Oath of Gold

19

“Since you insist your quest is to find our prince,” began the Knight-Commander of Falk, “we can only try to help you as we can.”

Paks smiled at his expression. “Do you know Marshal-General Arianya, sir?”

His nose twitched. “Yes; I met her in Vérella one time. A remarkable woman.”

“She might enlighten you about my past,” Paks suggested.

“Oh—” Under direct challenge, he seemed to deflate. “Ward of Falk,” he said then. “I’ve no reason to doubt you’re who or what you say—and I know a paladin cannot lie. To be honest, I suppose it galls a bit that the High Lord chose a paladin of Gird for this, when I would have thought a Falkian could do as much.”

“Save that someone born and brought up here would have assumed the prince’s death, sir. It is that ignorance, perhaps, which makes me suitable.”

“I would have expected such reasoning from a kuakgannir, Lady, not a Girdsman. Emptiness calls fulfillment—is that what you mean?”

Paks shook her head. “Not precisely, though as you should know if you do not, the final healing of my wounds came from a Kuakgan. What I meant was that a commander new to a company can see what custom has hidden.”

“Oh.”

“Where will you begin looking, Paksenarrion? There are many men in the Eight Kingdoms of the right age—and many still when you leave out the black-haired, dark-eyed ones who cannot be the prince.” Sier Halveric poured out mugs of sib as he spoke. They had gathered in the queen’s chambers, the older lords who remembered the queen and prince, and the Knight-Commander. The elves had withdrawn, to pay their respects to the dead king in their own way, but promised to return if Paks called.

She thought a long moment, trying to feel her way into the gods’ will. “I think,” she said, “that I must begin with this sword’s history. I must talk to your nephew Aliam—see the place where he found it, and hear from him the exact wording of every message the elves sent. They told him once to give it to the one for whom it was made—as if at that time he could have done so, and it would have been right. Surely if he had, the sword would have proclaimed the prince’s identity. But he did not know who the prince was—how could he? Nor did he know the power of the sword—or so Amrothlin implied. I must ask him directly. In the meantime, tell me what you remember of the young prince—Joriam, you begin.”

“Well, Lady, I was young myself then—I may have forgot—but I remember him as a lively little lad. Going on four or five he was then, a little scrap of a boy. Had reddish golden hair, much like his father’s, but lighter, as a child’s often is.”

“Any marks you’d know him by?”

“No, Lady. I never tended him, ye see. Just saw him about. I remember once he climbed out on a window ledge and knocked off a pot of flowers—”

“I remember that,” broke in Sier Hammarrin, chuckling. “By Falk, that little rascal had nerve—always loved to climb things. Down the flowers came, nearly hitting old Fersin, rest his soul, and shattered on the courtyard. He couldn’t have been over three at the time.”

“They sent you after him, didn’t they, Joriam?” asked Sier Halveric. “I remember something—”

Joriam nodded, blushing. “Yes, my lord, they did. I was the closest, and lightweight too—I’ve always been small—they feared the ledge might go; it was before that section was repointed. And so I started out, and I was feared, Lady, of the height, and he saw it and said ‘never mind, Joriam; I’ll come in myself’ and crawled right to me. Steady as a cat on a limb, he was.”

“What else?” asked Paks.

“You mustn’t think he was spoiled,” said Sier Calvary, a bald old man with gray eyes. “Not more than any prince is. He was loved and wanted by both his parents—the pride of the palace—but his father insisted he be courteous. And he was, for such a little sprite.”

“Not so little, really,” said Sier Halveric. “For his age he was well-grown. He seemed like to grow into a tall man. But I agree, he was mannerly. Do you remember when his father gave him the gray hound puppy, Calvary?”

Calvary shook his head, but Hammarrin began chuckling again. “I do. I certainly do. That dog was the worst nuisance . . . pick of the litter, indeed! Pick of mischief! He nipped everyone, and must have chewed half the harness in the stables.”

“It made your stableboys keep the reins off the floor,” said Sier Halveric. “But what I was thinking of was the boy—you know how boys are with dogs; he took a stick to it one day, and I came in on the end of that lecture. Two days later, I found him giving it word for word to some commoner’s child outside the walls, who was tormenting a kitten. Word for word, his father’s tone of voice, everything: ‘It is not the act of a man or a prince to abuse helpless things, nor the justice of kings to give pain when it can be avoided.’ It sounded funny enough, from that little mouth—and yet—”

“It sounds as if he would have been a good ruler,” put in Paks. “If nothing had happened.”

