Oath of Fealty (67 page)

“No.” His mouth twisted with distaste. “You can look, I suppose.”

Verrakai House, when she came to it, had no guards out front and no sign of life. It was on a corner; a busy street in front, a narrow alley down one side. Dorrin tried the door; it didn’t move. She knocked. No answer. She became aware that some in the busy street were slowing to watch. She laid one hand on the door itself and one on the latch, and spoke the command words that came to her.

The door swung open silently. “Well,” she said. “It looks empty enough. There should be stabling for the horses somewhere near. Wait; I will find the entrance.”

Inside, the house smelled a little musty but had also the feel of a place enchanted, watchful. Dorrin touched her ruby, then her ducal medallion. “Verrakai!” she said. She sensed a relaxation. Wary of traps, she went down the passage ahead of her; it opened at the far end to a walled yard with stalls across the way; a closed gate to the left led, she was sure, to the alley. She unbarred the gate and went back through the house.

“Go down that alley—I opened the gate to the mews, I’ll take this—” The padded sack, on top of everything else. She had not risked having it out of her sight on the whole journey. It had made a most uncomfortable bed companion.

Two of her escort came inside with her. The house was oddly shaped, not the simple square or rectangle its front suggested. Four stories above ground … Dorrin eyed the iron-bound cellar door that stank of blood magery and decided not to open it, at least not yet. The ground floor had two kitchens, large and small reception rooms. Above that, a large study, lined with shelves, very like her uncle’s study on Verrakai land. She suspected it had many of the same traps. Bedrooms, also furnished with traps for the unwary. Above that again, more bedrooms, and in the attic, what had clearly been servants’ quarters.

Evidence of her uncle’s connection to the Thieves’ Guild and the Bloodlord were everywhere. The Horned Chain above the fireplace, barbed whips in a stand in the corner, bloodstains on the floor, smeared into words. She was sure she would find worse in the cellars.

“Let’s get these windows open,” she said to her escort. Both hangings and windows were trapped; she disarmed them. Afternoon light and air rolled into room after room as she threw the shutters wide. When she glanced down, she saw people in the street below, looking up gape-mouthed. One took off at a run.

Within a half-glass, someone pounded on the front door. Dorrin had left one of her people in the front hall to answer; now she came down the stairs to find a troop of Royal Guard in the street, and an officer standing on the doorstep.

“—By what right are you here?” the officer was saying.

“I’m Duke Verrakai,” Dorrin said, coming forward. “And this is Verrakai’s house in Vérella.”

“I know whose house it is,” he said. “But I do not know you, and I know that Verrakaien are under Order of Attainder. Come forth, and face the justice of the Court.”

“I am not under that order,” Dorrin said. “I was summoned here for the prince’s coronation, and I have a pass from the prince himself.”

“You can explain that to the Court,” the officer said.

“I will show you the pass.” Dorrin had tucked it into her doublet at the city gate; she took it out again. “Here.”

He glanced at it, then looked again and read it. “You are not under Order of Attainder … how can that be? Is this genuine?”

Dorrin waited, saying nothing.

“Stay here,” he said. “I will take this to the palace and see if it is truly what the prince meant to say.”

Dorrin looked at the man who was obviously his second-in-command.

“I have been riding all morning,” she said. “I would rest—have one of my people bring a chair. And you, too, if you will.”

“I am not going in that cursed house,” the man said. “We could not enter it when the prince told us to make sure it was empty—and now you enter it with a touch, the witnesses say. It is a trap.”

“Gani, bring me a chair, please,” Dorrin said. “Set it here, where
this gentleman can see.” When the chair arrived, she had it placed so the door would not close, and sat down, smiling up at the man outside the door. “I have no intent to harm you, or anyone who does not harm me first. The prince knows why he appointed me Duke; my family disowned me tens and tens of years ago and I have served Duke Phelan for most of the time since.”

