“I should talk to those barons,” Arcolin said. “I’m not even sure of my western border … and I didn’t give the gnomes a map. I didn’t think …”
“Dortlin’s domain would border the southern third of yours. Masagar’s, north of that, but he doesn’t claim all the way to horse nomad country. How far did you tell the gnomes they could have?”
“The hills west of the stronghold—but I didn’t tell them who owned beyond that. I need maps, sir king—”
“Indeed you do. I’ll tell the librarian to have them copied for you. I’m surprised Kieri didn’t have some. But on another topic … I need your advice and Duke Verrakai’s on how best to secure our west border. We’ve had no serious trouble there since Gird’s War, but I fear that with trouble in the South, we might also face more trouble there.”
“We might indeed,” Arcolin said. “I’m certain the Marshal-General won’t mount an attack as long as she’s in control, but if the Fellowship in Fintha splits or if the other faction takes control, then Tsaia’s stand on magery will be seen as a threat.”
“And we could be attacked on two fronts.”
“We could … but I don’t see any alliance between our southern enemies and the Finthans.”
“Does it matter whether they’re allied or not? Either way, it splits our forces, doesn’t it?”
“You’re right, sir king, though I have trouble believing that Fintha will attack—that the unrest will go that far. A few border skirmishes, maybe, but—”
“You have not heard the latest news,” the king said. “Yesterday’s courier—so you could not have heard it—the Marshal-General was badly wounded in an attempt to unseat a Marshal who had supported killing any and all with mage talent, and they believe the weapon used was of kuaknom manufacture. Cursed to kill slowly while infecting the mind, like Paksenarrion’s wounds in Kolobia.”
“Kuaknomi—” Arcolin’s mind raced. “We had a band of them not three hands of days past, up near the border of nomad country. It was a shock; I thought they had been driven out long since.”
“So I was told as a child.” The king sighed and pushed papers around. “Many changes have come upon us, upsetting what I was told then—and you, too, I have no doubt. Magery manifesting in those who never had it before, a dragon seen in these lands—even in Gird’s day no one had seen a dragon—treachery in the heart of every one of the Eight Kingdoms whose stories we know, treachery even among elves.”
“And gnomes,” Arcolin said before he could stop himself, remembering Dattur’s story. “But that was corruption spread by Achrya, or so I believe.”
“And Achrya, too, is supposed to be vanquished, by the dragon, but the treachery did not disappear with one evil power. King Kieri has informed me that an elf of the far west has demanded that he wake the sleeping magelords Paksenarrion told of—a tale confirmed from Fintha. Supposedly that is necessary to stem a great evil arising from Luap’s Stronghold. The Marshal-General had a similar visit seasons before, with the same demand, but insisted she lacked the ability to do so. It makes no sense to me: why would enchanted magelords spawn evil? But that, King Kieri tells me, is supposed to be the origin of the kuaknomi’s return to these lands.”
“Are the western baronies seeing them?”
“There are suggestions—night-walkers, poisoned wells, dead trees. But few sightings that I’m sure are kuaknomi. People—including the worst of Fintha—are moving, some begging refuge from the mage-haters and some threatening to test children. That we cannot allow. I wanted to ask your advice about moving some of the Royal Guard west to assist the smaller domains. Marrakai assures me he has troops enough to guard his.”
“Yes,” Arcolin said. “There are enough troops—mine included—in the northwest of Aarenis to slow down any attack that might head over the pass, and I have the Aldonfulk prince’s assurance that a large force will not be able to penetrate the gnome rockways. You—or Duke Verrakai—would have ample time to move troops back to this side of the pass from the Finthan border if Immer’s troops invade from the south.”
“Duke Verrakai.” Mikeli tapped the pen on his desk. “I do not doubt her loyalty, but … the regalia still troubles me. I almost wish—she would take it home with her. Get it out of here.”
“Have you told her that?”
“No. Do you think she would?”