Elizabeth Moon: Oath of Fealty

“Your good instincts again, Sergeant.”

“My insatiable curiosity, Captain. News from the Duke could always be marching orders.”

“It’s strange news indeed, and I’m not sure what will happen now,” Arcolin said. “The courier was Sef of Dorrin’s cohort—he needs a quiet bed to sleep; he was three days in thick fog between here and the south border. I sent him to the mess hall.”

“I’ll see to it, Captain.”

“I need to talk to the other captains before I spread the news,” Arcolin said. “I can tell you this—nothing will be the same.”

“It never is,” Stammel said. “That’s why we like it. Your leave, Captain.”

“Go ahead,” Arcolin said, thinking again how lucky he was to have Stammel as senior sergeant.

He found Cracolnya in the stables, talking fodder with the quartermaster.

“And I don’t know where more hay’s coming from, this time of year,” the quartermaster said. “Nobody’s got enough stored; it’s not to be bought, not at any price, and I know the Duke wouldn’t want us to take from the farmers’ stock.”

Arcolin made a motion with his head, and Cracolnya nodded. To the quartermaster he said, “A messenger’s come from the Duke; maybe an order to move out—that would help.”

“I hope so,” the quartermaster said gloomily. He spat into a corner. “I can’t be sure …”

Arcolin led the way down the aisle between rows of tie stalls to the box stalls at the end, empty now but for his and Cracolnya’s mounts.

“What is it? You look—strange.”

“I should. You must read it yourself.” He handed over the message tube; Cracolnya opened it, unrolled the message, and started to read. Arcolin’s roan ambler moved up to the front of the stall and nudged him; he rubbed the velvety muzzle absently while watching Cracolnya’s face.

“I—I don’t know what to think,” Cracolnya said, when he’d finished. “He’s a king? In Lyonya? How did that happen?”

“I don’t know more than this.”

“They have a king already,” Cracolnya said. “What’s he think about it?”

“You missed a bit,” Arcolin said. “He stuck it in between lines. Their king died without an heir. Paks was there—that’s where she went when she left here. She felt called to find the heir.” He ran a hand over his head. “But—what do we do now? He wants troops out guarding the Pargunese border; he thinks they might use this as an excuse to attack.”

“Scouts haven’t said anything.”

“No. And this about a contract. You know what he said before he went south; he expected to take the Company south. But only one cohort?” He shook his head. “You know the Vonjans. They’ll want twice the work for half the pay.”

“One cohort out, with pack mules, would ease the fodder situation,” Cracolnya said. “Two would be better, if you can talk them into it.”

“What about protection here, though?” Arcolin said. “He’s worried about the Pargunese, and the south border. A cohort each way, plus mine in the south, will nearly empty the stronghold. And we’ll have to use the recruits, until Dorrin comes back.” However long that might be.

Cracolnya shrugged. “This recruit cohort’s the best-trained we’ve ever had. They can garrison this; I can split mine between east and south. Or, the recruits can do their first real route march and take the southern end—we haven’t had trouble with either of the neighboring domains, barring the odd thief, since Count Halar’s father died.”

“That’s a good idea, about using the recruits to garrison down there if needed,” Arcolin said. “But first, I need to tell the Company about the Duke.”

“Maybe we should wait until we hear from Chaya,” Cracolnya said. “Just in case.”

“In case—”

“He was attacked once. Suppose Verrakai raised a large force against him?”

“He’s got Dorrin’s cohort.”

“He’s got Dorrin’s cohort on the way, but what if they don’t get there in time? He could be killed. Something could go wrong in Lyonya.”

“I don’t—” Arcolin took two steps forward, turned, then took two steps back, avoiding the thought of Kieri Phelan dead. Instead, he said, “We have to tell the troops something—they have to know he’s not coming back.”

“He left it to you,” Cracolnya said. “But if you want my advice—” Arcolin nodded. “Then,” Cracolnya went on, “make us a contract, and tell the Company that, and then tell them what you’ve heard, that it’s all we know.”

“Ask the quartermaster how many beasts he can feed until spring grass,” Arcolin said.

Cracolnya looked smug. “I already know. Twelve.”

Arcolin looked down the rows of tie stalls, mostly full. “Better get moving, then.” He left Cracolnya in the stable and headed back to the officers’ quarters and offices.

The Vonja agents had retreated to the inner court, but came to meet him as he entered. “Have you heard from the Duke?” one began. Arcolin held up his hand.

“I have word from the Duke that I’m to make a one-cohort contract, subject to approval by the Council in Tsaia; he’s reasonably sure they’ll give it.”

“But the Duke—is he coming?”

“He’s … detained,” Arcolin said. “But the messenger who arrived brought his word and seal.”

“How soon can you leave? Today? Tomorrow?”

“Certainly not today. As the Duke himself is detained, I must visit the councils here, send couriers—” All at once the enormity of the changes ahead hit him, stunning him. Kieri Phelan had been the one constant in his life for years; he never thought that would end. He saw the concern on their faces, the uncertainty, and with his own uncertainty churning inside, it was too much. He bowed slightly. “Sirs, with this word from Duke Phelan, I have orders I must give; you must excuse me.”

“Of course,” the senior said. “I only meant, should we ourselves pack to ride today or tomorrow?”

“Not sooner than tomorrow, and probably the next day,” Arcolin said. To his relief, he saw one of the house servants hovering in the doorway. To him, he called, “One less for meals; I’m riding to Duke’s East and Duke’s West; I’ll eat there.”

He felt like a fraud. As Kieri’s senior captain, trusted and experienced, he knew how to do what he must do, but—he was not Kieri. He could not be Kieri. And to have this handed him, without being able to see Kieri, talk to him, ask questions, be sure … it was too much.

But Kieri trusted him. He had to do it.

Cracolnya was just coming from the stable as he neared it. “Well?”

“We’ll split the recruit cohort tonight; I’m taking enough to fill out mine for a contract. I’ll still have to get Regency Council approval, in Vérella. You’ll command the remainder of the recruits and as many of your cohort as it takes to fill them out. You go east; Valichi will have to take the southern group until I can find him a junior captain—and you, too, for that matter.”

“Val’s not going to like campaign living,” Cracolnya said, grinning. The recruit captain, oldest of them all, had talked of retirement all winter, and used the excuse of crowding in the stronghold to move into Duke’s East after Midwinter Feast.

“He can have Kieri’s tent,” Arcolin said. “I’ll take mine.”

“Better take Kieri’s yourself; you need to impress the Vonjans. All those southerners think bigger is better.” Cracolnya, proponent of traveling light, had the smallest tent of any of the captains. “About supplies—”

“I can send back supplies from Vérella, after I’ve seen the bankers,” Arcolin said. “You should have enough until then.” He glanced at the sky, gauging the amount of daylight remaining. “I must go—I have to get to Duke’s East—”