Oath of Fealty (40 page)

“Quite so. Something none of us recognized when we made alliance with him. We needed his aid, we thought, and Siniava’s evil was so obvious …” Arcolin shook his head. “We erred. It wasn’t until after Siniava’s death, when we went downriver with Alured as we’d pledged.” He pushed the memory of those days from his mind and dragged it back to the problem at hand. “I think I’ll have Stammel send a couple of our best gossips around the taverns tonight and see if we can find out anything, but we’ll march tomorrow down this way—” He pointed.

“The brigands will find out we’re asking questions,” Burek said.

“If they don’t already know the details of the contract, I’d be surprised,” Arcolin said. “They’ll have spies in the city, of course. And they’ll be trying to find out things from our men. That’s a game all sides can play. We have some very good players.”

T
he five Phelani soldiers who started their evening at the Flowing Jug brought a momentary lull to conversation and an anxious look to the owner’s face. Peering past them, he said, “Is that whole mercenary company coming into the city?”

“Just us,” Devlin said, grinning broadly. “Sergeant said we’d done so well, we could come in and fetch him back a jug. We’ll each have a mug, to start with.”

“Here’s a table,” Jenits said. “We could eat—”

“You don’t think of anything but food,” Tam said.

Devlin leaned on the counter, ignoring their familiar and well-rehearsed opening. He tapped a Cortes Vonja nata. “I’m buying this round,” he said and pushed it across.

“
This
round?” the owner said. “And shouldn’t you take that jug back to your sergeant?”

Devlin laid a finger along his nose. “He doesn’t know which tavern we went to, does he? Happen we’ll need to visit them all, to find one with ale good enough for our sergeant.”

Three rounds later, the little group left that tavern, had a noisy argument in the street, split up, and the pair swaggered into the Blue Pig demanding drink while the trio joined a circle of gamblers playing Leg and Hand at the Cat and Crow. Each complained bitterly about their former comrades and dropped carefully planned nubbins of gossip about the Company. The trio, accused of cheating by the other gamblers, were invited to leave by the tavern’s security, quarreled again on the doorstep, and staggered off in three different directions. The pair, meanwhile, had struck up a friendship with a young woman and after serenading the tavern with an off-key rendition of “Sweeter than the Honey-Bee” were thrown out. They had their quarrel four doors down and like the others sought further adventure on their own.

Torre’s Necklace shone far to the west when they returned to camp, sober and well supplied with gossip.

“I’d forgotten how much fun this is,” Tam said. “You’d think they’d learn.”

“We do it best,” Devlin said. As the most cat-eyed of them, he led the way. “Trade secrets passed down from generation to another.”

“If any of it was true,” Jenits said.

“The bits we all heard will either be true or what someone’s passing as truth,” Devlin said. “But wait until we get to camp.”

In the light of the lamps in Arcolin’s tent, Tam’s idea of fun showed up as bruised knuckles and a cut on his forearm.

“What happened?” Arcolin asked.

“It became necessary to show fight, Captain. For the honor of the cohort—”

“Specifically,” Arcolin said.

“Oh—it was after we separated. I was supposed to be staggering drunk, and someone believed it. If he hadn’t breathed so loud, he might’ve hit me with that billet, but that and his breath-stink revealed him—so I ducked and he hit the wall where my head had been. The cut’s from his friend.”

“And?” Arcolin said when Tam seemed to have stopped.

“Well, Captain, you know it’s not safe for civilians to have weapons they don’t know how to use, so I tried to make the streets safer by disarming them. But sometime in the altercation the one with the club split the skull of the one with the knife, just as the one with the knife sliced the one with the club. I’m lucky to have got off with just a cut.”

“The night guard arrived, didn’t they?” Arcolin said.

“Yes, and I explained very carefully,” Tam said. “They thanked me for my intervention, but suggested I might want to return to camp. It was all polite.”

“I’m sure,” Arcolin said. “Did you by any chance hear anything useful?”

“Yes, Captain.” Tam’s expression changed from one of false innocence to that of a competent soldier. “I thought the fellow at the first tavern was overanxious about us, though we were just drinking quietly and saying how good it was to be back in the south, where it’s warmer and the food is better and the girls prettier.”

Arcolin glanced at the others. “You agree?” They nodded. “Go on, Tam,” he said.

“I noticed there weren’t any girls in the tavern, the way they were three years ago. We used that as an excuse to move on, and that’s when we split into three and two. I was with Jenits. We went on to the Blue Pig. It was more like it had been, there: three pretty girls, two of them from down the street, where there’s a house. They all kissed Jenits, but he’s younger than me.”

Jenits, Arcolin noticed, turned red.

“One man asked if we’d been hired to chase bandits, and we said yes, and he said good luck in a tone that didn’t mean it. Made the Trickster’s sign where he thought I couldn’t see. Jenits said he’d rather chase women than bandits, and the girls were all over him.”

