Elizabeth Moon - Paksenarrion 2 - Divided Allegiance

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DIVIDED ALLEGIANCE

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and

any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

A Baen Books Original

Baen Publishing Enterprises 5020 Henry Hudson Parkway Riverdale,NY 10471

ISBN: 0-671-69786-2 Cover art by Kevin Davies

First Printing, October 1988 Second Printing, September 1989 Third Printing, July 1990

Printed in the United States of America

Distributed by Simon & Schuster 1230 Avenue of the Ameneas New York. NY 10020

Prologue

Long ago, before the elder folk were driven from the lands south of the Hakkenarsk, the elves who

dwelt in those heights had found a valley more lovely than any other. The shape of its rock and

the clarity of its water brought joy to all who saw it. There for a time the elves lived, and

built as they rarely build, while the greatest among them sang to the taig of that place, and

wakened it to its own power. Over long years they shaped it, singing one song of beauty after

another, and the taig responded, willing itself to flourish as the elves suggested. Very dear was

this valley to all who could sense the taigin, both elder and younger folk, and it was known as

the elfane taig, the holy place and living banner of the elves and their powers.

Then troubles came: the tales are lost that tell who brought them, or how those who fled sought

refuge far away. Even to the elfane taig the evil came, and the elves fled, driven out by a power

they could not resist for all their songs. The taig remained, crippled in its resistance to that

evil by corruption placed at its heart, no longer truly elfane but banast, or wounded. Most of its

great strength was spent in containing that corruption. The taig could not attack the embodied

evil without loosing the

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worse danger, the periapt which would leave it permanently defiled.

Few travelers went that way at first, for its hazards were well known. The elves, when they were

asked, warned all. No dwarf would venture so near the Ladysforest, and humans, for the most part,

preferred the easier pass at Valdaire, or the shorter one over Dwarfwatch. So for long years the

contending powers in the valley had only each other to feed on. A stray ore here, a wolfpack

there—these nourished the conflict ill. And of the travelers that passed, not all were apt for

use. Some, when the visions came, woke quickly and fled, leaving packs and animals behind. Others,

greedy for treasure, stormed into the ruins without sense, and fell to the first of the traps and

creatures, ending as servants of evil, or its food.

But ages passed, and time dulled human memories, and ever the contending powers sought lives and

souls to serve them, to war in their long and bitter strife. As elven influence waned hi Lyonya,

the nearest settled land, few asked elves for advice; fewer still obeyed. Bold explorers, half

brigand, wandered the northern slopes. From time to time an entire band disappeared below the

valley's ruins, to live in the eternal light of the old halls, and fight for whichever power could

enchant each separate soul. There they died, for none came alive from the banast taig. So the

treasure accumulated, over the years: most of it the weaponry and armor of wandering mercenaries

or brigands, but also odd bits of magical equipment, scholars scrolls— whatever a lost traveler

might be carrying.

Then two more travelers entered the valley.

Chapter One

When all Siniava's troops had been marched away under guard, most of the Phelani assumed they'd be

going back to Valdaire—even, perhaps, to the north again. Some were already making plans for

spending their share of the loot. Others looked forward to time to rest and recover from wounds.

They were more than a little surprised, then, to be marched south, along the Immer, in company

with Alured's men, the Halverics, and several cohorts of the Duke of Fall's army. These last

looked fresh as new paint, hardly having fought at all, except to turn Siniava away from Fallo.

"I don't understand it," muttered Ken to Paks as they marched. "I thought we were

through—Siniava's dead. What more?"

Paks shook her head. "Maybe the Duke has a contract."

"Contract! Tir's bones, it'll take us the rest of the season just to get back to Valdaire. Why do

we need a contract?"

"Have you ever seen the sea?" asked Seli.

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"No—why?"

"Well, that's reason enough to go south. I've seen it— you'll be impressed."

"What is it like?" asked Paks.

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"I don't think anyone can tell you. You have to see it. I've heard the cliffs are tower here, at

the Immer's mouth, than at Confaer, where I was. But even so—"

As they marched south beyond the forest, the river beside them widened. They passed through a few

small towns and villages. Alured stationed some of his troops in each of these. Word trickled down

from the captains that Alured was claiming the title of Duke of Immer. This meant nothing to Paks

or the younger soldiers, but Stammel knew that the title had been extinct for several hundred

years, since the fell of the old kingdom of Aare across the sea.

"I'm surprised that the Duke of Fall and the other nobles are accepting it," he said one night.

"That was the price of his help this year," said Vossik. All the sergeants were gathered around

one fire for an hour or so. "I heard talk in Fallo's cohorts about it. If the Fallo, Andressat,

and Cilwan would uphold his claim—and our Duke, of course—then he'd turn on Siniava."

"But why would they, even so?"

"It's an odd story," said Vossik, obviously ready to tell it.

