Kings of the North by Elizabeth Moon Page B

you all right?”
    “I am well,” Dorrin said. The regalia had not spoken to her since she had laid the ring in the royal treasury—why now? She forced herself to concentrate. “I do not see that Alured would try to invade the north unless he had already subdued the south. Stealing treasure is one thing; mounting an invasion is another thing entirely. Have you had a new report from Arcolin?”
    “Yes. Rumors that the Guild League will fail are all over the south, he said. Tavern gossip, market gossip: that the cities are debasing their own currency, that the Guild League cities cannot keep merchants safe on the roads. He says the cities are not—as far as he cantell—debasing their coinage, but counterfeits are imported by merchants under Alured’s control. He captured one such.”
    “Alured was never stupid,” Dorrin said. “And that makes him all the more dangerous.”
    “So he might decide to invade?”
    “I still think he would need to conquer the south. Even if he succeeds, that will take more than a year. More likely longer.”
    “Read his letters,” the king said. He opened his letter box and handed her scrolls covered with Arcolin’s familiar script.
    Dorrin read through them swiftly, more familiar with Arcolin’s turns of phrase and the logic of his thought than the king could be. South of Vonja, trying to interdict brigand bands that weren’t simple brigands—with a single cohort? Her lips pursed. That would be difficult; he might be taking high losses if the brigands were as numerous as he indicated. She saw none of the phrases they’d used as codes in the Duke’s Company. Well, he wasn’t writing to her, after all, and if he had such codes with the king, she would not know them.
    “Why did he take only one cohort south?” she asked.
    “That’s what Phelan told him, on the basis of what the Regency Council had told
him
. And that’s what he asked when he came with that one cohort. It meant having two in the north, in case of more trouble there.”
    “One’s not enough. He’ll need more next year.”
    “He’ll have yours,” the king said.
    “Yes,” Dorrin said, without enthusiasm. Her Phelani cohort had been invaluable so far; losing them would make her rule harder.
    “When are they going back?” the king asked. Dorrin had the uncomfortable feeling he knew how reluctant she was to let them go.
    “I’m not sure,” Dorrin said. “I will need to talk to Arcolin—and to Selfer, their captain now.”
    “You know he’s coming to Autumn Court. I expect you, too.”
    “Of course, Sir King.”
    “Now—do you have a better idea what resources we have and what we might need?”
    “By the list of services owed the Crown, you should be able to raise three thousand troops from your nobles. You have no need for that many—which is convenient, since I doubt you could field more than a thousand in any reasonable time.”
    “A thousand …”
    “In another two tendays, another thousand. Eventually you would have them all, but it might be a half-year before they were sufficiently trained to be of much use.”
    “My lords—”
    “Are loyal, Sir King, but in a time of peace few prepare well for war. And consider—as a duke, I’m supposed to provide four hundred myself and have two hundred in regular training. Right now I can’t. Almost all who would have been my troops were killed or wounded in my uncle’s treasonous attack on Kieri Phelan last winter. I was hoping to hire two cohorts—half my requirements—from whoever took over Kieri’s domain. But if Arcolin needs them, I’ll have to look elsewhere. What you do have, that your present planning does not consider, is the direct contribution of trained troops from the Fellowship.”
    The king frowned. “But most of our troops are Girdish—aren’t they?”
    “That’s part of the problem, Sir King. Most of this realm is Girdish, so adults are already enrolled in granges and bartons, where they train as foot soldiers using