Crown of Renewal is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by Elizabeth Moon
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Del Rey, an imprint of Random House, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.
DEL REY and the HOUSE colophon are registered trademarks of Random House LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Moon, Elizabeth.
Crown of renewal / Elizabeth Moon.
pages cm — (Paladin’s Legacy)
ISBN 978-0-345-53309-8 (hardback) — ISBN 978-0-345-53310-4 (ebook)
I. Title.
PS3563.O557C76 2014
813′.54—dc23
2014005261
www.delreybooks.com
Jacket design: David Stevenson
Jacket illustration: © Paul Youll
v3.1
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dramatis Personae
Map
Author’s Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Other Books by This Author
About the Author
Dramatis Personae
Fox Company
Jandelir Arcolin, Commander of Fox Company, Duke Arcolin of Tsaia, and
Prince of Arcolinfulk tribe of gnomes
Calla, his wife
Jamis, his adopted son
Burek, junior captain of first cohort
Selfer, captain of second cohort
Cracolnya, captain of third (mixed/archery) cohort
Andreson, captain of recruit cohort
Tsaia
Mikeli Vostan Kieriel Mahieran, king of Tsaia
Camwyn, his younger brother
Sonder Amrothlin Mahieran, Duke Mahieran, king’s uncle
Selis Jostin Marrakai, Duke Marrakai
Gwennothlin, his daughter and Duke Verrakai’s squire
Aris, his son and Prince Camwyn’s friend
Galyan Selis Serrostin, Duke Serrostin
Daryan, youngest son and Duke Verrakai’s squire
Dorrin Verrakai, Duke Verrakai, formerly a senior captain in Phelan’s company, now Constable for the kingdom
Beclan, Kirgan Verrakai, formerly Beclan Mahieran
Oktar, Marshal-Judicar of Tsaia
Seklis, High Marshal of Gird
Lyonya
Kieri Phelan, king of Lyonya, former mercenary commander and duke in Tsaia, half-elven grandson of the Lady of the Ladysforest
Arian, Kieri’s wife, queen of Lyonya, half-elven granddaughter of the elven ruler of the Lordsforest
Aliam Halveric, Kieri Phelan’s mentor and friend
Estil Halveric, his wife
Elves
Amrothlin, the Lady’s son and Kieri’s uncle, elven ruler of the Lordsforest
Fintha
Arianya, Marshal-General of Gird
Arvid Semminson, former thief-enforcer, now Girdish
Camwynya, paladin of Gird
Paksenarrion, paladin of Gird
Aarenis
Jeddrin, Count of Andressat
Ferran, his son and heir
Meddthal, his second son
Visla Vaskronin, Duke of Immer (formerly Alured the Black)
Aesil M’dierra, commander of Golden Company
Poldin, her nephew and squire
Count Vladi (the Cold Count), commander of Count’s Company
Kaim, Arcolin’s squire this campaign season
Kuakkgani
Sprucewind, itinerant Kuakgan
Gnomes
Dattur, Arcolin’s hesktak (advisor of Law)
Faksutterk, envoy of Aldonfulk Prince
Author’s Note
Crown of Renewal is the fifth and final volume of Paladin’s Legacy, and not an entry point for new readers. Oath of Fealty is first.
This book presented some challenges in chronology. First, and simplest, readers need to know that Crown of Renewal begins a quarter-year before the end of Limits of Power, at Midwinter in Aarenis. This allows the viewpoints of characters who were out of contact to catch up. Timelines converge as communication resumes.
The other chronological challenge most affects those who have read Surrender None, Liar’s Oath, or the omnibus version of these two, The Legacy of Gird, which are otherwise very helpful to the readers of Crown. The end of Liar’s Oath will not match exactly certain scenes in Crown. Assume an unreliable narrator.
Finally, this final volume of Paladin’s Legacy pulls together those prequel books—the history of Gird and Luap from their own viewpoints—and connects them to present events. The flaws and the strengths in the Fellowship of Gird shown in the original Paks books began with Gird and his followers, fault lines that cause the schisms appearing in the books’ present time.
So those who have never read either Liar’s Oath or Surrender None will benefit from reading them—they enrich understanding of the new books. Liar’s Oath is the book almost no one likes, but it’s more palatable if read as a gloss on Crown—as a dry history. If you don’t want to do that, there are some take-home things I can offer from the earlier books.
1. Luap is a classic tragic protagonist—a man of talents ruined by a fatal flaw: his inability to accept the truth of his faults. He lied, repeatedly. To himself and to others, about himself and others. He made up stories he thought were better than reality, including those about Gird’s life and death. Gird’s daughter managed to suppress that once, but as people died who had been there, Luap renewed his effort to tell the story his way. Surrender None (Gird’s book) has the accurate version.
