Table of Contents
Prologue
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
Divided Allegiance
Elizabeth Moon
Once a sheepfarmer's daughter, now a seasoned veteran, Paksenarrion has proven herself a fighter. Years with Duke Phelan's Company taught her weaponry, discipline, and how to react as part of a military unit.
Now, though, Paks feels spurred to a solitary destiny. Against all odds she is accepted as a paladin-candidate by the fellowship of Gird. Years of study will follow, for a paladin must be versed in diplomacy and magic as well as the fighting arts. But before she is fully trained, Paks is called on her first mission: to seek out the fabled stronghold of Luap far to the west. The way is long, the dangers many--and not even the Marshal-General of Gird can say whether glory or ruin awaits.
DIVIDED ALLEGIANCE
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
Copyright 1988 by Elizabeth Moon
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
A Baen Books Original
Baen Publishing Enterprises
P.O. Box 1403
Riverdale, NY 10471
www.baen.com
ISBN: 0-7434-7160-1
eISBN: 978-1-62579-445-1
Cover art by Dominic Harman
First printing, June 1988
Distributed by Simon & Schuster
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
Printed in the United States of America
Prologue
Long ago, before the elder folk were driven from the lands south of the Hakkenarsk, the elves who dwelt in those heights had found a valley more lovely than any other. The shape of its rock and the clarity of its water brought joy to all who saw it. There for a time the elves lived, and built as they rarely build, while the greatest among them sang to the taig of that place, and wakened it to its own power. Over long years they shaped it, singing one song of beauty after another, and the taig responded, willing itself to flourish as the elves suggested. Very dear was this valley to all who could sense the taigin, both elder and younger folk, and it was known as the elfane taig, the holy place and a living banner of the elves and their powers.
Then troubles came: the tales are lost that tell who brought them, or how those who fled sought refuge far away. Even to the elfane taig the evil came, and the elves fled, driven out by a power they could not resist for all their songs. The taig remained, crippled in its resistance to that evil by corruption placed at its heart, no longer truly elfane but banast, or wounded. Most of its great strength was spent in containing that corruption. The taig could not attack the embodied evil without loosing the worse danger, the periapt which would leave it permanently defiled.
Few travelers went that way at first, for its hazards were well known. The elves, when they were asked, warned all. No dwarf would venture so near the Ladysforest, and humans, for the most part, preferred the easier pass at Valdaire, or the shorter one over Dwarfwatch. So for long years the contending powers in the valley had only each other to feed on. A stray orc here, a wolfpack there – these nourished the conflict ill. And of the travelers that passed, not all were apt for use. Some, when the visions came, woke quickly and fled, leaving packs and animals behind. Others, greedy for treasure, stormed into the ruins without sense, and fell to the first of the traps and creatures, ending as servants of evil, or its food.
But ages passed, and time dulled human memories, and every the contending powers sought lives and souls to serve them, to war in their long and bitter strife. As elven influence waned in Lyonya, the nearest settled land, few asked elves for advice; fewer still obeyed. Bold explorers, half brigand, wandered the northern slopes. From time to time an entire band disappeared below the valley’s ruins, to live in the eternal light of the old halls, and fight for whichever power could enchant each separate soul. There they died, for none came alive from the banast taig. So the treasure accumulated, over the years: most of it the weaponry and armor of wandering mercenaries or brigands, but also odd bits of magical equipment, scholars’ scrolls – whatever a lost traveler might be carrying.
Then two more travelers entered the valley.
Chapter One
When all Siniava's troops had surrendered, Kieri Phelan's troops assumed they'd be going back to Valdaire—even, perhaps, to the north again. Some already had plans for spending their share of the loot. Others looked forward to time to rest and recover from wounds. Instead, a few days later they found themselves marching south along the Immer in company with Alured's men, the Halverics, and several cohorts of the Duke of Fall's army. These last looked fresh as new paint, hardly having fought at all, except to turn Siniava away from Fallo.
"I don't understand it," muttered Keri to Paks as they marched. "I thought we were through. Siniava's dead. What more?"
Paks shook her head. "Maybe the Duke has a contract; he's spent a lot on this campaign."
"Contract! Tir's bones, it'll take us the rest of the season just to get back to Valdaire. Why do we need a contract?"
That was a first-year's innocence. Paks grinned at him. "Money," she said. "Or were you going to forget about pay?"
Seli winked at Paks, a veteran's knowing wink, and said, "Have you ever seen the sea?"
"No—why?" Keri looked stubborn; sweat dripped off his nose.
"Well, that's reason enough to go south. I've seen it—you'll be impressed."
"What's it like?" asked Paks when Keri's expression didn't change.
"I don't think anyone can tell you. You have to see it."
Word soon trickled down from the captains that Alured was claiming the title of Duke of Immer. This meant nothing to Paks or the younger soldiers, but Stammel knew that the title had been extinct since the fall of the old kingdom of Aare across the sea.
