Divided Allegiance Uk (The deed of Paksenarrion)

412 Pages·1998·1.08 MB·English

by  Elizabeth Moon

DIVIDED ALLEGIANCE
Elizabeth Moon
the deed of paksenarrion, book two

EBook Design Group digital back-up edition v1 HTML
March 10, 2003

Contents
^
1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 / 21 / 22 / 23 / 24 / 25 / 26 / 27 /
28 / 29 / 30 / 31 /

THE DEED OF PAKSENARRION
SheepFarmers Daughter - Book I
Divided Allegiance - Book II
Oath of Gold - Book III

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional,
and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 1988 by Elizabeth Moon
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any
form.
Baen Publishing Enterprises
PO Box 1403
Riverdale, NY 10471
ISBN: 0-671-69786-2
Cover art by Keith Parkinson

Chapter One
^ »
When all Siniava’s troops had surrendered, Kieri Phelan’s troops assumed they’d be going
back to Valdaire—even, perhaps, to the north again. Some already had plans for spending
their share of the loot. Others looked forward to time to rest and recover from wounds.
Instead, a few days later they found themselves marching south along the Immer in
company with Alured’s men, the Halverics, and several cohorts of the Duke of Fall’s army.
These last looked fresh as new paint, hardly having fought at all, except to turn Siniava
away from Fallo.
“I don’t understand it,” muttered Keri to Paks as they marched. “I thought we were through.
Siniava’s dead. What more?”
Paks shook her head. “Maybe the Duke has a contract; he’s spent a lot on this campaign.”
“Contract! Tir’s bones, it’ll take us the rest of the season just to get back to Valdaire. Why
do we need a contract?”
That was a first-year’s innocence. Paks grinned at him. “Money,” she said. “Or were you
going to forget about pay?”
Seli winked at Paks, a veteran’s knowing wink, and said, “Have you ever seen the sea?”
“No—why?” Keri looked stubborn; sweat dripped off his nose.
“Well, that’s reason enough to go south. I’ve seen it—you’ll be impressed.”
“What’s it like?” asked Paks when Keri’s expression didn’t change.
“I don’t think anyone can tell you. You have to see it.”
Word soon trickled down from the captains that Alured was claiming the title of Duke of
Immer. This meant nothing to Paks or the younger soldiers, but Stammel knew that the title
had been extinct since the fall of the old kingdom of Aare across the sea.
“I’m surprised that the Duke of Fall and the other nobles are accepting it,” he said.
“That was the price of his help this year,” said Vossik. All the sergeants had gathered
around one fire for an hour or so. “I heard talk in Fallo’s cohorts about it. If Fallo,
Andressat, and Cilwan would uphold his claim—and our Duke, of course—then he’d turn
on Siniava.”
“But why would they, even so?”
“It’s an odd story,” said Vossik, obviously ready to tell it.
“Go on, Voss, don’t make us beg,” growled Stammel.
“Well, it’s only what I heard, after all. I don’t know whether those Fallo troops know the
truth, or if they’re telling it, but here it is. It seems that Alured used to be a pirate on the
Immerhoft—”
“We knew that—”
“Yes, but that’s the beginning. He’d captured another ship, and was about to throw the
prisoners over, the way pirates do—”
“Into the water?” asked Paks.
Someone laughed. Vossik turned to her. “Pirates don’t want a mess on their ships—so they
throw prisoners overboard—”
“But don’t they swim or wade to shore?” asked Natzlin.
“They can’t. It’s too far, and the water is deep.”
“I can swim a long way—” said Barra. Paks grinned to herself. Barra always thought she
could do more than anyone else.
“Not that far. Tir’s gut, Barra, you haven’t seen the sea yet. It could be a day’s march from
shore, the ship, when they toss someone out.” Vossik took a long swallow of sib, and went
on. “Anyway, one of the prisoners said he was a mage. He cried out that Alured should be a
prince, and he—the mage—could help him.”