Luap could not accept Gird’s judgment of him—that he was unfit for command—or that of the wise old magelady who knew his parentage. Because he was a king’s bastard, he thought he had inherited the ability and the right to rule somewhere. Like so many, he told himself that lies didn’t matter if (a) he meant well (and he always did) and (b) the truth would bother somebody (him, for instance).
Those lies led to disaster for those who followed him and to schism and confusion over the centuries. Knowing himself so little, he was a poor judge of character in others, so he was unable to determine whether the magelords who came with him to Kolobia were coming in good faith or not. Some weren’t. And for the same r
eason, he was easy prey for iynisin, who convinced him that he was so important to the colony that he must not age. This led to his stealing life force (and age) from those around him and making it possible for the iynisin to escape their old imprisonment in the stone. When they felt strong enough, iynisin attacked Luap’s magelords openly.
2. The last chapters of Liar’s Oath (Luap’s book) gives the viewpoint of Luap and some of his followers at the time the magelords in Kolobia were attacked and then put into enchanted sleep. None of the participants—enchanters or enchanted—had full understanding of the situation on either side. Luap himself was stunned by both iynisin attacks and the sudden demands of the Elder Races that he and his people leave at once, without the benefit of the magic transfer patterns. In the chaos of that day, he prayed for help and had a vision that resulted in the situation the much later Girdish expedition (including Paksenarrion) found: a great stronghold hollowed out of a mountain, with a large group of men and women in armor kneeling in its main hall. In Liar’s Oath, events are seen from Luap’s POV; in Crown of Renewal, from the enchanter’s POV.
Andressat, winter of the previous year
Winter storms, one after another, cut off the high plateau of Andressat from the lowlands around it as Midwinter Feast neared. On the morning before the nightlong vigil, Meddthal Andressat, the Count of Andressat’s second son and present commander in the north, woke to hear the thud of the inner door closing, then voices in the tower’s main hall: exclamations, then quieter tones.
Someone, he gathered, had sent something to someone as a gift. Found it by the door. Sighing, he pushed back the covers, dressed quickly, and went out to see what was going on. Families did not normally come to the towers to leave gifts for their kin on duty, especially not during winter storms. Especially not without pounding on the door and coming inside. He thought immediately of treachery, poisoned food, perhaps, sent by an enemy.
“Whatever it is, don’t eat it,” he said, coming into the mess, then stopped short as he saw the wide eyes and horrified expressions turned toward him and the quick movement of men hiding something from their commander. “What?” he demanded. “Show me.”
The sergeant who had served with him since Meddthal first gained command shook his head. “Sir, you don’t want to see this.”
“Of course I do. Stand aside.”
“Sir, please. It’s … it’s horrible …”
Meddthal could feel the hairs on his arms rising; cold foreboding struck like a blow. His younger brother Filis had been missing since the previous summer, disappearing on a routine trip from Andressat to Cortes Cilwan. Almost certainly Filis had been captured by the one man in Aarenis who would want an Andressat son in his hands: Alured the Black, self-styled Duke of Immer.
“It’s Filis,” he said. “Isn’t it?”
“There’s a letter, sir. To Count Andressat.”
Meddthal moved forward. “It’s more than that by the way you’re all acting. Stand aside. I must see to report to my father.” He braced himself for horrors: Filis’s head, Filis’s body. Then he saw it, and his breath came short, his vision darkened.
The box had been made with great skill, leather laid over a framework of wood. Filis’s face formed the top—skillfully padded enough to show the contours, like a mask, though much flattened, the ears—those distinctive ears—forming a hideously decorative border to left and right. Meddthal struggled to think about that, not that it was Filis’s face, the familiar face of a brother he had loved and quarreled with. Not—absolutely not—about how it had been taken from Filis, whether Filis had been skinned before or after death.
He struggled to stay upright, to breathe, to hold back the nausea that threatened to shame him in front of all. He became aware gradually that the sergeant’s arm was around him, steadying him—a strong, warm arm, and most of all a live arm. That his men were looking away from him, giving him time to recover, stirring about as if it were a normal morning and they were getting ready for another day. He dragged in one lungful after another of the chill air—air that would never be warm after this. And looked again.
He could not unsee what he had seen. He could not unthink the thoughts that raced through his mind, deadly as a flight of arrows. He had known—they had all known—that Filis was likely dead, killed by Alured or at his command. They had told themselves that; they had even—as his father had said aloud first—hoped he was dead and past suffering. Had it been Filis’s severed head … even a body bearing marks of torture … it would not have been so bad.
Filis’s hair fell over the back of the box, carefully braided with ribbons in Immer’s colors and formed into a decorative knot. On one corner was a scar Meddthal recognized from Filis’s shoulder … then he saw the fine stitching that had attached that piece of Filis’s skin to the others. A tube—it must be the message tube with the letter to Count Andressat—protruded obscenely from Filis’s mouth.
Rage shook him as suddenly as horror had. That scum had planned all this to the last detail … to foul one of the year’s holiest days, Sunreturn, with such horror … to make of it not the day of hope and joy Midwinter Feast had always been but to stain it with the memory of Filis’s death.