“The one who’s king now?” the man asked. “Did you meet that paladin?”

“Paks? Yes. She was not in my cohort, but Captain Arcolin’s. She is watching Verrakai Steading while I am here, in fact.”

“Lord Sir Ammerlin, he said he saw her make light over the whole battle, over there east when he was taking Phelan to Lyonya to be king.”

“She did indeed,” Dorrin said. “I was there and saw it.”

His brow furrowed. “You were there. But—how?”

Dorrin explained, as briefly as she could, and then saw the other captain riding back at a quick trot, as those on foot scattered. He looked both relieved and embarrassed as he dismounted.

“My lord Duke, I am sorry—we have had such trouble, I did not trust your pass—but the prince says you are welcome here, and not under Order of Attainder, not you nor anyone with you. Please—my apologies.” He bowed.

“You were wise to be cautious,” Dorrin said. “And fortunate in not being able to enter here, for my relatives who practiced evil left many dangers for the unwary. I know you have other duties, but could you tell me where the nearest grange of Gird is? Or a Falkian field?”

“There’s a grange not far,” he said. “Do you need a Marshal?”

“This house must be cleansed,” Dorrin said. “That is why I’m opening the windows, when I’ve untrapped them …”

“
Windows
were trapped?”

“Evil delights in darkness and secrecy,” Dorrin said. “Anyone who tried to let in light, without knowing the dangers, faced certain death. If you like, come inside and I will show you.”

“No,” he said, backing up a step. “If the prince says you are welcome, you are welcome and I will pass the word. We do believe passages underground lead into the cellars here, but we were not able to penetrate them.” He mounted. “Do you wish me to send a Marshal?”

“I will go myself and speak to the nearest grange,” Dorrin said. “Though if you wish to tell them I will be coming, they might like to know. But first, when I have cleared enough of the house for myself and these my escort, I must present myself at the palace.”

“I will tell them,” he said. “Lest they think you are the other Verrakaien come back.”

“Thank you,” Dorrin said.

It was evening, the long slow twilight of near Midsummer, before Dorrin had enough rooms cleared for the safety of her escort and her kitchen staff. The boy, Jaim, had been to a market twice. In the stable, oats, hay, and straw seemed untainted by magery, and the horses they’d ridden stood quietly in the stalls, munching as if back home.

She had to bathe. In the kitchen, Efla chopped vegetables; steam rose from a kettle on its hook over the fire. In the scullery, an array of tubs hung along one wall. Dorrin set the largest on the stone floor and poured in cold water from the water butt and a little hot from the kitchen. It was so like her first days in the country house that she found it funny.

She was in the tub when a thunderous banging on the front door echoed through the house. It was the Marshal from down the street, her escort informed her, demanding to see her.

“When I’m dressed,” Dorrin said. Her uncle had left linens in the house at least; she had placed a stack ready and grabbed one when she heard the knocking. “Put him in the safe reception hall; warn him that the house is not yet safe and tell him I will be there shortly.”

She might as well put on the informal court dress she had brought to the scullery with her, what the tailor had told her was appropriate for submitting her credentials. She put on the gray trousers, a halfdress shirt with a handspan of lace at the cuffs and neck, a doublet of light blue and silver-gray brocade, dress boots with fancy spurs ornamented with silver chains. Her ducal chain of office; her ducal ring; her sword belt—she slipped her dress dagger into its sheath, the sword into the hanger.

The Marshal waiting in the smaller reception room had his lips compressed and a look of suspicion on his face. Dorrin expected that. She did not expect his first words.

“You’re the one who brought Phelan’s troop through the city, aren’t you? I’m Marshal Tamis.”

“Yes,” Dorrin said. “That was I. You might have heard me spoken of as Captain Dorrin; I commanded one of his cohorts these past tens of years.”

“I saw you,” he said. “’Twas after Gird’s paladin was freed, and we at last began the cleansing of this city. I saw you ride by with his soldiers, wearing his colors then. I never forget a face,” he added, a little smugly.

