“But go on about Alured, Voss,” said Stammel. “What happened?”
“Well, he already believed he came of noble blood, so he sailed back to old Aare with this fellow. Then—now remember, I got this from the Fallo troops; I don’t say it’s true—then the mage showed him proof—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, any 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. 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 prince or duke or whatever?” Erial sounded scornful.
“Well—again—this is hearsay. Seems he came to the Immer ports first, and tried to get them to swear allegiance—”
“But he’d been a pirate!” Paks agreed with that emphasis.
“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—they talked 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, his men say, he’s longsighted—won’t make an enemy unnecessarily.”
“But what about Siniava?” For Paks, this was the meat of it: whose side had Alured been on from the beginning?
“Well, at first they had one thing in common: none of the old nobility would accept their claim to titles. Siniava promised Alured the dukedom if he’d break up the Immer River shipping, and protect Siniava’s movements in the area. Alured cooperated. That’s why no one could trace Siniava after Rotengre.”
“Yes, but—” This time Paks spoke up; Vossik interrupted firmly.
“But two points: Andressat and our own Duke’s cleverness. Andressat had been polite to Alured, promised him he’d accept the claim if the Duke of Fall did. So Alured wouldn’t move on Andressat when Siniava demanded it. After all, he believed himself a duke—above the command of a count. As for our Duke—you remember the wood-wanderers we met in Kodaly?” Stammel nodded. “Alured had befriended them when he moved into that forest, so they were on his side. Our Duke had made his own pacts with them years ago in the north. So our Duke knew what Alured wanted. And he knew what Fallo wanted—connection by marriage with a northern kingdom. And he knew that Sofi Ganarrion had a marriageable child—”
“But Sofi’s not a king—” said someone out of the darkness.
“Yet. Remember what he’s always said. And with Fallo behind him—” Vossik let that trail off. Several were quick to catch on.
“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, Alured switched sides, 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 has the power. 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. What’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 Cha and Sibili. He didn’t cut off trade entirely, as Alured has done on the Immer, no—but would 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 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, longer than it was wide. The port required no formal assault. It had never been fortified on the land side, beyond a simple wall hardly more than man-high with the simplest of gates. The army marched in without meeting any resistance. The crowded, dirty streets stank of things Paks had never smelled before. She got her first look at the bay, here roiled and murky from the Immer’s muddy flow. 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, its surface streaked with blues and greens she had never seen before. A few boats glided 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 its hull shortening and lengthening again. Far in the distance she could see the high ground beyond the bay, and southward the water turned a different green, then deep 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 Arcolin and watched his face; surely he knew what was going on. He had no expression she could read. When Alured’s captain finished reading, he 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 of you 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. Not that they needed any warning; they were all alert anyway. “We are his allies, not his men. He fought with us upriver—against Siniava.”
“That filth!” The man spat. “Who are you, then, if you fight against Siniava but befriend pirates?”