“I believe so.” Sier Calvary nodded. “We had no doubts of it. Falkieri and his wife were mature; the boy showed every sign of ability. He did what normal boys do, mischief and all, but there was no meanness in him. And brought up to it, with good examples and good sense, there was no reason for him to go wrong.”

“Look at his sister—the young queen—” said Hammarrin. “She did well, even without her mother, with her father dying early, and all that. The same blood: brave, generous, intelligent—”

“I can’t believe, whatever has happened, that if Falki lives he is completely unfit to rule.” Sier Halveric took another sip of his drink. “The gods know people change, but he had such promise—how could it all be lost, without killing him?”

Paks thought she knew, but hoped it was not true. They had no need to know; she pushed her memories down below the surface. It hurt her to think of a child enduring anything like she had endured, a child living on with the hopelessness she had suffered for less than a year.

“What was his name?” she asked, distracting herself.

“The prince? The same as his father. We called him Falki. His parents had their own pet name for him, of course. His other names—let’s see—Amrothlin, I just realized—that’s for his mother’s brother. Artfielan—for an uncle, wasn’t it? Falkieri’s mother’s brother? And something else—we’ll have to look it up. It’s too far back for me.” Sier Hammarrin shook his head.

“How many names do princes have?” asked Paks.

“Oh, it depends. Usually four or five. You want to please all the families, you know. But the names won’t help: every Falkian family has a Falkieri or two, it’s one of the commonest names in Lyonya. Artfielan—I’ve a son named that, a grandson and a nephew. Besides, the elves said he doesn’t remember his name, and we don’t know what name he’s using.”

“So,” she began again to organize her thoughts. “You say he would be about fifty years old, with red or yellow hair—”

“I expect reddish,” said Sier Halveric. “His was still reddish when he disappeared, and his father’s had darkened.”

“Tall, you think? And what color eyes?”

This began another argument. Paks found it hard to believe that no one had noticed the color of his eyes until she realized that she couldn’t name the color of her own brothers’ eyes either. Finally they agreed that they weren’t green, gold, or dark. Blue or gray or something in between.

But this left almost nothing to go on. A tallish man of late middle age with reddish hair and blue or gray eyes—unless his hair had turned gray already, or he’d gone bald. Paks had trouble imagining a bald prince, but after all, he was old enough to be her father. According to the elves, he had been someone’s servant once. She assumed that meant in the Eight Kingdoms, but it might not. He might be a woodchopper somewhere (Paks thought of Mal in Brewersbridge, but of course he was too young) or a farmer. He might be a merchant, a craftsman, almost anything. Paks thought of the number of red-haired men she’d seen in the north and felt depressed. Not only that, he might have gone to Aarenis. Or across the ocean. She found she was making circles on the table with one finger. Everyone had fallen silent; she could tell by the glum faces that they, too, had realized the size of her task.

“Unless the elves change their minds,” said Sier Halveric, “I don’t see how you can hope to find him in time to do us any good. There are too many—”

“It would help,” said Paks, “if they would give me details—what he looked like when they saw him, and so on. But remember, sirs, that the gods have sent me this quest. If the High Lord wants your prince on the throne, can even an elf hide him from me?”

At this they cheered up, and Paks felt herself that somewhere in this she had learned something useful—if only she knew what.

The old king’s funeral ceremonies took from sunrise to long after sunset. When it was over, Paks went to her chambers to pick up her gear, packed ready. There she found Esceriel, Lieth, and the other King’s Squires waiting.

“You are not the queen,” said Esceriel, “but we have no ruler to squire. By your leave, Lady, we will ride with you on this quest. It may be that you will have need of us—or when you find our king, we can serve him well.”

Paks looked at him searchingly. She had seen nothing of Esceriel until now; the others had taken their turns in her chambers. But she felt nothing evil in him, and none of them seemed likely to put a knife in her back.

“I do not know how long I will be,” she said finally. “Have you leave to be away from court for long?”