“I’d have thought Alured wouldn’t listen to prisoners’ yells,” said Stammel. “He doesn’t
look the type.”
“No,” agreed Vossik. “He doesn’t. But it seems he’d had some sort of tale from his
father—about being born of good blood, or whatever. So he listened, and the mage told him
he was really heir to a vast kingdom, wasting his time as a pirate.”
“He believed that?” Haben snorted and reached his own mug into the sib. “I’d heard pirates
were superstitious, but—”
“Well, the man offered proof. Said he’d seen scrolls in old Aare that proved it. Offered to
take Alured there, and prove his right to the kingdom.”
“To Aare? That heap of sand?”
“How do you know, Devlin? You haven’t been there.”
“No, but I’ve heard. Nothing’s left but scattered ruins and sand. It’s in the songs.” He
hummed a phrase of “Fair Were the Towers.”
Vossik shrugged. “Alured didn’t ask you. The mage told Alured that he’d seen proof of
Alured’s ancestry.”
“It seems to me,” said Erial, “that it’s extra trouble to hunt up ancestors like that. What
difference does it make? Our Duke got his steading without dragging in hundreds of fathers
and fathers’ fathers.”
“Or mothers,” muttered Barra. No one followed that up.
“You know they’re different here in Aarenis,” said Stammel. “Think of Andressat.”
“That stuffed owl,” said Barra. Paks had almost begun to understand what Vik meant about
Barra’s prickliness. She could not let anything alone.
“No—don’t be that way, Barra. He’s a good fighter, and a damn good count for Andressat.
Most other men would have lost Andressat to Siniava years ago. He’s proud of his
ancestors, true enough, but they could be proud of him.”
“But go on about Alured, Voss,” said Stammel. “What happened?”
“Well, he already believed he came of noble blood, so he sailed back to old Aare with this
fellow. Then—now remember, I got this from the Fallo troops; I don’t say it’s true—then
the mage showed him proof—an old scroll, showing the marriages, and such, and proving
that he was in direct descent from that Duke of Immer who was called back to Aare in the
troubles.”
“But Vossik, any mage could fake something like that!” Erial looked around at the others;
some of them nodded.
“I didn’t say I believed it, Erial. But Alured did. It fitted what he wanted, let’s say. If Aare
had been worth anything, it would have meant the throne of Aare. It certainly meant the
lands of Immer.”
“And so he left the sea, and settled into the forest to be a land pirate? How was that being a
prince or duke or whatever?” Erial sounded scornful.
“Well—again—this is hearsay. Seems he came to the Immer ports first, and tried to get
them to swear allegiance—”
“But he’d been a pirate!” Paks agreed with that emphasis.
“Yes, I know. He wasn’t thinking clearly, perhaps. Then he hired a lot of local toughs,
dressed them in the old colors of Immer, and tried to parley with the Duke of Fall.”
“Huh. And came out with a whole skin?”
“He wasn’t stupid enough to put it in jeopardy—they talked on the borders of Fallo. The
Duke reacted as you might expect, but—well—he didn’t much care what happened in the
southern forest, as long as it didn’t bother him. And, his men say, he’s longsighted—won’t
make an enemy unnecessarily.”
“But what about Siniava?” For Paks, this was the meat of it: whose side had Alured been
on from the beginning?
“Well, at first they had one thing in common: none of the old nobility would accept their
claim to titles. Siniava promised Alured the dukedom if he’d break up the Immer River
shipping, and protect Siniava’s movements in the area. Alured cooperated. That’s why no
one could trace Siniava after Rotengre.”
“Yes, but—” This time Paks spoke up; Vossik interrupted firmly.
