Oath of Fealty

24

At the heart of Chaya towered the King’s Grove. Ten of the tallest trees grew in a circle around a mossy mound where the coronation would actually take place. Kieri had been told of it, and forbidden to go near it. Now—on the morning of his coronation—he looked out the window to see the trees massed beyond the palace walls. Already he heard a distant bustle in the palace, and soft scuff of those who would bathe and dress him coming along the passage …

Kieri came down the steps of the palace in his coronation robes over new clothes from the skin. Before him, the Council that had sent Paks to find their king; on one side his uncle Amrothlin, the elven ambassador, and on the other the Captain-General of Falk. Immediately behind them, two King’s Squires and Paks. Behind them, the other Siers and lesser nobility, including Aliam and Estil—he’d insisted they be part of the procession, over Aliam’s protests. Merchants and crafters, too, this time over the protest of his Council, but he wanted everyone. Even—along with all the other ambassadors and envoys—Hanlin of Pargun.

Palace staff lined the way to the gate, and beyond was a crowd, held back by a green rope in the hands of rangers in russet and green. Kieri would have walked faster on his own, but measured his pace to that of the Council.

Left out the gate … along the street … and then an abrupt turn into a narrow lane winding between and around great trees, in a dim green coolness. The fragrance of sunlit meadows, of spring flowers, vanished into the rich, complex odors of forest.

Finally, the King’s Grove. The ground rose slightly under his feet as they approached tree trunks wider than houses; the path lifted over knotted roots, dipped between them.

He felt the taig here, far more strongly than he ever had; the flavor of each individual tree, its essential being, touched him. Ahead, his Councilors lurched and scrambled, the oldest helped by the younger, but to Kieri the path felt smooth, welcoming. On either side, great boles rose, furrowed bark shaggy with moss and tiny ferns near the ground, but higher showing multiple shades of red-brown, lavender, green-gray, where lichens patched the bark. A rich fragrance enveloped him, complex and enticing.

Beyond the trees, the ground rose smoothly, the path marked out with round white cobbles on moss and grass intermixed with tiny flowers, pink and white and blue. The top of the mound rose to the height of two men, level there with a single stone on it. The Council paused, then split into two lines, each moving to the side. Only the most senior, Sier Halveric, led the way up the mound. Kieri followed, and the Captain-General of Falk and the elf ambassador moved with him. Behind him, he could hear his Squires and Paks, but the others, he’d been told, would join those marking the human half of the circle.

As he climbed, he could see files of elves lining up on the other side of the circle. With every step he felt the same strangeness he’d felt in the battle on the way … the hairs stood up on his arms, his neck, and the sunlight pouring into the center of the opening acquired a silvery shimmer. Every leaf, every flower, seemed to glow from within. More fragrance rose from the moss, from the grass, as if the earth itself breathed welcome and delight. And now he could see the Lady of the Ladysforest, bringing with her the elvenhome light, with her attendants behind her. He came to the lip of the mound’s flat top and saw the stone, a polished slab inlaid with the flowing patterns elves favored.

Trumpets sounded. Kieri stiffened. He had seen no musicians … and yet the sound seemed to come from everywhere.

“Present the king-to-be,” the Lady said. “Is he acceptable to all?”

“Great and gracious Lady,” Sier Halveric said, “this is Falkieri Amrothlin Artfielan, seed-son of Falkieri, fourth king before, and born-son of his elven queen. The Council of Men accepts him as king, with joy.”

The Captain-General bowed. “The Company of Falk accepts him as king, with all joy, in the name of all his human kindreds.”

“I present him to the Lady Flessinathlin of the Ladysforest,” said the elf ambassador. “He is known to us, as my Lady knows, and I will ask: Is he acceptable to the elven kindred?”

“The Ladysforest accepts him, with all joy. Let the elfane taig witness, and the forest taig witness, and the people of this realm witness: All accept him.”

Kieri felt his eyes stinging.

She bent her gaze on him. “Come forward, Falkieri my beloved grandson, and make those pledges that bind our peoples together. And accept the blessing of the Singer, the High Lord, and all gods who serve the good. It is time.”