“We have no ruler to serve; it was the king who gave or refused leave to his squires, Lady. Other than that, we are all Knights of Falk. Although we have stayed much at court, you will find us hardy travelers and able warriors, should such be needed.” He turned aside for a moment, and one of the others handed him a bag, which he held out to Paks. “In addition, Lady, the court of Lyonya will bear any expense of our travels; here is the Council’s gift to us, if you permit us to ride with you.”

Paks looked each of them in the eye—all steady, all seeming good companions. She nodded. “You are welcome to come with me, as far as you will, as long as your will and the quest I follow travel together. Yet I will not bind you; since I cannot say where and how I go, it would not be right to take your oaths.” They all nodded. “If for any reason any or all of you decide to leave me, I will give you no blame for it. But I was planning to ride tonight, squires—or should I call you companions?”

Lieth smiled. “By your leave we will be squires to you, Lady—it will keep us in practice for the king we hope to find. You know Esceriel and me; here are Garris, the oldest of us, but not too old for this, and Suriya, the youngest.”

“And we also are ready to ride tonight,” said Esceriel. “Our horses are saddled and ready; we have stores packed. We need only our cloaks.”

“Very well,” said Paks. “Then let us go.”

They rode out through streets glittering with deathlights, twigs wrapped with salt-soaked wicks that burned green. The sharp smell of the burning twigs carried on the light wind for some time after they left the city. Garris, the eldest of the squires, who had squired for the previous king as well, led the way through the woods southward. They carried torches; light glittered off the crusted snow.

By daybreak, they were far from Chaya, among hills covered with forest. It was a gray morning, with icy mist between the trees, and Garris stopped them.

“We should wait for this to lift,” he said. “I know where we are, but I cannot read the taig enough to keep direction in the fog.”

“I can,” said Paks, “But it will do us no harm to have a hot meal. If we travel today, Garris, can we come to shelter for the night, or must we camp in the snow?”

“If we keep to the way I know, we will come to a steading by midafternoon. But it would be easy to miss—the land is not so settled as that you may be used to in Tsaia.”

“We’ll see.” Two of the squires built a fire; the others brought out pots and began to cook. Paks walked around, stretching her shoulders, and watching their preparations. The night before she had not paid much attention to their gear; now she found that they were prepared for a long march in almost any conditions, with two pack animals along.

“When the king travelled,” explained Lieth, “we cared for his things. Had you wanted it, we could have brought the royal tent as well.” They had a small one; it would sleep all six of them if they crowded in.

“I shall feel like a rich woman yet,” said Paks, as they served out hot porridge and sib. She noticed that they took guard duty in turns, two by two, even though they were in friendly country.

After the break, Paks led the way south, checking with Garris at intervals. She could feel a certain difference in the direction he thought the steading lay, a break in the forest taig. No one suggested stopping long at midday, though they rested the animals, and by midafternoon they had found a large farmstead. A log palisade surrounded a stone house; other houses clustered near it. Dogs ran out barking; a man in fur-lined leathers came out to look at them, and waved.

Esceriel and Lieth rode ahead. Paks had not realized that they carried pennants until they lifted them: the royal crest on one, and—to her greater surprise—Gird’s crescent on the other. By the time she rode up to the man, the squires had explained the quest, and the man bowed.

“Be welcome here, Lady Paksenarrion; luck to your quest. We sorrow for the king’s death; the messenger stopped here on the way to Aliam Halveric’s and told us of it.”

“We thank you for your kindness, sir,” said Paks.

“This is Lord Selvis,” said Lieth quickly.

“Ride on in,” said the man. “There’s a barn inside the palisade. We’ve wild cats in the wood; we stall all the horses at night.”

All day the red horse had traveled like any other, but when Esceriel reached for his rein, he drew back. Paks grinned. “I’ll take him myself, Esceriel.”

“He let the stablehands at Chaya—”

“I had asked—and after that perhaps he understood the emergency.” They walked to the barn together, the red horse breathing warm on Paks’s neck at every step. When she took off saddle and bridle, she found him unmarked as if from a grooming. She picked up a brush anyway, but the horse nudged her hand aside. Esceriel stared.

“I never saw a horse like that.”

“Nor I. He came out of the north, one day at the Duke’s stronghold, in northern Tsaia. Slickcoated—as he is now—and full of himself.”

“How long have you had him?”

