And at every grange of Gird, the vigil continued until dawn.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Kieri Phelan rode away from Vérella that dark night in an internal storm of impotent rage and frustration. He had been captured by a ruse he should have seen through—taken in by the plea of one of his veterans. That was stupidity, and he didn't excuse himself that he was distracted by the day's events. So he was Lyonya's king—that didn't mean he could let his mind wander. And then he'd been rescued—beyond his hopes—by another veteran—by Paksenarrion, now a paladin of Gird. She had freed him, and his squires, but she herself was now a prisoner—for five days, she had agreed to suffer whatever torments the priests of Liart inflicted. And he had agreed to that, because he could do nothing else. She made the bargain with the Liartians, and her oath bound him. He shifted in the saddle, glad of the darkness that covered his expression. What must they all think, of a king that would sacrifice a paladin to save his own life?
And yet—he had to admit she was right. He knew who he was, now: the rightful heir to Lyonya's throne, a half-elf, torn from his birthright by slavers. No one else could do what he must do—restore the frayed taig of Lyonya, and the alliance of elf and human, clean the forests of evil influence. Lyonya needed its king—needed him—and he could not deny a paladin's right to follow a quest to its end. But Paksenarrion—dear to him as his own daughter—his heart burned to think of her in their hands. All he had seen in thirty-odd years of war came to him that night, and showed him what she must endure.
He forced his mind to his own plans. If she had bought his life, he must make use of it. Selfer would be far north of Vérella by now, riding hard to meet Dorrin's cohort and bring them down. Dorrin herself, in Vérella, would have fresh mounts ready for them, and a royal pass to follow him. Kostvan had agreed to let Arcolin pass through, if it came to that, and would be alert in case the Pargunese tried to take advantage of his absence. He thought ahead. Surely the enemy would strike before he reached Chaya—but where? Not in the Mahieran lands close to Vérella, nor in the little baronies of Abriss or Dai. East of that, in Verrakai domain? At the border itself? In Lyonya? He thought over what Paks had said about Achrya's influence there—some thought of him as a blood-thirsty mercenary. He had no clear idea of the river road in his mind; he'd always gone south to visit the Halverics, cutting eastward from below Fiveway to go through Brewersbridge and avoid Verrakai altogether.
At Westbells, the High Marshal and Phelan both stopped to wake Marshal Torin and hand over Paks's gear. Seklis did not explain much, and Marshal Torin, sleepy-eyed and bewildered, did not ask. Kieri touched that bright armor for the last time, as he thought, and prayed to all the gods that Paks might be spared the worst. The first glimmer of light seeped into the eastern sky as they rode away. Around him the ponderous hooves of the heavy warhorses—twenty of them—shook the earth. Behind were the lighter mounts of the infantry and bowmen, and then the pack train. Kieri's mouth twitched, remembering Dorrin's sulfurous comments on the pack train. He would have minded more, except that their slowness gave Dorrin a better chance to catch up. He thought where Selfer would be, on the road he knew best—changing horses, gulping a hot mug of sib, and starting off again, faced with Crow Ridge to climb.
As the day brightened, Kieri glanced around to see what his escort looked like in the daytime. Twenty massive gray warhorses, twenty plate-armored knights with spears and swords. Already the heavy horses were streaked with sweat; they were meant for power, not distance. Twenty mounted infantry, on gray horses much smaller than the warhorses; these carried short swords, with shields slung to the saddles. Ten mounted bowmen, on the same light horses, with the short, sharply curved bow of the northern nomad, to be used mounted or afoot: an excellent bow in the forest, as well. All these were in rose and silver or gray, the royal colors of Tsaia. His own tensquad, still in Phelani maroon and white, mounted on matched bays (how had Dorrin accomplished that, he wondered?), with Vossik at their head. The King's Squires from Lyonya, whom he hardly knew, but for Garris: they rode close around him, with the royal pennant of Lyonya displayed. And the two Marshals: High Marshal Seklis, and Marshal Sulinarrion, both in Gird's blue and white, with the crescent of Gird on chest and cloak. Behind came the pack train—servants, supplies, more than forty beasts extra, which the Tsaian Royal Guard insisted on.
