The Deed of Paksenarrion (172 page)

“You first, young man,” said Aliam. “I’ll let my fingers warm to your music first.”

The boy began to play, a jigging dance tune that soon had hands slapping the tables. Someone knew the words, but had a flat voice; others took up the tune with better grace. After that, the boy played a slow song like summer afternoons before haying time; Paks felt her eyelids sag. Then a love song, which half the men sang along with. Then Cal took the harp.

“Get the lo-pipe,” he told the boy. “Garris, do you still play?”

“I haven’t blown a pipe for over a year,” said Garris.

“Well, you need the practice.”

Young Aliam carried in the long, polished tube of a lo-pipe, and set it before Garris. Cal plucked a note. Garris took a breath and blew; the sonorous mellow note Paks expected came out sour and cracked as a strangled goose. Everyone burst into a roar of laughter.

“Gods’ teeth, Garris, I said play it, not break it.”

“I told you—” He tried again, producing a deep, hollow sound that rattled dishes. “Now, if I can find another note—” It began well, a rich sound above the other, but it faded and split as he held it. He stopped and looked up, rubbing his lip. “I’ll have a blister,” he said. “But if you’re willing to laugh over it, I’ll try ‘Cedars of the Valley.’”

“Hmmph. Child’s play,” said Cal, fingering the harpstrings. The silver dancing harp-notes began to work a pattern on the slower, lower lo-pipe. Garris had trouble; the notes broke again and again, or slid off-key, but Paks could hear what the music was meant to be. Then Hali took the lo-pipe, and Aliam the harp.

“For the paladin who has come on quest,” said Aliam to the rest, and the silence was absolute. “You all know that much; I will tell you this much more—she is on quest to find Lyonya’s true king, and when she leaves us will leave with all our goodwill and hope. And so for her, and for the quest, Hali and I will give you this, which we do not sing here often. Falk and the Oath of Gold.’”

Paks had never heard it sung, though she knew the story of Falk, bound by oath and chains together, held captive many years then riding into the city of despair to free his kindred.

“Oath of blood is Liart’s bane 

Oath of death is for the slain 
 

Oath of stone the rockfolk swear 
 

Oath of iron is Tir’s domain 
 

Oath of silver liars dare 
 

Oath of gold will yet remain . . .”

The refrain first, set to a different tune, and sounding like part of something else. All of them sang it, but at the first verse, Aliam Halveric and his sons sang alone.

“Far the shadows fall, 

far on the distant wall. 
 

Under the weight of stone 
 

the lost prince toils alone. 
 

Far they have gone away; 
 

bound by an oath to stay 
 

the true prince toils alone . . .”

As Aliam and his sons sang it, the music drummed in her veins, and it became the song of Kieri the lost prince. She smiled at him; his eyes acknowledged that meaning. Harp, pipe, and voices together wove the long spell, ending with

“His oath at last fulfilled 

his captors’ blood is spilled 
 

but nothing can restore 
 

the youth he had before. 
 

Yet gold outlasts white bone, 
 

blood, iron, silver, stone: 
 

his honor is his own . . .
” as they sang the final verses, and let the music die away.

“Now,” he said. “I do not know how long Paksenarrion can stay—for us, as long as she will—but all of you remember that she is welcome to go or stay as she pleases, and take whatever she needs. If any of you can aid her, do it in my name. Is that clear?”

“Yes, my lord,” came the response. Aliam nodded to them, then turned to Paks. “And now you will want to rest, you and your squires. Come and go as you will; I will always be glad to speak with you, but if you must go without my leave, know you have it.”

“I thank you,” said Paks, bowing. She followed him from the table and Hall. Estil and the squires came with them.

She woke from comfortable sleep—warm, clean, grateful for a good bed—to the awareness of danger. Starlight outlined the window; the room was dark but for the faint glow of a dying fire. She could hear the squires’ breathing; all seemed asleep. Slowly, silently, Paks eased out of bed, taking up the sword which lay beneath her hand. She did not draw it; she did not need its warning. Out of the narrow window she could see nothing; its lower half was patterned in frost ferns. Still barefoot, she went to the door, and opened it. A black passageway faced her; she could see nothing at all. But the sense of danger increased, pushing at her mind.