The Halveric and the elf ambassador stepped aside, and Kieri went forward alone, to stand across the stone from the Lady. “Your dagger,” she said, drawing a slim silver knife from her waistband. Kieri handed her his dagger—new, like the rest of his outfit but the elf-blade at his side—and took hers.

The words—he had learned the words of the pledges—but speaking them in chorus with her, in that mix of light, in that place, he felt them piercing his heart. “I, Falkieri Amrothlin Artfielan, pledge my life to this realm, to the welfare of all its people of every race. I pledge to renew and protect the taig to the end of my ability …”

And as they spoke, Kieri followed the Lady’s lead as she pricked her finger with his blade, and he pricked his finger with hers, and the mingled drops of blood fell on the stone, in the exact center of the design on its upper surface.

Kieri had never seen elf-blood before; he had heard the phrase “silver blood” but had not known what it meant—now the silvery glints danced in that drop, and when the drops landed, they shone a moment on the surface, then disappeared. In that moment, a lance of light shot upward from the stone, bright even in the sunlight. Kieri felt for a moment that he had been clasped in strong arms and given a knight’s buffet. Then he was standing, blinking against the afterimage of intolerable brightness, and the Lady across from him blinked back.

“The gods have blessed you indeed, Grandson,” she said. “I think we may safely say the pledge was witnessed.”

Kieri found it hard to speak. “I … did not expect that.”

“It is not usual,” she said. “Only a few coronations have had such a response from the stone. But now—you need a crown on that head.” She gestured.

The crown was of green-tinged gold, a circlet of leaves—each one unique. On it were set rubies dark as blood. It sat lightly on his brow, as he came back down the mound, this time on the elves’ side of the circle, walking arm-in-arm with his grandmother. Together, they circled the mound, and the courtiers of both bowed low, then mounted the hill again. There they bowed to one another, and the Lady said, “It is your day, Kieri; make your procession and then I will join you for the feast.”

Kieri went back down the human side, this time to cheers. Now his Squires led the way, and the whole Council walked behind. Back down the lane, and into the city, its streets lined with cheering crowds. Banners hung from the windows, flowers were thrown down before him. He’d seen triumphant processions before; he’d walked in some. This was different, and not just because he was now king. He felt around him—behind, where the King’s Grove lay, and ahead, where the forest curved around the far side of the city, and beneath, where the waters trickled through stone to emerge as springs nearer the river—the taig, stronger than ever. His awareness seemed to deepen with every step, and yet it did not distract him from his people, pressing as near as the rangers allowed.

He would walk, he knew, the bounds of the city, ending again at the palace gate. “Bounds must always be walked to dawn first,” Belvarin had explained. “It is not the direction of the circle, but the direction of the first turn that matters—it must be the shortest way to the rising sun and the elvenhome kingdoms.” Now they were nearing the city’s margin, with forest beyond gardens and orchards. A cloud of birds rose singing from the trees—tiny birds, brilliantly colored, fluttering like butterflies. They swooped nearer, flew in a spiral over his head, and returned to the trees as the procession turned toward the river. Butterflies then took over, out of the gardens and orchards, arching over the lane, then settling on his shoulders and arms as lightly as air, as if he wore a cloak of jeweled wings. As they neared the river side of the city, the butterflies lifted away, and out of the water meadows rose flying creatures as brightly colored as the birds and butterflies … glittering gauzy wings, metallic greens, golds, blues, scarlet. Kieri put up his hand and one landed there long enough for him to see it clearly. Great green eyes, a body boldly striped in black, gold, and green, with a green tail. The head cocked toward him; he could see tiny jaws move. Was it talking? He could hear nothing, but the creature looked as if it were listening.

It was a long walk, and his new boots—comfortable enough that morning—were far less so by the time they reached the palace gates again. He could smell the fragrance of roast meats and bread, but next he had the ritual visit to the royal ossuary, and spoke vows into that listening silence, to those who had given him bone and blood, vows no one else would hear.

