Oath of Fealty

25

Aliam listened to Kieri’s concerns with the same attention and intelligence he had always shown. “I’ve said the same to my brother for years,” he said. “But the Council’s so set against a standing army—though you’re wrong about the effectiveness of the forest rangers. And I would not want to march my formations into the face of the Royal Archers’ blackwood bows, either.”

“I know that Pargunese woman says she wants peace,” Kieri said, “but she doesn’t rule Pargun. Their king does, and after we killed his men in that battle in Verrakai country—and the border skirmishes we’ve had—I still think attack across the river is a possibility.”

“I agree,” Aliam said. “And I agree you need something more substantial up there, but how can you move rangers from the west while Tsaia’s still dealing with Verrakaien and Konhalts? How secure is that border?”

“Precisely why I wanted to talk to you,” Kieri said. “If you’re not taking troops to Aarenis, what about lending them—for a fee of course—to the Crown?”

“And insult the Royal Archers?”

“It’s not an insult,” Kieri said. “They don’t know our kind of fighting … I could send them north as well, to back up the rangers there. That might even give us reasonable coverage of the shore between the towns. Put a cohort or two in the rear, ready to respond in any direction—”

“It’s not a bad plan,” Aliam conceded. “But you won’t get the Council to agree.”

Kieri grinned. “I realized that, when I was talking to them before the coronation. But now … I’m not just someone they agreed might be, or could be, the king. Now I’m the crowned king, and under the Compact, they will all have to oppose me if they want to stop me.”

Aliam looked worried. “Kieri, I know you can do it—but—think what it looks like. You’re proposing to give me, an old friend, a contract—”

“Because there is no one else, Aliam. Surely you see that. I don’t want to bring in foreign troops, or I’d hire my old Company. You’re Lyonyan already. And you’re the only one here.”

“They are eating our reserves,” Estil said. “We haven’t had them all at our place in years—never, really, because after the Company got that big, Aliam wintered some of them in the South.”

“I can’t make a profit out of it,” Aliam said. Estil stirred but said nothing; he went on. “If I do it for cost alone—their board, their salaries—and if I do not command it myself, the Council may agree that it is fair. Otherwise I fear they might turn against you, Kieri, and you are the best—I think the only—hope this kingdom has.”

“It will be helpful to get them out of our storerooms, to be sure,” Estil said.

“Let me talk to the Council,” Kieri said. “From what you say, you should go back to your home, and I will move as gently as I can, and still get anything done. But you should hear something by the half turn. And if you choose to send troops south, instead—”

“No,” Aliam said. “I think not. I really don’t feel like another trek over the mountains and back.”

“Well, then. Let’s to more pleasant things—tell me about the family.”

Next morning, Kieri arrived at the salle with Aliam, Astil, and Varñe to find more than four hands of men and women in forest-ranger green and russet waiting for him, Arian among them. Carlion and Siger, who’d been warned some applicants might come, eyed them with professional disdain.

“There’s too many to assess at once, Sir King,” Carlion said. “If you’re to get any training this morning, that is. I’d rather take groups of four.”

“We’ll rotate them,” Kieri said. “And to save time—Siger, take the others to the stables, and tell Sir Ganeth I want a riding assessment on both grays and browns. Carlion, when you’re through with the first four, send them to the stables, and Siger will send you another.”

“Will you want to spar with them all, Sir King?”

Kieri shook his head. “I haven’t time today; I have a Council meeting after breakfast. Today Aliam and I will work together.”

Kieri and Aliam went on into the salle and let Carlion make his choice of the first four. They began with stretches and other exercises that soon had Aliam puffing.

“You used to run me ragged with these,” Kieri said. “Is Estil right? Have you been sitting around too much?”

“She thinks so.” Aliam grunted as he clambered up from the floor. “But I’m getting older—see how much balder I am? It’s all right for her, but my joints ache.”

“You told us the best cure for aches was more exercise,” Kieri said.

“So it is, for the young,” Aliam said. “Or maybe I am just lazy. This morning, I will say, it does not hurt as much. King’s grace, perhaps?”

“You were never lazy,” Kieri said. “And the grace your king wants is a good bout—” He opened the storage bin and tossed Aliam a banda and practice sword, and took one for himself.

Aliam’s swordwork was as good as ever, though perhaps a touch slower, and he was quickly tired, but recovered between rounds. He and Kieri traded touch after touch.

“All you need is more practice,” Kieri said, as he finished. “If I were your physician, and not your friend, I would bid you work daily with your armsmaster.”

