Oath of Fealty

16

Halfway to the grange, she was chuckling at herself. Early morning, still nearly dark, cold, dank—hardly anyone was out and those who were hurried along, heads bowed, paying no attention to her. So much for the blue cloak, the fancy ducal chain. She strode on, noticing as she passed that the Royal Guard sergeant was only now chivvying his men to tack up the horses.

But at that end of town, things were busier. A woman carrying a washing basket stopped, gaped, and dropped a curtsy. A man leading seven cows along a side lane stopped and tried to hold back the lead cow. A group of Girdish youths, straggling along the way to the grange, all turned to look; two of them pointed.

Dorrin slowed. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the grange already?”

“Er … grange?”

“You’re all wearing blue—isn’t this your morning drill day? And the yeoman-marshal expecting you?”

“Uh—yes—uh—”

“You’re that lady came to the grange the other day,” one of them said, suddenly excited. “You’re the new duke, the marshal said. But you’re a lady! Ladies aren’t dukes. They’re dukes’ wives.”

“They’re called duchesses, Matti,” one of the older boys said, elbowing the first.

Dorrin chuckled. “I’m not a duchess; I’m not a wife. I am the Duke, because the crown prince said so and so did your Marshal. Get along now; tell him I’m coming to see him.”

They dashed away, racing to the barton gate; Dorrin remembered when she could run that fast. She walked on; by the time she reached the gate, Marshal Berris stood there waiting. He lifted an eyebrow at her change in garb.

“Well … Duke Verrakai. We’re honored … are we?”

“Marshal,” Dorrin said, with a slight bow. “It’s your choice, whether to consider this an honor—”

“Oh, I do. What’s snared my tongue is something the boys said, as they came pelting in. What is the proper form of address for a … a lady duke? I should have asked before.”

“The same as for a man,” Dorrin said. “My troops said yes, sir and no, sir to me as they would to the other captains; a duke is a duke, whatever the person in that office.”

“So you’re ‘my lord’ the way he was?”

“Yes,” Dorrin said, feeling foolish. Either way she felt foolish, and that was no way to feel setting off on today’s mission. “What I came to ask—I forgot before—is your estimate of Verrakai’s resources after their defeat. What kind of border guards do you think we might meet?”

“The Royal Guard was for killing them all, as you know,” Marshal Berris said. “Only a few got away, and none of the officers. I think they took the rest prisoner. If I was a treasonous dog like the Duke—the former duke—I’d have sent everything I had to that ambush, to ensure the plan worked and to spread the guilt abroad, so none would be tempted to betray the plan.” He cocked his head. “Still, my lord Duke”—heavy emphasis on the “my lord”—“I’m glad to see you wearing mail under that fancy doublet and shirt. What men-at-arms are left will be afraid of judgment and frightened men do desperate things. As I’m sure you know.”

“Indeed, yes, Marshal,” Dorrin said. “But your report suggests we’re more likely to see irregular attacks than an organized force offering battle. Until we get to the house, anyway.”

“If a Girdish Marshal may say it, ward of Falk, my lord Duke.” This time no sarcasm edged his voice. “I judge the prince chose well, and I wish you well, both in your body and your spirit, for the sake of those who have suffered under cruelty and deceit for so long.” He rubbed his hands. “And now, my lord, will you chance an exchange with me?” He lifted his surcoat to show that he, too, was wearing mail. “It would be educational for the lads.”

“It would be a disaster if you broke my bones,” Dorrin said, but she actually felt like sparring. “But it would settle my nerves. There’s more light out here.”

“My lord,” one of her escort said. “We have all day to ride, you said.”

“True,” Dorrin said, “but a few buffets won’t hurt. Much.”

Berris called, and the boys poured out of the grange, forming a square; two of them brought wooden training swords. “No head blows,” he said. “And first touch only—I do not wish to injure the Duke.”

As she’d hoped, the exchange of strokes, so familiar over so many years, settled her breakfast and her mind both. She’d always enjoyed single-sword practice most, and she and the Marshal were well matched. Parry, circle, parry … the wooden swords clacked together, faster as she and the Marshal both increased the tempo. The knot between her shoulders loosened as she warmed to the familiar dance. This and this, and that again, and finally her blade slid past the Marshal’s guard, a fraction faster than his, and she managed the perfect training touch—enough to be heard, but not to hurt. In the next instant, before he could stop, his blade thumped her side. They both grounded their blades, and bowed.

