The Deed of Paksenarrion (152 page)

“But,” Paks began delicately, “the powers I have—and some have come—did not come with your dedication at the Hall—”

“We have not all forgotten how paladins began,” said Amberion quickly. “The power comes from the High Lord—if he has lent it to the training orders, from time to time, that does not bind it there. If Gird spoke to you directly—” He looked a question at her.

Paks looked from one face to another. “I have not told anyone—not even the Duke—the whole story.”

“Nor is this the best time, perhaps,” suggested the Marshal-General. “If this stronghold faces peril from Achrya—”

“I think it is past,” said the Duke, slowly. “Paksenarrion unmasked the traitors within—when I sent for your aid, they were already dead. We had found a tunnel leading into a cellar from without, and expected an invasion of some sort. It came the next night. We burned the last of the bodies yesterday.”

“You have wounded that need healing?”

“Yes—but they are not all Girdsmen.”

“We’ll try what we can. Are you sure your traitors are all found?”

“I hope so. Paksenarrion wanted me to ask more help; she is not sure she would find them all.”

“We can help with that, certainly.”

“I had not expected so quick a response—and you come from Vérella—”

“Your messenger, my lord, came to the grange at Burningmeed; the Marshal there, Kerrin—” she nodded at her, “had come to Vérella to meet me. Her yeoman-marshal forwarded the message as fast as he could—which, for us, is very fast.”

The Duke nodded. “I remember.” He coughed, and Paks watched him, worried again. He took a careful breath, and went on. “My message was short, Marshal-General, as word of peril should be. But you must know that I acknowledge—have already admitted to my captains—that I was wrong, years ago, to blame you for my wife’s death—”

“My lord,” interrupted Arianya, “in dealing with great evils, as you and I have done, all make mistakes. The High Lord grant I never make a worse—in fact I have made worse.” She nodded toward Paks. “There is one, as you rightly said, and the elves said at the time. Certainly neither I nor my predecessor intended harm to your wife and children—or to Paksenarrion. But whether by error or overwhelming evil, harm came. If you can now believe that it was unintentional—that I sorrow for it—that is well enough.”

“I make bold to contradict a Marshal-General,” said the Duke, with a wry smile. “It is not—quite—enough.” He took a long breath, staring into his mug, and none thought to interrupt him. “You may remember that in the years before my wife was killed, this entire Company fought under the protection of Gird.”

“I do.”

“After that, when I was no longer any way a Girdsman, I thought to keep, nonetheless, the standards of honor, in the Company and in my holdings, that were appropriate.”

“So you do,” said Marshal Kerrin. “You’re known as a fair and just lord, and your Company—”

The Duke waved her to silence. “Compared to some, Marshal, that may be so. But compared to what this Company was—well, you can ask my captains, if you don’t believe me.” He nodded to Dorrin, Arcolin, and the others. No one responded. The Duke continued. “The last year I campaigned in Aarenis, even I had to admit the changes. We were short of men, through treachery—I expect you’ve heard the tale of Dwarfwatch—”

The Marshal-General nodded. “Yes. So I called back veterans, and when that wasn’t enough, I hired free swords in Aarenis itself. That changed the Company. Worse than that, I used them as I’d never used them before, and when Siniava was caught, I—” He looked up as Paks stirred. The Marshal-General, too, looked at her. Paks wished the Duke would not speak of that time, but he smiled at her and went on. “I was so angry, Marshal-General, at his treachery, at his cruelty to my men and others, that I would have tortured him, had Paks not stopped me. And I was angry with her, at the time.”

“But you didn’t.” The Marshal-General’s voice was remote and cool.

“No. I wanted to, though.”

“You could have—you, a commander, didn’t have to listen to a—what was she then, anyway? Private? Corporal?”

“Private. I did have to—I’d given my word. If you want the whole story, ask her or the paladin who was there.”

Amberion stirred. “That would have been Fenith. He died the next year, in the Westmounts.”

“So.” The Marshal-General took the conversation again. “You chose to honor your word, and by what you say gave up your anger at Paksenarrion—that sounds like little dishonor, my lord Duke.”

“Enough,” said the Duke soberly. “Enough to change the Company, to risk my people here—for that’s what happened, what I left them open to, when I took the veterans that could fight. And then to fall under the spell of Venneristimon’s sister—if that was his sister—”

The Marshal-General stood. “My lord, I would hear more of this, if you wish, but if you have wounded, we should see to them.”