Aliam shook out his arms. “And as my friend?”

“The same, but with concern for your health. If you stayed here longer—”

Aliam shook his head. “I cannot. Cal is competent, but I need to be home—there is much work to be done. You know how land is, especially with so many feeding from it.”

“That, we hope to change—but I understand.” Kieri looked around the salle. The second four, now fencing in the middle of the salle, were three men and one woman; Carlion paced about them, watchful.

“You will have King’s Squires enough,” Astil said, on the way back to the palace.

“Do you regret deciding to retire?” Kieri asked.

“No. I was glad to come and serve again—and so I always will be at need—but my life now is at the farm with my family.”

“I would like you—all of you current Squires—to help evaluate these applicants,” Kieri said.

“You have said you plan to use Squires more, and differently,” Astil said. “Can you explain, Sir King?”

“I will write it out for you,” Kieri said. “But it includes acting as couriers to carry messages and envoys to foreign courts when haste is needed. Think of the tasks those who came to seek me found necessary—weapons skills, woodscraft, palace manners, diplomacy. I need Squires who are flexible, able to act independently, as well as intelligent and hardy. And I want to include part-elves; we need to bring the peoples closer together.”

After breakfast, Kieri bade farewell to Aliam and Estil, then convened the first Council meeting since the coronation. The Siers looked wary and he wondered if Aliam’s brother had told them his plans. But their concern, it seemed, was different.

“Sir King, with all respect—how far into summer will we need to stay in Chaya?” That was Sier Davonin. “Growth time is here; I have duties at my steading I would carry out, if I am no longer needed. And truly, I believe you need our advice less than when you came.”

“What is your custom?” Kieri asked.

“A few of us stay in Chaya,” Sier Belvarin said. “When the former king was well, three or four, who met perhaps once a tenday. The rest lived on their estates—”

Kieri hoped his expression didn’t change. No wonder the realm had been sliding into disarray if that was all the attention its rulers paid it.

“We have had meetings every day since you came, but for the coronation and days of celebration,” Sier Tolmaric said. “I knew things would be different, but—”

“My pardon, Siers,” Kieri said, before Tolmaric said something he might later regret. “In my ignorance and my need I have overworked you. But I wished to be fair, to assure you that I would not thoughtlessly overturn all your cherished traditions, or ignore your advice. You are correct, Sier Davonin, that I no longer feel as lost and incapable as I did, yet I do not believe you want a king who ignores you and does not listen to your concerns.”

“Quite so,” Davonin said. “But as your understanding of us has grown, so also our trust in you. I, for one, am content to let you ask for my advice, should you ever need it, which I increasingly doubt.” She gave Tolmaric a sideways glance.

“Well, then,” Kieri said. “Let us say I will release those who do not have specific duties here—as Sier Galvary does, and Sier Halveric as well—within the next few days. I still have one matter, on which I know you all have strong opinions, and I would not seem to be evading you when I act on it.”

“You said ‘act’ and not ‘ask,’” Sier Carvarsin said, scowling.

“Indeed so. And we might as well come to it now. I’m still convinced Lyonya needs a stronger defense.”

Scowls all around, except from Sier Halveric, who merely looked grave.

“As I told you before, we have unrest to the west and a known enemy to the north.”

“The lady from Pargun spoke to me of peace between us,” Sier Davonin said.

“And to me as well,” Kieri said. “I believe she may be sincere—”

“May be! You consider her a liar? That sweet old woman—” Sier Tolmaric bristled.

Kieri stared him down. “Siers, I have seen many old women who could poison an enemy with sweetmeats while swearing eternal friendship. You are all honorable; I am sure none of you would say one thing and mean another, but my life has been spent among those who thrive on conflict and controversy. I found Hanlin of Pargun delightful, and I am sure many of you feel the same—but even if she is sincere, she does not rule Pargun, and she did not claim to speak for their king, who has long hated me. I remind you that Pargunese troops entered Tsaia to kill me on my way here—”

“That could be the Verrakai’s fault,” Belvarin said.

“So it could,” Kieri said, “except that they must have had the king’s agreement. Would a king well-disposed to Lyonya have cooperated with a plot to kill its new king?” Before they could answer that, Kieri went on. “Along the river, we have only three towns with any defenses at all; the rest is forest and small holdings that could be easily overcome—”

“You think Pargun will invade?”

“I don’t know,” Kieri said. “But north of the river, in Tsaia, they have tried repeatedly. Often, when defeated at one site, they’ve launched a second attack at another.”

“The Lady will not be pleased to know you talk of war,” Amrothlin said.

