The Price Of Command

afternoon.”

She saw Daren clutch the table just out of the corner of her eye, his expression pleading with her not to say what he was sure she intended to say. She ignored him. Even if Need hadn’t been goading her, the nagging of her own conscience would have forced this on her.

“This is what I ask, Majesty,” she told him, fixing her gaze directly into his eyes. “And I think it is no more than what all our honor demands. As not only the one who is owed a boon, but as my Grandmother Kethry’s granddaughter, I ask: hold to the pledge your grandfather Stefansen made to Selenay’s grandfather Roald in the library of this very castle.”

The Heralds’ faces were equally comic studies in bafflement. Daren buried his face in his hands. She waited for the King’s anger to break out.

But although he winced, he gave no sign of anger. Instead, he only sighed, and shook his head, then looked back into her eyes and spoke softly, directly to her. “I never thought that it would be a mercenary Captain that would act as my conscience,” he said ruefully. “Well, since the cat is well and truly escaped from the bag—”

He raised his voice. “My lords, my ladies, we have some private business to attend to—but let the feast continue. We shall return to you when we may.”

A hum of conversation rose when he had finished and stood up. “Daren, Captain—come with me, if you will. I have need of both of you.” He gestured, and Kero took her place at his side, though not without a certain trepidation. She could only remember the old saying: be careful what you ask for, you might get it.

I just asked for him to remember his grandfather’s promise. He may well ask me to remember who and what I am.

He directed the two Heralds to follow him, and led the little procession out a small door behind the head table, down a warmly lit hallway, and into a room Kero had not seen before.

And there was no doubt what room this was, either, not when it was lined in books, floor to ceiling. This was the famous library. The King waved at the various chairs available, all of them worn shabby and comfortable-looking, and Kero sat gingerly on the edge of one, not entirely certain that she wanted to be here—

The King waited until all four of them were seated, before speaking. “You,” he said, pointing at Kero in a way that made her want to sink into the chair and hide, “are both a most welcome and a most inconvenient guest, Captain. I am extremely grateful that you were with us on this afternoon’s hunt, but I could wish your excellent memory to the Shin’a’in hell. Perhaps it is not to my credit, but I would have preferred not to have my country involved in a war that poses us no danger.”

She stayed silent, since she couldn’t think of any way to respond to his words that wasn’t undiplomatic at best. He dropped his hand, and shrugged. “But you reminded me of an unredeemed pledge and saved my honor, if not my country. I suppose I should be grateful for that, even if, like medicine, this is not what I would have chosen.”

The man—Herald Dirk—raised his hand tentatively. “Your pardon, Majesty,” he said, when Faram responded to the movement by pivoting to face him, “but we haven’t got the faintest idea of what you have been talking about. Just what is this pledge?”

Faram turned back to Kero. “Well, Captain,” he said smiling a little crookedly. “It began with your grandmother and your Clanmother. Would you care to start?”

Kero cleared her throat, swallowed to give herself a moment to think, and began. “It all started—for my grandmother, at least—when she and her blood-oath sister Tarma joined Idra’s Sunhawks....”

In the end, she and Daren and Faram took turns explaining the entire story to the Heralds. It was Faram who ended the tale, saying, “—so as you can see, Rethwellan owes you what you came to beg of us. I have to admit that if the Captain hadn’t made the question moot, I don’t know whether I would actually have continued to allow you to remain in ignorance of that debt. I’ve been corresponding with my niece Elspeth, and she’s a charming child—but joining my country to yours in a war is not a step to make based on how charming one’s niece is.”

“But—” Talia began, when Faram held up his hand to interrupt her.

“My conscience, at least, is much happier with the secret out in the open, even if my coldly practical side is not. The real problem, my lady, is that the Rethwellan army is composed mainly of foot. That is why we hire mercenary Companies when we need other forces. Even if I could muster them, and start them off for Valdemar immediately, they couldn’t possibly be there before....”

He looked to Daren for his answer, and got it. “Spring Equinox, assuming we started on the road tomorrow,” Daren said promptly. And the Heralds’ faces fell again. “And there’s no way we can get them mustered and on the march for at least a fortnight, so they’ll arrive later than that. But—”

“But?” said three voices together, as the King raised an eyebrow.

“The Skybolts are mounted—and really, that’s exactly the kind of troops you of Valdemar need for the initial encounters. Skirmishers, experts in ambush and strike-and-run, anything to throw Ancar’s army off-balance and keep them that way. Kero knows warfare like—like no one except her Clanmother.”