“Gird’s grace,” Berris said. “And the High Lord’s favor, be with you and yours.”

“And with you as well,” Dorrin said. She heard down the lane the sound of many hooves and the jingle of tack. “We have timed it well, I think.” She handed the wooden sword to one of the boys, shook her arm and flexed her fingers, then clasped arms with Berris. “Thank you, Marshal, for your good wishes and your aid. Gods grant I can be the duke Verrakai needs.”

“My lord Duke!” came Selfer’s call from beyond the barton wall. Dorrin felt better than she had the half-glass before, and left the barton, grinning. Marshal Berris shooed the boys back inside, then followed.

When he saw her horse in its finery, he raised his eyebrow again, but offered Dorrin his hands. She mounted, and while her escort held the horse, she stretched out one leg and then the other to buckle on her leg armor and fasten her helmet. Then, when her two escorts had mounted, she nodded to Sir Valthan and the column moved on.

For the first half of the morning, they rode along a track that became steadily rougher and less used. Dorrin had never been on this road as a child; she could feel the location of the Verrakai home, but did not know every twist and turn of the road. She had scouts out, forward and flank, as usual; they had nothing to report. As the road worsened, and the last farmland came in view, she turned to Sir Valthan.

“It may be too rough ahead for your supply wagons.”

“The story is, the Verrakai could make the road disappear and reappear. Do you have that power?”

“Not that I know of,” Dorrin said. Ahead, as the last fields petered out, thick brushy growth clothed the land from ground level to the height of two men. One of the scouts rode over to meet them.

“The track ahead is just wide enough for a team; it’s rough, muddy, potholed, and perfect for an ambush. And on flank, we’ll be crashing through that brush, if we can even ride at all.”

Far in the distance, behind them, cattle mooed and a cock crowed. Close at hand, the land was silent. Dorrin looked at the open land to either side of the track, rumpled and pocked with burrows. Natural? It didn’t have the look of a rabbit warren—it looked like a trap for outriders who tried to outflank an attack on the road.

“If they intend ambushes from the flank, they will have ways to travel parallel to the road. We’ll pull the forward scouts back a little—stay in sight—and the flankers find their trails. If it’s a force smaller than ours, do nothing to alarm them; if you can get past, block the trail beyond them and be ready to take them in the rear or flank.”

The brush thickened into unkempt forest. Suddenly, a group of men on horseback rushed out from the bushes to bar the road. They wore Verrakai-blue tunics and steel breastplates and helmets, and carried crossbows and swords. “You’re trespassing,” said their leader. “Turn back, or die …” His voice trailed away as the rest of the column came into view. “Who—who are you?”

Dorrin would have laughed at his expression, but this man—these men—were her people now. “I’m Duke Verrakai,” she said.

“You’re—? No! You’re not the Duke … you have a look of his family, but—”

“By order of the crown prince and Council of Tsaia, I am now Duke Verrakai. You see my escort from the Royal Guard.”

“But—but where is he? Duke—the real duke?”

“He’s dead,” Dorrin said. “High treason against the person of the crown prince. These—” She gestured at the Royal Guard. “—are my escort from the crown prince, evidence of the legitimacy of my claim.”

“That can’t be right,” the man said. “Our duke a traitor? I don’t believe it! And even if it were so, the prince wouldn’t appoint a woman duke. Women aren’t dukes. And the others—that’s a troop of Phelan’s, the Red Fox.”

“They’re in my hire,” Dorrin said. “You see that by the blue armbands and saddlecloths I told them to put on. As for the other—I am Duke Verrakai, by his and the Council’s order.” She pulled the ducal chain out from under her cloak and swung the medallion so it caught the light. His jaw dropped and he stared. “Now—who are you and by what orders do you challenge travelers?”

“We’re … we’re Verrakai militia,” the man said. “The Duke told us what he always does, when he went to Vérella just after Midwinter Feast. Guard the borders well, he said, keep the rabble out and the domain safe and unsullied until my return, he said. There was bad trouble over across the other side, maybe seven hands of days ago. But we’d been told to stay this side, so we did.”

