Oath of Gold

8

In the morning, a weak sun struggled through low scudding clouds. Paks came over the rise south of the stronghold, and saw its massive walls. She noticed a group drilling to the west and wondered if it was recruits, or regulars. As she came nearer, she could see no changes in the stronghold itself. The Duke’s colors swirled in the wind. The main gates stood open, as usual in daylight. Paks kept up her steady pace. Her stomach began to clench. Would the gate guards know her? Who would be in the courtyard?

She thought of her first march toward these gates, and how she’d blushed as Stammel marched them in. It was odd to be so nervous still, after all that had happened. Her thumb felt for the Duke’s signet, turning it on her finger.

“Ho there! Traveler!” She looked up to see sentries on the wall. She halted. A man appeared in the gate opening. “Come forward and speak for yourself. What’s your business here?”

Paks walked forward. She didn’t recognize the dark bearded face. “I’m Paksenarrion Dorthansdotter,” she said. “I was a member of this Company. I would like an audience with the Duke.”

He scowled; Paks decided that he was quite young—perhaps just beyond recruit. “With Duke Phelan? What makes you think you—who did you say you were? With this Company?”

“Paksenarrion Dorthansdotter. I was a member of Arcolin’s cohort for three years.”

His eyes widened. “Paksenarrion—yes—” His glance fell to her hands, and she held out the signet. “Of course. Come with me; the Duke is in council, but I’ll send word in at once. Have you eaten?”

“Yes, thank you.” She followed him through the gates into the familiar courtyard with the mess hall and infirmary beyond. Someone led a tall horse across the courtyard. Armed men and women in familiar uniforms walked briskly about on their errands. She tried not to gape, and followed her guide to the Duke’s Gate. But they ran into Stammel almost at once.

“Paks! By Tir, I’d hardly hoped it was really you!” He grabbed her in a hard hug. “You’re coming back to us, I hope.”

Paks found herself grinning widely. “I must see the Duke—”

“Of course. Of course. But stay, Paks—don’t be going back to Fin Panir—”

“Not for awhile, anyway.” She pulled away; the young sentry was watching wide-eyed. Stammel grinned at the boy.

“Go on, then—take her in. You won’t find another the Duke would rather see.” And to Paks, “I’ll see you when you come out.” She turned to follow the sentry. She could see unasked questions hanging on his tongue. They were halfway across the courtyard when she heard other voices she knew.

“It looks like—”

“By the gods, it is Paks! Paks! Gods blast it—” Paks turned to find Arñe and Vik almost on her. She was buried for an instant in sound and arms; tears rushed from her eyes.

“I knew you’d come. I knew it.” Arñe, who rarely got excited, was laughing and crying together. “No matter what they said, I knew—”

More people crowded around. “Wait until Barra hears—” she heard someone say. Volya and Jenits, her old recruits, joined Arñe in another hug. Paks had not expected this, had not realized how much she missed these particular people. She held up her hands, finally, as the questions and comments rained on her. They quieted, as if she were an officer.

“I—I must see the Duke,” she said. “First, and then—”

“You’ll be back,” said Arñe. “You will, won’t you?”

“For awhile, yes. It depends on the Duke.”

“He’ll have you. He always would.” Arñe threw back her head and laughed for a moment. “Ah—what a time we’ll have. You beginners—you don’t know what you’ve missed. Just wait.”

“Arñe—” Paks began, embarrassed.

“Never mind,” said Arñe. “Go on. See the Duke. Then we’ll hunt orcs together. You haven’t forgotten how, I’ll wager.”

Paks shook her head, and followed the now-bemused sentry through the Duke’s Gate.

She had never been in this part of the stronghold before. The inner court was separated from the main one by the back walls of the mess hall, infirmary and one barracks. The other sides were composed of the Duke’s own quarters (where the cohort captains also lived, as well as the Duke’s servants), the armory, and the storehouses. In the center of the small courtyard a stone bench surrounded a well; a small tree grew out of the pavement nearby. The Duke’s residence took up the north and west sides.

At the door another sentry took over from the first one. Paks did not recognize him, either. But as he started to lead her into the hall, Arcolin came down a passage and spoke to her.

“Paks! Is it really you? The Duke will be pleased—”

“Yes, Captain.” Paks found herself reverting, in her mind, to the Company private she had been.

“You look well—are you?”

“Yes. Very well.”

“Good. Follow me—” He waved the sentry back and led the way upstairs himself, and along a passage on the north wing. “The Duke’s in his office—you haven’t been up here before, have you?”

“No, sir.”

“It’s the third door on the right.” But he led her all the way. The door stood open; Paks could see, as they neared it, a large room full of light from windows that opened on the court. He stepped in; Paks paused on the threshold.

