Oath of Fealty (32 page)

And Dorrin had sent Valthan off with the prisoners thinking the adults would be the worst problem, that most of those children were not yet skilled in magery. Five children’s bodies that might—every instinct told her
did
—conceal adult intelligence, experience, and magery.

How long had it been going on? She remembered now one of her older brothers who’d been very sick and afterward seemed different. How many generations? Were some of those minds even older, passed down from one generation to another all the way back to Old Aare?

And what was she going to do about it? Her oath to the Crown required that she eliminate the threat from Verrakai. Carraig, if that’s who really inhabited Restin’s body, fell within the Order of Attainder. But who could believe that? She had to tell Valthan; she had to tell the prince. And she had to protect herself and the other children from whatever Carraig might choose to do.

“Since Restin is so mature,” she said to the maid, “I will want to speak with him in a little. He will better understand the situation than some of the others, don’t you think?”

“Yes, my lord,” the maid said. “We’ve made him our helper, you know.”

That did not surprise her. Restin, even in the shielded nursery, would be able to use his magery to charm the nurses. “Send him to me after supper,” Dorrin said. “I’ll be in the dining room.”

She found Selfer and explained what she understood. “I cannot be certain without forcing Restin to reveal himself—there’s a phrase that may work—but I dare not wait to warn Valthan. They will not have made it to the main road today; we must send a courier.”

“What can Valthan do? Did your binding of magery include the children?”

“Yes, it did, but I am not sure how long those bindings will last in my absence. I’m not sure what else might work. Numbweed, perhaps. Its effects might dull the magery. I’ll ask—”

In the kitchen, Farin the cook, back at work with additional help from the freed prisoners, led Dorrin to the pantry. “In that locked box.”

Dorrin tried the keys she’d found in the basket of things taken from the Verrakai women. One opened the box. Inside were packets neatly tied shut, tiny jars and bottles, and a smaller locked box. The cook pointed. “That there’s numbweed to put in wine for the pain of wounds, and that’s gnurtz, for calming someone in a fever rage. It dissolves in sib, but not in wine. That box is powdered deathwish, grows on rotting logs in the forest. Only the duke is allowed to use it.”

“For suicide?” Dorrin asked. She was sure it was not that, but wondered what the cooks had been told.

“Oh, no,” Farin said. “But if someone’s dying anyway, in pain, ’tis said a few grains on the tongue will ease it more than numbweed and give an easy death. Not for the likes of us, of course.” She sniffed. “Just for the lords and ladies.” She went on. “Now, that there is boneset, you put it in sib if someone’s broken a bone and it’s said to heal faster. And that’s lungwort, steep it in hot water and breathe it for lung fever. Some says mix it with comfortweed is best, but my lady—she that was, I mean—” Another worried glance at Dorrin, who managed a smile. “She didn’t like to do that. Now this one is shaved hadjan bark, whatever a hadjan is, something from the south I think, good for proud flesh, they said.”

“And you mixed these things with food and drink here?”

“Aye, my lord, all but the deathwish, that we weren’t ever to touch.” She leaned closer and her voice dropped to a whisper. “My lady that was … one of the chambermaids said she had a box like this in her own room, hidden in a hole beside the fireplace, with this and more. They could have mixed things themselves but they wouldn’t stir sib where servants could see.”

“I see,” Dorrin said. She saw too many dire possibilities. “Do you know if this … gnurtz? … controls the magery of the person with fever rage?”

“Yes, it does,” Farin said, nodding vigorously. “They said—my lady that was and the Duke that was—for ordinary folk like us numbweed was the most we’d need to fall asleep, but gnurtz did the same for them, mind and magery alike. That’s why I put a little in the children’s food last night, to quiet ’em like you said.” Her brow furrowed. “That was what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Dorrin said. “That was perfect. Thank you. And to prevent their distress while they’re still so confused, I think you’d better continue with it for another day or so.”

“As you wish, my lord,” the cook said. “Lucky it’s just the children. Wouldn’t have enough if it was to hold down that many adults. Trader hasn’t come through yet this year.”

“Trader?”

“The one brings us this and other things. Gnurtz comes from far away somewhere.”

Something else to worry about.

