The Sun Sword - The Broken Crown Part 70

"WHAT?".

But Ser Valedan kai di'Leonne stood forward. "I did not realize," he said quietly, and without the coolness of his General, "that this company was so... large." He paused. "Do you ride?"

"Me? No-but some of us can. Sir."

"They aren't cavalry, if that's what you meant."

"Good. Are you the leader of this company?"

"No, sir. That'd be Primus Duarte."

"And he?"

She smiled, and the smile made her face look more sharp, rather than less. "Waiting your

permission, Tyr'agar."

"My permission? I've already given it."

He could hear the General sputter, although the man was absolutely silent.

"Uh, well, yes, sir. But it has been brought to our attention that the customs of the Dominion are

rather more complicated with regards to the presence of those who are-gifted."

Valedan frowned.

"What she's trying to say," the General explained, his voice quiet and utterly smooth, "is that

he's one of the Imperial mage-born, and will therefore not approach without your express

permission. Tyr'agar," he added quietly, "there are no Radann here who can perform the rites of

purification."

"There were," was the young man's remote reply, "Radann in plenty in the Tor Leonne."

His meaning silenced the General.

And the Sentrus.

"Tell your Primus-that is the t.i.tle?-that I have accepted the company as an Imperial company while we are upon Imperial soil. He may approach."

Serra Alina was proud of Valedan. She did not show it; did not so much as change posture or

position. But the General was slightly off guard; it was Baredan who had shown surprise, and quite openly. Valedan appeared to be in command of the situation.

He had to be.

Take their service, but tell no one. Her advice. The only clear path she could see.But shouldn't I ask-That is precisely what you cannot afford to do. You are the Tyr'agar, Valedan.But I don't know how to-And you will learn. Ramiro di'Callesta is a dangerous man. Never tell him all that you know unless you wish to set a Callestan Tyr beside the waters of the Tor Leonne. You may trust the General-he is your man, truly.Then I can ask him.No.Why?

The look of confusion and annoyance made the only surviving scion of the once great clan look younger than his years. She smiled fondly, remembering that expression.

Because, Na'Vale. He is your man, but he flutters about you like a nervous mother. Or wife. When you return to the Dominion-if you indeed return-the men of the clans will look first to Callesta and then to the General before they see you. If the General flutters and hovers and waits, if he seems to be the source of your strength and your wisdom, then it won't matter whether he's your liege, your loyal liege, or not. They will know that you are weak. And they will not follow.

Or do you wish to be a Tyr in exile ?

He watched as a man detached himself from this group of soldiers. Watched, lifting his chin slightly, as that man approached. He wore the colors of the Kalakar House Guards, that much, Valedan knew clearly from his years in Avantari. What he did not recognize-and what Bare-dan obviously did-was the black bird that plunged, claws extended, beneath the more familiar colors.

But he knew from the General's reaction that this crest, and this House, had not been friendly in the wars that had been the cause of his exile.

Exile? As the Primus-he knew the rank by the golden quarter-circle above the sword across the right shoulder- approached, the unspoken word echoed in the emptiness that the ma.s.sacre had made of his life. He did not clearly remember the Dominion of Annagar; could not easily recall all the details of the Tor Leonne-the seat of power which, coveted, had caused the death of his distant father-even though there were some images that would never leave him. But he could recall, at will, the colors of The Ten; he knew their leaders on sight, and knew, further, many of their lesser n.o.bles. Solran Marten and Kallandras of Sennial visited often, and if he was quiet enough, he was allowed to listen to them sing. He knew the ranking Patrises and the merchants who, holding no t.i.tle, held the power of Royal Charter; he even knew, by sight, some of the Magi and the man who ruled the most important guild in the Empire: the guild of the maker-born.

Exile?

He knew the healer-born, and the men who served as healers although their skills were learned and not granted; he knew the priests, and their golden-eyed masters, and privately knew that the Annagrian view must be wrong, for these men and women could not be demons. He knew Morrel's Ride and Moorelas' Fall-knew, as well, the arguments that surrounded the "correct" use of this Northern hero's name-and he knew what the Six Days meant.

This was his home.

Or it had been.

The Primus saluted, and the salute was a sharp one. "Primus Duarte AKalakar reporting for duty, Tyr Leonne."

"And will you protect me from demons, Primus."

Valedan said, as he looked at the restive rank of the men and women who followed, "or from them?"

At that, the Primus froze, and then he lifted a brow. "Permission to speak freely?"

"Granted."

"You look like a boy. You stand like one. You even sound like one."

The silence that followed the words was a thick one; no one moved.

