Not that I’ll have to worry, Kel thought dully as she picked up her staff: He knows I’m afraid of heights now. He can say if I’m afraid of heights, I can’t keep up with the boys, and I’ll be out on my ear.
By early April Kel was able to hit the quintain’s small shield every time she jousted. Her lance could only take so much of this accuracy; at last it shattered. Taking a buffet from the sandbag—she had yet to strike the small ring on the target, which would cause the bag to swing just halfway around—Kel rode Peachblossom to the quintain and dismounted, picking the pieces of her shattered lance out of the mud.
"Stop mourning like it’s a dead friend," Wyldon said curtly. He’d been short with her since that day on the palace wall. "Go choose another."
Joren was ahead of her, picking a lance from the spares and holding it to Kel as she approached. Expressionless, she accepted it, knowing his eagerness to help was just so he could give her another weighted lance. This one felt no lighter than the old one. Kel ran her fingers along it and found the hair-fine breaks where plugs had been fitted back into the wood. She looked at Joren. He smirked.
Something happened to her then, something she would not be able to explain if she lived to be a thousand. A feeling like cool rain poured over her, making her feel more focused than she ever had before.
She mounted Peachblossom.
She floated in an empty space, enclosed in glass like one of Master Lindhall’s animals. Outside the glass, the older boys practiced sword work from horseback as they waited their turn on the quintain, or they joked or rested, one eye on Sergeant Ezeko as he corrected Faleron’s seat. A single quintain was free, the one assigned to the new pages: Esmond was next, but Lord Wyldon was showing him something as the other three first-years watched.
Unobserved, Kel kneed Peachblossom into line with the free quintain. She swung her lance into the couched position, its grip firmly in her gloved hand, the butt passed snugly between her ribs and arm. The long, tapered end thrust out over the gelding’s withers at just the right angle to hit the shield. Gently she kicked Peachblossom, urging him forward at a trot. Her world narrowed to one small, painted circle on a slab of wood. She was halfway down the lane, and everything—her seat, her grip, the heft of the lance—felt perfect in a way it never had before.
"Charge," she whispered to Peachblossom. She hadn’t demanded that speed from him since their first try at the quintain.
He lowered his head and charged, hooves thundering on the damp, springtime ground.
Kel rose to meet the target, her lance aimed at the circle. She struck it dead center. The target snapped to the side, precisely as it did for the third- and fourth-year pages, the quintain turning neatly. Kel galloped past, waiting for the bruising impact of the sandbag. It never came.
She raised her lance and drew back on the reins, guiding Peachblossom into a gentle turn. She was almost certain that the gelding congratulated her. "Extra oats for you tonight," she murmured, slowing him to a walk.
Wyldon watched her, arms crossed over his chest. "Good," he said. "When you can do it reliably, instead of once or twice, you will have something."
Kel didn’t hesitate. She knew the feel of it now. She walked Peachblossom into a turn and pointed him at the target. One of the pages had already set it for the next tilter. Kel tucked her lance butt under her arm, lowered it until it crossed the gelding’s shoulders, and urged him into a trot, then a gallop, then the charge. Everything that had been so perfect a few moments ago felt exactly right again. She struck the circle dead center a second time, then went back and did it a third time and a fourth. After her fifth perfect tilt, she stopped in front of Lord Wyldon.
"Very good, probationer." Wyldon sounded as if his teeth hurt to say it. The other pages had all stopped what they were doing to watch her last three passes. "You are released for the remainder of the morning."
She bowed to him from the saddle and turned Peachblossom toward the stables.
The sound of applause made her turn in the saddle. "Huzzah, Kel!" Neal cried gleefully. "Huzzah, huzzah!" The prince, Merric, Seaver, Faleron, and Cleon were all clapping and cheering. So were Eda Bell, the Shang Wildcat, and Stefan the hostler, who often came to watch the tilting practice. She waved to them with a grin, and nudged Peachblossom to a trot.
The examinations at the end of April had existed for only fourteen years. King Jonathan’s father had introduced them after the discovery that a girl— Alanna the Lioness—had concealed her sex to become a knight. The suspicion that trickery was involved had led King Roald to create public tests.