“And for your dinner, my lord? You haven’t said what you want. And if I could know what you need for tomorrow, that would help … those soldiers you brought with you have their own supplies, they said …”

Dorrin looked around the kitchen; all the cooks and helpers stopped at once and stared at her. Through her worry, kitchen fragrances finally reached her awareness.

“What are you preparing for the children and yourselves?”

“For the children, my lord? Their usual supper: milky porridge, rusks, a honeycake. For the servants, soup and bread.”

She remembered the taste of milky porridge and rusks from her own childhood, the hard toasted crusts of bread softening slowly in the milk. Honeycakes, hard as wood, to suck on while waiting for the
maids to warm the beds with coals in a pan. If they were annoyed, your bed would be ice-cold in winter.

“I didn’t dare put on a haunch of venison for your own dinner, my lord, without your telling me, but I could do a steak—”

“Soup and bread will do well tonight,” Dorrin said. “And cheese.” Though the cook seemed honest enough, it might be well to eat what the servants ate for a while longer.

The cook looked surprised, but nodded. “And for the Captain out there?”

“The same,” Dorrin said. “Dinner for two. Soup, bread, cheese.” The soup, now that she was aware of the fragrance, smelled delicious. She walked over to the hearth and sniffed, then smiled at them all and went to find Selfer again.

The funeral escort had just returned; Selfer sent them to the stables to put up the animals. “And be ready for inspection in a half-glass,” he said.

“Inspection … again?” one of them asked.

“Inspection any time,” Selfer said, in a tone that stiffened them all. “At least twice a day until you meet the requirements of a decent militia. I expect those boots to shine.”

The Phelani bit their lips not to grin, and led off at a brisk pace. Selfer turned to Dorrin. “Courier’s well on his way. Seli will report on the situation in the vill when that lot are cleaned up.”

“I think they’ll do,” Dorrin said.

“With some training,” Selfer said.

“Oh, yes. My relatives never liked their servants to learn too much. Easier to control the dull and incompetent, especially the ones with weapons.”

“People treated that way become sly in self-defense,” Selfer said. “How are you going to teach them honesty at their age?”

Dorrin shook her head. “I can’t. But I can reward honesty; greed produces whatever brings reward.”

“I hope so,” Selfer said. “What did you learn in the kitchen this time? Are we having a real dinner, or more bread and cheese?” He rubbed his stomach and put on a pitiful expression.

“Bread and
soup
and cheese,” Dorrin said. “I left it too late for the cook to put on a roast. Tomorrow, Falk’s grace, we’ll have real food. And I need to see about supplies for the cohort and the militia, too.”

“I don’t know about the house pantries,” Selfer said, “But the granary has plenty of grain and no sign of rodents. Sacks of dried beans, as well. I think one door is for a root cellar but you said not to open any doors without your checking them.”

“Tomorrow I’ll go with you,” Dorrin said, “though if the cooks can enter a door, it should be well enough. I did hear from the head cook that Haron’s wife’s chamber has a hidden vault with a box of herbs—or poisons.”

“What are you going to do about that boy Restin?”

“That man, I believe,” Dorrin said. “And if it is, I must kill him.”

Selfer looked horrified. “Kill a
child
?” Then he shook his head. “But—if he’s not really a child—”

“Exactly,” Dorrin said. “I don’t want to believe they’ve done anything so vile as kill a child’s soul to give a man a fresh body. But the family rolls—the page I can see with mage-sight—makes it clear they were transferring Verrakai to other bodies. An adult mind in a child’s body, with full adult mage powers, would be incredibly dangerous.”

“How do we know it was just once?” Selfer said, scowling. “Is there anything you know of that would prevent someone taking body after body, living … how long?”

“I don’t know,” Dorrin said. “I thought of the same thing. I’m sure if it were possible, someone would try it.” Bitterness rose in her throat, nauseating. How could anyone engender children just to use them so? “But whether that is possible … I don’t know, and I don’t know how to find out.”

“I suppose,” Selfer mused, “it’s no worse to do it to your own family than to strangers. At least it’s not hurting outsiders.”

Rage blinded Dorrin for a moment; she fought it down, thought her way through what he meant. “I thought it was worse,” she said finally. “Family loyalty … but I see what you mean. It cannot be right to bear children just to destroy their futures … but the family so vile deserves to lose its own, not impose that loss on others. Though they have, at least some of the time. One of them is a merchant in Valdaire.”

