The Deed of Paksenarrion (107 page)

Marshal-General Arianya headed the table; three High Marshals, two paladins, and five Marshals (three attached to granges, and two from the college itself) completed the conference.

“Will that new yeoman be ready to test for the Midwinter Feast, Arianya?” asked the oldest of the group, Marshal Juris of Mooredge grange.

“I think so. She says she’s well enough now, but the surgeons don’t want her fighting for another few days.”

“That would look good,” muttered High Marshal Connaught, Knight-Marshal of the Order of Gird. “Nothing like a candidate fainting in the ceremony.”

“She won’t faint,” said the Marshal-General firmly. Someone chuckled softly, thinking of it, and she frowned around the table.

“It’s not that often we bring new yeomen in here,” she reminded them. “It’s serious to her—”

“I know that,” said Marshal Kory, the Archivist. “It just slipped out, Marshal-General.”

“Very well. And while we’re on the subject, I would like to suggest something else.”

“What you and Amberion were chatting about yesterday?” asked Marshal Juris. “If it’s what I think, I’m against it.”

The Marshal-General glared at him. “You might at least give me a chance to present the idea, Juris.” He waved his hand. She glanced around the table. “You know we’re desperately short of paladins—” They nodded. “I have word from Marshal Calith down in Horngard that Fenith was killed a few months ago.”

A stir ran around the table. Several of the Marshals glanced at the two paladins, who stared ahead and met no eyes. Fenith had been Amberion’s close friend, and Saer was his great-niece.

“We need to select a large class of candidates, if we can: the paladins in residence here agree that they can each take on two candidates—”

“Is that necessary?” Juris broke in, looking from face to face.

“I think so.” The Marshal-General spread a short parchment in front of her, and ran her hand down the page. “Juris, for the past two hundred years or so, the Fellowship of Gird has had from twenty to thirty paladins recorded at a time. Those on quest vary from fifteen to twenty-five at any one time. We now have on quest only five—” She waited for the murmurs to cease, nodded, and went on. “You see? And here in Fin Panir we have only seven who can take on candidates for training. As you know, any of these may be called away at any time. If we can find fourteen candidates—two for each training paladin—it will still be well over a year before any of those are ready to go. And in the meantime, we have no one to train a backup class—”

“I think we should feather that,” said Marshal Kory. “If we chose seven now, then they might progress faster, having more of the paladins’ time. In a half-year or so, choose more. Then we’d get a few out faster, and have more coming along.”

The Marshal-General nodded. “That’s a good idea—Amberion, what do you think?”

“I like that better than taking on two novices at once,” said Amberion. “But I don’t know if that will shorten the time any. Remember that each candidate has had, by tradition, all the time a single paladin-sponsor can give. We dare not test these candidates any less because times are desperate. It is in desperate times that we need most to be sure of them.”

“What list do we have?” asked High Marshal Connaught.

“A short one.” The Marshal-General rubbed her nose. “I sent word to all the granges last spring, when Fenith wrote that Aarenis would be at war by summer. We talked of this last year, remember? But we’ve lost eight paladins in the past year—”

“Eight!”

She nodded gravely. “Yes. We all know that great evil has been moving in Aarenis and the Westmounts. Nearer home, we have seen outbreaks again in eastern Tsaia. Some reports indicate serious trouble in Lyonya. Marshal Cedfer, of Brewersbridge, reported that a priest of Achrya had been laired between his grange and the gnome kingdom nearby. Apparently he had preyed on nearby farms and caravans using spellbound robbers.”

“They’d say they were spellbound,” muttered Juris.

“That may be, of course. I have only his report to go by. But Brewersbridge has been a healthy community for years—since Long Stones, at least. If Achrya can have a priest there, where else may we not expect trouble?”

“What happened to the paladins, Amberion?” asked Marshal Kory.

“We are still finishing the reports for the archives, Marshal,” said Amberion slowly. “Chenin Hoka—he was from Horngard originally; he hadn’t been north of the mountains for years—was killed by Liart’s command, in Sibili, during the assault on that city—”

“I thought that’s where Fenith was.”

