Oath of Fealty

10

Dorrin Verrakai had just returned from her morning visit with her cohort, and settled into one of the small reception rooms with pen and paper to write the necessary orders for the next hand of days, when one of the palace servants knocked on the door.

“Captain—there’s a messenger from Tsaia.”

“For the king, I presume … did the king ask my presence?”

“No, Captain. This messenger is for you. In the royal livery.” The servant’s demeanor was perfectly correct, but Dorrin could see intense curiosity in his glance. Did he wonder if she were being recalled to stand trial?

“I’ll see the messenger here,” Dorrin said.

The messenger, in Tsaia’s rose and white, bowed to Dorrin as he came into the room. On one shoulder was the gold and silver knot that meant he was of noble birth, assigned to carry messages for the royal family only, and on his collar the silver bell signifying a knight in the Order of the Bells. Such would not usually bow to her, a mercenary, even though she wore the ruby of a Knight of Falk.

“Sir,” she said courteously, with a bow in return.

“I bring an urgent message from the prince and Council of Tsaia,” he said. “It concerns you and your family, and the welfare of the realm.”

The welfare of the realm? Considering the behavior of her relatives, the only welfare of the realm she could imagine meant eradication of the entire family. But would the prince or Council really send her a message consisting of “present yourself for execution”? To cover her surprise, she tried courtesy. “You have traveled far,” Dorrin said. “You will take refreshment, surely.”

“Not until I’ve done my duty,” he said. He pulled from beneath his messenger’s mantle a red leather scroll case. “I am to hand this to you personally and remain at your service to answer any questions you may have.”

Dorrin took the scroll case, untied the intricate knots, and slid out a scroll sealed with the royal mark as well as bound with a twist of rose and silver ribbons.

“He wrote it himself,” the messenger said. “He wanted no scribe to have knowledge of it.”

Dorrin slid her thumbnail under the seal and cracked it, then unrolled the scroll. It began as all royal documents did, flowery and formal … Greetings from the Crown of Tsaia to Captain Dorrin Verrakai, formerly under command of Kieri Artfiel Phelan, Duke of Phelan, now rightful King of Lyonya … but then the sense of the next section hit her. It is Our wish that you accept the charge here laid upon you, to take the title of Duke Verrakai …

“You … he … cannot be serious.” Dorrin was sure her face had paled. It would not do to say that the prince was crazy, but he must have lost all reason to think elevating an exiled Verrakai mercenary to the dukedom would work. She had not been there—she had refused to think of it as home for over two decades now—since her last, successful flight.

“I assure you, Captain, that the prince is serious. Pray read the rest. No other member of the family is free from the taint of treason; you alone are known to be a loyal friend to Kieri Phelan. The prince charged me to tell you that he is convinced breaking up the duchy would create more problems. It needs a strong duke—duchess—and you have both command and combat experience.”

She did, that was true. She read the rest, the formal phrases explaining why her uncles and aunts, her siblings, her cousins, were under order of attainder. Haron Vasli, the Duke who was, and his brother Kalin, are dead, following a merciless attack on my person, resulting in the deaths of the Marshal-Judicar and the Knight-Commander of the Bells. Dorrin shivered. Other Verrakai have ignored a summons to court. We have reports that Haron’s next brother fled south, to Konhalt. That she could well believe. Konhalt, a minor family, had been allied to Verrakai since the Girdish wars, though with one branch that had moved north and away. We need decisive, quick action to take control of Verrakai and prevent open rebellion. Indeed they did need that. You are authorized to use whatever force you must. Did that mean—could it mean—using magery against magery? But even if he allowed it, hers was too weak.

Dorrin read on; the prince explained why he had decided against breaking up the Verrakai holdings and handing them over to others. Doing that before he was finally crowned would cause more chaos, possibly even civil war. He could not afford to wait until his Midsummer coronation. He must act quickly. If she accepted, he would send further instructions to meet her on return to Tsaia.

Her imagination flared, showing her the great steading as it had been, the old stone of the original keep still standing, the more modern mansion and outbuildings around it. She saw herself arriving there with loyal troops behind her, striding up those steps worn by the feet of centuries, into the great hall … her imagination stopped short before peopling that hall with any of the relatives and servants likely to be there. Not her uncle the late duke, or her uncle his brother or her father, dead a decade by rumor. Her mother? Perhaps. Her aunt? Cousins? She shivered. She could not go back there, not after all these years, not to face their malice, their magery.

