Crown of Renewal (Legend of Paksenarrion) (23 page)

Across the room Arvi woke with a little snort, sat up, and stared wildly at the empty bed before seeing him. “I’m fine,” Arvid said.

“Da?”

“Really. Come, let’s get dressed, see if I can manage the stairs, and then the jacks and the bathhouse. We both have work to do.”

Arvi leaned into him. Arvid put an arm around those shoulders, not now so thin—or so far down: the child had grown fast once freed from the thieves. “It’s all right, Son. Gird healed the bad wound; the other one’s hardly a wound at all.”

After Arvi had gone off to class with the other youngsters, Arvid made his way down the city to meet Marshal Hudder. Unusually for this time of day, a dozen adults were there: guards, he realized, to prevent another attack. All had the sullen expressions of deeply angry men. Marshal Hudder, a short square-built man with graying black hair, came out to greet him.

“I didn’t expect to see you for several more days, but I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have, Arvid. Nobody can replace Mador, o’ course, not really, but everyone in the grange wants to thank you. Marshal-General’s told me what she wants and what you already
know. I’d like you to take over the adult sword-side drill groups and the records keeping that Mador did.”

“Certainly, Marshal,” Arvid said.

“We think the children would be too likely to spend their lesson time asking you questions until they get used to you—but our yeomen, right now, are eager to work on their fighting skills.” He gestured. “Come on in and I’ll show you the offices.”

By the end of that day, Arvid had met the parents of the children he’d rescued and seen the children themselves at study in the barton with the other yeoman-marshal, Nadin. Nadin’s arms were still wrapped in bandages—though the Marshals had been able to start the bones healing with the help of a herbwoman, his arms were still painful and not strong enough for drill.

Arvid took the drill sections, one after another, and trudged back up to the Loaf as tired as he’d ever been. But—he’d done it. He’d remembered all the drill commands; he’d learned all the names. He could do this. The knights going off-duty for the night walked with him, then waved and walked on up to their quarters.

Arvi woke when he came into the room, quiet as he’d tried to be. “Da?”

“Here. Tired. Go back to sleep, lad.” He laid his hand on the boy’s head for a moment. His lad. Safe. The three who’d been killed had been buried while he recovered; he’d missed that.

She had changed again, Kieri thought, watching the tall yellow-haired paladin dismount in the courtyard. He wasn’t certain yet what the change was and hoped it would not alter the Paks he had known beyond his recognition. Foolish thought, he knew. With a dragon loose in the world again, they were all being changed.

By the time he reached the palace entrance she was there, chatting with one of the doorwards about—of all things—darning. The doorward had his shoe off, showing a hole in the heel of his left sock, and Paks was explaining, in exactly Stammel’s words, why everyone in any uniform, anywhere, any time, should be able to mend and maintain his or her own uniform.

“But it’s just a sock,” the doorward said, as Kieri had heard many recruits say. He waited, just in earshot, and sure enough, Paks said it just as Stammel had.

“It’s not just a sock. It’s a sore heel, a blister, a gods-ratted hole in your skin, and the fever will come into it, and you’ll be lame and someone else dead because of it.” And then, quite unlike Stammel, Paks laughed. “That’s what my sergeant always said. I came into the Company already knowing how to knit, sew a plain seam, and darn socks: it’s not hard if you catch the hole early. I’ll show you later, but now I must see the king.”

“I’m here,” Kieri said. She looked up at him and grinned; he felt his own smile widen. “Paks—how are you?”

“Fine,” she said. He could see a few silver strands in amongst the yellow of her hair now, and the silver circle on her brow still made him uneasy, but she looked healthy. “I was sent,” she said. “And I have word.”

Word. He did not quite shiver. “Arian has had her babes,” he said. “Both healthy. Come and meet them.”

Inside, he led her first to his office. “How long can you stay?”

“I don’t know … longer than one day or two, I think.”

“Sit down,” he said, and nodded to one of his Squires. “Varne, bring refreshments, please.” When the Squire had left, he said, “What word?”

“My lord—sir king—Sergeant Stammel is dead. He had left the Company—”

“Stammel?”

“With a dragon and then asked leave to stay away and live apart, where he was not known, because of his blindness. He made a life there, among villagers on an island, and he died there, defending them.”

“As he would,” Kieri said. “You heard this from—?”

“Captain—Duke Arcolin as he is now. I arrived in time for the burial.”

“Thank you for coming to tell me,” Kieri said. In the years since he had seen Stammel last, he had never been able to imagine him blind—he knew, but his mind refused to see anything but the same steady, tough, capable sergeant, brown eyes clear and keen. Now he thought back to the young Stammel, the Stammel of his recruit cohort. “I can’t … I can’t imagine him dying any other way than that.”

A servant knocked then and brought in a tray with a pitcher and glasses and a plate of pastries. Kieri poured and handed a glass to Paks, then took one himself and a pastry.

“So is that why you come?”

