"Late," commented Suriya, after a quick look, "but welcome."
When the Marshals arrived, Paks recognized Marshal Pelyan; he introduced Berris, whose grange was the next to the east. He grinned at Paks, and nodded to the other Marshals.
"One of my yeoman came in the other day," he said, "with word of a strange cohort sneaking through the woods between Berris and me. From what he said, I thought it might be Pargunese; we looked and found boats hidden along the river. So I remembered what Paksenarrion had said, and rousted out my grange—"
"And then came storming into mine," said Berris. "I told him I didn't have many fit to fight, but I came along—"
"And we've come too late, I see," said Pelyan, looking around.
"Not so," said the king. "We cannot stay and deal with the Pargunese—"
"I told you!" Pelyan thumped Berris on the shoulder. "I knew those Tir-damned scum would be in this."
"—or the Verrakai," the king went on. "We must be on the road to Lyonya; your arrival gives High Marshal Seklis and Sir Ammerlin enough troops to take care of this."
Pelyan scratched his ear. "Well, sir—sir king—it's good to know we didn't have this long march for nothing. But I should tell you that some of these are Lyonyans, who left Lyonya for fear of war."
The king smiled. "And so you showed them that trouble follows those who flee it? Well done, Marshal; when you have them schooled to your liking, then send them home if they wish to go."
"You don't want to take them with you?"
The king let his eyes rove along the ranks, then pursed his lips. "No—I don't think so. Those in my party are proven fighters. Those who awaited events in Lyonya have shown steadfastness. These—these I leave to your care; you know best what they need."
* * *
For the rest of that day, the king's party rested before traveling. Those who had been killed were laid to rest with due ceremony; the enemy's dead was piled and burned. Under the Marshals' directions, the yeomen took control of the Pargunese and Verrakai prisoners, containing them at a distance from the king's encampment. The horses of Dorrin's cohort were found still waiting at the ridgetop to the east, penned, as Paks explained it, by the taig. Dorrin looked at her oddly, but said nothing more about it.
In the morning, they set out for Lyonya again. Paks rode beside the king, at his request. With no pack train to slow them down, they made good time, and rode into Harway just at dark, where the Lyonyan Guard waited in formation to greet him. Bonfires flared as the king came into his own land; candles burned at every window, and torchbearers lined the streets. Both Marshal and captain came to bow before him. Paks saw distant fires spring to life, carrying the news across the darkness.
The king said little: courteous words for those who greeted him, but nothing more. Paks saw tears glisten on his cheeks in the firelight. They stayed that night in Harway, the king at the royal armory, and Paks at the grange, to ease the Marshal's memory of her earlier visit.
By the time the king's party reached Chaya, the last snow had melted away, filling the rivers with laughing water.
"An early spring," said the king, looking at the first flowering trees glimmering through the wood. "I feel the forest rejoicing."
"Do you?" Amrothlin, who had come to meet him, smiled. "That is well. Both the rejoicing of the forest, and your feeling it. Your elven senses wake: you feel the taig singing you home, and your response calls forth more song. So the season answers your desire."
The king looked across green meadows to the towering trees that made the palace seem small, a child's toy. Tears glittered in his eyes. "So beautiful—they almost break the heart."
"This is the heartknot of the joining of elvenkind and man," said Amrothlin. "We put what we could of our elvenhome kingdom in it. Be welcome, sir king, in your kingdom."
Between them and the city a crowd was gathering, pouring out of the city in bright chips of color like pebbles from a sack. The king's party rode through a broad lane, past those who cheered, and those who stood silently, watching with wide eyes the return of their lost prince. Paks felt her own heart swell almost to bursting when the music began, the harps that elves delight in, horns both bright and mellow in tone, all singing the king home.
That music followed into the palace itself, where the lords of Lyonya, the Siers and their families, waited to welcome the king. One by one they knelt to him, then stepped back. When old Hammarin came forward, he peered into the king's face a moment, as if looking for the boy he had known, then reached to touch his hand.
"Sir king—you do your father justice."
"You knew him?" asked the king gently.
"Aye—and you as a tiny lad. Thank the gods you've returned, Falki—let me call you that just this once, as I used to do." Then he stepped back, nodding, for his old knees were too stiff to kneel. When all had acknowledged him, the king turned to Paksenarrion.
"Lady, your quest brought me to this court: is it discharged?"
"Not yet, sir king." Paks turned to the assembly. "You, in Council here, bid me find your lost prince and bring him. I have brought him now, and his sword proves him. Are you content?"
"We are content," they answered.
* * *
And of all the deeds of the paladin Paksenarrion, it is this for which she is best known in the middle lands of the Eight Kingdoms, for restoring the lost king to his throne, and thereby saving Lyonya from the perils of misrule and confusion. Which of her deeds most honored the gods she served, only the High Lord knows, who judges rightly of all deeds, whatever tales men tell or elves sing.
In the chronicles of that court, it is said that the coronation of Falkieri Amrothlin Artfielan Phelan (for he kept the name he had used so long) was outdone in joy and ceremony only by his marriage some time later. Falkieri ruled long and faithfully, and in his time the bond of elf and man was strengthened. Peace and prosperity brought honor to his reign. And after him the crown passed to his eldest, and to her son and her son's sons after.
As for Paksenarrion, she was named King's Friend, with leave to go or stay as she would, and when Gird's call came, she departed for another land.
Elizabeth Moon, Oath of Gold
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