Oath of Fealty

38

Dorrin left the next morning, escorted not by her Phelani troops, but by five Verrakai militia chosen by Selfer for their progress toward soldierly qualities. They looked nothing like the ruffians she’d first encountered; now their badges and buckles gleamed, their boots shone, their hair was clean and trimmed. Their saddlecloths were authentic Verrakai—that much had been found in the stables—though the horses were Phelan’s. Dorrin had signed another note to Selfer acknowledging the debt.

With them, on Farin the cook’s advice, were two of her assistants. “Efla can cook, passably,” the cook said. “Jaim’s too young, but you’ll need an errand boy to help fetch and carry from market and the like. None of those militia I’d trust to boil water and make sib, let alone cook for the lot of you, and you don’t know if any of the servants are still in the city house.” A single pack animal carried only a light load—the royal regalia, now wrapped piece by piece in clean linen and then packed into a padded sack—and what she’d found that might be turned into court clothes later. Another carried supplies they might need in Vérella “in case the house was robbed after the old duke …” The cook laid her finger on her throat. Dorrin had the prince’s invitation in her own saddlebags, along with the pass to travel to and from Vérella.

They reached Harway just at dark after a long day’s travel, and found rooms at the same inn where, at the end of winter, she had lodged. “How many nights?” the innkeeper asked.

“Two or three,” Dorrin said. “I need to find a tailor here, or somewhere on the road to Vérella. I’m summoned to the coronation and have no court attire.” She laughed, making a joke of it. “I did not anticipate needing any—do you know someone who might—”

“A court dress for a lady of your rank?” he said. “Even the best I know of cannot do that in one day or two.”

“Not a dress,” Dorrin said. “I know that is impossible. But the prince named me duke, and I’ve worn soldier’s clothing since I was a young girl. Something suitable for a duke—shirts with ruffles or lace or something. A doublet—”

“Oh, that.” His face cleared. “You’ll want Durgeon & Sons for that. Pili Durgeon’s an excellent tailor, and I’m sure he’ll be able to find something to suit. It’s from him your men got that blue cloth when you were here before, and since then he’s had a shipment from the south. ’Tis late tonight, but I can send a lad to let him know you’ll visit in the morning, shall I?”

“Thank you,” Dorrin said.

She spent the next morning with the tailor. “I’ve got work I cannot put aside, even for a duke,” he said. “But that will be finished this afternoon, and I can take your measurements and requirements now. Court clothes—yes, of course I know what’s needed. As for the materials—look here.” He led her to the back of the shop, past men and women busily at work in the light of wide windows, to a locked chamber. Inside, rolls of cloth filled shelves, but for a small section holding bundles wrapped in muslin.

“This—” He lifted a muslin-wrapped bundle and began unwrapping it. “The previous duke ordered this two years ago, to make up a robe for the coronation this year. Drew the design for the brocade and all, and I sent to the south, to the weavers there, to have it woven just for him.”

Dorrin’s skin prickled. What kind of design would her uncle have chosen? Something evil no doubt. Durgeon unwrapped the last layer of muslin and lifted out a long roll of blue and silver brocade. “I washed it and stretched it square, then made it up, but when the Order of Attainder came, I was sure I’d lost by it—for he never paid me; said he would pay when he took it to court. Crowns a span, it was, all my cost, but he was not to argue with …”

The cloth shimmered. Against a background of blues shading from dark to pale, star shapes that Dorrin recognized from the cloth around the crown. Those were done all in pale gray and silver. She touched it lightly and felt nothing, no evil at all.

“It would suit you, as well,” Durgeon said. “With your height, and your dark hair. He chose a dark blue lining, you see, but if you chose dark for your formal doublet, I could change that out to pale gray in no time.”

“It’s beautiful,” Dorrin said. She touched it again, lightly. Durgeon began to unfold it on the table.

“You see the wide band of fur on the sleeves. Silver clasps in front. The Verrakai arms embroidered on the back—”

“Is that necessary?” Dorrin asked, stroking the fabric.

“Have you not seen formal court dress—?” he began.

“No, I was never at court,” Dorrin said. “If the stories you heard about me include exile, being disowned by the family, that’s the truth of it.”

