The Deed of Paksenarrion (61 page)

Paks found herself grinning at Stammel’s tone. When she looked up, his brown eyes were twinkling.

“You’d best watch yourself, though,” he said. “If things keep happening around you, and you keep siding with paladins, it’ll rub off, and we’ll only see you from far away, as you ride past on your fancy charger.” His tone was only half joking.

For an instant the thought made Paks’s heart leap, but she forced the image away. “No,” she said firmly. “I’m staying here, in the Company, with my friends. If the Duke isn’t too angry—” For she remembered the icy glare he’d given her.

“He’s fair; he won’t hold it against you. But Paks, it’s not that bad an idea,” said Stammel more earnestly. “If you have the chance, I’d say take it. You’ve got the fighting skills, and you care about the right and wrong of things. You’d make friends elsewhere—” Paks shook her head. Stammel sighed. “Have you thought,” he asked, “that your two years is up these many months? You’re due a leave—you could go north and see your family—look around—”

Paks was startled. She had forgotten all about the “two years beyond training” in her first contract. “I hadn’t thought,” she said. As she mused on it, the sights and smells of Three Firs came back to her. The baker’s shop, the well, the striped awnings that hung out on market day. And beyond the town the great rolling lift of the moors, and the first sight of the dark slate roof of her father’s house. Tears stung her eyes. “I could—I could take my dowry back—” she said.

“So you could. Your share this campaign should do it. Think about it. The Duke will be granting us all leave unless he takes us back north.”

“And I wouldn’t be leaving the Company.”

“No. Not unless you wanted to.”

“I’ll think about it,” she said, and Stammel nodded and left her.

Siniava’s troops surrendered that day, but not to the Duke: to the combined city militia. Paks did not even see the prisoners; she heard that they’d been taken away toward Vonja. The Duke’s Company entered the citadel only for plunder; they found the only treasure at the inside opening of the secret passage. Several chests of gold, Stammel said, would pay for the entire campaign, leaving aside their share of Cha and Sibili. Paks heard from Arñe that Siniava’s bodyguards had all been carrying jewels and gold. “That’s what slowed them down in the fight,” she joked.

“Did you find out who the others were?”

“Yes. The man’s some high rank in the moneylender’s guild. He’s got a bad wound; he may not live. The woman’s his sister or niece or something.” Arñe stopped and looked at Paks. “
Do
you know what happened with Canna’s medallion? Was it really St. Gird who woke you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t understand.” Paks could hardly convey her confusion. “Something happened, I know that. But—I keep wondering and wondering about it, and nothing comes clear.”

Three days later, as she watched the city militias march north from the bridge, she was still wondering. The High Marshal had talked to her again, and the paladin; the Duke had apparently talked to both of them. Dorrin had told of the incident in Rotengre, and Paks finally admitted that she’d tried to use the medallion to heal Canna. She could have had, if she’d wanted it, hours of instruction about Gird. She didn’t want it.

“I want to stay with you,” she’d told the Duke, while the High Marshal listened. “I joined your company; I gave you my oath. And my friends are here.”

The Duke nodded. “You may stay, Paksenarrion, as long as you’re willing. But I must agree with the High Marshal in this: some force—we need not agree on what—is moving you as well. The time may come when you should leave. I will not hold you to your oath then.”

“My lord—” the paladin had begun, but the Duke interrupted.

“Don’t bully her. If she’s to leave, she’ll leave, in her own time. You’ve seen she’s no fool.”

“That’s not what I meant, my lord.”

“No. I’m sorry.” The Duke had sighed, looking tired. “Paks, think about it. I know it’s not easy—but think. Talk to Arcolin or Dorrin, if you’d like; talk to Stammel. This company is not the only place you can be a fighter.”

But she had been determined. From a sheepfarmer’s daughter in Three Firs to a respected veteran in the Duke’s Company, with friends who would die for her, or she for them—that was enough. Those childhood dreams were only dreams: this place, these friends, were real. It was all she wanted, and all she ever would.

