Oath of Fealty

15

Dorrin woke before dawn and fumbled for the candle at her bedside. A chill draft came from the window, through both the inner and outer shutters. Above her, she heard a faint creaking of floorboards; below, the steady slop-slop-slop of someone mopping a floor, probably the inn common room. Somewhere outside a horse whinnied and mules brayed, the sound growing louder as more animals joined in. In the candle’s dim glow, she could see the leather case with its contents, her pack, yesterday’s clothes hung on a stand before the fire, now a bed of warm ashes.

Someone tapped on the door. “Light your fire?”

A very superior inn. “Come in,” Dorrin said, and reached for her belt with its pouch of coins. A serving girl, with a canister of kindling and a lighted taper.

“Breakfast soon,” the girl said, kneeling to place the kindling. “Can bring it here, if you’d like.”

“I’ll come down,” Dorrin said. She swung out of bed—a clean one, she’d noticed the night before—and as the fire caught, crackling, she handed the girl a copper. “Thank you,” she said. “What’s the weather outside? Clear or snow?”

“It’s not clear but there’s no snow,” the girl said, picking up the canister of kindling. “Cold, though.” She left, and Dorrin heard her tap on another door. Already the room felt warmer.

Dressed in cleaner clothes from her pack, Dorrin made her way downstairs and out to the jacks. On the way back inside she stopped at the barn and spoke to the two guards Selfer had posted. Selfer himself was coming out the inn’s side door.

“Morning, Captain. Favors of the day to you. They’ve almost got breakfast service started.” He looked wide awake, eyes bright, cheeks flushed with the cold.

Dorrin grinned. She had been that young once, and Selfer could have been a son. “And a fair morning to you, Selfer. I’ll be meeting with the local Marshal and possibly other town officials sometime this morning; we’ll stay here another day, let the animals rest up.”

“I’ll see the troops get some drill in, then,” Selfer said. “Any other orders?”

“Ears and eyes open. No one to wander off alone, but if you let Tam and Amisi go shopping for something, they might hear …” Tam and Amisi, Dorrin knew, found information the way pigs found acorns.

“Oh, I think we need several things. One of the mules’ halters is worn; I noticed that yesterday. I’ll ask the landlord if there’s a leatherworker in town. And two horses need a loose shoe reset … have to take them to the smithy. Can’t say I like the look of a girth or so …”

Dorrin chuckled. “You’re learning, Selfer, indeed you are. Take care of it, then. Don’t forget to eat your own meals.”

She went on into the inn, where the smell of frying ham permeated the common room. A few locals huddled at one table over mugs of steaming sib. By their clothes, they were workmen of some sort, young and probably still unmarried. Through the door to the kitchen, she saw a file of her cohort, moving slowly past two serving women who piled ham on half loaves of bread and handed each a bowl of porridge, and then out the kitchen door toward the barn.

Dorrin caught the landlord’s eye and he jerked his head at a table to one side, closer to the fireplace than the windows. She took the small table, and in a few moments he appeared with a wooden platter of ham and eggs and a pottery bowl of hot porridge. He went back and fetched a pitcher of cream and small pot of honey as well as a small loaf of hot bread.

She was halfway through breakfast when Sir Valthan came down the stairs, yawning. He blinked when he saw her. “You’re up early.”

“Not really,” Dorrin said. “Just habit.”

“I hate mornings,” he said. “May I?” She nodded, and he pulled out a chair and sat down. “My da believed in early rising and used to yank the covers off and slap my feet with a wet towel.” He rubbed his eyes. “I can stay up all night easier than I can get up before daylight—broad daylight.”

“Breakfast will help,” Dorrin said. She pushed the remainder of her bread across the table, and stood. “I’m full—get started. I’ll tell them to bring you the rest.”

“Thank you,” he said.

Dorrin went into the kitchen; the last of her cohort had a tray of mugs and a big pot of sib. She told the kitchen staff about Valthan and followed her cohort out. They had the barn’s big doors open and enough light came in to let them eat, sprawled on the earthen floor. They started to rise, but she waved them back down.