“He was there, yes. Chenin was taken some time earlier, while helping a grange near Pliuni defend itself; a witness thought he was dead. But Siniava’s troops got him to Sibili, to the temple—and he was killed, finally, after long torments.” Amberion said nothing more, and silence filled the room. Then he sighed, and began again. “I knew him, when I was a candidate; that was the last time he was north. He knocked me flat, I remember, and I lay there wondering why I’d ever wanted to be a paladin. Anyway. Doggal of Vérella was lost at sea; he was sailing east along the Immerhoft coast. He’d told a Girdsman at Sul that he had a call to come north. The ship was seen going onto reefs near Whiteskull, and his body was recovered some days later. We have no reason to doubt the identification. Garin Garrisson was killed in battle at Sibili; Fenith saw that. The two of them were holding light against a darkness cast by Liart’s ranking priest. A crossbow bolt got him in the eye. Arianya Perrisdotter held a daskdraudigs away from a caravan in one of the mountain passes in the Dwarfwatch, but it fell on her in the end. Tekki Hakinier was apparently killed by a band of forest sprites—whatever they call them in Dzordanya. The only word we have is from a witness that says he was ‘stuffed with pine needles like a pin-pig,’ which I suppose is what they call a hedgehog.”

“No.” Marshal Kory shook his head. “No, a pin-pig is bigger and lives in trees. They call it that because its flesh is sweet like pork. It sounds like those mikki-kekki—they come in waves, hundreds at a time. But what was he doing up there?”

Amberion shrugged. “I didn’t know he was there until we got the word he’d been killed. The witness said something about a varkingla of the long houses of Stokki, whatever that means.”

Kory nodded. “It means Stokki’s clan thought they had to move somewhere, the whole bunch. That’s not common. Tekki was Dzordanyan, wasn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“I would guess that they asked his protection, to move the clan through the forest, and the mikki-kekki didn’t cooperate. They usually don’t.”

“Have you ever seen one?” asked the Marshal-General.

“Oh yes. When I was a rash boy, my three cousins and I sailed across the Honnorgat to visit Dzordanya. That was the plan, at least. My uncle had told us we couldn’t sail across the river like that; of course we thought he was just trying to spoil our fun.”

“Why can’t you?” asked Saer, speaking for the first time.

“You’re from the mountains, aren’t you, Saer? Yes. Well, any time you sail across the river, you’ve got its current to consider, just like rowing. But at the mouth of the Honnorgat, it’s that and the tide and the sea current, all together. The short of it is that we ended up a long way up the coast. We couldn’t even see Prealith any more. The way the current set, we couldn’t sail back without going far out to sea. We may have been rash, but we had more sense that that, to sail a skin boat out of all sight of land. We thought we’d walk back along the shore, carrying the boat, until we got to the Honnorgat.”

“Carrying a boat?” Saer was clearly skeptical.

“Skin boat. Not as heavy as you’d think. Hard work, though, with the sail and lines and all. Anyway, the forest in Dzordanya comes right down to the sea—and I mean all the way. You can walk with one foot in the waves, and slam into limbs. With a boat, we had to weave in and out as we could. Not easy. Halory, my oldest cousin, thought we should climb onto level ground, back in the forest, and go that way. Seemed a good idea to me. I’d nearly had my eye poked out by too many twigs already, trying to watch my footing.

“For a time everything went well. Not too much undergrowth, just tall dark firs and spruce, spaced so we could make it between them with the boat. Then we heard the first voices.”

“The sprites?”

“Mikki-kekki. Nasty whispers, that you couldn’t quite identify. Squeaks, little cries like someone sitting on a hot tack. I started to feel my neck sweat, and so did the others. Halory tried to hurry us, and we fell right into one of their traps. A sort of cone-shaped pit, lined with pine needles, and slippery as grease. We’d hardly caught our breath when they were all around it, chittering at us. They’re much less than dwarf-tall, with greenish fur all over, and very long arms with long-fingered hands. It was the boat that saved us. When they started with their darts, we got under it and shook.”

“What do they use, bows?”

“No. A sort of tube. They blow into it, and the dart flies out. They throw them by hand, too. The darts are poisoned, usually. Inory, my middle cousin, was hit by one and though he lived he was sick for weeks. That night we thought he’d die. If it hadn’t been for some clan’s longhouse nearby—their sentries heard the mikki-kekki laughing and taunting us—I wouldn’t be here. They drove them off, and pulled us out. It was two days before we got home, and my uncle—well, you can imagine.” Kory shook his head.