“My lord, it is Paksenarrion.” Paks could see the Duke, sitting at a desk littered with papers. His head came up; his face had hardly changed, but for looking tired. He looked for her, and his grim expression eased as he met her eyes.

“Come in, Paks. Or do you use your full name, now?”

“Thank you, my lord. Either will do.” She stepped into the room, and Arcolin went out quietly. The Duke looked her over.

“You look better than the last time I saw you.”

“Yes, my lord. I am.”

“Come, sit down.” He gestured to a chair near the desk and she took it. “You wear no sword,” he said. “Have things stayed, then, as they were?”

“No, my lord. I spent the summer in Lyonya, with the rangers. They use bows, mostly. I hadn’t money enough for a sword.”

“With the rangers?” His face seemed to come alive, then freeze. “Then you could—” He stopped, and she knew what he would not ask.

“My lord, I can fight again, and did. I came to thank you for your help—and for your trust.” As she spoke, he stood, and came to her. He stopped a few feet away and looked her up and down.

“It is repaid by seeing you whole again. What can I do for you—besides give you a sword?”

“My lord, I didn’t come to beg a sword of you, but a place. If you have need of another soldier, I have need of work.”

“You aren’t going back to Fin Panir, then?” He looked pleased.

“If I do, I’d like to have my own weapons,” said Paks.

“Ha!” He grinned suddenly. “You are better. But I promised you a captaincy, remember.”

Paks laughed. “My lord, you are generous beyond measure. But to be honest, I don’t think I can stay with the Company forever.”

“What then? Fin Panir and.the Girdsmen, or something else?”

“I’m not sure. But I will stay a half year with you—perhaps more—if you’ll have me. Not as a captain, though. It would not be fitting for me to take high rank from you; there are those here who have earned it.”

“None more than you.” The Duke glanced down. “No. I see what you mean. And of course I’ll be glad to have you. We’ve had too much fever this past summer. Let’s see. Suppose you go back in Arcolin’s cohort. Veteran’s pay: that should get you a sword by next spring, without question. You are still thinking of paladin, aren’t you?” He looked at her shrewdly. Paks nodded. He asked no more about it but went on. “Then you’ll need experience leading—but we’ve plenty of trouble with orcs: you can take squads this winter. And another thing—”

“Yes?”

“Most paladins are drawn from the knightly orders. They’ve had the chance to learn manners of court and hall. From what I saw last year, you aren’t really easy with that yet. True?”

Paks blushed. “Yes, my lord. I’ve tried to learn—”

“And done well for a sheepfarmer’s daughter. I didn’t start in a palace either, Paks; now I can dine with kings without worrying about my elbows. That’s something we can teach you, too, if you’re willing.” He paused briefly, scanning her face. “It won’t cause trouble with your companions in the Company; it’s going to be obvious that you are not an ordinary soldier. If you agree, you’ll spend some of your free time in my library, learning history and other things, and with me and the captains discussing politics and strategy. Well?”

Paks was stunned by the offer. “My lord, I—yes. I would like that. I know very little.”

“Very well, then: take this order to the quartermaster, and this to Arcolin, and get yourself settled in. Arcolin will arrange your schedule. I want you to dine with us as often as you can, whenever it doesn’t interfere with your duties.”

“Yes, my lord.”

An hour later, Paks had a sword at her side and the maroon tunic of Phelan’s Company on her back. Her legs felt cold and exposed again; she knew they looked chalk-white next to the others. Armsmaster Siger, after an admiring look at her longbow, asked for a demonstration.

“Not now, Siger,” said Stammel. “We’ve still got to get her on the rolls.”

“This afternoon, then,” said Siger. “Fine bow: I hope you’ve learned to shoot to equal it. And I want to see what fancy strokes they taught you in Fin Panir.”

Paks laughed. “Nothing for a short sword, and I haven’t handled a blade that much lately. But when I’ve practiced—”

“Good. Good. I know they teach knight’s work, but I always like a new trick.”

Before lunch, Paks had a longer interview with Arcolin. He urged her to accept a corporal’s position, both because he needed one, and because she would then have more time and opportunity for the extra study the Duke recommended. Paks agreed, wondering meanwhile if her old friends would resent the promotion. They had been glad to see her, but how would they react to all that had happened, and to her being placed over them? She said nothing of this to Arcolin, who was telling her that she already had a reputation with the newer ones—by his tone, a good reputation.

Through the noon meal, Paks talked with Stammel and Devlin about her new duties and the changes in routine from what she remembered. With all three senior cohorts and the recruits in the stronghold together, there were many changes. Then Stammel called the cohort out for weapons practice, and they went to the field together. Siger was already there with her bow, and had set up the targets.

