But he had always expected to lose her eventually. He had long been resigned to the fact that he was a poor lover, and he knew he couldn’t hold a passionate woman like her.
Unless—was it possible that she loved him?
On their last night together, he asked her to wive him.
She drew back in astonishment, her moon-lit blond hair in alluring disarray, her body an enticing, bright contrast to the dark bed. She said slowly, “You mean—live here with you, bear children, be a village wife—”
The first server’s wife would be the foremost one-name woman in the peerdom, but the distinction between that and any village wife hardly mattered to the former prince. “Share my life,” Arne said, “and let me share yours.”
“A one-name life in a one-name village,” she mused.
“But
She winced as though he had struck her. “Yes. Yes, I am. Sometimes I forget.” She put her arms around him. “You love me, and I love you, but that becomes so complicated when one is a one-namer. Do you really want to share the rest of your life with me?”
“I do.”
“I see. I must think. I must think about being a one-namer. By the time you return, I will have decided.”
The prince provided a horse for Arne, and he went first to a hero’s welcome in the Peerdom of Weslon. The wild lashers had burned and plundered Weslon Court before Arne defeated them. The court was being rebuilt, but the charred ruins that remained were a sobering reminder of what had happened. The peer, a tall, slender young woman, had inherited her title shortly before the lashers arrived, and she had thought it lost forever until Arne led his one-namers to her rescue. She greeted him warmly, proudly displayed her baby daughter, Weslon’s new prince, and ordered a feast for him. She gave him an immediate interview with her advisors in attendance.
Arne had several requests for her in the name of the Peer of Midlow. The first was that she permit Weslon’s scouts to train one-namers from all of the Ten Peerdoms. They had been secretly training a limited number for sikes, but an enormous force of scouts was needed to keep watch on the Ten Peerdoms’ frontiers. The scouts of Easlon could not train so many.
“We must send our scouts far into the wilds so they can give an early warning when trouble approaches,” Arne said. “The wild lashers were almost within your borders before they were noticed.”
The peer agreed immediately.
Arne’s second request was that Weslon contribute lashers and no-namers to a common army that would defend all of the Ten Peerdoms—one that could move instantly wherever it was needed. “We already have started such a force in Midlow, and an Easlon scout is training it,” Arne said. “I invite you to send us a hundred lashers and a hundred no-namers now and as many as you can spare later. When the army has been trained, parts of it will be stationed along all the frontiers, including Weslon’s, and if danger threatens anywhere, the entire army will respond.”
This request was received with hesitation and doubtful muttering. The memory of the rebel army was as green in Weslon as elsewhere. Finally Arne appealed directly to the peer. “Majesty, the Ten Peerdoms cannot survive without an army. If there had been additional scouts when the wild lashers came, and a common army you could call upon, there would be no charred wreckage in Weslon Court.”
She promised to send a hundred lashers and a hundred no-namers to Bernal immediately. He next took his story to West Southly, which was already apprehensive that Lant’s army might suddenly burst upon its unprotected southern frontier. The peerdom had long neglected its defenses simply because nothing ever seemed to happen beyond its borders, and it agreed at once to send the requested hundred lashers and hundred no-namers to Bernal and fifty one-namers to Weslon to train as scouts.
By the time Arne reached the Peerdom of Chang, he had made a discovery. Success engenders success. The fact that Weslon, Midlow, and West Southly were already contributing to a common army overrode all of the arguments the Chang peeragers could muster. He continued his circuit of the Ten Peerdoms, leaving Easlon for last—but the Peer of Easlon learned of his mission before he arrived, and Easlon’s quota of a hundred lashers and a hundred no-namers had already started for Midlow. When all of the promised lashers and no-namers arrived, there would be a thousand of each, and five-hundred one-namers were gathering in Weslon and Easlon for scout training. Inskor had sent six more scouts to Midlow to help Bernal. It all happened so easily Arne was left wondering why they had waited so long.
He spent several daez with Inskor before he turned homeward, discussing the uses that might be made of the new army. His success elated him, but it had been a grueling trip, and he was exhausted when he reached Midd Village. He found riding more tiring than walking.
Deline came shortly after he arrived and threw herself into his arms. It was the homecoming he had thought about through all of the long daez of travel; but when he gathered her to him, she drew back.
“Have you decided?” he asked.
“Yes. But we need time to ourselves to talk about that. Your duty comes first.”
“All right,” he said with a weary smile. “Tell me.”
He expected her to recite the list of petty problems accumulated during his absence, but she said, “There are none.”
“None at all?”
“Everything has been taken care of.” She was actually functioning as the first server’s assistant, and doing it well, and she couldn’t conceal the pride she felt. “There are no problems, but the land warden has sent a message for you. He wants to see you as soon as possible.”
“Tonight?” Arne asked in dismay.
“The message said the moment you arrived.”
“Did the message say what he wants?”
She looked away. “No. But the peer’s death is expected at any time.”
“Very well. I’ll go at once.”
He kissed her again and left. At least he still had the horse to ride. He rode it into the court and all the way up the spiraling road to the land warden’s level, a privilege normally reserved for peeragers. No one challenged him, and all of the guards saluted. The land warden was at the palace and had to be sent for. Arne settled himself to wait and fell asleep in his chair.
The land warden awakened him—happy to see him but humbly apologetic for the abrupt summons. “It could have waited for morning,” he said, “But as long as you are here—”
He tersely summarized what had happened since Arne left. It finally had dawned on the other peers that Lant was more than a remote threat, and the wild lasher attack on Weslon was something that could happen to any of them. All had sent messages pledging cooperation. Lashers and no-namers had begun to arrive from the other peerdoms, and Bernal was elated.
As for the peer—she was dying, of course. She had been dying for a long time, but she still possessed determination. She wanted to live until she was assured Midlow was prepared for the future. The prince?
“The prince is why I sent for you,” the land warden said. “The prince feels it is time she took a consort.”
Arne was astonished. This was social matter that concerned only peeragers. Never before had anyone bothered to mention such a thing to him, let alone consult him. “She is young, but if that is her desire—is there a problem?”
“A possible problem,” the land warden said. “There may be serious complications, and it is well to consider them in advance and be prepared to meet them. You see—the man she has chosen is you.”
13. ARNE (1)
“She won’t have anyone else,” the land warden said. “She has admired you ever since she was a child, but she was too shy even to speak to you. She still is, which is why she asked me to do it.”
“I see,” Arne said dazedly. He had the sensation of having a deep pit suddenly open under him, and his mind was scrambling frantically to find an escape. There was none.