And yet. If not Dorrin Duke Verrakai, who could possibly take over? Did the people Verrakai ruled deserve to be scattered, handed over to strangers who might not understand what they had endured? If Konhalt also fell, as the prince’s letter suggested, who else—?

“It is not a royal command,” the messenger said, when she looked up. “The prince realizes that you have been estranged from your family these many years. But it is a heartfelt request.”

“He will need an answer quickly,” Dorrin said. “It must be settled …”

“He is sorry to inconvenience you …” the messenger said.

Dorrin almost laughed. Inconvenience? If she accepted, governing Verrakai would be far more than an inconvenience. “My situation here must be settled before I give my answer,” she said. “I must speak to the king, and arrange for someone to command the troops I brought with me.”

“Then you accept?”

This weight she had never sought, never wanted, never dreamed of, settled on her shoulders. “I will give you my answer when I have spoken to the king, who is still my liege.”

But he had read her real answer in her eyes, for now he was smiling. “Of course, my … Captain.”

“And now,” Dorrin said, ringing for servants, “you must take refreshment, and rest. Whatever my answer, you have a long, cold ride ahead of you.”

The king was studying rows of figures and making notes as she came into the small dining hall.

“Sir King,” Dorrin said. He looked up and smiled.

“What, Captain?” His expression sobered. “You’re upset … the troops?”

“A messenger from Tsaia, from the prince—for me.”

“He wants the cohort back,” Kieri said. “He wrote me.”

Dorrin shook her head. “Not that—he wants me to take over Verrakai. As the only—as he puts it—honorable Verrakai of my generation.” She laid the scroll before him, and watched as he unrolled it.

“That’s … interesting,” he said as he read.

“No, Sir King, that’s terrifying. And worse, I feel a pull …”

“You’d be good, Dorrin,” he said, looking up. “You are the best Verrakai; you could change the family history.”

“But you know my story, my lord. The family hates me, and I left …” He gestured to a chair and she sat, too tense to relax into it.

“Dorrin. Captain. Change comes. I must give up my land and my Company, abandon the home and life I made for myself, the people I swore to protect and care for, to assume the responsibility for these people, this place … to assume the responsibility of a king. Even the Company will not be the same—”

“I know.” Tears stung her eyes. The Company without Kieri Phelan—she had already contemplated that, with misery. Jandelir Arcolin was a fine man, a good commander, but he was not Kieri Phelan.

“Then perhaps it is time for you, too, to take a bold leap.”

“I understand that things will never be as they were. But this—this is different.”

“And yet you feel a pull. At some level, Dorrin, you want it. You have always wanted to redeem your family.”

She sighed. “Yes. But I cannot imagine how it can be successful. How to go about it.”

He laughed, startling her. “Oh, Dorrin—do you not remember when we were building the stronghold in the north? No one thought that would be successful. An upstart no-name granted land and title? No family fortune? And yet you joined me, and now—barring the fact that I can no longer be there—it is a thriving land. You have more experience than I had then.”

“If I can gain the support of the people, who have known only bad Verrakai.” And if the magelords still there didn’t kill her outright.

He cocked his head. “What you really doubt is yourself, not your people.”

Your people. He said it as if he knew already that she would take it on.

“In a way, yes.” She spoke slowly. “Back there, in that setting, away from the Company—from you—what if it comes back?” The fear, the immobility, against their power.

“What is it you fear, Dorrin?”

“I never told you what the Knight-Commander told me—”

“You wear the ruby. You would not have been knighted if there’d been much wrong.”

“Yes, I wear the ruby. But I wanted more. Wanted to be what Paks is. He said I bore the same flaws, heart-deep, as those I fled. That no Verrakai could be free of them—”

“You wanted to be a paladin?” He sounded surprised, but less so than she’d feared.

“I wanted to go back and change them all. I thought that was the way. He said I was unfit for that.”

“You were then, yes. Like me, you were a youngster with little experience and few skills. And I would agree that you are not a paladin. Nor am I. We were born with other talents, Dorrin. We are meant to govern. You have been doing that, superbly, since you joined my Company.”

“Under your command. And not exactly governing.”

He gave her that challenging grin she had known so long. “You know better. Each of you captains has had independent command, and you’ve all been involved in the dukedom. Come now, Captain: If I can go from running a mercenary company and a duchy to this—” He waved his arm at the room, encompassing the kingdom. “—and face my formidable elven relatives, then you can deal with mere humans and a duchy that desperately needs an honorable sane leader.” He paused; she said nothing. “And there’s this,” he said. “I expect trouble with Pargun, as well as some internal upheavals. Having you on my flank, someone I know and trust, would help me. I would not expect miracles, Dorrin—I know there have been cross-border raids and there will be more. But you will not be trying to undermine my kingdom.”