She waved, nonetheless, to Sir Fenith the paladin, as he rode out. Canna’s medallion was safe in her belt-pouch now. She would let it stay there. No more of those strange warnings to deal with, no more mysteries. And if she died, for lack of its warning—she grinned, not worried. Saben’s red horse would bear her to the Afterfields.

End Book I
 

When all Siniava’s troops had surrendered, Kieri Phelan’s troops assumed they’d be going back to Valdaire—even, perhaps, to the north again. Some already had plans for spending their share of the loot. Others looked forward to time to rest and recover from wounds. Instead, a few days later they found themselves marching south along the Immer in company with Alured’s men, the Halverics, and several cohorts of the Duke of Fall’s army. These last looked fresh as new paint, hardly having fought at all, except to turn Siniava away from Fallo.

“I don’t understand it,” muttered Keri to Paks as they marched. “I thought we were through. Siniava’s dead. What more?”

Paks shook her head. “Maybe the Duke has a contract; he’s spent a lot on this campaign.”

“Contract! Tir’s bones, it’ll take us the rest of the season just to get back to Valdaire. Why do we need a contract?”

That was a first-year’s innocence. Paks grinned at him. “Money,” she said. “Or were you going to forget about pay?”

Seli winked at Paks, a veteran’s knowing wink, and said, “Have you ever seen the sea?”

“No—why?” Keri looked stubborn; sweat dripped off his nose.

“Well, that’s reason enough to go south. I’ve seen it—you’ll be impressed.”

“What’s it like?” asked Paks when Keri’s expression didn’t change.

“I don’t think anyone can tell you. You have to see it.”

Word soon trickled down from the captains that Alured was claiming the title of Duke of Immer. This meant nothing to Paks or the younger soldiers, but Stammel knew that the title had been extinct since the fall of the old kingdom of Aare across the sea.

“I’m surprised that the Duke of Fall and the other nobles are accepting it,” he said.

“That was the price of his help this year,” said Vossik. All the sergeants had gathered around one fire for an hour or so. “I heard talk in Fallo’s cohorts about it. If Fallo, Andressat, and Cilwan would uphold his claim—and our Duke, of course—then he’d turn on Siniava.”

“But why would they, even so?”

“It’s an odd story,” said Vossik, obviously ready to tell it.

“Go on, Voss, don’t make us beg,” growled Stammel.

“Well, it’s only what I heard, after all. I don’t know whether those Fallo troops know the truth, or if they’re telling it, but here it is. It seems that Alured used to be a pirate on the Immerhoft—”

“We knew that—”

“Yes, but that’s the beginning. He’d captured another ship, and was about to throw the prisoners over, the way pirates do—”

“Into the water?” asked Paks.

Someone laughed. Vossik turned to her. “Pirates don’t want a mess on their ships—so they throw prisoners overboard—”

“But don’t they swim or wade to shore?” asked Natzlin.

“They can’t. It’s too far, and the water is deep.”

“I can swim a long way—” said Barra. Paks grinned to herself. Barra always thought she could do more than anyone else.

“Not that far. Tir’s gut, Barra, you haven’t seen the sea yet. It could be a day’s march from shore, the ship, when they toss someone out.” Vossik took a long swallow of sib, and went on. “Anyway, one of the prisoners said he was a mage. He cried out that Alured should be a prince, and he—the mage—could help him.”

“I’d have thought Alured wouldn’t listen to prisoners’ yells,” said Stammel. “He doesn’t look the type.”

“No,” agreed Vossik. “He doesn’t. But it seems he’d had some sort of tale from his father—about being born of good blood, or whatever. So he listened, and the mage told him he was really heir to a vast kingdom, wasting his time as a pirate.”

“He believed that?” Haben snorted and reached his own mug into the sib. “I’d heard pirates were superstitious, but—”

“Well, the man offered proof. Said he’d seen scrolls in old Aare that proved it. Offered to take Alured there, and prove his right to the kingdom.”

“To Aare? That heap of sand?”

“How do you know, Devlin? You haven’t been there.”

