Oath of Fealty (36 page)

Part of the banker’s pay was information. “He’s the new king of Lyonya,” Arcolin said. “That much is true. He’s the son of—I think it was the second last king before the one that died this winter, sister of the last queen. But the whole story’s long, and I have an appointment.”

“So—who’s going to take over the Company? And his domain—he had a domain in Tsaia, didn’t he?”

“I am,” Arcolin said.

“So you’re a duke—the Duke—now?”

“Lord of the North Marches,” Arcolin said. “Nothing more now; the Council knows I’m from Aarenis. And not nobly born.”

“He wasn’t either, that they knew about,” Kavarthin said. They went up a flight of stairs; Kavarthin paused at the landing. “When will you want the money out, Captain?”

“Some tomorrow, to pay for expenses here.”

“You know we still have money Phelan deposited two years or more back. And it’s earned. You have his seal and authority—what should I do with that?”

“Send half north with the first Guild caravan, to his usual bank in Vérella,” Arcolin said. That had been Kieri’s practice: leave most of a season’s earnings in the bank in Valdaire, but once the first campaign money was paid, half went north. “Send it to Captain Cracolnya; he’s in charge up there for now.”

“Not that good-looking woman captain? I thought she was second to you.”

“By your leave,” Arcolin said, “that’s another long story. Tomorrow, if it please you, but now I must go.”

A soft mist drifted down as he came out into the street, the afternoon darkening to evening. Jamis and Tam had left with the mule and the kegs, to deliver ale to the cohort. Arcolin checked the hang of his sword and walked swiftly.

For a wonder, the streets were silent on his way to the Golden Fish, idlers urged back inside by mist that turned to drizzle, then to thin rain as he walked. When he arrived, he saw someone leading Aesil M’dierra’s horse away from the entrance; she was silhouetted in the doorway. Arcolin stretched his legs and caught up before the door wards closed the door behind her. He handed his damp hat and cloak to a servant and they followed the innkeeper to the private room Arcolin had reserved. It was nicely furnished, the table covered with a clean cloth and set with dishes bearing the golden fish emblem of the place, chairs cushioned with padded leather, a weapons rack on one wall, more sweet herbs scattered on the shining floor.

“Very nice,” M’dierra said, sitting in the chair to the heart-hand side; Arcolin took the other.

During dinner, they didn’t talk; both had the soldier’s habit of
eating while food was available. But when servants had taken away the meager remains of the leg of lamb, the pastry stuffed with steamed grain, vegetables, and bits of chicken and pork, the buttered redroots, the bread, and brought in a compote of mixed fruits simmered in spices and honey, M’dierra said, “Well?”

“I didn’t see it myself, but I heard it from those who did,” Arcolin said, ladling a serving of dessert into the small bowls the servants had put down on fresh plates. “Including Tsaia’s prince. You remember Kieri’s wife, Tammarion.”

“Indeed I do.” They both understood the slight edge in her voice.

“At the wedding, he gave her a sword, a sword that Aliam Halveric had found in the forest up there in Lyonya. It was a pretty thing, they both thought, and fit for a lady.”

“The one with that green stone?”

“Yes.” Arcolin explained what he’d been told about the sword’s origin. “I don’t know more than that, but I do know that Aliam had no idea whose it was, nor Kieri, and Kieri had vowed not to hold it, when he gave it to Tammarion.”

“Why?”

Arcolin shrugged. “I never understood it myself, or why he didn’t use it after she died. But it hung on the wall at the fort all those years until the night the Duke’s steward and a priestess of Achrya tried to kill us all.” He hurried through that part. “Then Paksenarrion rode off with it, having a call from the gods, and the next thing we heard was a summons from the Council for the Duke to come to Vérella along with representatives from the village councils of his domain.” Aesil said nothing, but put a piece of fruit in her mouth. “Then I had his letter telling me he was going to Lyonya to be king. And when I got to Vérella, I heard from the prince about the Verrakai attacks, not only on Kieri but on the prince, his uncle, and the Marshal-Judicar.”

