Oath of Fealty (28 page)

Dorrin threw a leg over its neck and vaulted down without looking away; that impressed them, she could tell. The younger children were round-eyed, all but one boy who blurted, “I can do that, on my pony. It’s not hard.”

“Mostly you fall down when you try it, Bori,” said a girl, shoving him.

“I do it sometimes!” he said, shoving back.

One of the adults thumped both heads, and they fell silent, glaring at each other. Dorrin had to struggle not to laugh.

“Sir Valthan, attend me please,” she said, and headed for the steps. She felt a slight pressure as she reached the bottom step, and threw her power against it; it popped like a soap bubble. Was that really their strongest defense? Still looking Haron’s widow in the eye, Dorrin said, “Don’t do that again, Aunt, or I will drop you where you stand.”

“It wasn’t Jeruvin, it was I,” her mother said. “Would you dare flaunt your power against your own mother?”

“You said I was not your child,” Dorrin said. “Stand there, then, if you doubt me.” She was within arm’s length now; she touched her mother with her heart-hand forefinger and let her power out. Her mother stood silent, held motionless with one hand half raised.

Jeruvin, hatred blazing from her dark eyes, made some signal behind her back, and two of the younger women rushed forward, hands raised.

They slammed into the invisible barrier Dorrin raised, yelping with pain. “You only make it harder on yourselves,” Dorrin said. A wicked glee flickered in the back of her mind; she stamped it down. They already knew arrogance and bullying; they needed to see another kind of power, another kind of leadership. “Aunt, you have caused another injury to these young ladies. You must be still.” The magery for holding someone motionless took almost no energy at all;
she extended it to all the adults in view, and then, without hurry, one by one, bound their magery. None had magery as strong as hers. Despite the Knight-Commander’s prediction, she was surprised. Was her power really that strong, or had theirs weakened over the years?

But she had no time to study that conundrum. The family she saw here, and their magery, was not all that menaced her. Somewhere men and older boys hid, planning an attack, unless they had run away. Somewhere servants lurked, possibly only frightened but possibly Liartians eager to do harm. “Captain, secure the outbuildings.” Dangerous work, but it had to be done.

“Yes, my lord,” Selfer said. “Search them as well?”

“For now, simply secure them.”

He bowed and turned away. She looked at the gaggle of relatives. “You will all be under guard in the great hall for now. If you give trouble, you will be shackled in the stables. When I release you, it is only for you to walk into the hall and sit down on the floor, where the Royal Guard directs. Children under ten will go to the safe nursery when I have found nurserymaids; suckling babes you may keep with you.” She turned her head a little. “Sir Valthan—proceed.”

They had discussed this; he knew what to do. Some inside the great hall, to watch the Verrakaien come in, tell them where to sit, and guard. Some to herd them in, as if they were sheep. Dangerous sheep.

T
hey hated her with every breath; she could feel that, and yet it did not hurt, not the way it had when she was young. She eased back the power she had exerted, and slowly … staggering a little, some of them … they moved into the doorway, past her, with Valthan’s soldiers.

She reached out, then, and felt for the other magic she knew was built into the place. The tang of the Bloodlord’s cruel power tingled along her senses, disgusting and frightening at once. A whisper eased into her mind:
Broken blades, jagged hooks, whimpers, moans, screams … I give you these
.

“Ward of Falk,” Dorrin said, aloud. “Ward of Falk against all evil ones—”

Falk is not my master. I have no master
.

Dorrin pushed it out of her mind. Disembodied voices could come from anywhere; Liart’s power needed a physical focus. If they had priests of Liart there—well, she had already bound her relatives’ magery. She now believed she could deal with them as well.

The question now was how to manage her relatives until they could be transported to Vérella. Would the Royal Guard be adequate security? Did her family have allies between here and Vérella? And where were the men and older boys? Unfortunately, she had no magical vision that let her see through walls, or find anyone not using magery against her.

At least here and now, the Guard should be enough. When all the prisoners were inside and under guard, she and her escort moved on into the house. The great hall, scene of so many humiliations, looked much the same. She still remembered which of the doorways led where, to kitchens and other offices, to dining rooms and up front stairs or back to the rooms above. She nodded to Valthan, who read again the prince’s order and called all to come forth.

This time it was servants, shuffling warily out of various doorways and edging downstairs to gather in a disorganized mass at the other end of the great hall from the ladies. Verrakai’s household livery on the upper servants, and drab on the others … it had been so long, Dorrin didn’t recognize any of them.

She took a step forward. “I am your new Duke, by order of the crown prince and Council,” she said. “From now on, all orders come from me. Is that clear?”

A murmur, not of resistance but uncertainty.

“If you obey me, no harm will come to you. If you do not, I will consider you conspirators in the treason which brought the Attaint to all in the family, and you will be transported to Vérella to stand trial. What say you?”

“By what right do you treat highborn ladies so?” This from a tall man in the house livery pushing his way forward; the others edged away from him and averted their gaze.

“Who are you?” Dorrin asked, without replying to his question.

“I am His Lordship’s steward,” he said. His expression and voice expressed confidence in his own authority. “Grull Lanatsson is my name, and I am in charge of the household, under His Lordship.”

“Did you not hear?” Dorrin asked. “Haron the traitor is dead. All adult members of the family are under attainder and as they have already tried to attack their Duke—me—and members of the Royal Guard, traveling under royal warrant, they are prisoners, and treated as such. As for you, you may have been the former Duke’s steward, but you are not yet mine. Do you acknowledge me?” Dorrin sensed more movement in the corridor behind the servants, a shifting in the group of them, and another man came to the front, in footman’s livery.