“Well, Verrakai militia,” Dorrin said. “You have seen my ducal chain, and the Royal Guard of Tsaia to declare my claim. You have my orders now to let me and my escort pass without hindrance. Will you obey?” The temptation to put a glamour on him, now that she knew how, was strong, but she would not start her rule with falsehood.

He glanced from side to side at his companions, none of whom had taken up anything like a useful position. “I—I need to be sure,” he said.

“What proofs would convince you?” Dorrin said. “If the ducal chain will not?”

The man’s gaze wavered, then steadied as he nodded to Sir Valthan. “If that one’s really commanding the Royal Guard, let him explain himself—let him confirm what you say.”

Dorrin realized he might never have seen the Royal Guard or its standard in his life. Without taking her eyes off the man, she said, “Sir Valthan, if you please: Tell this man what you know.”

Valthan introduced himself first; Dorrin could see that his name alone impressed the man. Then he went on. “Your former duke tried to assassinate the prince. For that high treason his life was forfeit. The entire family is now under Order of Attainder. The prince and Council discussed dissolving Verrakai as a domain, and wiping that name from the rolls of Tsaian nobles, but chose instead the one unsullied member of the family, this lady, as the new duke, in the hope that she can redeem the Verrakai name. If she cannot, the Crown will expunge it and divide the land among those lords deemed best able to rule it, and most loyal to the Crown. Is that clear?”

“Yes.” The man looked down. His troop continued to stare, wide-eyed, as if spelled. “I—I’m afraid,” he said finally. “If … if I do let you pass, the duchess … she has the … the power …”

“So do I,” Dorrin said. “Make your choice. I am here, in front of you; she is not. She will soon be on her way to Vérella, on trial for high treason, along with the rest of the family and all who support her. Which would you? A chance at a life with me, or trial for treason and a traitor’s death?”

“What must I do?” Surrender was in every line of his body, but Dorrin did not trust that. Not with someone who had been loyal to her uncle.

“Lay down your arms,” Dorrin said. “Then you may ride with us.”

“Don’t do it!” One of the men behind the leader started to rein his horse away. “They’ll kill us, you know they will.”

“HALT!” Dorrin’s command voice, capable of carrying to a cohort in combat, stopped the man; his horse tossed its head against a tight rein. “I do not kill my people but for treason. If you disarm yourself, swear fealty, and obey, you will be safe.”

The leader did not turn, but said, “Do it, Sim. There’s too many, we’ll all die else.” He fished the crossbow over his shoulder one-handed and dropped it to the ground, unbuckled his sword belt and held it out. Those behind him did the same. Dorrin half expected the panicky Sim to bolt, but after a last frantic look around, he gave in.

“Captain,” Dorrin said to Selfer. “Collect the weapons, stow them. Sir Valthan, attend me.” She rode forward a few steps; Selfer and ten of the Phelani approached the little troop cautiously, but the Verrakai militia offered no resistance as their bows and sword belts were collected. “Dismount,” Dorrin said to the Verrakai militia, “and stand before me.”

They did so, clearly afraid; two of the Phelani took the horses’ reins and tied them together. Dorrin and Sir Valthan dismounted then.

“Sir Valthan will witness your oath of fealty,” she said. “He is a Knight of Gird, a Knight of the Bells, a noble of Tsaia and known to the prince himself. I am a Knight of Falk as well as your Duke.” She touched the ruby of her order. “Understand that these oaths are binding, and that the gods themselves will know and punish disloyalty.”

The leader nodded; the others, whey-faced, stared like cattle.

“Here is the oath you will pledge,” Dorrin said. “I—and then your name, all of it—do pledge fealty to Sir Dorrin, Duke of Verrakai, to protect, preserve, and obey, by day and night, in fear, famine, fire, and frost, to the end of my blood and life. To this I pledge my honor.”

“That’s not the same—” Sim began, from the back row; one of his comrades shoved him.

“Haron was a traitor, and he’s dead,” Dorrin said. “His oaths were false. Swear or not; it is your choice.”

“I will,” said the leader. He knelt in the mud before her and said the words in a steady voice, looking her in the eye.

“Rise, then, Mikel Vadrison. I accept your oath.”

One after another they knelt and pledged, even Sim, who stammered his way through with prompting from Mikel and others.