“That was this winter—not long.” Paks poured a measure of grain in the box, after sniffing it for mold. She pulled an armload of hay down and wedged it in the rack. “I had known that paladins had special horses, but—as you may have heard—I became a paladin in an unusual way. Not at Fin Panir. So I didn’t know how—or even if—I would get mine.”

“What do you call him?”

“If he has a name, he hasn’t shared it with me.”

The next day was clear again; they made good time along snowy trails that Garris remembered. That night they camped; the squires did not want to let Paks take a share of the watch.

“I’m not the queen,” she reminded them. “And I’m used to night watches—and younger than most of you.”

“But we depend on your abilities,” said Garris. “You should take what rest you can.”

In the end, Paks simply got up when she woke in the midnight hours, and went out to see stars tangled in the bare treelimbs. When she’d used the little trench they’d dug, she spoke to Suriya, the squire on watch.

“I’m wide awake, and I need to think. Go sleep; I’ll wake the next in an hour or so.” Suriya, the most junior and only a few years older than Paks, nodded and went into the tent.

Paks walked around the camp slowly. It was a windless night, so quiet that she heard every breath each horse took. Her own came to her, crunching the snow, and leaned a warm head along her body. She put her arm across his back and stood for a few moments. Then she pushed away, and went on. Her taig-sense told her that nothing threatened nearby. She caught a flicker of movement between the trees. Another. Some small night animals skittering over the snow. Remembering Siniava, she checked again, but it was nothing—just animals. When the stars had moved several hands across the sky, she shook Esceriel awake and rolled back into her own blankets.

The fifth day a snowstorm caught them between one steading and another. Paks had been uneasy since waking in the night, and had rushed the others through breakfast and farewells. She felt some menace ahead, which it would be well to pass early. But the storm began softly, so that they did not think of turning back until they were more than halfway to the next stopping place. A few flakes—a few more—a gentle curtain of snow that filled the tracks behind them. Then a wind that twirled the falling snow into eerie shapes. And finally the strong wind with miles of snow behind it, that turned their view into a white confusion.

If she had been alone, Paks might have trusted the red horse to fight through the deepening snow and sense dangerous terrain. But with four others, and two pack animals—

“Stop!” she yelled, as Esceriel’s horse moved past her, drifting downwind. He reined in; she could just see him. She got the others into a huddle. Slowly they moved into the lee of a large knot of cedars; snow had already drifted head-high on the upwind side. In the struggle of making camp, Paks found herself taking command easily. By the time they were huddled in the tent, which had been cross-braced with limbs against the snow-weight, she felt at ease with the squires for the first time.

“It’s too bad we didn’t bring lamps,” said Esceriel. It was nearly dark inside the tent, and not far from it outside. Paks called light, and they did not flinch from it.

“Handy,” commented Suriya. “You never have to eat in the dark, do you?” She dug into one of the packs and pulled out sausage and bread. “I don’t suppose you can heat this as well, can you?”

“No,” said Paks. “Unfortunately, this light won’t even light a candle.”

“Oh well. At least it’s light.” They ate by Paks’s light, then rolled up to sleep.

The next morning they had to dig themselves out; it was still snowing, but not as hard. They stamped down a flat area around the horses, fed them, and Lieth climbed a drift to look around. She came down shaking her head.

“It’s deep; I can’t see the trail at all. And it’s still coming down as if it meant to go on all day. We can try to get out, but—”

Paks shook her head. “No. We’ll stay here. It’ll be hard enough on the horses when we go; they don’t need the bad weather as well. If you can’t see the trail, you can’t see the dropoffs either.”

Lieth looked relieved. “I know you’re in a hurry.”

“Yes, but to find something. Not to fall into a hole in the snow.” Garris laughed, and Paks grinned at him. “Gird’s grace, companions, paladins are supposed to have sense as well as courage.”

Suriya shook her head. “That’s not what I’ve heard.”

“You!” said Garris affectionately. “You’re hardly old enough to have heard any tales at all. Why, you haven’t even heard all of mine.”

Suriya groaned, and the others laughed.