He came up again to find the feast spread in the King’s Ride, long tables stretching away into the distance. On either side, the trees rose up; he could feel them, feel their roots below the cushiony sod that welcomed his feet. His place lay at the farthest table, with the Lady, and that led him past the others, where men and women—and not a few children—bowed as he walked by.

At the head table, set across the line of other tables, he left a seat between himself and Aliam Halveric, and bent his knee to the Lady. She had withdrawn her glamour, as someone might fold in a cloak, but he was aware of the line of it connecting her through ground and air to the elvenhome kingdom she ruled.

“You are happy, Sir King?” she asked. He heard real affection in her voice.

“I am,” he said. “Still somewhat mazed, though.”

She chuckled. “So I would think. Bards elven and human will make songs of all this for a thousand years. Your paladin looks well.”

“She is not my paladin,” Kieri said. “She belongs to her gods.”

“Ah, but you were her … there is no word in human language that I know … I believe you were there when Ardhiel told her the story of the harp growing?”

“Yes …”

“Well—you are one of those who can grow people. It is not the same with individuals, of course, because unlike a tree, humans have choices they can make.”

“It was not my doing,” Kieri said, watching Paks come up the line of tables, laughing and chatting with people. “She was extraordinary from the start. I wish you could have met my wife, though …”

“I, too, Grandson.” She turned to face him and for a moment he saw compassion in her face. “You had children, and lost them. We both did. It is my dearest hope that the Singer grants you another love, and I know—because of my losses—that new children will not replace the old in your heart.”

Just as Kieri felt tears sting his eyes, Paks arrived at the table and came to his side. “Sir King? Are you well?”

“Very well,” he said, swallowing the tears, bitter and salt together. “Sit here between Aliam and me, will you not?”

“Of course, Sir King.” She sat, and as they ate, she chatted more with Aliam than with him, giving him space to talk to his grandmother. The afternoon wore on with music and song and—as he had promised Kirgan Marrakai—dancing.

At one point, the Pargunese envoy, Lady Hanlin, paused beside his chair. “I see not all the beautiful girls are in Pargun,” she said, with a sly grin. “But some are. I have nieces, you know.” Then she passed on, smiling and chatting with anyone who would speak to her, and smiling pleasantly at those who would not.

“If all Pargunese were like her,” Aliam said, leaning across, “we would have far less trouble with them.”

“We would have different trouble,” Kieri said. “Open enmity is easier to recognize.”

“I do not believe she intends evil,” said his grandmother. “And I believe I would know.”

“Then I suppose she wants to marry me off to a Pargunese girl,” Kieri said.

“Perhaps. It is a traditional way of cementing friendship between peoples, though—” She paused, one eyebrow rising. “—it does not always work. Especially if one does not wish it.” Then she smiled, a smile that seemed to fill the entire world for a moment. “But I must not lessen the joy of this occasion.”

The next two days were filled with Lyonyan traditions: showing the coronation gifts—now covering many tables—to anyone who wanted to walk past them. Guild processions wound through the city, ending at the palace with a presentation to the new king. Twice, small children escaped and got lost somewhere in the palace; these were quickly found and restored to their parents. Three times, adventurous adolescents tried to sneak upstairs, only to be foiled by alert guards and escorted outside the palace walls. In all this, Kieri had no time for a long talk with Aliam Halveric, and Aliam and Estil had not come to the palace since the coronation itself. On the third day, he sent a message and asked them to come. He was sure the Council would not meet that day, even if he convened them; everyone was tired by now.

When they were announced, Kieri led them upstairs to the royal suite.

“I’m still not used to this,” Kieri said, waving his hand at the room. “This and all that goes with it. I wasn’t trained for it.”

“You’ll do well,” Estil Halveric said. Aliam grunted, running a finger along the carved back of a chair. “It’s nothing but a larger domain, after all …”

“Oh, it’s not the responsibility,” Kieri said, though he felt the weight of it hovering over him. “It’s this—this palace, this ceremony. Your steading, Aliam, or mine … comfortable enough, beautiful—yours anyway—but no more luxury than anyone needs. This is …”

“Royal,” Estil said, with a touch of firmness. “Royal, like you, Sir King.”

