Kings of the North (31 page)

“Are they gone?”

“No. But they will be.” Those charging forward had not yet noticed that their formations were half the size they had been; a mere thirty crashed into almost three times that many Phelani, and in half a glass they were all dead.

“Stammel, what was that?” Arcolin asked, watching the others strip the brigands—or whoever they were—of weapons. More curved blades, some straight, crossbows, half a dozen Vonjan pikes with the Cortes Vonja mark stamped on the blade.

“Burek told me more of the legend, Captain,” Stammel said. Now that it was over, he wiped the sweat off his forehead. “You know that tavern in Fossnir, the Blind Archer?”

“Yes—”

“There’s another tavern named that, in Cortes Vonja, and one in Cortes Cilwan. All named for a story old as Torre’s Necklace. A man blinded by a usurper, for loyalty to the old king. He comes back, a beggar everyone thinks, and because he’s blind and harmless, the usurper has no fear of him—but he kills him, an arrow to the throat.”

“I didn’t know that,” Arcolin said.

“Nor I, Captain. But down here, many do, Burek said.”

“Did
he
tell you to stand out there?”

“Of course not,” Stammel said. “I just thought—what if I can scare some of them, and anyway …” He flushed a little. “Something came over me,” he said. “I felt—I felt it was right.”

“Well, it worked,” Arcolin said. “But the next time you don’t follow orders, Sergeant, I’m docking your pay.” He put a hand on Stammel’s shoulder and shook it. Under his hand, Stammel’s shoulder felt like oak: all that muscle regained, all that strength. “Dammit, man,” he said, fighting back tears. “I don’t want to lose you now.”

“I’m not lost, Captain,” Stammel said. “Not while I’m with the cohort.”

They moved on the next morning. Though they had killed more than half the attacking force, Arcolin was sure now the brigands outnumbered the cohort, and he was three days from easy communication with Cortes Vonja. The Blind Archer legend wouldn’t deter them all, or any for long.

Back on the west side of the forest belt, Arcolin considered how best to finish the season’s work. The maps he and Burek had made showed multiple trails in the forest and the tracks of old farm and village lanes where wagons might go. The Vonjans, if they had the will, could use those with their own militia, especially in the fall when the leaves fell, to locate and defeat the brigands. They had more forces at their command. He suspected they would not, but in their various skirmishes they’d killed over a hundred; even with regular supply, that must have cut back the brigand strength considerably.

The villages along their original route south were now fully involved in harvest; Arcolin spread his force out to ensure that market traffic moved safely. He paid city market price for fresh fruits and vegetables, to the delight of local farmers.

Chaya

T
he two northern princesses and their guardians seemed to take up more space and time than any other six people. Kieri had to fit in visits of courtesy with them and their guardians around his other duties. Count and Countess Settik were particularly scornful of his lessons with Orlith, which had resumed without further discussion of the Lady. The Squires assigned to the princesses reported that both had been extremely guarded at first.

“We think neither is here willingly,” Arian said. Along with Aulin, Lieth, and Binir, she had been assigned to Elis. Kaelith, one of those caring for Ganlin, nodded. “Aulin says Elis seemed glad to wear trousers but was afraid her guardians would see her. She has the right calluses for sword training—we all agree on that—and she walked in the garden like someone used to walking in trousers and not skirts. But she had no blade at all, not even a lady’s dagger to cut her own food. Binir got her talking about horses—she knows a lot, and said she always wanted to breed Pargunese Blacks, but then blushed and took it back.”

“They don’t like our baths,” Kaelith said, wrinkling her nose. “They say they have bigger ones at home, with hot water that comes from a pipe. They call ours barbaric. Ganlin says it’s hard to climb in and out—but she’s got that sore hip. There’s certainly more between the two of them, Elis and Ganlin, than they’ve yet told us.
Ganlin wanted me to carry a message secretly to Elis, so I gave it to Aulin—and then Arian gave Suriya one from Elis to Ganlin.”

