Squire

  Someone called him away. That night, once supper was done, Kel asked her knight-master, “What happened with Stormwings at Port Legann?”

  Raoul told his part of the story of the fight for Tortall’s third richest city in the Immortals War. When he was done, Flyn, Qasim, and some other veterans told their versions. Kel had seen the battle as movements of armies on a model the king and Daine had used in Lord Wyldon’s strategy class. Now she heard what men on the ground had seen. Their maps were sticks, stones, and lines in the earth. On other nights other battles were picked apart, giving Kel and the junior members of Third Company an idea of the many aspects of war.

  There were a few amenities on this sweep. They often stayed in villages, hunting for meat and adding their supplies so the inhabitants didn’t suffer with extra mouths to feed. They paid women to launder and mend their clothes. Baths were still cold—Kel had gotten hot baths in Irontown, but few villages were big enough for bathhouses. Most people made do with tubs in their homes.

  Kel’s guardianship of the baby griffin improved when she made leather sleeves to protect her arms from wrists to shoulders. Some accidents resulted when the griffin found he could hook his rear paws through the laced openings between the upper and lower guards to dig at her elbows, but Kel got better at blocking him. Her hands were still vulnerable. With time she acquired scars on every finger.

  six

  LESSONS

  When the leaves began to turn, the Own returned to the palace. All the way there Kel daydreamed of hot water. As soon as she had tended Raoul’s horses and armor, then her own, and had settled the griffin in her rooms, she headed to her usual bathhouse. There she soaked until her fingers looked like flesh-colored raisins. In the morning, filled with virtue, wearing a leather jerkin and arm guards, she gave the griffin a warm bath.

  Now Raoul gave orders for Kel’s formal instruction as a squire who rode with the King’s Own. Qasim and Dom showed her through the Own’s barracks, mess hall, and storehouses. In the mess they introduced her to the stiffly dignified Captain Glaisdan of Haryse, Commander of First Company. He regarded Kel as if she were a beetle, treatment Dom assured her Glaisdan gave everyone whose degree of nobility came after The Book of Silver. Dom, whose family was in The Book of Gold, was safe; Kel, whose family had been ennobled only two generations back, was not in any of the noble genealogies. She wanted to meet Captain Ulliver Linden, in charge of Second Company—she’d heard he was nearly as deadly in hand-to-hand combat as any Shang warrior—but couldn’t. Captain Linden and his command were on the border shared by Tortall, Scanra, and Galla. He was not expected before winter set in, if then.

  On their second day in quarters Raoul told Kel to report after breakfast. When she arrived, he took her to the master smith in charge of armor for knights. There Raoul watched as Kel was fitted properly for her own breastplate, a chain mail shirt, and chain mail leggings.

  “A coif, my lord?” the armorer wanted to know.

  Raoul shook his head. “She’s been wearing a round helm in the field—let’s get her that, made to fit. Too many things come at us from overhead,” he explained to the smith and to Kel. “Having someone dig links of chain mail out of your scalp is not pleasant.”

  Kel winced.

  “Leave some allowance in the sleeves and legs, an inch or two,” Raoul instructed the armorer. “She’s been shooting up like a weed—I’m not sure she’s done growing yet.”

  Kel made a face. She had gone from five feet one inch to nearly five feet ten inches in four years, growing so fast that she half-expected to hear her clothes straining. She was thankful that a knight-master outfitted his squire. Her parents’ budget, with dowries, school fees, and other expenses, could never pay for all the armor squires and knights required.

  “Now, sword and dagger. Let me see yours,” Raoul said when the armorer finished with Kel.

  Qasim had inspected them originally; Raoul had not. Kel handed the weapons over.

  The big knight whistled as he looked the weapons over and peered at the underside of their cross-guards. “I thought so,” he said. “Raven Armory.” He showed Kel an enameled raven on the bottom of the cross-guards. “The best in the realm. Lerant has a dagger from them that’s a family heirloom, passed down through four generations. Your parents must have sold two children to pay for these.”

  Kel hitched her shoulders. “It wasn’t them, sir. I don’t know who gave them to me.”

