The Deed of Paksenarrion (153 page)

“But then—how did you end up a Girdsman?” Pont’s long face was sober.

“Well—as to that—I didn’t. Precisely.” The Duke shuffled a scroll across his desk. “To go back: I was knighted after two years, in the Falkian order, but I had sworn no word to Falk. I’m not sure why, actually, but I never felt a call to do so. Then—again with Aliam Halveric’s help—I began on my own as a mercenary captain in Tsaia. Arcolin remembers that. A couple of years here and there garrisoning forts no one else wanted to bother with. Caravan work. That sort of thing. Then my first big contract, as an independent with the crown. We didn’t even have a full cohort; Arcolin had to scour the streets to make up our numbers. But out of that came this—” He waved his arm to indicate the domain, “and many more contracts. Then Tamarrion joined the Company, and we married, and she was a Girdsman in full.” He stopped, and Arcolin moved quickly to pour him some wine. The Duke sipped, and went on.

“I had hired Girdsmen before because they were honest and hard-working. After her I hired them because she wished it. We married, as you know, in the Hall at Fin Panir—also her desire. But though I lived as a Girdsman, and gave freely to the fellowship of Gird, I never took the vows myself.” He took another swallow of wine. “Again, I don’t know why. Tamarrion often asked me, and it’s one of the few things I failed to do that she wished. I think I felt—” He stopped again, and looked past them all, as if across a field of battle. “I felt sometimes that another vow was waiting somewhere, and that I must be free to take it.” He shook his head. “Foolishness, perhaps. Yet Tamar felt, or so she said, that until I made my vow freely and willingly, Gird would not begrudge my waiting. And after she died, I—” His head bowed for an instant “I would not.”

“And now?” asked Dorrin.

“Now is difficult. You, Captain, have argued that I disgraced my former allegiance.” For the only time, Paks saw a flush on Dorrin’s cheek. “You were right, except that I had none. I agree that I was wrong, and I am willing to amend—but I still feel a reluctance to commit myself to Gird.”

“But surely—” Marshal Kerrin looked sideways at the Marshal-General.

“As things stand,” she said firmly, “I do not ask Duke Phelan to join the fellowship of Gird.”

“But why?”

Her eyebrows arched. “Are you asking what we said to each other? For therein lies the reason. Since you have a nearby grange, I will assure you it is from no lack of trust in him. But I agree with him that the time for making such a pledge has not come to him.”

“As for you, my captains,” the Duke said, regaining control of the room, “you may choose freely to stay or go, with full honor. I will be trying to do what Tamar and I had once planned, within the limits I’ve mentioned. I have enough wealth, now, and enough land is in plow, that I need not take the Company to Aarenis again—certainly not for several years. Instead, I will try to make of this domain what our vision was: a fruitful land, governed justly, and serving as a strong ward between the rest of Tsaia and the northern waste. If you are not comfortable with that vision, if you are unhappy with the thought of a Marshal constantly among us, you may come to me at any time, privately, and leave with my thanks and a substantial reward.”

“You know I will stay,” said Arcolin quickly, and the others nodded.

“That offer stands, nonetheless,” said the Duke. “If in the future you change your mind—any of you—you have served me well for many years, and you will not find me ungrateful.”

“But when will you tell the Company?” asked Arcolin. “Do you want us—?”

The Duke shook his head. “No. They should hear it from me, I think. Rumors are flying already, I daresay. Tomorrow—no, for Keri may die tonight. The day after, I think. Plan a formal inspection; the Marshal-General may like to see them up close. And I’ll tell them then. The same offer applies—I will be fair to my veterans no matter what their faith.”

A sharp wind had scoured all clouds from the sky, and left it pale and clean. Paks, standing now as squire beside the Duke, watched the Company wheel into review formation, after an hour of intricate drill. She glanced sideways at the Marshal-General. Her eyes were alight in that impassive face. Paks looked back at the Company. It had never seemed so impressive. She felt almost like two people—one here beside the Duke, cold from the wind, and another in formation, file first of the second file in Arcolin’s cohort, waiting for Stammel’s brusque commands.

