Kings of the North (63 page)

They found Gwenno in the kitchen. “There’s danger,” Dorrin said. “Gather your squad; you’ll escort Arian to the border—will you go north toward Harway, Arian, or straight across?”

“I—hadn’t thought of Harway. I was going back the way we came.”

“If you choose to go by Harway—and I do not urge it if you need the other route and expect to meet rangers on your side—I can use Gwenno’s squad to take word that can be passed by royal courier to Vérella. Otherwise I’ll send another.”

She felt the danger north and east, not south of east; if Kieri had gone to meet it, he might be there. “I’ll go to Harway, then. On our side of the border, I’ll find troops.”

“Gwenno, have you eaten yet?”

“No, my lord, but I can eat in the saddle—”

“There will be time while your squad assembles, packs supplies. It won’t be a long delay, Arian, but I judge a necessary one.”

Arian was on fire to go at once, but in Dorrin she recognized someone with far more experience in war—if this was war. “I will wait,” she said.

“Good,” Dorrin said. “Then I won’t have to knock you down.” Her grin was friendly but firm. “Gwenno, tell your squad to get ready to leave but make sure they all eat first. You do the same. I’ll be writing my message to King Mikeli.”

By the time the group left, the snow had eased off, though the sky promised more to come. Arian worried a little about Dorrin, left with house staff and children, but the Duke said another squire would be arriving with his squad that day.

“The Duke worked on the road north to Harway,” Gwenno said. “It’s much better than it was.”

“That may be,” Arian said, “but snow hides any—” Her horse lurched as one hoof found a hole beneath the snow. “—problems.” She looked over the group: Gwenno, one of the famous Marrakai family she’d heard of. Friends of Kieri’s. Five soldiers who’d been in
Dorrin’s cohort when she was Kieri’s captain. Ten who were born and bred here, in Verrakai lands. The five former Phelani, though wearing Verrakai blue livery, were easy to pick out even though Arian had never seen mercenaries before. They looked harder than the others.

Near dark they stopped in a shelter Dorrin had ordered built: larger than the rangers’ huts but on the same plan. Before they had even finished supper, they heard a horseman approaching; the rider hailed the camp. “Where’s the Duke?” he asked. “I have a message—”

“If it’s trouble with the Pargunese, she knows it,” Gwenno said. “She’s gathering her troops.”

Again that night the taig woke Arian. She left the shelter to lay her hands on one of the trees; the taig-sense surged through her. More fire, more anger, to the northeast; the tree she touched, as part of a forest that ran from there east into Lyonya with few breaks, gave her much more information than the old apple back at Dorrin’s garden. The taig recognized her as a ranger and called her to help. She felt cautiously through its fabric for the Lady—surely she would be active—but found no taste of her and little of elves. Kieri she did find, as a steadying influence, but he was too far away, and too immersed in the taig, for her to know exactly what he was doing.

By the next evening, they were near enough Harway to push on, arriving after dark.

T
he Count of Andressat found the journey to Vérella, escorted by the Phelani cohort, safe enough but unpleasant: why would anyone choose to live so far north? Cold, wet, sunless country … but then the sky cleared on the last day, revealing the city ahead as if cut in crystal. At noon, they were close enough to hear the bells peal. Jeddrin felt his heart lift.

Duke Verrakai’s letter gave him instant entrance to the palace, where he was assigned a comfortable guest room.

“The king will see you before dinner,” a palace servant told him. The man was richly dressed, Andressat saw, an upper servant, surely, unless he was a nobleman. He wished he’d paid enough attention over the years to learn the colors and symbols of rank in this kingdom. In the interval he was offered a bath and refreshment, and by the time the summons came, he felt much better.

The king surprised him: so young a face, and yet so firm, and yet at the same time so welcoming. A young man of breeding, Andressat would have said, even without the crown he wore and the chain of office. Two armed guards stood either side of the king’s chair. Andressat bowed low; the king waved him to a chair and invited him to sit.