"I'm surprised that the Duke of Fall and the other nobles are accepting it," he said.
"That was the price of his help this year," said Vossik. All the sergeants had gathered around one fire for an hour or so. "I heard talk in Fallo's cohorts about it. If Fallo, Andressat, and Cilwan would uphold his claim—and our Duke, of course—then he'd turn on Siniava."
"But why would they, even so?"
"It's an odd story," said Vossik, obviously ready to tell it.
"Go on, Voss, don't make us beg," growled Stammel.
"Well, it's only what I heard, after all. I don't know whether those Fallo troops know the truth, or if they're telling it, but here it is. It seems that Alured used to be a pirate on the Immerhoft—"
"We knew that—"
"Yes, but that's the beginning. He'd captured another ship, an
d was about to throw the prisoners over, the way pirates do—"
"Into the water?" asked Paks.
Someone laughed. Vossik turned to her. "Pirates don't want a mess on their ships—so they throw prisoners overboard—"
"But don't they swim or wade to shore?" asked Natzlin.
"They can't. It's too far, and the water is deep."
"I can swim a long way—" said Barra. Paks grinned to herself. Barra always thought she could do more than anyone else.
"Not that far. Tir's gut, Barra, you haven't seen the sea yet. It could be a day's march from shore, the ship, when they toss someone out." Vossik took a long swallow of sib, and went on. "Anyway, one of the prisoners said he was a mage. He cried out that Alured should be a prince, and he—the mage—could help him."
"I'd have thought Alured wouldn't listen to prisoners' yells," said Stammel. "He doesn't look the type."
"No," agreed Vossik. "He doesn't. But it seems he'd had some sort of tale from his father—about being born of good blood, or whatever. So he listened, and the mage told him he was really heir to a vast kingdom, wasting his time as a pirate."
"He believed that?" Haben snorted and reached his own mug into the sib. "I'd heard pirates were superstitious, but—"
"Well, the man offered proof. Said he'd seen scrolls in old Aare that proved it. Offered to take Alured there, and prove his right to the kingdom."
"To Aare? That heap of sand?"
"How do you know, Devlin? You haven't been there."
"No, but I've heard. Nothing's left but scattered ruins and sand. It's in the songs." He hummed a phrase of "Fair Were the Towers."
Vossik shrugged. "Alured didn't ask you. The mage told Alured that he'd seen proof of Alured's ancestry."
"It seems to me," said Erial, "that it's extra trouble to hunt up ancestors like that. What difference does it make? Our Duke got his steading without dragging in hundreds of fathers and fathers' fathers."
"Or mothers," muttered Barra. No one followed that up.
"You know they're different here in Aarenis," said Stammel. "Think of Andressat."
"That stuffed owl," said Barra. Paks had almost begun to understand what Vik meant about Barra's prickliness. She could not let anything alone.
"No—don't be that way, Barra. He's a good fighter, and a damn good count for Andressat. Most other men would have lost Andressat to Siniava years ago. He's proud of his ancestors, true enough, but they could be proud of him."
"But go on about Alured, Voss," said Stammel. "What happened?"
"Well, he already believed he came of noble blood, so he sailed back to old Aare with this fellow. Then—now remember, I got this from the Fallo troops; I don't say it's true—then the mage showed him proof—an old scroll, showing the marriages, and such, and proving that he was in direct descent from that Duke of Immer who was called back to Aare in the troubles."
"But Vossik, any mage could fake something like that!" Erial looked around at the others; some of them nodded.
"I didn't say I believed it, Erial. But Alured did. It fitted what he wanted, let's say. If Aare had been worth anything, it would have meant the throne of Aare. It certainly meant the lands of Immer."
"And so he left the sea, and settled into the forest to be a land pirate? How was that being a prince or duke or whatever?" Erial sounded scornful.
"Well—again—this is hearsay. Seems he came to the Immer ports first, and tried to get them to swear allegiance—"
"But he'd been a pirate!" Paks agreed with that emphasis.
"Yes, I know. He wasn't thinking clearly, perhaps. Then he hired a lot of local toughs, dressed them in the old colors of Immer, and tried to parley with the Duke of Fall."
"Huh. And came out with a whole skin?"
"He wasn't stupid enough to put it in jeopardy—they talked on the borders of Fallo. The Duke reacted as you might expect, but—well—he didn't much care what happened in the southern forest, as long as it didn't bother him. And, his men say, he's longsighted—won't make an enemy unnecessarily."
"But what about Siniava?" For Paks, this was the meat of it: whose side had Alured been on from the beginning?
"Well, at first they had one thing in common: none of the old nobility would accept their claim to titles. Siniava promised Alured the dukedom if he'd break up the Immer River shipping, and protect Siniava's movements in the area. Alured cooperated. That's why no one could trace Siniava after Rotengre."