“I’m not—”

“You are,” Aliam said. “You are, and you always were, and this is your house—you belong here, and you will adapt to it sooner than you think.”

“I must not forget,” Kieri said, turning to look out the window. “I must not let it …” He searched for the right words, could not find them. “You always said, Aliam, that a soldier must never get too used to comfort—”

“So I did, and it’s true.”

“But this—” With him, they looked around the sitting room of the royal suite. Soft cushions, upholstered chairs, another one of those incredible carpets figured with flowers and vines and trees and birds and butterflies … “This, if I let it—”

“You won’t let it,” Estil said. Kieri saw the sparkle of tears in her eyes. “Kieri, Kieri—you are not that kind of man. You were not that kind of boy. That is why you will be a good king—are a good king already. This is all due the king’s majesty: it is meet and right, the measure of a royal house, but you will not dishonor it by thinking it is yours alone. Trust yourself, Kieri.”

“I … am not sure. When I think of how I got here …”

“It’s my fault,” Aliam said. “Those years of not knowing. If only I’d figured it out, and how to go at proving it—”

They had been over that before; Aliam had fallen at his feet, begging forgiveness, when he first arrived. Kieri shook his head. “It is not your fault. I told you, Estil’s told you—if your king and your wife can’t convince you, who can?”

Aliam smiled, but the smile touched only his lips; his eyes were still sad. “If you will quit thinking you aren’t worthy of this, Kieri, it will ease my mind considerably.”

“At least you aren’t calling me Sir King every moment,” Kieri said. “The day you quit calling me Kieri—at least in private—I’ll really worry.”

“We must go soon,” Aliam said. “I can’t leave the Company to themselves for too long …”

“Are you going south this year?” Kieri asked.

“Not me,” Aliam said. “I might send Cal in my stead, but he’s taken over much of the work at home. We have potential contracts—but I’m getting old to go back and forth over the mountains.”

“You are not old,” Estil said, punching him lightly. “You are fat and not taking enough exercise, that is all.”

“We can take care of that,” Kieri said, grinning. “At least while you’re here. You should see the royal salle—in fact, come with me now—”

Kaelith, one of the King’s Squires, stood duty at the door to the suite, and led the way to the royal salle, but on the way they were interrupted by Sier Halveric.

“My pardon, Sir King, but I thought you would wish to know—now that the stables are no longer full of guests’ horses, the royal mounts have been brought in, including those gifts given at your coronation. Master of Horse would like your word on which to keep at hand.”

“We should go today,” Aliam said. “I’m sure we’re taking up stalls you’ll need.”

“Not to worry, Aliam,” his brother said. “I moved your mounts to my own yard.”

“Stay, Aliam,” Kieri said. “You’ve always had a good eye for horseflesh; you can help me choose.”

The royal mews rang with the sound of hooves and whinnies; Sier Halveric introduced the Master of Horse, Sir Ganeth, a lean man Kieri could just remember bowing over his hand during earlier ceremonies. He wore the ruby of a Knight of Falk on his collar.

“Sir King, I know you have heard comments about the color of our horses—and as you are half-elven, it is important for you to understand that the two have different preferences in color. Do you yourself?”

“I was taught to value conformation and performance over color,” Kieri said.

“Quite right, quite right. And yet here we must also consider color. The elves, Sir King, prefer horses of water and air, what you probably call grays and blue roans, like your mount Banner. Men prefer horses of earth and fire, what you probably call bays and chestnuts and red roans. In recent years, the royal stables ran heavily to earth and fire, by the will of the Council—” Here he glanced sharply at Sier Halveric, who shrugged.

“With only humans attending Council regularly, they would naturally lean towards those colors. Everyone knows grays are temperamental … perhaps you have to be an elf to understand them …”

“The first horse I ever owned was a gray,” Kieri said. “A Marrakai-bred, and one of the best I ever rode. Banner is of the same breeding.”

“Sir King, you are half-elven. Perhaps it was that—”

“Perhaps. But let’s look at these—” Kieri waved at the stalls. It was not the moment to point out that the Royal Guard of Tsaia chose grays for their ceremonial mounts because they looked good with the Tsaian royal colors.