“Duke Verrakai has written some of what you told her, but I would like to hear it all from you,” the king said. “If it takes long enough, we can dine here, in my study, or break until after dinner. I normally dine with a few friends and my younger brother.”

“As you wish, Sir King,” Andressat said. He began as he had with the others, explaining about the family archives, about Alured’s ambitions, about the rumors.

“What rank did your own family have in Old Aare?” the king asked. “Is there a chance you yourself are the heir?”

“No, Sir King.” It was easier to admit to this young man, whom he had never insulted. “Though I long thought my family’s descent came straight from Aarean nobility, in truth many lesser titles were created after the flight from Aare, and mine is one of those.”

“It is what men do that matters,” the king said. “By all accounts—what I have heard from Duke Phelan, who is now a king himself—you have governed well and bravely, as did your fathers before you. I merely asked to ascertain if you had a counterclaim to Alured’s. As far as I am concerned, you are equal to any count of my realm.”

Andressat blinked back the stinging in his eyes. The king could not realize his words were both reassurance and rebuke … for he himself had long considered northern counts as meaningless. He went on with his assessment of Alured’s menace; the king asked pertinent questions about Alured’s resources and the likelihood of war in the south spilling into the north.

“He believes there is an ancient crown in the north,” Andressat said. “And he wants it.”

“You think he would try to bring an army over the mountains?”

“He might—he was bold in Siniava’s War and in a few years may have enough wealth and power in the south to do so—but my concern is that he will send agents to steal the crown he’s heard of—and if they do not succeed, he will fabricate one and claim it is legitimate.”

“My lord Count,” the king said. “I would show you something except that it has withdrawn itself from our sight.”

“Sir King?”

“It is true that Duke Verrakai found relics in her family estate that might indeed be from Old Aare. It is certain that they have magical powers. However, though they are housed here, only she can access them. An attempt to move them when she was not present proved … impossible.” The king shook his head. “We do not know for certain where the items came from, and we know only a few of their powers: Duke Verrakai says they talk to her.”

“She said nothing to me.”

“I commanded those who knew to say nothing more. I myself have seen the crown—yes, there is a crown—rise from its housing and offer itself to her, but she did not take it.”

“Why not?”

“She is my vassal; she knows it would be treason unless I commanded it—and I was not then crowned. Would I crown another in my stead? No. This land is mine, whatever land that crown belongs to, and whatever head it finally rests upon.”

Andressat could not think what to say. After a pause the king went on.

“You say your archives gave you some description of items of royal regalia. Please tell me what they said.”

“I brought a copy,” Andressat said. “Copied into our modern trade language.” He handed it over.

The king’s brow furrowed as he read. “A crown … a goblet … rings … armbands … necklace …” He looked up. “What are ‘jewels of sun and water’?”

“I don’t know,” Andressat said. “I dared not ask jewelers, on my way here, lest Vaskronin hear of it and know I was seeking them. If it simply means color, I would think pale jewels—blue or green, perhaps—”

“Blue,” the king said. He gave Andressat a sharp look. “I know no more of you than I’ve heard from Kieri Phelan and his captains—they all thought highly of you as a man of honor. But if we discuss this more, you must give me your pledge to keep it to yourself.”

“I—I—” Andressat struggled to express what he felt. This was not his king, but saying so would be rude. He had pledged fealty to no one but his own idea of who the real heirs of Aare might be, and still reeled from the discovery that they were not as he had imagined them.

“I’m not asking for an oath of fealty,” the king said. “Merely that you pledge to keep secret what I may tell you or show you about what was found at Duke Verrakai’s estate.”

“That I can do,” Andressat said. “I swear on Camwyn’s Claw—” He saw the king’s brows go up. “Camwyn Dragonmaster,” he said. “Do you not acknowledge him as a saint?”

“Indeed we do,” the King said. “Though here our patron is Gird,
we recognize Falk and Camwyn as well—my younger brother, in fact, is named Camwyn in his honor; that’s why it startled me.”

