The Dog of the North (25 page)

‘I do not follow the Wheel,’ said Arren, ‘but this is monstrous. Lady Jilka must have taken leave of her senses.’

‘Do not let her hear you, lad. Her temper does not grow more forgiving with age.’ Pigs squealed out of sight as they took their meal.

‘Lord Thaume was enraged. He has returned to the city today and has had Viator Dince whipped.’

Jandille’s eyes glimmered briefly. ‘It resolves nothing. The Temple is closed, and my hand is . . .’

‘I am sure Lord Thaume will pardon you. He has never been hostile to the Wheel.’

Jandille shook his head. ‘I will not return to the city. I can never sculpt with one hand; even on the farm, there are few tasks I can perform with credit. I would not wish to receive a
pension from Lord Croad; if I must accept charity, let it at least be from my own family.’

‘You are a hero in the town, sir, even among those who do not follow the Wheel.’

‘You have been at the wars, lad. Maybe you realize now that it is no great thing to be a hero.’

‘The experience was not what I had expected. No doubt Tardolio’s expectations have also been altered.’

‘You have not come to see me, I am sure,’ said Jandille, with an approach to a smile. ‘The girls are over in Wanish Copse, looking for mushrooms. Why do you not go over and see
them?’

With a bow Arren set off to walk into the woods. The interview with Jandille had been uncomfortable, as he had expected.

‘Eilla! Clottie!’ he called as he stepped into the copse. Out of the sun, the air was chill even at midday.

‘Who is there?’ came a high voice, with a tremor of uncertainty. From behind a tree came Clottie.

‘Why, Arren! With sword and mail,’ she cried. ‘You look quite the soldier.’

Arren thought she looked thin and pinched. Her eyes were furtive. Lady Jilka’s justice had not maimed Jandille alone.

‘He
is
a soldier, you fool.’

Arren turned. ‘Eilla!’ he said.

Eilla ran a hand through her thick dark hair, now hacked roughly at her shoulders. Arren saw the same wariness in her eyes.

‘Eilla, I have so much to tell you,’ he said. ‘But I think you must have more to tell me.’

She gave a bitter laugh and set her basket down on the ground. ‘We have had our own war,’ she said, ‘and our own casualties.’

‘I have heard,’ he said. ‘And I have spoken to your father.’

Eilla shrugged. ‘He brought it on himself,’ she said, her moist eyes belying her casual tone. ‘Why did he give Jilka and Dince the excuse? Now we will all rot on the farm for
ever. Canille already wants me to marry Chandry: the event will not take place. Clottie may have him if she wishes.’

A spark kindled in her eye. This was the Eilla he recognized.

‘Does Canille not have a second son?’ asked Arren.

‘He does not, and he could have a hundred and it would make no difference. I would not marry my cousin: such things are unnatural. I have no wish for a five-headed baby, nor a husband who
views an annual bath as freakish decadence. Clottie is younger and her views may not be so fixed.’

‘Clottie will not be marrying Chandry either,’ interjected Clottie, wrinkling her snub nose. ‘My father says I am too young to think on such things.’

‘They say that Lady Siedra will be packed off to Glount to find a husband,’ said Arren. ‘Lord Thaume will need to appease Duke Panarre. She is only Clottie’s
age.’

‘That is called diplomacy,’ said Eilla. ‘It means you have to marry a man you have never met to keep happy another man you have never met.’

Arren frowned. ‘Conceivably so, although Master Guiles does not represent it in that way.’

‘There is no diplomacy involved in my marrying Chandry, nor in Clottie doing so, for that matter,’ said Eilla. ‘No one will fight a war because I refuse to marry a cousin who
reeks of cow. I shall choose my own husband, or have none at all. Such is the privilege of peasantry, and I would not change places with Lady Siedra if you gave me the city of Glount as my
dowry.’

‘Come, have a mushroom,’ said Clottie. ‘We are both agog to hear how you came by the wound on your head, and how many Northmen you slew.’

Arren’s anecdotes stretched into the late afternoon, and the sun made a tentative attempt to force its rays under the canopy of branches. Eventually a glowering Chandry was sent to find
them, for his mother required the mushrooms for the evening’s stew.

‘I should have thought a great warrior had better things to do than waste the afternoon boasting to girls,’ he said, his underlip drooping sullenly.

Arren had noticed that warriors as renowned as Sir Langlan appeared to do little else, but in this case jealousy was clearly at work. Did Chandry prefer Eilla or Clottie? he wondered. He did not
appear promising husband material, but in this opinions might differ – although not in the case of his cousins.