She nodded; it was both agreement and acceptance. “Not because I wish it though,” he said. “It must be your consent to your prince—to Mahieran, to Tsaia, not to me. I cannot be your commander any longer.” Regret softened his voice.

“I don’t know the prince,” Dorrin said. “I avoided court, as you know.”

“Yes. And now you’ll have to get to know Mikeli. He’s going to be good, I judge. His father was. You may have some problems with the Council, until they know you—”

“They certainly know the Verrakai name,” Dorrin said.

“We both face challenges. Do you think you’ll have problems with Verrakai troops?”

“Probably,” Dorrin said. “Even if they aren’t disloyal to Tsaia, they’ve been told that I’m a traitor.”

“Take your cohort,” Kieri said. “They’ll go with you willingly, and the prince has asked me to return them to Tsaia. Jandelir is headed south with a cohort—they are giving him the North Marches.” Dorrin noticed that Kieri did not say “my domain.”

“But they’re not mine—”

“Essentially they are,” he said. “Ask them, tell them I approved it. See what happens.”

“I—” For an instant her vision blurred. She blinked back tears. “You really think I can do it.”

“Don’t you?” Answer and challenge both.

She stared past him, out the narrow window; snow fell again, fat flakes in twisting curtains. “Yes,” she said. “I can. I will.”

“Then let me be the first to congratulate Dorrin, Duke Verrakai,” he said, holding out his hand. “And let us toast it.”

Dorrin clasped his hand, tears stinging her eyes. For so long he had been to her the elder brother she never knew, the father she never had—just, honorable, kind. And now she must take the lessons she had learned and apply them … without him.

Tsaia’s messenger rode off the next morning before dawn; Dorrin marshaled her cohort in the inn’s common room and marched them to their usual drill field, thinly covered with snow. Weak sun bloomed the clouds to pale gold; the snow was soft, already melting.

Instead of drill, she called them into close formation. “A messenger arrived from Tsaia late yesterday. A message to me from the prince.”

They stared at her, some faces showing confusion and others calculation.

“Most of you know that I am a Verrakai. You all know we were attacked by Verrakai soldiers on the way here. That act of treason was compounded by an attack on the royal family in Vérella. The entire family is under an Order of Attainder—all except me, because I have been estranged from them for so long. The prince has asked me to take over as Verrakai. I have agreed to do so. Now I ask how many of you will come with me. King Kieri does not command, but says you may come if you like.”

“To serve under you, or someone else?” Selfer asked.

“My command,” Dorrin said. “And you would be going back to the Duke’s—to the North Marches—eventually. Arcolin’s been granted that domain; he’s on his way to Aarenis.”

They looked at each other, saying nothing. “I will walk,” Dorrin said. “You will think.”

“I don’t need to think,” Sergeant Bosk said. “Captain, I’ll follow you anywhere. To Verrakai, to clean up that mess—of course! What better could we do, with our Duke—the king—gone?” Others nodded.

Dorrin felt a surge of elation. “All of you?”

“Well, you aren’t like that other Verrakai. You’re loyal to the Duke—to our king, aren’t you?”

“I will be swearing allegiance to Tsaia’s king.”

“Of course, Captain, but he’s Phelan’s friend, right? And you’ll need some loyal soldiers to start with. Couldn’t trust those Verrakai soldiers.” He spat into the snow.

“They probably outnumber us,” Dorrin said.

“They outnumbered us on the way here,” Bosk said. “They’ve had one lesson; we can give them another. They’re not worth a worry, Captain.”

“Well, then.” The first lift of elation, of possibilities other than dire, filled her. “Let’s get to work. The prince has sent troops to Verrakai; he should get my message that I’m accepting his offer. We can’t wait for Kieri’s—the king’s—coronation; we should go on as soon as may be. Jens is still unable to travel, and we need to ensure that all our mounts are fit.”

“Farrier came by yesterday, Captain,” Selfer said. “All trimmed and all loose shoes reset. We’re down three mounts, though, and seven pack animals … all but two could travel in another hand of days maybe, but not sooner. I’m thinking you’ll want us to be fully supplied?”