  “You didn’t find them in the street,” he joked. He balanced the sword on his finger, flipped it in the air, and caught it by the hilt as it came down.

  Kel told him about the anonymous well-wisher who’d sent her gifts over her years as a page. “I still don’t know who it is,” she finished. “Was it you?”

  “It never occurred to me, I’m sorry to say.” He shook his head. “I can’t give you better,” he said, handing the weapons back to Kel. “Now, how about some practice? Have you ever tilted at another person before?”

  An hour later Kel rode Peachblossom to a tilting yard used by squires. Qasim had come to help: he put a coromanel tip, one that spread the force of the strike over a greater area, on Raoul’s lance and Kel’s. He then secured padding around them to further lessen the shock of impact.

  Both Kel and her knight-master wore padded jackets and leggings and round helms. “Just hit my shield like you would hit the quintain target,” Raoul ordered. “Hit square enough, maybe I’ll go out of my saddle; if I hit you square, you might get to fly like your friends.” He nodded to the sparrows, perched on the fence in an attentive row. Jump sat below them. The griffin was in Kel’s chambers, sleeping on the three-foot-high platform she’d had built for him. If she was to learn anything new, she didn’t want him there to make Peachblossom uncomfortable.

  “Chances are we’ll stay on our horses,” Raoul continued. “Don’t tense up, Kel. This is just the next step. Watch the target point on my shield.”

  Kel nodded, gazing at his black warhorse, Drum. She remembered something she had wanted to ask for weeks. “Sir, why do you ride a gelding? All the Own rides geldings or mares, when most knights prefer stallions.”

  Raoul smiled. “The Bazhir taught us the flaw in riding stallions into battle, back when we weren’t so friendly with them. They rode mares—smaller, nimbler mares. All our wonderful warhorses, the terror of the infantry? They smelled mares and the Bazhir hardly needed to bloody their weapons. The stallions left battle formation to chase them, and their riders got cut to pieces.” Kel winced as Raoul mounted his gelding and trotted to the end of the tilting yard.

  “Ready?” His call reached Kel easily over the distance between them. She moved Peachblossom into position and pumped her lance up and down in a training yard “yes”—it was hard to tell when someone in armor nodded. She settled her lance on her stirrup and tried to swallow, her mouth paper-dry. What if I hurt him? she thought. Even with padding and a coromanel I bet this hits the other person hard. Mithros, don’t let me mess this up.

  Qasim walked to the center of the tilting lane. He raised an arm, checked Raoul and Kel, then dropped his arm and got out of the way.

  “Go faster,” Kel told Peachblossom softly, her heart thudding. This would bring her at the target at a quick, light run, not a headlong gallop. She didn’t want to use his best speed, not when so much depended on accuracy. As the gelding surged forward, she lowered her lance.

  She looked at Raoul. His shield, like hers, was white. The target was a hand-sized black circle at its center. Seeing it, Kel instantly noted the difference between her old targets, which stayed in nearly the same place, and this new one. Raoul surged up and down with his horse’s movement, shifting in the saddle as he prepared to strike. Kel rose in her stirrups and leaned forward slightly, trying to aim her lance point at the onrushing black circle.

  She hit his shield. She knew that much before a battering ram struck her shield arm to slam her into the high back of the tilting saddle. Her entire left side went numb as Peachblossom
curved away from Raoul’s charge, both horses taking their riders into open air. Kel’s ears rang with the impact.

  Numbness was quickly replaced by a bone-deep ache in her left arm. It almost matched the savage pain shooting through her right side, as the force of her contact with Raoul rolled through her lance to her body.

  Peachblossom turned, bringing Kel’s knight-master into view. Kel saw Raoul was under siege. The sparrows were darting at his face as they screeched insults. Jump had the man by one leg and was hanging on, swinging as Drum sidled and danced, trying to escape this crazed dog.

  “Jump, Crown, Freckle—stop!” Kel shouted. “He’s supposed to do that! I don’t always need help, you know!”

  Jump looked at Kel over a mouthful of quilted legging and let go, dropping to the ground with a thump. He trotted to Kel, his lone ear flat, rump and shoulders down, the picture of the apologetic dog. The sparrows hovered briefly, looking from Kel to Raoul, then returned to their perch on the fence.

