Kings of the North Read online

  “That’s what Phelan told him, on the basis of what the Regency Council had told him. And that’s what he asked when he came with that one cohort. It meant having two in the north, in case of more trouble there.”

  “One’s not enough. He’ll need more next year.”

  “He’ll have yours,” the king said.

  “Yes,” Dorrin said, without enthusiasm. Her Phelani cohort had been invaluable so far; losing them would make her rule harder.

  “When are they going back?” the king asked. Dorrin had the uncomfortable feeling he knew how reluctant she was to let them go.

  “I’m not sure,” Dorrin said. “I will need to talk to Arcolin—and to Selfer, their captain now.”

  “You know he’s coming to Autumn Court. I expect you, too.”

  “Of course, Sir King.”

  “Now—do you have a better idea what resources we have and what we might need?”

  “By the list of services owed the Crown, you should be able to raise three thousand troops from your nobles. You have no need for that many—which is convenient, since I doubt you could field more than a thousand in any reasonable time.”

  “A thousand …”

  “In another two tendays, another thousand. Eventually you would have them all, but it might be a half-year before they were sufficiently trained to be of much use.”

  “My lords—”

  “Are loyal, Sir King, but in a time of peace few prepare well for war. And consider—as a duke, I’m supposed to provide four hundred myself and have two hundred in regular training. Right now I can’t. Almost all who would have been my troops were killed or wounded in my uncle’s treasonous attack on Kieri Phelan last winter. I was hoping to hire two cohorts—half my requirements—from whoever took over Kieri’s domain. But if Arcolin needs them, I’ll have to look elsewhere. What you do have, that your present planning does not consider, is the direct contribution of trained troops from the Fellowship.”

  The king frowned. “But most of our troops are Girdish—aren’t they?”

  “That’s part of the problem, Sir King. Most of this realm is Girdish, so adults are already enrolled in granges and bartons, where they train as foot soldiers using basic weapons. Your lords are supposed to train them as well, in units related to the size of their domains, but that means more time taken from whatever work their people do. It’s very easy to think—especially for those who have never seen war—that their people get enough training through the Fellowship. But Girdsmen in the grange system are under command of Marshals, not their feudal lords, and they have little time to train in groups—five or six granges together—with the weapons they’d be using against well-armed foreign troops.”

  “What do you recommend?”

  “A major change in how your defenses are organized, based on Girdish-trained troops—it will require integrating grange and feudal training, with the possibility that yeomen would be commanded in the field by their lords, not by Marshals. I’m not sure how it would work, but an agreement with the granges would give you access to many more troops—and better-trained troops—than you presently have.”

  “Would you have to convince every Marshal?”

  “Not if I can convince the Marshal-General. She’s not Tsaian, of course, and she’s not sworn fealty to you, but she might work with you on this. You’re Girdish, after all. Your family has long supported the Fellowship here.”

  Duke Marrakai stopped Dorrin on her way out of the palace that same day. He looked perfectly healthy now, as if he’d never had an injury. “I’m wondering whether you’ve considered taking squires,” he said. “I know other peers are planning to propose their sons to you, but I exercised a little persuasion so I could be the first to ask. I have a situation, you see.”

  “A situation?”

  “Well, perhaps you noticed that although there are girls in training to become Knights of the Bells, you never see them as anyone’s squire. There’s a feeling that girls of that age should be home with their families. They can train with the local grange, or even here for knighthood, but they’re just not chosen as squires. They need a woman’s guidance, is one thing people say. The girls don’t much like it, but there you are. Now, you’ve commanded women in battle; you know all the things that young women get into, I daresay. And I have a daughter—”

  “You’d trust your daughter to me?” Dorrin said, shocked into saying exactly what she thought.

  His brows went up. “Is there any reason I shouldn’t? You saved my life and the king’s. My daughter is precious to me, of course.”