“Now let me see,” he said eagerly. Paks strung the bow and chose an arrow. The wind had dropped a little, but she knew her first shaft might miss. She bent the bow smoothly, and released it. She was lucky: Siger grinned delightedly. “Do it again,” he said. She placed three more arrows in a pattern one hand could cover, as fast as she could draw the bow. She heard murmurs from those watching. “May I try?” asked Siger.

“Of course,” she said. “It is sized for me, though.”

“De, it’s a strong pull.” Siger eased it back from a half-draw. “You’re right, it’s very long for someone my height. I’ll leave it to you. But let’s see your bladework.”

“Certainly.” Paks unstrung her bow and started toward the targets to retrieve the arrows.

“Don’t bother,” said Siger. “Ho! Sim! Go fetch those arrows.” A lanky youth in recruit brown jogged toward the targets. “Put your bow over here—” He nodded to a bowrack.

Paks set her bow in the rack and returned to the area Siger had cleared for them. He was ready, sword in hand. “Do you want a banda?” he asked.

“Against you? Always.” Paks spotted the pile of bandas and shrugged her way into one. She noticed Arcolin standing behind a double row of onlookers. Siger noticed the onlookers.

“By Tir, will you stand around like cows at a fence row? You want to see Paks fight? You’ll be facing her yourselves, soon enough. Get on, now, to your own drill, or I’ll sore the ribs of the lot of you. Go on!” The others drew away reluctantly, grouping for their own drill. Paks felt a tingle of apprehension. It had been long indeed since she used a short sword, or had drilled as Siger would drill. She drew the sword and stepped forward.

With Siger’s first stroke, it all came back. The first stirring of joy she had felt that last night with the Kuakgan woke and surged up her sword arm. She felt she was hardly touching the ground. They stayed with the drill briefly, as Siger increased the pace. Then he shifted to more difficult maneuvers. Paks found that her skill—her instincts—her delight had all returned. Siger got no touches on her for some time. Then with a clever twist he turned her blade and tapped her sharply on the arm. He danced back, grinning.

“I’d almost thought you beyond me, girl.” Paks could hear effort in his voice. Was Siger—Siger the tireless—getting tired? She wondered if it were a trick, and pressed her attack carefully.

“You should be beyond me,” she said cheerfully. “You started first.”

“Ah, but—” He grinned again as he narrowly countered one of her strokes. “But I’m older, now, and slow—” This with a lightning thrust that Paks took on the banda. “You’re lucky you wore that,” he commented.

“A shield would help, too,” said Paks. “Old, indeed. Slow as an adder’s tongue, you are.” She tried the trick she’d used on him once in Aarenis, but he remembered the counter.

“Your old friend Vik has kept me in practice for that one,” he said. Paks tried another, and this time slipped past his guard to rap his shoulder. “Aah!” he cried. “Well enough. Well enough. Let’s see what you recall of formation work—we’re not all knights, here.” He stepped back and lowered his sword. Paks looked around. Despite their attempts to look busy, it was obvious that most of the cohort had been watching.

For some days, Paks was busy and happy, relaxing into the familiar old friendships of her years in the Company. Her duties as corporal kept her scurrying from place to place, and she had forgotten a surprising amount of the formation drills. And in every spare minute, her old friends clustered around asking questions and telling tales. Clearly they did not mind her promotion—in fact, seemed surprised that she was only a corporal. She herself had more questions than tales. She learned that Peska, junior captain to Dorrin in Aarenis that last year, had left the Company as soon as they came north. Instead of an outsider, the Duke’s senior squire had taken over as junior captain: first Jori, whom Paks remembered from Aarenis, and now Selfer. Jori had gone for training with the Knights of Falk. Kessim, who had been little more than a boy when Paks knew him, was now the Duke’s only squire.

Paks thought about that arrangement and frowned. “That still leaves two cohorts without a backup captain—or the recruits without one.”

“Valichi’s back with recruits,” said Kefer. “You’re right, really. Four captains for three cohorts, and Pont is seconding Cracolnya again. But we’re staying together, and in one place—we don’t really need the others—”

“Gods grant they don’t get the fever, any of them. You know, Kef, it would be difficult if Arcolin or Dorrin got sick. Or took an orc arrow.” Stammel yawned; it was late.

“But the Duke’s never had trouble with fever,” she said one morning. “And here, in the north—”

“I know.” Vik nodded. “It is odd. The surgeons think it may be that with so many of us—though we clean out the jacks twice a season now—”

“It’s not only that,” put in Stammel. “We’re seeing a lot more trade, now—more people coming in from Vérella and such. They might be bringing it.”