‘I must return to the castle,’ said Arren. ‘Chandry, I am sure you can see your cousins safely back to the farm.’

Chandry shot him a look of detestation. Arren could understand it: the limit of Chandry’s ambitions would be to marry one of these girls and inherit the farm, while before him stood a lad
his own age in Lord Thaume’s livery who had been to war and could keep the girls on tenterhooks. Arren felt a flash of guilt for his condescension, but Chandry would not meet his eye, and the
opportunity for cordiality was past.

4

By the time Arren returned to the castle, he was late for dinner. Lord Thaume had deferred his plans to host a banquet for the city’s worthies, and the smaller group
he invited instead, comprising little more than his household, rattled in the Great Hall like peas in a bladder. An atmosphere of pervasive gloom filled the remainder of the space. An artist had
been at work rapidly, and pride of place on the wall was given to a martial scene entitled ‘The Triumph of Lord Thaume’, but Thaume paid it no mind and his guests followed his lead.
‘You are late,’ said Lord Thaume as Arren sneaked into the place reserved for him between Oricien and Siedra.

‘I am sorry, my lord. I was in the countryside and did not notice the time.’

Lord Thaume frowned. ‘The countryside?’

‘I think he was visiting Master Jandille,’ said Pinch quietly. An immediate tension went around the great table. Lady Jilka, at the far end, looked magisterially ahead.

After a pause Lord Thaume said: ‘Yes, commendable, Arren. How did you find him?’

Arren swallowed. There was no safe answer to this. ‘In truth, sir, his mood was not high. His hand—’ Arren paused. ‘Recent events have weighed upon his spirit.’

Lord Thaume nodded. ‘Understandable. The man was a fine mason. I would do something for him.’

‘My lord, I would be inclined to wait awhile. His present disposition—’

Darrien interjected: ‘Do not contradict Lord Thaume, Arren.’

‘This is not to be borne!’ cried Lady Jilka. ‘To have every raggle-taggle boy telling his lord how to rule his own realm.’

Lord Thaume pushed his bowl aside. ‘Jilka, it is you who go too far. Arren is giving me honest counsel; counsel which would not have been necessary if you had not acted so precipitately.
And he is a boy no longer.’

Lady Jilka’s jaw dropped. ‘My lord—’

‘Silence! You have said more than enough for today.’

Guigot, opposite Siedra, smirked. Arren looked guiltily into his soup.

Master Guiles rose from his seat. ‘My lord, if I might be permitted to raise a toast to the safe return of you and your troops, the proud victory you have achieved, and the memory of those
sons of Croad who have not returned.’

‘Hear hear!’ called Sir Langlan, his words echoing around the hall.
Hear hear, hear hear.

‘Well spoken,’ said Darrien.

Arren had never previously appreciated the use of a Master of Etiquette, but on this occasion he had saved the day. Guiles raised his goblet and led the others in a toast.

Lord Thaume rose and bowed. ‘I thank you, sir. Tonight we have an empty place at the table, that of the good Sir Artingaume. Let us keep him in mind.’

The meal was correspondingly sombre throughout. Arren would normally have enjoyed the soup prepared from Paladrian tomatoes grown under glass, but tonight he scarcely tasted it. The prime calf
that had been slaughtered for the occasion went largely unappreciated, although Guigot did not stint himself.

‘How is Viator Dince, my lord?’ asked Guigot as they waited for the pears in brandy to arrive for the final course. ‘When I observed the skin flayed from his back, his
condition appeared unpromising.’

Lord Thaume frowned. ‘This is not a matter for the dinner table, Guigot. There are ladies present.’

‘I merely expressed concern for his welfare. He is an old man, and frail.’ His face was as unreadable as a snake’s.

‘Your solicitude does you credit, Lord Guigot,’ said Master Guiles. ‘However, in the circumstances the matter should perhaps not be pursued. If you remain concerned for him
tomorrow, I am sure he would welcome a visit in his quarters.’

‘I understand that he is not in his quarters, but the infirmary,’ said Guigot. ‘The apothecary mentioned the possibility of gangrene.’

‘Guigot!’ thundered Lord Thaume. ‘Did I not command your silence?’

‘My apologies, sir.’

‘My lord,’ said Lady Jilka, ‘your punishment can only have been just and merited. Surely you do not scruple to discuss it?’

