He started downstairs to find the estvin and met him on the way instead.
“My lord,” the estvin said.
“I have news from my king,” Arcolin said. “Some of it concerns you. Will you come to my office?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“The king has granted me permission to settle you in the hills there to the west,” Arcolin said when he had closed the door. “Gird’s agreement with your people covers this, he said, and allows me to grant you stone-right if the land suits your needs.” He read out the relevant part of the king’s letter.
The estvin bowed. “My lord, we are your people. Your favor gave us life; your word renews us.”
“I do not know if you will feel safe enough, so few of you,” Arcolin said. He felt uncomfortable with the estvin’s words and hurried on to something more practical. “And at one time, orcs laired in some of those hills, as I said before. I would not have you harried again.”
The estvin bowed again. “By your leave, may we go and see these hills?”
“Of course. But in this weather, you will ride, surely—”
“No, my lord. Stone gives strength to the legs.”
While the estvin gathered a group of gnomes, Arcolin sent a messenger to Cracolnya, asking him to bring Versin to the stronghold for a captains’ meeting by nightfall of the next day. Valichi would not make it from their southern border, but he did not need Valichi, who had kept insisting he must retire by the Spring Evener. Then he went down to the forecourt, where he found the gnome men waiting, mounted his roan ambler, and led the way west.
The hills presented a confusing mass of snow-covered lumps. Arcolin had had no chance to explore this part of his domain, and the maps Kieri had left suggested that no one had bothered with the steep, rocky terrain except to follow a few watercourses. Arcolin could tell little about the underlying bones of them from the few rocks that rose above the snow.
“Nedross above, dross below,” the estvin said, sniffing one of the boulders fallen from the first hill. “Is this the hill, my lord?”
“Surely you need more than one,” Arcolin said. “I thought you might take all these hills, where the slopes are too steep for farming.”
“Is too many for now,” the estvin said. “But I think another than this serves better.” He pointed through the gap between the two nearest to a hill that seemed taller, with a blockier outline. “Rough rocks between—snow covers. Horse maybe not safe.”
Arcolin contemplated slogging through the snow over rough rocks on foot. Gnomes might derive strength from the rocks under the snow, but he wouldn’t. “It is farther away from us if you should need our aid with orcs. We used to hunt them into these hills, so I know they have lairs here.”
The estvin nodded and said something in their language that brought the rest to his side. They all laid hands on the same boulder the estvin had sniffed. They muttered in gnomish, faster and faster. Arcolin’s horse threw up its head, ears pinned. Then he could feel, through the horse’s body, the ground trembling; the horse squealed, whirled, and tried to bolt as the shaking grew. Arcolin wrenched it back around. Then a loud noise, deeper and louder than any drum, rolled out of the hills. Clouds of snow and dirt flew up from several hills, including the two nearest, and hung there a long moment before slowly settling again. The gnomes stepped back from the boulder, dusting their hands. The estvin looked up at Arcolin. “No more,” the estvin said.
“No more?”
“Orcs. Lairs. Gone.”
Arcolin stared at the shaken hills. Were they lower? The tops were certainly not the pure white of the others. “How did you—”
“It is not to speak. Not in human tongue. You would say magery, but your magery does not do.”
A form of rockmagic? By repute all the rockfolk could shape rock to their will. Arcolin said nothing more about that, stroking the lathered neck of his still-trembling horse. He was very glad it had not been the more excitable chestnut. “Will this do, then?”
“Very well, my lord. We will make as small a hall as we can and then move from your fort. Very soon.”
Back at the stronghold, Arcolin met Captain Arneson just riding in from Duke’s East. “How are the gnomes getting along?” Arneson asked. “And what was that noise?”
“They’re about to move out to the hills,” Arcolin said. “The noise—be glad you weren’t closer. They say they’ve dealt with the orc lairs there. They made the hills jump.” Arneson stared. “I’m holding a captains’ meeting in my office when Cracolnya and Versin arrive; the king’s summoned me to Vérella.”
