Kings of the North (62 page)

“I
would like to do something for you, Dorrin,” Arian said. “No need,” Dorrin began, but Arian held up her hand. “You are a magelord; you are sensitive to good and evil in people. I believe you do have taig-sense or could develop it.”

Dorrin looked as if she wanted to ask why, but instead said, “Do any pure humans have taig-sense?”

“Yes. And it is not just about trees; there is the water—”

“Water?” Now Dorrin looked a little frightened.

“All that live need water; to us springs are sacred. Taig-sense lets you find water and know if it is good.”

“Magelords had water magery,” Dorrin said. “When I first came here—”

“What?”

“There was a cursed well. I … the gods helped me take the curse off, and water came.”

Arian waited, but Dorrin did not say more. “Let me show you,” Arian said finally.

For a moment, Arian thought Dorrin would refuse, then she shrugged and pushed back her chair. “If you can do it and Kieri can do it, I suppose I can at least try,” she said.

“We need to go outside,” Arian said.

“At night? In this cold?” But Dorrin kept moving. “We’ll go through the house to the garden,” she said. “I want a wall to break
this wind.” She picked up a candle lantern on the way, and led Arian down a long straight passage that turned suddenly, went down three steps, then led to a door Arian thought might be under her own bedroom windows. “Here we go,” Dorrin said. She pushed the door open and went out, waiting for Arian and then pulling the door closed.

Across the garden, in the lee of the wall, the wind bit less. Dorrin put the candle lantern on the ground.

“Now what?” she said.

Arian extended her own taig-sense, feeling for the tree with the strongest flavor of life. An apple tree, the oldest in the little orchard, gnarled but unafraid and still looking toward its next flowering. “Here,” she said, laying her hand on one of the limbs. “Put your hand here, next to mine.” Dorrin did so. “Do you feel the life in the tree at all?”

“I can tell it’s alive,” Dorrin said. “It feels different than a dead limb. Is that all it is?”

“No,” Arian said. “Only the beginning. Now feel down the trunk, to the roots … there in the ground, the roots spread away into the soil … they are as alive as the tree. Can you feel them?” As she spoke, the taig spoke clearly to her, tree to tree all the way back to Lyonya. She pushed that aside for the moment.

“Something,” Dorrin said. “I’m not sure … it’s like a thread of … of light or warmth or something …”

“Follow it,” Arian said. “There will be a spreading again; that is another tree.”

“It feels—I can’t say how it feels—oh!” Dorrin pulled her hand away.

“What?” Arian felt the tree’s reaction, as sudden as Dorrin’s.

“Something touched me!”

“Put your hand back,” Arian said. “The taig wants to meet you.”

Dorrin put her hand down and for a long moment was silent, still. Arian felt the taig reach again, and this time Dorrin did not pull away.

“It’s all alive,” Dorrin said. Her hand trembled. “All of it—I can feel it—”

“Can you feel anything of its mood?”

“Mood?”

“The taig is tender,” Arian said, reciting her first lessons. “Like
the freshest petal on a plum blossom. That is why it cannot be healthy around those who dwell in anger or hatred.”

“How did it ever survive here?” Dorrin asked. “I would think my family’s habits would’ve destroyed it.”

“They needed this garden for food,” Arian said. “They must have had a gardener who worked here at peace, as much as was allowed. They had to, for the trees to grow.”

“Is the taig only about trees?” Dorrin asked.

“No,” Arian said. “The taig is the life of all things that do not depend on cultivation. Trees, because they live longest, form the connection, year to year. The little things, that die back, partake of the taig while alive, but the trees persist.” She wanted to say more, but Dorrin stood up just then, and pulled her hand back.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I felt it, I’m fairly sure, but I’m also tired and cold … it happens as we get older; I’m sure you could stay out here another turn of the glass.”

“Then let’s go in,” Arian said. She gave the tree a gentle caress, and they went back inside. It felt almost too warm and stuffy to Arian, but Dorrin sighed with relief.

“I miss Aarenis,” she said. “Others complained, but at least I was never cold down there.” Then she laughed. “You’d think I’d just come from Old Aare’s sand mountains. Tell me more about what I can do with this taig-sense.”

“There are places in your domain,” Arian said, “where the taig was sore wounded. I passed by some—deformed trees, barren ground. Using the taig-sense, you can find them.”

