Kings of the North (15 page)

“They are clever enough to learn but were never taught. They were told only a few tales of the Verrakai and their exalted place.” From Feddith’s expression, he didn’t think much of it. “And about power and blood magery. That’s all. Not even the proper terms of venery, which every lord’s child I ever taught knew when I came. But they are learning now. And your squires are a good influence. Two of the eldest children have asked when they will be pages.”

“Not for a while yet,” Dorrin said.

“Good,” Feddith said. “Make them earn it—and, if you’ll take my advice, my lord, do not send any of them to other households. Let them learn here. Nor would I hurry them into weapons practice, not until you’re sure all the taint of the Bloodlord is gone from them.”

“Sound advice,” Dorrin said. “And I will follow it. I don’t want to forbid them all play, even play with toy swords, but it must be supervised. You are right; they had too much experience with cruelty and bullying before.”

A few days later, she came around a corner of the house and found two of her squires red-faced and angry, and Beclan leaning on the wall looking coolly amused.

“What’s this?” Dorrin asked.

“I am not a child, just because I’m younger,” Daryan said.

“I never said you were,” Gwenno said. “I was only trying to help—”

“I didn’t need your help.”

“I’m sorry!” Gwenno flung out an arm, whirling half around and glaring at Dorrin instead of Daryan. “I just thought—that’s the tallest horse in the stable—”

“Stop this,” Dorrin said. They fell silent. “Now, I will hear what you did, one at a time, no interruptions. Beclan, you first, if you please.”

“We were to ride out and inspect the progress on the new road, as the Duke knows,” Beclan said. “It was Daryan’s turn to saddle the horses, and as he is … shorter … Gwenno offered to help, and Daryan took it amiss.”

“You were the one—” Daryan began; Dorrin quelled him with a glance.

“Go on,” Dorrin said.

“Well, I may have—I did—suggest that maybe he would need help with my horse, as he is the tallest and fidgets when being tacked up.”

“And you have not trained him out of it?” Dorrin asked.

“Well … no … I’m not a horse trainer.”

“And yet you have horses,” Dorrin said, as mildly as she could. “I perceive you have had stable servants available your whole life to deal with the bad manners of your mounts. A wise knight makes sure his mount is reliable, Beclan. I will give you extra time to train yours.”

“Me? The Marrakaien are the horse-lovers.” Beclan shot a glance at Gwenno, who bit her lip but said nothing.

“Those who depend on horses must learn to manage them well,” Dorrin said. “It is part of a squire’s training that I will not neglect; I have seen squires die for lack of it—riding well is not enough.”

“Die?” Gwenno said, before she folded her lips again.

“Yes,” Dorrin said. “Unhorsed in battle, with a mount too skittish to stand, and thus easily surrounded and struck down.” She looked from one to another. “Whatever else this is about—and I will ask more in a moment—you must all see that your mounts improve in training, and that starts with handling on the ground. From this day, you will each, every day, groom, tack up, and ride. You will rotate through all the horses, mine included.”

“But—” Beclan began; Dorrin held up a hand.

“They are all up to your weight, Beclan, even if not as pretty as yours. You may someday have to use an enemy’s horse when your own has been killed or run off. This is another essential skill.”

“Yes, my lord,” Beclan said. He dipped his head, but Dorrin could feel his resistance.

“You may tack up your own horse today, but tomorrow you will switch. I will write up a rotation.” In all her spare time—but she foresaw considerable good out of this. “Stay and be quiet,” she said to Beclan. “I will hear the others. Now, Daryan, tell me your story.”

“Beclan said I might need help with his horse because it was so tall and I’m the shortest. He told Gwenno to help me. He’s always telling
us what to do.” Beside him, Gwenno fizzed with impatience, but Dorrin ignored that; the girl needed to learn self-control. “I said I didn’t need any help, and he laughed, and Gwenno said besides she was better with horses—and just because she’s a Marrakai, and they think they know everything about horses. It wasn’t
her
brother who saved the king’s life; it was Roly. I said that, and all Juris did was sit there like a stone—”

“He was spelled!” Gwenno burst out. “He couldn’t—”

“Not now, Gwenno,” Dorrin said. “Go on, Daryan.”

“Well, then you came. My lord.”

“I see.” Dorrin folded her arms and gave him a hard stare. “It was ill-done to taunt Gwenno with her brother’s having been spelled by the same magery that held the Marshal-Judicar, the Knight-Commander of the Bells, and the king himself in thrall, Daryan. Your brother, I understand, was not in the room when that happened, and absence left him free. Do you think Rolyan would approve your criticism of Juris Marrakai?”

Daryan reddened even more. “Um … no, my lord.”

“Or your using it to anger Juris’s sister?”

“No, my lord.”

“Courtesy to all is one of the main duties of a squire. That includes courtesy to one another. When you are grown and knighted, and especially if you come to your father’s estate and rank by the deaths of your siblings—”

“No!” Daryan cried, paling.

“You will many times face slights and insults better left unanswered,” Dorrin said. “I am glad to see you unambitious for that place, and like you I pray that your elder brothers and sisters live long and thrive, but even so, you are a Duke’s son and must learn to master your temper.” She turned to Gwenno. “And now you, Gwenno. What is your tale?”

“My lord, much the same, and I, too, let my temper master my tongue. Beclan bade me help; I am used to helping my younger sibs, and I own I have thought of Daryan—because he
is
younger, not merely because he is shorter—as I might a younger brother, not as a squire the equal of myself, which he surely is.”

“Fine words,” Dorrin said. “But I heard you quarreling.”

