Kings of the North (45 page)

“Apologize?”

“For my past rudeness.” Andressat had flushed now, continuing to stare at the half-empty cup. “I—I always thought our claim to nobility was best, you see. The northern titles mongrel, born of nothing but ambitious pride. That we of Andressat, and the Duke of Fall, were the last and only to have direct descent from those who had ruled in Aare.” He paused again, then gulped and went on. “I was wrong. I treated him—the king—and you yourself as if you were baseborn, persons of no lineage, when it is I who have no claim beyond that of … of convenience.”

Dorrin stared; he looked up, and she saw his eyes glittering with tears he quickly blinked back.

“My pardon, my lord,” he said, his voice a little thick. “It is still hard to admit.”

She felt a rush of compassion for this old man, annoying as he had been before. “My lord Count,” she said, “whatever you think of your lineage, you yourself have served your realm well. If my opinion counts for anything, you deserve your title.”

“That may be,” he said, “but the fact is that my ancestors who came to Aarenis from Aare were craftsmen, not nobles. The title was given because too few nobles escaped the final disaster to govern the land … Commoners were elevated, and my family, my lord, were one of them. I did not know this until this past summer.” He went on, more fluently now that the worst of his shame had been told, to describe the flood that had caused his father and grandfather to reorder the archives and begin sorting and copying those damaged and how he himself had been trained as a scribe and scholar initially, before he came to rule.

By then it was dark, and despite the pastries and the fire, Dorrin was both stiff and hungry. She held up a hand when it seemed he was about to embark on another part of his tale.

“By your leave, my lord, I will go refresh myself before dinner, and after dinner we can resume.”

He flushed again. “Of course. I’m sorry, my lord, I forget time … and you have journeyed today … perhaps tomorrow?”

“After dinner will be well enough,” Dorrin said. “I am eager to hear more.”

D
inner passed quickly; Dorrin and her squires were hungry and talked little. Andressat and the King’s Squires who had accompanied him made their own inroads into the roast meats and other foods. The King’s Squires asked leave to ready themselves for departure the next morning, now that Dorrin was in residence.

“I have an urgent message for your king,” Dorrin said, “that I thought to send by one of my people—are you allowed to carry messages for others?”

“Certainly, my lord,” the woman said. “If it will not delay us.”

“No,” Dorrin said. “My lord Count, if you will excuse me briefly, I will be back with you shortly in the sitting room.” He bowed, and she led the King’s Squires to her office. “I have a letter for the king
from his former captain, Jandelir Arcolin, and a sword found in Aarenis, cleansed and blessed by a Captain of Falk, which the letter concerns.”

She handed over the familiar message-case Arcolin had given her, the same kind they’d used for years in the Company, brown leather stamped with the fox-head and tied with maroon laces. “And here’s the sword.”

The man’s eyes widened. “That’s a Halveric sword! What was it doing in Aarenis? Halveric Company’s been quartered in Lyonya the last two years.”

“I know,” Dorrin said. “It’s a family sword; Arcolin thought Kieri—your king—should give it back to the Halverics rather than have Andressat take it, as it closely involved a matter of honor for both the king and the Halveric. Will you do this?”

“Of course,” the man said. The others nodded.

“And give the king my heartiest good wishes,” Dorrin said. “I will write him at length, with much that Arcolin told me, but tonight I must hear more from Andressat, and you want to leave early tomorrow, do you not?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Then order what you will, in hall and stable, and Falk’s Honor go with you, if you leave before I rise.”

“Thank you, my lord.” They bowed and withdrew; Dorrin rejoined Andressat in the sitting room, where he had built up the fire.

He resumed without delay.

“It was a shock to find out we were not of pure blood,” he said. “I did not want Alured to find out, lest he insist on removing my family from the rule of Andressat. We do not have the resources to resist him for long, should he invade—and yes, I think that a possibility. He is more like Siniava than any of us guessed. He wants to rule the south—all of it.”

“Surely he doesn’t think he can—” Dorrin began.

“Indeed he does,” Andressat said. “Aarenis and more than Aarenis. He has heard rumors of a crown—of royal regalia that once belonged in Aare—”

Dorrin stiffened. “How—what made him think—”

“Rumors of such came through Valdaire after Midsummer,” Andressat said. “I myself heard nothing of it until later, but apparently
Alured’s spies in the north—yes, my lord, that is what I said, in the north—told him of some excitement at court when your king was crowned. I could not determine if this was the sight of the Tsaian crown, or something else. It is widely known that the northern rulers came from Aare to Aarenis, and then went over the mountains.”

Dorrin felt her tongue cleaving to the roof of her now-dry mouth. Just as she and the king feared: Alured knew of the crown. Alured—ambitious and ruthless Alured—would want it.

Andressat went on. “He is more dangerous than Siniava … He wants it all: Aarenis, the Eight Kingdoms, and then—by what his scribe told me—he wants to mount an invasion of Old Aare and restore it to glory and himself to its rule.”

“Does he know for certain that such a crown exists?” Dorrin asked.

“He believes so,” Andressat said. “Were you at the coronation? Did you see anything to support his belief?”

“I was there.” Dorrin tried to think how to proceed. Though too many people knew about the crown for it to remain a secret, King Mikeli had asked his peers to say only that it was held in the royal treasury. “Did you find out what Alured thinks the crown looks like? The Tsaian crown is mostly rubies.”

