Kings of the North - Elizabeth Moon [197]
Near dark they stopped in a shelter Dorrin had ordered built: larger than the rangers’ huts but on the same plan. Before they had even finished supper, they heard a horseman approaching; the rider hailed the camp. “Where’s the Duke?” he asked. “I have a message—”
“If it’s trouble with the Pargunese, she knows it,” Gwenno said. “She’s gathering her troops.”
Again that night the taig woke Arian. She left the shelter to lay her hands on one of the trees; the taig-sense surged through her. More fire, more anger, to the northeast; the tree she touched, as part of a forest that ran from there east into Lyonya with few breaks, gave her much more information than the old apple back at Dorrin’s garden. The taig recognized her as a ranger and called her to help. She felt cautiously through its fabric for the Lady—surely she would be active—but found no taste of her and little of elves. Kieri she did find, as a steadying influence, but he was too far away, and too immersed in the taig, for her to know exactly what he was doing.
By the next evening, they were near enough Harway to push on, arriving after dark.
The Count of Andressat found the journey to Vérella, escorted by the Phelani cohort, safe enough but unpleasant: why would anyone choose to live so far north? Cold, wet, sunless country … but then the sky cleared on the last day, revealing the city ahead as if cut in crystal. At noon, they were close enough to hear the bells peal. Jeddrin felt his heart lift.
Duke Verrakai’s letter gave him instant entrance to the palace, where he was assigned a comfortable guest room.
“The king will see you before dinner,” a palace servant told him. The man was richly dressed, Andressat saw, an upper servant, surely, unless he was a nobleman. He wished he’d paid enough attention over the years to learn the colors and symbols of rank in this kingdom. In the interval he was offered a bath and refreshment, and by the time the summons came, he felt much better.
The king surprised him: so young a face, and yet so firm, and yet at the same time so welcoming. A young man of breeding, Andressat would have said, even without the crown he wore and the chain of office. Two armed guards stood either side of the king’s chair. Andressat bowed low; the king waved him to a chair and invited him to sit.
“Duke Verrakai has written some of what you told her, but I would like to hear it all from you,” the king said. “If it takes long enough, we can dine here, in my study, or break until after dinner. I normally dine with a few friends and my younger brother.”
“As you wish, Sir King,” Andressat said. He began as he had with the others, explaining about the family archives, about Alured’s ambitions, about the rumors.
“What rank did your own family have in Old Aare?” the king asked. “Is there a chance you yourself are the heir?”
“No, Sir King.” It was easier to admit to this young man, whom he had never insulted. “Though I long thought my family’s descent came straight from Aarean nobility, in truth many lesser titles were created after the flight from Aare, and mine is one of those.”
“It is what men do that matters,” the king said. “By all accounts—what I have heard from Duke Phelan, who is now a king himself—you have governed well and bravely, as did your fathers before you. I merely asked to ascertain if you had a counterclaim to Alured’s. As far as I am concerned, you are equal to any count of my realm.”
Andressat blinked back the stinging in his eyes. The king could not realize his words were both reassurance and rebuke … for he himself had long considered northern counts as meaningless.