When Cracolnya, Arneson, and Versin gathered in his office, Arcolin read them the king’s letter. “I don’t know what he wants to confer about,” he said after that. “With a dragon—and Stammel—between us and the Pargunese, that border should be safe enough. He said nothing about recruiting, but we must continue—even expand recruiting as before. With the danger rising in Aarenis, we need three full cohorts there. And we need archers, Cracolnya.”
Cracolnya nodded. “Though if you take all mine, sir, and replacements, that doesn’t leave even a full cohort up here.”
“True. And I don’t know what the king will say about that. What’s your estimate of recruits we might get from this domain? Anyone?”
“Not enough,” Cracolnya said. “Population’s too low, too scattered, and the settlements not old enough. At most five to ten from Duke’s East and West and maybe another five from Burningmeed. But we’ll need a recruit staff, and for the first year or so it’ll be taken from our actives.”
“That was my thought, too,” Arcolin said. “Valichi is determined to retire this spring, so we need a recruit captain to command them and the stronghold’s other troops, however many or few.” His were not the only eyes to look at Arneson, he was glad to see. “Captain Arneson, you’ve done well this year and you’ve regained full health—how do you feel about taking over as permanent recruit captain and seneschal?”
“I—but I’m—new—”
“And very effective,” Arcolin said.
“I agree,” Cracolnya said. “I had my doubts at first, when you came riding up thin as a lathe and with that missing eye, but what I’ve seen all this past year, you’re perfect for the job. Kieri would’ve—” He glanced at Arcolin and then said, “Sorry. It’s not what Kieri would or wouldn’t do; it’s your domain now, and I’m happy about that. Just habit.”
“I know. Mine, too, sometimes. But I’m glad you agree Talvis is right for this task. Versin?”
“Certainly,” Versin said. “I must admit I’m relieved; I was afraid you’d ask me to take it on, and I’m happier with more experienced troops.”
“And he’s got a tactical sense for mixed weapons,” Cracolnya said. “I want him for my second, if that suits you, sir.”
“Well, then—Arneson, what say you?”
“I—my lord, I would be honored.” Arneson’s voice caught for a moment, then steadied. “Thank you.”
“That’s settled,” Arcolin said. His eyes stung, and he thanked the gods for the chance to rescue such a man from so bad a situation. “I’ll name you my seneschal to the king and send permission for your recruiting effort when I receive it.” He went on to detail the way they had set up their recruiting before, with Cracolnya adding details he’d missed here and there and Arneson taking notes.
“Are you going to hire a more experienced captain for Selfer’s cohort? Keep him as junior?” Cracolnya asked when Arcolin finished.
“I’m not sure. It’s true he’s young, but he had that experience with us in Siniava’s War and then up here as junior captain. Maybe he’s ready to move up. I’ll find out when I get down there. I sent him permission to hire on a short-term contract.”
Cracolnya nodded, apparently satisfied.
“So,” Arcolin said, “I need all your reports to carry to the king. I’ll pick up Valichi’s on the way down.”
Two days later, Arcolin was ready to leave for Vérella. Arcolin took
only a small escort—a clerk, a couple of soldiers—and they made good time on the road. At Burningmeed, he told Valichi he’d be free to retire at the Spring Evener.
“You’re keeping that one-eyed fellow? I was sure he’d catch fever and die over the winter.”
“No—he’s perfectly healthy now but for missing the eye. Young, strong, and I’ve watched him with the younger troops up there. You aren’t having second thoughts, are you, Val?”
Valichi shook his head. “Not really. I don’t mind living in the stronghold, but I’m getting old, Arcolin, that’s the truth of it. Managing recruits is too much. I’ll settle in Duke’s West, in my daughter’s house. If the lad wants my help, he can call on me, though.”
“You can tell him that when you go back north,” Arcolin said. “There’ll be gnomes in the hills west of the stronghold by then, where we had orc troubles.” He explained all that had happened there. Valichi looked shocked and then worried.
