Elizabeth Moon: Divided Allegiance

Paks expected the Duke to argue, but he said nothing. He had hardly seemed to smile since Siniava’s death, and since reaching the coast had spent hours looking seaward. She did not know—none of them knew—what was troubling him. But more and more Paks felt that she could not live with what was troubling her. The looks of fear and loathing turned on them—the muttered insults, clear enough even in a foreign tongue—the contempt of Alured’s troops, when the Phelani would not join them in “play,” which to them meant tormenting some helpless civilian—all this curdled her belly until she could hardly eat and slept but little, waking often from troubled dreams.

Paks tried to hide her feelings, tried to argue herself into calm. She had spoken out once—that was enough for any private. As long as she wore the Duke’s colors, she owed him obedience. He was a good man; had always been honorable . . . she thought of the High Marshal and wished she had never met him. He had raised questions she didn’t want to answer. Surely the Duke’s service was worth a little discomfort, even this unease.

When they marched out of Ka-Immer, leaving a garrison of Alured’s men behind, Paks tried to tell herself the worst was over. But it wasn’t. In town after town, along the Immerhoft coast, Alured suspected Siniava’s agents, or found someone who expressed doubt that a pirate could legally inherit a dukedom. The mercenaries did not participate in the executions and tortures, but they all knew that without them Alured lacked the troops to force so many towns.

None of them knew how long it would last—where the Duke was planning to stop. Surely he would. Any day he would turn back, would march to Valdaire. But he said nothing, staring south across the blue, endless water. Uneasiness ran through the Company like mice through a winter attic.

Paks thought no one had noticed her in particular until Stammel came to her guardpost one night. He stood near her, unspeaking, for a few minutes. Paks wondered what he wanted. Then he sighed, and took off his helmet, rumpling up his hair.

“I don’t need to ask what’s wrong with you,” he began. “But something has to be done.”

Paks could think of nothing to say, any more than she had been able to think of anything to do.

“You aren’t eating enough for someone half your size. You’ll be no good to any of us if you fall sick—”

“I’m fine—” began Paks, but he interrupted.

“No, you’re not fine; neither am I. But I’m keeping my food down, and sleeping nights, which is more than you’re doing. I don’t want to lose a good veteran this way. We don’t have that many. All those new people we’ve picked up here and there. They aren’t the same.” Stammel paused again. He put his helmet back on, and rubbed his nose. “I don’t know if they ever will be—if we ever will be—what we were.” His voice trailed away.

“I keep—keep seeing—” Paks could not go on.

“Paks, you—” Stammel cleared his throat and spat. “You shouldn’t be in this.”

She was startled enough to make a choked sound, as if she’d been hit. “What—why—”

“You don’t.” His voice gathered firmness as he went on. “By Tir, I can’t stand by and see you fall apart. Not for this. You’ve served the Duke as well as anyone could. D’you think he doesn’t know it? Or I?” Now he sounded almost angry. “You don’t belong here, in this kind of fighting. That High Marshal was right; even the Duke said you might be meant for better things.” He stopped again, and his voice was calmer when he resumed. “I think you should leave, Paks—”

“Leave the Company?” Despite the shock, she felt a sudden wash of relief at the thought of being out of it, then a stab of panic. She had already made this decision; she couldn’t make it again.

“Yes. That’s what I came to say. Tir knows this is hard enough on me—and I’m older, and—But you leave, Paks. Go back north. Go home, maybe, or see if you can take knight’s training somewhere. Don’t stay in this until you can’t stand yourself, or the Duke either.”

“But I—how can I ask—I can’t go to him—” The memory of his expression, that night when she had opposed his will, haunted her still. Even though he had seemed to hold no grudge, she did not want to risk another such look.

Stammel nodded forcefully. “Yes, you can. Tell Arcolin. The captain’ll understand—he knows you. He’ll tell the Duke—or you can. They’ll recommend you somewhere, I’m sure of it.”

That wasn’t what was bothering her. “But to leave the Duke—”

“Paks, I’ve got nothing to say against him. You know that. He’s been my lord since I started; I will follow him anywhere. But—you stopped him once, when he—he might have made a mistake. Maybe—if you leave, maybe he’ll look again—”

Paks was speechless, faced again with the decision she thought she’d settled in Cortes Immer. How could she leave the Company? It was closer to her now than family, more familiar than the rooms of the house where she’d been born.

“Paks, I’m serious. You can’t go on the way you have been. Others have noticed already; more will. Get out of this while you still can.”

“I—I’ll have to think—”

“Tonight. We’ll be in Sord tomorrow—more of the same, I don’t doubt.”

Paks found that her eyes were full of tears. She choked down a sob. Stammel gripped her shoulder. “That’s what I mean, Paks. You can’t keep fighting yourself, as well as an enemy. Tir knows I know you’re brave—but no one can fight inside and outside both at once.”

“I gave my word,” she whispered.

“Yes. You did. And you’ve already served your term, and more. You’ve seen Siniava die, which ends that oath, to my mind. I don’t think you’re running out—and I don’t think Arcolin or the Duke will, either. Will you talk to them?”

Paks stared up at a dark sky spangled with stars. Torre’s Necklace was just rising out of the distant sea. She thought of the distant past, when she had dreamed of being a soldier and seeing far places, and of the last town they had been through. “I—can’t—go into another—”

“No. I agree.”

“But it’s too late.” Surely the captains were all in bed; she could not wake them, or the Duke, for such an errand. Relief washed over her; she didn’t have to decide now.

His voice was gentle. “Would you if it weren’t so late?”

That gentleness and the certainty that it was too late relaxed her guard. She was so tired. “Oh, I—I don’t know. Yes. If the Duke would let me—”

“He will,” said Stammel. “Or I don’t know Duke Phelan, and I think I do.” Before she could answer, he called back toward the lines for someone to take her place on guard. “Come on. If I know you, you’ll convince yourself by morning that you owe it to the Duke to work yourself blind, deaf, and crazy.”

She followed him to Arcolin’s tent, sick and trembling again, but the following hour was not as difficult as she feared. The other captains who had been talking with Arcolin melted away when Stammel asked Arcolin for a few minutes of conference. Arcolin himself looked at Paks steadily, but without anger or disappointment.

“You are overdue for leave,” he said. “You’ve served faithfully; if you want either leave, or to quit the Company entirely, you have the right. I would hate to see you leave us for good; you’ve done well, and I know Duke Phelan is pleased with you. Would you consider a year’s leave, with the right to return?”

Paks nodded. “Whatever you say, Captain.” She could not really think; her mind spun dizzily from fear to elation to sorrow.

“Then we’ll speak to the Duke about it.” Arcolin pushed himself up from his table. “You should come too. He may wish to speak to you about your service.”