Oath of Gold

7

The road north from Vérella seemed vaguely familiar, even after three years. Paks stayed most nights in village inns; the fall nights were cold. She made good speed during the days, but did not hurry.

As she came over the last hill before Duke’s East, a cold thin rain began to sift down through the trees, dulling the brilliance of their changing leaves. Paks grinned to herself: so much for her imagination. She’d hoped to arrive at Kolya’s looking fairly respectable. She unslung her bow, and put the bowstring in her belt pouch to keep it dry. At least she wouldn’t have to stay on the road if it got muddy, as she had in the Company. She pulled the hood of her cloak well over her face and trudged on. It grew colder. She had to blink the rain off her eyelashes every few minutes. At least it was downhill, she told herself. The rain came down harder. The slope levelled out, and Paks began to look for the village ahead. There. There on the right was the stone cottage with apple trees around it, Kolya’s place, and there ahead was the bridge, with the mill upstream.

Paks looked at her muddy boots and wet cloak, and decided to go on to the inn. Kolya wasn’t expecting her—might not recognize her—Paks turned away from the gate and went on. Under the bridge the water ran rough and brown. They must have had rain up in the hills, she thought. The stones of the bridge were bluer than she remembered.

Although it was still daylight, few people were in the street. Light glowed behind curtained windows. Paks turned left out of the market square, toward the inn. It loomed ahead, and she hurried toward it, thinking of warm fires and a hot meal. The inn door was closed tight against the wind and rain, but swung easily when she pushed it. Paks slipped through and closed it behind her. The common room was bright with lamps and the fire on the hearth. Her wet cloak steamed. She blinked the rain out of her eyes as she pushed back her hood.

“Well, traveler, may I help you?” The wiry innkeeper looked just as he had the year she left. Then she had been an awed recruit, wondering if she would ever go there casually, as the veterans did.

“Yes,” said Paks. “I’d like a meal and a bath—”

“A room for tonight, as well?”

“I’m not sure.” Paks shrugged out of her pack and cloak.

“It’s late to be starting out again in this weather—” He stopped suddenly, and Paks saw he was looking at the black signet ring on her right hand. He looked up, frowning. “You’re one of the Duke’s—?”

Paks nodded. “I was with the Company. The Duke gave me this, the last time I saw him, and said to come if—when I had—finished something.”

The innkeeper’s eyes were shrewd. “I see. And you were planning to make his stronghold by tonight, eh?”

“No. Actually, I planned to visit a friend here in town first. Kolya Ministiera.”

“Kolya! A friend of yours—might I ask your name?”

“Of course. Paksenarrion.” She could not interpret the look on his face, and did not care to try. They would all have heard some story or other. She busied herself with the fastening of her pack. “I was in Arcolin’s cohort.”

“Yes. I’ve—heard somewhat—” He looked hard at her a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was brisker. “Well, then. Food and a bath—which would you first?”

“Bath,” said Paks. “I’ve clean clothes in here, but I’m mud to the knees. And do you have anyone I could send with a message to Kolya?”

“My grandson will go. Do you wish writing materials?”

“No. Just ask him to tell her that I’m here, and would be glad to see her again.”

“Very well. Come this way, and I’ll arrange your bath.”

A short time later, Paksenarrion was scrubbing the trail grime off with a linen towel, hot water, and the scrap end of scented soap she’d bought in Vérella. When she was done, she poured the rest of the hot water over herself, then dried in front of the little fire in the bathing chamber. She’d hung her clean clothes near the fire to take the chill from them. They felt soft and warm when she put them on. She counted the coins in her purse and decided that she could afford a good dinner. When she came back down the passage to the common room, she felt ready to face anyone. The big room was empty, but for a serving girl. Paks chose a table near the fire, leaning her bow against the wall. The girl came to her at once.

“Master said would you want a private room to eat in?”

“No,” said Paks. “This will be fine. What do you have?”

“Roast mutton or beef, redroots, white cheese or yellow, mushrooms with gravy, barley pudding, meat pasties, pies—”

“Enough,” said Paks, laughing. “Let’s see—how about roast mutton and gravy, barley, mushrooms, and—do you have soup?”

