Kings of the North (41 page)

“You are a man of honor,” she said now. “Aliam has told me that, and I can see it for myself. You will not like this favor, and I sympathize. But I swear to you, the message is sent for help, not harm. I cannot ask any of your escort, Aliam’s sworn men, to take it; they have a specific loyalty to him that you do not, and I do not think a guest’s loyalty would prevent it. But it is your decision, of course.”

“You have no other way?” Andressat asked.

“Not that I can think of,” she said. “If I could go myself—but I am afraid to leave him.” Her voice dropped. “He talks of dying,” she said, almost a whisper. She laid the paper on the table beside the door, turned, and left.

His decision. Andressat looked at the table, once more surprised at Halveric’s wife. She had left him every option. He could open the message … he could show it to Aliam … he could leave it there, for her to find and dispose of … he walked to the table, picked it up, tapped it lightly against his other hand, and tucked it away in the inside pocket of his tunic. Whatever else she might be, and however different from the women he knew … he knew she loved and respected her husband, and wished him no harm.

Chaya

T
he King’s Squires escorting the Count of Andressat led the way into the palace court. Andressat’s courier had reached them in plenty of time; Kieri was at the head of the steps when Andressat dismounted. He knew Andressat well enough to recognize that the Count was uncomfortable.

“My lord Count,” Kieri said coming down the steps. “You are welcome here—I never expected to see you north of the Dwarfmounts. We are honored.”

“Sir King,” Andressat said, bowing low. “I would not trouble you if it were not a matter of grave import.”

“Then come inside,” Kieri said, “for it looks to rain again within a short time.” He noticed Andressat’s eyes widen at the carpets and tapestries—Andressat had prided himself on the textiles his estate produced. If Kieri had wanted revenge for all the slights Andressat had heaped on him, this would be ample, but in fact he wanted Andressat to enjoy the visit. The old man had a shrewd understanding of southern politics, and a dry wit Kieri had enjoyed whenever Andressat let it show. “Urgent as your news is,” Kieri said, “you will want to bathe and rest before sharing it, I’m sure—”

Andressat shook his head. “I have two things first, and then I will be glad of a brief rest. I do not, alas, have the endurance of the young.”

“Very well,” Kieri said, and led him into his smaller office. “Have a seat.”

Andressat sat down, then reached into his tunic, pulling out a folded sheet of paper. “It is a delicate matter,” he said. “I received this from Aliam Halveric’s lady—she asked me to carry it to you without his knowledge, which ordinarily I would not do. But Lord Halveric is not well—even as a visitor I could see that something is wrong there, and I do not know what.” He handed the paper to Kieri.

“Aliam not well?” Kieri said. “He was fine in the spring—” But a memory of Aliam’s letter came to him, and he frowned as he broke the seal. “And the other?” he said, beginning to read.

“I met your Captain Arcolin in Aarenis, in Fossnir, traveling with his sergeant, the blind one—”

“Blind!” Kieri said. He looked at Andressat. “He has no blind sergeant—who?”

“Stammel, the man’s name was. Some injury this past summer. The man seems well but for that; he rode without a leading rein; we traveled together from Fossnir to Valdaire. But I was supposed to tell Lord Halveric, and I forgot—I was shocked at his appearance, to tell the truth—that your captain had found his son’s sword in Aarenis, and will send it to you—he thought you should give it to Lord Halveric.”

Kieri stared at the paper he held without seeing the words written there, thinking of Stammel blinded—when? How? Had Arcolin written to tell him and the letter not come? Then, with an effort, he focused on the words Estil had written.

Kieri looked at Andressat, who was watching him closely. “Does Aliam seem in bad health to you?”

“Much older than two years account for,” Andressat said. “Exhausted, I would say, and full of some sorrow too great to bear. If he were one of my family, I would say he has the death-wish on him, but I do not know why.”

Kieri felt a nudge, a sense of urgency even stronger than Estil’s letter. He raised his voice. “Berne!” The Squire outside the door opened it and came in. “Berne, make ready to ride to Halveric Steading as soon as possible. They have need of me. We will need extra horses.”

“At once, Sir King.”

Kieri turned back to Andressat. “My lord, I’m sorry, but I must beg you to tell me the rest of your concerns as quickly as you may. Aliam is my oldest and dearest friend, and if you and Estil are right, I have scarce time to reach him before some crisis.”

“Sir King, it is the archives—” Andressat repeated what he had told Aliam Halveric. Kieri listened, trying to be attentive, but with half his mind on Aliam and the sense of urgency he felt. Still, he felt the hairs rising on his arms.

“My lord Count—I suspect I may know what some of those things are. Did your archives mention the Verrakai?”

“Yes—and also some great evils—” Andressat stared at him, as if expecting Kieri to produce a miracle: answer and solution in one utterance.

Kieri gathered his thoughts. What Andressat said had importance both north and south, but Aliam needed him immediately; he felt torn. “My lord, you are welcome to stay here, and rest as long as you need—until I return from the Halverics, if you choose—but you must, before you return south, visit the new Duke Verrakai, my former captain, Dorrin. She found relics her family kept hidden for hundreds of years; I believe they may bear on your problem. I will send word to her that you are coming—”

“I do not know her,” Andressat protested.