“I’ll let you know what I find out later today,” she said. “Selfer’s looking for a good drill field; the grange here—which isn’t Harway Grange, but Thornhedge—may let us use their drill field, or a Field of Falk may have some space. Some of you will be given errands in town; the rest stay close, don’t wander about.”

“Think there’d be trouble, Captain?” one of the younger soldiers asked.

“No more than we ever have in towns, but some of you have just made it into the Company. Listen to your sergeants: If you get drunk, gamble, or swive, you can be punished by locals and I can’t interfere.”

“I thought—”

Kefer shook his head. “Don’t argue, Selis.” He grinned at Dorrin. “He’ll learn soon enough, Captain. Selfer said you had assignments.”

“I won’t know until after I talk to the Marshal whether we’re marching tomorrow. Selfer’s probably already set it up, but be sure the farrier checks all the shoes, not just the ones we know are loose.”

Back inside with Valthan, Dorrin told him what she expected. “They would have had word their attack on Phelan failed—quicker here than in Vérella. I am sure the Duke and his brother had plans for that contingency, known to those at Verrakai House. They would have followed those plans and awaited word from the Duke.”

“And no word would have come—”

“We cannot know that,” Dorrin said. “Haron could have assigned messengers not known to be his agents—ordinary merchants, they might seem, innocent travelers—who’d carry word from Vérella of his success or failure there.”

“And you’re sure failure would not lead them to capitulate?”

“Cooperate with an Order of Attainder? No. For one thing, at least some of them must be guilty, and thus would face certain execution. They’ve all practiced magery and as you reminded me, the practice of magery was outlawed. They will not want to give that up any more than a man with two legs will volunteer to hobble on one.”

“So we may expect violent resistance?”

Dorrin frowned. “I do not know how violent … but some combination of magery—which may be quiet and cunning rather than open violence—and force. Some of the servants, at least, will be Liartians by belief, not out of fear alone. We should be provisioned so that we need eat no food prepared there until I’m sure of the kitchen staff for instance.”

“I still wonder—how can we know you will be able to hold off their magery? What if Liart strengthens theirs against you? Or—or invades you?”

“Do you, as a Girdsman, think Liart is stronger than Gird and the High Lord?”

“No, but …” His voice trailed away; he looked around the common room. “With all due respect … who in this kingdom knows what your powers really are, or whence they come?”

Dorrin wished Paks would walk in the door—the sudden appearance of a paladin of Gird being likelier than that of the Knight-Commander, and undoubtedly more to Valthan’s taste—but when the door opened, it was for someone who looked like a mason, down to the mortar splashes on his clogs. “What proof would convince you?” she asked.

“I—I don’t suppose you could show—something—somehow?”

“Violate the Code to satisfy you?”

He flushed. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” Dorrin said. “But it’s what you’re asking. The only reason the prince granted me permission to use magery is to ward off that of my relatives.” Then she had a thought. “What if we talk to Marshal Berris, and if he agrees, I will show you a little in the grange, where you can witness whether or not Gird approves? Will that do?”

He nodded. “Yes, indeed.”

“Then, we’ll do that. My plan is this: Since you will have to transport those under attainder to Vérella, I will bind their magery for your protection. Unless a priest of Liart intervenes, they should be unable to break those bindings themselves. Therefore I recommend you lodge them in a Girdish grange each night, and have the Marshal help watch over them.”

He nodded, clearly happy with that idea. “With so many granges between here and Vérella that should be easy enough, and I can use a courier to warn the Marshals.”

Dorrin went on. “Even without magery, and without weapons of their own, they will do everything they can to injure you and your troops and escape. Do not assume that because they are women of high family with fine manners they will be docile; you must be as wary as if they were a band of brigands. Travel with all speed.”

“I understand. Will you send the Phelani cohort with us for extra guards?”

Dorrin shook her head. “My cohort must stay with me, to keep order in Verrakai lands until I am certain all members of the family have been found and turned over to the Crown. I have been gone so long, I do not even know how many there are.”

“What order of march do you recommend when we go into Verrakai?”