The girl nodded, “We always have soup. If you’re cold, I can bring mulled cider, too.”

“Good. I’d like that.” The girl left the room, and Paks pushed the bench closer to the wall so that she could lean against it. She stretched out her legs to the fire. The fire murmured to itself, occasionally snapping a retort to some hissed comment. She could hear the rain fingering the shutters, and the red curtains on the windows moved uneasily, but by the fire she was warm and felt no draft. She wondered what Kolya would say to her message. What had Kolya heard? Her eyes sagged shut, and she slipped a bit on the wall. She jerked awake and yawned. This was no time to go to sleep. She ought to be thinking what to say to Kolya, and to the Duke.

The door opened, letting in a gust of cold wet air and a tall figure in a long wet cloak. Paks thought at first it might be Kolya, but as the woman came into the light, Paks saw that she was younger, and certainly had both arms. A man came in behind her. The woman threw back the hood of her cloak to reveal red-gold hair, stylishly dressed. Under her cloak she wore a simply cut gown of dark green velvet, and when she drew off her gloves, she wore rings on both hands. Her companion, who seemed vaguely familiar to Paks, wore black tunic and trousers, and tall riding boots. Paks wondered who they were—they belonged in some city like Vérella, not up here. Before she thought about it, she had turned the Duke’s ring round on her finger so that only the band was visible. The serving girl had appeared as the door closed, and led the pair at once down a passage toward the interior of the inn. They must be known, then, thought Paks. She felt uneasy as they crossed the common room to the passage, but they did not seem to look at her.

“Here you are,” said the innkeeper, breaking into her thoughts. The platter of food steamed, and smelled good. “And Councilor Ministiera sent you a message—she’s in a meeting right now, but would be pleased to have you stay with her. She’ll come here when she’s through with the meeting.” Paks thought that Kolya’s invitation impressed him. “This room is often crowded from suppertime on, and noisy—if you’d prefer a quieter place to wait, I have several rooms.” Paks thought about it, and decided she would rather not see Stammel just yet.

“Yes—thank you. I think I will. But I’ll finish supper first—no need to move this.” She gestured at the platter and bowls. He smiled and left her. The mutton was tender and tasty; the soup warmed her to the toes. By the time she had finished, several townsmen had come in and ordered meals, staring at her curiously. She signalled the serving girl, and asked directions to the jacks and the private rooms.

“Right along here,” said the girl. “And master said you were to have this room—” she pointed to a door, “when you were ready.” Paks opened the door to find a pleasant little room with a fire already burning on the small hearth. Three chairs and a small round table furnished it, with a bench along one wall. The girl lighted the candles that stood in sconces on either side of the mantel. “Will you be wanting something from the kitchen?”

“No, not now. Probably when Kolya comes.” Paks tried to compute the probable cost of the meal, bath, and private room. But she wouldn’t be paying for a room tonight, and she had enough.

When she came back from the jacks, she settled into one of the chairs by the fire, and took her bow across her knees. She inspected it as she’d been taught, and rubbed it lightly with oil until it gleamed. She took the bowstring from her pouch and slipped it on, then bent the bow to string it. It was as supple and responsive as ever in her hands. She unstrung it and set it against the wall.

Her hand found her dagger, and then she was standing, staring at the door. She shook her head and sat down. Silly. Here, of all places, alone in a room in the Duke’s realm, nothing could menace her. She turned his ring again, looking at the seal in the black stone. It must be simple nervousness—fear of what Kolya had heard, or what she might say. Paks realized her dagger lay unsheathed in her hand. She stared at the blade, and felt the edge with her thumb. Sharp enough, and smooth. She slid it back in its sheath and stood again, pacing the length of the little room.

At the far end, away from the fire, she could just hear the murmur of other voices. It could not be coming from the common room, she recalled—it must be from another private room on this passage. She stared at the wall, her sense of something wrong growing, then turned back to the fire. She pulled her chair to face it, and found she could not turn her back on the far wall. She could not sit still; her earlier sleepiness was gone. Nothing like this had happened on the journey north, and she was still fighting with herself, a little angry, when a knock came on her own door.

“Yes?” The door opened, and the innkeeper glanced in.

