The Deed of Paksenarrion (47 page)

“Paksenarrion, sir, but I’m called Paks.”

“That’s right. Paks. Do you have a horse?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Then I won’t need another escort.” Paks flushed at the implied compliment. The younger man returned, and the Halveric stood, reaching for his helmet. Paks rose and held the tent flap aside as he walked out. She mounted and took the torch a guard offered. All around the city was a circle of watchfires and torches; she scarcely needed the one in her hand. At the Duke’s tent, one of his squires, Kessim, was waiting to take the Halveric’s. He raised an eyebrow at Paks when he recognized Arcolin’s horse, but refrained from comment. She grinned at him as she rode off to the horse lines.

The next three days were simple siegework in support of the sapping teams. No one knew what the Golden Company courier had brought. The captains discouraged questions. For Paks, it was an alternation of camp chores and stretches of guard duty—a routine that dulled very quickly. But her recruits thought it was exciting. They asked her dozens of questions about the techniques of sieges, sapping, siege engines—the same questions she had asked the year before. She told them what she knew, then sent them to older veterans.

On the night of the third day, Paks had just gone off-watch and was enjoying a hot drink by one of the watchfires before going to bed when an excited Volya appeared at her elbow.

“Paks—come here!” Paks rose reluctantly and stepped away from the fire. Volya was dancing with impatience.

“What is it?”

“Paks, someone came over the wall, and wanted to talk to the Count. Someone from inside the city—what does that mean?”

Paks thought a moment before answering. “It could mean they want to surrender—or some of them do. Or maybe the Count has an agent in the city, a spy, and he came out to report. I don’t think you should be talking about it—”

Volya nodded. “I know. That’s what Sergeant Kefer told me, and I won’t. I just—”

“You mean the sergeant told you to keep shut about it, and you came straight to me to tell?” Paks was suddenly angry; Volya flinched.

“But Paks, he wouldn’t mind about you. You wouldn’t tell anyone else, and—”

Paks glared at her. “Volya, an order’s an order. When you’re told to keep quiet, you do—you don’t tell anyone, friend, lover, or whoever. I didn’t get the reputation I’ve got by blabbing off to people or hanging around loose tongues. You say you trust me—fine, but how d’you know there’s not someone else near enough to hear, eh?”

Volya sounded near tears. “Paks, I’m sorry—I won’t do it again. I—I thought it was all right to tell
you
anything.”

“Well, now you know it’s not,” said Paks shortly. Then she sighed. “Volya, there’s more to being a mercenary than fighting and camp work. This thing of talking—you haven’t been to a city yet, so Stammel hasn’t given you his speech on it. But we don’t talk to anyone about Company business, or anything that could be Company business. Even in an ordinary year, every tavern is full of spies. If someone knows who hired us, and what road we’re marching on, and when—d’you see?” Volya nodded. “And this year—we can’t afford any loose talk. We’re almost certainly outnumbered. Our Duke will be trying to move us to the best field for battle without alerting Siniava.”

“Yes, Paks. But—the Company is safe, isn’t it? We’re all loyal to the Duke—aren’t we?”

“I hope so. Yes. But even so—you never know who might be listening. And some can’t keep shut if they’ve been drinking. Loyal as a stone when they’re sober, but everyone’s friend when they’ve got a load of ale or wine. So when you’re told to keep something quiet, you do. From everyone. Clear?”

“Yes, Paks. Should I tell the sergeant—?”

“No. You’ve had your scolding. Just remember.” Volya nodded, and Paks waved her away. She was no longer sleepy, however, and spent the rest of that night wondering about the man who had come over the wall.

The next morning it became clear that something was happening inside the city. They could see fights on the walls, and bodies thrown over. Sentries close to the walls heard shouts and the clash of arms inside. Older veterans reminded the younger that most sieges fell by treachery and dissension. Late in the afternoon, a small party offered to parley with the Count of Andressat. Paks watched as they filed out the postern: two men in long gowns and three in armor. The Count and all three mercenary captains went to meet them. They talked for some time, then bowed and separated. As the party started back to the city, the two men in gowns fell with crossbow bolts bristling from their bodies. The armored men spun around and ran for the besiegers’ lines, while a great cry rose from the walls.

Just as that disturbance quieted, a column of smoke rose from across the city, followed by more outcry.

