“Someone ought to get some good for this. Leave them for the Stormwings,” Kel told Saefas, and rode out of the gate.
It took them five days to return to the Vassa River. The children, those villagers who refused to stay in a place that had so many painful memories of their dead, the freed castle servants, and the seer child, Irnai, couldn’t ride for as long a time as warriors. Kel’s band took as much care to hide their presence leaving as they had on their way north, the sparrows and the dogs alerting them to any human presence. They lit no fires as they worked their way down the Pakkai and along the Smiskir road. When they set watches, the servants and villagers from Blayce’s domain stood guard alongside the soldiers.
At last they reached the Vassa. Neal disappeared briefly with Dom and Owen to find the Scanran relatives of their smugglers. These men and women looked every bit as hard and wary as their Tortallan counterparts. Kel would have grinned at the obvious shock on their faces when they saw how many children were in their company, but her sore shoulder left her with almost no sense of humor. She knew she would be better once a healer was able to finish the healing Neal had started, though she didn’t look forward to being made healthy only to face execution.
Once they were in sight of Tortall, she considered deserting her people but knew that she couldn’t. She owed it to the children to get them to a place of safety, for one. For another, flight would mean that she took no responsibility for what she had done. That was unacceptable. She had done what was necessary. She would take the consequences.
Owen and Neal, who had as much to lose as she did, made no mention of flight. Kel thought that was simply the result of what they had gone through: Owen was still too grief-stricken over the loss of Happy, Neal too exhausted from keeping a number of wounded people alive to reach Tortall. Kel wondered if she should ask them if they meant to run but decided not to. They were grown men; they knew the risks as well as she did.
The smugglers took forever to get them across: they had not anticipated being used as ferrymen for crowds of escapees and their escorts for free, they told Kel. She realized they did not just mean her and her group. When she asked, they told her that Merric and his people had crossed three days before. They were quarreling with each other nonstop, according to the smugglers, but all were alive and well. Kel was freed of that worry, at least.
She, Jump, and Peachblossom were on the last boat with Neal, Dom, Owen, Tobe, and their mounts. If the crossing was as bumpy as it had been on her way north, Kel didn’t notice. She was asleep by the rail before they cast off.
As the boat ground against the river’s Tortallan shore, Neal shook her awake. Kel groaned, stood, and led Peachblossom onto solid ground. Only then did she see that a welcoming committee awaited them: Lord Wyldon, Lord Raoul, and Duke Baird. Behind them stood Merric, Seaver, and Esmond.
Kel knelt and bowed her head in submission to Lord Wyldon, awaiting his judgment. Neal and Owen knelt on either side of her. Jump and the sparrows put themselves in front of Kel. She felt Peachblossom’s warm breath on the back of her neck.
“Sergeant Domitan, tell me these children aren’t the result of your squad’s Scanran frolics,” Kel heard Raoul say cheerfully. “Though I do admit, some of them look a little old to be yours.”
“Well, sir, my men helped,” Dom said, the picture of boyish mischief.
Kel almost smiled. At least Dom would get away from this with a whole skin, it seemed. She’d wondered if his tale of Lord Raoul’s sending his squad to help had been just that, a tale. It was a relief to know it was the truth and Dom had been acting under proper orders.
“You missed a tidy fight,” Raoul said. “Smashed one of King Maggot’s little armies all to bits. Come along and I’ll tell you about it.” Dom and his remaining men followed him up the path.
Kel looked sideways when she picked up movement on the edges of her vision. Duke Baird was gathering up the children who had already landed. He was telling them, “We’ll just have a look, to see how well you are. I know some mothers and fathers who are eager to see you all.” To the civilian adults, Scanran and Tortallan, he said, “And you look as if you could use proper meals and beds. Come along.”
Kel lowered her head once more. Only she, Neal, and Owen remained with Lord Wyldon and the friends who had brought the adult refugees home.
Owen was the first to break the silence. He looked up at Lord Wyldon, tears running down his face. “My lord, I’m sorry, but I got Happy killed. I didn’t mean to—he fought as hard as any knight— but he got killed anyway, and I never wanted that.”