“Half your troop in front, and half behind, mine; I will ride with you in front. We need the royal colors visible; I have had no chance to change mine from Phelan’s.”

“You could at least change saddlecloths to blue,” Valthan said.

“My troops are but lent, from Phelan—or whoever comes after him. They have their own colors.”

“They’re mercenaries; they’ll serve who pays.”

Dorrin stared at him until he looked down. “Mercenaries, sir, have loyalties as well as greed. My troops have fought years with me, and are loyal to me, but through me to Phelan, to whom I was loyal.” To whom she had hoped to stay loyal, to become a vassal in Lyonya, but now that was impossible. “Nonetheless, a change of saddlecloths might be a good idea. Excuse me.” She pushed back her chair and went outside.

“Captain, what orders?” As always, one of her cohort stood sentry by the door.

Dorrin took a deep breath and tried to relax the tension in her shoulders. “Where’s Selfer?” she asked.

“In the stable, Captain, checking the farrier’s work. I can go—”

“No, I’ll go,” she said. Calm. She must stay calm. She must not react to such slight insults as Valthan’s assumptions about mercenaries; her relatives would try that, too, hoping for a chink in her mental armor.

In the stables, the familiar smells of dung and hay and animals took the last knot out of her shoulders. In the aisle, one of the men held a horse’s lead, while Selfer picked up one hoof after another. Dorrin paused to watch, and when he was done, he looked around and saw her.

“Captain—I was just checking—”

“All done, then?”

“Yes; everything’s shod, all the straps mended, ready to pack up—do we march?”

“I want your opinion on something, you and the sergeants. Find Kefer and Vossik and meet me in the harness room.”

“Yes, Captain.” He jogged away; Dorrin walked to the end of the stables and turned in to the small room lined with pegs for harness, now mostly empty but ready for the traders and their wagons come summer.

The three entered a few moments later. “You know what I’m going to Verrakai for,” Dorrin said. “I’m thinking about the effect of taking you there—I need you, and you’ve all agreed to come, but under normal conditions a new duke would be wearing House colors and carrying the family banner. Instead—” She gestured. “We’re all in Phelan’s colors, and all our insignia are his.”

“You want us all to change uniforms?” Vossik asked.

“No. But I’m thinking it might be a good idea to indicate that though you’re Phelani, you’re temporarily operating as legitimate troops of the Verrakai Duke: me. We could replace the saddlecloths with blue ones, get a blue banner made up … I’m asking your reaction to that, and your opinion of the troops’ reaction.”

Selfer frowned. “Won’t they think you hired mercenaries to enforce your rule?”

“That’s exactly what I am doing,” Dorrin said. “But if I change my colors and your saddlecloths are blue, then I’m hiring mercenaries as a Verrakai—not coming in as a Phelani captain. It gives you some legitimacy as Verrakai troops.”

“I’ve marched under the fox-head since I joined,” Kefer said slowly. “Never thought I’d be anything other than the Duke’s man. But now he’s king, and he says we can’t stay with him there in Lyonya …”

“Captain—or should we even say that now?—are you hiring us permanently? Or just for a short campaign?” Vossik looked wary.

Dorrin ran her fingers through her hair. “I hadn’t thought about hiring you permanently; you’re still technically part of Phelan’s Company—”

“Which doesn’t exactly exist,” Selfer said.

“Of course it does,” Dorrin said. “The Crown isn’t going to dissolve it; they need it to protect the north against Pargun. It’ll be Arcolin’s instead of Phelan’s, I expect.”

“Not the same,” Vossik and Kefer muttered together.

“True,” Dorrin said. “But it’s still the Company. The Duke—damn, I’ve got to quit calling him that—the king left resources at the stronghold for Arcolin and I’m sure you’ll have work there as long as you want it.”

The two sergeants looked at each other. Selfer looked at his boots.

“Well, Captain,” Kefer finally said. “It’s like this. Been in the Company nearly as long as you, as you recall, and nearly all of it in your cohort—transferred after Etund died, as you recall—” Dorrin nodded for him to go on. “And it’s not something we talk about, but let’s just say Duke Phelan didn’t hire bad captains. Been your sergeant now for over ten years, and a lot of fighting, and I trust you. And Arcolin, of course, but—he’s not the Duke—the king—begging your pardon.” He glanced at Vossik again, and Vossik took over.