“The Girdish will be out for blood. What about the other Verrakai?”

“Order of Attainder. And on the Konhalts.”

“So Tsaia has three domains up there with no, or new, commanders. Where I come from, that would mean war.” M’dierra scowled. “The situation here is unstable too. Has been since the last year Phelan was down here.”

“A bad time,” Arcolin said.

“Bad indeed,” M’dierra said, her voice low. “We did things—”

“We all did things we aren’t proud of,” Arcolin said. “But now it’s your turn. What’s the situation, and—most of all—what’s your opinion of these five?” He laid his short list on the table in front of her.

She tapped the first name. “What did he tell you about his experience?”

“Served with you for two hands of years, half as sergeant. Decided to go out on his own while he still could.”

“Eight years, and two as sergeant. He’s not bad, but he’s not as good as he thinks he is, and he’ll tell you what he thinks you want to hear. He’s a competent soldier, less so as a sergeant; too much temper and too fond of ale. An excellent swordsman, though, and capable with several weapons.”

“I wondered,” Arcolin said. “I thought I remembered seeing him in the ranks that last year.”

“You did. Now this young fellow—” She tapped the next name. “He’s someone’s bastard, won’t say whose, but claims he knows. Last season, he took a short contract with Sobanai and they offered him permanent, but he wanted varied experience, he said. I hired him on another short contract, in the fall, to take a cohort on escort duty to Andressat and back; the sergeant said he was diligent and honest. Andressat had some complaint—you know the Count, how fussy he can be. I’ve contracted to Andressat many times; can’t afford to have anyone he won’t tolerate, so I let him go, but have nothing against him.” She put the list down.

“I need more than one,” Arcolin said. “We’re short of captains—and I haven’t told you about Dorrin.”

“Dorrin! Was she killed?”

“No. But the prince and Council have named her the new Duke of Verrakai.”

M’dierra stared at him. “What? Dorrin? Why?”

“She’s a Verrakai. And she’s had nothing to do with them since she ran away to the Company of Falk.”

M’dierra said something in her native tongue that must have been an oath, and said, “If you need help up there, Jandelir, consider hiring Golden Company.” She was serious; she almost never used his first name.

“I don’t think bringing mercenaries over the mountains would calm the situation.”

“Perhaps not, but—why are you here, and not there?”

“Contract. And money. We were running short on supplies, with so many troops quartered up there.”

“Ah. Well, then—” She looked at the list again and put her finger on the fifth name. “Here’s another possible for you. I’d hire him if I had an opening. You don’t want the others. You’ll want to send someone reliable north, am I right?”

“Yes. Two, if possible.”

“My advice: Send this one, Versin, north; keep the young fellow with you. And the Blues let one of their captains go, Talvis Arneson; he lost an eye last year, nearly died of the infection, but survived. Good man, but you know them—won’t spend on their wounded. True, he’s only got one eye, but every other way, he’s worth the chance, especially for training recruits. He’s looking shabby now, and living rough, but my captains can find him.”

“Send him to me tomorrow, if you will, and thank you for your help,” Arcolin said.

“What will you do, without Kieri?”

“What I did before,” Arcolin said. “What he taught me. Take good contracts, do the work honestly, treat my people honorably. Stay out of politics.”

“And—what have you told them up north about your past?”

“That I’m someone’s bastard.”

“But not whose?”

“It’s immaterial now.” Since Siniava’s War, boundaries had changed and rulers as well; what had been lay now in ruins, he was sure.

“Is it? Is it ever immaterial? It certainly wasn’t for Kieri. If he’d known—”

“Siniava would still rule the South, Aesil.” There. He’d used her first name. “You’d have that to deal with, and no Kieri to lead us all against him.”

“I wonder,” she said. “Men like Kieri seem to bring trouble with them. We need trouble, we mercenaries, but we don’t thrive in big wars. No one does.” She tipped her head to one side. “Are you still in love with me, Jandelir?”

“I grew up,” Arcolin said. “As men do.”