“Is that all you have to say to me, that your horse is dead?” Kel heard that familiar cool, measured voice say over her head.
“No, my lord.” Owen bowed his head. “I disobeyed you. I betrayed you. And I’d do it again, under the circumstances, not meaning any disrespect, sir. But I miss Happy.”
“And you, Sir Nealan, have you any comments?” Lord Wyldon inquired, his voice quite mild.
“No, my lord,” Neal replied.
“I believe, Owen, that you are familiar with my dislike of needless dramatics,” Lord Wyldon said. “I am not about to declare you a traitor because the mount I gave you was killed in battle. He did what he was trained to do. I am sad for the loss of the horse—he was one of the best I’ve raised—but I would be sorrier still for the loss of a squire in whom I can take pride.”
“Sir?” chorused Neal, Owen, and Kel, all staring at their former training master.
Wyldon stood iron straight, arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes observant as he looked at them. “One of the hardest lessons for any commander is this: it is a very bad idea to issue an order one knows will not be obeyed. Lady knight, had my mind not been on other things, I would have known better than to forbid you to rescue your people. I had placed them under your care, knowing you would protect them with every skill at your disposal. I cannot now say I didn’t want you to take your responsibility too seriously. The same applies to Sir Nealan and to Sir Merric, who were also charged with their well-being. If I do not punish you, then I cannot in fairness punish those who aided you.”
Kel glanced past Lord Wyldon to Merric, Seaver, and Esmond. All three looked sheepish.
“But my lord,” she began to protest.
A hard arm wrapped around her head; a callused palm sealed her mouth. “Not a word,” Neal whispered in her ear. “For once in your life, will you take a gift without arguing that you aren’t worthy of it?” He looked up at Wyldon. “She took a blow to the head, I think,” he said, falsely earnest. “It leads her to say odd things. She needs a stay in the infirmary, just until she comes to her senses.”
Wyldon sighed and resettled his sword belt. “It appalls me to say this, but for the first time I find myself in agreement with Sir Nealan.” He warned Neal, “Do not let it go to your head.”
Kel, Neal’s hand still firmly over her mouth, blinked up at Wyldon. She was free? She wasn’t to die a traitor, or be forced to leave Tortall?
Wyldon looked at Owen, then at Neal. “I would like a moment alone with the lady knight,” he said more formally. “Go with your friends.”
Slowly Neal withdrew his hand as Owen looked suspiciously at his knight-master. “You’re not going to yell at her, are you, sir?” he asked. “Because you can’t.”
Wyldon looked at the younger man, brows raised. “I beg your pardon?” he inquired. Kel expected frost to issue from his mouth with the words.
The Owen of a month ago might have ducked his head and fled. This Owen remained where he was, meeting Wyldon’s stare with resolve. “She doesn’t deserve to be yelled at, not after losing so many people and killing Blayce and being wounded and keeping us alive.”
Wyldon sighed and fingered the raised scar on his temple. “I do not intend to yell at her. Now will you go away?”
Before they went, Neal and Owen dragged Kel to her feet. As they trudged off, Kel tried to knock away the pieces of grass and damp earth on her knees. Once she kne
w her friends were out of earshot, she straightened and met Lord Wyldon’s eyes. “You have every right to yell at me, my lord,” she said. “Go ahead. I deserve worse.”
Wyldon took a step closer to her, cupped her head in both hands, and kissed her gently on the forehead. “You are a true knight, Keladry of Mindelan,” he told her. “I am honored to know you.” He steered her down the path her friends had taken. “Interesting news came from the battlefronts this morning,” he said. “Apparently the killing devices at Frasrlund and the City of the Gods collapsed in the field and move no longer. King Maggur’s troops are plainly frightened, though he is still in control. The spymasters plan to set it about that a powerful new mage has entered the war on our side, one who did away with the devices.”
Kel smiled crookedly.
“Not that we’re done fighting,” Wyldon continued. “Frightened Scanrans are dangerous, and Maggur is still king. Have you thought about your duties now, where you will be assigned?”
