Kings of the North - Elizabeth Moon [126]
Kieri stared at the paper he held without seeing the words written there, thinking of Stammel blinded—when? How? Had Arcolin written to tell him and the letter not come? Then, with an effort, he focused on the words Estil had written.
Kieri, I write you as a friend—as one of Aliam’s dearest friends—for I fear for his life. Something is wrong, I know not what nor how to act, but since Paksenarrion left us last winter, when she went to find you, he has sunk bit by bit into a strange torpor. Your coronation brought him out of it briefly, but as soon as we were home, it began again. He is older, but so am I. He takes no joy in life, Kieri. Please—I do not know what you can do, but as you love him, please come. See for yourself. I believe he will be dead by Midwinter if you do not. Estil.
Kieri looked at Andressat, who was watching him closely. “Does Aliam seem in bad health to you?”
“Much older than two years account for,” Andressat said. “Exhausted, I would say, and full of some sorrow too great to bear. If he were one of my family, I would say he has the death-wish on him, but I do not know why.”
Kieri felt a nudge, a sense of urgency even stronger than Estil’s letter. He raised his voice. “Berne!” The Squire outside the door opened it and came in. “Berne, make ready to ride to Halveric Steading as soon as possible. They have need of me. We will need extra horses.”
“At once, Sir King.”
Kieri turned back to Andressat. “My lord, I’m sorry, but I must beg you to tell me the rest of your concerns as quickly as you may. Aliam is my oldest and dearest friend, and if you and Estil are right, I have scarce time to reach him before some crisis.”
“Sir King, it is the archives—” Andressat repeated what he had told Aliam Halveric. Kieri listened, trying to be attentive, but with half his mind on Aliam and the sense of urgency he felt. Still, he felt the hairs rising on his arms.
“My lord Count—I suspect I may know what some of those things are. Did your archives mention the Verrakai?”
“Yes—and also some great evils—” Andressat stared at him, as if expecting Kieri to produce a miracle: answer and solution in one utterance.
Kieri gathered his thoughts. What Andressat said had importance both north and south, but Aliam needed him immediately; he felt torn. “My lord, you are welcome to stay here, and rest as long as you need—until I return from the Halverics, if you choose—but you must, before you return south, visit the new Duke Verrakai, my former captain, Dorrin. She found relics her family kept hidden for hundreds of years; I believe they may bear on your problem. I will send word to her that you are coming—”
“I do not know her,” Andressat protested.
“She was my captain; you met her. She is trustworthy, and now stands high in the court of Tsaia.” After nearly being killed, but Andressat didn’t need to know that. “I understand that you have had a hard journey and must rest. But Dorrin Verrakai must have this news, and Tsaia’s king as well. I will supply an escort; you will not be traveling alone. Before that, however, rest here awhile, as long as you like.”
“I—I suppose I must,” Andressat said. “If you must leave—I was hoping …” His voice trailed away, then he spoke again. “You—my pardon, Sir King—but you seem oddly younger.”
“They tell me it’s my elven heritage,” Kieri said. “Once I touched the sword—” He nodded to where it hung on its rack. “—its power released that heritage, and as half-elven I am not considered old at all.”
A knock at the door; Arian put her head in. “Sir King—if you wish to leave tonight, we will be ready immediately after dinner—or within a half-glass if necessary.”
“But it’s raining now,” Andressat said, glancing at the window, where a dreary autumn rain fell steadily.
“I would ride through worse to help Aliam,” Kieri said. “He saved me, long ago. Will you take dinner with me, or would you rather rest first?”
“I’ll eat with you,” Andressat