I was not precisely hungover in the morning, although my head felt none too clear and my ribs had taken a minor turn for the worse, from my imprudent decision to loosen some of my bandaging sometime in the small hours before bed. We‟d spent a pretty riotous evening, after Cioren took himself off, trading
“dumb luck in battle” stories, and my account of my fury and subsequent behavior when locked into Penvarron tower turned into a tale of hilarious stupidity in the face of danger. It was convivial, and enjoyable, and wonderfully cathartic to tell Tirais just what I‟d been thinking in the aftermath of that horror.
In the morning light, I blushed. He‟d taken it with spluttering laughter, after all that drink. I hoped he didn‟t really remember it. One of my father‟s dictates, about not getting drunk with your commander, floated back to me. I‟d really have to start paying more attention to what I knew, or I‟d be doomed forever to a life of backwater garrisons with poor food.
In the meantime, I had gotten a very good meal out of it, and the prospect of the Royal Court in full festival lay before me. I‟d have to see Gallerain, of course, and he had no reason to like me, but the chances were high that our paths wouldn‟t cross much. Out of my league, Baron Gallerain was. I got out of bed.
My own clothes were nowhere to be found. In their place, there was a tunic and trews of very fine blue wool, beautifully trimmed in the red and gold of the House of Machyll, and a light cloak to match. On the table beside them, I saw a stamped lead token, the standard marker that you turn in to get your pay when you are employed by a really large army.
I dressed, carefully. My mail shirt was also missing, probably taken off for cleaning along with my clothes. Life was certainly a lot simpler, with Alun to worry over these simple details. Luxurious, not to have to fuss over it all, but to simply wait for things to reappear, cleaned and repaired, instead of wasting my time finding a sand-barrel and a brush, or a cistern for washing.
On the other hand, I didn‟t have anything else to occupy me. But that was a kind of luxury too, I thought. I sat down to another magnificent breakfast in my borrowed finery, agreed with Alun that it was a lovely day, and asked casually when my own things would be returned.
“Never,” he said, grinning. “Those trews weren‟t good but for rubbish anyway.
Old Mab‟s sorting out new things for you, from the stores. Prince‟s orders. And your mail‟s got big holes, they‟ve taken it off to the armouries, to see what‟s to be done. I‟ll go and ask how long, if you like.”
“No, that‟s all right,” I said hastily. “You must have a ton of other work. But I need to turn in my pay marker. You don‟t happen to know where, do you?”
As it happened, he did. But Glaice being so large, it was quickly established that Alun‟s directions were nearly useless. Instead, I followed him down through the central courtyard, past the building that housed the infirmary, to the doors of Glaice‟s administration barracks.
Once inside, a man of uncertain years and poor vision scrutinized my token. I was then passed along through a succession of army clerks, who each gazed at the lead button as if it were some mysterious and arcane symbol. Eventually, I was ushered into a small counting-room, where yet another clerk examined my pay token, fumbled amongst a box of small leather bags, matched the insignia of my chit to those sealing the bags, and handed one of them over, along with a ledger to sign.
The bag felt rather heavy. I wasn‟t owed much, even without deducting my advance from Sorcha, and my decision to turn in the token had been partly for want of something to do, as well as a response to a much-quoted maxim of my father‟s on the subject of a soldier‟s pay. Of course, it might all be in coppers and beggar‟s bits, I thought, and stowed it away in my shirt.
Alun had disappeared, after my blithe assurance that I could certainly find my way back on my own. It turned out, of course, not to be completely true, as I got lost twice, but finally I recognized the gate to the courtyard I wanted and struggled up the stairs into my room.
The bag did not contain coppers.
Ensconced on the bed, with a cushion to support my aching leg, I stared at the pile of coins lying on the blanket. In addition to a quite unholy amount of silver, more than I‟d ever actually seen in one place before, there were two gold pieces.
They were the kind called „ravens‟ because of the prophecy bird stamped on them,
the obverse bearing a crown and the Queen‟s name. I counted it all very carefully, twice, and stared, thinking hard.
I knew what I‟d been owed, after subtracting my advances. I counted that out, as close as I could. I knew roughly what a patrol captain earned in a quarter, even at a prestigious place like Glaice. I counted that amount out equally carefully. I was even capable of working out how much a full year might net me, and I moved another pile of coins to a place midway between my first collection and the large mound remaining. As near as I could figure, after carefully ascertaining what was left, my little pouch contained an amount in silver equal to two and a half years of duty in a good garrison.
I didn‟t even try to figure out what the gold ravens would translate into. I didn‟t want to know. Someone in the counting house had made a huge mistake, which would have to be rectified, but I wasn‟t quite sure how to go about doing that.
In any case, the coins made a very pretty picture heaped on the bed. I leaned back and gazed at them, while I tried to think who might be the best person to turn this matter over to. It was a pity Lord Gervase wasn't here. It seemed to me that he would know how to fix this without getting some poor clerk in hot water.
I was still trying to think what to do when Cioren came in.
“You don‟t look much the worse for wear,” he remarked by way of greeting.
I grunted in response, my mind still preoccupied with my own dilemma.
“There‟s been a mistake in my pay.”
He glanced over. “It looks like enough,” he said, “But you‟d know best what you‟re owed.”
