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This time, as the glances passed across the table, he was able to pick out patterns. Of the humans, Halveric and Belvarin seemed to lead opposition groups; others looked to them first, then at each other. Familiar as he was with the workings of Tsaia’s court, here he felt adrift, uncertain. They did not need his uncertainty: they needed the best he could give them. He tried to remember what Aliam had said about his brother.

“We have time,” he said. “Time for me to learn more of what I need to know, time to plan.” One of the elves nodded, approving. But elves always had time, if a rock didn’t land on one. “I will need to check on my escort, after breakfast, but let us say midmorning, for a meeting of those who keep the finances?”

This time a look of surprise from them all. “You don’t wish to rest a day or so?” Belvarin asked. “Your long journey … the attack … surely you are still fatigued. We do not wish to exhaust you.”

Kieri managed not to laugh out loud. He, a mercenary, fatigued by a journey that had been, except for the battle, no strain at all? “I am not fatigued,” he said, pitching his voice to reassure Belvarin. “You had a sick king so long, I understand and appreciate your concern, but having taken on this task, I intend to do a good job. Which means going to work now, this morning. If you, Sier Belvarin, will begin organizing the memorial for my predecessor—” He did not even know the man’s name, and no one had mentioned it. “I will speak to you later about that. For the finances—”

Brisk nods. Sier Galvary raised his hand; Kieri nodded. “Sir King, those keeping the treasure rolls of the kingdom report to me. Would it please you to come to the treasury yourself, or would you prefer to see the records here?” He paused, and before Kieri could answer said, “The light is better here, to be honest, and the tables are larger.”

Kieri smiled. “Here, then. I need to know all you can tell me about the economy of Lyonya, internal and external, from what crops are grown in the fields and fruit in the orchard, to what goods are traded here and abroad. I know it will take more than a day to learn …” He pushed back his chair and they all stood; when he stood, they bowed, and he nodded gravely. Paks and Dorrin, catching his hand signal, stood aside as the Siers and elves left the dining hall and waited for him.

“Do you want me to parade the cohort here, my lord—Sir King?” Dorrin asked.

“I think not,” Kieri said. “I need to begin learning my way around; I’ll visit them where they’re quartered. Paks, I doubt I’ll have time to check on my mount today—would you see that he’s exercised a little? Tell whoever’s in charge of the stables that he should be walked in hand for perhaps a glass, but nothing fast. He’s in a strange stable and he can be fretful.”

“Of course, Sir King,” Paks said. “I can lead him from mine, if you like; I was going out.”

“He doesn’t usually—” Kieri began, then chuckled. Any horse would follow Paks’s paladin mount, he was sure. “Yes, if you have the time, that would be perfect. Let him get used to the place.” He turned to Dorrin. “A few minutes for the jacks and we’ll be off.”

The King’s Squires went before and behind as he and Dorrin walked briskly across the palace forecourt toward the great gates. The air was chill and damp, but not cold; he thought it felt like a light frost the night before, but nothing to harm the early spring that had followed him from the border.

Kieri looked around, trying to discern more of the layout than he had in the brief glimpses he’d had the afternoon and evening before. His childhood memories of the place did not help: then, all the walls had seemed the same height, and the child’s interest had been on knee-high things. It looked smaller now—but he had been smaller. Was it as big as the palace in Tsaia? He thought not, but he hadn’t seen all of it yet.

Outside the gates, they turned left. A broad cobbled street, a few muddy lumps of snow still piled along the margins, lay between them and a stretch of winter-tan grass just showing a little green between ranked trees far taller than the palace. It stretched away in the distance. “What’s that?” he asked.

“The Royal Ride,” one of the Squires answered. “It leads to the Royal Forest, if you like to hunt.”

If he liked to hunt? Kieri felt a grin stretch his face. His steading had no real forest, being far north of the Honnorgat, only patches of woods his tenants needed for wood and nuts and rooting for their hogs. He had hunted a few times with Marrakai, who had extensive forests, and once with the crown prince in Tsaia’s Royal Reserve. He looked at the long stretch of turf, imagined riding there, galloping flat-out … but he had work to do first.

“Most of the meat on the palace tables is game,” another Squire said. “The Royal Huntsman provides it as needed. Venison, wild boar, and small game.”

His mouth watered. He ignored it; he had just had breakfast. But the thought kept coming back. He had a forest … a palace and a forest. A forest full of game.

“I do not know your names,” Kieri said. “I met only those who came to Tsaia with Paks. How many King’s Squires are there?”

“In former days, as many as twenty, but with our king’s illness, he needed fewer, and dismissed the rest. Six only stayed at the palace. We—my pardon, Sir King: I am Astil, and these others—” He paused; they spoke one by one, giving their names: Varñe, Berne, Panin. “We were called back to serve for a time.”

“How are you chosen?” Kieri asked.

“The king chooses, from those with the skills, and who desire to serve. King’s Squires must be Knights of Falk, sound in body, skilled in weaponcraft, hardy, and must speak elvish well enough to be understood and understand. Some Squires have been rangers, others come from the Royal Archers.”

“Are any of you elves?”

“No, Sir King. Elves do not serve that way. More were half-elven in the old days, but not in the former king’s reign.”

Beyond the strip of trees that bordered the Royal Ride, stone and wood buildings bordered the road on both sides; the wall enclosing the palace grounds ended, he realized, with that strip of trees across from it. Now there were people, scurrying about on their errands; he recognized the same styles of clothes as he knew from Tsaia, plus some he did not know, odd shapes in hats, wider trousers tucked into shorter boots. When people saw the King’s Squires, they stopped, turned to stare, and then bowed to him. Kieri smiled; he wondered if he should speak to them individually, but after that polite bow, they turned and went on the way they had been going.

“They won’t bother you today,” Astil said. “It is considered rude to approach the king unless it is a day declared for such a thing. No one expected you would be out today, so they are probably confused and certainly not ready to intrude.”

“Thank you,” Kieri said. The street they were on curved this way and that around the massive boles of tall trees; he noticed gaps in the rows of buildings, where other trees—singly and in groups—grew undisturbed. It made the city seem smaller, more like a market town; he had no way to gauge its real size when he could not see more of it at once.

“Down here,” Dorrin said. Astil and Varñe turned left into a side street with a narrow walking lane cleared between melting snow-banks. It sloped gently downward; Kieri could see all the way over a low wall to open land beyond, not trees. He remembered coming out of the forest through which they’d ridden from the Tsaian border, to see across wide meadows and a stream the city sheltering under great trees. No city wall, he remembered; only the palace had a wall. How did they defend—?