“Yes, my lord, you did,” she said, looking Dorrin in the eye. “I
said, when he demurred and said he needed no help, that he should not fuss, that the horse was likely too tall and too difficult for him and I was glad to help. Then he said what he said about Juris—”

“Which was?”

“As he told you,” Gwenno said. Her eyes shifted; Dorrin suspected it had been worse, but approved Gwenno’s willingness to let it pass. “And so I grew angry and said Roly might be good enough with a map-stick but Serrostins sat their horses like sacks of redroots.”

Dorrin bit her lip not to laugh. “I find you all at fault,” she said. “You are bred of dukes; you inherit wealth and power. You all hope to be knights someday and do great deeds, but now you quarrel over whether someone helps tack up a horse? That is ridiculous.” She let them wait in silence a long moment, then went on. “Beclan, you are the eldest, born to a royal house, and yet I find you setting up the cause of the quarrel and smirking against the wall as if it pleased you.”

Beclan reddened. “My lord—”

“I did not give you leave to speak,” Dorrin said, using command voice; he went still and silent. “You are the eldest, I say again, and it is to you that younger squires—and the children of this house—look for behavior to guide them. Consider the paladin Paksenarrion—is your behavior anything like hers? Do you think
she
takes pleasure in quarrels or creates them for her own amusement? You may answer.”

“No, my lord,” Beclan said. He looked sheepish now. “I’m sorry, my lord. I didn’t—I didn’t think—”

“You will think hereafter,” Dorrin said. “You want, it is clear, to be seen as the wealthy son of power that you are, to be seen as knowledgeable, capable, skilled, a leader. You must become so, in truth … must be what you would seem. Be an example, be a true friend to your colleagues, your fellow squires.”

“Yes, my lord. I will try.”

“You will do more than
try
, Beclan—you will
do
, or I will send you home.” She turned quickly to the others. “And the same is true of you, Daryan, and you, Gwenno. You were all reared in dukes’ houses; you were taught courtesy, as I know, for I know your fathers. So there will be no
trying
—there will be courtesy, kindness, fairness among you all and to all you encounter. Is that clear?”

“Yes, my lord,” they said.

“You will find me understanding of honest mistakes,” Dorrin said, “but I will not tolerate squires claiming precedence they have not earned or making mischief with one another. Now: each of you go, tack up your own mount, and do the work I had assigned you today.”

“Yes, my lord.”

She watched them cross the yard to the stable. Would her rebuke hold them even a day? Maybe. And here came her new steward, no doubt with something else for her to solve. Well, she had accepted the king’s commission; she had been confirmed as duke; she had better, as she had advised Beclan, be what she seemed.

Chaya, shortly after Midsummer Feast

E
ven with the Midsummer Festival over, Kieri could not return to the ossuary immediately. He presided at the King’s Court; he had more meetings with his Council. In addition, he had already planned his next assault on human-elf rivalry: a joint hunt. Both races enjoyed the sport and surely—he hoped—could forget their animosity in the pleasure of a day in the field. He had found an auspicious day, according to advice from both Siers and Orlith; he could not change that now. His grandmother did not deign to answer his invitation, nor could he compel her, but his declaration of a Royal Hunt meant all others he invited must attend. The human and elven huntsmen did not quite glare at one another when he called them into his office together—a good sign, he hoped.

The night before the hunt, he was awakened by noises outside but went back to sleep when the Squires at his door did not alert him.

“W
hat was that kerfluffle in the courtyard last night?” Kieri said as the breakfast dishes were removed and the little rolled pastries brought in.

“It is the Pargunese again, Sir King,” Sier Halveric said. “You would not believe—”

“What have they done this time?” Kieri asked, reaching out to the
taig. No disturbance enough to signal danger to the realm … a few ripples here and there, travelers, but certainly not an army. Reports from traders on the river road and fisherfolk in Lyonya’s few river-side towns included mention of Pargunese troops seen across the river, but nothing too ominous. Yet.

“Sent a pledge of peace,” Halveric said, with the air of a man with a good tale he wants to tell. Around the table, growls of disbelief. “Indeed they have, though: she arrived last night, or rather hours before dawn this morning, on a lathered horse with only two exhausted attendants chasing after her. Their king’s daughter, they said. They want a wedding.”

They all looked at him; Kieri knew exactly what they were thinking. The King must marry, must get an heir. But not, Kieri thought bitterly, an enemy’s daughter, no doubt a pale frightened child forced to this—the King of Pargun had a certain reputation.

“I’m not marrying a Pargunese,” Kieri said. They looked at him. No one said anything, but it might as well have been scribed on their foreheads in silver and gold: the King must marry … someone. Perhaps marrying a traditional enemy would bring peace between the realms.

“And there is word,” Sier Halveric said, “that a delegation from Kostandan is within a day’s ride with the daughter of
their
king.”

Kieri felt his brows rise, wrinkling an old scar. “I thought they were allies, Pargun and Kostandan.”

“Against Tsaia, certainly. But in hope of influence here, perhaps rivals. We do not know whether Kostandan knew of Pargun’s plan, or vice versa.”

“The Pargunese knew,” Kieri said. “Or their princess would have made a grand entrance, not come hurrying along the road to throw herself at the gate in the dark.”

Two princesses! He felt a headache coming on. What was he supposed to do with two princesses, but bow over their hands and be polite? He had already met all those daughters of noble Lyonyan families, and one of Prince Mikeli’s letters revealed that Tsaian nobles would be more than willing to have the King of Lyonya consider their daughters, too. All the women had been beautiful; no doubt these princesses were beautiful. Those he had spoken to were all intelligent, or seemed so. All courteous, as pleasant to the ear as to the
eye. But beauty and fine manners were not enough. He wanted a woman whose character he could trust.