“Well, then, my lord—” Durgeon turned the robe, showing her the back. “Every peer displays the family crest on the most formal of court robes—for such ceremonies as this. Every rank has its own required style. Dukes, for instance, have a fur cuff twice as wide as counts, and barons have but a finger-width edge. Your shirts, as a duke, should have wider lace, with gold or silver ribbon threaded through; your doublet will be embroidered on the heart side with the crest, in silver, and the slashes bound in silver cord. Your capelet, for the formal dinners, will have full four fingers of silver braid. And your shoes—” He looked at her boots, the plain black leather she had considered her dress boots, and shook his head. “You were right to stop here, my lord. In Vérella you will not find tailors or cobblers able to fit your work in, but Liam the cobbler can make you court shoes and boots.”

Two days later, Dorrin set off for Vérella with many fewer coins and many more clothes. Shirts, semi-dress trousers, the short trews she would need for the coronation itself, doublets, jackets, capelets, capes, and the formal court robe. Shoes, hose, boots. Her escort had new blue velvet caps with the Verrakai badge to wear when they accompanied her in the palace.

As she neared Vérella, traffic on the road thickened, with wagons and carts bringing in supplies, merchants, travelers. At the city gate, she presented her pass and invitation once more. “There’s no more lodging in the palace,” the officer said. “I’m not sure, my lord, where you’ll stay—the inns are crowded.”

“Do you know if the Crown took over the Verrakai residence?”

“No.” His mouth twisted with distaste. “You can look, I suppose.”

Verrakai House, when she came to it, had no guards out front and no sign of life. It was on a corner; a busy street in front, a narrow alley down one side. Dorrin tried the door; it didn’t move. She knocked. No answer. She became aware that some in the busy street were slowing to watch. She laid one hand on the door itself and one on the latch, and spoke the command words that came to her.

The door swung open silently. “Well,” she said. “It looks empty enough. There should be stabling for the horses somewhere near. Wait; I will find the entrance.”

Inside, the house smelled a little musty but had also the feel of a place enchanted, watchful. Dorrin touched her ruby, then her ducal medallion. “Verrakai!” she said. She sensed a relaxation. Wary of traps, she went down the passage ahead of her; it opened at the far end to a walled yard with stalls across the way; a closed gate to the left led, she was sure, to the alley. She unbarred the gate and went back through the house.

“Go down that alley—I opened the gate to the mews, I’ll take this—” The padded sack, on top of everything else. She had not risked having it out of her sight on the whole journey. It had made a most uncomfortable bed companion.

Two of her escort came inside with her. The house was oddly shaped, not the simple square or rectangle its front suggested. Four stories above ground … Dorrin eyed the iron-bound cellar door that stank of blood magery and decided not to open it, at least not yet. The ground floor had two kitchens, large and small reception rooms. Above that, a large study, lined with shelves, very like her uncle’s study on Verrakai land. She suspected it had many of the same traps. Bedrooms, also furnished with traps for the unwary. Above that again, more bedrooms, and in the attic, what had clearly been servants’ quarters.

Evidence of her uncle’s connection to the Thieves’ Guild and the Bloodlord were everywhere. The Horned Chain above the fireplace, barbed whips in a stand in the corner, bloodstains on the floor, smeared into words. She was sure she would find worse in the cellars.

“Let’s get these windows open,” she said to her escort. Both hangings and windows were trapped; she disarmed them. Afternoon light and air rolled into room after room as she threw the shutters wide. When she glanced down, she saw people in the street below, looking up gape-mouthed. One took off at a run.

Within a half-glass, someone pounded on the front door. Dorrin had left one of her people in the front hall to answer; now she came down the stairs to find a troop of Royal Guard in the street, and an officer standing on the doorstep.

“—By what right are you here?” the officer was saying.

“I’m Duke Verrakai,” Dorrin said, coming forward. “And this is Verrakai’s house in Vérella.”

“I know whose house it is,” he said. “But I do not know you, and I know that Verrakaien are under Order of Attainder. Come forth, and face the justice of the Court.”

“I am not under that order,” Dorrin said. “I was summoned here for the prince’s coronation, and I have a pass from the prince himself.”