"Go on, Voss, don't make us beg," growled StammeL

"Well, it's only what I heard, after all: I don't know whether those Fallo troops know the truth,

or if they're telling it, but here it is. It seems that Alured used to be a pirate on the

Immerhoft—"

"We knew that—"

"Yes, but that's the beginning. He'd captured another ship, and was about to throw the prisoners

over, the way pirates do—"

"Into the water?" asked Paks.

Someone laughed. Vossik turned to her. "Pirates don't want a mess on their ships—so they usually

do throw prisoners overboard—"

"But don't they swim or wade to shore?" asked ^Natzlin.

"They can't. It's too for, and the water is deep."

"I can swim a long way—" said Barra.

"Not that far. Tir's gut, Barra, you haven't seen the sea yet. It could be a day's march from

shore, the ship, when they toss someone out." Vossik took a long swallow of sib

DIVIDED ALLEGIANCE 5

and went on. "Anyway, one of the prisoners was a mage—or said he was. He started calling to

Alured, telling him he should be a prince by rights."

"I'd have thought Alured wouldn't listen to prisoners' yells," said Stammel. "He doesn't look the

type.

"No," agreed Vossik. "He doesn't. But it seems he'd had some sort of tale from his father—about

being born of good blood, or whatever. So he had the man brought to him, and the mage told him a

long tale about his ancestors. How he was really heir to a vast kingdom, and was wasting his time

as a pirate."

"He believed that?" Haben snorted and reached his own mug into the sib. "I'd heard pirates were

superstitious, but—"

"Well, the man offered proof. Said he'd seen scrolls in old Aare that proved it. Offered to take

Alured there, and prove his right to the kingdom."

"To Aare? That heap of sand?"

^How do you know, Devlin? You haven't been there."

"No, but I've heard. No one's ever said anything was left in Aare but ruins."

"That's what the mage told Alured—that he'd been in the ruins, and could find the proof of

Alured's ancestry."

"It seems to me," said Erial, "that it's extra trouble to hunt up ancestors like that. What

difference does it make anyway? Our Duke's got his steading without dragging in hundreds of

fathers and fathers' fathers."

"Or mothers," muttered Barra.

"You know they're different here in Aarenis," said Stammel. "Think of Andressat."

"That stuffed owl," said Barra.

"No—don't be that way, Barra. He's a good fighter, and a damn good count for Andressat. Most other

men would have lost Andressat to Siniava years ago. He's proud of his ancestors—true—but he's

someone they could be proud of as well."

"But go on about Alured, Voss," said Stammel. "What happened?"

"As I said, he already had some idea that he was nobly bred. So he listened to this fellow, and

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sailed back to old

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Aare with him. Then—now remember, I got this from the Fallo troops; I don't say it's true—then the

mage showed him the proof. They say that Alured believed it—an old scroll, showing the marriages,

and such, and proving that he was in direct descent from that Duke of Immer who was called back to

Aare in the troubles."

"But Vossik, it wouldn't take much—any decent mage could fake something like that!" Erial looked

around at the others; some of them nodded.

"I didn't say I believed it, Erial. But Alured did. It fitted what he wanted, let's say. If Aare

had been worth anything, it would have meant the throne of Aare—if it was true. It certainly meant

the lands of Immer."

"And so he left the sea, and settled into the forest to be a land pirate? How was that being a

duke?"

"Well—again—this is hearsay. Seems he came to the Immer ports first, and tried to get mem to swear

allegiance—"

"But he'd been a pirate!"

"Yes, I know. He wasn't thinking clearly, perhaps. Then he hired a lot of local toughs, dressed

them in the old colors of Immer, and tried to parley with the Duke of Fall."

"Huh. And came out with a whole skin?"

"He wasn't stupid enough to put it in jeopardy—this took place on the borders of Fallo. The Duke

reacted as you might expect, but—well—he didn't much care what happened in the southern forest, as

long as it didn't bother him. And, so his men say, he's longsighted—won't make an enemy

unnecessarily."

"But what about Siniava?"

"Well, Alured wasn't being accepted as Duke of Immer any more than Siniava was accepted as Count

of the South Marches. Now this bit I got from one of Alured's men. Siniava promised Alured the

dukedom if he'd break up the Immer River shipping, and protect Siniava's movements in the area.

Thats why no one could trace him after Rotengre."

