“What are their arms?” Kieri said.
“Blackwood bows,” Halveric said. “And swords, of course.”
“Training?”
“Woodscraft, primarily, and archery and fencing.” Halveric made a face. “Aliam’s pointed out to me before that they are not trained as a regular fighting force, the kind he uses. Archers, he says, are an adjunct to soldiers in formation, soldiers armed with polearms or sword and shield, like his company. Then he goes off into a spiel about mixed-arms tactics and I get lost. But I do understand that we have nothing that counts as an actual army, unless you count the Royal Archers.”
“And what are they?” Kieri asked.
“A longbow archery company, two hundred strong. You’ll see them at the coronation. They march and drill just like other foot soldiers.”
Kieri thought back to Aarenis. No one there used longbows; he’d had one of his cohorts trained in crossbows and had hired or allied with specialist crossbow units as well … but two hundred longbows …
“I suppose longbows haven’t the range of crossbows,” he said. “Or do they? They must be more awkward to carry and handle.” In his mind, he saw archers struggling through the woods, the longer bows catching on every vine and twig.
“Hardly,” Halveric said with a smile. “Didn’t Aliam talk about them? And doesn’t your paladin have a blackwood bow she got from our rangers? Talk to her, and find out why we never export bow-length blackwood.”
“But two hundred archers … against the Pargunese—” The Pargunese, he knew from paid spies and his own observations, could put two thousand troops in the field.
Halveric raised an eyebrow. “Do you know what happened during the Girdish wars?”
“No.” And what could that matter, as long ago as those wars had been.
“Quite a few Tsaian magelords thought it would be a good idea to shift into Lyonya, and drive us out. They knew we had no standing army, and even though they had been held back when the magelords first came over the mountain, they thought they had the resources to succeed.”
“But they were already fighting the Girdsmen,” Kieri said. “Why would they start another war?”
“They didn’t think they were starting another war,” Halveric said. “They thought they were invading a helpless neighbor who didn’t have the population or will to stand up to them. They knew that the humans in Lyonya were the same stock as those they’d conquered. And they knew somehow—how, I don’t know—that the Ladysforest elves were away, involved in something else.” He paused, and picked up a pastry from the tray. “They expected us to break as easily as this—” He broke the pastry. “And to be as soft inside. But they failed.”
“Because of blackwood bows?”
“Blackwood bows and those who know how to use them, to advantage.” Halveric spread his hands. “I know what Aliam does, what kinds of troops he has. He told me how you fought in Aarenis. Open ground, for the most part. Sieges of walled fortresses and citadels. Blackwood bows—if you could even get them—might not do as well there. But here … I think you will be pleasantly surprised.”
“Who commands these forces?” Kieri asked.
“You do, Sir King, if you choose to act directly. In the past hand of years, the king has left such matters to the Council in whole, and the Council has not been much interested. I am seen as dangerously influenced by my brother, but in fact Aliam’s descriptions of war terrify me. Only, like Aliam and you, I see that intending no harm is no protection.”
“But in the field—who decides where they go and what their orders are?”
“The forest rangers are divided into four groves, one for each border, and each commanded by a grove-captain. These have their orders from here—from me, if it seems needed. It was my decision, for instance, to move a half-grove from the southeast to the southwest, to provide more protection from Tsaian problems. Most of our southeast quarter, after all, is within the Ladysforest.”
“A wise move,” Kieri said. “What protection for the riverside?”
“The northern grove of rangers, and the three river towns with forts,” Halveric said. “The forts are manned by city militia … perhaps twenty or thirty in each.”
Clearly inadequate to prevent a river crossing. Though, he supposed, archers shooting from the forest cover could make rowing across the river very difficult.
“And who commands the Royal Archers in the field?” he asked.
“In the field? I have never known them to be more than a half day’s march from Chaya. They have a captain, of course. You should meet him, I suppose.”
“Indeed I should,” Kieri said. He sighed, thinking how far all this was from any real defensive force. Bowmen skulking in the woods could certainly delay an attacking force, but he wanted better. “How do you think others will react to this news?” He tapped the letter.
“They’ll be frightened,” Halveric said. “As I am. Worried. And the Tsaians want that cohort back. I was half hoping you’d retain it permanently.”
“It seems a time to press the Council about defenses,” Kieri said. “I was going to wait until after the coronation, but this gives reason.”
“They’ll balk,” Halveric said. “I would advise waiting—but then, they will balk any time.”
“They must at least know what the news is,” Kieri said.
He called the Council in, and read them the letter from the crown prince.
As he’d expected, they were frightened.
“They can’t make you send your soldiers away,” Galvary said. “Can they? They’re yours—”
“Mine when I was a duke in Tsaia,” Kieri said. “They’re Tsaian. Besides, only days ago you were wanting me to send them back, remember?”
“Yes, but—but if the Tsaians are going to cause trouble we need something—”
“We do,” Kieri said. “But until we know what Captain Dorrin’s orders from the Crown are, we can defer this discussion.” Down the room, the elves and Sier Halveric all gave short nods of approval.
10
Dorrin Verrakai had just returned from her morning visit with her cohort, and settled into one of the small reception rooms with pen and paper to write the necessary orders for the next hand of days, when one of the palace servants knocked on the door.
“Captain—there’s a messenger from Tsaia.”
“For the king, I presume … did the king ask my presence?”
“No, Captain. This messenger is for you. In the royal livery.” The servant’s demeanor was perfectly correct, but Dorrin could see intense curiosity in his glance. Did he wonder if she were being recalled to stand trial?
“I’ll see the messenger here,” Dorrin said.
The messenger, in Tsaia’s rose and white, bowed to Dorrin as he came into the room. On one shoulder was the gold and silver knot that meant he was of noble birth, assigned to carry messages for the royal family only, and on his collar the silver bell signifying a knight in the Order of the Bells. Such would not usually bow to her, a mercenary, even though she wore the ruby of a Knight of Falk.
“Sir,” she said courteously, with a bow in return.
“I bring an urgent message from the prince and Council of Tsaia,” he said. “It concerns you and your family, and the welfare of the realm.”
The welfare of the realm? Considering the behavior of her relatives, the only welfare of the realm she could imagine meant eradication of the entire family. But would the prince or Council really send her a message consisting of “present yourself for execution”? To cover her surprise, she tried courtesy. “You have traveled far,” Dorrin said. “You will take refreshment, surely.”
“Not until I’ve done my duty,” he said. He pulled from beneath his messenger’s mantle a red leather scroll case. “I am to hand this to you personally and remain at your service to answer any questions you may have.”