Grull said nothing, scowling as he glanced around the hall, where armed soldiers were obviously on alert. The footman leaned to him
and murmured something Dorrin could not hear. He shook his head; the footman stepped back. Then he said, “I would see this so-called order—”

“You have heard it read by an officer of the Royal Guard, a Knight of the Bells,” Dorrin said. “You see the Royal Guard uniforms. Acknowledge me as the rightful Duke, or not, but no more delay.” She could feel, from the far end of the hall, her relatives’ bitter hatred.

He looked around at the other servants, and by his expression did not like what he saw.

“I acknowledge you,” he said, finally.

“You can’t!” said the footman who’d been near him. “You know what he—”

“Be silent, fool!” Grull said.

“Come here,” Dorrin said. “Both you and that footman. What is his name?”

“Coben,” Grull said. He strolled forward, every movement confident. Behind him, Coben followed.

When they were a bare spear-length away, Dorrin halted them with her mage power; they both paled. Grull did not struggle, but the footman’s strained face showed that he was trying to break the spell. She walked closer to them; her personal guard came with her. “Grull, what gods do you serve?”

“Whatever gods my lord commands,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“And what god did your lord command?”

“He—” Grull trembled suddenly, as if with a chill, and the voice Dorrin had heard in her mind spoke with Grull’s mouth. “What do you think, little rabbit? He is
my
faithful servant.”

“Then he cannot be mine,” Dorrin said. She looked at the footman. “And you? Speak, Coben.”

“You’re not the Duke,” Coben said. “I heard about you; you’re just a runaway, not really a Verrakai, and anyway you’re just an old woman.”

“Do you also follow the Bloodlord?” Dorrin asked.

Coben smiled, showing his teeth, and licked them. “The mightiest of gods is Liart, Lord of Torments. You will never prevail against him—”

“Bind them well,” Dorrin said. “For they have spoken treason and thus fall under a sentence of death, unless the prince commutes it.”

“You cannot kill us,” Grull said, this time in his own voice. “We have done nothing. And you lack the will—you are weak—”

“You tell your Duke she is weak?” Dorrin had her sword in hand before she quite realized it. Beside her, her two escorts had drawn blades when she did. “You were not told, perhaps, that I have been a soldier more than three hands of years. I have killed more men—aye, and women—” That with a glance at the women down the hall. “—than you can count on both hands twice over.” A dark rage rose higher in her mind, urging her to prove Grull wrong, to kill both him and the footman, and that slowly. Her ruby flashed, bright in her mind. She shook her head. “You are not worth the loss of honor,” she said, shoving her sword back into its scabbard. “To trial you will go, and I doubt not the royal hangman will soil his hands with you.”

By then four of the Royal Guards were behind the two, with thongs to bind them. When they had bound the men’s wrists, then their arms to their bodies, Dorrin released her control so they could be led aside, but both lunged toward her, eyes wide and mouths open. Before she could draw her blade, her escort had stepped in front of her, and run them through.

A disturbance broke out somewhere outside—clashing blades, a horse’s squeal, shouts—and three more men pushed through the huddle of servants, waving knives and pokers as they ran toward Dorrin, only to fall to Royal Guard soldiers. Like a terrified herd of sheep, the rest of the servants surged back and forth, unsure which way to run.

Dorrin saw all this with awareness honed by many a battle. Diversion—who would want a diversion?—her gaze fell on her prisoners; her aunt and mother were grinning in triumph. Dorrin strengthened her control of them, and all those prisoners slumped. Phelani uniforms appeared behind the mass of servants; Vossik called over their heads.

“My lord, a stableboy and a gardener’s lad suddenly attacked us, but it’s all under control now.”

“Casualties?” Dorrin asked.

“Captain Selfer’s spare mount, and one of the privates had a gash to the arm.”

The three final attackers lay tumbled on the hall floor; they’d had no real skill and no plan, easy kills for the Royal Guard soldiers now
cleaning their blades. So many dead already, when she had hoped to bring peace and security to her new realm’s people. Had they all been Liartians? Dorrin went to Grull’s body—and yes, he wore Liart’s symbol on a chain around his neck. When the guards checked, so did the others.

Dorrin walked around the bodies and toward the huddle of servants. Before she could speak, they all knelt. Dorrin sighed. It must do for now, but she did not want this kind of submission, clearly more fear than anything else. She touched them lightly with magery, and found no more who harbored evil intent. For now, at least.

“Well, then,” she said. “This room will be used for those going to Vérella in the morning. Which of you are the nurserymaids?”

Six women shuffled forward on their knees.

“Get up now—you will have charge of the youngest children. Give this man”—she pointed to one of the Royal Guard—“the names of those ten winters and younger, point them out, and then you will take them to the nursery and keep them there. Supper will be sent up later. Which of you are kitchen staff?”

Others came forward, headed by a stout woman who exclaimed when she saw the nearest dead body. “He’s tooken my best carving knife, that wicked Votik, and him no more than a kennelman! If that’s nicked, I’ll—get me that back, lord Duke. And I don’t doubt them’s my pokers from the kitchen fires!” Her indignation almost made Dorrin laugh, but instead she sent the cook grumbling back to the kitchen, with orders to prepare a meal for the younger children.

Soon, the nurserymaids and younger children were upstairs, far from anything that might happen, Dorrin hoped. Now to disarm the Verrakaien prisoners—for she was sure they would all have weapons of some sort, most likely poisoned.

“The rest of you servants,” Dorrin said, “will change clothes with the prisoners. This will be a brief inconvenience.” The women servants looked at one another; a few grinned and one younger maid, in drab, even giggled, stifling it with her hands when an older woman cuffed her.

“Do any of you know if there are prisoners in the old keep tower?”

Most shook their heads; a few nodded. Dorrin beckoned those to the front: two women and a man.