“But two points: Andressat and our own Duke’s cleverness. Andressat had been polite to
Alured, promised him he’d accept the claim if the Duke of Fall did. So Alured wouldn’t
move on Andressat when Siniava demanded it. After all, he believed himself a duke—
above the command of a count. As for our Duke—you remember the wood-wanderers we
met in Kodaly?” Stammel nodded. “Alured had befriended them when he moved into that
forest, so they were on his side. Our Duke had made his own pacts with them years ago in
the north. So our Duke knew what Alured wanted. And he knew what Fallo wanted—
connection by marriage with a northern kingdom. And he knew that Sofi Ganarrion had a
marriageable child—”
“But Sofi’s not a king—” said someone out of the darkness.
“Yet. Remember what he’s always said. And with Fallo behind him—” Vossik let that trail
off. Several were quick to catch on.
“Gods above! You mean—”
“Somehow our Duke and the Halveric convinced the Duke of Fall that Alured’s help in this
campaign was worth that much to him. So the Duke of Fall agreed to back Alured’s claim,
Alured switched sides, and we got passage through the forest and Siniava didn’t.”
Paks shivered. She had never thought of the maneuvering that occurred off the battlefield.
“But is Alured really the Duke of Immer?”
Vossik shrugged. “He has the title. He has the power. What else?”
“But if he’s not really—by blood, I mean—”
“I don’t see that it matters. He’ll be better as a duke than a pirate: he’ll have to govern,
expand trade, stop robbing—”
“Will he?” Haben looked around the whole group before going on. “I wouldn’t think,
myself, that a pirate-turned-brigand would make a very good duke. What’s the difference
between taxes and robbery, if it comes to that?”
“He’s not stupid, Haben.” Vossik looked worried. “It will have to be better than Siniava—”
“That’s my point. Siniava claimed a title—claimed to be governing his lands—but we all
saw what that meant in Cha and Sibili. He didn’t cut off trade entirely, as Alured has done
on the Immer, no—but would any of us want to live under someone like him? I remember
the faces in those cities, if you don’t.”
“But he fought Siniava—”
“Yes—at the end. For a good reward, too. I’m not saying he’s all bad, Vossik; I don’t
know. But so far he’s gone where the gold is. How will he govern? A man who thinks he’s
nobly born, and has been cheated of his birthright—what will he do when we reach the
Immer ports?”
They found out at Immerdzan, where the Immer widened abruptly into a bay, longer than it
was wide. The port required no formal assault. It had never been fortified on the land side,
beyond a simple wall hardly more than man-high with the simplest of gates. The army
marched in without meeting any resistance. The crowded, dirty streets stank of things Paks
had never smelled before. She got her first look at the bay, here roiled and murky from the
Immer’s muddy flow. The shore was cluttered with piers and wharves, with half-rotted
pilings, the skeletons of boats, boats sinking, boats floating, new boats, spars, shreds of sail,
nets hung from every available pole, and festooned on the houses. She saw small naked
children, skinny as goats, diving and swimming around the boats. Most of them wore their
hair in a single short braid, tied with bright bits of cloth.
Beyond the near-shore clutter, the bay lay wide and nearly empty under the hot afternoon
sun, its surface streaked with blues and greens she had never seen before. A few boats
glided before the wind, their great triangular sails curved like wings. Paks stared at them,
fascinated. One changed direction as she watched, the dark line of its hull shortening and
lengthening again. Far in the distance she could see the high ground beyond the bay, and
southward the water turned a different green, then deep blue, as the Immer’s water merged
with the open sea.
Around the Duke’s troops, a noisy crowd had gathered—squabbling, it seemed to Paks, in a
language high-pitched and irritable. Children dashed back and forth, some still sleek and
wet from the water, others grimy. Barefoot men in short trousers, their hair in a longer
single braid, clustered around the boats; women in bright short skirts and striped stockings
hung out of windows and crowded the doorways. One of Alured’s captains called in the
local language, and a sudden silence fell. Paks heard the water behind her, sucking and
mumbling at the pilings, slurping. She shivered, wondering if the sea had a spirit. Did it
hunger?