“The sappers,” said Stammel. “They’ve fired their supports, and in a little we’ll find out whether they breached the wall.”

“Will we go in?”

“Not around there. Halveric troops are over there; they’ll go.” They listened closely until Arcolin called them into formation. Paks noticed that her recruits did not look nervous any more. She herself felt an anxiety she did her best to conceal. This was one of the Honeycat’s own cities—what sort of traps and powers might be here? But no word came for an attack; as the red glare of sunset faded from the walls, they were dismissed again. Assault in the morning, the rumors ran.

With morning came riders of the Golden Company, and Aesil M’dierra’s senior captain. He had not finished talking to the Duke when the word ran through camp: M’dierra was at Sibili, already in position with Golden Company and the Pliuni volunteers. Westland troops were at Sibili as well. Paks felt a rising excitement. She did not doubt Cha would fall, and after it the Honeycat’s home city, Sibili. Paks thought of him looking from his palace windows to see the banners of his enemies.

She squinted against the early sun and saw the city wall crowded with men. Smoke rolled up from the sapper’s work near the northwest corner of the city. Paks saw archers lean to shoot into the roofed shelter; their own archers replied. An outcry rose from the main gate tower: Siniava’s black and yellow banner sagged from its pole, slipped back toward the wall. Someone up there waved a smaller flag; Paks could not see the colors. The Count’s herald blew a long blast. It was answered from the tower, and followed by even more noise from within the walls.

By the time they entered the city, Paks had heard that a faction favoring Andressat had opened the gates. Siniava’s men still fought, but they were hampered by the factions opposing them. Despite the warning, Paks had not imagined how chaotic this could be. She soon found out. Just as they came to the first side street, a body of armed men rushed out to form a line across it. These were Siniava’s, armed with pikes. They had scarcely engaged the enemy when another band—bowmen in plain leather with a twist of blue and gold on their helmets—charged out of a building behind the enemy line and fired into the back of the pikemen. Fifteen or so fell at once, hit squarely in the back at close range. One arrow hit Paks’s shield with enough force to drive the head through; another struck someone behind her. She heard the yell, half pain, half fury. The enemy fighters whirled to meet this attack, and the front ranks of Paks’s cohort charged, trying to run them over before the archers made another dangerous shot.

Several more fights interrupted their progress to the city’s center. Twice they fought their way out of attempted ambushes. Bodies littered the streets: men, women, children, animals, caught in the street fighting and left behind when the flood of violence passed. At last, beyond a mass of frightened people crammed into a large square, Paks caught sight of the Halveric banner.

As her cohort spread around its side of the square, a small boy broke away and darted toward the street they had left. Rauf made a grab at him and missed; Paks swung her shield across his path. He ran into it headlong, and slipped to the ground, crying. Paks sheathed her sword and reached down to help him up. She heard a cry from the crowd as the terrified boy tried to twist away from her.

“Here now, I won’t hurt you,” she said. The boy screamed, flailing at her with pudgy fists. “Stop that,” she added. He froze in her grip, staring at her with wide eyes. “Now—what did you run for? Don’t you know you should have stayed with—your sister, was it?”

“I’ll take ‘im, Paks,” said Rauf. “His sis is all upset—” But as Rauf reached out, the child started fighting again.

“I’d better—” said Paks. “Now, lad—be quiet—you’re not hurt, and you won’t be.” He calmed again, and Paks glanced around for the girl. She was standing only a few yards away, held there by a serious-faced Keri. “Let’s go back to her now, lad—and you stay with her, you hear?”

“But—but my puppy!” He choked on the words and started to cry.

“Your puppy? You lost your dog?” His accent was thick, but Paks thought she understood.

He nodded. “He was mine—my very own—and he’s not here. He got lost.”

Paks thought of the dogs she’d seen, dead in the gutters. “Lad—you stay with your sister. Find your puppy later—not now.”

“But he’s got lost. He—he’ll be frightened without me.” Paks thought it was the other way around, but knew it would do no good to argue.

“Even so—What’s your name?”

“Seri. Seriast, really.”

“Well, Seri, even though your puppy may be frightened, you stay with your sister. She’ll help you find your puppy later. Now promise you’ll stay with her—” The boy nodded finally. Paks thought he was the same age as her youngest brother, the year she’d left home. She put a hand on his shoulder and steered him toward the girl. “Come along now.” The girl grabbed him and held him close.