  “I—I’m honored,” Dorrin said. “But you know a squire’s tasks are both onerous and sometimes dangerous—”

  “She’s gone up the ranks in our local grange,” Marrakai said. “She’d be yeoman-marshal if I’d agreed to it, but she has family responsibilities. She’s too young to enter the Bells, and she’s too old to stay home without a lot of … um … drama. A dose of reality from someone else is what she needs right now. She’s not as volatile as Aris was when we sent him to Fin Panir—she’s between him and Juris in age. But I will not press, if you object—”

  “I had not thought of taking anyone as squire, to be honest, but also to be honest, it would be a great help to have some trustworthy assistant when Selfer goes back to Arcolin, as I’m sure he will.”

  “Assistants, not just one, if you’ll take my advice. You have a large domain and—pardon me for mentioning it—you seem unsure, which is understandable. Do you, for instance, have a capable and trustworthy steward?”

  “No,” Dorrin said. “The one I had was a Liartian and attacked me. Most of my people are ignorant and still frightened; they were never allowed much autonomy. Well, except for the cook.” She grinned, remembering that stalwart woman and the kitchen she ruled.

  “Then let me recommend you take several of the squires you’re offered. My daughter is, though I say it as her father, honest, brave, and kind. Sonder’s son Beclan is the same, though perhaps a little spoiled, being the king’s cousin; Sonder’s going to ask you if you’ll take him. I’d send you Aris as well, except the king wants him here to companion Camwyn, and it’s probably best not to hand you two of my offspring at once.”

  “And who else?”

  “I think Serrostin and Kostvan may both ask you—but I don’t know how many you are willing to take. The king wants Roly Serrostin here—they’re good friends, and Roly’s the one who saved him and my son Juris from Haron. But Roly’s younger brother Daryan is just as pleasant a lad as Roly. The Serrostins are all steady and mild-mannered. I’m not sure which of his sons Kostvan’s thinking of. If you don’t take one, I probably will.”

  “I like the sound of steady and mild-mannered,” Dorrin said. “When the Duke—I mean, King Kieri—had several squires at a time, he valued those among them who were not easy to upset. But—would you be insulted if I asked to meet your daughter before I agree? She might not like me, after all.”

  “Small chance of that,” Marrakai said. “But of course—you must meet her. Come to dinner at my town house tonight, and see what you think.”

  Marrakai House was on the far side of the palace complex from Dorrin’s house; Marrakai had sent an escort, though she felt no need for one. The house had red and green stones worked into a decorative design around the main door. Duke Marrakai and his wife met her at the door and led her into a front room very like her own, but for having more furniture and a great patterned rug on the floor. Juris and Aris were both there, along with a tall girl whose black hair, green eyes, and bone structure all fit the family. She wore a red-and-green-striped skirt, a red leather doublet, and a wide-sleeved shirt revealing strong wrists.

  “This is Gwennothlin,” Lady Marrakai said. “She’s been wanting to meet you.”

  The girl flushed a little but looked straight at Dorrin as she curtsied. “My honor, my lord Duke.”

  “I understand you’re interested in becoming a squire,” Dorrin said.

  “Yes, my
lord.” The girl stood straight and still to answer but gave the impression of great energy barely controlled.

  “Of the knightly arts, which is your favorite?” Dorrin asked.

  “My lord, that would be bladework. I am … overfond, some would say … of swordplay.” Her sword hand twitched, as if remembering a move.

  “What other arts do you have?”

  “Knightly only, or—”

  “All of them. And do not fear to bore me—if your secret passion is embroidery, tell me.”

  Her family all laughed at that; so did the girl. “The only way to make Gwenno embroider is to tie her to a chair,” her mother said. “She’s passable with weaving—sashes at least—but that’s all.”

  “Well, then, my lord,” the girl said, “I ride well enough, my father says, and I can drive a pair. As you know, we are horse-breeders, and I trained my own mount. My teachers taught me reading, writing, and ciphering, enough to provision a troop or a household. I know the use of court-sword fairly well, but the battle sword I have only begun in the past year. I have done some archery.”

  “Tactics?” Dorrin said.

