The Deed of Paksenarrion (40 page)

“What do we—what does the Duke—do with chairs and tables and old clothes? The gold I can understand, but—”

“He sells ‘em; either down here, or back north. There’s a good market for good things—even partly worn things. You’ll see.”

They built another mound north of the city, and with the Halverics held another memorial celebration to honor those who had died as Siniava’s prisoners or in taking Rotengre. The Guild League cities each sent a representative, but their militias stayed away; Paks was glad. After that, the heavily laden wagons of plunder followed the Company north and west to Valdaire along the Guild League route. It was later than usual, already winter, as Aarenis knew winter: cold and unpleasant enough. Their elation at breaking Rotengre drained away the closer they came to their winter quarters, for every day on the road they marched with the ghosts of the slain.

When they reached Valdaire, Arcolin took the remnant of his cohort and assigned them the same quarters as the year before. Paks almost wished he had left them with the others; alone in a barracks meant for a hundred or more, they were achingly aware of their losses. Even the winter routine of training and work could not distract them. Every night Paks faced the rows of empty bunks, and looked aside to meet eyes as unhappy as her own. They had been told the Duke would replace the missing—he had already ridden north—but this was no comfort. Who could replace Donag? Or Bosk? She would not let herself think of Saben and Canna. Day by day she and the others grew even more silent and grim.

Then Arcolin announced a feast for them at
The White Dragon.
This was no ordinary dinner; though they came unwillingly, the splendor Arcolin had ordered had its effect. The table was loaded with roast stuffed fowl, a great crown roast with candied fruit for jewels on the crown, roast suckling pig in a nest of mushrooms, a pastry construction of the city of Rotengre, with little figures assaulting the walls and gate, and colored sugar flames rising from the roofs. Dishes Paks had never seen before: steamed grain with bits of mushroom, nuts, and spices in it, vegetables stuffed with cheese or meat or another vegetable or nuts. Thick soups and thin soups, sliced cheeses in every shade from white to deep orange, sweet cakes and pies of every kind. They ate until they were full, and over full, washing it down with their choice of wines and ales. Paks drank more than she ever had, and felt, for the first time since seeing Siniava’s army come out of the trees, truly relaxed.

At the end of the meal, when the food was cleared away, and the servants had left, Arcolin passed around the rings which the Duke had made for them. Paks looked at hers before slipping it on her finger: a plain gold band with a tiny foxhead stamped on the outer surface, and the word “Dwarfwatch” and a rune that Arcolin told them stood for loyalty engraved on the inside. She ran her thumb lightly over the foxhead, and glanced aside to see Arñe doing the same thing.

Arcolin waited for them all to look up before speaking. “I wish,” he said quietly, “that I had been with you, to fight beside you. Not that you could have done better. Tir knows what I—what everyone—thinks of your fighting. But you have shared something now, bitter as it is, that will bind you heart to heart for the rest of your lives.” He stopped and looked around, gathering every eye that had dropped, before going on. “Very shortly,” he said, “the new recruits will be down; we’ll be back to size, or near it. You know, and I know, that they cannot take the place of those we have lost—but they can help avenge our friends. The Duke has sworn vengeance on Siniava. So has the Halveric. Let us, then, swear our own oath, for the memory of our friends and the destruction of our enemies.” He read out again the names of those who had died; they gave a great shout after each. Paks was crying; she saw tears glisten on most faces. Hand felt for hand around the table. Then Arcolin said, “Death to the Honeycat!” and the responsive roar shook the room. Paks felt a surge of rage, felt the anger in the others that made them one. She wished they could march at once.

But some weeks passed before the new recruits arrived. After the banquet, Paks felt more at ease; she and the others began looking forward to the new campaign almost as much as backward to the past one. They drilled with every weapon they had or had captured. Paks spent more time with the longsword. She enjoyed the great advantage her height and reach gave her with the longer weapon. But not all her time was spent in practice.

That winter the Vale of Valdaire seemed even fuller than usual of wintering troops. Paks met more of the Golden Company, commanded by Aesil M’dierra, a dark hawk-faced woman from the west. She saw Kalek Minderisnir, a scarfaced, bandy-legged little man who commanded the Blue Riders, and Sobanai Company, whose dapper commander looked, to Paks, too dressy to be a good fighter. The talk was of war: battles and encounters, siege and assault, tactics for polearms and blades. It was not long before they all knew of Paks’s journey. The Guild League militia had the tale from Sorellin, and the Halverics had not failed to spread it either. She found she was accepted by graying veterans as well as by eager young warriors her own age. And ever and ever again the talk turned to the Honeycat, and what could be done against him. Golden Company had fought him more than once; they argued fiercely with the Halverics about strategy. Paks listened carefully, trying to picture the coastal cities fair on their cliffs, and the grim forest where Alured the Black took toll of every passerby.

