Kings of the North - Elizabeth Moon [29]
Over the next few days, Dorrin talked to the peers she’d met, asking what troops they’d been assessed and how they were raising and training them. Not entirely to her surprise, she found that many peers ignored their military obligations. “I will send troops if there’s a war,” one said, “but I see no reason to hold men out of the fields to fight in a time of peace. Besides, the Fox always had more than enough.”
The dukes did better but, with their responsibilities at court, left the raising and training of troops to their militia captains. Only a few of those had been to war, though the dukes considered them knowledgeable about handling troops in drill and field.
“Well?” the king said when she came to report her progress so far. “Are they as unprepared as I suspected?”
“It depends what you expect to face,” Dorrin said. “Here’s a list of those who admit they haven’t drilled their troops in the past year. The escorts they brought with them are household only. This other list is those who have some kind of regular training program, though I don’t know if it’s actually followed.”
“You don’t trust the word of your fellow peers?”
“Sir King …” Dorrin hesitated, then went on. “I do not know the others well enough to know if they are trustworthy and diligent or not. I’ve been impressed by many of them. Others … but I could misjudge them in the atmosphere of the coronation, all the festivities …”
He held up his hand, and she waited. “Dorrin, you of all my peers have both long military experience and recent evidence that this realm, long at peace, may not be as safe as we always supposed. As I supposed, anyway, during my years as a prince. The Pargunese crossed the river for the first time in living memory—with collusion from here, yes—but what they did once they might do again on their own. Arcolin’s reports, as you know, indicate the south is even more unsettled than immediately after Siniava’s War. My ancestors came up that road. Why would not someone else follow if they perceived the north as holding riches they desired? And if he believes he is heir to the Kings of Old Aare …”
No. You are. The voice of the regalia tingled in her head; she felt almost faint; her vision darkened.
“Dorrin? Are you all right?”
“I am well,” Dorrin said. The regalia had not spoken to her since she had laid the ring in the royal treasury—why now? She forced herself to concentrate. “I do not see that Alured would try to invade the north unless he had already subdued the south. Stealing treasure is one thing; mounting an invasion is another thing entirely. Have you had a new report from Arcolin?”
“Yes. Rumors that the Guild League will fail are all over the south, he said. Tavern gossip, market gossip: that the cities are debasing their own currency, that the Guild League cities cannot keep merchants safe on the roads. He says the cities are not—as far as he can tell—debasing their coinage, but counterfeits are imported by merchants under Alured’s control. He captured one such.”
“Alured was never stupid,” Dorrin said. “And that makes him all the more dangerous.”
“So he might decide to invade?”
“I still think he would need to conquer the south. Even if he succeeds, that will take more than a year. More likely longer.”
“Read his letters,” the king said. He opened his letter box and handed her scrolls covered with Arcolin’s familiar script.
Dorrin read through them swiftly, more familiar with Arcolin’s turns of phrase and the logic of his thought than the king could be. South of Vonja, trying to interdict brigand bands that weren’t simple brigands—with a single cohort? Her lips pursed. That would be difficult; he might be taking high losses if the brigands were as numerous as he indicated. She saw none of the phrases they’d used as codes in the Duke’s Company. Well, he wasn’t writing to her, after all, and if he had such codes with the king, she would not know them.
“Why did he take only one cohort south?” she asked.
“That’s what Phelan