“No, but I’ve heard. Nothing’s left but scattered ruins and sand. It’s in the songs.” He hummed a phrase of “Fair Were the Towers.”

Vossik shrugged. “Alured didn’t ask
you
. The mage told Alured that he’d seen proof of Alured’s ancestry.”

“It seems to me,” said Erial, “that it’s extra trouble to hunt up ancestors like that. What difference does it make? Our Duke got his steading without dragging in hundreds of fathers and fathers’ fathers.”

“Or mothers,” muttered Barra. No one followed that up.

“You know they’re different here in Aarenis,” said Stammel. “Think of Andressat.”

“That stuffed owl,” said Barra. Paks had almost begun to understand what Vik meant about Barra’s prickliness. She could not let anything alone.

“No—don’t be that way, Barra. He’s a good fighter, and a damn good count for Andressat. Most other men would have lost Andressat to Siniava years ago. He’s proud of his ancestors, true enough, but they could be proud of him.”

“But go on about Alured, Voss,” said Stammel. “What happened?”

“Well, he already believed he came of noble blood, so he sailed back to old Aare with this fellow. Then—now remember, I got this from the Fallo troops; I don’t say it’s true—then the mage showed him proof—an old scroll, showing the marriages, and such, and proving that he was in direct descent from that Duke of Immer who was called back to Aare in the troubles.”

“But Vossik, any mage could fake something like that!” Erial looked around at the others; some of them nodded.

“I didn’t say
I
believed it, Erial. But Alured did. It fitted what he wanted, let’s say. If Aare had been worth anything, it would have meant the throne of Aare. It certainly meant the lands of Immer.”

“And so he left the sea, and settled into the forest to be a land pirate? How was that being a prince or duke or whatever?” Erial sounded scornful.

“Well—again—this is hearsay. Seems he came to the Immer ports first, and tried to get them to swear allegiance—”

“But he’d been a
pirate
!” Paks agreed with that emphasis.

“Yes, I know. He wasn’t thinking clearly, perhaps. Then he hired a lot of local toughs, dressed them in the old colors of Immer, and tried to parley with the Duke of Fall.”

“Huh. And came out with a whole skin?”

“He wasn’t stupid enough to put it in jeopardy—they talked on the borders of Fallo. The Duke reacted as you might expect, but—well—he didn’t much care what happened in the southern forest, as long as it didn’t bother him. And, his men say, he’s longsighted—won’t make an enemy unnecessarily.”

“But what about Siniava?” For Paks, this was the meat of it: whose side had Alured been on from the beginning?

“Well, at first they had one thing in common: none of the old nobility would accept their claim to titles. Siniava promised Alured the dukedom if he’d break up the Immer River shipping, and protect Siniava’s movements in the area. Alured cooperated. That’s why no one could trace Siniava after Rotengre.”

“Yes, but—” This time Paks spoke up; Vossik interrupted firmly.

“
But
two points: Andressat and our own Duke’s cleverness. Andressat had been polite to Alured, promised him he’d accept the claim if the Duke of Fall did. So Alured wouldn’t move on Andressat when Siniava demanded it. After all, he believed himself a duke—above the command of a count. As for our Duke—you remember the wood-wanderers we met in Kodaly?” Stammel nodded. “Alured had befriended them when he moved into that forest, so they were on his side. Our Duke had made his own pacts with them years ago in the north. So our Duke knew what Alured wanted. And he knew what Fallo wanted—connection by marriage with a northern kingdom. And he knew that Sofi Ganarrion had a marriageable child—”

“But Sofi’s not a king—” said someone out of the darkness.

“
Yet.
Remember what he’s always said. And with Fallo behind him—” Vossik let that trail off. Several were quick to catch on.

“Gods above! You mean—”

“Somehow our Duke and the Halveric convinced the Duke of Fall that Alured’s help in this campaign was worth that much to him. So the Duke of Fall agreed to back Alured’s claim, Alured switched sides, and we got passage through the forest and Siniava didn’t.”

Paks shivered. She had never thought of the maneuvering that occurred off the battlefield. “But is Alured really the Duke of Immer?”