“I certainly haven’t heard your tales, Garris,” said Paks, still laughing. “We’ll be here all day—when we’ve made a fire and have enough wood for awhile, I’ll listen if no one else will.” But it was some hours before they had time to talk. By then the snow had stopped, and the wind had died away, though the sky was still flat gray, like painted metal. They had trampled down a wide space before the tent, gathered wood, and started a large fire. The horses had been walked about, watered with snow melted over the fire, and fed again. A large pot of stew bubbled merrily; Garris had even set bread twists to bake in a covered kettle.

And then Esceriel, on watch, whistled a warning. Paks reached out in thought, and found nothing evil. The next moment, she heard the familiar trilling whistle of the rangers. Esceriel called out. A few minutes later, two half-elf rangers stepped down into their courtyard of trampled snow.

“We’re glad to find you,” said one, throwing back his hood. “We knew you were coming, and worried about the storm when you didn’t show up at Aula’s.”

“We should have known that King’s Squires and a paladin would be safe,” said the other. “But such storms can fool anyone.”

“You’ll share our meal?” asked Paks.

“Certainly.” The first ranger turned to her. “You’re Paksenarrion? Giron and Tamar send greetings; we met and passed two days ago. I’m Ansuli—no relation to the one you knew—and this is Derya.”

“If you see them again,” said Paks, “please tell them I am grateful.”

“I will.” He warmed his hands at the fire. “As late as it is, you might as well stay here tonight; we would be glad to guide you tomorrow, since the snow is so deep.”

“Stew’s ready,” said Garris. They all ate heartily. After that, in the long dimming hours before they slept, they all told tales of other winter journeys. Paks had no tales she wanted to tell, so she listened. Esceriel told of a wolf-hunt, one year when the Honnorgat froze solid enough to ride over and they nearly found themselves in Pargun. Paks could not imagine anyone riding out on ice over cold black water. Ansuli countered with a tale of winter hunting in the mountains, against “things like orcs, only bigger” that came in tribes and used slings loaded with ice and rock. Lieth told of the time she had tried to go from her father’s house to her uncle’s in a snowstorm, when she’d been told to bide inside. She claimed her father warmed her so that she forgot all about the cold. Everyone laughed.

“Garris, I thought you had a story to tell,” said Paks, turning to the older man.

“A story! Lady, I have stories enough to keep us up all night. But if you want a snow story—though why anyone would, in this cold—did your friend the Duke ever tell you about crossing Hakkenarsk Pass in the winter, with Aliam Halveric and me?”

“You?” Paks was startled. “I didn’t know you knew Duke Phelan.”

“Falk’s blade, I do indeed. I mean, I did. We were squires together at the Halveric’s. Until that year, anyway; my father decided it was too hazardous a way to make a man of me, that fighting in Aarenis with Aliam.” He chuckled and poked the fire. “Or maybe it was Aliam finally losing patience with my clumsiness; I was a slow lad, in some ways.”

“Well, what happened? I don’t think you’ve told this one to me,” said Esceriel.

“Or me,” added Lieth.

“Maybe not.” Garris nodded. “It’s been a long time since I even thought of it—when I first came back I suppose I bored everyone in hearing for a couple of years and then forgot it, as boys do. But it was an adventure, all the same.” He poked the fire again, and Paks saw determined patience on the other faces around the fire. Perhaps Garris was always this slow to get on with a tale.

“What happened was that Aliam was in a hurry to get home, one fall, and instead of going with his company through Valdaire, he decided to take the short way over the mountains.” Garris paused; Lieth handed him a flask, and he took a drink. “Thanks. I was young, then—it was my first year to go into Aarenis with Aliam, though I’d been with him for nearly three. I suppose Kieri was a couple of years older—but then Kieri was always older. We could all tell he’d be Aliam’s senior squire in a year or so, and we thought he might become a captain under him.”

“Where was the Duke from?” asked Paks.

“Kieri? I don’t know. I never asked. I’d never have asked him anything like that—not him. I was a little scared of him. Anyway, Aliam had taken us and four men and gone off north of Sorellin. There’s a road partway, and then a sort of trail. And at the foot of the mountains, there’s a village—or was. Someone told me it’s gone now, and Sorellin has some kind of fort near there.”

Paks realized with a shock that he must be talking about Dwarfwatch.

