Crown of Renewal (Legend of Paksenarrion) (38 page)

His color had returned, and he no longer looked ready to leap on
someone. “It is not so much—now—that they did what they did back then. I understood it then; the good of the realm comes first, and that seemed best, to prevent unrest. But to make that offer now—it’s an insult. An insult to you, and an insult to me.”

“It wasn’t intended as one,” Dorrin said. “Let me tell you of the other suggestion. All the dukes would be guardians to ensure that no one of them could take advantage of you in your minority and also because they are all busy and one—Arcolin—is also out of Tsaia and does not know about any of this yet. When you come of age and inherit the title, you must be at court, of course. The king agrees that you should no longer be isolated from the family of your birth, or from Vérella. There is still a question about admittance to the Bells, because the new commander is a very conservative Girdsman, somewhat at odds with the notion that mage talent does not necessarily mean a breach of the Code.”

Beclan scowled at that. “When
is
the Marshal-General going to change the Code?”

“She’s trying, but the Marshalate does not entirely agree with her. Unrest in Fintha has spread. So there’s some opposition to your being in the training hall. The king is unwilling to allow you to go to Fin Panir because of the unrest there, with mage-hunters seeking out mages and killing them. That leaves Falk’s Hall, but I know you would rather train with Girdsmen.”

“I’m not sure,” Beclan said. “I didn’t know they could be like that … killing children just for making light. If that’s their idea of Gird—” His voice rose again.

“Not all of them,” Dorrin said. “The king’s protecting them as best he can. Some Marshals agree with him … so do others. Even in Fintha. You’ve been Girdish all your life, and your family has been for generations—that’s not something to give up easily.”

“I gave up my name,” Beclan said, but without heat.

“And perhaps you gave up enough and need not give up more,” Dorrin said. “You said Gird helped you fight off those brigands—and I believe that he may well have, even if that meant giving you mage-powers.”

“So you think I should wait until the Bells will accept a mage?”

“I think you should discuss it with your guardians,” Dorrin said. “They need to know what you want and why you want it. They’re all men you have known from childhood.”

Beclan nodded. “I wish you weren’t leaving.”

“So do I. But I trust that you will be a good duke, a good lord for this domain, when you come of age. I will talk with you again before I leave, but now I need to talk to Grekkan, your steward.”

Beclan stood and bowed. “Yes, my lord. I cannot yet think of Grekkan as
my
steward.”

“You will,” she said.

When he had left, Dorrin called Grekkan in and explained how the guardianship would work. “Duke Serrostin and the other guardians will come soon. Though I left them a general account of the estate, they must see for themselves. You should have a detailed account ready for them, a copy they can take back. You will contact the same man of business and banker, sending accounts there you have been accustomed to giving me directly. You can also contact the guardians—any one of them. I expect they will give Beclan some limited power to make decisions here, and I expect he will seek your guidance.”

“Yes, my lord.” Grekkan’s expression was sober but not distressed. “When are you leaving?”

“In a few days. I will go east first, but though many may guess at that direction, no word should come from here.”

“Of course not, my lord.”

After Grekkan left, Dorrin went to the kitchen. As she expected, Farin and Natzlin were both there. Farin pounded a mound of dough as if it were an enemy; Natzlin perched on a stool and looked miserable.

“So you’re deserting us,” Farin said, shoving her fists deep into the dough. Before Dorrin could answer, she went on. “And I know you’ll say it’s the king’s command, m’lord, but it’s a
stupid
command. Best lord this place ever had and he’s sending you away, and for what? To spy on some foreigner who might invade someday?”

That was an explanation Dorrin had not thought of. “It’s not for me to discuss the king’s command,” she said.

“No, of course not.” This time Farin smacked the dough with the
flat of her hand. “You just obey it.” She leaned on the table, a hand on either side of the dough. “I never thought I’d have a master of this house I could respect, and then you came, and now … am I to respect that pup Beclan?” Natzlin stirred, and Farin rounded on her. “He’s a puppy, I say. Respect due to his breeding? Well, his breeding made him a mage, didn’t it?”

“You will respect him,” Dorrin said, “because although he is young, and although he has made mistakes, he has learned from them and he is, as you know well, my heir, who I tell you now will be a man who deserves that respect.”

“And you’re sure of that.” Farin’s tone was less angry but still challenging.

“I’m sure of that.”

“Well.” Farin rolled the dough around until it made a compact ball and covered it with a cloth. “Well, then. I suppose I must give the lad a chance to prove you right.”

“Yes,” Dorrin said. “You must.”

“But I don’t have to like your going away. Neither me nor Natzlin likes it.”

“I understand,” Dorrin said, glancing at Natzlin, whose eyes glittered with unshed tears. “But you two are pillars of this household. Food and safety. None more important. I trust you both to keep the household fed and safe and to teach others to do the same.”

Natzlin’s tears spilled over. “I—I gave my oath to
you
, m’lord.”

“And I gave mine to the king, and he returned it to me. And the same with King Kieri, and it always hurts to have an oath returned. But you will manage, Natzlin, and so will you, Farin. Support each other. Commit yourselves to Beclan and this household.”

Both of them nodded.

“And now,” Dorrin said, “I’m more than a little hungry after all this emotion.”

Farin chuckled. “Thought you might be.” She went over to the warming oven and pulled out a platter. “Now, if your oath to the king is gone, does that mean you’re not a duke?”