“Was the Tsaian crown lost or hidden for a time?”

“No,” Dorrin said. “I think it was made after the Girdish wars, as the old crown had been lost.”

“Lost—its fate not known?” His eyes brightened. “That could be it—not a crown of Aare but of Tsaia’s old king—”

“The royal treasury has several crowns,” Dorrin said. “Rumors of a hidden crown before the coronation could have been spread by traitors among my own relatives. Alured’s spies might have heard and believed such rumors.”

“That could be,” Andressat said. “But Alured believes in such a crown, and believes he has a right to it. He has gathered troops; I am convinced he is behind the counterfeiting of Guild League currency. He will have agents in the north, even now, seeking that crown. If he connects your name with it—”

“I doubt he will, but I take your warning,” Dorrin said. “More important than my safety is the security of Tsaia. My king charged me
with the organization of the kingdom’s military—to assess the threat that disorder in Aarenis might spread north and to prepare. What you have told me makes it imperative that you go to Vérella and tell King Mikeli what you have told me. Tell me, what did Kieri—the king in Lyonya—say when you told him?”

Andressat scowled. “I cannot blame him—he, a king and royal-born, after the way I treated him in my own realm—but he scarcely listened. He was concerned about Aliam Halveric, whose lady had begged me to carry a message to the king—and when he read it he made haste to leave for Halveric Steading.”

“What’s wrong with Aliam?” Dorrin asked.

“I do not know,” Andressat said. “He seemed older, and unhappy, but—” He shrugged. “I do not know why the king left in such haste, before I could explain my errand.”

“Aliam took him in, when he was a starveling stray, and made him squire and then sponsored him to Falk’s Hall,” Dorrin said. “If Aliam needed him—if Estil thought Aliam needed him—of course Kieri would go at once.”

“Yes, but—”

“My lord Count, I beg you not to think he left to slight you. His story is his to tell, not mine, but he has every reason to value Aliam Halveric highly, to consider his welfare important to that realm. Instead, let me urge you to go to Vérella and speak to King Mikeli. I will give you an introduction and an escort. If I were not needed here, I would go with you, so important do I think your warning. You must rest a few days, of course, but the king must know of the peril you mention before winter closes in and travel becomes difficult. You will wish to be back in the south, on your own land, by then.”

T
he next morning, Dorrin talked to Selfer about the cohort’s return to the Company. “Arcolin will send some south early,” she said. “He wants a full three cohorts in Aarenis next season, and will be sending at least a cohort as soon as he’s made his dispositions in the north. From what Andressat tells me, he’ll need every one of them, and there will be plenty of work.”

Selfer nodded, trying not to look pleased at the prospect of returning to the Company. “When will you release us?”

“As soon as the Count is rested and can travel again,” Dorrin said. “Andressat needs a strong escort to Vérella—the king must know what he told me, and it is not safe for him to travel alone. I presume you’ll be staying on with Arcolin as a captain.”

“I hope so,” Selfer said. “Though I still want to complete my training as knight.”

“I’m sure you will,” Dorrin said. “I expect the Count will be ready to travel in a few days.”

Andressat, when she asked, looked out the window at what was now a steady cold rain and asked if there was any chance the weather might clear later on. Dorrin thought of the high, dry hills near Cortes Andres and wished her magery could whisk him home. “It might clear,” she said. “Not today or tomorrow, but perhaps the next day. Rain comes with the cold blowing down from the north this time of year.”

“How many days to Vérella?” he asked.

“It depends on the roads,” Dorrin said. “Right now they’re muddy; this rain won’t help. When they freeze, later in winter, before the snow’s too deep, it’s easier, but—” He was shivering at the thought. Dorrin looked more closely at his clothes. He wore southern style, she realized: cloth woven from the fibers of southern plants; her own shirts for campaigning were of the same stuff. His silk sur-coat wasn’t heavy enough for this cold spell.

How could she offer what he needed without offending him?

“After the Evener, people here wear wool,” she said. “I daresay you brought no wool, thinking it too warm, is that not so?”

“Yes. At home we hardly feel a chill in air until half-winter and then it is but a chill.”

“My lord Count, please honor me by accepting warmer clothes—plain but more suited to our climate—for the rest of your journey.”

Andressat grimaced but then nodded, and she had warm winter clothes delivered to his suite. When he came back again, clothed in layers of wool, he looked much more cheerful and said he could be ready to travel in a day or two.

Dorrin took that opportunity to talk to the cohort herself. One or two, she thought, might want to stay with her rather than face a season
of hard combat or retire to the harsher climate of the north. To her surprise, eight stepped forward at once.

“We never swore oath to Captain Arcolin,” Vossik said. “Our oath was to Duke Phelan, only when he took the crown he released us, and then we came with you—we been with you all these years; we know you—”

“You know Arcolin, too,” Dorrin said. “A fine captain he’s always been and a fine count now. He’ll be a duke in time, if that’s what—”

“It’s not.” Vossik swallowed and looked at his companions.

“And there’s Captain Selfer, who’s your captain—he needs you—”

“Not as much as you do, my lord.” Again that hasty look aside and back to meet her eyes. “We want to stay here. We want to serve
you
, give our oaths to
you.
”

Dorrin looked at them: five men, three women, all veterans she’d known for years. All were Girdish, not too surprising, but—“Did the Marshal-General tell you to keep an eye on me?” she asked. “Is that why you want to stay?”