“As some men do.” She sighed and ran a finger around the rim of her dessert bowl. Her knuckle, he noticed, was scarred and swollen.
“I was young and proud, in those days, intent on having my own company, on proving myself. I saw no profit in you, and that was unfair.” She looked squarely at him. “I do not apologize often, Jandelir Arcolin, but this is an apology. I do not think I could have loved you then, even had I stopped to consider what manner of young man you were, but I should have done you that courtesy at least. And later, when I realized it, I should have said so then.”

Arcolin could not speak for a moment; all the old longing swept over him once more, then departed. He had loved her; she had loved—or thought she loved—Kieri Phelan; Kieri had loved only Tammarion, and Tammarion had died. If any bard had known all this, it would have made a ballad, but no one did, no one but the people involved. He cleared his throat. “I did love you, Aesil, and admired you as well, and it was years before I gave up the hope that perhaps, someday … but you need not apologize, except to ease your own heart.”

“And so it is,” she said, sitting back and folding her hands on the table. “You are the man I thought you were, once I saw past my own ambition and my own losses. Friends?”

“Always,” Arcolin said. “Unless, of course, we’re hired by enemies, but even then—”

“We have the Code, and we are content, are we not?”

“We are content,” Arcolin said.

N
ext day, when Arcolin was coming back from another visit to the banker, he saw ahead of him a gaunt man in dirty, thread bare clothes with a rag tied around his head approaching the inn door. The door ward blocked him.

“Show me your money, or go your way.” The door ward sounded both bored and hostile.

“I need to see Captain Arcolin.”

“Not likely, beggar—he’s no time for the likes of you—” The door ward flourished his billet. The man’s shoulders drooped; he turned away from the door, and Arcolin could see that the rag on his head covered his left eye.

“Wait—” Arcolin came closer and signaled the door ward to move back. “Aren’t you Arneson, captain in the Blues? M’dierra told me you might come to see me.”

“Yes,” the man said. “I’m Arneson. No longer captain; they said after this—” He raised a hand to his face. “I was no use to them.” The wound that had taken his eye had pulled his face awry as well; Arcolin recognized the damage done most often by a curved blade.

“I’m hiring captains to go north,” Arcolin said. “Northern Tsaia, north of the Honnorgat—”

“Where Phelan came from—is he still Duke, or is the rumor true, that he’s gone to be king somewhere?”

“Lyonya; he’s king of Lyonya now. I’m taking over his domain and Company, with his blessing. I have a one-cohort contract with Cortes Vonja. But come in—it’s time for lunch. Eat with me; we’ll talk and see if you want the job.”

“I’ll take any job,” Arneson said, squaring his shoulders. “If you think I can be of use. And if you don’t—better we talk before we eat. I’m not taking a meal from you, if—”

“Well, then, if you insist—how many years were you with the Blues?”

“Nine fighting seasons. I was at Cha in Siniava’s War.”

“You were on our right flank, if I remember—”

“No, on your left.”

“So you were.” Arcolin realized he had already gone past the warped face, the missing eye, to liking the man, wanting him to qualify. “Your company was mostly swordsmen, like ours—did you ever command polearms?”

“Only in training—we trained with them, but rarely used them.”

“Same as us, and mostly so our swords can practice against them. Tell me, do you consider yourself fit enough for duty? M’dierra said you were sick a long time. Are you healthy now?”

“Yes, sir. I know my missing eye is a problem, but I’m otherwise whole of body and limb. If you wish to test my sword skills, I’m afraid I must ask for the loan of a sword.”

“You wouldn’t have lasted nine fighting seasons with the Blues if you weren’t a good swordsman. I think you’d better have lunch with me, Captain, because if you’re willing, you’re hired.”

The relief showed through the scar. “I—thank you, sir.”

“Come on in, meet the sergeants. They’re staying south with me, but they can fill you in—”

“Sir, I’d—I’d rather not—the way I am—”

Arcolin nodded. “You haven’t asked about your pay—you’re due a signing bonus. We have to get you on the rolls for that—come in for that, and then meet me for supper.”