“Anyone we’ve dealt with?”

“I’m not sure,” Dorrin said. “All it says here is merchant—not the merchant’s name. And a moneychanger in Vérella.”

“Vérella! That’s not good at all. And no name?”

“No. But if we look for the moneychanger the family used there, I would expect to find him.”

“Only men?”

“No. But mostly.” Dorrin sighed. Exhaustion weighed her down. Her own, or imposed by that boy upstairs? “This is a long, deep plot,” she said. “I never realized that as a child. That they valued cruelty and power, yes—but not this way.”

“Not all of them,” Selfer said. “You’re not like that.”

“I hope not,” Dorrin said.

“And there might be others, even here. Another girl like you among the children.”

“Or boy,” Dorrin said. She sighed again. “I have to believe that. I have to look for that, as well as the evil.”

“But couldn’t you bind this boy’s magery and send him under guard to Vérella?”

“If he confesses, when I confront him—but I don’t see how I can risk it. Us. The entire domain. If I fail here, the prince and Council will have every reason to invade, raze the entire domain, and kill everyone Verrakai has touched. Innocent people will die, and Tsaia itself could be torn apart.”

“Do you really have any doubt that you can kill him? A mere boy of nine winters?”

“Oh, yes. If he is Carraig, then he’s no mere boy. He is older than my father was, and had training and experience in the use of his magery for decades before he transferred into this boy. And if he’s still older—if Carraig himself were invaded—he may have generations of experience, and power much greater than mine. I have not been able to think of any stratagem he will not have imagined. That’s why I want you to remove all Phelani troops from the house—”

“That’s crazy.”

“No. If his magery defeats mine, your danger is extreme. You must fire the house and all in it, then ride as fast as you may to Vérella. Or—wait—send a squad to Kieri, in Chaya.”

As evening dimmed, Dorrin waited for Restin in the dining room, as prepared as she could be. Restin would of course notice every magical preparation, unless the gnurtz dulled his senses enough. She feared it wouldn’t.

The boy who came in and bowed politely to her looked as harmless as any boy his age. “You are the new Duke?” he asked in a light tenor.

“Yes,” Dorrin said. “I am now Duke Verrakai.”

“What happened to the former Duke?”

“He died,” Dorrin said. Then, having no desire to drag this out, she said, “Attarik Verrakai, Carraig.”

A flicker of eyelid. “Who’s Carraig?” in the same light tone. The command to reveal his true identity didn’t work—she would have to depend on her ability to detect such transfers.

“You,” Dorrin said. “Uncle Carraig, to me. I remember you.”

“I’m Restin—” The boy stopped, bit his lip, then grinned, a most unpleasant grin. “What fool made
you
duke, Dorrin?
You
have no power. No one can rule here without it—”

Caught by his gaze, she had no voice, nothing but fear. All the nightmares of her childhood rose in her mind, all the fear, all the misery, all the pain. In the same sweet child’s voice, he spoke softly, almost gently. Carraig did that, she remembered, caressing helpless prisoners with his voice as he tormented with his hands. No doubt at all that this was Carraig, not a child pretending another identity. Which meant she must kill him, if she could, unless the gods provided another way. She prayed, for all of them, but felt only a listening stillness.

“I don’t know how you found out, little Dorrin. I suppose one of the others told you … you will tell me, you know, later. But for now … I see you are frightened, child, and that is well. I have had to be so meek with the others, to fool the maids. It’s been too long since I had the pleasure of seeing someone truly afraid … just sit there, Dorrin, and let me taste your fear … I could be in
your
body, you know, ugly as it is. Imagine that. Your soldiers obeying someone they thought was you. That foolish prince—”

Warmth caressed her mind, but it was not his magery. She was not the scared child she had been; she was Dorrin, shaped by the Company of Falk, by Falk himself, by near four hands of years as Kieri Phelan’s captain, veteran of more wars than Carraig had seen. She had known a paladin … at the memory of Paksenarrion, it was as if Paks were at her side. Her own magery leapt forth, and Restin/Carraig stopped, held motionless.

A dark mist gathered in the air; Dorrin thrust the dagger she’d
prepared with deathwish powder into the child’s throat and wrenched it side to side. Blood spurted out; the dark mist thickened.