Most of the stories were the same, but for Devlin’s. He had abandoned the pretense of drunkenness as soon as he was alone, and walked to the east gate of the city, where—on the pretext of trying to find some soldiers who’d overstayed their leave from the camp—he chatted with the gate guards. Then he’d gone outside the walls and walked back around the long way, noting which windows still showed light at the wall.

“I nearly ran into something,” he said. “Some men standing around a hole in the ground … and out came another, and handed over a bag of something that clinked.”

“A tunnel,” Arcolin said. “Think you could find the entrance again by daylight?”

“Certainly, Captain. By daylight or dark. I’ve no doubt it’s concealed, though.”

Arcolin considered telling the militia captain about it, but he’d been hired for a different job and past experience with Vonja suggested it would be more profitable to let the Vonjans deal with any smuggling themselves. Likely some of the militia were involved.

A
t the heart of Chaya towered the King’s Grove. Ten of the tallest trees grew in a circle around a mossy mound where the coronation would actually take place. Kieri had been told of it, and forbidden to go near it. Now—on the morning of his coronation—he looked out the window to see the trees massed beyond the palace walls. Already he heard a distant bustle in the palace, and soft scuff of those who would bathe and dress him coming along the passage …

K
ieri came down the steps of the palace in his coronation robes over new clothes from the skin. Before him, the Council that had sent Paks to find their king; on one side his uncle Amrothlin, the elven ambassador, and on the other the Captain-General of Falk. Immediately behind them, two King’s Squires and Paks. Behind them, the other Siers and lesser nobility, including Aliam and Estil—he’d insisted they be part of the procession, over Aliam’s protests. Merchants and crafters, too, this time over the protest of his Council, but he wanted everyone. Even—along with all the other ambassadors and envoys—Hanlin of Pargun.

Palace staff lined the way to the gate, and beyond was a crowd, held back by a green rope in the hands of rangers in russet and
green. Kieri would have walked faster on his own, but measured his pace to that of the Council.

Left out the gate … along the street … and then an abrupt turn into a narrow lane winding between and around great trees, in a dim green coolness. The fragrance of sunlit meadows, of spring flowers, vanished into the rich, complex odors of forest.

Finally, the King’s Grove. The ground rose slightly under his feet as they approached tree trunks wider than houses; the path lifted over knotted roots, dipped between them.

He felt the taig here, far more strongly than he ever had; the flavor of each individual tree, its essential being, touched him. Ahead, his Councilors lurched and scrambled, the oldest helped by the younger, but to Kieri the path felt smooth, welcoming. On either side, great boles rose, furrowed bark shaggy with moss and tiny ferns near the ground, but higher showing multiple shades of red-brown, lavender, green-gray, where lichens patched the bark. A rich fragrance enveloped him, complex and enticing.

Beyond the trees, the ground rose smoothly, the path marked out with round white cobbles on moss and grass intermixed with tiny flowers, pink and white and blue. The top of the mound rose to the height of two men, level there with a single stone on it. The Council paused, then split into two lines, each moving to the side. Only the most senior, Sier Halveric, led the way up the mound. Kieri followed, and the Captain-General of Falk and the elf ambassador moved with him. Behind him, he could hear his Squires and Paks, but the others, he’d been told, would join those marking the human half of the circle.

As he climbed, he could see files of elves lining up on the other side of the circle. With every step he felt the same strangeness he’d felt in the battle on the way … the hairs stood up on his arms, his neck, and the sunlight pouring into the center of the opening acquired a silvery shimmer. Every leaf, every flower, seemed to glow from within. More fragrance rose from the moss, from the grass, as if the earth itself breathed welcome and delight. And now he could see the Lady of the Ladysforest, bringing with her the elvenhome light, with her attendants behind her. He came to the lip of the mound’s flat top and saw the stone, a polished slab inlaid with the flowing patterns elves favored.

Trumpets sounded. Kieri stiffened. He had seen no musicians … and yet the sound seemed to come from everywhere.

“Present the king-to-be,” the Lady said. “Is he acceptable to all?”

“Great and gracious Lady,” Sier Halveric said, “this is Falkieri Amrothlin Artfielan, seed-son of Falkieri, fourth king before, and born-son of his elven queen. The Council of Men accepts him as king, with joy.”

The Captain-General bowed. “The Company of Falk accepts him as king, with all joy, in the name of all his human kindreds.”

“I present him to the Lady Flessinathlin of the Ladysforest,” said the elf ambassador. “He is known to us, as my Lady knows, and I will ask: Is he acceptable to the elven kindred?”

“The Ladysforest accepts him, with all joy. Let the elfane taig witness, and the forest taig witness, and the people of this realm witness: All accept him.”

Kieri felt his eyes stinging.

She bent her gaze on him. “Come forward, Falkieri my beloved grandson, and make those pledges that bind our peoples together. And accept the blessing of the Singer, the High Lord, and all gods who serve the good. It is time.”