“Speaking for me, Captain, I’d be glad to soldier with you, if I can’t with … with the king. I’d say most of the rest would too. Can’t speak for ’em all, of course. But as for me, if you’re asking, I’m saying my oath to you.”

Here was a new problem. She had not intended to settle any outsiders in Verrakai lands, certainly not nearly a hundred fighting men and women. Yet it would mean having trusted people at her back. She turned to Selfer.

“Well?”

He looked up. “I’m not sure.” Kefer shifted; Dorrin shot him a glance and he went stone-still again. “It’s not any doubt of you, Captain, or your ability. But I’ve been thinking, anyway—of going for knight’s training. I’ve saved my pay, and—and you’re a Knight of Falk, and—I wouldn’t leave you now, in an emergency, but later—”

“I’m not asking a lifelong commitment, Selfer,” Dorrin said. He flushed but she went on. “You’ve got the talent; you’re a born commander, and if things hadn’t changed I’ve no doubt the king would’ve recommended that you take formal knight’s training, either at Vérella or Fin Panir, even if you came back to him as a captain. If you’re willing to spare me a year, it would be helpful—it might not even take that long.”

He nodded. “Of course I can, Captain.”

Dorrin turned to the sergeants. “I do not feel comfortable offering you and the cohort a permanent position without talking to the king and to Jandelir. The king offered me the loan of you, and without his consent I won’t commit for longer than a year. But if he consents, and if it poses no threat to his former holding—which Jandelir can tell me—then that offer is on the table.”

The sergeants nodded, eyes bright. “Thank you, Captain,” Vossik said.

“Yes,” Kefer said. “Thank you—and you, sir, too,” he added, to Selfer. Then, with a brisk nod, Vossik led them both out of the harness room.

Dorrin waited a moment, her mind buzzing with a thousand new details that had just sprung up to encumber what had been a simple plan. Then she turned to Selfer.

“I know,” he said, before she could speak. “Blue saddlecloths and some kind of banner. A pennon. Blue and silver. It may take more than a day; I’ll be as quick as I can.” He paused. “Blue surcoats?”

“No. Not yet. We’re not trying to fool them; we’re just making legitimacy clear.” She thought of something else. “I have the ducal seal. The prince sent it to me, along with the chain of office. If you run into any reluctance to sell to us—”

“Good. I’ll be off, then.”

Dorrin went back inside. Valthan was talking to some of the other Royal Guard, but turned to her immediately.

“Blue saddlecloths,” Dorrin said, before he could speak. “That was a good idea. I’ve sent Selfer to arrange blue saddlecloths and a blue pennant. It may delay us a day or two.”

“I’m sorry I upset you—”

Dorrin waved her hand. “It’s the common view of mercenaries. I should be used to it by now. Come, let’s talk of other things. Why don’t you introduce me to your comrades? Then we’ll visit the Marshal.”

“Introduce you … as the Duke?”

“It’s what I am, by the prince’s own command. Best begin here, in Harway, as we mean to go on.”

He bowed, but did not turn to the others. “My … lady … there is one problem. In living memory, Tsaia has not had a woman duke. How do I style your name and title? Are you my lady duke, my lady duchess? Surely not my lord—?”

“In Phelan’s company, we always used sir, to man or woman commander. And I am displacing a duke’s widow, who is used to the term lady. Let it be ‘my lord,’ odd as it may seem to your ear. It is an odd situation.”

Valthan nodded, and turned to the others. He had all the names, the order of precedence, and presented each with grave courtesy to “my lord, the Duke of Verrakai” and Dorrin acknowledged each bow with a slight one of her own.

Marshal Berris listened as Dorrin explained what she wanted to do to reassure Sir Valthan and gave Valthan a sharp look. “I saw her fight over near Darkon Edge,” he said. “I have no doubt of her loyalty to the Crown. And if the paladin I met there believes she has sufficient magery—and his own note proves she has the prince’s permission to use it—”

“I am responsible for my troop,” Valthan said. He sounded stubborn.