  “No, my lord, not beyond what my brothers have told me. If I were admitted to the Bells for training or Fin Panir, I would learn, but—”

  “It’s not necessary,” Dorrin said. “If you have the interest, I can teach you tactics.” She liked the look of the girl—a little younger than the recruits the Company accepted, but the same kind of energy and will.

  Through dinner, Aris and Gwennothlin served, Aris with more polish than his sister; Juris, the eldest son, sat at the foot of the table.

  The entire family, down to children seated on pillows, ate together. Dorrin realized she had never seen a family dinner in a noble or even wealthy merchant house. Gwennothlin and Aris both wiped up the spills of younger children, straightened their pillows, cut and served their food, with the same aplomb as they served the elders, and the conversation at table included all. The youngsters finished first and left the table.

  “Come, sit with us, Gwenno,” Marrakai said. “Aris, when you’ve cleared up the children’s things, come join us.” He turned to Dorrin. “Many lords do not let children eat with adults, but our tradition is that once a day at least, the generations meet. It keeps us all alert.”

  “I never thought of that,” Dorrin said. She could not imagine such a dinner as this in her childhood, nor had she thought of having the Verrakai children eat with her. She had left their care to those she thought appropriate, but what training did the nursery staff have?

  For that matter, she needed a new steward at the steading and a watchman or someone to stay in the house in Vérella as well as someone—but what and who?—to help with the children. She asked.

  Both Duke Marrakai and his lady were glad to help. “Of course you need a steward, and you also need a housekeeper,” Lady Marrakai said. “If those children have been left in the care of nursery-maids all this time, they surely need a tutor—at least one. What staff do you have now? Are you pleased with them?”

  Dorrin explained. “Some were Liartians—well, most had been threatened into saying they were, but only a few wore the horned chain. The kitchen staff—I’ve got a very capable head cook, and the one I brought with me is competent with the basics. Housekeeper—I’m not even sure what a housekeeper does; we never had one at Kieri’s stronghold.”

  “Ah,” Lady Marrakai said. “Then you need help, my dear—I hope you don’t mind my saying that—”

  “Not at all,” Dorrin said.

  “The proper organization of a ducal household will reassure your people as well as make your life much easier. To start with, you need experienced senior staff. Since you already have a cook, you’re in luck—good head cooks are the hardest to find. How is her bread?”

  “Very good,” Dorrin said.

  “Excellent. Now, I presume there’s a garden and a fruit orchard.”

  “Yes,” Dorrin said.

  “How many gardeners?”

  Dorrin was ashamed to admit that even after a quarter-year she was not sure, nor did she know anything about the training of the dairy staff, the brewing staff, or even—as Marrakai chimed in—the stable staff.

  “Not to worry,” Lady Marrakai said, more cheerfully than Dorrin expected. “If you have to start from the bottom, you’ll know more when you’re done. Gwenno, go fetch my domestic journal.”

  This philosophy was so alien to the Verrakai way of doing things that Dorrin felt once more how inadequate she was. But Lady Marrakai did not seem to notice. Instead, she ticked off items on her fingers.

  “Steward—someone who can oversee everything—trustworthy to manage while you’re gone—must be good with people and with numbers—” She paused, frowning a little. “Didn’t Count Farthen mention sometime this spring that he had an under-steward who was capable of a larger job?”

  “Yes,” Marrakai said. “He’s still in town; I’ll ask him tomorrow.”

  Two turns of the glass later, Dorrin was still leafing through the little book Gwenno had brought back and listening to Lady Marrakai’s advice. Finally Lady Marrakai stopped short in the middle of her lecture and grinned, a grin very like Gwennothlin’s. “I hope you realize I’m doing this for the fun of it—it’s not that I think you’re stupid or anything.”

  Dorrin shook her head. “No—I really know nothing about running a normal establishment. Organizing a soldier’s camp or a fort is very different, barring the need for food and cleanliness. You’ve been very helpful.” She glanced at Gwenno. “But I never gave my answer about your daughter, and she’s waited with uncommon patience. Gwennothlin, if you wish to be my squire, I will be pleased to have you. There are legalities we had in the Duke’s Company—”

  “Of course,” Duke Marrakai said. “Well, Gwenno?”

