Kings of the North - Elizabeth Moon [200]
“That word I do not know,” Andressat said. “So far we have not found that word again in any of the works in my archives, though I have my scribes alert to find it.”
The king frowned. “It was a mystery before, and you but add mystery to it, and hazard as well.” Then he shook his head. “No, I do not blame you, my lord Count. Rather, I thank you, for undertaking so long and arduous a journey to bring warning to us in the north. You would be welcome to spend the winter here, as your journey home, at least as far as the pass to Valdaire, will be unpleasant this time of year …”
“No, Sir King,” Andressat said. “I must get home; I must see what is happening there, and prepare my domain for whatever that man does next. Indeed, I have been gone too long; I fear that he has already brought force against my people. My sons are experienced in war, having fought against Siniava, but it is my duty to be with my people at such a time.”
“I understand,” the king said. “And I commend your sense of duty … and also your wisdom in traveling mostly incognito. For that reason, I will not send an escort of Royal Guard with you—it did not save Kieri Phelan from attack, and it is impossible to hide the fact that whoever is so escorted is of particular importance to the Crown. Instead, I recommend that you remain here a few days while I organize a less conspicuous party for you to travel with, one that any single traveler might choose for safety from ordinary brigands. It’s too late to pick up a trading caravan headed south. In the meantime, meet my nobles and speak before those of the Council about Vaskronin and the threat he poses.”
“Thank you, Sir King,” Andressat said. The king’s plan made more sense than for him to set off alone on a road he had never traveled.
Less than a tenday later he was on the way south, once more riding with Selfer and his cohort, for Count Arcolin had sent orders for Selfer to take the cohort to Valdaire. The mounted troop traveled faster than any caravan; Selfer did not hesitate to cross winter-bare fields when necessary to bypass a muddy section of road, and only the foul weather—slightly less miserable for being at their backs—kept Andressat from seeing the first loom of the Dwarfmounts ahead.
When they turned to parallel the range and zigzag through the foothills, the weather lifted a little. “Can’t we go straight?” Andressat asked Selfer.
“No, my lord,” Selfer said. “This is the only road the gnomes allow across their domains. It’s a very old agreement and they’ve no mind to enlarge upon it. It would be worth our lives to cut across even this—” He nodded to a bend in the road where it seemed an easy bound or two for a horse, though not a wheeled vehicle.
“We have no gnomes in the south,” Andressat said. “I had not realized they were such fierce warriors.”
“It was gnomes who taught Father Gird about military discipline,” Selfer said. Without waiting for Andressat to show interest, he began describing the history of the Girdish rebellion.
Andressat recognized the enthusiasm of a true believer and tried to nod and keep an interested expression on his face, but the appearance at the roadside of six small gray-clad figures with pikes startled him into ignoring Selfer.
“What—who?”
Selfer stopped in midphrase. “Who—oh, rockbrothers. Gnome boundary watchers.” He reined in and bowed from the saddle. “Rockbrothers, I greet you. Selfer of Phelan’s Company.”
“It is late to be traveling this road,” one of them said, in a flat tone devoid of expression. “Caravans ceased.” Dark beady eyes looked up and down the column. “It is that all are soldiers, is it not?”
“All but one,” Selfer said, with a gesture to Andressat.
Andressat felt pierced by that cold dark gaze. He said nothing.
“It is that this one has a name?” the gnome said.
“This noble has reason to travel nameless,” Selfer said.
“Nameless to men, mayhap, but not to us,” the gnome said. “It is the prince’s wish to know all who travel here out of trading season.” At