“It was coming on to dark,” Garris went on, “and Aliam decided to stay in the village—they had an inn. Kieri and I were supposed to see to the horses, while he ate. It was a mean-looking place; narrow stone buildings and a cold little stream between them. Ugly. Anyway, we had finished with the horses, and were bringing Aliam’s things inside, when we saw through the window what they were doing. They had already killed two of the men, and knocked Aliam on the head. Kieri didn’t hesitate. He sent me to saddle the horses again, and get them ready. Then he went after Aliam.” Garris stopped again to drink.

“I don’t know what happened inside. It seemed to take forever before Kieri came out with Aliam—I’d heard plenty of noise, too. Screams like I don’t want to hear again. Aliam was dazed; Kieri helped me get him out, and sent me off leading an extra horse for him. He caught up to us some way up the trail, covered with blood. Horse blood, he said.”

“Said?” asked Esceriel.

“You’ll see. We took off uptrail as fast as the horses could go; that part of the trail is well-traveled, and easy to follow. Aliam could hardly ride; we held him on his horse. When daylight came, I could see the bulge on his head with a crease in the middle—I would have sworn his skull was broken. Kieri coaxed him to eat and drink, and cleaned him up—I didn’t know what to do but follow Kieri’s instructions. Later that day, Aliam seemed to wake up—he talked sense to us, and told us which way to go when the trail forked. And I realized that Kieri was hurt, too. His saddle had fresh blood on it when he dismounted.”

“How about you?” asked Lieth.

“A few bruises from someone who tried to stop us on the way out, nothing else. He had sent me off, you see. Anyway, I tried to help him tie it up; he’d taken a sword gash in the leg, and another in the ribs. That night a troop of dwarves came on us—we were near the top of the first pass, the higher one. Aliam was well enough to tell them what had befallen us; they were not pleased, and said they’d heard ill of that village. Aliam offered that treasure of his which had been left there if the dwarves would avenge his men and bury them; they agreed.”

“So then what?” asked Lieth.

“Then it got colder. I swear to you, I have never been so cold in my life—and never hope to be, either. The next morning, Aliam didn’t remember the dwarves. We got him on his horse again—he could sit a little better—and I had to help Kieri onto his. Then up, and up, and the snow began. The horses slipped and skidded. We got off and led them; we had to go one by one, and we were afraid Aliam would slip and fall. But he didn’t. That night it was colder yet. We had nothing for a fire, and not much food left. The dwarves had said it would be a half day down, after the first pass, then a half day up, and then two or three days down to the nearest settlement. We stopped at the foot of the second pass. Aliam discovered that Kieri was wounded; he’d lost much blood, and had frostbite as well. By the time we got over the second pass, Aliam was better, but Kieri was fevered. Once we got below timberline, we had to stop. He couldn’t travel. That’s when he cried—it was the fever, of course. Aliam held him.” Garris poked the fire again, sending up a fountain of sparks.

“Cried?” asked Ansuli. Garris looked up sharply.

“Oh. Something between him and Aliam, I daresay. I didn’t understand, and Aliam didn’t explain. But for awhile it worried me—I’d never thought of Aliam as a cruel man—”

“Aliam Halveric? Cruel?” The second ranger, Derya, sounded as shocked as Paks felt.

Garris shook his head. “I shouldn’t have said that—he isn’t, I know. But Kieri seemed so frightened. It’s nothing. Fever—wounds—and anyway it happened long ago. We were only boys. Only I was the younger, you see—I’d always admired Kieri, from the first time I saw him at Aliam’s. He was the best with sword or spear, the boldest of any of us. And to see him so frightened—well, it frightened me. And it means nothing. I daresay Lady Paksenarrion can tell us how brave he is.”

Paks woke from a kind of reverie to find them all staring at her, waiting for an answer. “I never knew him to be anything but bold,” she said finally. “I’ve seen him both in battles and in hand-to-hand fighting—he’s the best in his own company, and one of the best I’ve seen anywhere.”

“You see?” said Garris. “The point is—I shouldn’t have gotten off on that other, only it impressed me, being a boy back then—the point is that he got us all over the pass alive. And frankly, when I saw those villains bash Aliam in the head, and a foot of steel sticking out of Rollis’s neck, I was sure we were all going to be killed. But he told me—just do what I say, and don’t argue, and we’ll see our lord alive out of this, gods willing, and so it came out.”

By then it was dark, and they all retired to sleep. This time Paks did not argue about being left out of the watch rotation. She had plenty to think about without that.