“Dorrin?” Marshal Berris said, using her name as if he considered her a friend. Her heart warmed to him.

“I was reluctant to demonstrate my powers to Sir Valthan alone,” Dorrin said. “I suggested coming here, precisely because it is Gird’s Code that forbids the use of magery, and thus we can assume Gird will be watching to assure that I do not go beyond the barest need. Also I believe that you, Marshal, will be able to discern if I am using any evil source of power. I fully understand why Sir Valthan feels he must know something of what I can do.”

Berris chewed his lip a moment. Finally he nodded. “Come into the grange,” he said. “First we pray, then we see what happens.” He led them inside, then shut and barred the outer door. His yeoman-marshal came out of the back offices, brows raised. “Sarn, I have business I may not speak of this morning. Go to the barton gate, and tell any yeomen who come that I will open the main door when I can. We should be through here by noon, should we not?” He looked at Dorrin.

“Yes,” she said. “I doubt more than a turn of the glass.”

“You don’t know how long my prayers will take,” he said, with a grim smile. “Tell them, Sarn, and do not interrupt or come nearer.”

“Yes, Marshal,” Sarn said, and went out, closing the side door behind him.

Dorrin looked around the big room with its platform at one end, the weapons racked along the walls. High windows let in diffused light.

“Come onto the platform,” Berris said. He himself went to a niche at the end of the room, and withdrew something from it. “This is a relic,” he said. It looked to Dorrin like a roughly hewn knobbly stick. “We believe Gird actually held it. Dorrin, it is a truth-test, and I will not demand you take it—you are a Knight of Falk and I know Falkians to be honorable—but it might reassure Sir Valthan.”

Dorrin took the stick, worn smoother at one end by long handling by many. “I am willing,” she said.

“Do not be surprised,” Berris said, “if something happens. I will ask questions.” Dorrin nodded. “Dorrin Verrakai,” he began. “Do you serve Falk and the High Lord?”

“Yes,” Dorrin said.

“Do you intend your magery to serve good?”

“Yes,” Dorrin said.

“Have you ever, in any way, consented to Liart’s evil?”

Dorrin hesitated; the wood in her hands grew warm, warmer than her grip should make it. “As a child,” she said. “In pain and fear, when I could no longer resist, I did a few times as I was commanded.”

“Have you ever used magery for your own profit, in any way whatsoever?”

“No.”

“By the power of Gird and the High Lord, I ask if truth be proved,” Berris said.

In her hands, the wood glowed as bright as any magic weapon; she could see the bones of her hands through illuminated flesh. Then it faded.

“Well,” Berris said. “I believe we may trust whatever comes, Sir Valthan. And now let us all pray.”

They knelt in silence for a time, Dorrin with them. When Berris rose, Dorrin and Valthan did also.

“What proofs would you have?” Berris asked. “We cannot produce a Verrakai lord—other than Dorrin, here—to test her powers on.”

“She has said she wants to shield us from attack—if there is any way to show that—”

“I cannot both shield you and attack you,” Dorrin said. “But I can shield myself and you, or myself and the Marshal, while the other one attacks physically. Will that serve?”

“If that’s the best you can do—” Valthan began.

“Gird’s arm!” Berris said. “I suggest three things. Make light. Hold one of us—or both of us—still so we cannot move. Then as you suggest, protect yourself and one of us against attack. That would convince me, if I were going with you.”

“You’d be welcome to come,” Dorrin said.

“Nay, I spent time enough away this winter. Let’s get to it. Can you make light?”

In answer, Dorrin set her hands alight and—as she had learned—expanded that light, making it brighter until the men squinted against it.

“Well and good,” Berris said briskly. “Now—Sir Valthan, do you and I draw blades, and starting at the main door, walk toward her, and see if she can stop us, and how far her power extends.”

Dorrin, on the platform, let them get to the door and turn, then sent her power out—and they both stopped midway of their first step. Valthan’s eyes widened; Berris scowled. She relaxed the power slightly; they struggled forward, like men walking in deep water. When she increased it again, once more they stopped short; when she released it, they both staggered before walking toward her at their usual pace.