At last a runner brought them warning, and in an hour or so they saw a column approaching, with the Duke’s banner flying ahead. Paks watched the marchers critically. Had it been only two years since she had come that way? Had she looked so young? She saw the whites of the recruits’ eyes as they glanced from side to side. They were hardly more than children, she thought—then spotted a gray-headed man, and another, in the midst. Stammel led the second unit, and Devlin was behind him. The column halted. Paks tensed, waiting.

When Arcolin yelled, the Company formed, falling into place with the startling speed that never failed to impress the newcomers. Paks suppressed a grin, remembering her own reaction and seeing its mirror on the recruits’ faces. The Duke rode forward and looked them over. He turned to Arcolin.

“Well, they look fit enough. Are they ready?”

“They’d march today, my lord,” said Arcolin.

The Duke smiled. “Not quite today, Captains. Captain Valichi will break the column for you.”

“Yes, my lord.” The Duke rode away, and Valichi dismounted, coming to stand by Arcolin. Paks wondered why he had come. Who would captain the year’s recruits?

“Well, Val, what’d you bring us?” asked Dorrin.

“About the usual, plus veterans the Duke asked back in. He’s hired a captain, too, but he’ll tell you about that—should be here within the week. Arcolin, you’ll have Stammel and Kefer for sergeants, and Devlin and Seli for corporals. The Duke suggested that you take most of the veterans for your cohort, since it was worst hit; you’ll also have almost half the recruits.”

Arcolin stretched, shaking his head. “Well, then, we’d best settle the troops. Go ahead, Val.”

Valichi sent two files from Kefer’s unit and all of Stammel’s unit to Arcolin’s cohort, where they moved up behind the survivors. The rest of Kefer’s unit and two files of Vona’s went to Dorrin; the remainder to Cracolnya. The sergeants relocated themselves; Stammel gave the cohort a long, appraising look. When he met Paks’s eyes, one eyelid drooped in the merest suggestion of a wink.

Two hours later, the newcomers had distributed their gear in the barracks, and the bustle of sixty-two additional members gave the feeling of a full cohort again. Paks had been assigned four recruits to introduce to their new life, three men and one woman. As she told them where to store things, and where they would eat and sleep, she was reminded of her first night with the regular Company. But then there had been many more veterans than recruits.

She could tell they were full of questions, but she kept them busy. She didn’t want to talk about it yet with these people she did not know. Stammel came around to check, before supper, and gave her a grin.

“Well, Paks, I heard about you—you’ve had quite a year.”

Paks nodded. “It’s been—difficult.”

“Sounds like it. I’ve heard the Duke’s version; I’d like to hear yours. How about a mug at
The White Dragon
after supper?”

Paks frowned. “I’ve got second watch tonight—”

“That was before we came. Arcolin said to work in the recruits at once; they’ll start tonight. What about it?”

“Yes, sir; I’d like that.”

“Good. We’re not eating in formation; just make sure your group gets over there and back. I’ll be around somewhere.” Stammel moved on, and Paks surprised an expression on the recruits’ faces that made her uncomfortable.

“Come along,” she said brusquely. “Time to eat.” She led them to the serving lines, then to a table. Vik was there with three recruits. He rolled his eyes at her. Paks grinned.

“Paks, these are Mikel, Suri, and—and Saben.” Paks felt her face freeze. The recruit flinched; she realized she must be glaring. She swallowed and nodded at them, trying to smile. “This is Paks,” said Vik to them. The new Saben was thin and dark, with green eyes. Paks looked away, swallowed again, and introduced her own recruits, pointing a finger at each in turn.

“Volya, Keri, Jenits, and Sim; and this is Vik. Don’t dice with him; he’ll win.”

“If you’re going to tell tales, Paks, I’ll start on you,” threatened Vik.

“Huh. There’s nought to tell.”

“Is there not? Well, I’ll let them find out for themselves. Did you hear that Stammel’s changed the watch lists?”

Paks nodded, her mouth full of food.