“Councilor Ministiera,” he said, and stepped aside. Kolya appeared in the door as Paks stood up. The gray streak in her hair had widened, but otherwise she seemed the same. Her strong dark face was split with a broad grin.

“Paks! You brought more rain with you.” She gave Paks a long, considering look.

“Come on in. Don’t you want some ale? Or cider?”

“Ale,” said Kolya. “I get all the apples I want at home.” She entered and sat in one of the chairs, while Paks spoke to the innkeeper about ale. She cocked her head up at Paks. “You will stay with me tonight, won’t you?” Paks nodded. “Good. You’re looking well. The Duke will be pleased to see you. We heard several things—” She paused, and gave Paks another long look.

But Paks had been ready for this reaction. She smiled. “No doubt. There have been several things to hear. I have a message for you, Kolya, from Master Oakhallow—” She turned and rummaged in her pack until she found the scroll in its oilskin wrapping, and the little oiled pouch that she had never opened.

“Thank you.” Kolya started to speak, but paused as the innkeeper brought their ale, and left. “He sends me seeds and cuttings—did you know he helped me start my orchard, after I lost the arm?”

“No.” Paks was surprised; she knew only that Kolya was kuakgannir. She had not known even that until the Kuakgan gave her his message to take.

“Yes. He knew me, before I joined the Company.”

“Are you from Brewersbridge?”

“No.” Kolya did not explain. She was looking at the scroll, which she’d unwrapped. She looked up. “Well, I see that some of the tales we’ve heard cannot be true.”

“Ummm.” Paks poured the ale into both mugs. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, Kolya. Some things are true that I wish were not. But now—”

“Now you’re a warrior again—aren’t you?” Kolya picked up one mug and sipped. “As the Duke said you would have been without the Girdsmen’s interference.”

“I am a warrior, yes.” Paks wondered how much to tell her, and how soon. Seeing Kolya again, she realized how much older the other woman was, how young she might appear. “What happened was not the fault of the Girdsmen,” she began.

Kolya snorted. “The Duke thinks so. You’re not going to tell me you—” She stopped, obviously looking for a tactful way to say it.

“I am telling you that they did what they knew how to do. The Kuakgan knew more—of some things.”

“Are you kuakgannir now?”

“No.” Paks did not know how to explain.

“Still of Gird’s fellowship?” Doubt lay behind that.

“No—well, in a way—it’s difficult to explain—”

“But how do you feel, now? You can fight again?”

“Yes. I feel fine. I spent the summer with the rangers in Lyonya; we saw some fighting there.”

“You’re not wearing a sword,” said Kolya.

“No, that’s true. I used a borrowed one there; I haven’t the money to buy my own. But they said they’d keep my arms in Fin Panir. Even if they haven’t, I expect they’d give me a sword when they got over the shock.”

“Shock?”

“Well—they didn’t expect me to recover like this.”

“Oh. But the Duke said they gave you money . . . what happened?”

“It’s a long tale—the short end is it’s gone.”

Kolya nodded. “When are you going back to Fin Panir?”

“I don’t know.” Paks felt the uneasy restlessness she’d struggled with before Kolya came. “I wanted to come here first; to see you, to thank the Duke for all his help. I thought perhaps I could do something for him—I don’t know.”

Kolya drained her mug. “You could join the Company again, if that’s what you want. I know he’d take you. Or are you still set on being a paladin?”

Paks shifted the mug in her hands. “I have no choice, Kolya—or you could say I’ve already made it.” She finished her ale, and set the mug down. “I—don’t want to talk about it here. Can we go?”

Kolya stared at her in surprise. “Paks, it’s safe here. Piter’s the Duke’s man as much as I am. He tells no tales.”

Paks stood up. “I don’t doubt you, or him, but something—Kolya, I cannot explain this here and now, but I must not ignore these warnings.” She stepped to the door, opened it, and glanced into the passage. Nothing. “I’ll go pay the reckoning.”

“I’ll come.” Kolya stood, and Paks collected her bow and pack. She slipped the bowstring off the bow again and rolled it in her pouch. Then she led the way down the passage to the common room.