“I will not be pleased if I fail in my duty to protect my land and people,” Kieri said. “And I talk of war only to prevent it—in the words I used before, to give the lamb a safe haven from the wolf, as I am now the shepherd. It is my duty to see the danger and protect.”

“I am not so sure,” Amrothlin said, “that protection is all you intend. You have fought Pargun before, more than once, but under another’s command. Perhaps you only want the chance to do so unchained—as sheepdogs, loosed, may turn on their sheep.”

Now all the Council looked really scared. Kieri stared at Amrothlin, until, amazingly, the elf looked away. “If you truly think that of me, Uncle,” he said, “then you must question the Lady’s reading of my heart and her judgment in approving my kingship. That is a matter you may take up with her, if you wish.”

“You brought this up now so that you would be our crowned king, not our king-elect, didn’t you?” Carvarsin said. “Now we cannot naysay you, unless we all agree.”

Kieri looked at the Council again, one face at a time. “That is true,” he said. “But consider this: If it is not by Falk’s Will and the High Lord’s will that I am here, despite so many ill-chances, then I challenge you to explain why I am alive and in this seat. Why, when you were desperate for a king and sent a paladin to find one, I was there to be found, and proved by the sword.” He nodded to it, hanging on the stand. The jewel in its hilt flashed as if he’d touched it. “You swore you would accept whoever she found, and both when she first presented me, and again at my coronation you swore you accepted me. If you are so light in your thoughts that you would twice forswear yourselves before you grant the crown, why should I stay to be the plaything of your passions?”

A moment’s stunned silence as the councilors chewed that through.

“I support you,” Sier Halveric said, and slapped the table. A ragged chorus of slaps followed his.

Kieri looked at the two elves. Amrothlin shrugged. “It is not for me to accept or not accept: that is our Lady’s place, and she has consented. But do not push our Lady to the brink of her patience, Falkieri my nephew. Wiser heads than yours are at risk.”

“We are all at risk,” Kieri said. “I seek to lessen it.”

“And unfledged birds seek to fly by falling out of the nest,” Amrothlin said.

“I shall endeavor to grow feathers enough before I fall,” Kieri said. To his surprise, Amrothlin laughed and so did the others, if a bit nervously.

“What, then, is your plan?” Sier Davonin asked. “For I am sure you have one.”

“We have unstable peace,” Kieri began. “It is unstable because only a river divides us from an enemy.”

“We have river forts,” Sier Galvary said.

“If the Pargunese were unwise enough to attack the river towns, the forts might hold them off. But why would they not go around the towns?”

“The forest itself—”

“Is a partial protection, but is also my responsibility. It would be better to find a way to live peaceably with the Pargunese. That is not something I expected to say, ever, as I was convinced the Pargunese had no interest in peace, but I am advised that I might be mistaken. If they are not interested in peace, then we have much to do before the land is safe from invasion.”

“You speak of an army.”

“Yes.” Kieri sighed. Through long association, the humans of Lyonya had absorbed many elven—he dared not call them notions—about conflict and war, most of them, to his mind, inaccurate. He had been where they had not. “The rangers are excellent at what they do, patrolling the forest and keeping our people safe from brigands and the occasional raid from Tsaia—something we won’t have as much of with the old Verrakaien gone. We have the small city militias in those river forts, and the Royal Archers … but we do not have a force fit to meet even a single cohort of Pargunese, should they take it into their minds to invade.”

“But why would they?”

“Me,” Kieri said. “I warred with them on the borders of Tsaia; I killed one of their Sagons myself, and only realized much later it was their king’s brother. Moreover—and I found this out only recently—it’s possible their quarrels with us and with Tsaia come from very old wounds. The elves say their ancestors were driven out of their lands by magelords of Old Aare—they came to Pargun and Kostandan looking for refuge and then met what they saw as old enemies across the river.”

“Where did they come from, then?” Halveric asked. “I thought they were of mageborn origin themselves, probably crossed the river from Tsaia.”

“Not according to my elven tutor,” Kieri said, nodding at Orlith, who sat silent and still in his place. “He won’t say more than that they came from across the eastern ocean, and the same who tormented me tormented them until they fled.”

“Do you believe that?” Belvarin looked at Orlith and Amrothlin, then back at Kieri.

“In essence, yes. About the details, I don’t know. But if they had reason to fear and hate the Tsaians—the magelords, I mean, and know some of them moved here—and they’ve had me as their enemy these four hands of years and more, that could well be enough to bring an attack. We are less defended than my stronghold in Tsaia. That’s full of trained soldiers, and they’ve learned to let it alone.”