“I tried to tell her, Paks, that you wouldn’t hurt him,” said Keri, sounding worried. “I don’t know why she thought—” Paks waved him to silence. The girl looked up, her eyes blurred by tears.

“I think he’ll stay with you now,” said Paks. “But keep a close grip on him for a few hours.” The girl nodded, tightening her grasp until the boy squealed.

“Please don’t take ‘im,” she begged. “Please don’t—he won’t harm ye none.”

“We won’t take him. What would we want with a child that size?” But the panic on the girl’s face made Paks uneasy for days. What were these people used to, that they feared intentional harm to so small a child?

The next day, as Halveric Company rode away to Sibili, Paks found herself hard at work in a warehouse, cataloging plunder for the Duke’s Company. This time, at least, she did not have to drag it out, but counting sacks of wool and goat hair, and barrels of wine, beer, oilberries in brine and oil was a hot, dusty, boring job. They finished this chore in one day; the next was spent loading supplies for Sibili and repairing damaged equipment. Paks got a new shield, as did Keri, and Volya had snapped a sword tip against a wall. Jenits came up while Paks was helping Volya wrap the grip of her sword; he had a lumpy bundle of shiny yellow silk.

“Wait until you see this,” he said, dropping it on the ground. It clinked. He worked at the knot one-handed. Keri reached to help. “Thanks. There: look at that.” They looked at a miscellaneous collection of bracelets, rings, coins, and little carved disks of ivory or shell. Jenits grinned. “That’s what I get for being one-armed right now—not strong enough for the heavy stuff. Kefer had me working through the goldsmithies and jewelers’ shops with him, and he said to take this much—and to share it with my friends, if I wanted to keep any. I knew that you, Paks, were stuck in those warehouses, and Keri and Volya hadn’t found anything better than a stray silver, so here I am. Take your pick.”

“Is it really gold?” asked Volya doubtfully.

“I think so. It’s soft, like gold, and it doesn’t look like copper. It’s heavy.”

Keri reached over and picked up a ring with a pale green stone. “I wonder what this is.”

“I don’t know. But let’s split it up, before I lose my generous impulses. Paks, you choose first; you’re the veteran.”

Paks looked over the small pile. “I could take this bracelet for my sister,” she said tentatively. It was made in a pattern of linked leaves, with tiny blue stones between them. “We’ll take turns,” she went on.

“Go on, then. Keri?”

“I’ll take this ring.”

“I like this,” said Volya. She had found a little gold fish, arched as if it were leaping, with a loop formed by the dorsal fin to hold a chain.

Jenits held out his left hand, with a heavy gold ring set with onyx on the first finger. “I cheated,” he said. “I took my favorite out first.” They laughed and went on choosing. When they’d finished, Jenits folded the square of silk and tucked it into his tunic. “I feel much safer how,” he said. “I was afraid I’d have a greedy fit, and you’ve done all the fighting. By the way, Paks—”

“Hmm?”

“My arm doesn’t hurt any more—when can I come back to regular duty?”

“What did the surgeons tell you?”

“Oh—well—six weeks altogether. But it’s been three, and it doesn’t hurt. I don’t want to miss Sibili, and I feel well enough. I thought you could say something to the sergeants.”

Paks looked up from Volya’s sword and shook her head. “Jenits, it’s up to the surgeons. You won’t do us any good if you try to fight and it’s not healed. Likely it’d come apart at the first stroke, and you’d be worse off than ever. You can ask the surgeon—”

Jenits scowled. “The last time I asked him, he said to quit pestering. Bones heal at their speed, he said, and not for wishing.”

“That sounds like Master Simmitt. He’s the sharp-tongued one. You won’t miss Sibili anyway. We’re all marching—”

“But I’ll miss the fighting. And if Siniava’s there—”

“You wouldn’t have a chance at him anyway. You’ll see enough fighting, if you stay whole.”

“I hope so. To break an arm, my very first—” Jenits broke off as Stammel came up; he squatted beside them with a sigh.

“Well, Jenits, is your arm holding up?”

“Yes, sir. I was just wondering—”

“No, you can’t fight with us at Sibili. Not unless we’re longer taking that city than I expect. Paks, the Duke’s enrolled a few men from Cha—Andressat’s faction, of course—and we’ll have six of ‘em in our cohort. You’ve gotten these well broken in. I’d like you to take on one of the new men.”