Kings of the North - Elizabeth Moon [65]
“You did not mention that at first.”
“I did not think of it until we were here, faced with them, and I recalled how they seemed to obey her.”
“I do wish,” Arianya said, “that she was not quite so full of virtues. Centuries of Girdish predecessors tell me she should die, and yet—”
“She’s not evil,” Paks said.
Arianya eyed her. “I haven’t said she was. It would be easier on me if she were, that’s all.”
“We could test them,” Paks said. “What if we tried to move them to another room in the palace?”
“What good would that do?” Arianya asked.
“If they’re obeying her command to stay here … maybe we can’t.”
Arianya sighed. That abundant energy, that flow of ideas, could be exhausting. The other paladins weren’t like that—well, not all. Camwynya, she reminded herself, was much the same.
“We could try,” the king said.
The king signed out the box, explaining that they wanted to test something. He lifted it from the chest. “It’s heavier,” he said. He took a step, then another. “And heavier yet.”
“Let Paks try,” Arianya suggested. “It was her idea; maybe it will trust a paladin.”
The king handed the box to Paks, and she took another step. “No,” she said. “It grows heavier with each step. Let me see.” She turned back toward the chest; her arms bobbed up a little. “It’s lighter now—almost weightless. And it’s tugging me toward the chest.” She turned back to the door; her arms sagged. “It doesn’t want to go anywhere. I think we have no choice but to leave it here.” Once more facing the chest, she nodded. “It’s very clear—into the chest or nowhere.”
“Well,” Arianya said. “That settles it for the present. I am still concerned, Sir King, that if it is obeying someone else, it may not be safe to house in your treasury.”
“It has caused no trouble so far,” the king said. He grinned at her, suddenly looking more his age than kingly. “It is a welcome guest, but I will not claim ownership.”
“It wants in the chest,” Paks said. “May I put it back?”
“Certainly,” the king said.
Paks carried the box to the chest; it seemed light in her hands as a feather. She laid it in the box; light flared for a moment and then subsided.
“That’s new,” the king said.
When Paks replaced the other items and closed the chest, the lid—plain wood as it was—seemed to grow into the rest of the chest, so it looked all one piece.
“And that,” the king said, eyes wide.
Arianya felt a pressure in her head and then a voice she did not know. We are not your enemy. “Are you not?” she said aloud; the king looked at her oddly. “It spoke to me,” she told him. “I would let it alone.”
“I intend to,” the king said. “And if it speaks to me, I will be prudent—” His face changed expression. Then he relaxed and shook his head. “Well, it told me I was not its enemy and it would abide here until its sovereign came to take it away.”
“But is its sovereign your enemy?” Arianya asked. “Witting or unwitting?”
NO! came the voice in her head, and by the king’s expression, it said the same to him.
“It is lonely and wants to go home,” Paks said.
“It spoke to you, too?”
“Not spoke—more like sang. It is from far away and grieving, homesick. I don’t understand it all, but I believe it is right to protect it, and then … then something will happen.”
“Something always happens,” Arianya said. “Perhaps it will happen in the time of the next Marshal-General and not on my watch. At least you need not worry about thieves.”
Halfway from Vérella to Fin Panir, Paks suddenly reined in her horse. “I must go,” she said.
“What—you have a call?”
“Yes. Somewhere south …” The red horse jigged, sidling off the road and bobbing his head.
“Do you know what?”
“I never know what,” Paks said with a grin. “But I must go—I’m sorry, Marshal-General, but there’s no time.”
And with that she was gone, the red horse kicking up clods from a field as he surged into a gallop.
“Well,” Arianya said to her horse. “You are not going anywhere that fast, so don’t get ideas.” The rest of the journey to Fin Panir,