Oath of Fealty

What Has Gone Before

W
hen Paksenarrion rode off into the fictional sunset twenty-odd years ago at the close of
Oath of Gold
, I knew I would want to return to her world someday and write more about the other characters there: Kieri Phelan, his captains Arcolin and Dorrin, Sergeant Stammel, and the rest. They had stories of their own waiting to be told. I never thought it would take this long to return … but finally I was able to find the door and here we are, this time seeing the world through other eyes than Paks’s.

The Eight Kingdoms north of the Dwarfmounts, and the land of Aarenis, south of those mountains, have had a seemingly stable relationship for generations. Northern mercenaries fought southern wars; southern merchants kept trade flowing over the mountains along the Merchants’ Guild routes and controlled most of the southern cities. The Elder Races—elves, dwarves, gnomes—kept their distance from humans for the most part, except that elves and humans mingled in Lyonya, the oddest of the Eight Kingdoms.

But change is upon them, brought by hidden forces and their instrument, the paladin Paksenarrion, whose story is detailed in
The Deed of Paksenarrion
.

Briefly, Paks ran away from her family’s sheep farm to become a soldier, joining Duke Kieri Phelan’s mercenary company in Tsaia. After three years of service in Tsaia and Aarenis, during which she matured from raw recruit to skilled veteran, she left to adventure on her own. Through many trials, she became a paladin of Gird, a holy warrior, and felt a call to return to the Duke’s Company. There, the powers granted paladins led her to the discovery that her former commander was not a bastard duke, as most thought, but half-elven, and the true heir of the throne of Lyonya, next kingdom to the east.

Immediately, forces of evil tried to prevent Kieri Phelan’s travel to Lyonya, capturing him and his companions. Paks pledged to exchange herself and endure five days and nights of torment for his freedom. She endured and survived, to be healed by the gods she
served. She followed Kieri east, knowing he would be attacked again, and arrived with additional troops in time to save him.

Thanks to Paks, Kieri Phelan becomes king in Lyonya, a role he could not have expected. He must leave behind those he ruled, led in battle, and cared for so long, and that parting is wrenching. In a widening ripple, everyone Paksenarrion met or came near is thrust into change, from the powerful—the crown prince of Tsaia, the Marshal-General of Gird—to the powerless, including a ragged, starving, one-eyed former mercenary in Aarenis.

As this is a new group of stories,
Oath of Fealty
is an alternate entry point to the story-universe. No one needs to read the earlier books before reading this one. However, if you’re so inclined, all the earlier books are in print, and the Paksworld website,
www.paksworld.com
, has a complete list.

A
small boy clambered from a cellar wall into an alley. He picked his way through the trash along the wall to a nearby street, walked quickly to the next turning, went left, then right. The street widened a little; the people he passed wore warmer clothes. He ducked into an alcove and pulled off the ragged jacket that had concealed his own unpatched shirt and tunic, folded the ragged one into a tidy bundle, and tucked it under his arm. Now he moved at a steady jog into the wealthier part of the city, nearer the palace. Finally he turned in to a gap between buildings, found the trapdoor he sought, and went belowground again.

In the cellar of a tall house within a few minutes of the palace gates, he gave a coded knock. A hard-faced man with a spiked billet opened the door. “What d’you want, rat?” the man asked.

“For Duke Verrakai’s hand only,” the boy said. “From the Horned Chain.”

“I’ll take him,” another man said, stepping out of looming shadows. He wore the red and black of Liart, and the horned chain was about his neck. “Come, boy.”

Shaking with fear, the boy followed, up stairs and along a corridor, to a room where another man, in Verrakai blue and silver, sat writing at a table by a fire.

“I am Duke Verrakai. You have a message for me: give it.”

The boy seemed to choke, and then, in a deep voice not his own,
spoke the words Liart’s priest had bade him say. “The man is free, and his companions; the paladin is ours. Without her aid, he can be taken. He must not reach Lyonya alive.”

“He will not,” Duke Verrakai said. “Is there more?” The boy dug into his tunic and pulled out a folded paper; Verrakai took it and read it. “Well,” he said, with a glance at the man in red and black. “It seems we must return this boy with our answer.” He wrote on the reverse of the message, folded it, and handed it to the boy. “Go the way you came, swiftly.”