The Deed of Paksenarrion (165 page)

“So,” she began again to organize her thoughts. “You say he would be about fifty years old, with red or yellow hair—”

“I expect reddish,” said Sier Halveric. “His was still reddish when he disappeared, and his father’s had darkened.”

“Tall, you think? And what color eyes?”

This began another argument. Paks found it hard to believe that no one had noticed the color of his eyes until she realized that she couldn’t name the color of her own brothers’ eyes either. Finally they agreed that they weren’t green, gold, or dark. Blue or gray or something in between.

But this left almost nothing to go on. A tallish man of late middle age with reddish hair and blue or gray eyes—unless his hair had turned gray already, or he’d gone bald. Paks had trouble imagining a bald prince, but after all, he was old enough to be her father. According to the elves, he had been someone’s servant once. She assumed that meant in the Eight Kingdoms, but it might not. He might be a woodchopper somewhere (Paks thought of Mal in Brewersbridge, but of course he was too young) or a farmer. He might be a merchant, a craftsman, almost anything. Paks thought of the number of red-haired men she’d seen in the north and felt depressed. Not only that, he might have gone to Aarenis. Or across the ocean. She found she was making circles on the table with one finger. Everyone had fallen silent; she could tell by the glum faces that they, too, had realized the size of her task.

“Unless the elves change their minds,” said Sier Halveric, “I don’t see how you can hope to find him in time to do us any good. There are too many—”

“It would help,” said Paks, “if they would give me details—what he looked like when they saw him, and so on. But remember, sirs, that the gods have sent me this quest. If the High Lord wants your prince on the throne, can even an elf hide him from me?”

At this they cheered up, and Paks felt herself that somewhere in this she had learned something useful—if only she knew what.

The old king’s funeral ceremonies took from sunrise to long after sunset. When it was over, Paks went to her chambers to pick up her gear, packed ready. There she found Esceriel, Lieth, and the other King’s Squires waiting.

“You are not the queen,” said Esceriel, “but we have no ruler to squire. By your leave, Lady, we will ride with you on this quest. It may be that you will have need of us—or when you find our king, we can serve him well.”

Paks looked at him searchingly. She had seen nothing of Esceriel until now; the others had taken their turns in her chambers. But she felt nothing evil in him, and none of them seemed likely to put a knife in her back.

“I do not know how long I will be,” she said finally. “Have you leave to be away from court for long?”

“We have no ruler to serve; it was the king who gave or refused leave to his squires, Lady. Other than that, we are all Knights of Falk. Although we have stayed much at court, you will find us hardy travelers and able warriors, should such be needed.” He turned aside for a moment, and one of the others handed him a bag, which he held out to Paks. “In addition, Lady, the court of Lyonya will bear any expense of our travels; here is the Council’s gift to us, if you permit us to ride with you.”

Paks looked each of them in the eye—all steady, all seeming good companions. She nodded. “You are welcome to come with me, as far as you will, as long as your will and the quest I follow travel together. Yet I will not bind you; since I cannot say where and how I go, it would not be right to take your oaths.” They all nodded. “If for any reason any or all of you decide to leave me, I will give you no blame for it. But I was planning to ride tonight, squires—or should I call you companions?”

Lieth smiled. “By your leave we will be squires to you, Lady—it will keep us in practice for the king we hope to find. You know Esceriel and me; here are Garris, the oldest of us, but not too old for this, and Suriya, the youngest.”

“And we also are ready to ride tonight,” said Esceriel. “Our horses are saddled and ready; we have stores packed. We need only our cloaks.”

“Very well,” said Paks. “Then let us go.”

They rode out through streets glittering with deathlights, twigs wrapped with salt-soaked wicks that burned green. The sharp smell of the burning twigs carried on the light wind for some time after they left the city. Garris, the eldest of the squires, who had squired for the previous king as well, led the way through the woods southward. They carried torches; light glittered off the crusted snow.

By daybreak, they were far from Chaya, among hills covered with forest. It was a gray morning, with icy mist between the trees, and Garris stopped them.

“We should wait for this to lift,” he said. “I know where we are, but I cannot read the taig enough to keep direction in the fog.”

“I can,” said Paks, “But it will do us no harm to have a hot meal. If we travel today, Garris, can we come to shelter for the night, or must we camp in the snow?”

