Oath of Fealty Read Free

stables, talking fodder with the quartermaster.
    “And I don’t know where more hay’s coming from, this time of year,” the quartermaster said. “Nobody’s got enough stored; it’s not to be bought, not at any price, and I know the Duke wouldn’t want us to take from the farmers’ stock.”
    Arcolin made a motion with his head, and Cracolnya nodded. To the quartermaster he said, “A messenger’s come from the Duke; maybe an order to move out—that would help.”
    “I hope so,” the quartermaster said gloomily. He spat into a corner. “I can’t be sure …”
    Arcolin led the way down the aisle between rows of tie stalls to the box stalls at the end, empty now but for his and Cracolnya’s mounts.
    “What is it? You look—strange.”
    “I should. You must read it yourself.” He handed over the message tube; Cracolnya opened it, unrolled the message, and started to read. Arcolin’s roan ambler moved up to the front of the stall and nudged him; he rubbed the velvety muzzle absently while watching Cracolnya’s face.
    “I—I don’t know what to think,” Cracolnya said, when he’d finished. “He’s a king? In Lyonya? How did that happen?”
    “I don’t know more than this.”
    “They have a king already,” Cracolnya said. “What’s
he
think about it?”
    “You missed a bit,” Arcolin said. “He stuck it in between lines. Their king died without an heir. Paks was there—that’s where she went when she left here. She felt called to find the heir.” He ran a hand over his head. “But—what do we do now? He wants troops out guarding the Pargunese border; he thinks they might use this as an excuse to attack.”
    “Scouts haven’t said anything.”
    “No. And this about a contract. You know what he said before he went south; he expected to take the Company south. But only one cohort?” He shook his head. “You know the Vonjans. They’ll want twice the work for half the pay.”
    “One cohort out, with pack mules, would ease the fodder situation,” Cracolnya said. “Two would be better, if you can talk them into it.”
    “What about protection here, though?” Arcolin said. “He’s worried about the Pargunese, and the south border. A cohort each way, plus mine in the south, will nearly empty the stronghold. And we’ll have to use the recruits, until Dorrin comes back.” However long that might be.
    Cracolnya shrugged. “This recruit cohort’s the best-trained we’ve ever had. They can garrison this; I can split mine between east and south. Or, the recruits can do their first real route march and take the southern end—we haven’t had trouble with either of the neighboring domains, barring the odd thief, since Count Halar’s father died.”
    “That’s a good idea, about using the recruits to garrison down there if needed,” Arcolin said. “But first, I need to tell the Company about the Duke.”
    “Maybe we should wait until we hear from Chaya,” Cracolnya said. “Just in case.”
    “In case—”
    “He was attacked once. Suppose Verrakai raised a large force against him?”
    “He’s got Dorrin’s cohort.”
    “He’s got Dorrin’s cohort on the way, but what if they don’t get there in time? He could be killed. Something could go wrong in Lyonya.”
    “I don’t—” Arcolin took two steps forward, turned, then took two steps back, avoiding the thought of Kieri Phelan dead. Instead, he said, “We have to tell the troops something—they have to know he’s not coming back.”
    “He left it to you,” Cracolnya said. “But if you want my advice—” Arcolin nodded. “Then,” Cracolnya went on, “make us a contract, and tell the Company that, and then tell them what you’ve heard, that it’s all we know.”
    “Ask the quartermaster how many beasts he can feed until spring grass,” Arcolin said.
    Cracolnya looked smug. “I already know. Twelve.”
    Arcolin looked down the rows of tie stalls, mostly full. “Better getmoving, then.” He left Cracolnya