Kings of the North Read online

  “Two mules each, then,” Dorrin said. “There’s no rank among squires of the same year. And two horses each, I’m presuming?”

  They nodded.

  “So one of your families needs to provide a muleteer. I will send one of you to all three families to make clear that I expect two mules, packed and ready, to be here for each of you tomorrow morning one-half glass past dawn. They can argue about who provides the muleteer.” They all looked eager for this errand, but Dorrin had a plan. “Daryan, you know where everyone lives, right?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Then you go. You may ride, since we have a busy day ahead of us, and I want you back quickly.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Now, Beclan, let’s see how you do organizing provisions for our journey. Take inventory of the available supplies; in a glass I want a list of what you think we need to purchase today. Gwenno, with this many animals in the train, we will need supplies for them as well. See to it that all the horses are in good shape—get them shod if necessary—and check all the tack in the stable. I expect a report within a glass.” That should keep them both busy while she herself dealt with the new house staff.

  Dorrin had never in her life closed a house, with or without resident staff left behind. This was one more proof that she knew much less about her role as a noble of Tsaia than any of the others. The housewarden assured her that the house would be kept clean and ready for reoccupancy whenever she wished.

  “If you can give us even a day’s warning, we’ll have the sheets off the furniture, beds made, and so on. The main thing, my lord, is keeping the vermin out and making sure any repair work gets done. I understand you’ll have masons in the cellar.”

  “Yes, for a few days. We’re blocking it off for now; there’s no need for it. It wasn’t being used for storage anyway.”

  By the end of that first day, Dorrin felt she had a good grasp of her squires’ personalities. Gwenno certainly fit the Marrakai pattern: energetic, full of ideas and enthusiasm. She was quick with suggestions and obviously eager to prove herself. Beclan, more reserved and a bit haughty, was nonetheless perfectly courteous and willingly did whatever chore Dorrin asked. He seemed faintly amused by Gwenno and Daryan, though he was only a year and a half older. Daryan looked younger than he was, being below middle height with a round face that still looked boyish. He was polite and did everything asked of him but did not venture an opinion or idea.

  Dorrin released them all to visit a grange if they wished, and they walked off not quite together, Beclan a stride in the lead and Daryan a half stride behind Gwenno.

  The next morning, the train of animals and riders lined up to depart seemed almost a half-cohort to Dorrin. She herself, all but one of the servants she’d arrived with, her three squires, Master Feddith the tutor, Grekkan Havverson the new estate steward, and the Marshal-General, plus the muleteer hired to care for the pack animals and spare horses. Others would come later.

  The few pack animals they’d come with weren’t enough for the return. They now carried supplies for the journey, supplies Efla insisted were needed for the cook back home—five mules’ worth, plus a mount for Efla.

  Dorrin gave a last look at the house; it seemed to have an entirely different expression with its windows and door open, no longer grim and forbidding. Just another city house, one that might someday be full of light and music and friends, if she chose to make it so.

  Their procession moved through the streets toward the bridge. This early in the morning, most of the traffic was inbound, farmers bringing produce and livestock to the thrice-weekly market. By the time they reached the city gates, Dorrin had sent Daryan to buy a poke of hot sweet rolls from a baker’s stall, and when Beclan looked longingly at someone carrying a basket of peaches, she nodded and said, “Get enough for all of us.” Guards at the city gates grinned as they passed.

  “Thought I saw them peaches going in just a bit ago—”

  “If they were in a basket on a donkey cart led by a man with a green ribbon on his straw hat, you did,” Dorrin said. “We’ve a long road to take.”

  “Coming back for Autumn Court, m’lord?”

  “Gods willing,” Dorrin said. She paid the toll for them all.

  They turned onto the east river road, munching buns and fruit. Dorrin could not but think how different this was from that frantic winter journey to catch up with Kieri: then cold and dark, now the summer sun, even this early, warmed their faces and gilded the fields and orchards they passed. Mist hung in ragged streamers near the river; the soft air smelled of fruit and flowers and hay. And no reason to hurry: they came to Westbells only shortly before noon. Beyond that more lush pastures, fields of ripening grain, orchards …

  The party divided naturally into three groups: she and the squires and the Marshal-General, her servants, and the muleteer with the extra horses and pack animals. That was pleasant enough and seemed safe this bright summer morning, but Dorrin had spent too many years in Kieri’s Company to ignore possible danger.

