Kings of the North - Elizabeth Moon [145]
“I, too, lost a daughter,” Kieri said. He shut his eyes on the memory of Estil in his own lap.
“But not to such dishonor, I will guess,” the man said. “My daughter’s life is my pain, not her death.”
“You must come to Chaya and meet our king,” Kieri said again. “I thought at first you were a fisherman mind-mazed by fever or some demon, but now I think you may indeed be the king of Pargun. But since you came not openly in your own person, with proof of your identity, I am bound to send you thither a prisoner, though I will tell these men to treat you with respect.”
“When I am dead, these trees will burn,” the man said. “My army—”
“Do you wish to send word to them what happened and where you are going?”
“No. They have their orders. I have time enough to reach Chaya and your king, kill him, and return. If I do not, they will attack.”
This was not what Kieri wanted to hear. He turned to the others and said in Common, “I now believe this man is indeed the king of Pargun.” The king of Pargun undoubtedly knew more Common than he was comfortable speaking; he expected the man to understand. “He has a grievance against our king because of the matter of the princess. He must be taken to Chaya under close guard, but with all due respect. I will send horses, and send messages to Chaya, that the king’s Council be prepared. Take all his things with him. One of you come with me.”
Kieri mounted and rode off, meeting his Squires out of sight of the clearing. At a hand gallop, he rode for the reserve cohort, and explained that an attack might come at any time. “I need eight of your reserve horses: send them with this Archer, who will show the way. The king of Pargun must be conveyed safely—and swiftly—to Chaya. With not a word to him about me or his daughter, whatever you know or think you know.”
“At once, Sir King.” The cohort’s captain had men and horses ready with commendable speed. “And?”
“Word to all near the river. The Royal Archers will inform the rangers. The Pargunese plan to fire the forest, burn Lyonya to the bare ground. They must come by boat; the Royal Archers and rangers should be able to cut their numbers, unless they come at night and cannot be seen … which is exactly what they’ll do. I must go.”
As he rode for Chaya, he tried to think what else to do. The Sagon of the west would be there of a certainty. Would they strip their eastern and northern borders as well? How many troops could they muster, and how fast? How many boats would they have ready? And how could he convince the king that he had not despoiled Elis? Without risking her life?
All this because he had let that wicked old woman Hanlin think he wanted peace. He did want peace—that was no lie—but he did not want the peace of defeat.
He changed horses at the first relay station, riding on through the night as Elis herself had, but with more awareness. If he had known the Pargunese thought women soldiers were all nothing more than whores for the men … if he had known the king would think an entry to Falk’s Hall was a disgrace and not an honor … what else could he have done?
They were insane, the Pargunese. They had strong women and destroyed them, just for the men’s pride … how was that honorable? He tried to imagine the king of Pargun and his grandmother talking … surely an elven lady could convince the man that strong women were not dishonorable. That imagined image dissolved as it came: the king of Pargun would believe he had been managed with elven magery, and he would never agree.
Another relay point—he chuckled as he remembered that he’d thought he wouldn’t need so many personal mounts. Through the night, he found himself thinking of one mistake after another he’d made since he became king. Most, he knew, were trivial, and he’d corrected them, but this—this one could plunge his realm into war.
At the third relay point, near dawn, he stopped to eat; his Squires looked less tired than he felt, but not as alert as usual. He had explained to them,