“Yes.” Dorrin thought. “I’ll ask at the palace about buying spare animals. Make up a supply list—ten days on the road, if the weather worsens. I don’t know what the road conditions are, once we’re in Verrakai lands. I’ll try to find out. I’ll be back at the inn soon after midday, if not before. Do we need any additional weapons?”

“We can always use more,” Selfer said. “The smithies are backed up, so if we could get twelve swords, fifteen shields new—if there’s an armorer here—”

“If there is, I’m sure you can find him,” Dorrin said. “I’ll go check on mounts and pack animals, and the routes we might take.”

By early afternoon the sky cleared from the west to a hard blue. Dorrin had found, as she expected, few available mounts outside the royal stables, but pack animals and even wagons were available. She found maps in the palace library, but only one trader who admitted any knowledge of the roads into and through Verrakai lands.

“Charge a ruinous toll, they do,” he said. “Unless they order goods, they don’t want trade comin’ through ‘less they get a profit. I was hired to bring in southern wine and silk two years agone. Road’s a mess, once you get past Rockwater crossing; they leave it that way for protection, they say.”

“Better with pack animals, then,” Dorrin said.

“Better, yes. You’ll find some brigand bands, like enough. Damned Duke starves his peasants; it’s no wonder. But they’ll steal if they can. You’ll want to be careful.”

“We’re armed,” Dorrin said.

“I hear the Duke’s in trouble with the Council,” the man said.

“His men did attack the king on the way here,” Dorrin said. “What else did you hear?”

“You’re one of his captains, right? I heard he brought his own army with him, and everybody knows he was a mercenary. We worry about war here.”

“He doesn’t want a war,” Dorrin said.

“I suppose you would know,” he said. “But a man who’s lived by war all his life … what kind of king will he make, and what will that mean for us, the traders?”

“When you’re in Vérella next,” Dorrin said, “you should talk to the Merchants’ Guild about trade to his dukedom. It’s been profitable and he kept the roads in good repair. I expect he’ll do the same here.”

“I hope so. I’ve always traded on the east-west routes, not to the north, but if that’s true … then good.”

Should she mention that she knew Kieri wanted to include merchants in the Council here? No, that was for him to say.

By late afternoon, Dorrin had conferred again with the king and Selfer. On her way back to the palace, she stopped by the stables to check on her own mount, hoping to find Paksenarrion there. Paks, indeed, was in the stall with her paladin mount.

“Good evening, Captain,” Paks said. “Did you ride out today?”

“No … Paks, I wanted to talk to you, if you’ve time.”

“Certainly.” Paks stood up, giving the red horse a caress as she left the stall. “What is it?”

“The prince of Tsaia has asked me to take on the Verrakai matter,” Dorrin said. “I believe you know that I am Verrakai by birth … I left home and they erased my name, they said, but—”

“Why are you telling me?” Paks asked.

“It’s complicated.” Dorrin stopped in front of her own horse’s stall. The sturdy bay put out his head and she stroked it absently. “I hated what they did; I ran to Lyonya and entered the Company of Falk. At one time, as a girl, I had dreamed of coming back to them as a … a paladin, like you. Breaking the bonds of Liart’s barbed chain, making them better … but I was not chosen for such training.”

“They don’t need a paladin,” Paks said. “They need a good ruler. Paladins don’t govern … I told the Council here that.”

“Why?” Dorrin asked. “I always wondered about that. Why wouldn’t paladins be good at it?”

“I’m not sure,” Paks said. “Perhaps because good governance requires different gifts. Rulers must stay with their land, wherever it is, while our calls to quest may take us anywhere. It would not be good for a land if its ruler left suddenly.”

“True. I had not thought of that.”

“And most rulers have heirs of the body,” Paks said. “Paladins are vulnerable in their loves … we are not encouraged to form families as rulers do.”

“So it is not simply that we lack abilities that you—that paladins have?”

“No … I think not. We are not perfect, Captain, just different. A sword and a plough are both useful, but for different things.”

“My family have done bad things, Paks. Very bad. I do not know how I will change their habits.”

“Do you know why they follow Liart?”

“They say it is the only way to preserve and strengthen the mageborn abilities,” Dorrin said. “They tried to initiate me, as a child. I was uncooperative. A spineless coward, as my father and uncle put it. But the others consented. I do not know how willingly.” She swallowed. “Because the Code of Gird forbids magery, some magelords fled into exile—”

“Into Kolobia,” Paks said. “Or so I suspect from the information in Luap’s writings.”

“My family would not give it up or go into exile. They hid it except in their own domain, using Liart’s power and blood magery to preserve and strengthen it.”