Kieri looked around for the Royal Guard cohort commander. He had met the man the previous afternoon, before leaving the palace, but could not recognize him among the other knights. But the man caught his eye, reined his horse close, and bowed.
"My lord? You wish to rest?"
Kieri nearly laughed, but managed to hide it. "No, Sir Ammerlin. I'm used to longer rides than this. I wanted to ask, though, what your usual order of march would be."
Ammerlin frowned. "Well—it's rare that we travel far; we're the Royal Guard, after all, and we stay with the prince. We should breathe the horses soon, my lord. If they're to go far—"
"I suppose Lyonya is far," said Kieri. It seemed to him that the pace had been but a crawl—a man could have walked the distance as fast—but he knew better than to push another man's command beyond its limits. Ammerlin bowed in the saddle.
"I thank you, my lord." He returned to the head of the column, spoke to the cohort bugler, and a quick signal rang out. Kieri tossed a hand signal at Vossik that halted his own tensquad in their tracks while the Royal Guard straggled to a halt. High Marshal Seklis grinned at him.
"You did that on purpose."
"Marshal, my company doesn't know their signals."
Seklis laughed. "My lord, your company could probably keep an even interval without any signals at all—couldn't it now?"
"It might," said Kieri. Ammerlin had come back, on foot. "How long will we rest?" asked Kieri.
"A quarter glass or so, my lord. I need to check on the pack animals, and make sure everything is holding up well. And each rider checks his own animal."
"Then I'll walk around a bit." Kieri swung off his horse to find that Lieth was already down and holding his rein. "You're quick," he said, smiling. She looked down.
"My lord king, not quick enough."
He knew what she meant; the afternoon before, when they were all captured. He laid his hand on her arm. "Lieth, I will not ask you not to think of it—I think of it every moment. But I need my squires alert now—here—so I will ask that you think of it in the back of your head. Let you not reproach yourself for the past—for all of us have failed someone somewhere."
She met his eyes, her own full of tears, but nodded. "I will not speak of it again."
"We will speak of it again, Lieth—to the whole court of Lyonya—but first we will get there." At that she managed a smile, and he walked off the road to the snowy verge, stamping his feet. Suriya and Garris flanked him on either side; Vossik he found close behind him whenever he turned.
The pause lasted longer than a quarterglass, for some of the pack animals needed their packs reset. Kieri contained his annoyance, to Ammerlin's evident relief. High Marshal Seklis was less restrained. "I've wondered, Ammerlin, how you could possibly get to the field in time for a battle, and now I see you couldn't."
Ammerlin reddened. "We could, close to Vérella, but—"
"Gird's shovel, man, you're not an honest four hour ride from Vérella yet!"
"But we had to pack for a journey—"
"I daresay the expedition to Luap's stronghold had less baggage, and they meant to be gone a year," returned Seklis.
"High Marshal," said Kieri quietly, and shook his head. Seklis subsided; Ammerlin stalked off, still angry. "Don't bait him," said Kieri. "We will need his goodwill, when they attack us."
"You think they will?"
Kieri shrugged. "Why else would they have let me go? Paksenarrion said—and it makes sense—that two powerful evils do not want me on the throne of Lyonya. I'm not sure why they didn't kill me at once—but they must intend to do it, and this journey is the best time."
"Then why didn't you wait in Vérella for your company?"
Kieri looked at him sideways. "Marshal, if I had brought down my whole Company—and the gods know what a comfort that would be to me now—do you think I'd have had leave to march it through Verrakai's lands? And what would the Lyonyans think, when I arrived declaring myself their ruler with my own personal troops around me? And what would have happened in the north, where my Company stands between Tsaia and the northern perils? No—that would never do." Seklis and Sulinarrion nodded. "As you know, I did ask—and get—permission to bring one cohort down; if the Royal Guard is slow enough, Dorrin may catch us up before the border."
"How fast can they travel?" asked Sulinarrion.
"They'll be in Vérella three days after they start," said Kieri, then grinned at their expressions. "Mounted, of course."