Andressat relaxed a trifle. “I did not know that, Sir King. My pardon. But I swear on Camwyn’s Claw to reveal nothing you tell or show me of this matter.”

“Well, then,” the king said. “Such regalia exist. Dorrin Verrakai found these things in her family’s estate when she took it over, bound in different shapes by blood magery.”

Andressat flicked his fingers.

“Yes, evil magery,” the king went on. “And evil had already spread rumors of it, I believe in hopes that I would have Dorrin Verrakai killed as well, believing her a traitor. But she brought the regalia to me, gave them to me, of her own will.” The king paused, moved a scroll on his desk back and forth. “But not, it seems, in accordance with their will.”

“Their will?” Andressat felt the hairs rise on his arms and neck.

“Yes. I told you I saw the crown rise in the air. It is apparently some magery inherent in these objects—they wish to be hers—they wish her to take and use them.”

“To overthrow you?”

“I do not know. Nor does she. But when the Marshal-General and a paladin of Gird tried to remove the box from our treasury, it became impossible to move and sealed itself—the wood joining as if all one piece—and now it opens only when Duke Verrakai herself commands it.” The king sighed. “It has offered no injury to me, while so concealed, but from what you say its mere presence here could mean invasion from the south. When, do you think?”

“Not this year,” Andressat said. He still wanted to know what the things looked like, but an assessment of the military situation was a far more comfortable topic. “Vaskronin has troops, yes, but only four or five hundred. He seeks to influence by stealth, at this time; Phelan’s former captain Arcolin—”

“Now a count in my realm,” the king said, “as I’m sure you know.”

“Yes, my lord. Captain—Count—Arcolin says he is sure it’s Vaskronin’s men both making and passing false coinage to overturn the domination of the Guild League and give him free access to the Guild League roads in the south. I believe he has re-formed—or never gave up—his alliance with the pirates along the south coast. Certainly
my attempt to ship wine and wool out of Confaer has been frustrated, both ashore and afloat, while thieves and pirates prosper.”

“Kieri worried about that,” the king said. “Before he learned his heritage, he warned us about the dangers of disturbance in Aarenis, but no one wanted to hear it. The mountains have always kept us safe from southern wars.”

“Vaskronin controls the Immer from the coast up to Cortes Immer,” Andressat said. “Beyond, on the east branch, where Fallo is, and possibly north and somewhat west as well. Count Arcolin is concerned about Vonja, and does not know the situation between Cortes Vonja and the cities downstream—Cortes Cilwan and below. He also is worried; he plans to take three full cohorts on any contract next season.”

“Well …” The king considered. “He may be required to contribute to a force here, if we need to raise troops—but you think not this year or next season?”

“Not unless Vaskronin gains power faster than I expect he will,” Andressat said. “Having an experienced force south of the pass, as advance warning, might be a very good idea.”

“I will consider that,” the king said, in a tone that made it clear he would not be commanded by an outsider.

Andressat thought what else to say—what would a young man with no actual war experience be willing to hear from a foreigner, an old man? He held his peace; Dorrin Verrakai had as much experience as he himself, and she was, she’d said, the king’s new military advisor. She and Arcolin might convince him, where he himself could not.

“But you asked what the things were like,” the king said, shifting in his chair. “The stones appear to be sapphires and diamonds, for the most part. The design is unlike that of the Tsaian crown, but ours—both this—” He gestured at the narrow circlet he wore. “—and the crown of state are scarce five hundred years old, made new after the Girdish wars. I would guess that the ‘stones of water’ are the sapphires, and the ‘stones of sunfire’ are diamonds, but there’s another complication you might as well know. We asked both elven and dwarven ambassadors to comment on them—before the box closed itself, this was—and both said the items were neither made by their people nor were the stones from any source they
knew. Dwarves, as I’m sure you know, can usually tell at once where a jewel came from, by its smell, they say.”