“Farin!” Natzlin stared at her.

“I suppose it does,” Dorrin said.

“Then you can eat here in the kitchen if you’d like.”

Dorrin sat down and grinned at Farin. “I’m merely a humble traveler passing through …”

Farin snorted. “Here you are, then.”

Next day, Dorrin took Beclan with her to the nearest vills when she said goodbye to them. That was hard, but the hardest of all the farewells were those to the children she had orphaned, children who now called her “Auntie Dorrin” and were growing up without the fears that had controlled their lives before she came. They clung to her, and most of them cried. She blinked back her tears and hoped what she said to them—that they were safe, that they would be cared for and loved, that Beclan would be to them as an older brother, a protector—would eventually be a comfort.

It was easy to think of reasons to stay one more day … and then another. So many things she needed to tell Beclan, Grekkan, the house staff, the children. So many vills she could visit, so many people and places and projects. She knew she must not linger. On the third day, she set the day for departure and considered what she needed to take with her.

Not her court dress, not her ducal insignia, not her Verrakai-blue doublets or tabard. Her working clothes as a mercenary would be best. Plain shirts, plain trousers, leather doublet, a brown wool cloak. Mail? Yes, the same she had worn in the Duke’s Company, for she might be attacked on the way. Her sword, her dagger, her kit for repairing clothing, her own eating utensils, her sharpening stone and oil, her firestarter—she laughed at that but kept it anyway. She might be places where lighting a fire with her finger would be unwise. She hesitated over her ducal ring. At Kieri’s court, where she was known as Duke Verrakai, it would be noticed if she did not wear it. She did not want to explain to his Siers that she was no longer a duke. Kieri could send it back for Beclan.

Her own needs fit, as they always had, in two saddlebags and a roll behind the saddle. The regalia would travel on a packhorse, with
supplies for the trip. And it was done. She looked around her room as if seeing it for the first time. The bed, the chairs, the table, the fireplace with its decorative screen in this season. She looked out the window at the garden, at the apple tree where Arian had first shown her how to reach the taig.

She turned away from that. Night had fallen; morning would come early. She undressed in that room for the last time, lay down, and in spite of all fell asleep at once.

The news of the enchantment laid on the Tsaian royal palace and the injuries suffered by Prince Camwyn arrived in Chaya by special courier. Kieri, reading King Mikeli’s letter, felt a cold chill—this was worse than what had happened the previous spring, when the Lady was killed. Easy to imagine how Mikeli had felt, seeing his brother apparently dying, realizing that everyone had been helplessly trapped in an enchantment but the prince and the prince’s best friend. All too easy to imagine such an enchantment here … Would his own elvenhome be any protection?

Mikeli had sent for Dorrin—of course—and of course wanted her to take the regalia away. By this time she was probably on her way to Vérella. He stopped reading and counted off days of travel in his mind. His couriers and Mikeli’s now used relays of horses, thus making the journeys much faster. She would not be in Vérella yet.

He read on, brow furrowed. Mikeli’s analysis of his kingdom’s peril showed the experience the young king had gained from the many challenges of his reign. Asking Dorrin to leave the realm and resign her title and heritage: he might have done so himself in Mikeli’s place. A king must consider his realm before his own feelings. Wherever she went, as long as she had the regalia with her, Dorrin would be a danger to anyone who sheltered her, attracting both common thieves and those with greater purpose.

“I believe she must go east, through your realm, to begin her journey. I ask that you give her what assistance you can to come
safely to a destination she will tell you. You have powers I lack, and these items have a destiny Duke Verrakai discerns. You are better placed to help her than anyone else I know.”

Kieri had duties Mikeli did not know and could not understand. Oaths to keep: to his dual realm, the people of Lyonya and the elves of his elvenhome, and the Old Humans into whose tribe he had been adopted. Magelords to release from old enchantment so that the dragon could remake the stone and end the irruption of iynisin. From everything Dorrin had told him, from everything Mikeli told him, she and those strange jewels threatened all he was sworn to protect. By any measure of common sense, he should ban her from his realm.

But he could not. He would not. Though she was not oathsworn to him now, their friendship was not a matter of mere oath. She, like Arcolin, had been the foundation of his domain in Tsaia. She wore Falk’s ruby, even as he did, and never once wavered in her duty.

He wrote a short note to Mikeli, saying he would give Dorrin whatever help he could, and gave it to the courier, who mounted and rode away. One thing was clear to him. He must attempt to break the enchantment he and Paks had made and get the magelords out of the stronghold in Kolobia so that the dragon could do his work and once more lock iynisin into unyielding stone. He had thought to wait until he was certain of his magery; he had thought iynisin would attack him, not Tsaia. And certainly not the young prince. He would not wait any longer. If he succeeded, there would be fewer iynisin anywhere, less danger for all. If he failed? He would not fail. He must not fail.

He called Caernith and the King’s Squires on duty into his office and read them Mikeli’s message.

“You see, my lord, why you must hurry,” Caernith said.

“Yes. I do. Delay will not serve any of us. And I will make the attempt today. I’m going now to tell the queen about this. Come.”

“You should be dressed formally,” Caernith said as they went upstairs.

Kieri glanced at him. It had grown hot a hand of days before, and he had been wearing only a light shirt over his mail. “Why?” he asked.