“We have an indoor school,” the man said. “If you would prefer, there is a royal box …”

“Indoor school?” Kieri had never heard of such a thing.

“The elves built it,” Sier Halveric said, with just the faintest edge to his voice. “Their horses are … flighty … or so our stable personnel insist.”

“I’ll just walk along the stalls first,” Kieri said, hoping to stop that in its tracks. “Come on, Aliam, Estil, let us see some horses.”

The Master of Horse moved up just off his right shoulder. “Sir King, this first row begins with the horse you rode from Tsaia—”

“Banner, yes.” The horse put its head out. Kieri rubbed its face, glancing in to note the clean, well-laid straw, the wrapped legs, the horse’s shining, satiny coat. Whatever the stable help thought of grays, they had treated Banner well. “You like it here, Banner, eh?” The horse tucked its nose and he chuckled.

“The rest of this row are what we consider traveling mounts worthy of nobility: horses you might ride about the kingdom as you visit the steadings. The former king had not ridden for years, and his favorites had, in the meantime, aged to the point where I questioned their endurance for long travel. I chose to retire them, and seek younger animals, but if you wish to see them, I will take you to their pasturage.”

Kieri wondered what to make of that. He had always chosen his own horses, after that first one, often buying Marrakai-bred, as with Banner. He wondered how someone else’s choices would suit him. “How many horses would you think I need for such travels?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” Ganeth said. “I was not Master of Horse to the king before the former king; I do not know how such decisions were made.”

Kieri had to admit he had not seen such a collection of near-perfect horseflesh anywhere, not even in the royal stables in Vérella. Under the covered arcade, a row of bay and chestnut heads looked out over stall doors. Two, three, five … ten? He stopped counting. Who needed so many horses? Kieri walked along slowly, letting each sniff his hand, and casting a practiced eye over their conformation.

“You’ll want to see them in action,” Ganeth said.

“Indeed yes. And then try them out.”

Ganeth smiled widely for the first time.

“But where are the grays?”

The smile disappeared. “They’re in this row … through here …”

Backing on the first, this row of stalls held grays and two blue roans, all looking out of their stalls like the bays and chestnuts … but these wore headstalls and were all tied to a ring just outside the stalls. “Why?” Kieri asked.

“The grooms feel safer,” Ganeth said.

“The horses don’t,” Kieri said, looking at the row of fretful heads tossing this way and that, jerking the halter ropes. “Easy,” he said, approaching the first. The horse pinned its ears.

“He nips,” Ganeth murmured.

“He won’t nip Kieri,” Estil said.

Kieri appreciated the sentiment, but he wasn’t sure. “Easy,” he said again, with the same tone he’d used on horses and injured soldiers for years. He reached for the tie; the horse reached for his arm. Kieri bared his teeth and grunted; the horse in the stall wrinkled its nostrils tightly and pointed its muzzle away from him while he untied the line from the ring, and reached up to unfasten the halter. The instant it felt the halter loosen, the horse whipped around and kicked the stall door. The other grays jerked at their ties.

“You see how it is, sire,” Ganeth said. “They must be tied, for the grooms’ safety.”

“How long have they stood tied like this?” Kieri asked. “Today, I mean?” He did his best to keep his voice level. The horse in the stall had its nose in a water bucket, the swallows running up the underside of its gullet visibly.

“Since the stalls were mucked—they were all taken to water at dawn bell, and walked in the row while their stalls were cleaned and relaid.”

Kieri glanced in. The gray pinned one ear and lifted a hind hoof. “Oh, settle down,” Kieri said; the ear swung forward and the gray went on drinking. The stall was bedded just like the others; the horse bore no lumps or marks of misuse, other than being tied for hours in one position. To the others he said, “I’m going to untie them; their movement won’t be true in the school if they’ve been standing tied that long.”