“You can explain that to the Court,” the officer said.

“I will show you the pass.” Dorrin had tucked it into her doublet at the city gate; she took it out again. “Here.”

He glanced at it, then looked again and read it. “You are not under Order of Attainder … how can that be? Is this genuine?”

Dorrin waited, saying nothing.

“Stay here,” he said. “I will take this to the palace and see if it is truly what the prince meant to say.”

Dorrin looked at the man who was obviously his second-in-command.

“I have been riding all morning,” she said. “I would rest—have one of my people bring a chair. And you, too, if you will.”

“I am not going in that cursed house,” the man said. “We could not enter it when the prince told us to make sure it was empty—and now you enter it with a touch, the witnesses say. It is a trap.”

“Gani, bring me a chair, please,” Dorrin said. “Set it here, where this gentleman can see.” When the chair arrived, she had it placed so the door would not close, and sat down, smiling up at the man outside the door. “I have no intent to harm you, or anyone who does not harm me first. The prince knows why he appointed me Duke; my family disowned me tens and tens of years ago and I have served Duke Phelan for most of the time since.”

“The one who’s king now?” the man asked. “Did you meet that paladin?”

“Paks? Yes. She was not in my cohort, but Captain Arcolin’s. She is watching Verrakai Steading while I am here, in fact.”

“Lord Sir Ammerlin, he said he saw her make light over the whole battle, over there east when he was taking Phelan to Lyonya to be king.”

“She did indeed,” Dorrin said. “I was there and saw it.”

His brow furrowed. “You were there. But—how?”

Dorrin explained, as briefly as she could, and then saw the other captain riding back at a quick trot, as those on foot scattered. He looked both relieved and embarrassed as he dismounted.

“My lord Duke, I am sorry—we have had such trouble, I did not trust your pass—but the prince says you are welcome here, and not under Order of Attainder, not you nor anyone with you. Please—my apologies.” He bowed.

“You were wise to be cautious,” Dorrin said. “And fortunate in not being able to enter here, for my relatives who practiced evil left many dangers for the unwary. I know you have other duties, but could you tell me where the nearest grange of Gird is? Or a Falkian field?”

“There’s a grange not far,” he said. “Do you need a Marshal?”

“This house must be cleansed,” Dorrin said. “That is why I’m opening the windows, when I’ve untrapped them …”

“Windows were trapped?”

“Evil delights in darkness and secrecy,” Dorrin said. “Anyone who tried to let in light, without knowing the dangers, faced certain death. If you like, come inside and I will show you.”

“No,” he said, backing up a step. “If the prince says you are welcome, you are welcome and I will pass the word. We do believe passages underground lead into the cellars here, but we were not able to penetrate them.” He mounted. “Do you wish me to send a Marshal?”

“I will go myself and speak to the nearest grange,” Dorrin said. “Though if you wish to tell them I will be coming, they might like to know. But first, when I have cleared enough of the house for myself and these my escort, I must present myself at the palace.”

“I will tell them,” he said. “Lest they think you are the other Verrakaien come back.”

“Thank you,” Dorrin said.

It was evening, the long slow twilight of near Midsummer, before Dorrin had enough rooms cleared for the safety of her escort and her kitchen staff. The boy, Jaim, had been to a market twice. In the stable, oats, hay, and straw seemed untainted by magery, and the horses they’d ridden stood quietly in the stalls, munching as if back home.

She had to bathe. In the kitchen, Efla chopped vegetables; steam rose from a kettle on its hook over the fire. In the scullery, an array of tubs hung along one wall. Dorrin set the largest on the stone floor and poured in cold water from the water butt and a little hot from the kitchen. It was so like her first days in the country house that she found it funny.

She was in the tub when a thunderous banging on the front door echoed through the house. It was the Marshal from down the street, her escort informed her, demanding to see her.

“When I’m dressed,” Dorrin said. Her uncle had left linens in the house at least; she had placed a stack ready and grabbed one when she heard the knocking. “Put him in the safe reception hall; warn him that the house is not yet safe and tell him I will be there shortly.”