"Yes, but—"

"But a couple of things happened. First, Andressat. Andressat didn't accept Alured's claim, but he

was polite:

DIVIDED ALLEGIANCE 7

read the scroll, said he could understand Alured's feelings, but pushed the decision off on the

Duke of Fall. He let Alured look at his archives, and said if Fallo was ever convinced, he'd back

him. So when Siniava tried to get Alured to move on Andressat's flank, he wouldn't. Then the wood-

wanderers: you remember that old man we met in Kodaly, that time?' Stammel nodded. "Alured had

befriended them when he moved into the forest, so they were on his side. Same time, our Duke had

befriended them for years in the north, and northern Aarenis. From that, our Duke knew what Alured

wanted. And he knew what Fallo wanted, which was to marry into a northern kingdom—and he knew that

Sofi Ganarrion had a marriageable child—"

"But Soft's not a king—"

"Yet. Remember what he's always said. And with Fallo behind him—"

"Gods above! You mean—"

"Somehow our Duke and the Halveric convinced the Duke of Fall that Alured's help in this campaign

was worth that much to him. So the Duke of Fall agreed to back Alured's claim, and Andressat fell

into line, and we got passage through the forest and Siniava didn't."

Paks shivered. She had never thought of the maneuvering that occurred off the battlefield. "But is

Alured really the Duke of Immer?"

Vossik shrugged. "He has the title. He will be ruling. What else?"

"But if he's not really—by blood, I mean—"

"I don't see that it matters. He'll be better as a duke than a pirate: he'll have to govern,

expand trade, stop robbing—"

"Will he?" Haben looked around the whole group before going on. "I wouldn't think, myself, that a

pirate-turned-brigand would make a very good duke. >Vhat's the difference between taxes and

robbery, if it comes to that?"

"He's not stupid, Haben." Vossik looked worried. "It will have to be better than Siniava—"

"That's my point. Siniava claimed a title—claimed to be governing his lands—but we all saw what

that meant in

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Cha and Sibili. He didn't cut off trade entirely, as Alured has done on the Immer, no—but would

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any of us want to live under someone like him? I remember the faces in those cities, if you

don't."

"But he fought Siniava—"

"Yes—at the end. For a good reward, too. I'm not saying he's all bad, Vossik; I don't know. But so

far he's done what any mercenary might—gone where the gold is. How will he govern? A man who

thinks he's nobly born, and has been cheated of his birthright—what will he do when we reach the

Immer ports?"

They found out at Immerdzan, where the Immer widened abruptly into a bay. It sheltered four ports:

Immerdzan and Aliuna, across the river from each other, Ka-Immer, seaward of Immerdzan, and

Seafang, high on the last rocky point of the bay on Aliuna's side. Seafang alone had not been

controlled by Siniava in the past few years; it was more a pirates' lair than a port anyway. But

Immerdzan, Ka-Immer, and Aliuna had been governed by Siniava's minions.

Immerdzan required no formal assault. It had never been fortified on the land side, beyond a wall

hardly more than man-high with the simplest of gates. The army marched in without meeting any

resistance. The streets were crowded and dirty; the air stank of things Paks had never smelled

before. Paks got her first look at the bay, here roiled and murky from the Immer's output. The

shore was cluttered with piers and wharves, with half-rotted pilings, the skeletons of boats,

boats sinking, boats floating, new boats, spars, shreds of sail, nets hung from every available

pole, and festooned on the houses. She saw small naked children, skinny as goats, diving and

swimming around the boats. Most of them wore their hair in a single short braid, tied with bright

bits of cloth.

Beyond the near-shore clutter, the bay lay wide and nearly empty under the hot afternoon sun. A

few boats slid before the wind, their great triangular sails curved like wings. Paks stared at

them, fascinated. One changed direction as she watched, the dark line of the hull shorten-

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ing and lengthening again, now facing another way. Far in the distance she could see the high

ground beyond the bay, and southward the water turned green, then blue, as the Immer's water

merged with the open sea.

Around the Duke's troops, a noisy crowd had gathered— squabbling, it seemed to Paks, in a language

high-pitched and irritable. Children dashed back and forth, some still sleek and wet from the

water, others grimy. Barefoot men in short trousers, their hair in a longer single braid,

clustered around the boats; women in bright short skirts and striped stockings hung out of windows

and crowded the doorways. One of Alured's captains called in the local language, and a sudden

silence fell. Paks heard the water behind her, sucking and mumbling at the pilings, slurping. She

shivered, wondering if the sea had a spirit. Did it hunger?

Alured's captain began reading from a scroll in his hand. Paks looked for ArcoTin and watched his

face; surely he knew what was going on. He had no expression she could read. Now the announcement,

whatever it was, was finished: Alured's captain spoke to the Duke, saluted, and mounted to ride

away. The crowd was silent. When he rounded the corner, a low murmur passed through them. One man

shouted, hoarsely. Paks looked for him, and saw two younger men shoving a graybearded one back.

Another man near them called in accented Common:

"Who ofyou speaks to us?"

"I, do." The Duke's voice was calm as ever.

"You—you are pirates?"

"No. What do you mean?"

"That—that man—he says is now our duke—he is a pirate. You are his men—you are pirates."

"No." The Duke shook his head. Paks saw Arcolin give the others a hand signal, saw the signal

passed from captains to sergeants. It was unneeded; they were all alert anyway. "We are his

allies, not his men. He fought with us upriver—against Siniava."