“Hmm.” Paks thought back to the lectures in Fin Panir on fortifications and water supplies. Surely nothing was wrong in the design—but she thought she’d look for herself.

“Besides, we may be getting something from all the orcs around.” Devlin reached across her for another hunk of bread. “Tir knows there’s enough of them, the filthy beasts.”

“Where are they coming from?”

“Out of the very stone, for all we can tell.” Stammel frowned. “You won’t know about this, Paks, but off to the northeast is a mess of caves and passages that were full of orcs when the Duke took this grant. The Lairs, it was called, and that’s where the trouble started. Thing is, it’d take five Companies the size of this one to find and clear all the caves. And they’ve been striking west of here—we wonder if they have another complex of caves somewhere west.”

“What have you done?”

“Everything the captains can think of. Random patrols? Fine, but some of them are out three days without spotting an orc, and others run into bunches too big to tangle with. Pursuit of each band spotted? The last ones we tried that with took off straight north up onto the moors and kept going. Setting ambushes in likely spots? Again, sometimes a patrol’s out for days without any orcs, and another time it’s nearly wiped out. Perimeter control? We haven’t enough for that, if we’re going to hold the two villages, the stronghold, and protect the road at all.”

Paks couldn’t think of anything else herself.

“So far, they’re under control—despite some losses, the crops are still going in and being harvested, and the villages haven’t been burned. But they’re keeping us busy, day after day. We can’t tell exactly what they’re after, either. Sometimes it seems they’re just asking for a fight. They haven’t tried a full-scale assault on the stronghold or the villages—of course that would be stupid of them.”

“What I think—” Stammel stopped, and looked around. Most of the others had left, and he glared at Vik until the redhead shrugged and went out. That left Devlin, Paks, and Stammel at that table. “What I think,” Stammel began again in a quiet voice, “is the Duke’s not keeping his mind on it. That sister of Venner’s—”

“I don’t believe he’ll marry her,” said Devlin. “I can’t—”

Stammel shook his head. “He’s thinking of heirs, now. At his age, if he’s to sire his own, it’s time he was at it. I don’t like her any more than you do, Dev, but she’s the only woman around who—”

“I don’t understand,” said Paks. “You say the Duke is planning to marry? I thought Kolya said he never would, after—” She stopped before saying the name.

“That’s what I would have said. But these past two years, staying up here—he’s started thinking, you see, what will happen when he’s old. I know he’s thought of naming one of the Halveric sons his heir. But that might not sit well with the court, they being Lyonyan. He’s not one to take a young wife, not now. And this sister of Venner’s—she’s handsome enough, and knows her way with men—”

“She’s a widow,” put in Devlin. “So it’s said. She came up here to get Venner’s help with the estate.”

“What does she look like?” asked Paks. “Does she ever come out of his courtyard?”

“She’s—well, as I said, handsome. Reddish hair. She rides out with Venner every now and then—”

“Goes to the Red Fox with him,” added Devlin. “Piter’s told me that. They take a private room and have dinner.”

Paks thought back to the woman and man she’d seen the first night. She could not imagine the Duke marrying someone like that.

“It’s not our business,” said Stammel, but he sounded unconvinced. “If the Duke wants her—”

“It’s more whether she wants him. Any woman like that would: he’s rich, well-known, with large landholdings—”

“I still can’t believe it,” said Paks.

“Well, we can hope. I only wish he’d either do it or not, and pay more attention to these orcs. I can’t believe they’re causing all this trouble after years of peace without something else going on.”

“If we had a paladin here—” began Devlin, then looked quickly at Paks and flushed. “Sorry, Paks. I didn’t think—”

She shook her head. “That’s all right.” She wasn’t ready to claim or demonstrate her gifts. “You’re thinking of being able to find a source of evil?”

“Yes. I agree with Stammel that something must have stirred the tribes. What if it’s a cover for something else? You had to do with greater evils in Kolobia—what if something like that is out there?”

As the days passed, Paks had her own encounters with orcs, as frustrating and inconclusive as the others had described. What, she wondered to herself, was a paladin supposed to do in a situation like this? It wasn’t that the soldiers were unwilling to fight, or were badly commanded. She could think of nothing to do that had not been tried. She knew that Stammel, at least, expected more of her, some miraculous intervention that would solve the mystery of the orcs’ interest in the Duke’s lands that year, and eliminate them. She prodded her mind, trying to force the vague feeling she assumed came from the gods into something more direct and definite. If she was supposed to be there, why? For what purpose? What sort of danger or evil should she be looking for? But all she found inside was the certainty that she should be where she was, doing what she was doing. And that seemed to accomplish nothing.