They halted, lines straight as stretched string. Paks scanned the faces she knew so well. Stammel, his brown eyes watchful. Devlin, somehow conveying grace even while standing still (hard to believe he had five children, one nearly old enough to be a recruit.) Arñe, newly promoted to corporal, trying not to grin. Vik. Barra. Natzlin. Rauf, who would retire to his little farm as soon as they were sure the orcs had gone. The captains pivoted to face the Duke, and bowed. The Duke gestured to the Marshal-General, and they moved to the first cohort, Paks and the others following.

The Duke had a word for most of them. The Marshal-General, beside him, said nothing, but looked into each face. Paks felt very odd, walking along the lines, and knowing so well what it felt like to wait for the inspecting party to pass. When they reached the recruit lines, she was poised between laughter and tears. She knew the strain in the neck, the struggle to look only forward, the trembling hands that stiffened as they went by. One girl forgot to say “my lord,” and blushed so that Paks remembered her own lapse as a recruit. A boy’s voice cracked on the words, and he broke into a sweat. Another stammered.

At last they were done, and the Duke returned to his place before the Company. He waited a moment, as if for silence, though nothing had made a sound.

“Sword-brethren,” he began, and Paks saw as well as felt the response to that old term. “You all remember what I told you after we defeated the orcs attacking Duke’s East. You have seen the Marshal-General of Gird, High Marshal Connaught, Marshal Kerrin of Burningmeed, and the Gird’s paladin Sir Amberion. Some of you have felt the healing grace of Gird through them. You have sensed, perhaps, that a change has come to me, and through me to the Company. Some of you, I hope very few, may be worried about it.” He paused and looked slowly from one cohort to another. “You older veterans, who remember the days when Tamarrion Mistiannyi was my lady here, and our children were growing—” Paks saw the shock ripple across the faces of the older ones. “Yes, I can speak of that now. You will remember how the Company was then, when a Marshal of Gird lived here, in the stronghold, with us. Those days, my friends, are past these fifteen years. Yet good and evil have not changed, and I welcome, from this day on, Girdsmen, yeoman and Marshal, to this domain. I am not myself sworn to that fellowship, but I am sworn, as always, to the crown of Tsaia, and to the cause of good, as the High Lord and his servants Gird and Falk are.

“You have always served me well. You deserve, therefore, this choice: to stay, in spite of these changes, or to go, with my respect and a settlement reflecting your years of service. We will be in the north for a few years—no fat contracts in Aarenis, no chance of plunder. If you prefer such service, I will recommend any of you to any commander you name. Speak to your captains, or to me, and it will be done as you desire.” He paused again, but no one moved or spoke. Paks found tears stinging her eyes. “I hope,” he went on, “that none of you go. Girdsmen or no, you are all such warriors as anyone would be proud to lead. If you stay, we shall be making, by Gird’s grace, a place of justice, a domain fruitful and safe, and a strong defense for the northern border. Whatever you decide, I am proud to have had you—each one of you—in my Company. You may be proud of your deeds.” He stepped back, bowed to the captains, and they turned again to their cohorts. The Marshal-General nodded to him.

“You are as generous as just, my lord Duke.”

His voice was slightly husky. “They are—they deserve it.”

“If they do, I know where they learned it. By Gird’s cudgel, my lord, I must say that even after your message I had not hoped for this reception. I thought that at best you would let us help you in the crisis. You are not a Girdsman, and yet you have done as much as if you were—while being more than fair to your soldiers. My predecessor, Enherian, spoke very well of you—told me, when I became Marshal-General, that one of his regrets was the breach between you and the fellowship of Gird. Now I see why.”

The Duke moved away, eyes distant. “I have no quarrel with Gird’s view of things, as you know.”

“No.” She walked beside him, and Paks trailed, with the others. “I would like, my lord, to hear Paksenarrion’s tale of her healing. Do you mind?”

The Duke looked back to catch Paks’s eye. “It’s her story, Marshal-General. If she’s ready to tell it, I would like to hear it myself. But I will not command it.”

“I would be likelier to command a stone to fly, than that. But I confess a professional interest in it—I was wrong, but I’d like to know how I erred so.” The Marshal-General turned and grinned at Paks. “Will you tell us, or must we itch with curiosity the rest of our days?”

Paks found herself grinning, even though she had tensed at the question. “I will try, Marshal-General, but it’s a tangled tale, and parts of it I do not understand myself.”