  “We’ll be rotating guard positions,” Dorrin said, when they had passed Westbells. “For now, I want Daryan ahead on the road; Beclan, you’ll trail our group; and Gwenno, you’ll be flank scout on the river side. Eddes will be flank scout on the land side.”

  “Surely you don’t expect any trouble here, this close to Vérella—it’s Mahieran land—” Beclan began.

  Dorrin raised an eyebrow and noticed the Marshal-General giving him a stern look as well. “You’re here to learn, Beclan,” Dorrin said. “More trouble comes when you don’t expect it than when you do.” Not strictly true, in some of the places she’d been, but a good lesson anyway. “You’ll warn us of anyone coming up behind—and that includes along the rear flanks. Daryan, you’ll signal when you see any party coming along the road the other way. Stick your hand up once for every rider or the number of people in a group. Same with the flank guards. Every time we pass through a village, rotate positions. Rear guard to river-side, river to foreguard, foreguard to land-side, land-side to rear.”

  “How far out?” Gwenno asked. “Should I ride across the fields?” She looked eager to do so.

  “We don’t trample crops,” Dorrin said. “Where they border the road, just ride on the verge. Stay back, about halfway along our group, where you can see any hand signals I give. We want to make it clear that we’re alert, watching on all sides. If we practice that now, where it probably is safe enough, you’ll know how to do it later, when it’s not.”

  The squires set off into their assigned places. Eddes, now almost up to Dorrin’s standard as a basic militia soldier, grinned at the squires until he saw Dorrin looking at him. At the next village, Beclan turned aside from the rear and trotted up to Gwenno. “Go on,” he told her. “I’ve got this side now.”

  Dorrin turned in the saddle. Eddes had indeed dropped back to take Beclan’s place, and Daryan had reined his mount to the side of the road, waiting for them to pass. Gwenno pushed her horse into a stronger trot and reached Daryan before the head of the column.

  “Neatly done,” Dorrin said. She waved the column on, and they started again.

  That night they camped in a field near a cluster of farm buildings. Dorrin assigned one squire—Gwenno this time—and two of the militia to dig the jacks; Beclan and Daryan set up her tent and their own and took the horses to water and to graze while the rest cut out a fire ring and Efla cooked supper.

  “I wondered how you’d handle them,” the Marshal-General said.

  “Hmm?” Dorrin stretched, arching her back.

  “The squires. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised; you’ve handled recruits before—”

  “And Kieri’s squires from time to time. He assigned them to different cohorts when he had enough of them. Their fathers had sent them to us to learn military things, after all.”

  “What do you think of these?”

  “After one day? It’s too soon to make judgments.” She hoped she’d know much more by the tim
e they reached Verrakai lands.

  Supper was less than successful; Efla had never cooked over a campfire before. Her attempt at bread came out scorched on the outside and gooey on the inside, the redroots burned to the bottom of the pot, and only the sausages, toasted on sticks, and the sib were really good.

  “Never mind,” Dorrin said, to her apologies. “Clean out the pot—we can eat the last of the city bread tonight and in the morning, and tomorrow night I’ll show you some tricks about cooking outdoors.”

  The long summer twilight softened around them; the first stars came out as they sat around the campfire. “My lord,” Beclan said, “when you’re moving an army, how many guards do you put out?”

  “It depends on terrain,” Dorrin said, “and what trouble you expect. But here, on this road, when I had most of a cohort with me—”

  “You were on this road with a cohort? I thought Duke Phelan’s lands were up north.”

