Limits of Power (69 page)

“I could never be a soldier,” she said, halfway through that first morning of the trip. “I was not formed for that. But this—riding into something new and strange—this I did always dream of. The very idea of the north fascinated me as a child. Seeing your troops come through every year, marching from one unknown to another, made me restless at heart.”

“Will you then want to visit Aarenis one day?” Arcolin asked.

“Possibly,” she said. “Though I suspect one end of the unknown will be enough for me—there's so much to learn. Your people, the land, how best I can help you … that will keep me busy a good while. And Jamis, of course.” She glanced at the boy, who rode perched on a sheepskin on a steady pony led by one of Arcolin's troops. “He has asked for a pony many a time, but we had no place for him to ride in the city, and no one free to lead him about. Look how happy he is.”

Just then the boy turned to wave at her and call out, “Mama—I'm not holding on!”

T
hey arrived in Duke's East by noon on the last day of their journey, the weather having cooperated. Everything looked as it should. Arcolin stopped and introduced Calla to Kolya and the mayor in Duke's East. Calla admired everything, and he could tell that Kolya, often so reserved, was delighted with her. Arcolin arranged to hold Duke's Court in two days' time and sent a messenger to Duke's West to let them know. From the town to the stronghold, the road had been tended—the crown smoothed, the ditches cleaned out. He could see recruits drilling off to the east.

“Dattur, do you want to go directly to the new gnome hills?”

“No, my prince. I would not delay your return to your home, and I think they will come to greet you here anyway. They have not seen me for three years. More.”

“Very well.” Arcolin had not imagined the gnomes would come to the stronghold unless they needed something. He could, however, understand how a
kteknik
gnome might prefer to return to the group in the company of their prince, proof he was no longer
kteknik.

Everything was in perfect order in the stronghold itself. Young Jamis stared as the gates opened, soldiers saluted, and trumpets blew. Calla, now riding beside him, smiled, apparently delighted with the ceremony. Grooms were ready to hold their horses as they dismounted.

“Is the captain here?” he asked the guard corporal.

“No, my lord. He's with the recruit cohort. They made a day-march today. I'll send a messenger—”

“Yes, do that. You may tell him I'm married now, and I will introduce my lady to him and the Company this evening.”

He led Calla and Jamis through the entrance to the inner courtyard. “Our quarters are here,” he said. “Officers in residence also have quarters in this court and usually eat together.”

“It's huge,” Calla said. She looked around. “And our own well?”

“Indeed. There's no river here for water, but we have several wells both inside and outside the walls. Some of this is storage space—” He waved at the east side of the courtyard. “Let me show you to our quarters after I speak to the staff.” They were waiting by the door: steward, cook, others. He introduced Calla, “My wife, Lady Arcolin, and her son, Jamis,” and she greeted each by name. Then they went upstairs.

“There was no time to send ahead and have the rooms prepared,” Arcolin said. The starkness of the rooms struck him as never before. No woman or child had lived here for tens of years, and that showed in the bare, cold, unwelcoming spaces.

“No matter,” Calla said. “It will not take long to make them comfortable. Is there someone who can help me?”

“Do you not need to rest and refresh yourself?”

“I am not so old as that,” she said with a grin. “A bath later would be delightful, but now I want to get the new bedding out of the wagon and into this room. And for Jamis?”

“Across the passage there's a smaller room.” It had been a nursery when Kieri's children were born. The smaller room, dustier than his own chamber, needed cleaning, furniture, and bedding. Soon servants bustled up and down the stairs, bringing items from the wagon. The cook sent a meal up to Arcolin's office, as Calla wanted to be upstairs where she could direct where things were put.

Faster than Arcolin expected, Calla announced that the two rooms were now ready. Jamis's bed, reassembled, stood in the corner of his room with a quilted cover of Girdish blue; he had a chest for his clothes and a table and chair of his own. He whirled around and around, arms wide. “It's
big
!” he said. “And I have a fireplace!”

“Then put your clothes away,” Calla said. She led Arcolin to the room that had been Kieri's, then his alone, and was now theirs. Despite the autumn chill, she had opened the shutters, and he could see that the room looked warm and welcoming: new mattress plumped up under the new bedclothes, bed curtains drawn back to the posts, striped curtains beside the window, the patterned rug he'd admired in Vérella now spread on the floor. Near the fireplace, she'd had servants put a tub, a towel rack, and ewers of hot water.

He had just dressed again after bathing when Arneson came to report on the recruit progress. With him was Kaim, Count Halar's son, who had served as Arneson's squire this past campaign year. He looked at the boy, liking what he saw at first glance—a sturdy, bright-faced lad. After Arneson introduced them, Arcolin said, “I need to speak to Captain Arneson; wait for us downstairs.”

“Yes, my lord,” Kaim said; he bowed and left.

Arcolin took Arneson into his office while Calla finished with Jamis and readied herself for dinner.

“We didn't expect you this soon, my lord. Congratulations on your new title,” Arneson said. “If I'd known, I'd have had the recruits parade for you.”

“Kieri used to come back north only within a few tendays of their departure for the south,” Arcolin said. “But though I'm required to attend Autumn Court, I see no reason to stay in Vérella through the winter when I could be up here. If I am assigned to the Royal Council, I might stay, but not now. How was it this year?”