“This will come out now,” Paks said. “Or will you try to hide it?”

“No. It must come out and it must end,” Dorrin said. “But there is more.”

“What?”

“This.” Dorrin ducked into the shadows of an empty stall, almost dark in the late afternoon. Light flared from her hands. “I have a little magery. I do not use it, but I have it.”

“The light of truth,” Paks said.

“No. The light of fire. It will burn.” The light died. In the darkness, Dorrin went on. “You saw my sword flare in Rotengre. It has its own magic, yes, but the light is its response to mine.”

“You’re certain it’s the old magery?”

“What else could it be? I never trained as a wizard. I’m not a paladin. The Knight-Commander of Falk made that clear.”

Paks led the way out of the dark stall into the stableyard. “Did you have any training in your magery? Anything useful?”

“No. What they wanted to teach me, I didn’t want to learn. I can light candles or kindle a fire, but nothing like the light you produced for the battle.”

Paks frowned. “I don’t know what other magics the magelords were supposed to have … though the Marshal-General said the evidence out there in Kolobia suggested a variety of things, from lifting rocks to healing.”

“The archives list a number of abilities, but they’re all supposed to require training,” Dorrin said. “Making light is the one they watch for in children, to see if they have the talent. Others are less likely to emerge without it, though it does happen.”

“What does it feel like, when you make the light?” Paks asked. “Does it feel hot, there in your hand?”

“No. I don’t feel anything. Do you?”

“Only inside,” Paks said. “In my heart, there’s a … a feeling of being … partly somewhere else.” She shook her head and chuckled. “I can’t describe it. Something feels open, and the light comes. Master Oakhallow told me that paladins’ powers come from the gods. But we ask for light, or healing, and it may or may not be granted.”

Dorrin looked at her, remembering the tall, yellow-haired peasant girl who’d impressed all the older veterans with her likeness to the Duke’s dead wife. But every recruiting season brought peasant girls and boys, artisans’ sons and daughters, into the Company, and Paks was not the only one who seemed special at first. She was not even the only one who had reminded them of Tammarion.

Now she bore the High Lord’s silver circle on her brow, proof of the ordeal she had endured and the reward she had more than earned, and Dorrin was torn between resentment, admiration, and relief.

“I am not a paladin, but I would do what my people need,” Dorrin said. “The king told me to take my cohort, if they were willing, and they have agreed. I’m not sure it will be enough.”

Paks grinned. “Nothing’s certain, is it? But what bothers you most?”

“I’m not sure I’ll recognize everything that needs to be done,” Dorrin said. “I’m not sure I can stand against the magery they have.”

“The strength of their talent, or their training? Do you think your power is that much weaker, or is it that you don’t know how to use it?”

“Training, I suppose. Like a novice picking up a good sword, but having no skills, no experience.”

“You believe they could overpower you? Kill you?”

“I suspect so,” Dorrin said. “It’s not the danger to myself that I worry about—much, anyway. It’s what will happen to the land and people should I fail. Not just Verrakai land, either, but the whole of Tsaia. I don’t suppose you feel a call to come help me …”

“No,” Paks said. “I feel no call at all right now, but I can think of a way to help you, if you are willing.”

“And what is that?”

“If it is training you lack, then let us train your talents. Now. Perhaps it will not take as long as you think.”

“You could do that? You would do that?”

“I can try. We can try.” Paks grinned like a child about to try swinging from a vine over a river, all glee and eagerness. “What do you need most, do you think?”

Dorrin ticked them off on her fingers. “A shield against their magery, protecting not just myself but those I lead. A way to lock their magery, so they cannot use it. I saw one of my uncles do that once, to a half-breed, one of his bastards, who showed fight. Healing, if that’s in me—by legend, it had become the rarest of the gifts, and I never saw any of my family use it.”

“So first we find out what your gifts are, and waken them,” Paks said. “We should start, then, with the one you believe most difficult, healing.”

Dorrin felt her belly clench. Her family’s stories of the healing magery all involved loss, despair, weakening … but Paks was right.

If it could be put to good use, she might save some of the children that way, healing whatever hurts had been done them … and being able to heal might win supporters from those long damaged by her family.

“Let’s go to my room,” Paks said. “Quieter there.”

Dorrin was expected at table with the king; she was sure Selfer or Bosk would come looking for her. “I must leave word that I’m busy—”

“I’ll tell them I wanted to confer with you.” Paks grinned. “For now, nobody interrupts me.”