“She was my captain; you met her. She is trustworthy, and now stands high in the court of Tsaia.” After nearly being killed, but Andressat didn’t need to know that. “I understand that you have had a hard journey and must rest. But Dorrin Verrakai must have this news, and Tsaia’s king as well. I will supply an escort; you will not
be traveling alone. Before that, however, rest here awhile, as long as you like.”

“I—I suppose I must,” Andressat said. “If you must leave—I was hoping …” His voice trailed away, then he spoke again. “You—my pardon, Sir King—but you seem oddly younger.”

“They tell me it’s my elven heritage,” Kieri said. “Once I touched the sword—” He nodded to where it hung on its rack. “—its power released that heritage, and as half-elven I am not considered old at all.”

A knock at the door; Arian put her head in. “Sir King—if you wish to leave tonight, we will be ready immediately after dinner—or within a half-glass if necessary.”

“But it’s raining now,” Andressat said, glancing at the window, where a dreary autumn rain fell steadily.

“I would ride through worse to help Aliam,” Kieri said. “He saved me, long ago. Will you take dinner with me, or would you rather rest first?”

“I’ll eat with you,” Andressat said.

“Dinner in a quarter-glass, my lord,” Arian said, and shut the door.

“Time enough to wash up,” Kieri said. In the passage, he signed to Gavin, the youngest Squire. “This is Count Andressat, who will be staying here as long as he finds convenient, and then going to Tsaia, to Duke Verrakai. See that he has everything he needs. When he is ready, arrange an escort of honor to Verrakai’s estate. If he wishes to stay until I return, he is welcome to do that, too.”

Gavin guided Andressat toward one of the guest rooms; Kieri ran up the stairs to his own apartments, where he found Garris just strapping together a pack of his clothes. His riding clothes and all-weather cloak were laid out on the bed.

“I should come, too,” Garris said. “Whatever’s wrong at Halveric’s—”

“No,” Kieri said. “I need you here, at the center of my courier service. You’ll have to organize Andressat’s travel to Tsaia for me. There’s no one I trust more, Garris.”

“How bad is it?”

“I don’t know yet, but I know I must leave now, not tomorrow. If you don’t get regular reports from the river patrols, send a courier to
demand them. Something’s going on there. I’d feel better if the king had replied to my letter about Elis.”

“Kieri—tell Aliam I love him too.”

“I will, Garris. Gods grant I’m there in time.”

He changed to riding clothes and went down to dinner. Andressat waited there, eyeing the dishes arriving on the table. “What is that?”

“An apple sweet the cook here makes; I don’t know what she calls it. My lord Count, pardon me, but I need to eat quickly.” Kieri nodded to the servants, and they withdrew. He stacked slices of meat on a thick wedge of bread and bit into it. Andressat put slices on his own plate and investigated the pots of sauces, smiling when he found the one with southern peppers.

Andressat was still eating when Kieri excused himself. He rode away in the wet night, raindrops sparkling in the torchlight. He knew Andressat would consider his abrupt departure discourteous, and wished he had not needed to ruffle the old man’s composure, but he had no choice, not if he was to arrive before Aliam died. The taig itself now urged him on, hinting at some danger beyond even Aliam’s death.

From Chaya to Halveric’s steading could be a long road or a short one, depending in part on the weather, forest rangers, the elves, and the forest taig itself. Kieri tried to infuse the taig with his own sense of urgency, and a way seemed to open, almost straight and wide enough for several to ride abreast. Still, it was days of riding, in the shifting autumn weather—that wet night was followed by a dry morning, with a cold wind blowing up behind them. The forest darkened their way even as some leaves blew before the wind. A day—another day—even with extra mounts they had to stop to rest the horses, and Kieri slept in snatches, but for the one night they spent at a farmstead deep in the forest, where the startled housewife insisted that the king must have their best bed.

Then they were coming out of the woods into the lower fields of Halveric Steading, and the familiar house and outbuildings were there before him. The same as always—but not. He could not define the difference. Kieri let his standard-bearer ride ahead of him, the royal standard snapping like a whip in a brisk wind.

Estil and Aliam both met him at the gate; Estil’s eyes thanked him silently, but Aliam scarcely smiled. He looked as Andressat had described:
old, tired, sick, a man ready and willing to die. Kieri hugged them both, then said, “Invite your king indoors, man—we’re cold and hungry!”

Aliam winced; Estil said, “Come in! There’s sib still hot, and I’ll heat spiced cider.”

Kieri led the way; he knew every stone of that courtyard. He shed his cloak in the main passage and hung it on one of the hooks out of sheer habit. He could see, from the alert glances his Squires gave, that they, too, felt some menace here. Arian started to speak to him, but he shook his head; he had to speak to Aliam first.

“Y
ou don’t understand,” Aliam said. They had drunk sib and eaten a quick meal, then he’d led Kieri to the little walled garden—an odd choice, Kieri thought, in that weather. Aliam sat hunched on the bench, as if he feared a blow. “If I had only said something … all those years, all the pain … Tammarion and the children would not have died if I’d said something. They’d have been safe, here—”

“I’d never have met Tammarion then,” Kieri said. “Never had children.”

“But they were killed—”

“Would you wish Cal unborn because he was captured and suffered Siniava’s torments?”