It was noisy and crowded there now, and it took a moment to catch the innkeeper’s eye. He came to them, and greeted Kolya, then asked Paks what more she needed.

“Just the reckoning,” said Paks. “Your hospitality has been more than generous.”

He looked at her, then at Kolya. “There’s—there’s naught to pay, this time.”

Paks turned to Kolya, whose face was blank. “What? You can’t mean that, sir. I’ve had a fine meal, good cider and ale, bath, a private room—”

The innkeeper looked stubborn. “No. You carry the Duke’s seal. One time for each of the Company—I’ve been a soldier; I know what need is.”

Paks felt herself blushing. “Sir, I thank you. But another time, I might have need. This time I have the means to pay.”

“You aren’t carrying a sword. No, if you come back someday, with all your gear, and want to pay, that’s fine. But not a copper will I take this night, and that’s final.” He glared at her.

“Well—my thanks, then. And I hope to enjoy your brew many a cold evening.” Paks and Kolya went out into the cold windy night. The rain had stopped, though the wind smelled wet. They said nothing for some distance, but as they turned into the market square, Paks asked, “What was that about?”

“What?”

“Not paying. Does he really give a free meal to each of the Duke’s men? I wouldn’t think he could make a living that way.”

“Paks—wait until we reach the house.” In a few minutes they had crossed the bridge, and neared Kolya’s gate. Kolya led the way up the flagged walk to the cottage, and pushed open the heavy door. Inside, a fire on the hearth lit the front room dimly. Kolya poked a splinter into the fire until the end flared, and lit candles in sconces around the room.

“If you need to dry anything, here’s a rack,” she said, pulling a wooden frame from one corner. Paks dug into her pack for her wet clothes, and spread them on it, glancing around the room. It served as both kitchen and living room, with cooking hooks in the fireplace, a dresser holding plates, mugs, and two blue glasses, a net of cheeses, one of onions, and a ham hanging from beams, a sturdy table and several chairs near the fireplace. The other end of the room held a desk and stool, and more chairs around a striped rug on the floor. Under the front windows was a long bench covered with bright weavings. Kolya disappeared through a door beside the fireplace, and returned with a deep bowl of apples and a small one of nuts.

“You may be tired of apples, but these look good,” said Paks.

“They are. This is the first year I’ve gotten much from these two trees. The green and red striped ones are from Lyonya: Master Oakhallow sent the seedlings years ago. The dark ones are a new strain, according to the traders—at least it was new when I bought some. These trees are—oh—about nine years old by now. What I sent you, in the south, were Royalgarths—what they grow in the king’s groves in Pargun. They travel well, and are sweet, but these are better—thinner skinned.” It was clear that Kolya was glad to talk of something harmless. Paks fell in with this.

“How many kinds of apples do you grow?”

“As many as I can acquire. Apples do better if you mix varieties, and some tend to skip years in bearing. Right now I’ve got seven that are bearing well: these two, the Royalgarths, the Westnuts from Fintha, Big Ciders and Little Ciders, and Westland Greens. I’ve got two kinds that just started bearing this year, but not heavily: another summer apple, but yellow instead of green, and a big red and yellow stripe that does well in the markets south of here. And the pears have come in since you left. Over twenty bushels of pears this year.”

Paks had taken a bite out of the green and red apple. Juice flooded her mouth. “This one is good,” she said, swallowing. Kolya had cracked two nuts against each other in her strong hand; she began picking the meats out of the broken bits of shell.

“Yes. Paks—you are welcome to stay here; I hope you do. But—what did you come here for? Was it just to thank the Duke for his help? Or—?”

Paks took another bite of apple. “I’m not sure I can tell you. I don’t know how much you know of what actually happened to me—”

“The Duke told us—the Council—some of it. Nothing to blame you for—”

“He didn’t know all.” Paks could feel Kolya’s look as if it were a hand on her face.

“He said it was the Marshal-General’s fault,” said Kolya. “He’s never blamed you for it—”

“It was not her fault. Not in the way he means. Did he tell you about Kolobia? What happened there?”

“Not really.” Kolya shifted uneasily. “Something about capture, and evil powers.”