Alured’s captain began reading from a scroll in his hand. Paks looked for Arcolin and
watched his face; surely he knew what was going on. He had no expression she could read.
When Alured’s captain finished reading, he spoke to the Duke, saluted, and mounted to ride
away. The crowd was silent. When he rounded the corner, a low murmur passed through
them. One man shouted, hoarsely. Paks looked for him, and saw two younger men shoving
a graybearded one back. Another man near them called in accented Common:
“Who of you speaks to us?”
“I do.” The Duke’s voice was calm as ever.
“You—you are pirates?”
“No. What do you mean?”
“That—that man—he says is now our duke—he is a pirate. You are his men—you are
pirates.”
“No.” The Duke shook his head. Paks saw Arcolin give the others a hand signal, saw the
signal passed from captains to sergeants. Not that they needed any warning; they were all
alert anyway. “We are his allies, not his men. He fought with us upriver—against Siniava.”
“That filth!” The man spat. “Who are you, then, if you fight against Siniava but befriend
pirates?”
“Duke Phelan, of Tsaia.”
“Tsaia? That’s over the Dwarfmounts, all the way north! What do you here?” Confusion
and anger both in that voice; his eyes raked the troops.
“I have a mercenary company, that fights in Aarenis. Siniava—” The Duke’s voice thinned,
but he did not go on. “We fought Siniava,” he said finally. “He is dead. Alured of the forest
has been granted the Duchy of Immer, and as he aided us, so I am now aiding him.”
“He is no duke!” yelled the man. “I don’t know you—I heard something maybe, but I don’t
know you. But that Alured—he is nothing but pirate, and pirate he will always be. Siniava
was bad, Barrandowea knows that—but Alured! He killed my uncle, years back, out there
in the bay, him and his filthy ship!”
“No matter,” said the Duke. “He is the Duke of Immer now, and I am here to keep order
until his own officers take over.”
The man spat again, and turned away. The Duke said nothing more to the crowd, but set the
cohorts on guard along the waterfront, and had patrols in the streets leading to and from
their area. All stayed quiet enough, that first day. Paks felt herself lucky to be stationed on
the seawall. She could look down at the boats, swaying on the waves, and catch a breath of
the light wind that blew off the water. Strange birds, gray and white with black-capped
heads, and large red bills, hovered over the water, diving and lifting again.
It was the next day that the executions began. Paks heard the yells from the other side of the
city, but before they could get excited, the captains explained what was going on.
“The Duke of Fall and the Duke of Immer are executing Siniava’s agents.” Arcolin’s face
was closed. “We are to keep order here, in case of rioting—but we don’t expect any.” In
fact, nothing happened in their quarter. The men and women went about their work without
looking at the soldiers, and the children scampered in and out of the water freely. But the
noise from across the city did not quiet down, and in the evening Cracolnya’s cohort was
pulled out to join the Halverics in calming the disturbance. They returned in the morning,
tired and grim; Paks did not hear the details until much later. But the Duke’s Company
marched out of Immerdzan the following day, and the bodies hung on the wall were
eloquent enough.
In Ka-Immer, rumor had arrived before they did. The gates were closed. With no trained
troops for defense, and only the same low walls, the assault lasted only a few hours. This
time the entire population was herded into the market square next to the seawall. While the
Halverics and Phelani guarded them, Alured’s men searched the streets, house by house,
bringing more and more to stand with the others. When they were done, Alured himself
rode to the edge of the square. He pointed at a man among the others. His soldiers seized
him, and dragged him out of the mob. Then two more, and another. Someone yelled, from
across the square, and a squad of Alured’s men shoved into the crowd, flailing them aside,
to seize him as well. The first man had thrown himself down before Alured, sobbing.
Alured shook his head, pointed. All of them were dragged to a rough framework of spars
which Alured’s troops had lashed together.