“It was in a sack, tied with a green ribbon,” one of the men said. “There was a message: Send it to Count Andressat as a Midwinter gift from his liege, it said.” He pointed to the sack, crumpled on the floor, coarsely woven, and the ribbon with a wooden tag still attached.
Meddthal shook his head. “He has no liege, and it would kill him.” To his surprise, his voice sounded almost normal.
“You’re never going to hide it from him—”
“No. I’m not going to hide it. But he will have word from me, to blunt the blade, before I send it. Now, however, I will open Immer’s letter. Simthal, is the food ready?”
“For Midwinter, sir? I thought—”
“We have much to do, and days are short. We will eat, and we will prepare for the attack that is surely coming.” Already his mind was working again, offering alternatives and the problems with each. In Midwinter, no one could ride from this tower to Cortes Andres in one day’s light … but had Alured’s men sent a message directly to the Count? No … they wanted to unnerve the border guards first. “Tell the cooks: breakfast now. And we will observe most parts of the Midwinter ceremony, though we will not be fools and exhaust ourselves in games this day. We will honor Filis’s memory best by saving Andressat from the same fate.”
They nodded. Someone handed him a mug of sib, and he sipped cautiously … his stomach kept it down. The tears burning his eyes did not overflow. He took the tube from between the lips, leaving a gaping hole in the face, and untied the green and black ribbons.
It was written in blood; the rusty color could be nothing else. “Brother,” he murmured, and kissed it. Filis had died, no doubt a terrible death, but this was proof he was no traitor, as some had thought. The words made it clear what had been done and when and how. A terrible death indeed. The box had not required all of Filis’s skin … the rest had been made into a rug for Alured’s bedside—“and as I stand on it each day, so will I stand on Andressat: master of all.” “The best parts” of Filis’s broken body had been cooked and force-fed to the Count of Cilwan and his wife before they were killed and their bodies fed to dogs, their skins added to the rug.
So Alured had killed not only Filis but their sister, and his father had lost two children. Thank the gods their child, the count’s grandson, was safe in Cortes Andres. A few tears slipped from Meddthal’s eyes. Nerinth had been married to Cilwan young, unwillingly and had endured years with that—Meddthal cut off the thought. It would do no good now to despise Cilwan’s timidity and avarice. He blinked back more tears and read on.
The rest was yet more boasts and threats. Meddthal thought of burning it, saving his father that knowledge, but the old man would not thank him. He rolled the letter once more and put it back in the tube, then put the tube into his belt pouch.
&nb
sp; Cooks had brought in bread, porridge, pastries, roasts; for a moment his stomach turned again. But vengeance required nourishment. Starving himself, heaving his food out: neither one would help him defeat Alured. He forced down a bowl of porridge and a slab of bacon. Others ate after seeing him eat. He went to the door and opened it, shut it behind him, then opened the outer door. A gray day, just enough light to see, barely past dawn. Low clouds like a lid shut them away from the sun. Wind cut through his clothes like a knife. He went back into the vestibule when the wind had frozen the tears on his face, and brushed the tiny ice chips away.
Kolfin was his best rider, and his own horse the fastest. Meddthal wanted to go himself, but if Alured did plan to attack—and he himself would have—in the next few days, he needed to be here to command the defense. He went back inside. “Kolfin.”
Kolfin stood up from the table. “Sir?”
“Finish quickly. Take two days’ ration, and you’ll ride my horse to Cortes Andres with my letter. Be ready to ride when I’ve written it.”
“Sir.”
He sat down with pen and ink, and his mind blanked again. Filis. This … this abomination … but his father must know something, and as soon as possible. He wrote quickly, plainly.
Father. Bad news. Filis’s death proved; Alured has sent—
He paused. He could not say it all, not like this …
—proof of what he did to Filis. It is beyond my words to say. Laid on our doorstep here last night; no doubt it is Filis. I expect attack when he thinks we are unmanned by grief; I remain here to command defense but will come at your command, bringing what was sent. I send also the letter he wrote you, written in what I am sure is Filis’s blood, admitting he killed the Count of Cilwan and your daughter as well.
He sealed that, put it and the letter from Alured in a message bag, and gave it to Kolfin, who had already saddled Meddthal’s horse. “Take a spare horse,” Meddthal said. “Ride fast but warily. Those who did this may be looking to intercept any messenger.”
“Yes, sir.” Kolfin took the message bag; another soldier brought out another of the horses, saddled it, and transferred Kolfin’s saddlebags to the second horse.
When Kolfin had ridden away, Meddthal set about readying for attack. By midday, he had completed that chore as well as sending couriers to the two nearest towers to warn them. “Half of you must rest this afternoon,” he said. “If they attack, it will be when they think we have all spent a sleepless night in the dark after a day of grief and worry or perhaps drunken rage. Tomorrow—or even the day after—is when they will come.”