Kings of the North (3 page)

“Maybe dragons out of the old tales are asleep somewhere, too,” Maelith said.

“Dragons! They’re all gone; Camwyn Dragonmaster sent them away.”

“We thought magelords were all gone,” Arian pointed out. “Maybe dragons are just sleeping.”

“They were said to be shape-shifters as well,” Sarol said, putting a pink and white wreath on his head. “We might have one in Chaya today: would we know?”

“The Lady would, surely,” Arian said.

Kieri glanced around at his Squires, now all decked with flower wristlets, garlands, crowns of flowers. They looked harmless as any of the farm lads and lasses strolling down the lane but for the swords and bows laid close at their sides.

Some of them, he thought, must be barely out of Falk’s Hall—certainly not more than a year or so. He felt his years of war and intrigue as a chasm separating them from him. Even Garris, leaning against a tree a few lengths away, a stone jar of summerwine in his hand, seemed young in comparison. His gaze met Arian’s.

“I could make you one,” Arian said, holding up a handful of flowers and grinning down at him as if she’d read his thoughts.

“Oh, just give him yours, Arian,” Panin said, in a teasing tone. “Berne will plait you one to make it up.”

Arian shook her head and gave Kieri a look he couldn’t interpret. “No,” she said, “I’ll make my own.” Before Kieri could move, she’d dropped her flower crown on his chest and turned away to pick more flowers.

It was not the first time he’d felt silent communications between Squires wafting past him, but he was not going to respond to it, whatever it was. If there were covert courtships or rivalries going on, better not to know. He’d learned that in the first few years he’d commanded his own company.

T
hat Midsummer night, he and the Lady sang together again, Kieri trying to blend his taig-sense with hers. Once more she had arrived just in time, but he knew she would stay for the feast. The light of her own kingdom, the elvenhome kingdom, rose around them; the trees of the grove glowed silver-green. Other elves appeared from the trees below, circling the mound. Kieri had met many of them by now and knew their names, their families, some of their history.

After the ceremony the Lady sat enthroned on the mound, surrounded by her subjects. Kieri tried to approach, only to be stopped
again and again by elves who wanted to speak with him—a courtesy he could not ignore. The Lady smiled at him from that distance but did not beckon him to her. He felt like a child—loved, perhaps, but not wanted in what was an adult conversation. For all that she was his grandmother, she seemed less cordial than the elves who spoke to him.

One who sought him out and begged him to sit with her for a time was—she had confided before—one of the youngest and formerly a friend of his own elven mother. Her crown of violets and tiny white mist-stars released a haunting fragrance. Though she looked younger than his Squires, he knew she must be older; his mother had died nearly five decades before.

“Guess my age,” she said, teasing.

Kieri had been wondering but without permission could not have asked. Asking an elf’s age was, for reasons he didn’t understand, as rude as a slap in the face. Younger than the others … age of his mother … he tried to calculate what that might have been.

“Eighty?” he ventured.

“No, no,” she said. “Your mother was older than that when she bore you. I am just over two hundred.” She smiled at his confusion, and he felt like a toddler beside her, his fifty years banished by her smile. “But you are as handsome as your father, and you also are a king. And I am accounted a mere child by most elves.” She twinkled at him. “Some of us younglings might even be interested in you, should you wish to have an elven queen, as your father did.” The look she gave him from wide eyes the color of the violets in her hair made it clear she was one of those.

The thought of having a wife more than two centuries old chilled his loins, beautiful as she was, for he knew she saw him as the flower of a season, soon to wither and blow away and be replaced by another. He glanced toward the Lady and saw that she was watching him and the young elf with both speculation and approval. That was worse—his ancient and ageless grandmother watching him with a woman as old as his mother would have been. He murmured what pleasantries came to mind and did not touch the hand that hovered for a moment over his. The elf-maid chatted on a moment more, then shrugged slightly and withdrew. Kieri glanced again at the Lady; now her expression was remote, and she seemed to be looking past him.

Before he could reach the Lady without discourtesy to those who delayed him, she had once more withdrawn herself and the elvenhome kingdom, leaving him alone with the new dawn. His anger flared; he felt alongside it, like a thread laid alongside a rope, what had the flavor of his sister’s anger and her warning. What had she known, that he needed to know?

Could she have meant the elves, all the elves? Or only the Lady?

B
ack in the palace, Kieri considered going directly to the ossuary, but he knew the armsmasters would expect him in the salle. For that matter, he welcomed the chance for open combat. Sure enough, both armsmasters were waiting for him with what looked like indecent glee.

“I hope you’re not too sleepy, Sir King,” Carlion said, tapping the blade of his wooden waster on his heart-hand.

“You do not intend to go easy on me, I take it.”

“It would be a disservice,” Siger said. He blew on his fingers. “Danger comes on its own terms. As the king knows.”

“You are terrible men,” Kieri said, grinning at them. He felt more awake already. “I shall have to do something about you.” He turned to the chest of bandas, lifted the lid, then glanced back. Siger was where he had been, but Carlion—Kieri snatched a banda from the chest, whirled just in time, and parried Carlion’s blade with the banda.

“I told you that wouldn’t work,” Siger said. He had his thumbs stuck in his belt now. “Always more awake than you think, the Fox is.”

Carlion shrugged as he backed away. “I’ve caught a lot of ’em with that. Worth trying.”

“You have no respect for your king,” Kieri said.