“I’m sorry,” Dorrin said. “I did not notice you—I was thinking only of catching up with Kieri—”

“What is it you want from me?” he asked.

“The former Duke did evil magery in this house,” Dorrin said. “I found it full of traps, both physical and magical. Only a few rooms are clear, and in some of them are things I do not know how to clear. He and the others followed Liart; Liart’s symbols and evidence of blood magery are in room after room. I need your help, Marshal, to cleanse the place.”

“How did you clear the rooms you’ve cleared so far?”

“The physical traps—the poisoned pins and darts, the contact poisons on window latches and the like—are all things I’d seen as a child, and have disarmed at Verrakai Steading in the days since I’ve been there. The magery—you might as well know, Marshal, that the prince granted me permission to use magery against magery. It was the only way to subdue those of my family I captured and sent here for judgment.”

“Magery …” He looked at her sideways. “You have the real magery, like the old ones?”

“Yes,” Dorrin said. “Though I did not know it until recently. It was freed with the aid of Paks and the Knight-Commander of Falk, and was—they thought—the only way for me to carry out the prince’s command to subdue those under Attainder.”

“Your ruby proclaims you a Knight of Falk.” That in a challenging tone.

“Indeed,” Dorrin said. “And I have prayed more to Falk and the High Lord since I came to Verrakai Steading than in years of combat in Aarenis. Prayed for wisdom, for the right use of my power … and only with it have I been able to save those who suffered so long.”

He huffed out a breath, then said, “The evening turns—you have made your bow at the palace already?”

“No,” Dorrin said. “I was bathing when you came; days on the road left me in no condition to pay courtesies.”

“Then show me the worst you know of here, and I will do what I can. I understand you will not want to leave me here to explore on my own—”

“Indeed not, not until I’ve uncovered every trap I can find.”

Dorrin led him upstairs to what had been the Duke’s study. “This room still has physical traps,” she said. “I have not had time to disarm them all. What I do not know how to disarm is that.” She pointed to the blood smears on the floor, under the horned chain of Liart hung on the wall.

“Gird’s grace,” the Marshal said. He turned to Dorrin. “Were I you, I would seal this room until I can bring another Marshal. It will take more than one of us. Are there other such?”

“A symbol of Liart in the bedrooms where I believe my uncle the former Duke, my other uncle his brother, and the kirgan Verrakai slept. Blood marks on the threshold of the doors of those rooms. Symbols in blood on the floor beneath the beds—I do not know their meaning. I have sealed those rooms. I have not gone into the cellars at all; they are clearly tainted.”

“Where then will you sleep?” the Marshal asked.

“In that room where you waited,” Dorrin said. “There are more rooms upstairs—the servants’ quarters up in the attics might be safe, but I haven’t had time to check them.” At his expression, she grinned. “Marshal, I’ve slept on the ground or on floors many a night on campaign. A soft bed is pleasant, but not necessary.”

He shook his head. “When I think of you as Phelan’s captain, riding past at the head of your troops, I can believe it. But in court clothes, as Duke Verrakai? The only Duke Verrakai I’ve seen was very different.”

D
orrin rode the short distance to the palace with only one of her escort at her side, as requested. At the gates, the palace guard looked far more like guards and less ceremonial than she had seen on
other trips through Vérella. As Dorrin rode up, an officer stepped forward, the knots of a Serrostin in the collateral line on his uniform shoulder. He clearly expected her.

“My lord,” he said, with a slight bow. “If it please you, dismount and let a groom take your horse and show your escort to the servants’ hall, he will be taken care of while you proceed—the prince will see you shortly.”

Dorrin dismounted and handed her reins to a groom in livery.

“And I’m afraid I must ask you to disarm,” the officer said. “Your arms will be borne for you by one of the guard, and returned when you leave, or if the prince grants permission to carry them yourself …”