"Yes, but—" This time Paks spoke up; Vossik interrupted firmly.
"But two points: Andressat and our own Duke's cleverness. Andressat had been polite to Alured, promised him he'd accept the claim if the Duke of Fall did. So Alured wouldn't move on Andressat when Siniava demanded it. After all, he believed himself a duke—above the command of a count. As for our Duke—you remember the wood-wanderers we met in Kodaly?" Stammel nodded. "Alured had befriended them when he moved into that forest, so they were on his side. Our Duke had made his own pacts with them years ago in the north. So our Duke knew what Alured wanted. And he knew what Fallo wanted—connection by marriage with a northern kingdom. And he knew that Sofi Ganarrion had a marriageable child—"
"But Sofi's not a king—" said someone out of the darkness.
"Yet. Remember what he's always said. And with Fallo behind him—" Vossik let that trail off. Several were quick to catch on.
"Gods above! You mean—"
"Somehow our Duke and the Halveric convinced the Duke of Fall that Alured's help in this campaign was worth that much to him. So the Duke of Fall agreed to back Alured's claim, Alured switched sides, and we got passage through the forest and Siniava didn't."
Paks shivered. She had never thought of the maneuvering that occurred off the battlefield. "But is Alured really the Duke of Immer?"
Vossik shrugged. "He has the title. He has the power. What else?"
"But if he's not really—by blood, I mean—"
"I don't see that it matters. He'll be better as a duke than a pirate: he'll have to govern, expand trade, stop robbing—"
"Will he?" Haben looked around the whole group before going on. "I wouldn't think, myself, that a pirate-turned-brigand would make a very good duke. What's the difference between taxes and robbery, if it comes to that?"
"He's not stupid, Haben." Vossik looked worried. "It will have to be better than Siniava—"
"That's my point. Siniava claimed a title—claimed to be governing his lands—but we all saw what that meant in Cha and Sibili. He didn't cut off trade entirely, as Alured has done on the Immer, no—but would any of us want to live under someone like him? I remember the faces in those cities, if you don't."
"But he fought Siniava—"
"Yes—at the end. For a good reward, too. I'm not saying he's all bad, Vossik; I don't know. But so far he's gone where the gold is. How will he govern? A man who thinks he's nobly born, and has been cheated of his birthright—what will he do when we reach the Immer ports?"
* * *
They found out at Immerdzan, where the Immer widened abruptly into a bay, longer than it was wide. The port required no formal assault. It had never been fortified on the land side, beyond a simple wall hardly more than man-high with the simplest of gates. The army marched in without meeting any resistance. The crowded, dirty streets stank of things Paks had never smelled before. She got her first look at the bay, here roiled and murky from the Immer's muddy flow. The shore was cluttered with piers and wharves, with half-rotted pilings, the skeletons of boats, boats sinking, boats floating, new boats, spars, shreds of sail, nets hung from every available pole, and festooned on the houses. She saw small naked children, skinny as goats, diving and swimming around the boats. Most of them wore their hair in a single short braid, tied with bright bits of cloth.
Beyond the near-shore clutter, the bay lay wide and nearly empty under the hot afternoon sun, its surface streaked with blues and greens she had never seen before. A few boats glided before the wind, their great triangular sails curved like
wings. Paks stared at them, fascinated. One changed direction as she watched, the dark line of its hull shortening and lengthening again. Far in the distance she could see the high ground beyond the bay, and southward the water turned a different green, then deep blue, as the Immer's water merged with the open sea.
Around the Duke's troops, a noisy crowd had gathered—squabbling, it seemed to Paks, in a language high-pitched and irritable. Children dashed back and forth, some still sleek and wet from the water, others grimy. Barefoot men in short trousers, their hair in a longer single braid, clustered around the boats; women in bright short skirts and striped stockings hung out of windows and crowded the doorways. One of Alured's captains called in the local language, and a sudden silence fell. Paks heard the water behind her, sucking and mumbling at the pilings, slurping. She shivered, wondering if the sea had a spirit. Did it hunger?
Alured's captain began reading from a scroll in his hand. Paks looked for Arcolin and watched his face; surely he knew what was going on. He had no expression she could read. When Alured's captain finished reading, he spoke to the Duke, saluted, and mounted to ride away. The crowd was silent. When he rounded the corner, a low murmur passed through them. One man shouted, hoarsely. Paks looked for him, and saw two younger men shoving a graybearded one back. Another man near them called in accented Common:
"Who of you speaks to us?"
"I do." The Duke's voice was calm as ever.
"You—you are pirates?"
"No. What do you mean?"
"That—that man—he says is now our duke—he is a pirate. You are his men—you are pirates."
"No." The Duke shook his head. Paks saw Arcolin give the others a hand signal, saw the signal passed from captains to sergeants. Not that they needed any warning; they were all alert anyway. "We are his allies, not his men. He fought with us upriver—against Siniava."