Sighing, she turned back to the room and woke her squires. As they rose, she dressed quickly, arming herself. Her sense of menace deepened. She opened the door again, and, on an impulse, called her light.

The entire passage was filled with webbing, strand after strand looped in an intricate pattern that centered on the door of Paks’s room. And a black presence hung in the web, scarcely an arm’s length away.

“Well, are you less eager to meet me?” The voice was strangely sweet. Paks could see no detail of the presence, could not tell shape or even size. She drew the sword. Its hilt comforted her hand.

“I am always eager to meet evil,” said Paks, “with a blade.”

“You will not be eager when you know what you have done,” said the voice. “You vermin—I have warned you often enough, and yet you kill and kill. You have torn my webs, you have robbed me of my prey—”

Paks laughed; the shade seemed to contract and grow more solid. But it was large, larger than she had imagined it could be. “I have done no more than any good soldier,” she said. “In keeping the barracks clean, the webs are swept away.”

“Fool!” The word howled in Paks’s ears, echoed in her head. She leaned against the force of it. “You think you can stand against me? Mistress of all webs, the spinner of wise plans—”

“Not I, but Gird and the High Lord.”

“Who left you open to me: silly girl, I had you in Aarenis, and in Kolobia. You are tainted with my venom already; when I call, you will answer.”

“No.” Paks heard the squires behind her, and waved them back with her free hand. “By the power of the High Lord, and the grace of Gird, I am not your creature. And by that power I command you to leave this hall.”

“If I leave, where do you think I will go, sheepfarmer’s daughter? You are mortal still; you cannot be with all you love. You can save yourself: can you save them?” Paks saw her home in that instant: father, mother, brothers, sisters, and thrust the thought aside. If they were doomed, her failure here would not help them. But the sweet voice went on. “And there are others, wiser than you, who will hearken to counsels of caution . . . who will not welcome a warrior’s bloody hands on the crown. Even your squires: dare you trust strangers at your back against the powers you know oppose you? I know their secrets; I can use—”

“You can use nothing here; you cannot even hide your intent.” Paks drew that belief around her, palpable as armor, against the doubts and concerns the creature sent. “When you must appear openly, you are weakest,” she went on, as much for the squires’ benefit as anything. “As light shows traps, the truth will reveal your rumors and plots for what they are.” She sensed a movement in the darkness, and braced herself.

The darkness thickened, leaped forward; Paks raised the elf-forged blade to meet it. She felt something tangle her arm, shake it, but with a screech the darkness passed. Only the webs remained, swinging to and fro. Paks looked at her arm; it bore no mark, and the sword still shone clean.

“Thanks and praise,” she said quietly.

“What was that?” asked Lieth, who was nearest.

“I think it was a servant of Achrya,” said Paks. She feared it had been Achrya herself. Its power echoed in her mind, a wailing certainty of doom, but she fought off that sending.

“Where did all that—those—is that web? Or what?” asked Esceriel.

“It’s the web-stuff that Achrya’s servants spin. Don’t touch it; it burns.” Paks touched the sword tip to one of the strands; it shriveled and parted. “I’ll have to clean all this out.”

She had cleared half the passage when Aliam opened his door suddenly. “What’s going—” He stopped, staring at the webs.

“My lord, don’t touch them; I’m clearing them. I’ll tell you what happened when this is done.”

“Will a torch help?” Aliam reached back into his room and brought one to the door.

Paks had forgotten about torches. “It will indeed,” she said. “Just be sure not to let it touch you.” With his help and Estil’s, that passage was quickly cleared of web. But they found it was not the only one. All the passages were trapped with it, though not as heavily.

“How quickly can they spin this?” asked Aliam, as they finished. “That thing must have worked since we went to sleep!”

Paks shook her head. “I don’t think so; I wakened knowing evil was near. I believe it was done very quickly indeed.”

“And why didn’t I waken? Or one of the guards—Falk guard us—the guards!” Aliam darted off to the main doors.

“Wait!” Paks yelled. “Don’t call an alarm—if others are trapped, they’ll blunder into the webs.”