  “Yes!” the girl said. “Yes, thank you, lord Duke.”

  “Then we can sign the papers tonight, if you will, Dorrin, and get this pesky wench out of our house—” But his look at Gwenno was tender, not dismissive.

  “She cannot go tonight,” Lady Marrakai said firmly. “She must pack, and I must make her shoulder knots in the Verrakai colors immediately. Two days for Verrakai-blue tunics.”

  “And I must find another couple of squires,” Dorrin said. “There will be work enough for more, as you said.”

  In Marrakai’s office, the Duke wrote out the legal contract specifying the duties of lord and squire, much the same as Dorrin had seen for Kieri’s squires. Gwennothlin signed in a very clear hand, her expression solemn, and then Dorrin; both the Duke and his lady signed below. Dorrin wrote the copy, and all signed again.

  “I thank you for trusting me with your daughter,” Dorrin said. “And you, Gwenno, for trusting me with your life. I hope you will be happy—though that is not in the list of a squire’s duties.”

  “There’s no doubt in my mind about this one,” Marrakai said. He gave Gwenno a hug and a kiss on each cheek. “Spread your wings, daughter.”

  Invitations from Dukes Mahieran and Serrostin came the next day; Dorrin met the boys and agreed. Tall Beclan had the polish of a youth who had been always at court; Daryan, two years younger, had not yet come to his growth and was a slight boy with light reddish hair. When Count Kostvan also invited her to take his second son as squire, she explained that she did not feel able to take four squires yet. He nodded, seeming resigned.

  Lady Marrakai’s contacts sent recommendations for a children’s tutor, an estate steward, brewmasters, dyers, weavers, and housewardens to care for the Vérella house while she was away. Dorrin interviewed them all and made her choices. The housewardens—an older couple looking for a less strenuous job—moved in immediately, freeing her servants from some of the household chores. Dorrin had a final interview with the king and then her banker—a frightening glimpse of how much it cost to be a duke.

  At last she could think of leaving the city; she sent word to her squires’ families. They arrived at the house the fo
llowing morning with horses, gear, and brand-new Verrakai livery, with the colors of their own houses at their shoulders.

  “Stables down that alley,” she said. “We’re short-handed right now; you’ll care for your own mounts. We’re leaving tomorrow morning.”

  “Yes, my lord,” came in a ragged chorus, and they disappeared into the alley. When they came back inside, she took them on a quick tour of the house.

  “As I’m sure you heard, this house was seized under the Order of Attainder, so I did not bring sufficient staff with me—” That was as good an explanation as any. “The Crown has returned it, but too late to hire locals. So it’s more like camping in a house than living here. Here’s where you’ll sleep—” Two small rooms, one with two simple beds, one with only one. “Don’t settle in—as we’re leaving tomorrow, you’ll be helping pack up for the trip home for the rest of the day. There’s a meeting at Marshal Veksin’s grange tonight; you have my permission to attend.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “My father’s sending along two pack mules,” Beclan said, “with the rest of my clothes, weapons, and so on.”

  “And mine,” Gwennothlin said. “But only one mule.” She shot a quick glance at Dorrin, as if for approval.

  “I thought girls had more baggage,” Beclan said.

  “I thought boys had less,” Gwennothlin said.

  “Are your fathers sending someone to tend the mules, or will you be doing that?” Dorrin asked, interrupting what promised to become a quarrel.

  “I’ll ask,” Beclan said. He took a step toward the door, then paused. “That is, my lord, if I have your permission.”

  “How many mules altogether?” Dorrin asked, looking at Daryan this time. “And how many spare horses?”

  “My father’s sending a lot of clothes because he thinks I’ll be growing a lot this year,” Daryan said. “He said it wasn’t fair to make you supply so many sizes.” His pale skin flushed an unbecoming red.

  “My mother wanted to send two mules,” Gwennothlin said. “But I said I didn’t need all that.”