“Only to check on you, my lord Duke, and to see if you have additional orders.”
“No, Captain; no new orders. We march when ready; you’ve seen what charts I have, and you know as much of the potential defenses as I do.”
“Very well, then.” He bowed and left her in the common room, now lit with several lamps.
Almost at once, one of the serving wenches brought in her breakfast platter. She was spooning honey onto the hot bread when Sir Valthan came in, yawning.
“Do you ever sleep?”
“I confess to waking unusually early—it should prove an interesting day.”
“I hope not too interesting,” he said. “My men tell me the town’s not unhappy to see a new duke in Verrakai.”
“Undoubtedly,” Dorrin said, through a mouthful of honey and bread. “Haron was as bad a lord as a land could have. I’ve no doubt he threatened merchants and traders here and on the roads near and through his territory. We know that granges on the south road were attacked—people missing or found dead after torture.”
Dorrin returned to her breakfast; his arrived and he set to. When she finished, she pushed back her chair. “I’m going for a last word with Marshal Berris; if I’m not back when you’re ready to leave, it’s on the way out of town.”
“You’re sounding like a duke already,” he said.
“I should,” Dorrin said, grinning. “Since I am one now.” She left through the side door; Selfer was talking to Vossik as the last supplies were loaded on the wagons. She caught his eye and he came over.
“Yes, my lord?”
“My pack upstairs, and armor?”
“Already loaded, my lord. The rest of your armor is slung on your saddle.” He nodded to her mount, now wearing its newly decorated tack.
“I’m going to the grange, to speak to the Marshal. I’d as soon walk, and stretch my legs; we’ve a long ride. When Sir Valthan’s got his troop ready to go, swing by there and pick me up.”
“Yes, my lord.” Selfer cocked his head. “Pardon, my lord, but perhaps an escort?”
“You think I need one here?” Dorrin asked. She laid a hand on the hilt of her sword.
“I think it is due a duke’s dignity,” Selfer said. “Two or three—”
“Two.” She waited to see which ones he’d select. He beckoned and two—the two she would have chosen—came up. “You’re the Duke’s escort through town,” he said. Then Selfer sketched a salute; Dorrin nodded and walked out the inn gate followed by her escort. Her first real appearance as Duke Verrakai … the first time she had considered herself a Verrakai since she left home. How would the townspeople react?
16
Halfway to the grange, she was chuckling at herself. Early morning, still nearly dark, cold, dank—hardly anyone was out and those who were hurried along, heads bowed, paying no attention to her. So much for the blue cloak, the fancy ducal chain. She strode on, noticing as she passed that the Royal Guard sergeant was only now chivvying his men to tack up the horses.
But at that end of town, things were busier. A woman carrying a washing basket stopped, gaped, and dropped a curtsy. A man leading seven cows along a side lane stopped and tried to hold back the lead cow. A group of Girdish youths, straggling along the way to the grange, all turned to look; two of them pointed.
Dorrin slowed. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the grange already?”
“Er … grange?”
“You’re all wearing blue—isn’t this your morning drill day? And the yeoman-marshal expecting you?”
“Uh—yes—uh—”
“You’re that lady came to the grange the other day,” one of them said, suddenly excited. “You’re the new duke, the marshal said. But you’re a lady! Ladies aren’t dukes. They’re dukes’ wives.”
“They’re called duchesses, Matti,” one of the older boys said, elbowing the first.
Dorrin chuckled. “I’m not a duchess; I’m not a wife. I am the Duke, because the crown prince said so and so did your Marshal. Get along now; tell him I’m coming to see him.”
They dashed away, racing to the barton gate; Dorrin remembered when she could run that fast. She walked on; by the time she reached the gate, Marshal Berris stood there waiting. He lifted an eyebrow at her change in garb.
“Well … Duke Verrakai. We’re honored … are we?”
“Marshal,” Dorrin said, with a slight bow. “It’s your choice, whether to consider this an honor—”
“Oh, I do. What’s snared my tongue is something the boys said, as they came pelting in. What is the proper form of address for a … a lady duke? I should have asked before.”
“The same as for a man,” Dorrin said. “My troops said yes, sir and no, sir to me as they would to the other captains; a duke is a duke, whatever the person in that office.”
“So you’re ‘my lord’ the way he was?”
“Yes,” Dorrin said, feeling foolish. Either way she felt foolish, and that was no way to feel setting off on today’s mission. “What I came to ask—I forgot before—is your estimate of Verrakai’s resources after their defeat. What kind of border guards do you think we might meet?”
“The Royal Guard was for killing them all, as you know,” Marshal Berris said. “Only a few got away, and none of the officers. I think they took the rest prisoner. If I was a treasonous dog like the Duke—the former duke—I’d have sent everything I had to that ambush, to ensure the plan worked and to spread the guilt abroad, so none would be tempted to betray the plan.” He cocked his head. “Still, my lord Duke”—heavy emphasis on the “my lord”—“I’m glad to see you wearing mail under that fancy doublet and shirt. What men-at-arms are left will be afraid of judgment and frightened men do desperate things. As I’m sure you know.”
“Indeed, yes, Marshal,” Dorrin said. “But your report suggests we’re more likely to see irregular attacks than an organized force offering battle. Until we get to the house, anyway.”
“If a Girdish Marshal may say it, ward of Falk, my lord Duke.” This time no sarcasm edged his voice. “I judge the prince chose well, and I wish you well, both in your body and your spirit, for the sake of those who have suffered under cruelty and deceit for so long.” He rubbed his hands. “And now, my lord, will you chance an exchange with me?” He lifted his surcoat to show that he, too, was wearing mail. “It would be educational for the lads.”
“It would be a disaster if you broke my bones,” Dorrin said, but she actually felt like sparring. “But it would settle my nerves. There’s more light out here.”
“My lord,” one of her escort said. “We have all day to ride, you said.”
“True,” Dorrin said, “but a few buffets won’t hurt. Much.”
Berris called, and the boys poured out of the grange, forming a square; two of them brought wooden training swords. “No head blows,” he said. “And first touch only—I do not wish to injure the Duke.”
As she’d hoped, the exchange of strokes, so familiar over so many years, settled her breakfast and her mind both. She’d always enjoyed single-sword practice most, and she and the Marshal were well matched. Parry, circle, parry … the wooden swords clacked together, faster as she and the Marshal both increased the tempo. The knot between her shoulders loosened as she warmed to the familiar dance. This and this, and that again, and finally her blade slid past the Marshal’s guard, a fraction faster than his, and she managed the perfect training touch—enough to be heard, but not to hurt. In the next instant, before he could stop, his blade thumped her side. They both grounded their blades, and bowed.
“Gird’s grace,” Berris said. “And the High Lord’s favor, be with you and yours.”
“And with you as well,” Dorrin said. She heard down the lane the sound of many hooves and the jingle of tack. “We have timed it well, I think.” She handed the wooden sword to one of the boys, shook her arm and flexed her fingers, then clasped arms with Berris. “Thank you, Marshal, for your good wishes and your aid. Gods grant I can be the duke Verrakai needs.”