“So you want us to raise an army to make peace?” Belvarin said. The edge of scorn in his voice emphasized the apparent contradiction in that.

“I want us to raise a defensive army to make invasion less likely until—gods willing—I can convince the king of Pargun that I do not wish war.”

“Raising an army’s hardly likely to do that,” Belvarin said.

“Not raising one is likely to have our roofs fired over our heads,” Kieri said. They looked worried at that, as he intended. “It is true, I went to war year after year, and hired out my company to fight—but some of that, Siers, was garrisoning forts, defending and not attacking. I know what it takes to protect our river border; it will not be the muster of such an army as could invade Pargun.” He paused, meeting every Sier’s gaze. “I have no intention of going beyond the bounds of Lyonya with troops ever again.”

“But will Pargun believe you?”

“Not at first. But with time.” Maybe. He still had doubts—no, he still had the firm belief that Pargun was up to no good and would always be up to no good. But either way, for the sake of his realm, they needed more than scattered rangers.

“So what do you think we need?”

“I want to move half the rangers off the west border—remember, that force was doubled because of concerns about Verrakai aggression—and use them to keep watch on the river. The Royal Archers have the potential to be a useful force—I’ve been observing them—but they’ve not actually fought for a generation or more. Yet we’re paying them. I want to give them some formal training in combat arms, and have them paired with rangers.”

“Will that be enough? That’s not so bad; it costs us nothing more than it does now.”

“It will cost us more,” Kieri said. “Even an idle army is expensive, and moving one about more so. But that is not enough. We need two or three cohorts of trained, competent soldiers—ideally, as mounted infantry.”

“We don’t have the resources—” Galvary said.

“Or the men.”

“Or anyone to lead—”

“Right now,” Kieri said, “you have a company perfectly suited to Lyonya.”

“What?” They all stared at him.

“Aliam Halveric’s company. He is not taking it south this year, he told me. It’s smaller than it was; he didn’t take it south last year either, and some of his troops moved on, to find other employment. Most of the ones who stayed are from Lyonya originally. They’re well trained and experienced in all kinds of warfare. Far better than hiring foreigners—I’ve been the foreigner hired, so I know that for a fact. Far better than starting from scratch with raw recruits. We should ask Aliam for the loan of them this season and through the winter. If he wants to campaign them again next year or the year after, we’ll have time to plan for replacements.”

“I know he’s your friend, but—isn’t that—I mean, shouldn’t we have—”

“Others? Of course we should. We should have a small, but efficient, standing army under my colors. But it takes almost a year of training, and then a season of combat, to produce seasoned troops. If Pargun attacks this fighting season, Halveric’s is what we have available. All the other mercenary companies are in the south already.”

“Your own?”

“I hope so. I told Arcolin to take a contract if he could—troops are expensive to keep idle—and at least one and maybe two cohorts of mine should be on the road to Aarenis right now. Besides, I would not bring my—my former—cohorts here except in an emergency. They’re not Lyonyan. They’re foreign, just like Golden Company or Clarts or any of them.”

They looked at one another, avoiding Sier Halveric’s gaze until he spoke. “It’s like a gift to my family,” he said. “Let me provision them—as a gift to the Crown.”

“That is generous indeed, Sier Halveric,” Kieri said. “But too much burden for one family. Suppose you half provision them, and let me know if you run short for your own people.”

“Thank you, Sir King. It will be an honor to serve the Crown.” Halveric looked around, challenging the others. One by one they assented to asking Aliam Halveric to hire out his company to the Crown, for use in the north.

“Sier Galvary, if you will draft a formal request from the Crown, I will sign it and it can be sent tomorrow.”

One by one the invited foreigners came to pay their respects before leaving; the lady of Pargun, uninvited, also came and made the briefest of farewells. Kieri interrupted Kirgan Marrakai’s obviously memorized speech to ask him about the night of the assassinations.

“I hear you were actually there, Juris. Dine with me, if you are not leaving until morning; this is something I should know.”

“If you will, Sir King.” The young man scowled briefly, then looked up. “It was a dirty business.”

Alone with the kirgan that evening at dinner, Kieri let the young man tell the tale as he would. Like most Marrakaien, Juris told a story well. Kieri could feel the prince’s shock at the news of Verrakai treachery, the young men’s eagerness to do something decisive, the older men’s steadying influence.