“The gnomes are … honest, you think? I mean, if they were cast out …”
“Cast out by a dragon, Val, not their prince. They’re honest, I’m sure of it. And everything’s in good order. I’m not sure what the king wants to confer about, other than to be sure the north is secure—”
Valichi scowled. “Dorrin,” he said. “That’s what.”
“Dorrin! What about Dorrin? Everything was fine with her at Autumn Court.”
“You won’t have heard the scandal,” Valichi said. “You know she had dukes’ younglings as squires—”
“Yes, I met them at Autumn Court. A Marrakai girl and two boys—Mahieran and Serrostin. Quite a handful, I thought.”
“Indeed. Well, the Serrostin boy, the youngest, was captured by renegade Verrakai—” Valichi went on to tell all the details he’d gathered from the visiting count—the capture, the injuries, the healing by a Kuakgan. “Now the lad is walking again,” Valichi finished. “He has one thumb. A Kuakgan thumb.” Valichi gave him a look that meant something; it took Arcolin a moment to figure it out. Then he remembered Kolya’s tales of the Kuakkgani.
“Not—” He glanced at a nearby cedar.
“From a twig, yes. Green blood mixed with red. In a family that’s been Girdish since the Girdish wars.”
“Gird protect him,” Arcolin murmured. “And Dorrin.”
“Nor is that all,” Valichi said. “The Mahieran boy got mixed up with another group of renegades, or maybe the same—he’s alive, but his father took him home in a cloud of rumors. That count southeast of you, he or one of his sons goes down to Vérella fairly often and stops by here on his way back north. Love to talk; they all do. So what I hear is that the boy lost his mind and killed his own sergeant and they’ve spirited him away somewhere. The count’s son told me he heard that from someone who knows someone in the Royal Guard contingent that found him.”
“Gossip,” Arcolin said with distaste.
“Gossip people are listening to,” Valichi said. “And in addition, he says the counts not on the Council think the king shouldn’t have named her Constable. She’s not Girdish, and she wasn’t Kieri’s senior captain.”
“What does that have to do with it?”
“They’d rather have had you,” Valichi said without more explanation.
“But I’m not a duke—and I wasn’t here for the coronation.”
“No, but you were Kieri’s second in command, and many of them had met you at court. They never met her. And—you know Dorrin. Give her a task and she goes for it full speed. Which means she’s been pushing all the lords to fit up their troops, drill them, and coordinate with the Marshals and grange drills.”
“Makes sense,” Arcolin said. “We talked about that back in the autumn, when I came to court. She’s just doing what the king commanded.”
“Yes, but—” Valichi changed his voice, clearly mimicking someone. “ ‘She’s a woman—hasn’t been a woman duke in more than a generation, except a widow as regent for her son.’ ” He relaxed to his normal tone. “Let alone a woman like Dorrin. And now she’s telling them what to do.” Valichi shook his head. “Most of ’em never liked the Verrakaien, and they’d be suspicious of her for that alone. Her being a woman, and especially her being Constable—just more to dislike.”
“Do they all feel that way?”
“I can’t tell. I’m getting this from just the one family. The Count said if it weren’t for the fact that she charmed—his term—the king and the other dukes, they’d have her thrown off the Council. She should have died at the coronation, is what he said.”
“But the Marshal-General doesn’t think she’s evil,” Arcolin said.
“Yes, but—it’s bad, Arcolin, is my feeling. We know her. Most of the others don’t. All they’ve seen is her nagging at them or her killing by magery in public at the coronation. They never saw her as the decent, efficient cohort commander we knew.”
“Mmm,” Arcolin said. “I see what you mean.”
“Thing is, now that two squires have been in peril under her guardianship, she may lose the support of their fathers. If it’s true that many counts oppose her, she can’t afford to have two dukes against her. She might lose the other one, too. I can’t see a girl’s father leaving his daughter with someone suspected of conniving at the injury of the others.”