“We’re off for two days, all the old ones. Want to come in to Valdaire with us tonight?”

Paks shook her head, spat out a piece of gristle, and said, “Not tonight. Stammel wanted to talk.”

“About—?” Vik jerked his head to the northeast.

“I expect so.” Paks went on eating, aware of the recruits’ interest.

Rauf sat down across the table from Paks with an older man and two recruits. “Paks, Vik—this is Hama, and Jursi, and Piter, who thought he’d retired.” Piter laughed at this; he had none of the recruits’ nervousness. He grinned at Paks.

“Are you the Paks that went seven days across country to bring the Duke word?” he asked.

“That’s right,” said Vik before Paks could answer. “Paks Longlegs—” Paks put an elbow in his ribs and he broke off.

“I’m impressed,” said Piter. “What did you do for supplies?”

“The first day we scavenged some food from a farm near the fort; the farmers had been killed. We tried to space it out—but we were short until—I think it was the fifth day. We tried to buy food at a little settlement, and they tried to rob us, and—we came away with enough to finish the trip.”

Piter nodded as he ate his stew. Then he frowned. “You say ‘we’—I heard it was you alone that brought the message.”

“Three of us started. Two died.” Paks looked away, avoiding the recruits’ eyes.

“Umph. I remember trying to shadow a column once, just for a day and night, and that was in summer. I could see their dust. Even so, I lost them twice and was nearly taken.”

“I remember that,” said Rauf. “It was my second—no, third—year, and you were in—was it Simintha’s cohort?”

“No, that was the year Sim had that bad fall; Follyn had just taken it. That was Graifel Company I was following, you remember; they disbanded some ten years ago, but they had a very good light foot.”

Paks listened to their remembrances, well pleased to have the conversation turned. She finished her meal, and saw that her recruits were finished too. Vik turned to her as he climbed over the bench. “Paks, I’ll see you at weapons drill tomorrow, if you’re not up when we get back.”

“If you’re coming back that late, all you’ll see at drill is the ground or sky.” The recruits looked shocked. Paks and Vik grinned at each other, and Paks climbed up too.

“Glad to have met you, Paks,” said Piter, saluting her with a hunk of bread.

“And you,” she said. Her group was up, and waiting for orders. “Let’s get back,” she told them, and led the way out.

“Paks—” It was Volya, the single woman of her group.

“Yes?”

“Will you tell us, someday, about what you did?”

Paks shrugged. “There’s not much to tell.”

“But surely—” began Jenits. Paks cut him off.

“Not now. Some other time, maybe, if you haven’t heard enough from the others.” She led them to the barracks at a fast pace.

Captain Arcolin was standing with Stammel just inside the door; the recruits shied around them. Stammel beckoned to Paks, and she came to stand nearby.

“—and that’s all I know,” said Arcolin. “We’ve two months training to make up in as many weeks. The veterans—” he nodded at Paks, “will all be instructors. I understand you’ve put the recruits on guard duty—”

“Yes, sir. For a few nights anyway.”

“Good. Oh—by the way—the Duke was talking of taking a section for drill himself.”

Stammel grunted. “It won’t be the first time, sir, but thank you for the warning.”

Arcolin glanced at Paks again. “You’re going in to Valdaire?”

“
The White Dragon,
” answered Stammel. “I’ll be back by second watch.”

“No problem. I’ll be checking the guard posts as usual. Take care.” Arcolin went out. Stammel looked after him a moment, then turned to Paks and smiled.

“I’ve already told Kefer I’m going; are you ready?” Paks nodded. “Good.” He started out the door. “Have you done much drilling with polearms?”

“Some. We drilled with Vladi’s spears before the siege ended, but not so much since we’ve come back.”

“Hmm. The Duke wants us to be able to use ‘em. I was hoping some of you could help teach—”

“I think we could use them. I don’t like ‘em nearly as well as swords; they’re too clumsy in close.”

“We’ll have to try.” They were in the lane that led to
The White Dragon;
in the light spilling from open doors and windows Paks saw that Stammel was watching her from the corner of his eye. “Paks—these recruits, they’re greener than you were: they’ve had two months less training. You heard the captain. We have to work them into the Company in a hurry. I don’t know when the Duke plans to march, but I doubt he’ll wait until summer. Now, the Duke’s told them some of what’s happened, and what you did. They’re all excited—I thought you should know what he’d said, so when they ask—”