“As you will. If you’ll excuse me, Dorrin can take you to them; if I go over there, the surgeons will scold.”

“Perhaps we should begin with you?”

“No. I’m not in danger. Dorrin?”

“Certainly, my lord. Marshal-General, will you come?” Dorrin moved to the door, and the Marshal-General and Amberion followed. Kerrin looked at her, but the Marshal-General waved her back.

“We’ll send if we need you, Kerrin; keep warm in the meantime.”

When they had gone, Kerrin looked at the Duke. “My lord Duke, I’ve seen you ride by, but not met you—”

“Nor I you. Yours is the nearest grange?”

“Southward, yes. West you might come to Stilldale a little sooner. It was but a barton until a few years ago.” She drained her mug of sib, and poured another. “You won’t remember, perhaps, but I had an uncle in your Company: Garin Arcosson, in Arcolin’s cohort. He—”

“I remember. He was file-second of the third. Killed by a crossbow bolt in—let me think—the siege of Cortes Cilwan, I think, wasn’t it? A lanky fellow, with a white forelock, that turned white early.”

Kerrin nodded. “I’m impressed, my lord, that you remember so well. That was years ago—”

The Duke shrugged. “It’s important to know one’s men. And I have a knack for names.”

“Even so. I remember when his sword came home, and his medallion; the Marshal of our grange hung them there for all to see. And my aunt, my lord, lived well enough on his pension.” She coughed delicately. “Do I understand, my lord, from what you’ve said, that you will be placing your Company under Gird once more?”

“That depends. In the years since the last Marshal here died, I have recruited many who were not Girdsmen—indeed, not Falkians, or following any of the martial patrons. Yet most are good men, hard but honorable fighters. I would not have them distressed—I owe it to them—”

“My lord, it would be far from my desire—and I believe I speak for the Marshal-General here—to coerce warriors faithful to another to change faith. I am aware that among your soldiers are those who follow Tir and Sertig as well as the High Lord, Gird, and Falk. And your responsibilities under the crown of Tsaia, I realize, will forbid any venturing of the Company for Gird. But should you desire such protection—even a Marshal resident here—that can be arranged.”

“You seem confident.” The Duke frowned at her.

“I am.” Kerrin turned her mug in her hands. “My lord Duke, it may seem strange to you, who have been at odds with the granges for so long, but Gird himself mistakes no honest heart. We have never shared that quarrel, only watched from afar.” The Duke started to speak, but Kerrin went on, heedless. “I swear to you, my lord, that if we had known anything definite—if we had been able to tell who or what was the source of that evil that tainted your lands and gossiped against you at court, we would have told you.” The Duke settled back in his chair; Paks noticed that the remaining captains were rigid in theirs. “But,” Kerrin went on, “without the right to come here, and investigate, we could do nothing. I don’t know if you believe prayer to have any power—but I tell you that at the granges at Burningmeed and Stilldale prayers for you and your Company were offered at every service. We of Gird—and sensible nobles of the Council—well knew that you and you alone stand between Tsaia and the northern wastes, and what comes out of them.”

“You could have said something,” muttered Cracolnya. The Duke shot him a look, but did not speak. Kerrin cocked her head.

“Could we? Think about it, Captain. How well would you have listened, had I come, or sent my yeoman-marshal, to tell you that something—undefined, but something—was wrong in your cohort or the stronghold? If I had seen the traitor—your steward, Venneristimon, wasn’t it?” Cracolnya and the others nodded. “If I had seen him, I might have known. But how to convince you?”

“Prayer,” muttered the Duke.

Kerrin gave a tight smile. “Just prayer, my lord. But Gird has more weapons than one in his belt, and he sent a fine sword.” She nodded at Paks.

“True enough.” The Duke sighed, leaning back in his chair. “With all respect, Kerrin, I would talk to the Marshal-General about this—”

“Indeed.”

“Even though I was wrong to be so angry before, still the Girdsmen make mistakes.”

Kerrin laughed. “My lord Duke, our legends say that even Gird himself made mistakes. We are but human. The Marshal-General admitted one to you herself. But we all fight, as best we know, against the powers of evil. We all try to strengthen our realm—whether steading or grange—in anything good.”