"Mounted on what?" asked Seklis when he got his breath back. "Flying horses?"
"No—and not warhorses, either. Good, solid nomad-bred beasts. Ugly as sin, and legs like stone."
"What do you use for supply?" asked Sulinarrion.
"For a cohort? A ten-mule string, usually, for a week's journey. Double that for speed. More if there's a lot of fighting, because I don't like to leave my wounded behind; I'll hire wagons, mule-drawn, if necessary."
"Umph." Sulinarrion seemed impressed. "So some of what I heard from Aarenis could be true."
"That depends on what you heard."
"That your Company marched from the upper Immer to Cortes Andres in less than twelve days, including fighting."
Kieri counted on his fingers. "Ten days, it was, from Ifoss to Cortes Andres. Yes. No wagons, though, until we captured some of Siniava's on the north border of Andressat. But that march wasn't bad—ask Vossik here." He smiled at the sergeant, and the Marshals turned to him. In answer to their questions he shook his head.
"No, Marshals, my lord's right. That was across high ground, mostly, and easy enough. I'd say that march through the forest, or across Cilwan, was worse."
"The weather was," said Kieri, "and we had walking wounded, too. And what about that last stretch in Fallo?"
Vossik grinned. "I was hoping to forget that, my lord. That damned mud—those Fallo roads haven't got no bottom to 'em at all, and the fields was wet as creeks. Seemed like we'd been marching forever by then."
Ammerlin came back and bowed stiffly to Kieri. "My lord, we are ready to ride when you please."
"Thank you, Sir Ammerlin," Kieri replied. "I would like to meet the other knights before we begin—it's easier to recognize those you've met in daylight, I find."
Ammerlin relaxed slightly. "Certainly, my lord." He led Kieri to the group of heavy knights waiting to mount. Kieri shook hands with each, noting their strength and apparent determination.
"It's been so long," he said, "since I have campaigned with heavy cavalry that I have forgotten much. Sir Ammerlin, you must be sure to tell me when the horses should rest, and what must be done. A mounted infantry company moves very differently."
Ammerlin thawed another fraction. "My lord, I am sorry that we cannot move faster; the prince said your journey was urgent, and must brook no delay. I know the Marshals think we are soft, but—" he patted his own horse, "these fellows were never meant for speed or distance. Yet in close combat, they are a powerful defense; we can ride down lighter cavalry without getting far away from you. We cannot, it's true, ride into a heavy polearm company, but—"
"If we run into that," said Kieri, "we'll have to go around. Believe me, I appreciate the prince's care in sending such an escort. But to make the best use of it, you must advise me."
Ammerlin appeared to give up his resentment completely. "Well, my lord, they can work all day—if it's slow—or a short time, if it's fast. That's the choice. I'd choose to go at their walking pace—a little slower than the light horses—and rest them at least every two glasses. And a long break at noon, of course." Kieri, calculating this without moving a muscle, began to be sure that Dorrin would catch them before the border. "If we try to move out faster," Ammerlin went on, "we'll have a third of them lame in two days, and then what?" Leave them behind, Kieri thought, but did not say. He knew he would need them.
"Well," he said finally, "let's see how far we go. I would not ask haste, if it were not needed—I hope you understand that."
"Yes, my lord." Ammerlin looked much happier.
"About the order of march—" began Kieri.
"Yes, my lord?"
"What about sending some of the bowmen forward, as scouts?"
Ammerlin's expression was eloquent. "Well—my lord—if you like. But we're in Mahieran lands now—there's no real need."
"True, but then we'll be used to that—when we come to other lands."
Ammerlin chewed on this thought, and nodded. With a wave, Kieri returned to his own horse, and mounted. He watched as the bowmen got their orders and rode forward.
"That makes more sense," said Garris at his side.
"They're not used to maneuvering in hostile territory," said Kieri.
Where the road was wide enough, the heavy horses went five abreast, the four ranks in front of him and the squires. Then his own tensquad (for he had explained that since they had no officer in charge, he must be near them), then the mounted infantry. Now that the bowmen rode as scouts, the pack animals were directly behind the Guard light horse. Kieri fretted, unable to see over the four ranks of large horses in front of him; he had always led his own Company, or had trusted scouts in advance.