“Now, Sir Valthan, as you have witnessed their oaths to me, I ask you to witness mine to them.” He looked surprised, but nodded. “I pledge to you the protection of my name and my honor, so long as you are loyal—” She named them all, one by one. “You will not hunger, while I have food. You will not freeze, while I have fire. No evil will haunt your homes, while this blade has an edge and I have strength to wield it.” She drew the blade, and it flashed in sudden sunlight. Their eyes widened; surprise, fear, and hope mingled in their expressions.

Dorrin grinned at them. “Now, because you did not know I was your Duke, your earlier rudeness is forgiven you—but so you do not forget, you will march today without your arms. Captain, take charge of these men, and ensure that, as they are unable to defend themselves, they are not put at risk.”

The troop moved on, the Verrakai in the midst of the Phelani. That night they camped in the cold damp, but the Royal Guard had tents for their own comfort. “You can have mine,” Sir Valthan said, “if you have none of your own.”

“No,” Dorrin said. “I made a pledge to those fellows in blue; they need to know I keep promises. I will share their conditions, though not their food.” She sat at the same fire with them and her cohort of Phelani, sword across her knees, and slept well enough. It was no different from campaigning with Kieri.

The next morning, she called the militia group to her, took a report from Vossik and Selfer on their behavior the previous day and night, and the inspection of their weapons. Their behavior had been satisfactory, but their weapons—“I found rust on four blades,” Vossik said, “and one is already cracked from a nick no one bothered to file out. Scabbards oiled, but not really clean. Two belts are old dry leather, ready to give way. The crossbows need to be taken down and reassembled by an arbalest; the bindings on five are rotting. Two, the prod’s loose of the stock. I don’t know who their armsmaster is, but he’s not doing his job. If these were our people, they’d have their pay docked for the damage to weapons.”

Dorrin looked at the militia; the leader had flushed. “I’m disappointed,” she said. “I demand better of my people. Rusty, nicked swords are good for scaring unarmed peasants, but not for real fighting. Crossbows with bad bindings are out of alignment and don’t shoot straight. We haven’t time to test your skills and see if they’re as rusty as your blades, but I can’t depend on you for my protection as you are.”

They all looked downcast. Good. Whatever Haron had done to them—and she suspected he had ensured their weapons and training were inferior, using them mostly for show—they needed pride in their work and their tools. “Mikel, what do you think of the swords the mercenaries carry?”

“My lord Duke, they’re—they’re beautiful.”

Dorrin felt her brows rising. They weren’t beautiful; they were ordinary, workmanlike swords that had seen proper care.

“If you had such swords, would you be willing to learn to care for them and keep them … beautiful?”

“Yes, my lord!” The others nodded.

Dorrin looked over at Selfer. “Captain, I wish to purchase eight of your spare swords, with scabbards, for these men. And—how many belts were bad?”

“Two, my lord Duke.”

“And two belts. You have no crossbows, I think?” She knew perfectly well they did not, but this was too much fun. She could see by the twinkle in Selfer’s eye that he recognized the game.

“No. We carry them only for certain campaigns.”

“Swords, then, and belts. If your people can find any use in their weaponry, fine; otherwise, retain it for the metal. See that these men receive instruction in the proper care of their weapons.”

She saw amazement in the men’s eyes and turned away before she had to laugh. Soon enough they had mounted again, this time with Phelani-designed swords, and they were holding themselves with more confidence. Dorrin continued a slow march; she did not want to miss any traps her relatives might have set.

Midmorning of the third day saw them close enough to Verrakai House that Dorrin could easily feel the magery employed to screen it. She remembered the maze of trails and tracks; the glamours that would have led them astray had no effect on her. When they came out of the trees, there before her was the same stretch of fields, snow striping the furrows of the ploughland. Near the little river thin green showed where magery warmed the soil to ensure an early start to the year’s crops, just as magery kept the stream from freezing over. In blocks of orchard, the buds of fruit trees showed varying shades of red, rose, and gold with the coming of spring.

And there was Verrakai House, the old keep rising grim and dark from its center, the various additions in less weathered stone … outbuildings around it … no wall, because, she’d been told, they needed none. Magery alone would protect the house.

Magery had brought it down—the prince had been clear. If she could not rule Verrakai, the Crown would take over, razing the house, the old keep, everything, and divide it between lords the prince thought loyal.

