The Deed of Paksenarrion (11 page)

“Well, Sergeant Stammel?” asked the captain.

“Yes, sir, with pleasure.” Stammel left his place and mounted the platform. The guard handed him the whip, now glistening along its length. Paks watched, fascinated and horrified, as he braced himself and gave Korryn five powerful blows. Korryn’s body jerked, and he gave a last scream and fainted. Stammel ran his hand down Korryn’s back and returned to his unit, holding his bloody hand out. He faced Paks, and touched it to her forehead as her eyes widened in shock.

“By this blood your injury is avenged,” he said, and took up his position again. Meanwhile one of the guards had taken a pot of blue dye, and was daubing it on Korryn’s back. Then he was untied, and lowered to the ground. His back and legs were covered with welts and blood; the blue stain looked ghastly mixed with blood. A guard checked his pulse.

“He’ll do,” he reported. “Cold water, sir?” The captain nodded. After several minutes, and a bucket of water, Korryn stirred and groaned. When his eyes opened, Captain Valichi nodded, and the guards pulled him to his feet and bound his hands in front of him. Jens, meanwhile, had been dressed in a nightshift, with a rope noose around his neck; his guards looked to the captain.

“Go ahead; take him out.”

“West, sir?” The captain nodded in answer, and the guards led Jens away. Korryn now had a rope around his neck too, and at the captain’s second nod, his guards tugged, forcing him forward. He could barely keep his feet. Paks looked away, stomach churning. She heard horses’ hooves behind the formation, near the gate, muttered voices. Then the hoofbeats moved away, through the gate, and the courtyard was left in silence.

Captain Valichi looked at them for a long moment. “Some of you,” he said with a grim smile, “seem impressed by what you saw—I hope you all are. The Duke will not tolerate anything that jeopardizes the strength of the Company. In a few months you will be depending on each other in battle. Each of you must be worthy of your companions’ trust, both on and off the field. If you aren’t, we’ll get rid of you. If you injure a companion, you’ll be punished. It may be that some of you don’t have the stomach for army life; if so, speak to your sergeant. We don’t want cowards. Sergeant Stammel, assign a detail from your unit to clean up this mess, and I’ll want to speak with Paksenarrion. The formation is dismissed.”

In the unit’s duty room, a few minutes later, Paks tried to act calm. “Sit down, Paksenarrion,” said Captain Valichi. She sat across the desk from him. Her stomach was a solid knot of apprehension. “Have you talked to any of your friends since this happened?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. Paksenarrion, you have a good record, so far. This is the first trouble you’ve been in, and from the evidence none of it was your fault. Stammel did say that he thought you should confine your use of strong language to terms you knew the meaning of—though calling someone a jacks-hole full of soured witches’ milk—” Paks gasped and felt herself reddening; the captain smiled and went on, “—is not an excuse for an attack, it can cause trouble. Did you even know that was Pargunese? No? Well, stick to Common or whatever your native language is. Anyway, you’re blameless of the brawl itself. Now—you’ve been injured in the Company, though not, we think, permanently. If you wish to leave, you may. We will give you a recommendation, based on your record, and a pass through the Duke’s domain, and a small sum to tide you over until you reach home or find other employment. I can suggest several private guard companies that might hire you with our recommendation. You’ll be on light duty until you can see out of that eye again: you may have that long to make your decision—unless you are already determined to leave. Are you?”

“No, sir. I don’t want to leave at all.” Paks had had a lingering fear that she might be thrown out.

“You’re sure?” Paks nodded. “Well, if you change your mind before you’re back to full duty, let me know. I’m glad you want to stay in; I think you’ll do well—if you stay out of fights like this. Tell me—do you think Korryn was sufficiently punished?”

“Yes, sir.” Paks could hear the distaste in her own voice.

“Ah. It bothered you, eh? I see it did. Well, it’s supposed to, and if you stay in, you’ll see that again—though we all hope not to. Now—about Corporal Stephi. I’ve agreed, with Sejek, to let him go south for his trial by the Duke. We’ve kept the scribes busy, and have the witnesses’ testimony and the rest written down. We think this will be sufficient, and the Duke won’t need to see any of you. We hope. Anyway, Stephi has been quite concerned about you—did Stammel mention it?” Paks nodded; Stammel had told her a lot about Stephi. “He’s asked how you were, and he wanted to see you and apologize. He’s a good man, really. We’re sure that some outside influence—probably magical—affected him that night. But—it’s up to you—will you see him before he goes south?”