She might as well put on the informal court dress she had brought to the scullery with her, what the tailor had told her was appropriate for submitting her credentials. She put on the gray trousers, a halfdress shirt with a handspan of lace at the cuffs and neck, a doublet of light blue and silver-gray brocade, dress boots with fancy spurs ornamented with silver chains. Her ducal chain of office; her ducal ring; her sword belt—she slipped her dress dagger into its sheath, the sword into the hanger.

The Marshal waiting in the smaller reception room had his lips compressed and a look of suspicion on his face. Dorrin expected that. She did not expect his first words.

“You’re the one who brought Phelan’s troop through the city, aren’t you? I’m Marshal Tamis.”

“Yes,” Dorrin said. “That was I. You might have heard me spoken of as Captain Dorrin; I commanded one of his cohorts these past tens of years.”

“I saw you,” he said. “’Twas after Gird’s paladin was freed, and we at last began the cleansing of this city. I saw you ride by with his soldiers, wearing his colors then. I never forget a face,” he added, a little smugly.

“I’m sorry,” Dorrin said. “I did not notice you—I was thinking only of catching up with Kieri—”

“What is it you want from me?” he asked.

“The former Duke did evil magery in this house,” Dorrin said. “I found it full of traps, both physical and magical. Only a few rooms are clear, and in some of them are things I do not know how to clear. He and the others followed Liart; Liart’s symbols and evidence of blood magery are in room after room. I need your help, Marshal, to cleanse the place.”

“How did you clear the rooms you’ve cleared so far?”

“The physical traps—the poisoned pins and darts, the contact poisons on window latches and the like—are all things I’d seen as a child, and have disarmed at Verrakai Steading in the days since I’ve been there. The magery—you might as well know, Marshal, that the prince granted me permission to use magery against magery. It was the only way to subdue those of my family I captured and sent here for judgment.”

“Magery …” He looked at her sideways. “You have the real magery, like the old ones?”

“Yes,” Dorrin said. “Though I did not know it until recently. It was freed with the aid of Paks and the Knight-Commander of Falk, and was—they thought—the only way for me to carry out the prince’s command to subdue those under Attainder.”

“Your ruby proclaims you a Knight of Falk.” That in a challenging tone.

“Indeed,” Dorrin said. “And I have prayed more to Falk and the High Lord since I came to Verrakai Steading than in years of combat in Aarenis. Prayed for wisdom, for the right use of my power … and only with it have I been able to save those who suffered so long.”

He huffed out a breath, then said, “The evening turns—you have made your bow at the palace already?”

“No,” Dorrin said. “I was bathing when you came; days on the road left me in no condition to pay courtesies.”

“Then show me the worst you know of here, and I will do what I can. I understand you will not want to leave me here to explore on my own—”

“Indeed not, not until I’ve uncovered every trap I can find.”

Dorrin led him upstairs to what had been the Duke’s study. “This room still has physical traps,” she said. “I have not had time to disarm them all. What I do not know how to disarm is that.” She pointed to the blood smears on the floor, under the horned chain of Liart hung on the wall.

“Gird’s grace,” the Marshal said. He turned to Dorrin. “Were I you, I would seal this room until I can bring another Marshal. It will take more than one of us. Are there other such?”

“A symbol of Liart in the bedrooms where I believe my uncle the former Duke, my other uncle his brother, and the kirgan Verrakai slept. Blood marks on the threshold of the doors of those rooms. Symbols in blood on the floor beneath the beds—I do not know their meaning. I have sealed those rooms. I have not gone into the cellars at all; they are clearly tainted.”

“Where then will you sleep?” the Marshal asked.

“In that room where you waited,” Dorrin said. “There are more rooms upstairs—the servants’ quarters up in the attics might be safe, but I haven’t had time to check them.” At his expression, she grinned. “Marshal, I’ve slept on the ground or on floors many a night on campaign. A soft bed is pleasant, but not necessary.”

He shook his head. “When I think of you as Phelan’s captain, riding past at the head of your troops, I can believe it. But in court clothes, as Duke Verrakai? The only Duke Verrakai I’ve seen was very different.”