'THiat filth! The man spat. "Who are you, then, if you fight Siniava but also with pirates?"

"Duke Phelan, of Tsaia.'

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"Tsaia? That's over the Dwarfmounts, all the way north! What do you here?"

"I have a mercenary company, that fights in Aarenis. Siniava—" The Duke's voice thinned, but he

did not go on, "We fought Siniava," he said finally. "He is dead. Alured of the forest has been-

granted the Duchy of Immer, and as he aided us, so I am now aiding him."

"He is no duke!" yelled the man. "I don't know you—I heard something maybe, but I don't know you.

But that Alured—he is nothing but pirate, and pirate he will be. Siniava was bad, Barrandowea.

knows that, but Alured! He killed my uncle, years back, out there in the bay, him and his filthy

ship!"

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"No matter," said the Duke. "He is the Duke of Immer now, and he rules this land—including this

city. I am here to keep order until his own officers take over."

The man spat again, and turned away. The Duke said nothing more to the crowd, but set the cohorts

on guard along the waterfront, and had patrols in the streets leading to and from their area. All

was quiet enough, that first day. Paks felt herself lucky to be stationed on the seawall. She

could look down at the boats, swaying on the waves, and catch a breath of the light wind that blew

off the water. Strange birds, gray and white with black-capped heads, and large red bills, hovered

over the water, diving and lifting again.

It was the next day that the executions began. Paks heard the yells from the other side of the

city, but before they could get excited, the captains explained what was going on.

"The Duke of Fall and the Duke of Immer are executing Siniava's agents." Arcolin's face was

closed. "We are to keep order here, in case of rioting—but we don't expect any." In fact, nothing

happened in their quarter. The men and women went about their work without looking at the

soldiers, and the children scampered in and out of the water freely. But the noise from across the

city did not quiet down, and in the evening Cracolnya's cohort was pulled out to join the

Halverics in calming the disturbance. They returned in the morning, tired and grim;

DIVIDED ALLEGIANCE

Paks did not hear the details until much later. But the Duke's Company marched out of Immerdzan

the following day, and the bodies hung on the wall were eloquent enough.

In Ka-Immer, the word had arrived before they did. The gates were closed. With no trained troops

for defense, and only the low walls, the assault lasted only a few hours. This time the entire

population was herded into the market square next to the seawall. While the Halverics and Phelani

guarded them, Alured's men searched the streets, house by house, bringing more and more to stand

with the others. When they were done, Alured himself rode to die edge of the square. He pointed at

a man among the others. His soldiers seized him, and dragged him out of the mob. Then two more,

and another. Someone yelled, from across the square, and a squad of Alured's men shoved into the

crowd, flailing them aside, to seize him as well. The first man had thrown himself down before

Alured, sobbing. Alured shook his head, pointed. All of them were dragged to a rough framework of

spars which Alured's troops had lashed together.

A ripple of sound ran through the crowd; die people crammed back against each other, the rear

ranks backing almost into Pak's squad. She and the others linked shields, holding firm. She could

hardly see over the crowd. Then the first of the men lifted into sight, stretched on ropes slung

over the framework. Paks stiffened; her belly clenched. Another. Another. Soon they hung in a row,

one by the feet and the others by their arms. Alured's men petted them with mud, stones, fish from

the market. One of diem hung limp, another screamed thinly. Paks looked away, gulped back nausea.

When her eyes slid sideways, they met Keri's, equally miserable. She did not see the end, when

Alured himself ran a spear into each man. She felt, through the movement of the crowd, that an end

had come, and looked up to see die bodies being lowered.

But it was not the end. Alured spoke, in diat strange language, gesturing fiercely. The crowd was

still, unmov-tng; Paks could smell the fear and hatred of those nearest her. He finished with a

question: Paks recognized die tone

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of voice, the outflung arm, the pause, waiting for an answer. It came as a dead fish, flung from

somewhere in the crowd, that came near to its mark. His face darkened. Paks could not hear what he

said, but his own soldiers fanned out again, coming at the crowd.

Before they reached it, the crowd erupted into sound and action. Jammed as they were against a

thin line of Phelani and Halverics holding the three landward sides of the market, they somehow

managed to turn and move at once. PaksJs squad was forced back, by that immense pressure. They

could hear nothing but the screams and bellows of the crowd; they had been ordered to guard, not

attack. But they were being overwhelmed. Most of the people had no weapons; their weapon was

simply numbers. Like Paks, they were reluctant to strike unarmed men and women—but equally, they

did not want to be overrun.

