Next morning, Kieri arrived at the salle with Aliam, Astil, and Varñe to find more than four hands of men and women in forest-ranger green and russet waiting for him, Arian among them. Carlion and Siger, who’d been warned some applicants might come, eyed them with professional disdain.
“There’s too many to assess at once, Sir King,” Carlion said. “If you’re to get any training this morning, that is. I’d rather take groups of four.”
“We’ll rotate them,” Kieri said. “And to save time—Siger, take the others to the stables, and tell Sir Ganeth I want a riding assessment on both grays and browns. Carlion, when you’re through with the first four, send them to the stables, and Siger will send you another.”
“Will you want to spar with them all, Sir King?”
Kieri shook his head. “I haven’t time today; I have a Council meeting after breakfast. Today Aliam and I will work together.”
Kieri and Aliam went on into the salle and let Carlion make his choice of the first four. They began with stretches and other exercises that soon had Aliam puffing.
“You used to run me ragged with these,” Kieri said. “Is Estil right? Have you been sitting around too much?”
“She thinks so.” Aliam grunted as he clambered up from the floor. “But I’m getting older—see how much balder I am? It’s all right for her, but my joints ache.”
“You told us the best cure for aches was more exercise,” Kieri said.
“So it is, for the young,” Aliam said. “Or maybe I am just lazy. This morning, I will say, it does not hurt as much. King’s grace, perhaps?”
“You were never lazy,” Kieri said. “And the grace your king wants is a good bout—” He opened the storage bin and tossed Aliam a banda and practice sword, and took one for himself.
Aliam’s swordwork was as good as ever, though perhaps a touch slower, and he was quickly tired, but recovered between rounds. He and Kieri traded touch after touch.
“All you need is more practice,” Kieri said, as he finished. “If I were your physician, and not your friend, I would bid you work daily with your armsmaster.”
Aliam shook out his arms. “And as my friend?”
“The same, but with concern for your health. If you stayed here longer—”
Aliam shook his head. “I cannot. Cal is competent, but I need to be home—there is much work to be done. You know how land is, especially with so many feeding from it.”
“That, we hope to change—but I understand.” Kieri looked around the salle. The second four, now fencing in the middle of the salle, were three men and one woman; Carlion paced about them, watchful.
“You will have King’s Squires enough,” Astil said, on the way back to the palace.
“Do you regret deciding to retire?” Kieri asked.
“No. I was glad to come and serve again—and so I always will be at need—but my life now is at the farm with my family.”
“I would like you—all of you current Squires—to help evaluate these applicants,” Kieri said.
“You have said you plan to use Squires more, and differently,” Astil said. “Can you explain, Sir King?”
“I will write it out for you,” Kieri said. “But it includes acting as couriers to carry messages and envoys to foreign courts when haste is needed. Think of the tasks those who came to seek me found necessary—weapons skills, woodscraft, palace manners, diplomacy. I need Squires who are flexible, able to act independently, as well as intelligent and hardy. And I want to include part-elves; we need to bring the peoples closer together.”
After breakfast, Kieri bade farewell to Aliam and Estil, then convened the first Council meeting since the coronation. The Siers looked wary and he wondered if Aliam’s brother had told them his plans. But their concern, it seemed, was different.
“Sir King, with all respect—how far into summer will we need to stay in Chaya?” That was Sier Davonin. “Growth time is here; I have duties at my steading I would carry out, if I am no longer needed. And truly, I believe you need our advice less than when you came.”
“What is your custom?” Kieri asked.
“A few of us stay in Chaya,” Sier Belvarin said. “When the former king was well, three or four, who met perhaps once a tenday. The rest lived on their estates—”
Kieri hoped his expression didn’t change. No wonder the realm had been sliding into disarray if that was all the attention its rulers paid it.
“We have had meetings every day since you came, but for the coronation and days of celebration,” Sier Tolmaric said. “I knew things would be different, but—”
“My pardon, Siers,” Kieri said, before Tolmaric said something he might later regret. “In my ignorance and my need I have overworked you. But I wished to be fair, to assure you that I would not thoughtlessly overturn all your cherished traditions, or ignore your advice. You are correct, Sier Davonin, that I no longer feel as lost and incapable as I did, yet I do not believe you want a king who ignores you and does not listen to your concerns.”
“Quite so,” Davonin said. “But as your understanding of us has grown, so also our trust in you. I, for one, am content to let you ask for my advice, should you ever need it, which I increasingly doubt.” She gave Tolmaric a sideways glance.
“Well, then,” Kieri said. “Let us say I will release those who do not have specific duties here—as Sier Galvary does, and Sier Halveric as well—within the next few days. I still have one matter, on which I know you all have strong opinions, and I would not seem to be evading you when I act on it.”
“You said ‘act’ and not ‘ask,’” Sier Carvarsin said, scowling.
“Indeed so. And we might as well come to it now. I’m still convinced Lyonya needs a stronger defense.”
Scowls all around, except from Sier Halveric, who merely looked grave.
“As I told you before, we have unrest to the west and a known enemy to the north.”
“The lady from Pargun spoke to me of peace between us,” Sier Davonin said.
“And to me as well,” Kieri said. “I believe she may be sincere—”
“May be! You consider her a liar? That sweet old woman—” Sier Tolmaric bristled.
Kieri stared him down. “Siers, I have seen many old women who could poison an enemy with sweetmeats while swearing eternal friendship. You are all honorable; I am sure none of you would say one thing and mean another, but my life has been spent among those who thrive on conflict and controversy. I found Hanlin of Pargun delightful, and I am sure many of you feel the same—but even if she is sincere, she does not rule Pargun, and she did not claim to speak for their king, who has long hated me. I remind you that Pargunese troops entered Tsaia to kill me on my way here—”
“That could be the Verrakai’s fault,” Belvarin said.
“So it could,” Kieri said, “except that they must have had the king’s agreement. Would a king well-disposed to Lyonya have cooperated with a plot to kill its new king?” Before they could answer that, Kieri went on. “Along the river, we have only three towns with any defenses at all; the rest is forest and small holdings that could be easily overcome—”
“You think Pargun will invade?”
“I don’t know,” Kieri said. “But north of the river, in Tsaia, they have tried repeatedly. Often, when defeated at one site, they’ve launched a second attack at another.”
“The Lady will not be pleased to know you talk of war,” Amrothlin said.
“I will not be pleased if I fail in my duty to protect my land and people,” Kieri said. “And I talk of war only to prevent it—in the words I used before, to give the lamb a safe haven from the wolf, as I am now the shepherd. It is my duty to see the danger and protect.”
“I am not so sure,” Amrothlin said, “that protection is all you intend. You have fought Pargun before, more than once, but under another’s command. Perhaps you only want the chance to do so unchained—as sheepdogs, loosed, may turn on their sheep.”