“Not so, Sir King. I have enough respect for my king to test him. With due respect for your predecessor, I dared not test him, even as a young man. He was willing, but never strong or fast.” Carlion stood beside Siger now, and tucked his waster under one arm so he could put his thumbs, too, through his belt. “I’ll bide here until you’re ready.”

Kieri put on the banda, fetched a waster from another chest, and came back to face them.

“Pardon, Sir King, but that’s not the length and weight you usually use,” Carlion said.

“As you said, danger comes on its own terms. I might not have my own weapons—I might have only a branch or … or a jug of water or a loaf of bread.”

Carlion raised his brows. “Well, then, another time I’ll be sure to have them on hand so you can gain mastery with such weapons. Ready?”

Kieri nodded, and the day’s practice began. A full glass later, sweaty and breathless, he felt much better despite a few fresh bruises. Physically, at least. Swordplay could not erase his worry about the estrangement between the peoples of his realm. Increasingly he sympathized with the humans. Just like his grandmother, the other elves avoided any disturbing or difficult issue by retreating to the elvenhome kingdom, where even he—king of the realm—could not go without invitation, an invitation that never came. Yet whatever course of action he proposed, Amrothlin or Orlith would insist it must await the Lady’s approval.

Garris wandered in, eyes bleary. “When will I ever learn that summerwine knocks me flat?” he said. Kieri chuckled; Garris shook his head. “I suppose it’s your elven side that makes you impervious,” Garris said. “Here’s the new courier schedule.”

Kieri looked at it. “You shaved another day off the time to Harway,” he said. “How?”

“Another relay station. Thanks to your decision to increase the number of King’s Squires and those extra horses. Though you are going to need more forage, come fall or if we have any problems to the north.” Garris yawned. “Falk’s Oath, I’m sleepy. Anyway, I’ve also set up a schedule that gives every Sier no more than a two-day courier run to Chaya. I want to know if you expect them to provision relay stations on their domains or if you want the Crown to do it.”

“They should,” Kieri said. “Otherwise we waste time and effort collecting our Crown due, bringing it here, and then sending it back out.”

“And if the best place for a relay station is on the boundary of territories?” Garris pointed to the map.

“Both domains can share expenses. In fact, wherever it’s possible, why not put it on the boundary?”

“Good.” Garris made a note. Kieri felt a wave of affection for the man who had been an old friend and had become a valued assistant, excellent at his new assignment. “Now,” Garris said, “while I’ve got you alone—have you met anyone yet? No, that’s a stupid question; I know you’ve been introduced to one Sier’s daughter after another, but—”

Marriage. Kieri scowled at Garris. Did even Garris have to bring that up? He would marry—he had said he would marry—but he would do it in his own time. With someone the right age, the right temperament, who was not ambitious or coerced. His mind drifted to the King’s Squires on the schedule Garris had brought. To one particular Squire. No, he must not. They were young, and he was a king, and he must be careful not to exert any pressure. “I’ll let you know first, shall I?” he said to Garris with some asperity. “You and Hanlin of Pargun are two of a kind.”

“Not so,” Garris said, hand to his heart.

“Nearly. She’s written me several friendly notes, always mentioning Pargunese princesses.” He had answered politely but without much warmth. “She says they’re beautiful. I expect they’re as sly as Hanlin and as difficult as their father. The Lady wants peace, but I doubt she’d be happy to get it by way of such a marriage.”

“I’m not urging that,” Garris said. He scowled.

“And there are more important matters than my finding a wife,” Kieri said, tapping his pen on the schedule. He mentioned one he could share with Garris. “Gods grant Mikeli made it safely through his coronation.”

“You think he might not?”

“Verrakaien,” Kieri said. “They didn’t want me king in Lyonya; they won’t want Mikeli king in Tsaia.”

“But they’re under attainder—”

“And Dorrin warned us they can take other bodies. The prince—the king now—survived one attempt on his life. I worry about another.” He blew out a long breath. “I should trust the gods, I know that. Falk’s Oath, I’ve been faithless so long, it’s hard to practice that discipline.”

“About the only one you don’t practice,” Garris said. He poured water from the flagon for Kieri and a goblet for himself. “I understand—we need a strong ally to the west. Prealíth—”

“There’s trouble in Prealíth?”

“No, not trouble there. Rumors of trouble in Aarenis. You know—or maybe not—of the river trade to their ports and the sea trade around the Eastbight from Bannerlíth to the Immerhoft ports.” Garris paused; Kieri nodded. “Rumors from Immerdzan and suchlike of increased pirate activity and a pirate king building a castle right up the great river.”

“That would be Alured the Black,” Kieri said. “I know him too well. Started as a pirate, turned to brigandry in southern Aarenis, with some story about being the lost heir to the old duchy of Immer, which had been vacant more than a century. He was our ally for a while against Siniava. In Tsaia, we heard of unrest in Aarenis the last couple of years.” He cleared his throat. “Someday I’m going to have to do something about him.”

“You? You can’t seriously think of returning to Aarenis—” Garris’s voice rose.

“Someone must,” Kieri said. “He could be worse than Siniava, and I’m the one who supported his claim to Immer—worst mistake I made. According to Paks, it’s one reason the Lady thought I might not be fit to rule.”

“Kieri—excuse me, Sir King, but this is madness.
This
is your realm now. That’s in your past.”

“I’m responsible,” Kieri said. “By Falk’s Oath, I cannot ignore my part in whatever he does.”