Behind, in the streets that led to the market, Paks could hear other troops coming, and shouted

commands that were but pebbles of noise against the stone wall around them. She tried to stay in

contact with the others, tried to fend off the crowd with the flat of her sword, but the pressure

was against them all. A man grabbed at her weapon, screaming at her; she raised it, and he hit

her, hard, under the arm. Almost in reflex, Paks thrust, running the sword into his body. He fell

under a storm of feet, that kept coming at her. She fended them off as best she could, pressing

close to the rest of the squad as they tried to keep together and keep on their feet.

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A gap opened between them and the next squad; the crowd poured through, still bellowing. Paks was

slammed back into the building behind her; she could feel something —a window ledge, she

supposed—sticking into her back. Faces heaved in front of her, all screaming; hands waved, grabbed

at her weapon. She fought them off, panting. She had no time to look for Stammel or Arcolin; she

could hear nothing now but the crowd. They had broken through the ring in many places, now, and

streamed away from the market, lurching and falling in their panic. A child stumbled into her and

fell, grabbing at her tunic as he went

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down, screaming shrilly. Paks had no hand to spare for him, and he disappeared under the hurrying

feet.

By the time she could move again, most of the crowd was gone. She could see Alured riding behind

his soldiers as they tried to stop those in the rear. She finally saw Arcolin, and then Stammel,

beyond the tossing heads. Then she could hear them. The cohort reformed, joined the others, and

was sent in pursuit of the fugitives. But by sundown, barely a fifth had been retaken, mostly

women and children too weak to run far, or too frightened. Paks, still shaken by the morning's

events, was upset still more by the treatment of those she helped recapture. Alured was determined

that none of Siniava's sympathizers would survive, and that all would acknowledge his rank and

rule. To this end, he intended, as he explained to Phelan in front of the troops, to frighten the

citizens into submission.

Paks expected the Duke to argue, but he said nothing. He had hardly seemed to smile since

Siniava's death, and since reaching the coast had spent hours looking seaward. She did not

know—none of them knew—what was troubling him. But more and more Paks felt that she could not live

with what was troubling her. The looks of fear and loathing turned on them—the muttered insults,

clear enough even in a foreign tongue—the contempt of Alured's troops, when the Phelani would not

join them in "play," which to them meant tormenting some poor citizen—all this seemed to curdle

her belly until she could hardly eat, and slept but little, waking from troubled dreams.

Paks tried to smother these feelings. She had spoken out once—that was enough for any private. As

long as she wore the Duke's colors, she owed him obedience. He had done a lot for her, had honored

her more than most. Surely the Duke's service was worth a little discomfort, even this unease.

When they marched out of Ka-Immer, leaving a garrison of Alured's men behind, Paks tried to tell

herself the worst was over. But it wasn't. In town after town, along the Immerhoft coast, the same

scenes were played. Alured, it seemed, knew of Siniava's agents in every one. Or they refused his

lordship, remembering him as a pirate, and he had to enforce his will. The

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mercenaries did not participate in the executions and tortures, but without them Alured lacked the

troops to force so many towns.

None of them knew how long it would last—r-where the Duke was planning to stop. Surely he would,

they thought. Any day he would turn back, would march to Valdaire. But he said nothing, staring

south across the blue endless water. Uneasiness ran through the Company like mice through a whiter

attic.

Paks thought no one had noticed her in particular until Stammel came to her guardpost one night.

He stood near her, unspeaking, for a few minutes. Paks wondered what he wanted. Then he sighed,

and took off his helmet, rumpling up his hair.

"I don't need to ask what's wrong with you," he began. "But something has to be done."

Paks could think of nothing to say.

"You aren't eating enough for someone half your size. You'll be no good to any of us if you fell

sick—"

"I'm fine—" began Paks, but he interrupted.

"No, you're not fine, and neither am I. But I'm keeping my food down, and sleeping nights, which

is more than you're doing. And I don't want to lose a good veteran in all this. We don't have that

many."

Paks nodded slowly. "So many of us. aren't—aren't really the Company."

"Yes—all those new people we've picked up here and there. They aren't the same." Stammel paused

again. He put his helmet back on, and rubbed his nose. "I don't know tf they ever will be—if we

ever will be—what we were." His voice trailed away.

"I keep—keep seeing—" Paks could not go on.

"Paks, you—' Stammel cleared his throat. "You shouldn't be in this."

She was startled enough to make a choked sound, as if she'd been hit. "What-^why—"

"You don't." His voice gathered firmness as he went on. "By Tir, I can't stand by and see you fell

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apart. Not for this. You've served the Duke as well as anyone could. D'you think he doesn't know

it? Or I?" Now he sounded

DIVIDED ALLEGIANCE

almost angry. "You don't belong here, in this kind of fighting. That Marshal was right; even the

Duke said you might be meant for better things." He stopped again, and his voice was calmer when

he resumed. "I think you should leave, Paks."

"Leave the Company?" Despite the shock, she felt a sudden wash of relief at the thought of being

out of it.