“That must be what happened to the prince,” Valthan said, frowning. “Horrible feeling; I strained every muscle to move and could not.”

“What interests me,” Berris said, “is that I have seen and felt no taint of evil in it at all.” He looked at Valthan. “Do you want to go on with the third test?”

“I—yes. I believe she can do it, but—I would like to see it.”

“Curiosity,” Berris said.

“If the Duke doesn’t mind.”

“I don’t,” Dorrin said. “Come, Valthan: Let the Marshal attack us.”

She was used to making the shield, having practiced that most in Lyonya, and Berris—though a Marshal of Gird in Gird’s grange—could not touch either of them with a weapon.

“And so her powers are proved,” Berris said, putting a pike back in the rack. “And proved in Gird’s own grange—I hope you’re satisfied, Sir Valthan, because I can think of no more tests to perform here.”

“I am,” Valthan said. He bowed to Dorrin. “I’m sorry, my lord, for my doubts.”

Dorrin shook her head. “Sir, no apologies are due. You proved yourself a true Girdsman by your doubts, and honorable by your willingness to accept evidence. I do not consider your wish to protect your troops a discourtesy to me.”

“Good,” Berris said. “And since it was Valthan’s desire to come here, you, sir, owe me an exchange and the grange a gift. Dorrin, you go open the doors and tell Sarn he can come in.” Valthan looked startled, but complied, taking one of the wasters Berris handed him and stepping up on the platform.

By nightfall, all the mounts had blue cloth covers over Phelani saddlepads, and the troops, still in Phelan’s maroon, had blue armbands. Twists of blue yarn marked halters and headstalls. Dorrin’s own saddle now sported a quilted blue suede cover held on with star-shaped silver brads, a large blue saddlecloth trimmed in pale gray, and a drape of silver-gray brocade behind it. More of the silver brads adorned the cheekpieces and browband of her bridle. Dorrin felt her eyebrows going up.

“Leatherworker had some fancy brads,” Selfer said. “He said the former duke always had fancy saddlery, so I thought it’s what they’d expect.”

“I see you put new stirrup leathers—”

“Not taking any chances, Captain.”

“You’ve done well, Selfer. Now—from now on, I’m ‘my lord Duke’ to everyone, and you are Captain.”

“Yes, my lord Duke,” Selfer said promptly, without even a hint of a grin.

“Thank you, Captain,” Dorrin said. “Valthan has introduced me to his men, and swears they’ll be ready to ride on the morn.”

“So will ours, my lord,” Selfer said. “Did you have time to find clothes for yourself?”

“No success,” Dorrin said. “I did ask at one place, but someone had already bought all the blue cloth they had.” When Selfer looked abashed, she grinned. “Don’t apologize, Captain. I have my formal clothes, and Marshal Berris has lent me a blue cloak. It’s Girdish blue, not Verrakai blue, but it will do well enough.” It would also infuriate those of her relatives who still thought, and spoke, of Gird as “that peasant upstart.”

Next morning Dorrin woke more rested than she’d expected. She dressed: undershift, mail shirt, pale gray silk shirt, with her black velvet dress doublet over it, riding leathers, boots. She hesitated over the ducal chain—wear it? Carry it in its case? What would Kieri Phelan have done? She knew; she had been there. She lifted the chain over her head, started to tuck it inside her doublet and then, half-defiantly, left it exposed, gold against the black velvet.

She bundled the rest of her clothes, all the familiar maroon of Phelan’s Company, into a pack, snatched up the Marshal’s long blue cloak, and was downstairs before the first light grayed the sky. The innkeeper’s watch lamp gave only dim light in the common room, but a streak of light from the half-open kitchen door lay across the floor. She heard the rasping scrape of a broom there, the crack of sticks broken for kindling, and low voices.

When she pushed the door wider, a sleepy cook setting out bowls on a work table glared at her, and a boy paused in his sweeping.

“No breakfast yet! The fire’s not even up.”