Dorrin rode the short distance to the palace with only one of her escort at her side, as requested. At the gates, the palace guard looked far more like guards and less ceremonial than she had seen on other trips through Vérella. As Dorrin rode up, an officer stepped forward, the knots of a Serrostin in the collateral line on his uniform shoulder. He clearly expected her.

“My lord,” he said, with a slight bow. “If it please you, dismount and let a groom take your horse and show your escort to the servants’ hall, he will be taken care of while you proceed—the prince will see you shortly.”

Dorrin dismounted and handed her reins to a groom in livery.

“And I’m afraid I must ask you to disarm,” the officer said. “Your arms will be borne for you by one of the guard, and returned when you leave, or if the prince grants permission to carry them yourself …”

“I understand,” Dorrin said. She took off the belt, sword and dagger still attached, and handed it to the officer, who passed it to another guard. “I wore no hidden weapons today, sir, though if you find it necessary, you may ask to search. I do wear mail, as I am aware of the hostility directed to my family—understandable, but I do not wish to die of it before I can report to the prince.”

He gave her a long look, as if making up his mind in lieu of specific orders, and then shook his head. “No need, my lord Duke. Duke Phelan trusted you; the prince trusts him. Redeem that trust, if you will, or my honor is forfeit.”

Serrostins, she recalled, were as honor-minded as Marrakai, another ancient family whose roots were somewhere in the deep south. Her family had sneered at them as having no magery, losing it early to presumed intermarriage with ignorant peasants.

“My relatives chose one path, sir,” she said, meeting his gaze. “I chose another. Indeed, your honor risks nothing in trusting me.”

“I am glad to hear it, my lord,” the man said. “I will now lead you to the prince.” He turned away and Dorrin followed him across the great outer court to the palace entrance. Paks had described it; she recognized the stairs, the pillars, the carvings.

“I must beg your courtesy,” Dorrin said, as they neared the steps. “I spent my life as a mercenary captain, as you know. I had no training, after early childhood, in the etiquette of nobles greeting one another, or indeed a ruler, and none at all here in this court. Foreign courts were likely very different, and besides, as a mere mercenary …” She stopped. “The truth is, I do not know whether to bow or bend the knee to the prince when I meet him. I do not wish to offend in my ignorance, either this evening or at any of the ceremonies to come. To whom may I look for guidance?”

He almost stumbled, coming to a stop four steps up. “You—don’t know any court protocol?”

“Not at all,” Dorrin said. “I never came to this court, even when I came to Vérella. I did not wish to see my uncle the Duke, nor he to see me—my name was blotted out of the family records. Kieri or Jandelir reported to the palace—I mean,” she said, seeing his confusion, “Kieri Phelan and Jandelir Arcolin.”

“You will need a guide,” he said. “Unfortunately, I cannot serve as your guide, beyond this meeting; I have duties that fill my time. I can introduce you to the Master of Ceremonies, but he, too, is busy organizing the coronation.”

“I told Paksenarrion about this,” Dorrin said. “She suggested I find a boy she knew—Aris Marrakai—”

“Marrakai! She told a Verrakai to ask a Marrakai for help?” He rolled his eyes. “My lord Duke, that suggestion could have come only from a paladin! It is in defiance of all Tsaian history, ancient and modern.”

“I gathered,” Dorrin said. “But at the same time, it is a paladin’s suggestion, and a Girdish paladin’s at that. Have you another?”

“No.” He turned, and continued up the stairs. “I do not, and if Marrakai assents, it will do much to maintain your skin entire. Kirgan Marrakai is one of the prince’s closest companions, as is my cousin Kirgan Serrostin.” He nodded to the guards at the palace doors, which stood open to catch the evening breeze and led her inside. “I can tell you, my lord, for this first meeting you would be wise to go to one knee, heart-hand to your breast, like this—” He demonstrated, half-turned to her. “It is more formal than normally required, but it will look well.”

“Thank you,” Dorrin said. “I will do so.”

Her passage through the palace brought many long looks, some hostile; Dorrin ignored them. She had no idea which rooms were which. They went this way and that, up a set of stairs, down another passage. The officer spoke to a guard at one door, who knocked, and announced “Guard-Captain Serrostin and a visitor” then flung the door wide for them to enter.