“Sir, I—I don’t know. Should I?”

The captain frowned slightly, lacing his hands together. “It would be kind, I think. He can’t hurt you now, you know, even if he wanted to. It won’t make any difference to his trial, but it would reassure him, to see you up. You don’t have to, of course.”

Paks did not want to see Stephi ever again, but as she thought about it, she realized that she would have to, next year in the south. They might be in the same cohort; he might be her corporal. Best get it over, she decided, and looked up to meet the captain’s gaze. “I’ll see him, sir. But—I don’t know what to say.”

Valichi smiled. “You needn’t say much. It’ll be short. Wait here.” He rose from behind the desk, and went out, shutting the door. Paks felt her stomach churn. She swallowed once, then again. It seemed a long time before the door opened again. Paks rose as the two captains, Valichi and Sejek, and Stephi came in together, crowding the little room. The mouse under Stephi’s eye had faded to a sickly green.

“I’m very sorry, Paksenarrion, for the trouble I caused you,” said Stephi. Paks could not find her voice, and merely nodded. “I want you to know that—that I don’t do things like that—not usually. I never have before.” His voice shook a little. “I—I hope you won’t leave the Company, because of it—”

“I won’t,” said Paks. “I’m staying in.”

“Good. I’m glad. I hope you’re feeling better.”

“Yes.” Suddenly Paks found herself wanting to reassure this man, even though he had hurt her. She liked his honest face. “I’m doing well—in a week I’ll be fine.” He relaxed a bit and seemed to have nothing more to say.

Captain Sejek opened the door and Stephi went out; Paks saw the guard waiting for him in the passage.

“Thank you, Paksenarrion, for seeing him,” said Sejek a moment later. “I, too, regret your injuries and the trouble you’ve had. Stephi will be punished, of course—”

“But, sir, everyone’s told me it wasn’t really his fault,” said Paks, before she remembered that Sejek was a captain. She bit her lip.

Sejek frowned and sighed. “Maybe it wasn’t, but even so, he injured you. That doesn’t change. We punish drunks for their misdeeds, and for being drunk. He’ll be punished.”

Paks thought of Korryn’s punishment and shuddered. “But he’s not as bad as Korryn,” she persisted.

“No. He’s not. But he’s supposed to be better—much better—than any recruit. He’s a corporal of the regular Company, a veteran. This is not an offense to regard lightly. But that’s not your concern—don’t worry about it. I, too, am glad to hear that you’re staying in the Company; I’ll see you in the south next spring.” Sejek went out, leaving Paks with Valichi.

Valichi’s mustache twitched. “Now that’s as close to an apology as I’ve ever heard Sejek come.”

“Apology?”

Well—he’s wishing he’d taken a better look at you before he banned you that night. But Sejek doesn’t like to admit he could be wrong—I’ll warn you of that. Don’t even hint that he made a mistake on this, or he’ll be down on you for years. Right now—well, he’s convinced that you’re acceptable. It helped that you defended Stephi—was that why you did it?”

Paks was confused. “Sir, I—”

“No. You’re not the type. Go find Stammel—he’s out drilling, I think, on the east grounds—and he’ll keep you busy.”

Paks walked out, still confused, but happy to be returning to her friends. She joined in marching drill, but Siger barred her from weapons practice. “You can’t fight with both eyes open, yet,” he said. “It’ll be a long time before you’re ready to fight with just one.” Barracks chores were well within her capacity; when she thought about the cell, or the infirmary, she was glad enough to have them to do.

At first no one said anything about the fight or its aftermath. Saben explained that he had tried to find Stammel, that by the time he had returned, she was already hurt. The others simply avoided the subject. Even Effa forbore to give a lecture on the protection of Gird. This suited Paks very well; she had no desire to talk about the little she could remember. But in the other units, curiosity overcame tact, and as soon as she was back in weapons drill, the questions began. Barranyi, the tall black-haired woman in Vossik’s unit, often matched against Paks in drill, went farther than most. She was well-known for her strength of arm and sharp tongue.

“You should have poked an eye out,” she began one afternoon, as they
walked back to the main stronghold with a load of firewood. Paks shook her head.

“I was trying to get away.”