"Yes. That's what I came to say. Tir knows this is hard enough on me—and I'm older, and— But you

leave, Paks. Go back north. Go home, maybe, or see if you can take knight's training somewhere.

Don't stay in this until you can t stand yourself, or the Duke either."

"But I—how can I ask—I can't go to him—"

Stammel nodded forcefully. "Yes, you can. Tell Arcolin. The captain'll understand—he knows you.

Hell tell the Duke—or you can. They'll recommend you somewhere, I'm sure of it."

"But to leave the Duke—"

"Paks, I've got nothing to say against him. You know that. He's been my lord since I started; I

will follow him anywhere. But—you stopped him once, when he—he might have made a mistake. Maybe—if

you leave, maybe hell look again—"

Paks was speechless, faced again with the decision she thought she'd settled in Cortes Immer. How

could she leave the Company, how could she return to the nQrth, alone? It was closer to her now

than .family, more familiar than the rooms of the house where she'd been born.

"Paks, I'm serious. You can't go on the way you have been. Others have noticed already; more will.

Get out of this while you still can. Will you?"

"I—I'll have to think—"

"Tonight. We'll be in Sord tomorrow—more of the same, I don't doubt."

Paks found that her eyes were full of tears. She choked down a sob. Stammel gripped her shoulder.

"That's what I mean, Paks. You can't keep fighting yourself, as well as an enemy. Tir knows I know

you're brave—but no one can fight inside and outside both at once."

"I gave my word," she whispered.

Elizabeth Moon

"Yes. You did. And you've already served your term, and more. You've seen Siniava die, which ends

that oath, to my mind. I don't think you're running out—and I don't think Arcolin or the Duke

will, either. Will you talk to them?"

Paks stared up at the dark sky spangled with stars. Torre's Necklace was just rising out of the

distant sea. She thought of the distant past, when she had dreamed of being a soldier and seeing

far places, and of the last town they had been through. "I—can't—go into another—"

"No. I agree."

"But it's too late. It—"

His voice was gentle. "Would you if it weren't so late?''

"Oh, I—I don't know. Yes. If the Duke would let me—"

"He will," said Stammel. "Or I don't know Duke Phelan, and I think I do." He called back toward

the lines for one of the newcomers. "He'll take your place. Come on. If I know you, you'll

convince yourself by morning that you owe it to the Duke to work yourself blind, deaf, and crazy."

The following hour was not as difficult as Paks had feared. Four of the captains had been talking

in Arcolin's tent; the others melted away when Stammel asked Arcolin for a few minutes of

conference. Arcolin himself looked at Paks steadily, but with no anger or disappointment.

"I had been thinking," he said, "that you were overdue for leave. And this isn't your land of

fighting—mine, either, for that. But yes, if you want either leave, or to quit the Company

entirely, you have the right to do so. I would hate to see you leave us for good; you've done

well, and I know Duke Phelan is pleased with you. Would you consider a year's leave, with the

right to return?"

Paks nodded. "Whatever you say, Captain."

"Then we'll speak to the Duke about it. I think you should come, too. He may wish to speak to you

about your service."

The Duke also had not gone to bed. His gaze sharpened when he saw Paks behind Arcolin, but he

waved them into his tent. Arcolin explained what Paks wanted, and the • Duke gave her a long look.

DIVIDED ALLEGIANCE

you displeased with my command, Paksenarrion?"

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"No, my lord." She was able to say that honestly. It was not his command, but his alliances, that

bothered her.

"I'm glad for that. You have been an honest and trustworthy soldier. I would hate to think I had

lost your respect."

"No, my lord."

"I can see that you might well wish to leave for a while. A northern girl—a different way—but do

you wish to leave the Company forever, or for a while?"

"I—don't know—I can't imagine living another way, but—"

"How could you? I see. Well, you perhaps should know that the Marshal we met outside Sibili had a

discussion with my captains and me—" he glanced at Arcolin, who nodded. "You refused to leave,

once—-perhaps this is the right time. You would benefit from advanced training, I think. If you

decide to enter another service, I will be glad to recommend you. My own recommendation would be

that you seek squire's training somewhere, or the equivalent. You're already good with single

weapons—learn horsemanship as well, and you might qualify for knight's training." He stopped, and

looked at Arcolin. "She'll need maps for the journey north; I suppose you've already arranged

about pay and settlements—"

"Not yet, my lord. She came just this evening."

"Well, then. You might stay with the Company, Paksenarrion, until you have decided how you will

travel. The state Aarenis is in, going alone would not be wise. If you can find a caravan—you

could hire on as a guard—that might work. Ill be sending someone back to Valdaire a little later,

if you wanted to wait—" There was more of this discussion, but none of what Paks had feared. The

Duke seemed more tired than anything else, a little distracted, though kind. She shook his hand,

and returned to the cohort area with Arcohn, a little let-down at how easy it had been.