‘I am surprised that you prolong discussion of the unpleasant matter in the circumstances.’

Jilka gave a half-smile. ‘Presumably you acted as you did for edification rather than punishment. I for one did not fully understand the lesson, since Viator Dince simply pronounced on the
Way of Harmony, as is his trust.’

‘Jilka, you insist on provoking me. We will hear no more of the subject tonight. If you require spiritual guidance, I suggest you commune with Viator Sleech after dinner.’

At the end of the meal, Lord Thaume set down his napkin and spoke with deliberation. ‘For various reasons, this has not been the homecoming that I anticipated. It is also
to be shorter than I had originally intended,’ he said.

‘How so, my lord?’ asked Sir Langlan.

Lord Thaume reached out a letter. ‘I have an invitation from Duke Panarre to visit Glount,’ he said. ‘I do not feel it prudent to refuse the request of my overlord.’

Sir Langlan snorted. ‘This is the man who declined to send a single man to defend the city. He does not deserve our attention.’

‘I understand your sentiments, Langlan; but I have neglected to secure the Duke’s good opinion, and we have all suffered as a result. We shall be leaving for Glount the day after
tomorrow.’

‘“We”?’ asked Lady Jilka softly.

‘It is time that Oricien and Siedra were seen abroad. Oricien is a fine warrior, and soon I must present him at Emmen itself; while Siedra is not too young to command attention.’

‘And who will rule in your absence, my lord?’ asked Darrien, his eyes straying towards Jilka.

‘Arrangements during my last absence were not satisfactory in every respect,’ said Lord Thaume. ‘Nonetheless, Lady Jilka retains my full confidence.’

‘My lord—’ began Viator Sleech.

‘However,’ continued Lord Thaume, ‘my lady’s presence is essential in Glount to introduce Siedra into society. The regency should have fallen to Sir Artingaume. On this
occasion I will ask Sir Langlan to rule with my voice.’

‘Will you not need me in Glount, my lord?’

‘I need you more here, Langlan. I propose to take only a small retinue. Guigot, you too shall come with us. There may be many opportunities for a lad of your birth and spirit.’

Guigot’s expression was midway between a smirk and a sneer. If Thaume noticed, he affected ignorance.

‘Master Guiles, your presence will be invaluable, and Lady Cerisa, you will act as a companion for my wife and daughter.’

‘What of Arren, sir?’ asked Oricien.

Lord Thaume rubbed his chin. ‘Ah, yes, Arren. His mother would like to see him, no doubt, Darrien?’

Guigot and Siedra giggled.

‘He is in your household now, my lord,’ said Darrien.

‘Oricien, if you would like to take Arren as a companion, you may do so.’

‘Thank you, father.’

And so Arren’s destiny was settled without his being put to the inconvenience of expressing an opinion. Since he had never seen the sea, he was not disposed to complain.

The day after next, Lord Thaume rode again out of the city, once more at the head of the column. This time Lady Jilka rode beside him, dressed in her martial clothing. If
cordiality existed between them it was disguised, perhaps for reasons of protocol. Mounted on a fine strider was Oricien, with Siedra and Guigot immediately behind them. Arren was further back,
riding alongside Coppercake, who was a native of Glount, and whose mathematical skills Lord Thaume felt likely to be necessary. Master Pinch was not present: in the way of thaumaturges, he had
slipped off into the night, to return at his own convenience.

The journey south, through the rolling hills of the Duchy of Lynnoc, was uneventful, and a week later they rode into the city of Glount, the seat of Duke Panarre.

5

Glount had been the seat of the Dukes of Lynnoc for a thousand years. One of the oldest cities of Mondia, squeezed between the Penitent Hills and the sea, it had long been
a centre of commerce. If Croad was a poor cousin to Emmen, Glount was an older uncle, steeped in every vice and abomination concealed under a veneer of urbanity. The Dukes of Lynnoc embodied the
essence of their city, and could trace their lineage back to its foundation with only a minimum of creative genealogy. A powerful independent city for six centuries until its fall to the first King
Jehan, it had taken its absorption into the Emmenrule with scarcely a blink. Things went on as they had always done, and while the King away in Emmen might wield a nominal authority, to the folk
and rulers of Glount, matters went on as they had always done.

These matters included the homage of the Lords of Croad, for Lynnoc had long held sway to the North. The Duke of Lynnoc’s claim to be the overlord of Croad was recognized in Emmen, and at
irregular intervals the Lord of Croad must present himself in the city to swear fealty for his lands.