Now anyone could watch as a panel of nobles, mages, and teachers asked pages questions about their classwork and watched them show their physical skills in practice bouts of all kinds. Only three boys had failed the examinations since they were set up, yet all the pages were convinced that they would be the next. Even the prospect of the lesser examinations, the "little tests," which gave younger pages experience in public questions and performance, made them nervous.
Kel dreaded the public exams, but she was beginning to think that this year’s tests would be the only ones she would get to take. Lord Wyldon would never let her return in the fall. He was as cold to her in April as he’d been in September. He still referred to her as "probationer," which seemed like a bad sign.
Knowing that, she had to force herself to study for the little tests. The reality was an anticlimax: their audience was tiny, the classroom questions basic. The pages had to write and do mathematical problems on a large slate so everyone watching could follow their work. They had to recite the Code of Ten, the set of laws that formed the basis of government in most realms north of the Inland Sea. They reported aloud on the habits and behavior of some species of immortal—Kel chose hurroks. Then they demonstrated three different ways to greet dignitaries. That marked the end of the classroom work.
Going to the outdoor practice court for their examinations, the first-year pages had to saddle, mount, and ride their horses around a ring. They went through the most basic maneuvers with unarmed combat, staff, wooden practice sword, and bow. Then, to Kel’s surprise and relief, it was over. All of the first-years passed.
"I keep telling you, these tests have to be easy enough that even a noble with ogre blood could pass," Neal informed her at supper that night.
Kel grinned, but said, "You know, ogres only sound stupid. Most are pretty smart."
"And it’s a shallow person who judges anyone by the way they sound," he admitted cheerfully. "I’m so shallow I’m surprised I don’t reflect myself."
Kel groaned and punched him in the shoulder.
The next week Kel, Neal, and the other pages watched the big tests, in which the fourth-year pages were publicly quizzed and made to demonstrate their mastery of the skills they would need as squires. Kel was surprised that neither Lord Raoul—the Knight Commander of the King’s Own—nor Alanna the Lioness as King’s Champion was among the judges, and mentioned it to Neal.
"Well, of course they can’t decide on whether or not a page is suitable," Neal replied. "None of the knights from that generation are allowed to judge. Quite a few of our stuffier nobles claim the pages and squires in those years collaborated to get the Lioness made a knight, though of course no one says as much to their faces. Even Duke Gareth the Elder—her training master—has never served. The king picked the oldest, blue-bloodedest, fustiest men in the realm to do the tests, ones who were nowhere near the palace for Lady Alanna’s training. That keeps the traditionalists happy so His Majesty can then get them to go along with things like opening schools on their estates."
"How dare they say the Lioness cheated!" growled Kel. "Great Goddess, she fights ogres and spidrens and armies all the time—"
"You really look up to her, don’t you?" Neal asked.
"She’s a hero. She’s proved it over and over."
"And will go on doing so until the day she dies," he said evenly. "You can smack some people in the face with a haddock and they
’ll still call it a mouse if a mouse is what they want to see. She’s learned to live with that. Perhaps you should, too." After a pause, he asked, "Have you ever met her?"
"We were away, and now—she’s had a busy year," whispered Kel, hanging her head. "So busy she hasn’t even visited Their Majesties."
He seemed about to say something, but he changed his mind. "I want to hear this," he said as the judges quizzed a page on the law regarding illegal settlement.
That night in the mess hall, the fourth-year pages moved to the half of the room where the squires sat. Everyone applauded. There was cake for dessert and a juggler, a special treat from Lord Wyldon for the new squires.
It marked the beginning of a lazy May. Throughout the month knights drifted in and out of the practice courts, looking at the new squires. Only simple reading assignments were given in afternoon classes. There was no etiquette class: Master Oakbridge was in charge of arranging the monarchs’ summer travels throughout the realm, and had not a moment to spare. Only in the practice courts was the pages’ schedule the same.