Stammel was waiting. "You go on to bed. Tomorrow—" "But tomorrow is Sord—"

Elizabeth Moon

"No. That's the day after. And you won't march with us. I'll have something for you to do."

"But—" ,

"Don't argue with me! I'm still your sergeant! By the time you get into Sord, you'll be free of

all this. Now get over there and go to sleep."

To her surprise, Paks slept all night without waking.

Chapter Two

"From Duke Phelan's Company, eh?" Paksenarrion nodded. The guard captain was a burly dark man of

middle height. "Leaving the Company?"

Paks shrugged. "Going home for awhile."

"Hmm. Wagonmaster says you want to leave the caravan halfway—?"

"It's shorter."

"Mmm. Wagonmaster talked to your sergeant, didn't he?"

"Yes, sir."

"It'll do, then, I suppose. Do you handle a crossbow?"

"Not well, sir. I have used a longbow, but I'm no expert."

The guard captain sighed. "Can't have everything, I suppose. Now listen to me—the caravan starts

making up day after tomorrow, and we'll leave the day after that or the next, depending on how

many merchants join up. I'll want you here by high noon day after tomorrow, ready to work. You

come in drunk, and 111 dock your pay. We have to watch the wagons as close in the city as on the

trail. Don't plan on sleeping that night. Be sure to get some armor; the caravan doesn't supply

it. I'd recommend

Elizabeth Moon

chainmail. The brigands we'll run into along the coast use powerful bows. That leather you're used

to won't stop arrows. You can buy mail from us, if you want." He cocked his head at her. "Clear so

far?"

"Yes, sir. Be here at noon day after tomorrow, with

armor.

"And not drunk."

Paks flushed. "I don't get drunk."

"Everyone gets drunk. Some know when. And by the way, no bedding with the merchants; it's bad for

discipline."

Paks bit back an angry retort. "No, sir."

"Very well. See you day after tomorrow." He waved her off. As she left the room, she passed two

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armed men in the hall outside; one of them carried a crossbow.

"I can't believe you're going." Paks had hoped to slip out quietly, but Arne, Vik, and other

friends had found her. "What'll you do by yourself?"

"I won't be alone," she said. "I'm doing caravan work—"

"Caravan work! Tir's gut, Paks, that's—"

"Some years the Duke does some. You know that."

"Yes, but that's with us—with the Company. To go out there with strangers—"

"Arne, think. How many strangers are in the Company this year?"

"You're right about that. But still, we're—we're your friends, Paks. Since I came in, you've been

my friend. Is it that Gird's Marshal? Are you going to join the Girdsmen?"

"I don't know. No, I don't think so. I'm just—" Paks stared past them, trying to say it. "I'm

taking leave—we're all owed leave—and I might come back or I might not.'*

"It's not like you." Vik scowled. "If it was Barra, leaving in a temper, I could understand it,

but you—"

"I'm leaving." Paks glared at him. "I am leaving. I have talked to Stammel and Arcolin and the

Duke himself, and I'm leaving."

"You'll come back," said Arne. "You have to. It won't be right." Paks shook her head and walked

quickly away.

As she was leaving the camp, one of the Duke's squires caught her. "The Duke wants to see you

before you go,"

DIVIDED ALLEGIANCE

he said. She followed him to the Duke's tent. Inside, the Duke and Aliam Halveric were talking.

"—And I think that will— Oh, Paksenarrion. The Halveric has a request to make of you."

"My lord?"

"Since you are going north—I understand you are planning to cut across the mountains?"

"Yes, my lord."

"If you'd be willing to delay your journey home long enough to carry this scroll to my steading in

southern Lyonya, I will pay you well. It won't be much out of your way if you take the eastern

pass."

"I would be honored, sir." Paks took the scroll, in its protective leather case, and rucked it

into her belt pouch.

"Come look at this map. You should come out of the mountains near here. If you go north, you'll

come to an east-west trail that runs from southern Fintha all the way to Prealith. You'll find

Lyonya rangers, if you're in Lyonya, or traders on it in Tsaia, and any of them can tell you how

to find it." He pointed it out on the map."Tell them Aliam Halveric's, or they'll send you north

to my brother or uncles. You don't want to go that far out of your way. When you come there, be

sure you give it to my lady: Estil, her name is, and she's several hands higher than I am. Your

word will come to her sooner than a courier going back up the Immer, I think."

"Yes, sir."

"And I can trust you, I'm sure, to tell no one of this. There are those who would be glad to steal

that scroll, and cause trouble with it."

"No, sir, I will tell no one."

"I thank you. Will you trust my lady to pay you, or would you take it now?"

"Of course I will trust you—your lady, sir. I have not delivered it yet, though I swear I will."

"Phelan says you may seek work in the north; is that so?" Pals nodded. "Well, then, Estil may be

able to help. She will do what she can, I promise you."