“Yes.” Paks struggled for calmness. Surely she should be able to tell this tale calmly by now. “I was taken by the kuaknomi, who serve Achrya.” Kolya nodded, eyes intent on her bowl of nuts. “They offered the chance to fight—to fight for a chance at escape. Or that’s what I thought they offered. Fighting against orcs, for the most part, in a sort of arena they had underground.”

“Most part? How many times—?”

“I don’t know.” Paks set the apple down carefully, as if it were alive. “I don’t remember. Many times, to judge by the marks they left. At the end, I was forced into charmed armor—”

“Mother of Trees!” said Kolya, staring now. She had brought up her hand in the warding sign. Then she looked at her hand, and shook her head. “Sorry. Go on.”

Paks took another apple out of the bowl, and looked it over. “In the fighting great evil entered my mind. It grew beyond my control. This is what the Marshal-General saw, in Fin Panir. She was not the only one to see it, Kolya. Even I, when they—” She stopped to take a long breath. “Anyway. They saw but one possible cure. And the Marshal-General, two paladins, and an elf tried to cut that evil from within. Which they did.”

“And left you, the Duke said, as crippled as if they’d cut off your legs.”

Paks shook her head. “Not so. You—forgive me, Kolya, but you have truly lost an arm. Nothing, now, will make it grow back. I had my limbs—legs and arms both—but not the use of them for awhile.”

“And within? The Duke said they did more damage within, that they had ripped the very heart out of your self, the courage—”

“So I thought, and they thought, but the Kuakgan showed me that this was not so.”

“Are you certain?” Kolya peered closely at her. “We had heard that you were to be a paladin yourself—and here you are without money enough, you say, to buy a sword—”

“Do riches make a paladin? Or do I look so scared, to you?” Paks smiled at her.

“Well—no. You don’t. But you wouldn’t be scared of me, anyway.”

“I would have been. I was. Kolya, I cannot hide this: I was, for those months, as craven as you can imagine. I don’t know what the Duke told you, but he saw me unable to lift a sword even in practice. He saw me afraid to mount a horse—even a gentle one. He saw me—a veteran of his Company—faint in terror because an armsmaster came toward me with his sword raised.”

“You’d been hurt—”

Paks snorted. “You know better than that. Kolya, I have been where very few soldiers ever come—to the fear and helplessness that the common folk have. And I’ve come back from that, with help. Why I’m here—well, that’s a long tale. Tell me, would you think me crazy if I told you—” she faltered, and Kolya looked at her curiously.

“What?”

“Kolya, things have happened to me—since I was first in the Company—which seemed strange to me. In Aarenis—especially the third year—others noticed, too—” It was remarkably hard to say, flat out, that she thought she was a paladin.

“Stammel said something to me.” Kolya cracked another pair of nuts. “He said it had to do with a Gird’s medallion you’d been given by a friend—you could sense things the others couldn’t, he said.”

“Yes. That was part of it. That was why I thought they were right, when they said I could be a paladin.”

“They weren’t?”

“Well—yes. In a way.” Paks found that she was sweating. “The fact is—I—do have some gifts. They are somewhat like those paladins have, but I never finished the training and took vows. Master Oakhallow thinks they were given directly by the gods. And if so—” She stopped again.

“If so, then you are a paladin of sorts, is that what you mean?” Kolya glanced sideways at her. “A remarkable claim. Not that I doubt your word—” She went on quickly. “It’s only that—I never heard of such a thing. When I think of a paladin, I think of those I saw, when I was in the Company. They were not as you are now.”

“I know.” Paks leaned forward, elbows on knees. “And I trained with them: I know what you’re remembering. Shining mail, on a shining horse, so bright that anyone would follow. I don’t claim to be that sort of paladin yet, Kolya. I do say that something—and I believe it to be the High Lord, or Gird his servant—has called me here for a purpose. I sensed, in the inn, some evil thing—and felt in myself the answering call: this is what I came for. I cannot see how this will harm the Duke or his realm, unless he has turned to evil, past all belief.”

“Will you tell him this openly?”

Paks shook her head. “No. As you say, I don’t look like a paladin. I have no clear message for him. I can but be here, and ready to serve his need, when it comes. I think it will be soon.”