Dorrin reached inside her doublet and pulled out the ducal chain and medallion again. Valthan nodded approval as she spread it on her shoulders, folding back her cloak so it showed clearly, but it was not for him—or for her family—that she did so. For an instant she had felt again the panic of the child she had been, and fought it down with a soldier’s discipline. The former duke’s ring, large enough to fit her bare thumb, fit snugly on the heart-hand heart-finger over her riding glove; she made sure it was secure, and touched the ducal medallion. She was not that terrified, miserable child, nor yet an errant daughter returning to beg forgiveness; she was the prince’s vassal, the rightful Duke, come to take control of a rebellious province. When she was satisfied, she legged her mount on.

“Do you want the Royal Guard to precede you?” Valthan asked.

Dorrin shook her head. “No. They must see that I am in command, and unafraid.”

“An archer could take you out—”

“Remember my protection,” Dorrin said. “I doubt they’ll try anything that simple, but if they do I have nothing to fear—nor do you. You may announce me when we get there.”

No one rode out to meet the column as it marched nearer. No sentry challenged them; nothing stirred in the empty, snow-patched fields, no cattle or sheep or horses—some should have been grazing the Winterfield—no peasants. Dorrin knew better than to think no one had noticed their arrival.

“Do you want me to send out scouts?” Selfer asked.

Dorrin shook her head. “I know it’s what we would do ordinarily, cut off anyone trying to escape, but I’m not sure how far my protection extends. I think it’s better to stay close, even though some may win free.”

Halfway from the trees to the house, she felt the first tingle of personal magery. It had a flavor she remembered, one of her cousins’. She blocked it without effort, and checked to see if it had touched her troop. No. It had been meant for her alone, and her cousin would recognize her block as readily as she would recognize her cousin’s probe. If they had not known before who was coming, that touch would reveal her.

They waited on the front steps of the entrance hall, all the women she remembered and the children she had never seen. Her aunt Jeruvin, the deposed Duke’s widow. Her other aunt, the Duke’s brother’s wife. Her mother. Her male cousins’ wives and her female cousins, all their faces stony with hatred … only the children showed anything but hostility. The older male cousins—who should have been there, unless they’d been fostered to other houses—were nowhere in sight. They might be preparing an attack, or they might have fled.

She halted her mount and waited; the Royal Guard unit fanned out around her, and Valthan rode up beside her.

“By proclamation of the Crown Prince and the Regency Council of Tsaia, I present your new Duke, Dorrin—”

“We know who that is!” That was the Duke’s widow, Jeruvin. She glared straight at Dorrin. “Traitor! You are dead to us!”

“That is your Duke,” Valthan said. His hand dropped to his sword hilt. “Show respect!”

“That is no duke. That is a runaway, nameless, a traitor to this family and cast out long ago. It is an insult that it is here.”

Valthan started to speak, but Dorrin waved him to silence. “You, widow of Haron Vasli Verrakai, are under Order of Attainder, as are all here save the youngest children. You see this chain of office—you see this ring.” She held up her clenched fist. They would understand that, oh yes they would. “I am the Duke now, by order of the prince and Council—”

“Attainder!” That was her own mother. “What have I done to be attainted? What have any of us done that the prince should so maltreat us? I have had naught to do with Haron—”

“You lived under his rule; you chose to stay under his roof. You outlawed me.”

“You are no child of mine!” Her mother turned her back.

“True enough. I am your Duke, like it or not.”

“Liar!” One of her cousins, Syrila, flicked her hand and a bolt of flame spurted from it. “You are talentless, witless—”

Dorrin put out her hand and the flame vanished, to her own brief surprise. So easy? “Whatever you think, I am your Duke, and you will find it in your own best interests to stop this nonsense.”

Syrila fairly gaped, an expression Dorrin had long wanted to see on her face. “But you—you can’t—you never could—”

“I’m not a child now, Syrila. Don’t do that again.” Dorrin could feel, as if they were touching her, the shivers of apprehension that ran through the Royal Guard, Girdsmen all. They had been told; they had heard Marshal Berris agree that Dorrin must use magery against the mageborn if necessary. But now they had seen for themselves what they were up against—and what was on their side. Not a mercenary—not just a mercenary—and certainly not a Girdish paladin, but a magelord.

