Gail Martin - The Sworn

Jonmarc and Gellyr rode point. By day, Anton and Serg, the two vyrkin representatives in human form, rode at the back, with Berry and Aidane in the middle. At night, Kolin and Laisren rode behind the group, while Anton and Serg went hunting.

They stopped for a cold lunch of sausage, bread, and cheese in a clearing along the road.

Jonmarc sat down next to Berry. “How are you?”

Berry took a deep breath before she replied. “Struggling. It’s just-I never really thought he’d die while I was gone.” She squeezed her eyes shut, but a tear slid down her cheek. After a few moments, she looked up, but from her reddened eyes, Jonmarc knew she had probably been crying for much of the ride.

“I hope Jencin knows what’s been going on while I’ve been gone,” Berry said, taking an all-business tone. “When I left, Father was deep into the negotiations with Eastmark.”

“Do you know what that involved?”

Berry shook her head. “They’d had a few meetings face-to-face, and there were lots of messengers back and forth. I had the feeling it was still coming together. I asked him, but he said he’d tell me more when I got home, that he still needed to check into some things.” She sighed. “That’s why I hope Jencin knows where he left off. The last letter I had from him said that he was expecting a delegation from Eastmark for Haunts to finish the negotiations.”

Jonmarc took a swig of wine from his wineskin. “So we could get to the palace and find a bunch of Eastmark diplomats waiting on the doorstep?”

Berry giggled. “I think Jencin might let them in the door. But, yes. They could show up on our heels, or beat us there. If they were already on their way, there’d have been no way to tell them not to come, to tell them about Father’s-” Her voice trailed off, as if she couldn’t bring herself to say “death.” Jonmarc took her hand and squeezed it, and she turned her face for a moment until she collected herself.

“I have to do better than this,” she said, swallowing hard. “This won’t do at all for a queen.”

Jonmarc smiled and took a kerchief from his pocket to wipe her face. “Maybe not. But until we get to the palace and have the second coronation, it’s not totally official. So you’ve got a little longer to just be Berry, and no one here will tell anyone if you need to grieve.”

Berry stretched up to kiss him lightly on the cheek. “Thank you.”

They headed back onto the road. The next candlemark passed without incident. Jonmarc was still thinking about what Berry had said when he saw Gellyr riding up alongside him.

“ Skrivven for your thoughts,” Gellyr said.

Jonmarc shrugged. “Just wondering how in the hell we’re going to keep Berry safe in the crowds at Haunts. She told me that after the coronation, it’s her duty to go to the Temple of the Sacred Vessels to make an offering, and that it’s considered a good sign if the spirit of the Lady falls on the monarch to make a prophecy.”

“Please tell me that the monarch gets to keep his or her clothes on,” Gellyr said. “I’ve seen the Sacred Vessels prophesy. For some reason, shedding their clothing seems to help them, um, make the connection to the afterlife.”

“I already asked. Yes, she gets to keep her clothing.”

“Thank the Goddess for something.”

“We’re going to have thousands of drunken revelers in the costumes of the Aspects, and wagons pulling huge effigies of the Aspects, and one big street party throughout the entire city with enough ale to give the whole place a monster-sized hangover.” Jonmarc shook his head. “How are we going to find the Durim in all that and stop them from whatever they mean to do?”

Gellyr grimaced. “I’ve been wondering that myself. Isn’t there a Citadel of the Sisterhood in Principality City? Can they help?”

Jonmarc shrugged. “Taru sent letters of introduction with me to the mages she thought would help us. Some of them are as powerful as she is, and others are more on the hedge-witch side of things. On the other hand, I’ve seen what a hedge witch can do when she decides to kick up a fuss, and it’s not something to dismiss. Unfortunately, none of them are summoners. But Rigel is an air mage, and if he agrees to help, Taru said that a good air mage has some power to attract and repel spirits and dimonns, though nothing like a full summoner can do. The problem is, we don’t know what the Durim plan to bring against us.”

Gellyr looked at him thoughtfully. “You know Martris Drayke in Margolan well, don’t you?”

Jonmarc chuckled. “Carina and Queen Kiara are cousins. So Tris and I are kin. Donelan certainly sees it that way.”

“If war comes, is Martris Drayke as powerful as the rumors say?”

Jonmarc raised his eyebrows. “Truth be told, I’d say Tris is much more powerful than I’ve heard the rumors give him credit. I was there when he called the ghosts of the Ruune Vidaya forest and set them on the slavers who’d captured us. It was sheer, raw power that let him do that. He barely had any training. I’ve seen the worst war has to offer, but I’d never seen anything like that, and I hope to never see anything like it again.” He shook his head. “I’ve seen Tris go up against magicked beasts, and I was in the room when he fought Foor Arontala and the Obsidian King. If there’s a war, he’s definitely the guy you want on your side. What worries me is the idea that there might be someone just as powerful going up against us.”

They were quiet for a few moments. “How connected is Gregor? How much trouble can he make?”

Gellyr gave him a sideways glance. “You mean, how much of a pain in the ass can he be for you?”

“Uh-huh.”

Gellyr shrugged. “You’re the Queen’s Champion. Even he wouldn’t dare move against you. Within the ranks, he can spread the usual rumors. Gregor’s a good soldier. He’s tough, he treats his men decently, and he gets the job done. I’ve never known him to play politics, and I’ve served under him for years now.”

“When did he come across from being a merc into the service of the crown?”

Gellyr thought for a moment. “Not long before I was assigned to him. The merc group he led disbanded after his brother died, or so I heard. Principality doesn’t have much of a formal army. We rely on the merc groups for defense, in exchange for a safe haven for them. But there are a few hundred troops that owe allegiance only to the king-or queen. Maybe Gregor just got tired of the merc business. It’s a young man’s game.”

“That it is.” Young and suicidal.

“Truth be told, I’ve never seen Gregor get in a brawl-before I took him to Dark Haven.” There was a pregnant pause, and Jonmarc guessed that Gellyr was hoping for the story.

“You could say that there’s some history,” Jonmarc said. If Gellyr was going to stick his neck out to help him, he needed to understand what he was getting into. Jonmarc gave him the short version of the story: Ric’s death, Carina’s failure to save him and her own near-death, and Gregor’s capture of them the year before.

“Is that all?” Gellyr asked with wry amusement. “Goddess true! That’s a tale for the bards. Well, that explains a lot.”

“Here’s the big question, and I know I’m putting you on the spot, but with what’s coming our way, I need to know. Gregor’s an ex-merc. So am I. So’s my friend Harrtuck, who’s now Captain of the Guards for Martris Drayke in Margolan. Some mercs find something bigger than themselves to believe in. Somewhere to pledge their loyalty. Some mercs are only ever loyal to themselves. Which kind is Gregor?”

Jonmarc could see the conflict in Gellyr’s face and guessed he was weighing his words carefully. “I’ve seen General Gregor perform his duties admirably,” Gellyr said finally. “He received a commendation from King Staden for his performance handling some border raiders a few years ago. Personally, I have no quarrel with the man. He’s been a good commander.” He met Jonmarc’s eyes. “But I know what you’re asking, and I don’t know the answer. I’ve never seen him with his back against the wall. The kind of war your serroquette is predicting-that’s going to put the allegiance of most men to the test. Fighting men is one thing. Fighting magic and monsters, well, some men aren’t cut out for that.”