With the arrival of warmer weather Kel’s sparrows had moved back into the courtyard. In May the babies began to explore the world outside their nests. Kel loved to watch the tiny birds. They approached their parents or Kel with wings aflutter, yellow-rimmed beaks wide open, cheeping plaintively until they were fed. When not hungry, they seemed to view the world with the gravity of aged priests, watching everything around them with great earnestness. Crown’s fledglings were every bit as alert as their mother, reaching their seed before all of the other youngsters. They were also the first to shed their baby feathers; Kel was able to recognize them only when they begged their mother for extra food.
At the beginning of June, the pages began to prepare for their weeks in camp. They were issued summer clothes much like their practice garments, and taught how to load a packhorse with supplies and gear. Their first class of the day for a week was neither reading nor writing, but the art of calculating the amount of supplies necessary to keep four adults—Lord Wyldon, Sergeant Ezeko, the Shang Horse, and the Shang Wildcat—and twenty-odd pages for two months.
Finally Lord Wyldon gave them an entire day to run last-minute errands and laze. They were to leave for the depths of the Royal Forest in the morning, after breakfast.
The next morning Kel rose at her usual early time. She gave her sparrows one last feeding. "You stay out of trouble," she ordered them as they pecked at their seed. Salma was to look after them while she was gone. Kel refused to think of who would care for them in the fall. Lord Wyldon had still not given any sign that she might be allowed to return.
Overhead, the great bell clanged, summoning those who were late risers from their beds. Gathering her saddlebags, Kel left her room.
ten
THE ROYAL FOREST
The morning’s ride into the Royal Forest seemed more like a picnic expedition than training. The pages were silly and giddy. They snatched at leaves, pushing at each other and telling jokes. Riding at the front of their column with Hakuin, Wyldon ignored them. Kel was at the end of the line, because Peachblossom tolerated another horse and rider near him for just so long. Neal, Merric, Prince Roald, and Eda would keep her company for a time, then move off to give the big gelding the solitude he clearly desired.
Kel noticed clouds gathering before lunch. Few of the boys had. They were shocked when it began to pour in mid-afternoon. "It’s not like the rain’s a surprise," Kel murmured to her mount. "And it’s not like they aren’t used to mud." She preferred being wet to being muddy, though she knew she wouldn’t feel that way after dark, when it got cold.
They followed a broad, well-traveled track most of the day. Wyldon halted the column when they reached a wide clearing with an immense ancient oak at its center. Most of the riders led their mounts under the tree’s scant protection, while four of the oldest pages went to search for water and cover. It was a test of their hunt skills, as well as Lord Wyldon’s way of letting them know that they were now senior pages, expected to master the hardest chores.
Two returned quickly, having found a stream and shallow caves on the ground above it. Wyldon showed the first-years how to leave a trail sign that would tell the two pages who had not yet returned the path they had taken. Kel got hers right on the second try, but Seaver and Quinden had yet to put the stones and twigs in the correct formation when the missing pages returned. Finally Quinden got it, but Wyldon kept them all until Seaver laid the sign correctly.
Kel waited for the others to lead their horses into the open ground past her before she brought Peachblossom out. "Don’t feel bad," she murmured to Seaver as he trudged by. "Next time, picture it in your mind like it’s a drawing of a building, or a map. That’s how I do it."
"It just wasn’t making sense," he whispered to her.
"That’s why making it a picture helps. That gives it sense."
Seaver gripped her shoulder in wordless thanks, keeping an eye on Peachblossom.
A short thunderstorm rolled in as they set up camp. Chilly air followed; Kel felt it even before she finished rubbing Peachblossom down. Once she’d fed him and eaten, she wrapped herself in a blanket and closed her eyes. Breathing slowly and softly, as she’d been taught, she made herself believe that she was comfortable as she drifted off to sleep.
Wyldon roused them at dawn. It rained steadily as they ate lumpy porridge made by Cleon, saddled their horses, and rode out. They followed the stream southeast, fording it often to skirt boggy ground. When the rainfall got heavier, Lord Wyldon guided them onto higher ground, lecturing them on the dangers of flash floods.