“Where did you learn—?”

“How much do you know—?” A torrent of questions, during which her mother turned again.

Dorrin held up her hand, and for a wonder they fell silent at the gesture alone. She wanted to use her magery as little as possible, not only to reassure the Girdish, but to convince her relatives that it did not take magery to defeat them. “That is not your concern,” she said, deliberately copying her uncle’s tone, but adding no power to it. “Your concern now is proving to the prince and Council that you are not as guilty of treason as Haron was. All adult members of the family will be transported to Vérella, there to stand trial—”

“Treason! I committed no treason!” Jeruvin stamped her foot.

“The court will determine that,” Dorrin said. “You will be escorted by the Royal Guard—” Her aunt’s expression shifted, showing exactly what she had in mind when alone with Girdsmen who had no magery. “—and,” Dorrin added, “I will bind your magery, for their protection. I doubt you can break my bindings, but should you do so, I will kill you myself.”

Jeruvin glared but said nothing more. Haron’s brother’s wife said, “When must we go? It is starting to thaw, and the roads are vile—”

“You will start tomorrow, at first light,” Dorrin said. The sooner she got the elder women out of the place, the better. Without taking her eyes off them, she said, “Kefer—assign someone the care of my mount.”

“At once, Capt—my lord Duke—” He said something she did not attend, being concentrated all on her relatives; she knew, and they knew, that a moment’s inattention would give the women a chance to attack, and she had no doubt they would. One of the soldiers ran forward to hold her mount.

Dorrin threw a leg over its neck and vaulted down without looking away; that impressed them, she could tell. The younger children were round-eyed, all but one boy who blurted, “I can do that, on my pony. It’s not hard.”

“Mostly you fall down when you try it, Bori,” said a girl, shoving him.

“I do it sometimes!” he said, shoving back.

One of the adults thumped both heads, and they fell silent, glaring at each other. Dorrin had to struggle not to laugh.

“Sir Valthan, attend me please,” she said, and headed for the steps. She felt a slight pressure as she reached the bottom step, and threw her power against it; it popped like a soap bubble. Was that really their strongest defense? Still looking Haron’s widow in the eye, Dorrin said, “Don’t do that again, Aunt, or I will drop you where you stand.”

“It wasn’t Jeruvin, it was I,” her mother said. “Would you dare flaunt your power against your own mother?”

“You said I was not your child,” Dorrin said. “Stand there, then, if you doubt me.” She was within arm’s length now; she touched her mother with her heart-hand forefinger and let her power out. Her mother stood silent, held motionless with one hand half raised.

Jeruvin, hatred blazing from her dark eyes, made some signal behind her back, and two of the younger women rushed forward, hands raised.

They slammed into the invisible barrier Dorrin raised, yelping with pain. “You only make it harder on yourselves,” Dorrin said. A wicked glee flickered in the back of her mind; she stamped it down. They already knew arrogance and bullying; they needed to see another kind of power, another kind of leadership. “Aunt, you have caused another injury to these young ladies. You must be still.” The magery for holding someone motionless took almost no energy at all; she extended it to all the adults in view, and then, without hurry, one by one, bound their magery. None had magery as strong as hers. Despite the Knight-Commander’s prediction, she was surprised. Was her power really that strong, or had theirs weakened over the years?

But she had no time to study that conundrum. The family she saw here, and their magery, was not all that menaced her. Somewhere men and older boys hid, planning an attack, unless they had run away. Somewhere servants lurked, possibly only frightened but possibly Liartians eager to do harm. “Captain, secure the outbuildings.” Dangerous work, but it had to be done.

“Yes, my lord,” Selfer said. “Search them as well?”

“For now, simply secure them.”

He bowed and turned away. She looked at the gaggle of relatives. “You will all be under guard in the great hall for now. If you give trouble, you will be shackled in the stables. When I release you, it is only for you to walk into the hall and sit down on the floor, where the Royal Guard directs. Children under ten will go to the safe nursery when I have found nurserymaids; suckling babes you may keep with you.” She turned her head a little. “Sir Valthan—proceed.”

They had discussed this; he knew what to do. Some inside the great hall, to watch the Verrakaien come in, tell them where to sit, and guard. Some to herd them in, as if they were sheep. Dangerous sheep.