Kolya stirred in her chair. “I cannot believe you lie. Master Oakhallow bids me trust you—I have reason to trust him. And what I know of your past—by the Tree, Paks, I wish I understood.”

“So do I,” said Paks.

“And you are not a Girdsman?” asked Kolya again.

“I cannot say. I am not—I cannot be, any longer—under the command of the Marshal-General. But I swore to follow Gird’s way of service: that oath I would not break.” Could not, after what had happened in the magical fire.

“The Duke will not be pleased with that.” Kolya’s voice held some emotion Paks could not identify. Satisfaction? Envy? Paks followed a vague hunch.

“Can you tell me what he has against the Girdsmen, Kolya? I know it is something more than happened to me, but I don’t know what. Master Oakhallow wouldn’t say.”

Kolya’s lips tightened; then she sighed. “What do you know about the Duke’s lady?”

“Not much. Only that he was married, and she died ten or twelve years ago. He blames the Girdsmen, somehow. Did you know her?”

“Yes. We were in the Company at the same time. Before she married the Duke.” Kolya sighed again, and stared at the fire. “Paks, we don’t speak of her much—he doesn’t like it—but I think you should know the story. It might help you understand.” She took a deep breath, and her hand clenched and unclenched as she began.

“Her name was Tamarrion Mistiannyi; we all called her Tamar. She was a fighter, one of the very best. Tall, strong, and—” Kolya shot Paks a glance. “Much like you, though her eyes were bluer. She had the same way of moving. She was a Girdsman when she came—most of the Company were, in those days. She tried to convert me, but gently. The whole Company liked her. She was always cheerful, didn’t quarrel, worked hard, and—by all the gods, to have her beside you in a fight! She had a temper, and that’s when it showed. Her eyes would go very blue, and she’d laugh just a little, and I never knew anyone to lay a blade on her. Not by the time I came, though she had scars to show.

“The Duke was only a few years older than the rest of us. I think any of the men would have bedded her gladly, but she didn’t care about it, or about women, either. But the Duke—He fought with the ranks back then: the Company was just the one cohort, a few over a hundred, and they fought side by side often. And he married her, at the end of my first campaign season.” Kolya shifted in her chair again, and picked up one of the striped apples. Paks did not interrupt, and finally Kolya went on.

“Things were very different then. The Company so small, and the stronghold more than half earth walls and wooden huts. Tamar never played the lady with us, but worked as hard as ever, the Duke’s other self. Together they planned the buildings there, and in the villages, and together they went over the contracts for each season. Not so much in Aarenis, then—the Duke had to garrison the stronghold by the terms of his grant. Those were good years. I’m no Girdsman, but it was a good Company then, and the contracts meant fighting where you had no doubts. They had a Marshal living in the stronghold. He pestered those of us who weren’t Girdsmen, but we liked it anyway. You could trust your companions, and do your work without worrying about what kind of work, if you understand what I mean.” Paks, remembering the last campaign in Aarenis, understood very well, and nodded.

“Well, then,” Kolya went on, “when the children were born—”

“Children? I never knew the Duke had children.”

“No one mentions them. They died with her. The elder was a girl, maybe eight when she died—she would have been about your age had she lived. The boy was just three. When they were born, the Duke wanted Tamar to go somewhere safer, but she never would. Of course she didn’t fight for awhile each time, but I remember her riding and working out when she was this big—” Kolya gestured to indicate advanced pregnancy. “And as soon as she could get back in armor, she started training again. She began to stay here, with part of the Company, when he took contracts far away, but she was no fine lady sitting at a loom.” Something more than respect warmed Kolya’s voice.

“Then one year the Marshal-General—not this one, the one before—wanted the Duke to take the entire Company to some war in Aarenis. It had been cleared with the court of Tsaia. The Duke wanted to leave a force with Tamar, or have her come, but she wanted him to take them all, for the glory of Gird. She said the children were too young for a southern campaign, and she’d be safe with the Tsaian militia that were supposed to come for the summer. She said a member of the Duke’s household should be on his land, in case something happened to the king. We all knew, by their way with us, that they were fighting—and we knew they were both high-tempered, not that they didn’t—” Kolya faltered a moment. “They were as close, Paks, as any man and wife I’ve ever seen, close as comrades and lovers both. But if anything, she was bolder. Certainly where Gird was concerned. She finally convinced him to take both cohorts. He started south, leaving her with the children and perhaps ten men-at-arms until the militia came. And the craftsmen, of course, and the steward and servants, and the Marshal. He was no mean fighter himself. Not that it did any good.” Kolya got up and moved restlessly around the room for a moment. “Do you want anything to drink?”