  Raoul, to Kel’s relief, was laughing. “Next time, explain it to them first,” he suggested. “I think they scared poor Drum.” He patted his black gelding’s neck. He looked at Kel. “A bit different from the quintain, isn’t it?”

  Kel nodded fervently. “It is, my lord.”

  “Most squires don’t get anywhere near the shield, their first time,” he said with approval. “That training Wyldon had you do with the wood circles paid off.”

  “But what if I hadn’t hit the shield?” Kel asked, worried again. “I might’ve speared you, sir!”

  Raoul smiled. “My dear squire, I’d be a poor knight if I couldn’t dodge an off-target lance, don’t you think?”

  “Oh,” Kel said sheepishly. She hadn’t thought of that.

  “Ready for another go?”

  Kel shifted her lance to her shield hand, shook out her right arm, then transferred shield and lance to her right hand and shook out her left. Both ached, but not too badly. “Yessir,” she replied, settling shield and lance again.

  Raoul trotted Drum back to their place as Kel took hers. Qasim walked out into the center, looking first to Raoul, then Kel, to make sure they were ready. He raised his arm, dropped it, and dashed for the fence.

  “Go faster,” Kel told Peachblossom, trying to grip her lance properly in her sore hand. She was grateful that she used an ordinary lance, not her practice weapon. That was weighted with lead. She doubted she could hold onto a weighted lance right now.

  Grimly she lowered her weapon as Peachblossom raced down the jousting lane, headed for Raoul. There was the black target circle, jiggling with the beat of Drum’s hooves and Raoul’s movement. She stood in the stirrups and leaned forward, bracing herself for another clash.

  Only later did the pain in her lance arm tell her that she must have struck Raoul’s shield. She didn’t notice it right away because she had taken flight. As she watched the blue sky above, Kel shed her lance and shield. She turned in the air to take her fall on the flats of her arms, as she did in hand-to-hand combat. Breath exploded from her lungs as she hit. She rolled onto her back, wheezing as she tried to breathe. Jump leaped onto her chest to lick her face frantically.

  “Standing there does no good, Jump,” Qasim said. He moved the dog and helped Kel to sit up. Jump whined. “Your wind is knocked out, my friend,” Qasim said, slapping Kel’s back. “Was flight as glorious as it looked?”

  Kel gasped, then began to cough. Qasim offered his water bottle to her. She took a hasty gulp, coughed some more, and finally got her body under control. “I tell you what,” she croaked, “why don’t you take the next run and see for yourself? I won’t begrudge you.” She patted Jump so he would know she was alive.

  “Do you remember how I did that?” Raoul had cantered over to see how she did.

  Kel squinted up at her big knight-master. “I felt it,” she said, marveling that she did remember. “You hit—and then you popped me out, like—like somebody levers a clam from the shell.”

  “Exactly,” Raoul said with approval. “There’s a trick to it. Often as not the other fellow knows, and nothing happens, but sometimes he’s green or overconfident, and you can dump him on his behind. Ready for another go?”

  Never again! cried her inner, sensible self. Her traitor mouth replied, “Yes, sir.” She forced herself to stand, mount Peachblossom, and take the shield and lance from Qasim. Running away would be far more sensible, she scolded herself as she guided Peachblossom to his place and settled her lance. But whoever said I’m sensible?

  After two more runs, Raoul’s lance shattered. Kel rested while Qasim secured a coromanel and padding to a fresh lance.

  On the next run Kel struck the center of Raoul’s shield, but at an angle—her lance skidded off. His took her squarely, slamming her into the saddle’s quilted back.

  Kel thought over and over, I love my saddle, I love my saddle. In a plain saddle she would have flown over more ground than her birds. The high front and back of the tilting saddle kept her ahorse, and the quilting on it meant her bruises weren’t as bad as they could be.

  “You’re done in, and I’ve worked up a sweat,” Raoul said. “We’ve both time to soak before supper. I’ll care for Drum, Kel. You can’t see straight.”

  “I ought to argue, but I won’t,” she croaked. Her throat was caked with dust, and Qasim’s water bottle was empty.