In a room lit by oil lamps, a cluster of men stood at one side, near windows that let in a cool breeze. Most were young; the prince and his companions, Dorrin thought. The older man in rose and white would be one of the prince’s uncles; the other older man wore Marshal’s blue.

“My lord prince, Duke Dorrin Verrakai,” the officer said. Dorrin went down on one knee. She could feel the tension in the room.

The prince moved from the others and came to her, his expression guarded. “Duke Verrakai, do you come to tell me all your renegade family are safely confined?”

“No, my lord prince. I come at your request to pledge fealty and see you crowned rightful king of Tsaia.”

“I have heard, from sources I do not fully trust, of a secret crown and secret realm.”

Dorrin said, “My lord prince, there are matters we must discuss, but by your leave I would rather bring proof than words.”

“You name me rightful king. Do you mean that?”

“Yes,” Dorrin said. “With all my heart.”

He put out a hand. “Rise, then, lord Duke, and be welcome here until such time as you choose another allegiance or play me false.”

Dorrin took his hand and stood. “I intend neither,” she said.

“The gods do not always cooperate with human intentions,” the prince said. “Come, I will introduce you.”

“My lord prince,” the guard-captain said. “The duke’s arms?”

The prince looked at Dorrin. “You would have known the paladin Paksenarrion—”

“Yes, lord prince.”

“Where is she now, do you know?”

“Watching over Verrakai lands, my lord. She came from Chaya and urged me to accept your invitation, which I had been loath to do because I had not yet captured all you commanded. She said she would watch it for me, and indeed there is none I trust more.”

“Well then, I will trust you to bear arms in my presence the same as any other noble of your rank.” He nodded at the guard captain. “Return the duke’s arms, and inform the palace guard that the Duke is as privileged in that regard as any other peer.”

“At once, my lord,” the guard-captain said. He gestured to the soldier who carried Dorrin’s belt and sword. “If the prince will excuse me now—”

“Of course,” the prince said. He smiled at Dorrin. “And now, let me introduce you—”

Dorrin recognized the colors, and had seen some of the nobles on the streets of Vérella; she had never met them. The older man, Duke Sonder Mahieran, the prince’s uncle. High Marshal Seklis. Kirgan Marrakai, Kirgan Valthan Serrostin and a younger brother Rolyan, Kirgan Konhalt. All young men of breeding, near or just over majority, heirs of noble fathers. Dorrin bowed to each, and each bowed in return, though without real warmth.

“You arrived today, I think,” the prince said.

“Indeed, my lord. It will seem strange to all of you, but—having been estranged from my family for so long—I had never been to their residence here, and finding it—and making it safe to inhabit even in part—took up the rest of the day.”

“But you have been in Vérella before,” the prince said.

“Yes, with Kieri Phelan’s company, as his captain, guiding troops through the city. My dealings were with merchants, on occasion, or on Duke Phelan’s business with his banker. Not with my family, and not here, where I might have met them.”

“Your family’s property was forfeit to the Crown as a result of the bill of attainder,” the prince said. “I exempted the Verrakai lands, for the time, but the house here—we would have seized it, but that we could not. I grant you the use of it while you are here on court business, but nothing more, for the time being. Is that clear?”

“Yes, my lord prince,” Dorrin said.

“Funds in the bank your predecessor used have been confiscated—that banker, we found, was involved in the Thieves’ Guild, to the great embarrassment of the Moneychangers’ Guild where he held an office of distinction. The Crown will release such funds to you as you require for attending us at our command, but the rest will remain in our control until such time as we are satisfied.”

“I understand, Lord Prince,” Dorrin said. She understood, but she did not like the thought of applying to the prince’s clerks for money to buy every butt of water, every stick of firewood.

“We do not enjoy being harsh, but events—events have forced us to more caution than we otherwise would choose.”

“Of course,” Dorrin said.

“Then sit down with us. This is not a Council meeting, you perceive, but I wanted these men to meet you, and you to meet them. Two others will join us later.” The others took off their swords and put them in a rack to one side; Dorrin did the same. The prince waved to the table, and Dorrin sat where he bade her. Duke Mahieran went to the door and called for a servant to bring refreshments, then came and sat beside her.