"You can ask a question like that; you've got an edge to you beneath that youth. If you intend to go South, sharpen it." The Primus smiled. "These are the Black Ospreys. They serve Kalakar, except in time of war."

"Then?"

"They serve the Kings."

"And what do they owe to me?"

The Primus smiled again, as if he was surprised at the question. Valedan was-and he was the

one who asked it.

"Inasmuch as your commands do not conflict with The Kalakar's or the Kings', we owe you service and protection."

"And who decides when those orders are in conflict?"

Silence a moment, and then the Primus smiled grimly. "Not the General," he said, acknowledging

for the first time the man who stood so stiffly to Valedan's right.

"No," Valedan said, remembering Alina's words, the sharpness behind their strength. "The General serves me, and he will abide by my orders, once given. "But perhaps we did not understand each other clearly. I accepted your service. You will tell me what that means."

"It means-"

"To you."

Ser Fillipo par di'Callesta listened from a discreet distance, watching the boy with a measured

calm. He recognized the banner as quickly as the General had; perhaps more so. Bloodied but unfelled, it cast a long shadow in the memory of a man who had served in the campaign that led to the Averdan valleys. He stepped back, thinking that this was not a decision that he could have made, or could have accepted. Wondering what Baredan felt. What Ramiro would feel, upon seeing them himself.

J.

Boy, he thought, for he had never thought of Valedan as anything else, your blood is stronger than we thought.For the entire first meeting, Duarte held his breath and prayed. A lot. I'm too old for this.But no one had said anything completely offensive, and after the right amount of time had pa.s.sed -an eternity, more or less-the Ospreys had been dismissed to quarters, with commands to report back in the morning.

They didn't make it.

They got out of the Arannan Halls and halfway across the courtyard before the first outraged outburst; made it to the edge of the footpath before they'd stopped completely, demanding answers, reasons, explanations. From him.

At least, praise Kalliaris, they'd waited. He could be thankful for that much.

"I know it's asking a lot-"

"It's asking more than a b.l.o.o.d.y lot," Cook said grimly. He'd done something he rare did:

straightened out. He was a big man."But we don't have a choice." Duarte had managed, against all odds, to get the Ospreys to the palace. But he'd done it not by dint of threat; he'd done it by the clear expedient of simple fact. It was a direct order. They could obey it, or they could be cashiered. But having got them here, he was under no illusions: Ospreys and orders they didn't like were oil and fire.We can fight the Dominion, he'd told The Kalakar, but don't ask us to serve the Southerners. Ask any other company. Please. Close as he'd come to begging since he'd turned fifteen. Hadn't got him anywhere."We've always got a choice," Auralis said, in the smooth, warm drawl that made anyone who knew him well very nervous. "We've followed orders we didn't like before."

Trust Auralis. The Ospreys could do everything short of outright mutiny under the guise of following orders. They'd done it under The Berriliya's very brief command.

"We don't do it here."

"Duarte-" Alexis began, but he cut her off.

"No. Maybe you don't realize what's at stake."

"Sure, we do," Auralis said, his voice even quieter. "We're supposed to put our lives on the line for a bunch of Annagarian n.o.bles." He paused. "For a bunch of Anna-garian n.o.bles who serve, directly or indirectly, the interests of the Callesta clan."

Callesta.

He hated the name.

Hated the use of it, hated what it brought back. The Black Ospreys had lost two thirds of their number on a single day, and a quarter of those who had made it off the field never made it across the border again.

I told her, he thought, seeing the grim, white line of The Kalakar's lips. Knowing that she felt as he did, and that she wouldn't fight the Kings for the right to stand apart. To honor the dead, by refusing, years later, to serve their killers.

"It was General Alesso di'Marente who ordered the slaughter," Duarte said, his voice weak although it was wrapped around fact. "And that General will rule the Dominion if we don't intervene."

"And if we don't intervene," Cook said, his voice heated where Auralis' was smooth, "Marente and Callesta will fall in on each other. Marente served under Callesta, Duarte. We're not idiots. Not a man who served there could forget it."

"Then state your position. State it clearly. Make your choice."

"Let me make it for you," a new voice said.

They turned, as one, to look upon the still features of the man that they had been ordered to protect: Valedan di'Leonne. The son of a man whose death not a single Osprey mourned.

"I will not take your service where it is so reluctantly given. You," he said to Cook, "may continue as you like in the service of the Kalakar. I do not know how well she tolerates disobedience; it must be very well.

"You," he said, turning to Duarte, "may also continue under her service. But you will not serve me. Keep your old wounds, and let them bleed as you like; I have need of whole men."

"So,"Alexis said slowly, "the pretty boy speaks."