  “When I was hurrying to catch up with him on his way east,” Dorrin said, “I had, as I said, most of a cohort and basic supplies. We knew there’d been trouble. From Vérella to Westbells, where we met Paksenarrion, we were riding in tight formation, moving fast enough I didn’t set a rear guard, but did have assigned flank guards whose job was to watch. Beyond Westbells, Paks often rode out as foreguard. Every time we stopped to rest the horses, there were guards out on all sides.”

  “What about in Aarenis?” Beclan asked. “In Siniava’s War, not in peacetime.”

  “We always had fore-guards, flank guards, and rear guards. How many depended on how many troops we were moving. A cohort on the march, not mounted, would have mounted scouts, at least a pair on each side, one on the road ahead, one on the road behind.” Dorrin gestured. “If you’re in open country, where the scouts can ride at a distance but see the column clearly, it’s easier. In wooded country, you need people who can operate on their own and not be ambushed themselves.”

  “Ambushed,” Gwenno said, in the tone of someone for whom it was a game.

  “Yes,” Dorrin said. “Take this country, for instance. It’s Mahieran land and peaceful to look at, but imagine it full of enemies. From the road to the river, how many troops do you think could lie hidden as we went past? This shady block of trees we chose to camp near—how many could be concealed in it, archers or arbalestiers? No ground is completely flat; every fold could have enemies in it—and they feel the same for us.” She looked at the young faces, sober now as they considered what she’d said. She nodded at the Marshal-General. “I’m going to sleep outside tonight, I think, warm as it is, but I’ll take a bucket-wash in my tent first—feel free to use my tent either way, if you will. We’ll each take a watch for a turn of the glass. You squires will be paired with my militia.” She gave the assignments, and soon they were all asleep but the night guard.

  Sometime after the turn of night, a rumble of thunder and a cool breeze woke her. Flashes of light in the distance—more thunder—Dorrin woke the camp. “Check the horses; make sure they don’t stray—is the horse-line secure? Get all the gear into the tents.” She herself grabbed an armful of firewood and moved it into her own tent, then checked the ropes and pegs before lying down inside.

  The storm, like most summer night storms, came and went quickly; Dorrin had gone back to sleep with practiced ease, and woke in the damp dawn to see Efla poking disconsolately at the sodden fire-pit. “Here’s dry wood,” Dorrin said. She set it alight. “Boil water for sib and another pot for the eggs.” The squires came out of their tent blinking and stretching. “Beclan, you and two of the men will fill in the jacks when we’re ready to leave. Meanwhile, Gwenno and Daryan, you take the horses to water, groom them, get them tacked up. I’ll ride the dark bay today.” She went on giving instructions to her militia and then to Efla on making camp bread.

  It took a glass longer to get this group moving than it would have a cohort, but it was, she reminded herself, their first night of real travel—inns did not count. That day she assigned Inder to ride guard with the squires, and they rotated properly all day long.

  As the little cavalcade moved east toward Verrakai lands, Dorrin found the Marshal-General a surprisingly good travel companion. She and Dorrin traded stories of days and nights of travel: storms, difficult stream crossings, the occasional encounter with brigands. Dorrin found herself telling tales of Aarenis; the Marshal-General was one of the few women with whom she could share stories of combat and command responsibilities. The squires listened in the evenings; Dorrin kept them busy by day. They were still on their best behavior, she could tell, but personalities showed through. Beclan felt entitled to be first in everything and had an air of condescension that clearly grated on Gwenno; she showed flashes of temper, quickly subdued after a glance at the Marshal-General. Daryan, as the youngest and shortest, seemed shyer, edging away from the other two.

  “You’re going to have an interesting time with them,” the Marshal-General said, out of their hearing. “All three of them highborn, and none of them really grange-trained.”

  “They’re all Girdish,” Dorrin said.

  “Aye, but reciting the Code word-perfect isn’t the same as growing up in a real grange.”

  “Theirs aren’t real?”

  The Marshal-General made an impatient gesture. “Every noble house has a grange nearby—and so it should—but nothing I do convinces the Marshals who serve there and the yeomen who belong there that their liege is no greater in Gird’s eyes than a yeoman. So their children are tutored in the Code, and mostly go to drill with their home grange, but they’re also taught how to fight like a noble. Which do you think they prefer? They’re born into privilege, and they like it—anyone would—but liking something doesn’t mean it’s good for you.”