“That’s stupid. Anyone can get mauled trying to get away. Attack on your own. If you’d gotten an eye—”

“I’d have been in worse trouble, Barra.” Paks checked the mule she was leading, and shoved one length of wood back into place. But Barra had not gone on; she halted her own mule and went on with her lecture.

“No, you wouldn’t. He started it; he was wrong. They’d have had to admit that. As it is, they owe you—”

“No, they don’t. Besides, they only found out it was his fault because I was beat up worse.”

“That’s not right.” Barra scowled and strode along silent for some distance. “If it’s not your fault, they should—”

“Barra—” Natzlin, a slender, pleasant girl with warm brown eyes who had been coupled with Barra before they joined, laid a hand on her arm. “Paks came out well—and if she’s satisfied—”

“No. She came out beaten half-dead, and—”

Paks laughed. “By the gods, Barra, I’m not that easy to kill.”

“You looked it that morning. A real mess, I tell you—I was ashamed—”

Paks felt a flicker of anger. “You—and why
you
? I was the one out there in front of everyone—”

“You’d always been a strong one, Siger’s pet, and there you were, looking like something that’d come from a lockup—”

Paks grinned in spite of herself. “Well—I had—”

“Blast it! You know what I mean! You looked—”

“Gods above, Barra! She doesn’t want to think about that now!” Vik shoved his way between them, and winked at Paks. “Don’t worry—even bruises and chains can’t make you ugly, Paks.”

She felt herself go red. “Vik—”

“Like a song,” he went on, unmoved. “Did you ever hear ‘Falk’s Oath of Gold,’ Paks? When Falk was taken in the city of fear, and locked away all those years?”

“No. I thought Falk was a sort of saint, like Gird.”

“Saints!” snorted Barra from Vik’s other side.

“He is,” said Vik seriously. “And Barra—I wouldn’t scoff at them. Maybe they’re far above us—but they have power.”

“The gods have power,” said Barra. “I’m not like Effa—I don’t believe that men become gods when they die. And I’d rather be alive anyway.”

“But tell me about Falk,” said Paks. “Isn’t he the one that wears rubies and silver?”

“I don’t know what he wears
now
,” began Vik. “He was a knight, a ruler’s son, who kept his sworn oath and saved his kin by it, even though it meant years of slavery for him.”

“Ugh. Why didn’t he just kill his enemies?” asked Barra. “I heard that he spent a year cleaning the jacks of some city—”

“That and more,” said Vik. “It’s in the song, but you know I can’t sing it. My father did, and I know most of the story. You’d like it, Paks—it’s full of magic and kings and things like that.”

“A magic sword?”

“Oh, yes. More than one. Someday when we’ve made enough money, we can hire a harper to sing it for us.” Vik kept the conversation going until they reached the stronghold, where they broke up into their separate units. Barra shook her head, but stayed away from the topic the next time they drilled together. But others wanted to know what the underground cells were like, and what Stammel had said, and what the corporal had said. Paks fended off these questions as best she could: the cells were cold and miserable, and she wouldn’t repeat any of the talks she’d had. Eventually they let her alone.

Meanwhile, Stammel had taken the unit in to help Kolya with her apple harvest. This was their first time to see Duke’s East, since they had arrived from the west. Children playing in the streets waved and yelled at them; the adults smiled and spoke to Stammel. They passed an inn, the Red Fox, and a cobbled square surrounded with taller stone houses, and came to a stone bridge over the little river. Upstream Paks could see a weir and a millpond, and a waterwheel slowly turning. Kolya’s land lay south of the river, beyond a water meadow where cattle grazed.

Kolya’s orchard had more trees than Paks could count; she had never seen such a thing. Her aunt had been famed for five apple trees and two plums, but Kolya had rows of apples, plums, and pears. Only the apples remained so late, scenting the air with their rich, exciting fragrance. Soon Paks was high on a ladder, picking the apples at the top of her assigned tree. It was cool and sunny, perfect weather for the job. Below, in the aisles between the trees, Stammel and Kolya strolled together, directing the pickers and talking.

Paks caught a few snatches of that conversation, between orders to the workers. It seemed to be far removed from apple harvest, something about someone named Tamarrion, who had once been in the Company.

“—wouldn’t have happened like that at all,” she heard Stammel say. “She would have made sure first, before she called for a ban.”

Kolya snorted. “In
her
day, you’d never have brought back someone like Korryn at all, would you?”