“But I must—”

“Garris, go with him; you know the steading. Go quietly, my lord, along the guard posts—be ready to destroy any web. My lady, take Esceriel, and go through the kitchens and storerooms—be particularly careful of places where a person might hide. I will pray, my lord, and see if any evil stays near us.”

They moved off as Paks directed; she could feel no evil as strong as that which had left. But she and the others checked each separate room in the main part of the building, in case web had been left to trap sleepers. Aliam and Garris returned soon; the guards had been asleep but unharmed.

“They were spelled,” said Paks, when Aliam would have scolded them. “As we were in Aarenis, when Siniava came out—remember? Thank the gods it was no worse than this. My lord, we bring peril on you—we must go.”

“But into that?” Aliam stared. “What will you do, beyond the walls?”

“Go swiftly. It was to keep us here, to threaten you and tempt me to delay, for the care of you and yours, that such evil invaded. My lord, I will not tell you exactly where we go—although you surely know, in the main—and I suggest that you tell no one what you know so. Ward this place well; don’t let the children wander—”

His face whitened at that. “Falk, no! Not another—”

“Watch them well. Keep together, keep faith. Ask the rangers—perhaps the elves will help you, since they value your aid in the past. I wish I could stay to guard you, but I think the danger will be less when I am gone.”

He nodded; Estil, who had come down the stairs, longbow in hand, came up beside him.

“Paksenarrion, surely you can stay until dawn—”

“By nightfall, my lady, I would be far from here—very far.”

“As you wish. Is there anything—? I have plenty of stores—”

“Thank you. Suriya, Garris—if you’ll pack, I have a few words to say to the Halverics.” Her squires moved away, toward the kitchens, where Paks heard the stirring of servants and cooks. The Halverics came near, and they stood together at one side of the hall. “If you recall anything else—anything at all—about the Duke’s past, please tell me now.”

Aliam rubbed his head. “After this? Let me think—”

“Anything that would tell us where he was, those lost years?”

“No—not really. Why? You know where he is now.”

Paks sighed. “I know. It’s just—I’m not sure how to go from here. If I take the King’s Squires into Tsaia—”

Aliam relaxed. “Oh, that. I can help you there.” He grinned at her expression. “Diplomacy . . . I’ve been marching foreign troops through Tsaia for years, haven’t I? You’re right, you can’t take Lyonyan King’s Squires through Tsaia on a quest without causing lasting trouble. You’ll have to go to Vérella first—”

“But the Duke—if someone realizes, and goes for him—”

“If the gods want Kieri on this throne, they’ll watch out for him that much. He’s in the midst of his own people, safer there than anywhere. After the trouble you’ve told us about, do you think they’ll fail to watch out for him? And not because he’s a prince, either.” He shook his head. “You go to Vérella. Tell the Regency Council about your quest. You needn’t name Kieri, not then. Tell them you must consult him about the sword: that’s true, and logical since you found it in his Hall, and his wife used it.”

Paks nodded slowly. This felt right, far better than trying to reach the Duke secretly.

“Paksenarrion,” said Aliam, touching her arm. “If you are killed, what then? Shall I try to tell Kieri, and hope that good comes?”

“My lord, if I am killed on this quest, then my advice is not worth much. I can tell you nothing you could not think of yourself—and you have the advantage of me in experience. Your land will go ill until an able ruler holds the throne; I believe the Duke is able. In the meantime—” Paks found herself reaching out to both of them; for a few moments they embraced. “Guard yourselves; try to hold the kingdom together until I return with him.”

“You fear trouble here, as well?”

“My lord Halveric, you saw what tangled in your halls this night. If that one is spinning webs of distrust in the kingdom, how long will that patched-up regency council satisfy everyone? Too many people know something bad about the Duke; it will be easy to convince the fearful that he is grim and terrible. Were I you, I would be ready to aid Sier Halveric and the council at need.”

“I will be ready,” said Aliam.

Paks looked around and saw that her squires were ready to ride; Lieth and Esceriel had saddled the horses and had them by the door, while Garris and Suriya packed all their gear and food. She bowed; the Halverics bowed in response.

“My lord—my lady. Gird’s grace be on this house, and the High Lord’s power protect it.” At those words, her light came, and blazed through the Hall as she and the squires walked out into a cold night. She did not damp it there, deeming it wise to maintain that protection.