“What can I do then?” Dorrin asked.

“Love them,” Arian said. “Though that may sound too simple.”

“No,” Dorrin said. “I know better than that.” She asked nothing more about the taig, however, and Arian said nothing more about Kieri. Instead, they talked of the Pargunese, Dorrin asking the questions she thought her king would ask. Arian answered as best she could. Soon Dorrin, yawning, suggested bed, and Arian went up to her room already thinking how soon she could return to Lyonya … to Chaya. The thought of the Lady’s anger daunted her briefly—and what if she were bespelled again?—but even indoors she could feel the taig … weaker here, where it had been wounded and not nurtured, but connecting, root to root, with the taig she knew, that
knew her. It called her, wanted her. She fell asleep easily, only to wake in the dark of night.

Taig—danger—a call almost panicky, as strong as she had ever felt. She reached out to the apple tree in the garden below, felt it strain to carry a message so far to one it barely knew, and soothed it.
I am here. I understand. Thank you. Rest now
. The tree relaxed into its winter doze, but she could not sleep, not without knowing what was wrong. Kieri? Something else?

Morning brought snow, fat flakes out of the sky with only a little wind. Arian startled the servant who was bringing up her clean clothes when she opened her door to carry her pack downstairs.

“You’re not leaving, lady? Not so early? My lord will want to breakfast with you, at the least. And I have your things—”

“Thank you,” Arian said. “When will breakfast be? I have far to go, and must start early—”

“Not long,” the servant said. “My lord breaks fast early, and Cook’s at work. Let me pack this for you—” She reached for Arian’s pack.

“Well, then, if you’ll bring it down when you’re done, I’ll just go see about my mount.”

Downstairs, she heard voices in the kitchen. Dorrin had said the kitchen opened to the stableyard; Arian looked in. Cook—no doubt about which of the cooks working there bore the title—braced meaty fists in the pile of dough she was kneading and gave her a challenging stare.

“You’re that ranger, I’ll be bound. It’s not ready yet—”

“Dorrin—my lord Duke—said this was the short way to the stableyard,” Arian said. “I want to see my horse.”

“Ah. Yes, it is. That side of the table, please, and out that door—” Cook pointed with her elbow and went back to kneading. Arian edged around the opposite side of the table, and out the door she found snow falling more heavily, covering the pave stones of the stableyard. Arian made her way across to where horses were stamping and whinnying for morning hay.

She found Gwenno and several of the militia inside, feeding and watering the horses, including her own. “I gave him only hay,” Gwenno said. “I didn’t know if you’d be leaving today or not, and—”

“Good thoughts, Squire Gwenno,” Arian said. “But yes, I’m leaving;
he should have a bait of grain. I hope he behaved while you groomed. He’s somewhat ticklish—”

“About that off hind. I noticed,” Gwenno said. “But he stood at a word. He’s a bit stiff in the back, too.”

“I came with only one mount,” Arian said. “Two would have been better, but—” She shook her head. “Thank you for grooming him,” she said, laying a hand on the horse’s haunch.

“It was nothing,” Gwenno said, flushing. “I like horses. All the Marrakai do.”

“Will you breakfast with us?”

“No, lady. I am on duty; I will breakfast with my squad.” She looked down the stable aisle at the men. “My lord Duke says it is always good to see what the troops are eating and let them know you can eat the same.”

“That’s true,” Arian said. “Good day to you, then. I don’t know if I’ll see you again before I leave, and if not, thank you for all your courtesy, both in the woods and on the way. Should you visit Lyonya, I will be pleased to greet you.”

“Thank you!” Gwenno said. “Will you want your horse saddled? I can do that—”

“No, thank you,” Arian said. “I am not sure how long I will be, since it would be discourteous to leave before speaking to the Duke. He should not stand saddled too long. He can have a bait of oats, however; he’ll work that off today.”

She made her way back across the stableyard. The snow would fall heavily for another glass or two, she thought, but then end … she should be able to make good progress. Inside, she found the kitchen crowded with children—the last thing she expected—all lined up along the table with cloths tied around their necks, Cook supervising as they kneaded little lumps of dough. Arian edged past them; Cook gave her a nod, and paused long enough to say, “Small dining room. My lord’s down now.”