By the time they stopped that night, at Magen, Kieri knew it would take them a full ten days or more to reach Harway on the border. Ammerlin agreed, reminding them that he had escorted the prince's younger brother to the Verrakai hunting lodge, ten days on the road both ways. At the Marshal's invitation, Kieri, the Kings' Squires, and the other Marshals stayed in Magen grange, and after supper they deplored the slow progress.
"My lord, they will have plenty of time to deploy a large force—"
"I know. That's why Paksenarrion wanted me to hurry. But they're going to attack—large force or not—and I need the troops."
"What about using yeomen from any grange nearby?"
Kieri shook his head. "Should I involve the yeomen of Tsaia in a battle to protect the king of Lyonya? No, if they choose to fight, I'll welcome them—but I have no right to call them out."
"Besides," said Marshal Hagin, "not all granges would be much help. Perhaps the High Marshal is not aware that some granges in the east have nearly withered away?"
"No—if I'd known, I'd have done something." Seklis scowled. "What's the problem?"
"I don't know. I hear things, from peddlers on the road, and that sort—and we all know about the troubles near Konhalt—and Verrakai."
"Duke Verrakai has never been one of my supporters," said Kieri mildly. Marshal Hagin snorted.
"I'd have put it somewhat stronger than that, my lord, begging your pardon. But he's not as bad as his brother. That one—!"
"But my point is, crawling around the country like this, on the one good road, they'll have time to set up an army—" Seklis bounced his fist on his chair.
"But not a very good one," said Kieri. "What can they do at most—let's look at the very worst."
"Three cohorts of Verrakaien household troops," said Seklis. "For a start."
"Your pardon, High Marshal, but they won't get more than two in the field this time of year," said Sulinarrion. "I've a cousin who married into a Verrakaien family." She held to that, and they considered what other forces might come: a half-cohort or so of Konhalts, ferried across the river, perhaps some local peasantry, ill-trained but formidable in numbers.
"What about Pargunese?" asked Kieri. They froze, staring at him. He went on. "The Pargunese won't want me as king of Lyonya for several reasons. I defeated the Sagon of the west, many years ago—using someone else's army, but I commanded. They know I will be a strong king, and they'll have no chance to gain ground anywhere. And they hate elves.
"
"But that would mean war between Pargun and Tsaia," said Hagin. "Would they risk that?"
"If they could raid, and get back—with, perhaps, Verrakai's connivance—perhaps not. And after all, it's not Tsaia's king they're after."
"Umm. You think Verrakai would let them through?"
"Yes—and blame the whole thing on them, as well."
"Would the Pargunese be stupid enough to fall for it?" asked Lieth suddenly.
"You mean, what would they gain? Well, they'd not have me to deal with—and they don't like me. And perhaps Verrakai has given or promised something else. A foothold on this side of the border? Gold? I don't know, but just how many Pargunese cohorts could the Sagon move if he wanted to?"
"Could he move through Lyonya?" asked Marshal Sulinarrion of the Kings' Squires.
"Not without starting real trouble," said Garris. "We have garrisons all along the river—they've tried that before."
"The Sagon of the west has eight cohorts, they say," said Suriya. "But half of those are stationed along the northwest—"
Kieri laughed. "Yes—and I'm the reason. That leaves four—no more than two will be close enough to meet us, I daresay. So—a couple of Verrakai cohorts, a couple of Pargunese cohorts—and who will command those, I wonder?—and no more than one of Konhalt. What of Liart, Marshals? How many followers will they bring?"
High Marshal Seklis frowned. "I would have said there were no Liartians in Vérella, my lord. Yet there were. Gird knows how many are hiding in the forests."
Kieri shook his head. "They let the rabbits run, companions, knowing they had hounds. They did not know, perhaps, that these rabbits had teeth." The others laughed. "Indeed, my lord," ventured Marshal Hagin, "you have the name of a fox, not a rabbit."