Now all the Council looked really scared. Kieri stared at Amrothlin, until, amazingly, the elf looked away. “If you truly think that of me, Uncle,” he said, “then you must question the Lady’s reading of my heart and her judgment in approving my kingship. That is a matter you may take up with her, if you wish.”
“You brought this up now so that you would be our crowned king, not our king-elect, didn’t you?” Carvarsin said. “Now we cannot naysay you, unless we all agree.”
Kieri looked at the Council again, one face at a time. “That is true,” he said. “But consider this: If it is not by Falk’s Will and the High Lord’s will that I am here, despite so many ill-chances, then I challenge you to explain why I am alive and in this seat. Why, when you were desperate for a king and sent a paladin to find one, I was there to be found, and proved by the sword.” He nodded to it, hanging on the stand. The jewel in its hilt flashed as if he’d touched it. “You swore you would accept whoever she found, and both when she first presented me, and again at my coronation you swore you accepted me. If you are so light in your thoughts that you would twice forswear yourselves before you grant the crown, why should I stay to be the plaything of your passions?”
A moment’s stunned silence as the councilors chewed that through.
“I support you,” Sier Halveric said, and slapped the table. A ragged chorus of slaps followed his.
Kieri looked at the two elves. Amrothlin shrugged. “It is not for me to accept or not accept: that is our Lady’s place, and she has consented. But do not push our Lady to the brink of her patience, Falkieri my nephew. Wiser heads than yours are at risk.”
“We are all at risk,” Kieri said. “I seek to lessen it.”
“And unfledged birds seek to fly by falling out of the nest,” Amrothlin said.
“I shall endeavor to grow feathers enough before I fall,” Kieri said. To his surprise, Amrothlin laughed and so did the others, if a bit nervously.
“What, then, is your plan?” Sier Davonin asked. “For I am sure you have one.”
“We have unstable peace,” Kieri began. “It is unstable because only a river divides us from an enemy.”
“We have river forts,” Sier Galvary said.
“If the Pargunese were unwise enough to attack the river towns, the forts might hold them off. But why would they not go around the towns?”
“The forest itself—”
“Is a partial protection, but is also my responsibility. It would be better to find a way to live peaceably with the Pargunese. That is not something I expected to say, ever, as I was convinced the Pargunese had no interest in peace, but I am advised that I might be mistaken. If they are not interested in peace, then we have much to do before the land is safe from invasion.”
“You speak of an army.”
“Yes.” Kieri sighed. Through long association, the humans of Lyonya had absorbed many elven—he dared not call them notions—about conflict and war, most of them, to his mind, inaccurate. He had been where they had not. “The rangers are excellent at what they do, patrolling the forest and keeping our people safe from brigands and the occasional raid from Tsaia—something we won’t have as much of with the old Verrakaien gone. We have the small city militias in those river forts, and the Royal Archers … but we do not have a force fit to meet even a single cohort of Pargunese, should they take it into their minds to invade.”
“But why would they?”
“Me,” Kieri said. “I warred with them on the borders of Tsaia; I killed one of their Sagons myself, and only realized much later it was their king’s brother. Moreover—and I found this out only recently—it’s possible their quarrels with us and with Tsaia come from very old wounds. The elves say their ancestors were driven out of their lands by magelords of Old Aare—they came to Pargun and Kostandan looking for refuge and then met what they saw as old enemies across the river.”
“Where did they come from, then?” Halveric asked. “I thought they were of mageborn origin themselves, probably crossed the river from Tsaia.”
“Not according to my elven tutor,” Kieri said, nodding at Orlith, who sat silent and still in his place. “He won’t say more than that they came from across the eastern ocean, and the same who tormented me tormented them until they fled.”
“Do you believe that?” Belvarin looked at Orlith and Amrothlin, then back at Kieri.
“In essence, yes. About the details, I don’t know. But if they had reason to fear and hate the Tsaians—the magelords, I mean, and know some of them moved here—and they’ve had me as their enemy these four hands of years and more, that could well be enough to bring an attack. We are less defended than my stronghold in Tsaia. That’s full of trained soldiers, and they’ve learned to let it alone.”
“So you want us to raise an army to make peace?” Belvarin said. The edge of scorn in his voice emphasized the apparent contradiction in that.
“I want us to raise a defensive army to make invasion less likely until—gods willing—I can convince the king of Pargun that I do not wish war.”
“Raising an army’s hardly likely to do that,” Belvarin said.
“Not raising one is likely to have our roofs fired over our heads,” Kieri said. They looked worried at that, as he intended. “It is true, I went to war year after year, and hired out my company to fight—but some of that, Siers, was garrisoning forts, defending and not attacking. I know what it takes to protect our river border; it will not be the muster of such an army as could invade Pargun.” He paused, meeting every Sier’s gaze. “I have no intention of going beyond the bounds of Lyonya with troops ever again.”
“But will Pargun believe you?”
“Not at first. But with time.” Maybe. He still had doubts—no, he still had the firm belief that Pargun was up to no good and would always be up to no good. But either way, for the sake of his realm, they needed more than scattered rangers.
“So what do you think we need?”
“I want to move half the rangers off the west border—remember, that force was doubled because of concerns about Verrakai aggression—and use them to keep watch on the river. The Royal Archers have the potential to be a useful force—I’ve been observing them—but they’ve not actually fought for a generation or more. Yet we’re paying them. I want to give them some formal training in combat arms, and have them paired with rangers.”
“Will that be enough? That’s not so bad; it costs us nothing more than it does now.”
“It will cost us more,” Kieri said. “Even an idle army is expensive, and moving one about more so. But that is not enough. We need two or three cohorts of trained, competent soldiers—ideally, as mounted infantry.”
“We don’t have the resources—” Galvary said.
“Or the men.”
“Or anyone to lead—”
“Right now,” Kieri said, “you have a company perfectly suited to Lyonya.”
“What?” They all stared at him.
“Aliam Halveric’s company. He is not taking it south this year, he told me. It’s smaller than it was; he didn’t take it south last year either, and some of his troops moved on, to find other employment. Most of the ones who stayed are from Lyonya originally. They’re well trained and experienced in all kinds of warfare. Far better than hiring foreigners—I’ve been the foreigner hired, so I know that for a fact. Far better than starting from scratch with raw recruits. We should ask Aliam for the loan of them this season and through the winter. If he wants to campaign them again next year or the year after, we’ll have time to plan for replacements.”
“I know he’s your friend, but—isn’t that—I mean, shouldn’t we have—”
“Others? Of course we should. We should have a small, but efficient, standing army under my colors. But it takes almost a year of training, and then a season of combat, to produce seasoned troops. If Pargun attacks this fighting season, Halveric’s is what we have available. All the other mercenary companies are in the south already.”