Kings of the North by Elizabeth Moon Page A

the Marshal-General went on. “It is not out of suspicion of you yourself, not now. But you are one alone and cannot be everywhere all the time.” She smiled. “And as Paksenarrion is there, perhaps she will ride back with me to Fin Panir to see the necklace.”
    Dorrin shook off the heavy grief she felt for Jori’s death. “Of course you can come, Marshal-General.” How many, she wondered, would the Marshal-General bring along?
    “I travel light,” the Marshal-General said. “And since I’ll be with you, I need no other escort.”
    Dorrin blinked in surprise, but the Marshal-General waved a farewell and went out into the night.

     
    A t first light, four more yeomen in the burial guild appeared out of the fog. Dorrin had all her people up and dressed in their best; at the Marshal-General’s recommendation, she wore court semidress. After days of clear skies, the fog felt chilly and dank. It seemed appropriate. The burial guild carried Jori’s corpse, and the others followed. At the grange, Marshal Tamis waited for them, then led the way out of the city. Guards at the south gate let them through. The fog thinned, and a thin drizzle started. Tamis went down the road Dorrin had ridden so often, then turned aside to the west. Dorrin estimated they walked another ladyglass, wetter every step, until they arrived at a field set off with white stones. Two yeomen stood beside an open grave.
    Dorrin had seen Marshals in Aarenis but had not paid much attention to the details of the funerals. Now, as the burial guild folded the pall and handed it to her, lifted Jori’s body reverently, and eased it into the grave, she felt an unexpected comfort.

     
    O ver the next few days, Dorrin talked to the peers she’d met, asking what troops they’d been assessed and how they were raising and training them. Not entirely to her surprise, she found that many peers ignored their military obligations. “I will send troops if there’s a war,” one said, “but I see no reason to hold men out of the fields to fight in a time of peace. Besides, the Fox always had more than enough.”
    The dukes did better but, with their responsibilities at court, left the raising and training of troops to their militia captains. Only a few of those had been to war, though the dukes considered them knowledgeable about handling troops in drill and field.
    “Well?” the king said when she came to report her progress so far. “Are they as unprepared as I suspected?”
    “It depends what you expect to face,” Dorrin said. “Here’s a list of those who admit they haven’t drilled their troops in the past year. The escorts they brought with them are household only. This other list is those who have some kind of regular training program, though I don’t know if it’s actually followed.”
    “You don’t trust the word of your fellow peers?”
    “Sir King …” Dorrin hesitated, then went on. “I do not know the others well enough to know if they are trustworthy and diligent or not. I’ve been impressed by many of them. Others … but I could misjudge them in the atmosphere of the coronation, all the festivities …”
    He held up his hand, and she waited. “Dorrin, you of all my peers have both long military experience and recent evidence that this realm, long at peace, may not be as safe as we always supposed. As I supposed, anyway, during my years as a prince. The Pargunese crossed the river for the first time in living memory—with collusion from here, yes—but what they did once they might do again on their own. Arcolin’s reports, as you know, indicate the south is even more unsettled than immediately after Siniava’s War. My ancestors came up that road. Why would not someone else follow if they perceived the north as holding riches they desired? And if he believes he is heir to the Kings of Old Aare …”
    No. You are
. The voice of the regalia tingled in her head; she felt almost faint; her vision darkened.
    “Dorrin? Are