“No one could think that,” Arcolin said.
“People can think anything,” Valichi said. “Especially if it suits their aims. By the tale I heard, she’d been having the squires lead out small groups of Verrakai militia to the various vills on the domain. Poor protection if they were attacked.”
“We talked about that on my visit,” Arcolin said. “I thought it was a good idea. Give them some command experience. I know she’s got some Phelani veterans who wanted to stay with her.”
“All of us think like soldiers. Of course it’s a good idea if you’re training young officer material. But if you’ve got the children of the highest-ranking lords in the kingdom, one of them the king’s cousin, fourth in succession?”
“So … what do you think I’ll meet? A torrent of questions about Dorrin?”
“I’m not sure. But you needed to know she has enemies. Aside from the oldest lords, who fought in the Prince’s War with Kieri, you and Dorrin are the only two with combat experience. She was the obvious choice, as a duke, resident in the kingdom, to be made Constable. But you’re better liked. If it comes to a competition—”
“I can’t stay here in campaign season,” Arcolin said. “I can’t support the Company—or the domain, for that matter—without that income. And anyway—you said it—she’s more like Kieri than I am. She would be better—”
“She would be better if they’d follow her. But will they?”
“I’m not competing with her,” Arcolin said. “I won’t. She’s my friend as well as a higher rank—”
“For now,” Valichi said. His voice hardened. “I must speak plain, my lord.” He dipped his head, the first real deference he’d shown. “I’m older than you, and I’ve heard Kieri talk court intrigue even more than you have. You cannot afford to place Dorrin’s friendship above your duty to the king. You swore that oath to him: he is your liege, not Dorrin.”
“I know, but—” Arcolin bit his lip. His mind ranged back over the years to that first day Dorrin had appeared near the stronghold. He had seen Kieri’s first reaction to her in the stiffness of his stance; he himself had thought her a likely prospect—a Knight of Falk, after all—but it had not been his to decide. Then she had slid into that muddy ditch and put her weight on the pole they were using to lever the axle up … had come out at last all sweat and mud and looked at Kieri without hope. Hire her, he had wanted to say, but he was too junior himself to intervene. Kieri had glanced at him; he had given a short nod, and then, when Kieri smiled, when he said yes, she was one of them. All those years, first as his junior captain, then with a cohort of her own, always the same.
“I hope it won’t come to that,” Valichi said. “I hope something w
ill change opinions. But you needed to know before you walked into the hornet’s nest.”
“Indeed. But it’s like when Stammel was blinded … I blamed myself for that, but it was not my fault, really. Nor yours. You could not have known that Korryn would collude with a renegade Verrakai or that fate would bring him in contact with Stammel again, or with such consequences.”
“Indeed, I’ve wished time and again I’d had him killed,” Valichi said. “But only the gods know all. What I do know is that you’re the king’s vassal … and for the sake of your domain, we would prefer that you not alienate him.”
“I will do my best,” Arcolin said.
Valichi’s warning proved sound; as soon as Arcolin announced himself to the Royal Guard officer at the gates, he was given an escort to the palace and ushered into the king’s presence.
King Mikeli had matured, Arcolin had noticed last fall at Autumn Court, from the crown prince just past an assassination attempt. But now the king seemed not just older but more strained.
“We have much to discuss,” the king said. “I know you have just arrived, and I will not long delay your rest, but I must know one thing at once: have you had private communication with Duke Verrakai?”
“With Dorrin? She sent word that she had released the cohort Selfer commanded, as she had promised at Autumn Court, and gave the names of those who had chosen to stay with her.”
“Ah. And how many was that?”
“Fifteen, sir king. Older veterans who had no obligation to remain—it had long been Kieri Phelan’s policy that all with more than five years’ service might withdraw between campaign seasons, without their death benefits, and those who served four hands of years might withdraw at any time, taking their benefits.”
“Had they pledged fealty to you? Did you formally release them?”