“We've had no real problems,” Arneson said. He gave a concise account of the recruit cohort's progress, his assessment of Kaim's potential and then asked, “Any word at all from your Sergeant Stammel?”

“No. As the dragon and Stammel's own letter told me, he has left and does not want to be found. The dragon assures me he went to a safe place, a healthy place, and has settled into village life there. The dragon would not tell me more.”

“I'm sorry,” Arneson said.

“I was … but now I'm relieved. If he's happy where he is, that's enough for me.” Arcolin took a swallow of water. “How are the gnomes settling in? Do they visit?”

Arneson shook his head. “No, my lord. Once they'd moved in over there, they vanished. We never see them. Of course, we don't do maneuvers in those hills, as you requested. No orc problems at all, nothing. There's a peculiar line in the vegetation, as if someone mowed a path short; I suppose that's the boundary line you told me about.”

“Yes. You've heard I arrived with a gnome as well as a wife—”

“Yes, my lord. I wondered if your—if these gnomes had sent an emissary to meet you in Vérella.”

“No. It's a long story.” As he told Arneson about it, Arcolin thought how incredible it was—a thief meeting a gnome in Fin Panir, then showing up running errands for one of the junior captains in Valdaire. “And then,” he said, “Dattur told me this was his tribe and I was their prince.”

“Prince!”

“Yes. I had to tell the king, of course. I was just a count then, in the court of Tsaia. Luckily, the king thought it was amusing.”

“Not the gnomes, though, I'll warrant,” Arneson said. “What do you think will happen with them, now that you're back?”

“I don't know. I've been practicing gnomish with Dattur, of course, and trying to learn what their Law is. Normally, a gnome prince does not leave the stone-mass in which they live, but I must. I'll need to designate a leader for them.”

“What are things like in the south?” Arneson asked.

“Do you miss it?” Arcolin asked without answering the question.

Arneson stared at his hands a long moment. “Sometimes. The smell of the orchards … the foods … and the markets … I have no complaints, my lord. I am fortunate to be here and have this position. But Valdaire—you know yourself—the morning light on the mountains—”

“Oh, yes,” Arcolin said. “You know—I think I told you—I'm from the south originally myself. Not Valdaire, but I love Valdaire. And this is very quiet.”

“I've come to love this, too,” Arneson said. “I like the quiet—and it's never as hot. The people here have been wonderful to me; they understand me, and I understand them. And I do enjoy working with recruits.”

“Has Valichi dropped in to give you the benefit of his wisdom?”

“Once or twice, early on. The last time, he smacked my shoulder and said it was high time I made my own traditions, and I haven't seen him since.”

“That's good. Val was recruit captain so long, I was afraid he might nag you too much.” Arcolin took a breath. “The situation in the south has worsened—not so much while I was there as what I heard from a courier some days after I arrived in Vérella. The new Duke of Immer abducted Andressat's youngest son—” He told the rest of it; Arneson listened intently. “King Mikeli is concerned, of course, and I understand the Guild League even more so, as you may imagine. By report, the man has powers similar to those of magelords. Whether they come from within or by blood magery, we do not know. I will need those recruits next year for certain.”

“Yes, my lord, I understand.”

“I must speak with Count Halar again before taking Kaim down there. It's likely to be a bloody year.”

“If I may—send the lad home for Midwinter. He hasn't asked, but a chance to be with his family for a while may clarify for him and his family both what they really want for him.” Arneson rubbed his chin. “He's a good lad: a hard worker, obedient, no trouble, and should make a good officer someday. But I'd say a year young to see the worst of war in the south if that's what's coming.”

“Will he sour with another year up here? Would you have him?”

“Yes, of course I'd have him. From his side … I don't know. That age … he's matured a lot, seeing what the training is really like, but for all that we don't recruit them that young.”

A tap at the door; when Arcolin looked up, Calla was there. “I put Jamis to bed, and the cook's called dinner. Shall we eat here or—”

“Downstairs,” Arcolin said. “Captain, this is my wife—and this is Captain Arneson, who commands the recruit cohort.”

Arneson stood. “My lady—my honor.”

“I'm glad to meet you, Captain,” Calla said, coming forward. “By your accent you're from the south, I think?”

“Yes, my lady.”

A
rneson paraded the recruit cohort after supper, and Arcolin inspected them, finding—as usual in this stage of training—many things to comment on. They looked much like any intake and would be ready, he was sure, for their first campaign season in the spring.

As he came into his quarters, he heard Calla's voice from the kitchen—she was chatting with the cook, and both sounded relaxed and happy. He went on upstairs. Servants had removed the bathing things; the fire burned bright, and candles gave even more light. The room no longer bore any trace of Kieri except the big bed itself—and with its new furnishings, it might have been any bed.

“You are gone, bright ones,” he said to the memories of Tamar and the children engendered in this bed. “Be at peace. Our joy will not diminish your memory.”

That night, when Calla nestled against him, his last doubts vanished; his past life made sense, the decisions that had led to this. He knew peace and security could vanish, he knew life might still bring them both pain, but he was not ungrateful enough to ignore this respite. Even the dragon, he thought, as he drifted off to sleep, might count him wise in that small way.