The small dining room had a fire lit and a great covered tureen that smelled of porridge in the middle of the table. Dorrin looked up as Arian came in. Today she was dressed in dark woolen trousers, a gray woolen shirt, and a well-worn leather doublet, marked with obvious signs of a sword and dagger. “Your horse all right?” She pointed to a place set with plate, bowl, and eating utensils.

“Your squire Gwenno had already groomed him; he was eating hay. I must leave—”

“In this snow? Surely you can wait a day—I judge it will end later but be deep in places.”

“I’m used to winter travel,” Arian said. “The taig woke me; there’s something wrong in Lyonya.” She uncovered the tureen and served Dorrin a bowl of porridge, then one for herself. “Your cook is—”

“A tyrant in the kitchen. I know. Are the children in there yet?”

“Yes. I think she’s teaching them to make bread.”

“We all think—their tutor and I and the Marshal-General of Gird—that learning practical, useful things will be good for these children. I do not want to dwell on the life they had before. I’m trying to make it different in every way. How did they seem?”

“Energetic. Busy. I did see one of them throw a lump of frozen mud at another yesterday afternoon, from my window.”

Dorrin shrugged. “We can’t make them adult in a day—or even in a year, I suspect. A little mischief—it’s much less than it was—doesn’t worry me as much as cringing fear or sullenness. That’s disappeared since about the Autumn Evener. We keep them busy, active, and learning. If you can believe it, there were eight-winters children who had never learned to read. Not even started.”

Arian paused, spoon partway to her mouth. “Your taig-sense—it’s not for the land as much as for the people—the children.”

Dorrin looked surprised. “I suppose so. I never thought of that as taig-sense … but you and I were both trained in leadership.” She went on eating.

Arian nodded. “Yes, leadership. What you’re doing with the children—the way you talk about them—I can feel your attention to them, and it’s much like mine to the taig. Did you never think of having children?”

“Never,” Dorrin said, with emphasis. “This was a responsibility I never looked for. But the children deserve far better than what they had.”

Arian ate the rest of her porridge before it chilled. One of the assistant cooks came in with a platter of sliced ham and another of eggs stirred with vegetables; she could see bits of green and red.

“Try that,” Dorrin said. “It’s a southern dish. I picked up the spices in Vérella when I was there. It’s very warming.”

“What are they?”

“The fruit pods of some plant; they come in green, yellow, orange, red. With eggs, we don’t use the hottest.”

Arian tasted carefully … the inside of her mouth warmed, but she liked the flavor.

“Kieri tried to grow them up at his stronghold, but the summers were too short and cool. They never set fruit. I think I can grow them here, if I give them some protection,” Dorrin said. Then her expression changed. “You say the taig told you something was wrong in Lyonya—could you tell what?”

“Not exactly. I’m too far away, and your apple tree doesn’t know me well. But it’s serious.”

“Serious enough for me to gather what militia I have and send a message to the king in Vérella?”

“I should wake the tree again,” Arian said. “It might be, or it might be something … something with
our
king. Last night I couldn’t tell exactly.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“Thank you, yes.”

They wrapped up in cloaks before venturing out into the snow. Arian felt something from the taig even before she got to the tree; as soon as she touched it, she felt the urgent call more clearly. Kieri wanted her—the taig wanted her. Something was wrong—something attacked the taig, in the north.

“The Pargunese,” she said.

“Again?” Dorrin sounded more disgusted than alarmed. “They should’ve learned their lesson last time.” She laid her hand on the tree. “Thank you,” she said.

Arian felt the tree’s response to Dorrin; she wanted to say something, but could not think what, the taig’s call to her was so strong. She put her own thanks into the tree through her hand, along with the assurance that she was on her way home.

“I can’t come with you,” Dorrin said. “The king put me in charge of Tsaia’s defense; I must mobilize what troops I can and warn other lords to ready theirs. It will be another day at least before I can start. But I will send an escort as far as the border, lest you run into a Pargunese patrol.”

“I’ll be fine,” Arian began. Dorrin interrupted.

“You’re a ranger, yes, and a King’s Squire, and I do not doubt your skills or your courage. But you’re also Kieri’s future wife—and for that last, I will not let you go alone and unprotected into danger.” She led the way inside, walking fast enough that Arian had to stretch her legs to keep up.