“They kept wanting us—Mikeli and me—to sit down, think things through. And we finally did. Roly had gone to bring maps so we could see where they might attack the palace. And then Verrakai came in—” Juris took a breath. “No one knew he could change appearance. I thought for a moment it was my father—and before I realized the truth, in that moment he had us all, silent and motionless as stones.” Another pause. “We could do nothing. We had to watch, Mikeli and I, while he took a sword out of the Knight-Commander’s rack and killed him where he sat, and then the Marshal-Judicar, and still we could not move. He told us he would kill Mikeli next, then me, and put the sword wet with Mikeli’s blood in my hand. If it hadn’t been for Roly—” He told the rest in a rush, down to the death of Verrakai’s brother in the stableyard. “I didn’t see that, but I heard.” He paused again. “It wasn’t anything like it is in the tales.”

Kieri managed not to chuckle at that; Juris deserved better. “It never is,” he said. “And you never forget your first serious fight, even if it doesn’t go badly.”

“I always thought—we all did—we’d do better. We’re trained from childhood—”

“You’re alive,” Kieri said. “You and the prince, and your enemy is dead. Yes, you lost friends, but you did well.”

“My father said that. It doesn’t feel right, though.”

“No, and it never will,” Kieri said. “That’s part of being the kind of man you are—you’re Girdish and that means just winning is never enough.”

“How did you deal with it?”

A Marrakai approach—direct as a sword thrust. Kieri answered as the question deserved. “Looking back, I was an arrogant idiot for half a year or so, trying to pretend it didn’t bother me; Aliam took me out back of the camp one day and chewed me up one side and down the other. Said not admitting what I felt was as bad as dragging around long-faced as some did.”

“It bothered you less, in time?”

“Yes, or I could not have stayed in soldiering,” Kieri said. “But still—if someone I care for dies, it hurts. It’s supposed to hurt.”

“The others—our friends who weren’t there—they don’t seem to understand—”

“They will when they’ve been where you’ve been, and gods grant that it’s not exactly the same. Be patient with them. You and Mikeli and your friend Roly will always have a bond they do not have, but don’t rub it in.”

“No, Sir King. I won’t. Thank you.”

As the days passed, more applicants for King’s Squire service came in from outlying areas. Kieri had them all assessed and then, as time allowed, interviewed them one by one. All who had been rangers were hardy and skilled, but some found they did not like the prospect of living in a city or palace. They preferred the green aisles and solitudes of the forest. Those whose training came from other sources varied in their abilities; some humans were not fluent enough in elvish, and others, trained in weaponry only at home, lacked the fighting skills Kieri knew his Squires might need. A few were too quick of temper.

At last Kieri had four hands of applicants who had passed every test he devised, and who all—to his mind—would serve equally well. With the other Squires who did not wish to leave his service, that made five hands and one. Most had been rangers, as the rangers had provided the only part-elf applicants.

Organizing the Squires’ service might have taken longer if Garris, the eldest, had not offered to take over that task. “I’m getting a bit old for the rest of it,” he said to Kieri. “You can dismiss me, if you want, but I do have experience, and I can save a clerk’s wages doing the paperwork for you.”

Kieri had been wondering how to suggest that Garris might want to retire; this was the perfect solution.

“Thank you,” he said. “That’s a weight off my shoulders. I suppose we need a ceremony.”

“Of course,” Garris said. “Pledging an oath to the king—that’s when we get the gold bands. I’ll organize that, when I find out how long it will take the tailors to make up the uniforms.”

Kieri took the list of names off to the office he’d now established, and stared at it, reminding himself which faces went with which names. He was amused to find that he remembered the women’s faces best; everyone’s hints about marriage and heirs must be affecting him. But these women were too young, like Paksenarrion, like the young women trailed past him at his coronation. As Tammarion would be, if she came to him now as he had known her first. He tried to imagine Tamar as she might be now if she had lived: there would have been silver in that golden hair, though in memory she was always young.

That thought hardened his resolve to find someone older to marry; it was not fair for someone like him—his age, his experience—to marry a woman scarcely out of girlhood. In the ceremony a hand of days later, he was pleased to find that he remembered all the names and faces, male and female, and that he could look on his Squires as he had once looked on first-year soldiers.

Shortly after that, Paks bade him farewell and rode away, this time eastward. He knew better than to ask why—she would not know, herself, until she reached whatever goal the gods had given her. His new Squires, mixed with the experienced few, began their new duties. He sent couriers to Tsaia—one to Verrakai lands to find out how Dorrin was faring, one to Vérella, with messages both for the prince and to send on south to Arcolin, and one to his former stronghold.