“Not only that.” She looked at him. “I am in search of a Kuakgan; the Marshal-General was attacked by iynisin and suffers wounds that do not heal properly. Marshals and paladins have tried, but it is with her as it was with me. We know of no healing but through a Kuakgan, but there are none in Fintha. Most in Tsaia are bound to their Grove
and do not travel far or long. Master Oakhallow will have her, if she will come there, but says he cannot go so far. He has asked some who wander to come to me here—it was the closest way.”

“So it is not our need for a paladin? Glad as I am to see you again, Paks, it’s a relief to know it’s not our problem.”

“No … but you seem especially happy. Is it the children? How old are they?”

“Twins,” Kieri said. “Born today. You will have to see them, but not this moment. I hope Arian’s gone to sleep.” He took another swallow of sib. “Tell me, what does Gird think of the Marshal-General’s injuries?”

“I cannot tell.” Her nose wrinkled. “It’s complicated. When I was a recruit, I had to learn to obey orders I did not understand, but Stammel taught us ways to understand them—the why of things we had to do. Now—I am sometimes given orders, very clear, and sometimes know why and sometimes do not. I know Gird wants me to find a Kuakgan, but it’s not in words. Just … feeling. And at times, I have nothing to do but … be.”

“Hmm. As a king, I am supposed to know why I give the orders I do … I certainly did know, when I was a mercenary captain.”

Paks looked at him, a penetrating look from those gray eyes; he wondered how far in she could see.

“You have changed,” she said. “The seeming younger—that’s the elven blood, of course—but now there’s … it’s almost like … the Lady.”

“You do know she died—”

“I heard,” Paks said. “And how. But—are you then her heir? Is that what I sense?”

“That is a very long story, but in short—yes, in a way that confounds both elves and humans. Not so much of the ability to form an elvenhome as my grandmother—the Lady—had. More than any human should have as far as elves are concerned, but since the choice was the complete loss of it or my lesser version, there are still elves in Lyonya.”

“And the Lady had taught you how to do whatever it is?”

“No,” Kieri said. “My mother wished me to have the elvenhome
talent, and the Lady—did not. They quarreled, over that and other things. I discovered the talent last summer in the very place my mother died and I was taken.”

“You found
that
place?”

“Yes, by accident or the gods’ design.” Kieri took another pastry; he was suddenly ravenous. Through a mouthful, he said, “You did know that Arian’s father was a western elf, and his father the elf-lord somewhere near Kolobia?”

“No!” Paks stared. “I knew such an elf had come to the Marshal-General and ordered her to remove the enchanted magelords from the hall there, but she did not know how. The iynisin who captured me had once been captive in solid rock, but the elf told the Marshal-General they escaped because of the magelords coming to Kolobia, mostly Luap. When whoever enchanted the magelords was done, the elves thought the chamber sealed—but it opened again when the expedition I was on went there to search for the place. We were able to use the elven transfer patterns, and that let the iynisin free again.” She stopped for a moment, her brow furrowed. “Do you mean the elf who came to the Marshal-General is actually Queen Arian’s grandfather?”

“Yes. There’s a very long, tangled tale involving my grandmother and her grandfather—not a tale to tell on a happy occasion, as there was no happy outcome. But he came to me and told me that I am the one who must remove the magelords, supposedly because the elves can tell that the magery used to enchant them contained elven, magelord, and Old Human components. How I am to do that, I have no idea. I’d studied elven magery before the Lady was killed, and Dorrin Verrakai has agreed I have some magelord talent, but … I don’t even know what spells were used.” He shook his head, running his hands through his hair. “Arian’s grandfather—privately we call him Grandda Elf, though I suspect he would not like that—agreed I should not do any great magicks around her while she was expecting or while they were too young. He did not define ‘too young,’ and I hope he doesn’t come back for years and gives us some peace.”

“But more and more iynisin are emerging,” Paks said. “Something must be done.”

“We had them here; that’s how the Lady died,” Kieri said, nodding. “I agree it’s important to do something, but first I must learn how. Without endangering Arian or the babies. And while doing everything else I need to do as king of Lyonya.”

“When I was a girl in Three Firs—” Paks began.

Kieri interrupted. “Have you ever gone back to see your family, Paks? I know you wanted to.”

“I did want to. Sometimes now I want to. But … I don’t know why, but I know I mustn’t go until I’m told to go.” She looked sad for a moment, then brightened. “It’s for their safety, I think. My being there would bring trouble to them.”

“You started to say something else,” Kieri said.

“Oh. Yes. Well, when I was a girl in Three Firs and heard the old tales about kings and queens and elves and witches and such things, I thought kings sat on a golden throne and did nothing all day but give orders.”

“What did you think of that?”

“It sounded boring. Sit all day and tell people what to do? I would rather do things myself. You do, don’t you?”

“Indeed. Ride, fence in the salle, hold Council with the Siers … though that is sitting and talking, I admit.”

“Sir king?” That was one of the Queen’s Squires at the door.

“Yes—is Arian all right?”

“Oh, yes. She wants you to bring the guest up to see the babies.”

Paks greeted Arian and looked closely at the two sleeping babies.