“If we keep to the way I know, we will come to a steading by midafternoon. But it would be easy to miss—the land is not so settled as that you may be used to in Tsaia.”

“We’ll see.” Two of the squires built a fire; the others brought out pots and began to cook. Paks walked around, stretching her shoulders, and watching their preparations. The night before she had not paid much attention to their gear; now she found that they were prepared for a long march in almost any conditions, with two pack animals along.

“When the king travelled,” explained Lieth, “we cared for his things. Had you wanted it, we could have brought the royal tent as well.” They had a small one; it would sleep all six of them if they crowded in.

“I shall feel like a rich woman yet,” said Paks, as they served out hot porridge and sib. She noticed that they took guard duty in turns, two by two, even though they were in friendly country.

After the break, Paks led the way south, checking with Garris at intervals. She could feel a certain difference in the direction he thought the steading lay, a break in the forest taig. No one suggested stopping long at midday, though they rested the animals, and by midafternoon they had found a large farmstead. A log palisade surrounded a stone house; other houses clustered near it. Dogs ran out barking; a man in furlined leathers came out to look at them, and waved.

Esceriel and Lieth rode ahead. Paks had not realized that they carried pennants until they lifted them: the royal crest on one, and—to her greater surprise—Gird’s crescent on the other. By the time she rode up to the man, the squires had explained the quest, and the man bowed.

“Be welcome here, Lady Paksenarrion; luck to your quest. We sorrow for the king’s death; the messenger stopped here on the way to Aliam Halveric’s and told us of it.”

“We thank you for your kindness, sir,” said Paks.

“This is Lord Selvis,” said Lieth quickly.

“Ride on in,” said the man. “There’s a barn inside the palisade. We’ve wild cats in the wood; we stall all the horses at night.”

All day the red horse had traveled like any other, but when Esceriel reached for his rein, he drew back. Paks grinned. “I’ll take him myself, Esceriel.”

“He let the stablehands at Chaya—”

“I had asked—and after that perhaps he understood the emergency.” They walked to the barn together, the red horse breathing warm on Paks’s neck at every step. When she took off saddle and bridle, she found him unmarked as if from a grooming. She picked up a brush anyway, but the horse nudged her hand aside. Esceriel stared.

“I never saw a horse like that.”

“Nor I. He came out of the north, one day at the Duke’s stronghold, in northern Tsaia. Slickcoated—as he is now—and full of himself.”

“How long have you had him?”

“That was this winter—not long.” Paks poured a measure of grain in the box, after sniffing it for mold. She pulled an armload of hay down and wedged it in the rack. “I had known that paladins had special horses, but—as you may have heard—I became a paladin in an unusual way. Not at Fin Panir. So I didn’t know how—or even if—I would get mine.”

“What do you call him?”

“If he has a name, he hasn’t shared it with me.”

The next day was clear again; they made good time along snowy trails that Garris remembered. That night they camped; the squires did not want to let Paks take a share of the watch.

“I’m not the queen,” she reminded them. “And I’m used to night watches—and younger than most of you.”

“But we depend on your abilities,” said Garris. “You should take what rest you can.”

In the end, Paks simply got up when she woke in the midnight hours, and went out to see stars tangled in the bare treelimbs. When she’d used the little trench they’d dug, she spoke to Suriya, the squire on watch.

“I’m wide awake, and I need to think. Go sleep; I’ll wake the next in an hour or so.” Suriya, the most junior and only a few years older than Paks, nodded and went into the tent.

Paks walked around the camp slowly. It was a windless night, so quiet that she heard every breath each horse took. Her own came to her, crunching the snow, and leaned a warm head along her body. She put her arm across his back and stood for a few moments. Then she pushed away, and went on. Her taig-sense told her that nothing threatened nearby. She caught a flicker of movement between the trees. Another. Some small night animals skittering over the snow. Remembering Siniava, she checked again, but it was nothing—just animals. When the stars had moved several hands across the sky, she shook Esceriel awake and rolled back into her own blankets.

The fifth day a snowstorm caught them between one steading and another. Paks had been uneasy since waking in the night, and had rushed the others through breakfast and farewells. She felt some menace ahead, which it would be well to pass early. But the storm began softly, so that they did not think of turning back until they were more than halfway to the next stopping place. A few flakes—a few more—a gentle curtain of snow that filled the tracks behind them. Then a wind that twirled the falling snow into eerie shapes. And finally the strong wind with miles of snow behind it, that turned their view into a white confusion.