“Yes. Well—” The Duke paused. Paks, watching, noticed a grayer tinge to his face. She glanced at Arcolin, who met her eyes and nodded. He stood and moved behind the Duke’s chair.

“My lord, I must remind you of the surgeon’s orders.”

“Nonsense. We have guests—”

“Marshal Kerrin,” Arcolin went on, “the surgeons made me promise to remind the Duke of their opinion. If you will excuse him—”

“Certainly.” Kerrin looked concerned. “Should I call the Marshal-General?”

“No. Paks will fetch a surgeon.”

“Viniet is upstairs, Captain.”

“Good.”

The Duke started to protest, then subsided, leaning heavily on the arm of his chair. “Tir’s gut, Arcolin—excuse me, Marshal—it’s just—”

“A mere cut. I know. I know as well that you were hardly in your bed enough to warm it before going back to work. And if we’re truly, as the Marshal says, the one bar to the northern troubles, then we’ve no desire to lose you, my lord.”

Paks did not witness the Duke’s meeting with the Marshal-General in his study late that day. They were closeted for several hours; she spent the time talking with Amberion. He had been called to a border fort along the south border of Fintha, and had spent the summer convincing farmers in the area that they could indeed repel the mountain-dwelling robbers.

“Though most of those robbers were poor folk enough,” said Amberion thoughtfully. “Some years back they’d left a barony in a mountain valley because of the great cruelty of the baron. There in the heights they could not grow enough food for themselves, and when they lost weapons in hunting, could replace them only by raiding. Some of them would be glad enough to settle in the farmlands, if there were farmland to spare. A few, though—” he shook his head. “It’s easy for such demons as Liart to gain worshippers when men must live like wolves or die anyway.”

“But why farmers?” asked Paks. “Couldn’t the local lord—count or whatever—have held the keep and protected them?”

“No, not in Fintha. In Fintha nearly all farmland is freehold; our lords are those who hold enough that they can’t work it all themselves. Even then there are very few with such estates as the Marrakai or Verrakai—or even your Duke—in Tsaia and Lyonya.” When she looked puzzled, he went on. “Come now, Paksenarrion, you had more history than that in your months with us. Gird himself was a peasant. Fintha is the center of his cult. By Finthan law, each farmer owns the lands he can plow. Grazing land is usually owned in common, though in the north, where you came from, it may be held by the farmer. But the Hall never makes large grants of land, such as your Duke got, in return for raising a troop. Those who are given a grant must work it themselves, and each man owes service to Gird when it’s needed. If someone has more land, it was inherited, perhaps from two families. The nearest lord to that border fort could offer only himself and his older sons to aid. Which he did.” Amberion paused. “One of them died there.”

By the time Paks had told him about her summer in Lyonya with the rangers, the Duke’s conference was over. They were called in, along with the Duke’s captains.

“We have settled more than one thing,” said the Duke. He was somewhat pale, still, but seemed steadier. “First, it’s clear to both of us that the Company cannot go back as it was. It’s been fifteen years since my wife was killed, fifteen years during which no effort was made to screen out those who are not Girdsmen. The veterans of those fifteen years have served me well, and I will not change the rules on them now. Yet some of the changes in those years were for the worse, and we will work to reverse them.

“As far as my domain goes, the past fifteen years, again, have seen changes and growth in directions which Tamarrion and I had not planned. My relations with the Regency Council, my duties—these cannot be set aside.

“What we have agreed, then, is this: I will accept, in my domain, the influence of Gird. Granges will be built wherever enough Girdsmen gather; bartons will serve the rest. A Marshal will be stationed either here or on the plain between Duke’s East and West, at the discretion of the Marshal-General, and I will grant sufficient land for the support of that grange. Girdsmen among the Company will be encouraged to be active in the grange. As for me—” He looked aside, then around at them all. “Most of you know little of my background. Until I came to live with the Halverics—” a slight stir at this; Paks had not known it until Stammel mentioned it; neither had most of the others. “—until then, I followed no god or patron. I had heard of none I would follow.” His face had settled into grim lines. “The Halverics were, as they are, Falkians, and from them and their example I first learned of the High Lord, and of Falk. I had served Aliam Halveric as squire for some years, and he sponsored me as a novice with the Knights of Falk, as a reward. Too great a reward, as I found later; he never told me of the cost of such sponsorship. He hoped, I believe, that I would swear fealty to Falk, and become one of them.”