"Paksenarrion," said the Duke, extending his hand. "Re-

Elizabeth Moon

member that you are welcome in my hall, and in my Company, at any time. May the gods be with you."

"Ward of Falk," said the Halveric. Paks left the tent half unwillingly. It was hard to think that

she had no right here anymore. If anyone had stopped her then and asked her to stay, she might

have changed her mind. But she saw none of her friends, and passed through the sentries without

challenge. As she neared the city gates, the thought of the journey ahead drew her on.

She moved quickly through the crowded streets of Sord. Now that she was out of the Duke's colors,

in rough brown pants and shirt with a pack on her back and a longsword at side, she heard no more

of the catcalls that bothered her so. It felt very strange, being in trousers again after so long.

Her legs were hot and prickly. The longsword, too, rode uneasily at her hip. She pushed it farther

to the back, impatient. The pack was heavy . . . she had thought it was too hot to wear the

chainmail shirt, and warm woollen clothes as well were folded into the pack. She cocked an eye at

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the sun, and strode on.

At the inn, the caravan master bustled about the court; three wagons were already loaded. He

grunted as he saw her, and jerked his head toward the inn door. Paks looked and saw the guard

captain there.

"Ha," he said. "You're on time." He looked her up and down critically. "Where's your mail?"

"In my pack, sir," said Paks.

"Best wear it," he said. "With all the confusion around here, I wouldn't trust leaving it

anywhere. Then you can put your gear in that wagon—" he pointed. "For now, just patrol around the

packed wagons. As soon as some of the others arrive, I'll organize guard shifts."

By the time they had been on the road a few days, Paks felt a little more comfortable with the

other guards. She still did not feel like trusting them in a bad fight, but she found them much

like other soldiers she had known. A few were outcasts of this company and that militia, but most

were reliable and hard-working. Some had never been anything but caravan guards, and had no skills

beyond

DIVIDED ALLEGIANCE

aiming a crossbow. Others were well trained, and had left respectable military units for all sorts

of unimportant reasons.

Days passed. It was hotter on the Copper Hills track than any place Paks had yet been; the others

told her this was the hottest part of the year.

"The smart ones take the spring caravans," said one, hunkered in the shade of a wagon one noon.

"When there is a spring caravan."

"Yes, well, what can you expect of merchants?"

"High prices." A general laugh followed this. Paks sweltered in her chainmail and looked east,

toward the distant line of ocean. On some of the higher ground, when the heat haze didn't blur it,

she could see the sand and water form long, intricate curves. It looked cool out there. Finally

she asked someone why they didn't travel closer to the ocean.

"Where are you from?"

"The north,' she said. "Northwest of Verella."

"Oh. That's inland, isn't it? You don't know much about the sea. Well, if we went closer to the

sea, we'd get down in the worst country you can imagine. Sand—have you ever tried walking through

sand?"

"I walked on a little bit of beach, between Immerdzan and—"

"No, not a beach. Dry sand—loose sand. It's—oh, blast. It's—it's worse than a dry plowed field."

That Paks could understand, and she nodded. He went on. "So think about these wagons—the wheels

sink in, and the mules labor. We labor. And then it's swamp. Sticky, wet, salt marsh. And more

sand. And it's not cool—its beastly hot, and the water is salt, and everything stinks. Ycch."

"And don't forget the pirates," put in another of the guards.

"I was coming to that. Pirates—they call it the robber's coast, you know."

"But how do pirates live there?"

"Some people like eating crabs and clams and things. There's plenty of that shellfish. There are

fresh-water springs here and there, so they say. A few miserable shacky villages. And the pirates

have ships, mid can sail away."

Elizabeth Moon

Despite the ominous name of robber's coast, and the caravan master's precautions—or because of

them—no Bandits showed their faces, and the caravan crawled steadily northward without any

trouble. Paks practiced the crossbow, and impressed the other guards with her fencing. She, in

turn, spent plenty of time spirting out dirt after trying unarmed combat with the others. They had

rricks she had never seen in the Company.

Finally she saw the smudge on the horizon ahead, where the Dwarfhiounts crossed the line of the

Copper Hills. As they came closer, she could see that they ran east of the present coast line, and

saw the angle of shore change from sand and mud to rock again.

"That's the Eastbight," said a merchant, when he saw her looking. "If you sail, you have to get

well out for the best currents."

"And where you don't ever want to go," added one of the guards, "is over there—" He pointed to a

wide bay that lay in the angle. "That's Slaver's Bay. If there's a robber on the coast, there's

ten in Slaver's Bay. It'd take a Company the size of your Duke's to keep you safe in that place."

"I've traded there," objected another merchant. The guard looked at him.

"Well," he said finally, "they must not have liked your face—or your fortune."

The caravan had reached the crossroads, and turned west for the pass through the Copper Hills into

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