If she had been alone, Paks might have trusted the red horse to fight through the deepening snow and sense dangerous terrain. But with four others, and two pack animals—

“Stop!” she yelled, as Esceriel’s horse moved past her, drifting downwind. He reined in; she could just see him. She got the others into a huddle. Slowly they moved into the lee of a large knot of cedars; snow had already drifted head-high on the upwind side. In the struggle of making camp, Paks found herself taking command easily. By the time they were huddled in the tent, which had been cross-braced with limbs against the snow-weight, she felt at ease with the squires for the first time.

“It’s too bad we didn’t bring lamps,” said Esceriel. It was nearly dark inside the tent, and not far from it outside. Paks called light, and they did not flinch from it.

“Handy,” commented Suriya. “You never have to eat in the dark, do you?” She dug into one of the packs and pulled out sausage and bread. “I don’t suppose you can heat this as well, can you?”

“No,” said Paks. “Unfortunately, this light won’t even light a candle.”

“Oh well. At least it’s light.” They ate by Paks’s light, then rolled up to sleep.

The next morning they had to dig themselves out; it was still snowing, but not as hard. They stamped down a flat area around the horses, fed them, and Lieth climbed a drift to look around. She came down shaking her head.

“It’s deep; I can’t see the trail at all. And it’s still coming down as if it meant to go on all day. We can try to get out, but—”

Paks shook her head. “No. We’ll stay here. It’ll be hard enough on the horses when we go; they don’t need the bad weather as well. If you can’t see the trail, you can’t see the dropoffs either.”

Lieth looked relieved. “I know you’re in a hurry.”

“Yes, but to find something. Not to fall into a hole in the snow.” Garris laughed, and Paks grinned at him. “Gird’s grace, companions, paladins are supposed to have sense as well as courage.”

Suriya shook her head. “That’s not what I’ve heard.”

“You!” said Garris affectionately. “You’re hardly old enough to have heard any tales at all. Why, you haven’t even heard all of mine.”

Suriya groaned, and the others laughed.

“I certainly haven’t heard your tales, Garris,” said Paks, still laughing. “We’ll be here all day—when we’ve made a fire and have enough wood for awhile, I’ll listen if no one else will.” But it was some hours before they had time to talk. By then the snow had stopped, and the wind had died away, though the sky was still flat gray, like painted metal. They had trampled down a wide space before the tent, gathered wood, and started a large fire. The horses had been walked about, watered with snow melted over the fire, and fed again. A large pot of stew bubbled merrily; Garris had even set bread twists to bake in a covered kettle.

And then Esceriel, on watch, whistled a warning. Paks reached out in thought, and found nothing evil. The next moment, she heard the familiar trilling whistle of the rangers. Esceriel called out. A few minutes later, two half-elf rangers stepped down into their courtyard of trampled snow.

“We’re glad to find you,” said one, throwing back his hood. “We knew you were coming, and worried about the storm when you didn’t show up at Aula’s.”

“We should have known that King’s Squires and a paladin would be safe,” said the other. “But such storms can fool anyone.”

“You’ll share our meal?” asked Paks.

“Certainly.” The first ranger turned to her. “You’re Paksenarrion? Giron and Tamar send greetings; we met and passed two days ago. I’m Ansuli—no relation to the one you knew—and this is Derya.”

“If you see them again,” said Paks, “please tell them I am grateful.”

“I will.” He warmed his hands at the fire. “As late as it is, you might as well stay here tonight; we would be glad to guide you tomorrow, since the snow is so deep.”

“Stew’s ready,” said Garris. They all ate heartily. After that, in the long dimming hours before they slept, they all told tales of other winter journeys. Paks had no tales she wanted to tell, so she listened. Esceriel told of a wolf-hunt, one year when the Honnorgat froze solid enough to ride over and they nearly found themselves in Pargun. Paks could not imagine anyone riding out on ice over cold black water. Ansuli countered with a tale of winter hunting in the mountains, against “things like orcs, only bigger” that came in tribes and used slings loaded with ice and rock. Lieth told of the time she had tried to go from her father’s house to her uncle’s in a snowstorm, when she’d been told to bide inside. She claimed her father warmed her so that she forgot all about the cold. Everyone laughed.