A ripple of sound ran through the crowd; the people crammed back against each other, the
rear ranks backing almost into Paks’s squad. She and the others linked shields, holding
firm. She could hardly see over the crowd. Then the first of the men lifted into sight,
stretched on ropes slung over the framework. Paks stiffened; her belly clenched. Another.
Another. Soon they hung in a row, one by the feet and the others by their arms. Alured’s
men pelted them with mud, stones, fish from the market. One of them hung limp, another
screamed thinly. Paks looked away, gulping back nausea. When her eyes slid sideways,
they met Keri’s, equally miserable. She did not see the end, when Alured himself ran a
spear into each man.
She felt, through the movement of the crowd, that an end had come, and looked up to see
the bodies being lowered.
But it was not the end. Alured spoke, in that strange language, gesturing fiercely. The
crowd was still, unmoving; Paks could smell the fear and hatred of those nearest her. He
finished with a question: Paks recognized the tone of voice, the outflung arm, the pause,
waiting for an answer. It came as a dead fish, flung from somewhere in the crowd, that
came near to its mark. His face darkened. Paks could not hear what he said, but his own
soldiers fanned out again, coming at the crowd.
Before they reached it, the crowd erupted into sound and action. Jammed as they were
against a thin line of Phelani and Halverics holding the three landward sides of the market,
they somehow managed to turn and move at once. Paks’s squad was forced back, by that
immense pressure. They could hear nothing but the screams and bellows of the crowd; they
had been ordered to guard, not attack. But they were being overwhelmed. Most of the
people had no weapons; their weapon was simply numbers. Like Paks, they were reluctant
to strike unarmed men and women—but equally, they did not want to be overrun.
Behind, in the streets that led to the market, Paks could hear other troops coming, and
shouted commands that were but pebbles of noise against the stone wall around them. She
tried to stay in contact with the others, tried to fend off the crowd with the flat of her sword,
but the pressure was against them all. A man grabbed at her weapon, screaming at her; she
raised it, and he hit her, hard, under the arm. Almost in reflex, Paks thrust, running the
sword into his body. He fell under a storm of feet that kept coming at her. She fended them
off as best she could, pressing close to the rest of the squad as they tried to keep together
and keep on their feet.
A gap opened between them and the next squad; the crowd poured through, still bellowing.
Paks was slammed back into the building behind her; she could feel something—a window
ledge, she supposed—sticking into her back. Faces heaved in front of her, all screaming;
hands waved, grabbed at her weapon. She fought them off, panting. She had no time to look
for Stammel or Arcolin; she could hear nothing but the crowd. They had broken through the
ring in many places, now, and streamed away from the market, lurching and falling in their
panic. A child stumbled into her and fell, grabbing at her tunic as he went down, screaming
shrilly. Paks had no hand to spare for him, and he disappeared under the hurrying feet.
By the time she could move again, most of the crowd had fled. She could see Alured riding
behind his soldiers as they tried to stop those in the rear. She finally saw Arcolin, and then
Stammel, beyond the tossing heads. Then she could hear them. The cohort reformed, joined
the others, and was sent in pursuit of the fugitives. But by sundown, barely a fifth had been
retaken, mostly women and children too weak to run far, or too frightened. Paks, still
shaken by the morning’s events, was sickened by the treatment of those she helped
recapture. Alured was determined that none of Siniava’s sympathizers would survive, and
that all would acknowledge his rank and rule.
To this end, he intended, as he explained to Phelan in front of the troops, to frighten the
citizens into submission.
Paks expected the Duke to argue, but he said nothing. He had hardly seemed to smile since
Siniava’s death, and since reaching the coast had spent hours looking seaward. She did not
know—none of them knew—what was troubling him. But more and more Paks felt that she
could not live with what was troubling her. The looks of fear and loathing turned on
them—the muttered insults, clear enough even in a foreign tongue—the contempt of
Alured’s troops, when the Phelani would not join them in “play,” which to them meant