“Well,” said Amberion, “now we know about mikki-kekki.” He went on with his list. “Sarin Inerith went into Kostandan, as you know, because we had word that Girdsmen were held in slavery there. Her head returned to Piery grange: we have no idea what happened, where, or how. Jori of Westbells finally died of the lungfever that’s plagued him these four years. And Fenith, as you heard, died in Horngard.”

“What of the current candidates? Don’t we have any who will finish this year?” That was High Marshal Suriest, Knight-Marshal of the Order of the Cudgel.

“At best we may have five this year, Amberion tells me. Kosta has withdrawn his candidacy, and transferred to the Marshal Hall. Dort withdrew. Pelis may withdraw. And of course we don’t know what will happen in the Trials. Because we had so few paladins here to train, we don’t have any scheduled for the following year; we would have had Elis, but she had to leave, as you remember. She may be back, but not soon enough.”

“Which leave us with the new list—what have we got?”

The Marshal-General shifted the papers in front of her, and glanced at another one. “We’ve talked over most of these before. Are you still opposed to the Verrakai squire, Amberion?”

He nodded. “Marshal-General, we cannot define the problem, but we would not be happy with him.”

“Nor I,” said High Marshal Connaught. “Look at the time we put in on Pelo Verrakai, and what came of that!”

“Well, then, as I see it we’ve got five good candidates. Four in the knight’s classes, and Seddith, the Marshal we spoke of last time.”

“And we need seven.”

“And we need as many as we can find,” said the Marshal-General. “Now—”

“I know what you’re leading up to,” interrupted Juris. “You want to include that new yeoman.”

“What!” High Marshal Suriest turned his head; Connaught snorted. The Marshal-General held up her hand, and they all quieted.

“Juris, you could have let me say it—but yes, I do. Before you say anything, consider. She’s a veteran of the Aarenis wars—”

“That’s a recommendation?” But Kory subsided when the Marshal-General looked at him.

“We had a report from Fenith about her; he thought she should be considered a possibility if she ever joined the Fellowship. Marshal or paladin, he said. Cedfer reports that she freed the elfane taig, in the mountains southeast of Brewersbridge. He checked that report with full elves—and so have I, here. Also she cleared out that nest of robbers, and was able to fight the Achyran priest alongside Cedfer’s yeoman-marshal. As far as weapons-skills, she heads the list. Since she’s been here, Chanis reports that she has worked hard on everything we’ve thrown at her. She’s even shown skill in teaching; Cedfer reported that from Brewersbridge, and I’ve seen how the other students follow her here.”

“It’s too soon, Marshal-General,” said Juris, and several other heads nodded. “I grant she may be what you say, but what do we know of her as a Girdsman? Nothing. She’s not even a member of the Fellowship yet. How can you think of giving this honor to an outsider?”

“But she won’t be an outsider after she takes her vows,” said the Marshal-General.

“No, but—” Juris squirmed in his seat. “I know we need candidates. But we need the best candidates. We need to be sure they’re strong Girdsmen first, and then—”

“Watch them get spitted by better fighters?” The Marshal-General’s voice sharpened. “Right now this outsider, as you call her, can outfight most of the Marshals here, unless they use their powers. I’ve seen her—Amberion has seen her—ask Cieri.”

“Why isn’t he here?” asked Juris.

“He will be—he had a problem.” The Marshal-General folded her hands on the table. “Juris, I know it’s not usual. But we haven’t found anything wrong with her. Gird knows we’ve tested, prodded, tried—Cieri had to set her up for days to make her lose her temper even once. And then she agreed she was wrong. Of course she’s not perfect—no one is. Of course we wish she’d been Girdish all along, come up through the grange training. But allowing for that, she’s the best candidate on the list. And if anything is amiss, it will come out in the stress of training, or in the trials. It’s not that we’re choosing her over someone else—we haven’t
got
anyone else.”

Juris shook his head. “Arianya, you’re wrong—and I don’t think I can convince you. Suppose she is a potential paladin, that Gird will approve and call. But right now what she is, is a good soldier and a novice Girdsman. I don’t care if she knows all the answers, can recite the Ten Fingers backwards and forwards: she hasn’t experienced a grange. If she’s so good, send her to me—or to another grange—for a half-year. Let’s see how she does as a yeoman among yeomen. We’ve had unpleasant surprises before.”