His question took Kel by surprise. She searched for a coherent answer until at last she said, “My lord, up until we landed I assumed my next assignment would be on Traitor’s Hill, and not as a guard.”
Wyldon nodded. “Very proper. As your punishment, then, I assign you to find ground for a new refugee camp, build it, and run it. Continue to instruct the people in how to defend it. I give you the entire valley of the Greenwoods River as your subdistrict of my command. You will hold it and make it safe against Scanrans and anyone else who thinks those people will be easy pickings.”
September 10, 460
EPILOGUE
Kel swung herself into Hoshi’s saddle, taking one last look around her. After two months or so the fortified town of New Hope still looked raw, but it was starting to resemble an actual town rather than a logging camp thrown together in a week. The sight of cart after cart bringing their hard-earned harvest to the storage barns filled her with profound satisfaction. Not for the first time, she blessed Lord Raoul for waiting until the crops were in before he set his wedding date. She wouldn’t have been able to enjoy herself at Steadfast if her people had still been in the fields. With the crops taken care of, she could feast with a carefree heart.
“Stop fussing,” Fanche commented. She stood near Kel, hands on hips, her dark eyes amused as she looked up at the younger woman. “You’ll be away for a week—if we can’t manage for that long, what good are we?”
Kel grinned at New Hope’s headwoman. “Actually, I was trying to remember if there was anything I hadn’t done. Shutters left open—”
“Shutters closed,” said Tobe, mounting a small, spritely, piebald mare who had taken a liking to him in Scanra. The greatest change the events of June had made in him was that he no longer trusted Kel out of his sight unless they were inside New Hope’s walls. Kel understood and hoped he would relax as the winter’s snows made it impossible for either of them to go very far. “Shutters closed, bed made up, leave-behind weapons and armor cleaned,” Tobe continued to rattle off, “don’t have to worry about feedin’ your animals because they’re comin’ along with us. Duty rosters for the week in Master Terrec’s hands.” Terrec was the clerk who had taken Zamiel’s position.
“She’s fussing, isn’t she?” Merric strolled out of headquarters, his hands tucked comfortably in his breeches pockets. “You women are forever fussing.” Things with their fighters had reached the point where occasionally Merric would let a sergeant command a patrol rather than do so himself. Today was Sergeant Jacut’s day to patrol with his squad of former convicts and men of the town intermingled. While there had been no official attention paid to Kel’s Scanran journey, a week after her return the silver marks on the convicts’ foreheads had faded, a sign that someone somewhere had decided they were pardoned. As mistrustful as Tobe in their own way, they had elected to remain with the army, in the north, with Kel. Merric’s staying in town while a convict squad patrolled showed all of New Hope that he trusted them not to return to their criminal habits.
“I’m not fussing,” Kel retorted. “And where’s Neal?”
Neal came racing up to them, windblown and hands only partially cleaned of blood. “I’m sorry! I don’t tell babies when they’re allowed to get born.”
“Neal,” Kel said as he reached for the horse Loesia held for him.
Neal looked at her, his green eyes feverish. He was in a hurry to get to Steadfast. His betrothed, Lady Yukimi, was there. Like Raoul’s betrothed, Buriram, Commander of the Queen’s Riders, Yuki had tired of waiting for her man to return south. As soon as the celebrations for Prince Roald’s wedding to Princess Shinkokami had ended, Buri had resigned her post as commander, to be replaced by her assistant commander, Evin Larse. Together she and Yuki had bought passage on the first ship north, then traveled overland to Steadfast.
“Your hands,” Kel pointed out as Neal simply blinked at her. He looked, saw they were not entirely clean, and released a sound that was a cross between an anguished cry and a wail. Back into the infirmary he went.
“If he’s like this now, how will he stay calm when his daughter tries for her knighthood?” a youthful voice asked.
Kel looked down at Irnai. The girl was one of several homeless children who had come to live in headquarters with Kel, Neal, Merric, and Tobe. She did her best to act like a normal child of her age, but when she foresaw things, she sounded as world-weary as Neal at his most sophisticated.