Dorrin smiled. “I woke early and did not want to go out the main door, lest someone think I was off without paying.”

The cook’s face relaxed. “Ah … you think Bal’s even awake at this hour? Nay—’tis the smell of breakfast cooking that wakes him. If you’re going to the jacks, best take a lantern—it’s blacker than pit out there, and wet; the cobbles might’ve been greased.”

Dorrin walked outside, into a chill drizzle; the drops sparkled in the light of her lantern. Across the yard, she could see a gleam of light; it vanished and returned, vanished and returned. Her sentries, she hoped. At the jacks, she met Selfer coming out.

“My lord Duke,” he said, formally, with a bow. “A wet day for travel, but at least not snowing.”

“Good morning, Captain,” Dorrin said. “I think the weather will shift by midmorning if not before—the wind’s already changed.”

“The kitchen’s awake?”

“Yes, but a half-glass or more from breakfast; they had just woken the main fire when I came through.”

“I’ll tell the sergeants.” He moved off, into the dark yard that now felt, to Dorrin, a little warmer than even a few minutes before.

By the time the cooks had a hot breakfast ready, Selfer had roused the cohort. “And we woke the Royal Guard’s night watch, who were wrathy with us, until we pointed out this gave them an equal chance at breakfast.”

Dorrin laughed. “It’s just as it was in Vérella, leaving with Phelan … remember how we were packed and ready hours before they were?”

“But they’re brave,” Selfer said, more to himself than her.

“Oh, yes, they’re brave, and skilled at their style of warfare,” Dorrin said. “What they’re not, is used to constant travel. Not their fault; they’re not often used for this duty.” She could hear her soldiers in the kitchen now, and yet Selfer was with her. She cocked her head. “So you’re letting Kefer and Vossik run the cohort?”

“Only to check on you, my lord Duke, and to see if you have additional orders.”

“No, Captain; no new orders. We march when ready; you’ve seen what charts I have, and you know as much of the potential defenses as I do.”

“Very well, then.” He bowed and left her in the common room, now lit with several lamps.

Almost at once, one of the serving wenches brought in her breakfast platter. She was spooning honey onto the hot bread when Sir Valthan came in, yawning.

“Do you ever sleep?”

“I confess to waking unusually early—it should prove an interesting day.”

“I hope not too interesting,” he said. “My men tell me the town’s not unhappy to see a new duke in Verrakai.”

“Undoubtedly,” Dorrin said, through a mouthful of honey and bread. “Haron was as bad a lord as a land could have. I’ve no doubt he threatened merchants and traders here and on the roads near and through his territory. We know that granges on the south road were attacked—people missing or found dead after torture.”

Dorrin returned to her breakfast; his arrived and he set to. When she finished, she pushed back her chair. “I’m going for a last word with Marshal Berris; if I’m not back when you’re ready to leave, it’s on the way out of town.”

“You’re sounding like a duke already,” he said.

“I should,” Dorrin said, grinning. “Since I am one now.” She left through the side door; Selfer was talking to Vossik as the last supplies were loaded on the wagons. She caught his eye and he came over.

“Yes, my lord?”

“My pack upstairs, and armor?”

“Already loaded, my lord. The rest of your armor is slung on your saddle.” He nodded to her mount, now wearing its newly decorated tack.

“I’m going to the grange, to speak to the Marshal. I’d as soon walk, and stretch my legs; we’ve a long ride. When Sir Valthan’s got his troop ready to go, swing by there and pick me up.”

“Yes, my lord.” Selfer cocked his head. “Pardon, my lord, but perhaps an escort?”

“You think I need one here?” Dorrin asked. She laid a hand on the hilt of her sword.

“I think it is due a duke’s dignity,” Selfer said. “Two or three—”

“Two.” She waited to see which ones he’d select. He beckoned and two—the two she would have chosen—came up. “You’re the Duke’s escort through town,” he said. Then Selfer sketched a salute; Dorrin nodded and walked out the inn gate followed by her escort. Her first real appearance as Duke Verrakai … the first time she had considered herself a Verrakai since she left home. How would the townspeople react?