“Let us see,” Kieri said. “How would you test anyone who first came into your salle?”
Carlion cocked his head. “Is that waster near the weight you’re used to?”
“Close enough,” Kieri said.
“Then you and Garris spar. Garris’s skills I know. Garris, do you attack, and let the king respond.”
Garris attacked; Kieri fended him off easily, making only parries to see what Carlion would say.
“Sir King, you are slacking and that is a bad habit. Make your attacks as you would—”
Kieri did, and quickly penetrated Garris’s guard, once, twice, three times.
“Hold,” Carlion said. “I see I must test you myself; you are beyond Garris.”
“He always was,” Garris said. “We were squires together at Aliam Halveric’s.”
“Ah,” Carlion said. “And he has fought often, and you have not.”
Carlion, Kieri found, was no easy opponent. Wiry and fast, his shorter stature made low attacks easy for him, but he had the ability to strike high as well. Kieri was soon drenched in sweat, despite the morning chill, as was Carlion. They paused for breath again, and Carlion nodded. “You, Sir King, are ready—and more, I would think—to practice in the middle range. I warn you, some stones there will tip. At the far end, in the roughs—well, come see, while you catch your breath.”
Great blocks of stone, loose rocks here and there—Kieri wanted to try it then and there, but enough light showed in the windows to make it clear he must get to breakfast and the meeting he had called.
“Thank you, Armsmaster,” he said. “I will come again.”
“Come every morning, if you like,” Carlion said. “I rise early myself.”
Back in his own chambers, Kieri found his bath waiting, and went down to breakfast with his mind full of what he needed to accomplish that day: the mourning ceremony for the old king—and he had to find out the man’s name!—making sure Galvary had an estimate for Halveric, so Halveric could begin planning the coronation, finding out who could help him with Lyonyan laws and customs—and at some point he would have to broach the topic he knew they would not want: that of security, the need for a defensive force. Could he wait until his coronation? Would the Pargunese, or the Verrakai?
The Council meeting that morning raised new concerns. His nobles were not stupid or lazy, but under a weak king they had lacked effective guidance, and wasted their energy competing among themselves for power and influence. They had no long-range plan; they expected matters to go on as they had, without requiring any intervention from them.
Only a glass later, they fell to quarreling over something that happened before he arrived, when someone’s cattle had encroached on someone else’s pastureland and heifers had been tupped by the wrong bull.
“Siers!” he said. The room fell silent. “Your quarrel is ill-timed; that happened years ago, and we have immediate matters. I will hear no more of that quarrel, is that clear?”
Three of them reddened, but bowed from their seats, and the murmur of “Yes, Sir King” included their voices.
“Good. We have immediate concerns: first is the mourning ceremony. How soon can it be arranged, Sier Belvarin?”
“Five days, Sir King. All is in readiness except the ritual boughs; they should arrive day after tomorrow, and then a day to trim them.”
“Then on that day, I will ask Council members to attend me, and the day before I will need advice on the ceremony itself, never having seen one.”
“I am at your service,” Sier Belvarin said. “That should take no more than two turns of the glass.”
“Sier Galvary?” Kieri said. “The budget for the coronation?”
“I handed the total in to Sier Halveric this morning,” Sier Galvary said.
“And I have begun,” Sier Halveric said. “Beginning with the invitations to distant personages.”
“What foreign guests should we expect?” Kieri asked.
“At the coronation of your predecessor Prealíth sent a representative; they should certainly be invited. The court of Tsaia sent a member of the royal family; they too should be invited. Kostandan sent a gift by their ambassador; I would expect the same. Pargun sent a member of the royal family; it … did not turn out well.”
“Oh?” Kieri raised his brows.
“His speech at the feast … was belligerent. He pointed out how many troops Pargun maintained, and claimed it was only by his father’s forbearance that we were suffered to exist a separate realm and that might not last. To put it plainly, he got drunk and made a fool of himself, and the Pargunese ambassador chose to believe it was our fault. Led the poor lad astray, he said, or poisoned him with elvish wine.” Halveric grimaced. “It was perfectly good brandy from Aarenis, not elvish.”
“That sounds right for the Pargunese,” Kieri said. “But after they attacked me on the way here, I’d sooner invite a pack of wolves. Surely they won’t expect an invitation.”
“Who knows how they think?” Halveric said. “But no, we need not. I will have more details for you, Sir King, after the mourning service—if you do not object.”
“No,” Kieri said. “But I do have an assignment that will not take long, and will set us on the way of thinking into the future, the unknown, as elves do—though not quite that far.” He allowed himself a chuckle; the two elves said nothing but looked pained. “Let us consider it in manageable numbers. A hand of years hence … then two hands, then four, then ten. As a start, you will each write three things you want to see accomplished for the realm within a hand of years. Only three—there will be more.”
His own list, already prepared, lay before him. In a few minutes they had completed their task. “Now read them,” Kieri said. One by one, they read their lists. All but one started with “The king marries and begets an heir” and none contained what was at the head of his own list, “Peace.” When they had finished, he read his own list, continuing to ten hands of years. They looked stunned.
“Sier Halveric, you are the only one who did not list my marriage and getting an heir at the top of your list. Why?”
“You promised to marry and give us an heir, Sir King. I trust you.” Halveric sounded smug.
“I can understand,” Kieri said, looking at the others, “after what you have been through, your intense interest in this. Indeed, providing you with an heir is my duty, and it is important to the realm. Yet remember, when the king left you no heir, the gods provided. I don’t intend to trouble them again, but you should not fear unduly. Your goals are worthy; what matters to you matters to me. But what matters to me must also matter to you … and assuring peace is more important even than assuring an heir.”
“We are peaceful,” Sier Belvarin said, looking puzzled. “I am glad you want to remain so, but—”
“It is the peace of a lamb who does not see the wolf crouched at the forest edge,” Kieri said. Belvarin stiffened. “It is not the peace I want for this land, and it is not the peace you should want.”
“Peace is peace,” Sier Carvarsin said, glowering. “We have not had a war here for generations; we are no threat to our neighbors, so they have no reason to attack us.”
“And no reason not to,” Kieri said. Now all of them looked shocked. “Think you: If the Pargunese will come to Tsaia to attack me, as they did on my way here, why will they not attack here?”
“They never have,” Sier Belvarin said. One of the elves stirred.
“Amrothlin?” Kieri said to him. “Is that your memory?”
“Long ago in human time,” the elf said, “when first the Seafolk came up the river in their pointed ships, they would have settled on this side. We did not permit it, for we had seen how they dealt with the trees, as if trees existed only to make more ships. They were easily frightened, and kept to the north side of the river after that.”