Paks was not thirsty, but thought it would ease Kolya to stop for awhile. “Water—that ale was strong.”

“Yes. Just a minute.” She disappeared to the back again, and returned with a jug. She took two mugs from the dresser and poured into them. “Here.”

“Thanks.” Paks took a swallow, and shifted in her chair. She wondered if she should say something. Finally Kolya settled back in her seat, after poking the fire up.

“Nobody knows what happened. We think she went out for a ride with the children—maybe hunting. The steward and the Marshal were with her, and a couple of soldiers to help with the children’s ponies. They didn’t come back at lunch. No one worried, then. After all—five warriors, all mounted—and there hadn’t been any trouble for over a year. But they didn’t come back by dark. She would have sent a messenger if they’d intended to stay out.

“The sergeant started searching an hour or so before full dark, and didn’t find anything. He took torches, and dogs, and they tried to trail through the night, but something got the dogs off scent, and they didn’t find anything until the next day. Back up on the moors, north of the stronghold, they found the first body. That was the old steward: he’d been shot full of arrows, and slashed with a knife or sword. Then they found the rest of them. They must have tried to take Tamar alive, because there was a stack of bodies around her and the children. Young Estil had tried to fight, too—she’d already been training with a little practice sword, and Tamar let her carry a dagger. It was bloody to the hilts. She had fallen across her little brother. We don’t think they bothered the children’s bodies, but Tamar and the Marshal had been stripped and hacked at. Their armor and weapons were still there, in a heap.”

Paks had felt her eyes fill as Kolya talked. She could see in her mind the five adults, desperately trying to protect the children, and the little girl—she thought of herself at eight, wrestling with her brothers—defending the boy with her dagger.

“What were they, Kolya, that attacked? Pargunese? Orcs?”

“Orcs and half-orcs, by the bodies. We found twelve dead, and blood-trails of others. Two more bodies, about a mile away.”

“Were you here, then?”

“Yes. I—Estil, the girl, liked to play with me. Tamar had asked me to stay, until the militia came. That day I had gone into the mill—we had no village here then, only the mill—to bring back a load of flour. When I got back that afternoon, the sergeant was just getting worried. We never knew why they had gone north—of all directions, the most dangerous—or why such a large party of orcs had come out in daylight. Something must have drawn them, but we never could find out what.” She cleared her throat and took another swallow of water.

“Well, we brought the bodies back, and sent a courier to the Duke. All of us were terrified. You’ve seen him, when he’s really angry—not something you want aimed at you. And then we felt we should have done something—anything—to prevent it. I must have cried every day for a week; I think everyone did. Then the Duke came. Just about what we’d expected: I thought the very ground would smoke where he stepped on it. He asked each of us, of course, where we’d been, and why we hadn’t been with her, but it was all very straightforward. When we had talked to him, he said nothing to condemn us. But all that anger went toward the Girdsmen: he blamed the Marshal-General for taking him away with all his troops, and for Tamar’s encouragement. It was very . . . difficult.” Paks thought it must have been more than that. “He went storming off to Fin Panir, and Vérella. We were afraid he might disband the Company, but he didn’t.

“He did start enlarging it, though, and took a contract in Aarenis every year. He wouldn’t have a Marshal around, though he never interfered with Girdsmen, and still recruited them. He began to hire mages for healing. He wasn’t as choosy with recruits—not taking riffraff, exactly, but not as careful as they had been. In most things he himself didn’t change. Had I still both arms, I’d fight for him, and gladly. He is as brave as ever, as fair and just a leader. But—I heard some things about that last year in Aarenis, Paks, that would never have happened if Tamar had been alive. He wouldn’t have wanted to do them.”