“How does Ganlin feel about her guardians?” Kieri asked.

“She doesn’t like them,” Kaelith said. “But I don’t think it’s more than being made to do something she doesn’t want to.”

“Elis is frightened of hers,” Arian said. “I’m not sure why. I also sense a deep anger in her, but she’s so young—they both are, really—that it could be any little slight.”

Kieri almost chuckled—it seemed an odd thing for Arian to say—she could scarcely be that much older than Elis—but instead he said, “Perhaps we should offer them something they’re sure to like—if they’re sword-trained, a chance to work out in the salle?”

Kaelith shook her head. “I don’t think her guardian would allow it; we’ve all heard her scold Ganlin and remind her to be ladylike and demure. ‘None of your wild ways,’ she says.”

“The same with Elis,” Arian said. “Her guardians stick close as ticks to a hound, and everything we’ve offered—suggestions to go for a ride or a walk in the forest—even to walk in the gardens alone—they refuse for her. Her eyes light up sometimes, but it’s no use.”

Kieri considered. It was well past Midsummer now; the princesses had settled in as if they meant to stay until he married them, which he was not going to do. Their guardians had become increasingly insistent—when would he decide?

“I must see them alone,” he said. “Despite their guardians. I must know more about them before I can refuse them without insult—I do not want to hurt the girls, however much I am willing to risk angering their families.”

“Refusing them won’t hurt their feelings,” Kaelith said. “Neither one has shown that kind of interest in you, Sir King. But what about their guardians? They are so protective—or that’s what they call it.”

“A walk in the rose garden in the afternoon,” Kieri said. “With you Squires for chaperons. It is an insult to me if they think that dishonorable. As Elis’s guardians are more likely to be difficult, we will ask her first. Arian, please convey to Elis my earnest wish that she spend a short time walking with me in the rose garden this afternoon. Who’s with her now?”

“Binir, Sir King.”

“Do you have night duty tonight?”

“No, Sir King.”

“Then you also attend us, and we will see if I can learn more from her. Tomorrow, Kaelith, I will walk with Ganlin.”

At the appointed hour, Kieri waited in the rose garden, now a fragrant glowing haven of color. Elis appeared with Arian and Binir. Her expression was, as always, guarded and cool; she curtsied gracefully. “Sir King, I am honored that you wished to see me.”

“I am honored that you wish to be my queen,” Kieri said, and noted the instant withdrawal and stiffening. She was no more eager for a marriage than he was. “Let us walk.”

She moved with him down the path between the roses and other flowers, silent and pale.

“My mother planted this garden,” he said. “She loved roses above all flowers, I am told. Does your mother?”

“She did,” Elis said, in a choked voice. “She had some in a pot. She … died. My father threw them away.”

Kieri felt a jolt of sympathy. “My mother died, too,” he said. “But luckily, my father also loved roses and chose to remember her by preserving her garden.” He did not know if that was true, but it seemed reasonable.

“My father says they are weak southern flowers, not worth the trouble.”

“They do not seem weak to me,” Kieri said. “But I never grew them in the north.”

Her hands, clasped at her waist, relaxed a little. “If—if I were to—to marry—would I have to stay here?”

“Stay here?”

“Inside the walls.” Her voice rose a little. She stopped and resumed very quietly. “If—would it ever be possible to—to walk abroad. Even—ride?”

“Your guardians are concerned for your safety,” Kieri began, but Elis made an impatient gesture.

“At home,” she murmured, “I rode … in trousers like those the Squires wear. But—but then—”

“Come this way,” Kieri said, and led her farther along the path, where an artfully designed waterfall gave an excuse to face away from
the palace windows and the falling water would cover their voices. “Now,” he said, when he was sure they would not be overheard or their faces seen. “Watch the water and listen to me. You are unhappy: the women attending you have seen that. They tell me you have the hands and walk of someone who is used to weapons, and that you and Ganlin are passing secret messages. No—do not turn around and do not jerk like a frightened horse at its lead.”

