“I have none against him, sir, and as far as I know he has none against me. And the Company is all I’ve known. I miss them.”
“Have you any sort of token or pass from your duke, that might prove what you say of his opinion?”
Paks remembered the ring he had given the survivors of Dwarfwatch, and reached into her pouch for it. “Here is a ring—” She handed it to the mayor, who peered at it, and passed it along the table. When they had all looked at it, the mayor passed it back.
“Dwarfwatch,” the mayor said. “Isn’t that the name of that Sorellin fort on the south end of Hakkenarsk Pass?”
“So the traders say,” said Master Senneth.
“So. Those rumors, last spring, of a major battle there—” mused Hebbinford. “You must have been there. Why were you so angry with the merchants, Paksenarrion, for mentioning it?”
Paks glanced quickly at Sir Felis and the Marshal, then back to Hebbinford. “Sir, it is the Duke’s business. I don’t talk of it with merchants. But—by treachery, most of my—of a—cohort was lost at Dwarfwatch, to Lord Siniava. Most of a cohort of Halverics, too. For those of us who lived, the Duke had these rings made.”
“So he’s fought understrength this past year,” commented Sir Felis. “And the Halveric too, I presume.”
The Marshal was not deflected from the original story. “What was it, a siege, or what?”
“If she considers it her duke’s business, Cedfer—” began the Kuakgan.
“Nonsense. Anything that’s happened almost a year ago is public knowledge in Aarenis, and we’ll know the details here sooner or later.”
Paks took a deep breath and tried to shove her private memories back into hiding. All the mercenary companies in the south knew the story; Cedfer was right. She gathered her wits and began. “One cohort of the Duke’s company was detached from the siege of Rotengre—the Guild League cities had joined in that—and garrisoned Dwarfwatch while the Sorellin militia, who had been there, helped with the grain harvest.” She paused, and they all nodded. They listened intently as she described Halveric Company’s approach, the surrender, the departure of all but a guard cohort of Halveric’s and Siniava’s attack, the fate of the prisoners marched away toward Rotengre, and the desperate defense of the few who held the fort.
“And you were in that. I see.” Marshal Cedfer glanced at the Kuakgan and back to Paks. “Were you one of those sieged in the fort, or were you taken prisoner?”
“Neither, sir. Three of us were not taken—by chance, we were gathering berries in the brambles and they didn’t see us. We took word to the Duke.” Paks stopped there and looked at them. Sir Felis was leaning forward, alert and eager; the Marshal’s eyebrows were up; the Kuakgan was frowning slightly. The rest merely looked interested.
“How far did you go?” asked Sir Felis. “Where was the Duke?”
“Outside Rotengre, with the rest of the company,” said Paks. She wished they would go on to something else. She didn’t want to think about that journey, about Saben and Canna,
“I can see,” said the Marshal, “why you would be trusted by Duke Phelan. Remarkable. Well, then—so the Duke relieved his force at the fort. And where was the Halveric? I should think he’d have been there too.”
“He had taken most of his Company toward Merinath,” said Paks. “They arrived the next day, too late to fight there: but they came to Rotengre.”
“And how many troops did Siniava have?”
“We thought about eight hundred, altogether—”
“But Phelan’s force is what—three cohorts altogether?”
“Yes, sir. He had help from the Clarts and Count Vladi—”
“And Gird, no doubt,” said the Marshal firmly. “Well, indeed. That’s quite a tale, but straight enough. Now, what’s happened this last year? We’ve heard of widespread fighting, open war from the mountains to the sea, armies marched clear from the Westmounts to the Copper Hills. What about it?” The mayor was watching the Marshal closely, but did not interfere.
Paks wondered where to start. “Sir, after the year before, the Duke and the Halveric were certain that Siniava meant to conquer all of Aarenis. The Guild League cities blamed him for the piracy of Rotengre, and other things as well. My lord Duke pledged to spend himself on a campaign against Siniava, for what he had done to us. He gathered most of the northern mercenaries to his aid. And the Guild League cities fought on their own lands, and sometimes marched abroad as well.”
“Aha!” Master Senneth was rubbing his hands together. “I always suspected the like, sirs, I did indeed. Too many caravans were robbed on the trade roads between Merinath and Sorellin, and none of the goods ever showed up here. They must have been taken on south. And I’d heard through—well, I’d heard that Siniava had bought into some of the guilds.”
Paks nodded. “We heard the same, sir, after Cortes Cilwan fell.”
“Cilwan fell?” asked Sir Felis sharply. “What happened to the Count?”
“He was killed,” said Paks. “But Vladi’s men got his heir out, the boy, and he’s safe in Andressat, the last I heard.”
“Succession wars,” muttered the Marshal. “They’ll have succession wars, as well as everything else.”
“Go on,” said the mayor, with a gesture that silenced the others. “What then?”
Paks shrugged. “I don’t know it all, sir; I was only a private, after all.” She described the campaign as best she could. Sir Felis and the Marshal listened intently, their fingers moving as if on maps. The others reacted more to descriptions of cities fallen, battles fought, factions implicated in this plot or that. Finally, dry-throated with the length of the tale, she came to that last few days, when Siniava’s remaining soldiers were neatly trapped with the help of Alured the Black. “We caught up with the last of them,” Paks explained, “in an old ruin where the Immer and Imefal meet.”
“Cortes Immer,” said the Kuakgan softly. “No one’s held that since the old duke’s line died.”
Paks looked at him. “Is that what it is? It’s still a great citadel, built into the living rock like Cortes Andres. Anyway, Siniava was killed, trying to escape secretly from the citadel, and after that his army surrendered to the militia.”
“I can hardly believe Siniava is truly dead,” mused the mayor. “How many years have we worried that he might gain control of Aarenis and come over the mountains? I remember the first word we had of him, don’t you, Master Oakhallow?”
“Indeed yes.”
“And now he’s gone. And no more agents of his will come through, trying to spy out defenses, such as they are.”
11
“If she’s telling the truth,” said Feddith harshly. “If. ’Twould be months before we could check her tale. She might be an agent herself.”
Paks tensed, but Sir Felis answered. “I don’t think so,” he said. “She carries the Duke’s ring, and showed it willingly. I know that crest.”
“It could have been stolen,” said Feddith stubbornly.
“She fights like a soldier trained in Phelan’s Company,” commented the Marshal.
“And as well,” said the mayor, with a look at the mage, “we have a way to tell if she lied. If Master Zinthys is willing—”
The mage looked at Paks, and smiled disarmingly. “I should say, if the lady is willing. Without any special arts, sirs, I see no liar there. An honest soldier, it seems to me, and I daresay to Captain Sir Felis.” He caught Felis’s eye, and the captain nodded. “I would not wish to cast a spell on her if she’s opposed, sirs; I would not indeed.”
The tradesmen of the Council looked taken aback. Master Oakhallow smiled faintly. Marshal Cedfer spoke up, brisk as always.
“I’m sure she’ll have no objection; it’s an honorable request. Isn’t that right, Paksenarrion?”
Paks felt the tensions in the room, and wondered what to do. She wished they’d agreed with the mage to let her alone. What was this truth spell like? Even with the Kuakgan’s assurance, in the afternoon, she feared to be involved in more magic.