  “Mmm.” Dorrin rode on a few paces. At the moment, all three squires were out of earshot, flanking the column between her position and the rear guard. “I could see that with Beclan.”

  “Royal family.” The Marshal-General looked as if she might spit, but didn’t. “He’s not the heir, but he thinks of himself, of all the Mahieran, as royalty. Entitled to deference. He thinks the girl should allow him precedence. And the girl’s insulted as much on family grounds as personal ones. The Marrakaien, for all their Girdish faith, would think themselves superior to the Mahieran if they dared.”

  “I don’t think there’s much Gwenno wouldn’t dare,” Dorrin said, chuckling.

  “Just so. Those two will push each other into rashness if you’re not careful. The younger boy—he’s not as meek and mild as he seems, I’ll warrant.” The Marshal-General took a swig from her waterskin and offered it to Dorrin, who shook her head.

  “If I keep them busy enough,” Dorrin said, “they should settle. A load uses up all that youthful energy.”

  “True.” The Marshal-General twisted in the saddle, stretching. “I’m hoping your military background will see the foolishness of letting them indulge—lean on—their privileged backgrounds.”

  “Oh, yes,” Dorrin said. “I saw that with some of Kieri’s squires, and I have scant patience with it.”

  They arrived at the border of Verrakai Domain in midafternoon, having spent two nights in Harway so Dorrin could thank the tailor and cobbler for their work on her court clothes and order the supplies she thought she’d need for the next few tendays. Somewhat to her surprise, her people had made real progress on the road from Harway while she was gone. It ran almost straight and, if not smooth, was much improved. One of Dorrin’s militia met them, this time politely.

  “Lord Duke, welcome home.”

  “I’m glad to be back, Jaren.” She was, in spite of her expectations. The woods were cooler than the fields had been; they camped that night in the new way-house she’d had built—still only a rough shelter of three walls and a roof, but at least it was rain proof.

  The next evening they reached the house. Now sleek cows grazed in the water meadows near the stream; in the distance, the grain looked almost harvest-ready in the slantin
g golden light, though she knew it would be another three tendays at least. The house, blue-gray against the light, looked friendlier without the grim keep tower looming over it.

  As they neared the house, Paks’s red horse lifted its muzzle from the grass and whinnied loudly. Paks appeared from the gate in the garden wall, trailed by a gaggle of children.

  “Marshal-General!” she called, waving; she broke into a run, leaving the children behind.

  The Marshal-General stiffened; her horse stopped abruptly. “That light!”

  Dorrin said, “The sun’s glow?” It seemed especially golden that evening.

  “It’s more than that,” the Marshal-General said.

  “Dorrin,” Paks said, slowing to a walk. “How was it? Did the king like the crown and things?”

  “It’s a long story,” Dorrin said. “I’ll tell it all, once we’ve bathed and eaten. You need to meet my new squires: Gwenno, Beclan, Daryan.”

  She dismounted just in time to meet the swarm of children who had now caught up with Paks. “Auntie Dorrin! Auntie Dorrin!”

  Dorrin looked at Paks, who shrugged. “They’re your family; they needed something to call you besides ‘my lord.’ ”

  It made sense, but … Auntie? She supposed she was, to most of them, but she had never imagined herself as an auntie. From the looks on her squires’ faces, neither had they.

  “Paks said you’d come back. We worried,” Alis said.

  “She taught us lots, while you were gone,” Jedrah said. “So did Captain Selfer. I can figure how many mules for a cohort supply train!”

  “And we played outside and learned how to pick caterpillars off the cabbages—and swim—well, some of us—”

  “And when Mardi and Seli got in a fight, they weren’t whipped,” Mila said, leaning into Dorrin’s side. “I know you said it would be different, but when you left, I thought maybe it would go back—but—but we’re not scared now. Paks made them share a meal, and now they’re friends again. And we can play with the servants’ children if we want, and they can play with us.”