“Perhaps we won’t share that knowledge with him just yet?” suggested Kel. “Let it be a surprise for him.”
Irnai grinned up at her. “He doesn’t like surprises, and the road of his life is littered with them. I like that.”
Kel couldn’t help it; she grinned at the child. “I do, too,” she admitted. “It will be good for him.”
Neal came back, hands dripping wet and clean. He flung himself into the saddle and raked his hair back from his eyes. “I’m ready,” he declared. “Let’s go.”
Kel led the way, Neal on one side, Jump trotting on the other. People waved as Kel and Neal rode by but immediately returned to their work, putting on roofs and shutters, making the nails, preserves, and kindling New Hope would need to see them through the winter.
Passing through the gate, Kel waved at Sergeant Adner, who now commanded the village guard. He waved in reply. “Bring back some pretty, meek girls,” he called. “Ours is too quarrelsome.” Agrane, whom he was courting when he was off duty, elbowed him.
“Enjoy your holiday, Lady Kel,” Irnai called as they rode down the inclined road that served the village. “There will be work for the Protector of the Small soon enough.”
Kel shook her head. No matter what she did, she couldn’t stop people from calling her that.
She let her guard escort, Neal, and Jump ride ahead as they crossed the Greenwoods Bridge. She looked north. The dark high ground of Haven, now their burial ground, lay two miles upriver, too far from New Hope for an enemy to use it as an attack base. She had also asked Numair if he could raise the ground they would need forty feet rather than twenty, to put off all but the most determined attackers. This time Numair had kept his health and shared the work with Harailt of Aili and a few other mages who had responded to his call for assistance. Lord Raoul had confided that Kel should ask for all the extra help she needed. Giving her all she asked, within reason, was a kind of silent apology from the Crown for putting her people in harm’s way.
Kel turned Hoshi to look up at New Hope’s walls. She thought the battle flags and shields taken from those Scanrans who had attacked her people that summer gave the walls a nice, homey touch. They also served as a warning to any raiding parties that New Hope had teeth.
“Kel!” shouted Neal. “Are you going to dream all day? She’s waiting for me!”
Lovers, Kel thought, rolling her eyes. At least there was one headache she didn’t have. She was about to tell her friend he could wait when she remembered that she’d get to see Dom while at Steadfast. It would be nice to be able to sit and chat for a w
hile without kidnapping, flight, and war to distract them.
She nudged Hoshi to a trot.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
GLOSSARY
abatis: a wall-like defense of logs sharpened on one end and set in the earth with the points facing outward against attackers.
Anak’s Eyrie: a fiefdom in northernmost Tortall.
basilisk: an immortal that resembles a seven-to-eight-foot-tall lizard, with slit-pupiled eyes that face forward and silver talons. It walks upright on its hind feet. Its hobby is travel; it loves gossip and learns languages easily. It possesses some magical skills, including a kind of screech that turns people to stone. Its colors are various shades of gray and white.
Bazhir: the collective name for the nomadic tribes of Tortall’s Great Southern Desert.
Bearsford: a town on the Great Road North.
Carthak: the slaveholding empire that includes all of the Southern Lands, ancient and powerful, a storehouse of learning, sophistication, and culture. Its university was at one time without a rival for teaching. Its people reflect the many lands that have been consumed by the empire, their colors ranging from white to brown to black. Its former emperor Ozorne Tasikhe was forced to abdicate when he was turned into a Stormwing. (He was later killed.) He was succeeded by his nephew Kaddar Iliniat, who is still getting his farflung lands under control.
City of the Gods: the religious, magical, and educational center in northeast Tortall.
Code of Ten: the set of laws that form the basis of government for most of the Eastern Lands.
convict soldiers: convicted criminals who are given the choice to fight in the army if there is a war on rather than go to prison. There may be a pardon at the end of their service if they survive; since they are poorly trained, and feared by normal citizens, they rarely survive. In the Eastern Lands, convict soldiers carry a silver mark on their forehead that cannot be removed or covered, to identify them as convicts.