Ganeth bowed, and excused himself to have the horses saddled for presentation in the school. Soon the sixteen bays and chestnuts, plus Banner, lined up in the school for Kieri’s inspection. Every one showed the sound, useful conformation needed for a travel mount; all were up to his weight. They had a different look than the Marrakai-bred horses he’d ridden most, the head a little longer. He remembered that from his time at Falk’s Hall. “These are all excellent,” he said to the horsemaster. “Where did you find them?”

“Many are gifts from your nobles’ breeding,” the horsemaster said. “The grays mostly from your elven relatives. Will you see them in action now?”

“Yes,” Kieri said. “But from the saddle. I’ll ride Banner to warm myself up before I try them. Aliam, I’ll depend on your eyes on the ground for anything I miss.”

“The usual criteria?” Aliam asked.

“Yes … you know my horses and my style of riding; you know what suits me as well as I do, I daresay.”

The grooms saddled Banner with Kieri’s own saddle, the fox-head insignia still on the skirts, but now with a saddlecloth in green and gold, with the royal insignia embroidered on it. He wondered what had happened to the familiar maroon and white cloth.

Kieri walked Banner around the riding hall, watching as the exercise riders mounted, noting which horses shifted or showed any sign of discomfort or tension. Most did not. They lined out behind him; he turned Banner to the center, and watched, saying nothing, but noting every detail of their movement. Walk, trot, canter: the riders were expert, the horses well schooled. It came down to minor points … the length of overstride at free walk, the cadence at trot, the steadiness.

“Aliam?” he said, swinging down from Banner as the horses lined up again.

“That one.” Aliam pointed. “I think he’s a little short-strided for someone of your build. A good horse, no doubt, but he’d suit your Captain Cracolnya better. Those four—” He pointed at them. “About perfect for you, I’d think.”

“I’ll start with the doubtful one,” Kieri said. “It’s only fair to give each a trial.” But after he mounted, he knew his eye and Aliam’s had been correct: the horse was better suited to another rider. On long rides, that short stride and quicker cadence would be tiresome for him.

He spent some minutes with each horse, assessing feet, legs, disposition, and finally movement. “The four you chose I certainly want,” Kieri said finally. “Of the rest, I will reserve judgment until I’ve seen and tried out the grays.”

“But surely there are enough—”

“As you said, the elves prefer the other colors—and this realm is jointly ruled. I must have some grays other than Banner in my stable.”

The horses he had not dismissed were taken to one end of the hall, and a line of grays and blue roans entered, all saddled and ready for trial.

“You know horses sense tension and fear,” Kieri said to Ganeth. “Have you exercise riders who are not afraid of grays?”

“Some,” Ganeth said. He gestured, and three came forward, a woman and two men. “Arian is half-elven, a ranger come to assist during the coronation celebrations. The others, Kiel and Surn, have some elven blood.”

Arian grinned. “Not only that, Sir King: word spread that you might be seeking new King’s Squires, some with elven blood. Several of us found reason to come to your coronation.”

Kieri chuckled. “Word spreads fast. Well, Arian, I will decide when I’ve seen those who want to serve. For now—let’s see how you ride.”

The three mounted; Arian rode as if born in the saddle; her mount also looked to be a near-match for Banner in stride length. “What do you think, Aliam?” Kieri asked.

“She rides really well—oh, the horse. Definitely one for you. So is that one—” Aliam pointed at the third horse in the group. “The second one’s not as good, I think.”

In another half-glass, Kieri had found six grays that suited him. “Keep the others,” he said to Ganeth, “as mounts for my Squires. Arian’s right: I do intend to have more Squires and they must all have good mounts and reserves, for I intend to use some of them as couriers.”

“Very well, Sir King,” Ganeth said.

“And Arian, you can tell the others I will begin interviewing those who wish to serve as King’s Squires tomorrow. They should meet me in the salle at sunrise.”

“Thank you, Sir King.”

On the way back to the palace, Estil said, “Now, that’s a nice young woman.”

“I’m not marrying a child,” Kieri said. “She can’t be more than twenty-five at the most. Find me someone nearer my age, and still able to bear, since all anyone cares about is an heir.”

“It’s not all I care about,” Estil said. “I want you to be happy.”

“And in the meantime, I want to talk to Aliam—and you, of course—about the defense of the realm.”