On they rode in the rain. The grumbling started when Lord Wyldon had them mount up after a short lunch break. The boys continued to complain as they followed a path up into rocky ground. Kel was downwind of Vinson when she heard him growl, "This isn’t necessary. It’s not like we’re on a mission. Why can’t we find a village to hole up in until this stops?"
"A village?" Kel heard a chill voice inquire. "Do I take it you would like to change our arrangements, Page Vinson?"
Kel shook her head. Vinson still hadn’t learned that Lord Wyldon often turned up where he was least wanted.
At least he knew when it was bad to lie. "Yes, my lord," Vinson said nervously. "There’s no need to be out in this. We should find someplace dry and wait till it clears."
"I see. And you, Joren? Cleon?"
"Our mounts would like the change, my lord," Kel heard Cleon reply. From his tone, he knew Wyldon probably would not listen. "So would I."
"We don’t need to be pushing on like this, m’lord," added Joren.
Kel listened in wonder. The emperor would have taken the heads of any warrior who questioned his orders.
As Peachblossom trudged around the next bend in the trail, Kel saw Lord Wyldon. He stood on the grass at the side of the path. "Well, girl?" he inquired. "I suppose you would like a nice warm place to sit, like the others?"
"What I like doesn’t matter, Lord Wyldon," she replied steadily. "It’s what you want." That didn’t sound right. She brushed her dripping hair back. "I didn’t mean it the way it came out."
After a pause he asked, "How did you mean it?"
"You’re the warrior in charge," she explained. "In battle you could hit me or put me in irons if I questioned you. Why should you let me do it now? Enemies could be out to jump us right here, and you wouldn’t hear them because you’d be talking to me."
Someone chuckled: Hakuin, the Shang Horse. He’d been riding with the pack animals since lunch and had now come up behind Kel. "Whatever you think of us Yamanis, Lord Wyldon, we know how to train even young warriors. Though I expected no less from Dane of Mindelan’s daughter," he told Kel, and bowed.
She bowed in reply. It was easy to accept a compliment to her mother.
"What has her mother to do with anything?" Wyldon asked tiredly.
"You don’t know?" asked the Shang warrior. "It’s the reason our emperor agreed to a treaty
and marriage with Tortall. Five years ago Ilane of Mindelan caught Scanran pirates stealing our most sacred objects. She rescued the Gods’ Swords and protected them from recapture until the Imperial Guard arrived. I believe that Keladry was there, were you not?"
Kel nodded. After that fight, the emperor had welcomed her entire family into his inner circle, on the same level as the greatest families of his realm.
"You have much in common with Lady Ilane, my lord," said Hakuin with a needling smile.
"What weapons did she have?" Wyldon asked, after a moment.
"A glaive, my lord," Kel replied in a low voice.
Wyldon grunted. He swung into his saddle and rode up the trail.
Hakuin smiled at Kel. "Nice of you to let your friends ride pillion." He winked, and rode away.
Her friends? Kel twisted to look behind her. Sparrows clung to her bedroll and saddlebags. They came and went rapidly, so they were hard to count, but she decided that ten or eleven of them were on Peachblossom or in the air. "Bright Mithros," she breathed. "Don’t tell me food is so short that you thought you had to follow me."
One female peeped at her and fluttered around to perch on the front of Kel’s saddle. It was Crown. "The pickings are going to be very lean," Kel warned.
Crown peeped again and turned so she could watch the road ahead.
Kel heard the training master at the head of their group. "We stop when I say stop, and batten on a village when I say to!" he called, his voice clear even in the rain. "If you’re riding in answer to a call for help, you can’t pick your weather—and what if that village is low on food? Do I saddle them with your appetites and those of your mounts? Knights provide for themselves on the road. If the village has extra food you pay for it, but I’ll tell you right now, at this time of year, many have no surplus. Use your heads—and keep riding!"
It was even colder than it had been the night before. Everything was soaked. To Kel’s surprise, Lord Wyldon allowed Prince Roald to use his magic to start two large fires. Perhaps his lordship decided we were practical enough today, and he would like to be warm, she thought.