The Duke led the way upstairs, past his study door, to his private apartment at the end of the passage. Paks looked around as she came in. A fire burned in the small fireplace at one end of the chamber; several padded chairs were grouped around it and a small footed table. Tapestries hung on the walls. Behind a low divider at the far end of the room, a great bed loomed, but it had neither mattress nor hangings. A narrow bed, made up with a striped blanket, stood along one wall.

“Sit down,” urged the Duke, as Paks hesitated. The Marshal-General had already chosen a chair, and propped her feet on a stool near the fire. Paks tried to guess which chair was his, and finally took one to the side of the fire. The arm-rests were carved, beyond the padding, into dragons’ heads. The Duke took a seat opposite her, and stretched his legs. “This is how it used to be,” he said softly. “When we built this end of the stronghold, this is where we held council. The office I use now was the scribes’ room. It’s many a night I sat here with Tamar and Marshal Vrelan.” He poured out three mugs of sib from the pot on the table, and offered them.

The Marshal-General glanced at him, her eyes bright in the firelight. “If you don’t mind my asking, my lord, how old are you?”

“About fifty years. Why?”

“I had thought you younger, when you came to Fin Panir, but remembering that you and your wife had children who would have been, so you say, as old as Paksenarrion, I began to wonder.”

The Duke grinned. “I was angry then. Anger makes me younger.”

“Not only that. Most men your age are less vigorous, especially after such a life as yours. I have heard you were orphaned, but you must have come from strong stock.”

“I don’t know.” His voice hardened, and the Marshal-General sighed.

“I did not mean to distress you—”

“It is not you who distresses me, Marshal-General, but the thought of it. I have no family—never knew who I was, really. I know nothing of my breeding, nothing of my heritage of strength or weakness, folly or wisdom. My name could come from anywhere in southern Tsaia or the Westlands: I thought when I met another Kieri, my first year in Aarenis, that I’d found a kinsman, but soon learned that Kir and Kieri are common as cobbles there.”

“Your family name?”

“Phelan? I found one Phelan in Pliuni, in a wineshop; he said his kin were short and dark. Another in Fossnir, a tailor, and a woolsorter in Ambela. That’s all: none like me, and none missing any children. By looks I should be northern; anywhere in the Eight Kingdoms you find tall men with red hair and gray eyes. So take your choice. Unwanted bastard’s the easiest, fostered out somewhere and forgotten.” Paks could hear the pain in his voice. “And then the family I bred was destroyed. Nothing before me—and like to be nothing after me. Who will I leave this to? I swear to you, it was that thought, and that alone, that let me fall to the spell of Venner’s sister. Here I am, in the range of fifty years or so, and I have no heir. I have sworn to go back to building this domain—but for what?”

She nodded. “It is no easy puzzle, my lord. It is hard for any man to work years on such a project, and see nothing ahead—”

“But it falling apart when I die. In what—twenty years perhaps?—I will be too old to lead them, if not before. Indeed, Marshal-General, I wonder that Achrya hurried so. Time alone will do her work here.”

“My lord, no!” Paks found herself speaking before she thought. “That isn’t so. You will find someone to take over here, I know it. And what you have done so far has been worth doing—”

The Duke smiled, a little sadly. “I’m glad you think so, Paks. I hope the High Lord thinks so, as well. But—forgive me—when I look at you, and think of Estil, my daughter—she would have been so like you—”

“My lord, by your leave, I will think on this, and perhaps be able to make some useful suggestion.” The Marshal-General sat forward, hands clasped in her lap. “You have made a settled domain out of wasteland, and the holdings south of you no longer fear invasion every year or so. This in itself is useful, besides the rest. This will not disappear, if the fellowship of Gird can save it.”

“Thank you.” The Duke sighed, and reached a hand for the poker to stir the fire. “Well, now, Paks, we’ve set you at ease, no doubt, with this other talk. Tell us, if you will, what befell you after you left Fin Panir.”

Paks took a deep breath and set her mug on the table. “You remember,” she began slowly, “how it was with me that last week—” They nodded. “I can see now,” she went on, “that it was foolish to leave then, in winter, in that mood. It went as badly, Marshal-General, as you had feared.”

“I had hoped sending word to the granges would help—”

“It might have, if I had been able to use them.” Paks found herself breathing short, and tried to relax. “As it was, I feared the ridicule so that I could not, after the first time.”