“That‟s just it. It‟s far too much. They‟ve given me someone else‟s.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Well, they must have. There‟s over two years‟ pay here, not to mention these.” I pointed at the gold.
“You know,” said Cioren, “there was a bonus for Penvarron soldiers. Tirais announced it, but I think you were still abed with your wounds. I expect that‟s the reason it seems to be so much.”
“That might explain a little bit, but no-one gives common soldiers this much.
They‟ve mixed it up somehow.”
Cioren wandered over to the side table and picked up the wine bottle.
“Keri, I shouldn‟t worry over it. You did hard service, and were wounded. I think the kingdom can afford a mistake in your favour, just this once. I would just accept it as good fortune, and let it be. Sometimes mistakes aren‟t worth the trouble it takes to fix them.”
“That‟s all very well,” I said, unconvinced, “But some poor counting-clerk could get into trouble for it. A mistake like this, he might lose his post.”
“I tell you what. I‟ll drop a word in Enan‟s ear, and if it turns out to be an error, he‟ll let me know. And I promise you, no one will lose their place. Will that satisfy you?”
It would have to. I could tell he was rather bored by the whole affair. I wouldn‟t need any of it, not just now. I swore to myself not to spend even a beggar‟s bit of it, and began pouring the coins back into the bag.
Cioren handed me a filled cup and said, “By the way, Tirais said you may as well dine with him again. I‟m off for an evening of dull gossip with an old friend, and he thought you might be at a loose end, otherwise.”
I nodded. “Whatever you say.”
“Whatever I say? Where does this sudden docility spring from? And what does it portend?”
“Well, I agreed to abide by your rules, didn‟t I?”
“That would comfort me, if I didn‟t know you so well. Don‟t quarrel with His Highness tonight. He‟s had a long morning, and the afternoon looks to be worse.
Enan‟s caught a young recruit thieving from his mates, and that sort of thing makes Tirais rather angry.”
More well-made clothes appeared in my room that afternoon, along with an elderly woman who announced that the things I was already wearing fit too badly to be imagined. I spent the rest of my day being fitted in new tunic and trews, these ones in a dark green with more gold and red embroidery at the wrists and neck, and having the blue ones altered to suit the seamstress‟ exacting standards.
It was dull work but my part was over fairly early, and I filled in the remainder of my time sharpening every blade I owned.
The trouble with that sort of work is that it becomes rather obsessive. I lost track of time while getting the edge on my new sword to an unnecessarily razor-sharp
keenness, and what with one thing and another, was late arriving at the door to Tirais' quarters in the evening.
He was alone, which surprised me. I‟d expected Gwyll, at least, or some of his other guards, or friends who lived year-round at Glaice. But the table was laid for two, only.
Tirais cut off my apology with a wave.
“Goddess knows, after a day like today, I‟ve no appetite left. At least not for food.
I could eat a roasted recruiting sergeant, perhaps.”
I said nervously that if he‟d prefer to be alone, I could quite understand it.
“Oh, give it a rest. I‟m not angry, just tired. But here, what would your famous father do, in a case like this? They take on a boy out of the back of beyond, and just because he looks good on the parade-ground, they put him into a unit full of rich merchants‟ sons and local landholders‟ daughters, and expect him to not covet all those lovely extras they came equipped with. And the poor lad just didn‟t get along of course, so it makes for even more temptation. And now they all cry
“Foul” on him.”
“Well, but you can‟t let anyone steal,” I said. “I mean, he must have known better.
But Da would never put someone into a spot that way. Not without being sure he could handle it.”
“Anyone with any intelligence would know better,” he agreed. “Except the idiot who didn‟t, in this case. And now they want to turn him out, entirely.”
“So what will you do?”
He smiled. “You‟ll like this. I‟m sending him to Penvarron.”
I laughed.
“I‟m hoping it turns out to be a little less exciting choice this time, of course. But between Sorcha and Olwen, I think he‟ll settle down quite nicely. He isn‟t a fool.
That‟s a nice tunic, by the way. I like the embroidery.”
I swallowed. “Yes. I ought to have thanked you before.”
“Not at all. You can‟t go to Kerris looking as if you‟d just come off the battlefield.
People would be frightened.”
“It‟s very kind of you, all the same.”
“Is it? It seems very little, after all. Come on, you must be starved.”
We passed a most pleasant evening, by most people‟s standards. I don‟t remember what we talked about, really. Border tactics, I think, and we wandered into a kind of philosophic byway about the difference between practicing and actually going to war, but by the end of the meal, when we were leaning back in our chairs and finishing off the wine, I was no longer aware enough to do much but pretend to listen.
I was conscious of Tirais‟ presence, in a way I‟d never been before. I could feel my heart‟s rhythm; I noticed that my hands were cold as ice; I had to remind myself every so often to keep breathing; and I felt a chilling, exultant fear curling in the pit of my stomach. I kept up my own end of the conversation with difficulty, and, as soon as I decently could, excused myself for the night, pleading fatigue. I walked back to my room in a dazed and unhappy state, but once there, lying in comforting darkness, I could not sleep.
Somewhere in between my anger and my loyalty, I had fallen in love with Tirais of Keraine.