  She looked up in time to see Raoul’s grin. “I knew when I took you on you’d learn quickly.”

  She grinned back at him, pleased that he was pleased. Qasim tugged on her shield. She gave it to him, then passed her lance down as well. I can do this, she thought, gripping the saddle as she readied to dismount. It’s how I got up here in the first place.

  Gritting her teeth, she pulled one trembling leg over the saddle’s back. She slid to the ground and gathered Peachblossom’s reins in her hand. The sparrows fluttered over, cheeping as anxiously as if she were a fledgling they had misplaced. Tiny beaks ran through the sweat-matted hair that stuck out from under her helm.

  When one of them stuck his beak into her ear, Kel sighed. “Stop it. I’m fine,” she told them softly. “Just . . . pounded. For hours. Like you pound salt fish before you can eat it.” She turned to lead Peachblossom to the gate and got a surprise. They had an audience: servants, men from the Own, and a few Riders, including Commander Buri.

  I’m so glad to entertain people, Kel thought. She put on her best, most unreadable, Yamani Lump face and led Peachblossom to the gate.

  Dom held it open, shaking his head. “You’re alive. Most people who go five rounds with my lord can only babble about funeral plans.”

  “Their lances were padded, for Mithros’s sake,” Lerant pointed out crossly. “How much harm could they do?”

  “Good,” Buri said. “You get one and have a go.”

  Kel ignored them as she and Peachblossom trudged to the stables. She wasn’t at all sure that she didn’t need to make funeral plans.

  How she groomed Peachblossom she had no idea. It felt as if she simply leaned against him while he rubbed his side along the brush. Once he was settled, she fed him and Hoshi, then lurched outside. She knew she’d want to live after a soak.

  The women’s baths were empty when she sank her throbbing flesh into the hottest pool. She dozed briefly until a group of women, servants by their talk, waded into the far end. With them came bath attendants: one gave Kel a sponge and soap scented with lily of the valley. Kel scrubbed herself and washed sweat-sticky hair as the women talked of work and families.

  She caught an attendant’s eye and stood; the woman came over with a large towel. As Kel climbed out of the water, the conversation behind her came to a halt. The attendant took a step back. Kel frowned, puzzled, and reached for the towel.

  “My dear!” someone called. “My dear, wait!”

  Kel looked behind her. Two women swam over and climbed out beside her. Everyone in the pool seemed shocked or frightened; the two who approached her looked worried.

 
“Your back is covered with bruises,” the older woman said as her companion touched Kel’s shoulder. “They look painful, and recent. And your arms and hands are scarred.”

  Kel twisted to look behind her, wincing as her ribs protested. She could see only a large bruise covering one hip. The scars, tokens of the griffin’s regard for her, were easy to find. The worst, the deep pockmark between her thumb and forefinger, was swollen after her afternoon’s lance work.

  “You don’t have to bear this,” the younger woman said. “The Moon of Truth Temple will take you in. They’ll protect you.”

  “They’ll get the man who did it,” the older woman said. The younger one and the attendant nodded. “Even if it’s a noble. After the rapes last winter, they have a new commander for their troops. She’s very aggressive.”

  Kel suddenly realized what was wrong, what they were trying to say. They thought a man had beaten her. She began to giggle, then to laugh.

  It took some time to convince them that her injuries were normal for a squire who was silly enough to joust with Lord Raoul and get stuck with a baby griffin.

  Kel dressed, fed the griffin, and went to eat supper with the men of the Own. Raoul nodded to her as she came in, then returned to his conversation with Flyn and Glaisdan of Haryse. Kel knew better than to try to wait on him. When he sat in the mess hall with the Own, he was Knight Commander, and fended for himself. Only at banquets was she expected to wait on Raoul of Goldenlake and Malorie’s Peak. Kel usually thought it odd to calculate things for two different Raouls, but tonight she welcomed it. Sitting with Dom, Qasim, and their friends was as much effort as she wanted to make today.

  After supper she walked back to her quarters and fed the griffin. All she wanted to do after that was lie down and read.

  Looking around to make sure she had nothing else to do that was pressing, she saw that the connecting door to Raoul’s study was open. She looked in. He sat at his desk, sorting through papers.