She was instantly still, but tense. “I—I cannot talk about that.”

“I think you are here against your will, and that you and Ganlin were planning something your families did not approve. You’re both related to that woman who came here for my coronation—Hanlin, her name was, a sister of the queen?”

“A sister of the current queen and Ganlin’s aunt,” Elis said. “The king married again after my mother’s death.” She took a breath and hurried on. “If they find out I told—Sir King, you are right. I did not want to come. Or marry. They drugged me that night at dinner. I was to leave the next day for my own place—my very own—my father promised—and then—”

“Breathe slower,” Kieri said. “So you were drugged and brought here … and did you then try to escape? Is that why you arrived in the middle of the night?”

She nodded. “I thought I could outride my guardians—escape completely or arrive long before them, and beg you for mercy.”

“For mercy?”

“For—for meaning—” She gulped then and Kieri realized she was about to cry.

“Pinch your nose,” he said.

“Wh-hat?”

“Pinch your nose. Hard. And think of something funny. You must not be seen crying. It leaves your eyes red, and they will ask questions.”

Startled, she complied, and in a moment was calmer.

“Soldier’s trick,” Kieri said, grinning. “For a sneeze, for a sob.” He sobered again. “Elis, I will not marry anyone who does not want to marry me. It was wrong of them—I suppose it must have been your father—to drug you and send you unwilling to me. But before I can find a way to help you, I must know more. Why you? Are you the only girl?”

“No,” Elis said. She let go her nose for a moment and looked almost cross-eyed down it. “I have sisters who would have been willing, but I am the eldest. And I am, my stepmother and father both say, an embarrassment.”

“Embarrassment?” How could this pretty child be an embarrassment?

“I am … not ladylike enough. I like riding—in trousers—and working in the stable, and I made my brothers teach me swordplay. When I was younger I wanted to be a soldier, but I knew that could not be, so then I wanted to be a horse-breeder.” She said that fiercely.

Kieri looked at her in astonishment. She had color in her cheeks now, and her pale eyes sparkled. She reminded him of all the eager young recruits he’d had, male and female alike.

“Or I could be one of your Squires,” she said, looking up at his face. “I would work hard, I promise.”

“And what would your father say, if you were a King’s Squire and not a queen?”

She turned white again in an instant.

“I’m sorry,” Kieri said quickly. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

“It is not you.” She pinched her nose hard; the tears that were in her eyes did not brim over. “I can’t tell—”

Years of experience with frightened young people came to Kieri’s aid. “Yes, you
can
tell me. Do it now.”

“He wants me to kill you,” she blurted out.

“Who? Your father?”

She nodded. “They told me—on the boat—if—when—we married—she would give me a knife with poison to stab you—and then—if I killed you and got away, my father would give me the land he promised.”

So his thought of possible assassination hadn’t been nonsense, after all.

“I don’t want to kill you,” she said in a small voice.

“I’m glad of that,” Kieri said. “What do you want?”

“I want to kill—” She stopped herself, then went on. “No, but I do want—the life I always wanted. Oh, please, Sir King, let me stay here! I’ll do anything—cut my hair, work in the stables—” She went down on her knees; Kieri pulled her back up.

“Don’t do that. Your guardians.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she pinched her nose again. She was younger than the flowers in the garden, he thought. And yet—something in her held more than mere naive youthfulness, mere rebellion. She had been kidnapped and taken where she did not want to go, but she had refused to do evil. That he could respect.

“Tell me of Ganlin,” he said. “How do you know her?”

“We visit Kostandan every year or so,” she said. “My stepmother and Hanlin and I. We became friends—we both love riding and being outside and hate embroidery and tatting and women’s gossip. We swore eternal friendship—we made a blood-bond and traded locks of hair. She knew I was going to have my own farm—my father had said so—and she was going to run away and join me. We were never going to marry.”