Paks thought of the death of Siniava, and stared at the fire a long time after Kolya stopped speaking. Finally she looked over to see that Kolya’s eyes were closed and tears glistened on her cheeks. “Thank you for telling me. It must be hard to speak of, to one who never knew her—”

“But you are so like her!” Kolya interrupted in a hoarse whisper. “When you joined the Company, Stammel saw it at once. He told me, when I came as a witness that time. When you were well, I could see it myself. And he told me what you did, in Aarenis—when you stopped the Duke. Paks, it must have been like hearing Tamar’s voice from the Afterworld—that’s what Stammel said. No one else could have stopped him. I think that’s why the Duke was so furious when the message came from Fin Panir about you. It was like having it happen all over again—”

“But he never said anything—”

“No. Of course not. You’re his daughter’s age, after all. He wouldn’t tell you. But what did he say when he gave you his ring?”

“That if I ever needed or wanted his help, to bring or send it.”

“That’s what I thought. When he came back, he told us—his officers, the Councils of Duke’s East and West—that if you showed up, or the ring showed up, we were to do anything to help you. Anything. Without question. Spend our last copper, if we had to, or kill if you were in danger, and he would make it good. Whatever. That’s why Piter wouldn’t take your money. He’d give any Duke’s man a meal once, but tonight was the ring, and what the Duke said.”

Paks blushed. “But Kolya, I’m all right now. I don’t need—”

“He couldn’t be sure. You aren’t carrying a sword. The Duke said you might look like anything: beggar, thief, slave, common laborer, guard—but unless you showed up mounted, in full armor, we were to assume that you needed our help. And that you’d not admit you needed it.” Kolya paused, and sighed. “You are going out there after what I’ve told you?”

“Yes. Tomorrow, unless you have a reason to wait.”

“No. Go on. It will bother him that you don’t have a sword.”

“You said he would hire me—perhaps I’ll earn one from him.”

“Oh, he’ll have you. He’s had fever in the stronghold this year.”

“Where did he campaign this season?”

“He didn’t tell you? No, I suppose he wouldn’t. About the time you left the Company, he heard from the Regency Council in Vérella. They’d found out that he had taken the whole garrison south, and they were furious.”

Paks was confused, and must have shown it, because Kolya explained.

“He holds this steading under a grant from the crown of Tsaia. He’s supposed to strengthen the stronghold—which he’s done—and maintain a garrison against any invader. It was a Tsaian outpost before he got it, you see. Anyway, he always had at least fifty fighters here, usually more. But that last year in Aarenis, he pulled everyone out: active or retired, anyone who could swing a sword. So the Regents claimed he’d broken his oath to the crown, and they would have forfeited the grant. Only no one else wanted to come up and fight the orcs, and cross our Duke in the process.

“Arcolin heard part of it—the Duke said his oath to his men came first, and that he’d had no reason to expect trouble. It was the only time in twenty years he’d failed in the slightest part of his oath to the crown. Then before they could forbid him to go south again, he said he was staying in the north. He’d gotten profit enough, and was short of men. So that winter—winter before last—he routed out the orcs nearby, and recruited replacements for the losses in Aarenis, and that summer recruited some more. He had to get rid of many who’d joined in the south. By this spring he was nearly up to strength. He sent one cohort east to Pargun to help man border forts, but he stayed here.”

“So he’s been here over a year.”

“Yes, except for those weeks with you in Fin Panir. It’s the longest he’s been here since Tamar was killed.”

“How is he?”

Kolya looked away. “Oh—well, I suppose. He’s kept busy. He hasn’t been sick; he trains all the time.”

“But what—?”

“I don’t know what. That trouble with the Regents—with the Marshal-General—and I daresay he worries about an heir. We’ve wondered if he thinks of marrying again.” She rolled the apple around the table under her hand. “There’s nothing I can name—only the sense of great anger underneath. We worry—the veterans, the old ones—what will happen when he—if he—”

Paks nodded. “I felt some of that anger, the last season in Aarenis—and when he came to Fin Panir. But he won’t do anything bad, Kolya, I’m sure of it.”

“You! And I have known him how many years? No, I’m sorry. You may know better than I, indeed.”