, and the oath—you do know you must swear fealty? Good—and then you can go about your business. I know you did not anticipate all this, but before you return for the Autumn Court, we’ll need to know your mark, your colors, and you’ll need court costume.”

“The same colors and mark, if that’s permissible,” Arcolin said. “I am not Phelan’s heir of the body, it is true, but—”

“You will need his permission,” the prince said. “If you like, you can send him word by royal courier.”

Arcolin nodded. It still felt unreal, but coping with details, moment to moment, he had no time to ponder how unlikely it was that he, like Kieri, might rise to noble rank and own land … his own land, his own people.

His appearance before the Council took less than a glass: he laid out the papers, the charters, his intent to guard the North and East as Kieri had, his need to campaign in the South to support the land until it could support itself. He recognized most of the faces from previous visits.

The Councilors agreed that Jandelir Arcolin should become liege lord of the vacated domain. That he could raise a military force sufficient to guard the North and also campaign in Aarenis, that he could transport said force across Tsaia and through Vérella on the same roads Phelan had used twice each year.

He bent his knee to the prince and swore fealty; he signed the documents that made him a lord-vassal of the Crown and defined his responsibilities. The prince waived the usual security until autumn—Arcolin hoped Kieri’s bankers somewhere had that much gold—and by the noon ringing of the Bells, Jandelir Arcolin, Captain, had become Lord Arcolin of the North Marches.

He spent the afternoon first with Kieri’s banker and judicar, and then with Kolya and the merchants Kieri dealt with in Vérella, buying the supplies Cracolnya and Valichi wanted. That evening he wrote letters to the North, again aided by the castle clerks who made copies so he need not write duplicates to each village and each commander, and a letter to Kieri in Lyonya, asking permission to retain the fox-head mark and the same colors.

Although he had carried out similar tasks for Kieri, it felt strange to be doing it for himself—to sign the letters and orders as
Lord Arcolin
and not
Arcolin, Capt, for Duke Phelan
. He supposed he would get used to it.

K
ieri Phelan woke, aware moment by moment that he was in a bed he had never slept in before, in a room he did not know … textures, smells, sounds, all unfamiliar. He blinked, in the almost-dark: yesterday and the days before fell into his memory like tiny paintings, bright and clear.

The journey from Vérella, the Verrakai attack, the victory, the welcome here, last night’s acclamation by the Lyonyan nobles and his elven relatives.

Outside, a cock crowed, persistently, and another answered. A dog barked, then quieted. He heard nothing from inside the palace; it might be near dawn, to the cock, but apparently a very early morning to the castle staff.

A cold current of air came from … from there, to his left as he lay in the bed. He stretched again, sniffing the scents that rode on that chill current: stone, the spice of evergreen trees from without, and in the room more subtle spices. From somewhere across the room came a vague sense of warmth, and the smell of woodsmoke, very faint.