Lynn Flewelling - The Oracle's Queen

“Me, too.” Her wry smile was Tobin’s, too. “Promise me you’ll—” Now she paused and looked embarrassed. “Well, don’t have so much fun you get yourself killed.”

“I’ll do my best not to. Jorvai thinks most of them will give up without a fight anyway, once they see that you are willing to move against them. I may not have my sword out of its scabbard at all.”

“I don’t know which to wish you: safety or an honorable fight. In case you do fight? Well, I made you this.” She reached into her sleeve and took out a golden disk an inch or so across and gave it to him. On it in a raised design was a stylized owl with wings outstretched, holding a crescent moon in its talons. “The idea came to me a few days ago. I made it in wax and had it cast in the village.”

“It’s beautiful! It’s good to see you making things again.” Ki untied the leather cord around his neck and slid the charm on to dangle beside the carved horse. “Now I have both gods on my side.”

“That was the idea.”

Rising, she held out her hand. He stood and clasped with her. “Sakor’s fire, Ki, and Illior’s light to guide you.”

Her hand was warm in his, the palm roughened from the hilt of a sword, the fingers strong and callused from the bowstring. He pulled her into his arms and hugged her tight, wishing he knew his own heart. She hugged him back, and when they stepped apart again he thought he caught a glimpse of his own confusion in her eyes. Before he could be sure, though, she turned away and reached for her cup again. “It’s late. You should get some rest while you can.”

“I guess so.” She still wasn’t looking at him. Had he hurt her somehow? “I—I could stay a bit longer.”

She smiled back at him and shook her head. “Don’t be silly. Go on and get your rest. I’ll be there to see you off. Good night, Ki.”

He could think of nothing more to say, or even what he wanted to say. “Thank you for my commission,” he said at last. “I’ll make you proud.”

“I know you will.”

“Well—good night.”

His own door was only a dozen paces from Tamír’s, but it seemed a mile by the time he gained his room. He was startled to find Tharin there, standing at the rack that held Ki’s armor.

“There you are. Since you don’t have a squire of your own, I thought I’d make a last inspection of your arms.” Tharin paused, looking at him oddly. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing!” Ki exclaimed quickly.

Too quickly from the way Tharin’s eyes narrowed. “You were just with Tamír?”

“Yes. I wanted to—to thank her, and she’s worried about me and—” He faltered to a halt.

Tharin regarded him in silence for moment, then just shook his head.

Tamír spent a sleepless night. Every time she closed her eyes she saw the anguished look she’d caught on Ki’s face, and the way it had felt when he embraced her. He still doesn’t know what to make of me, and neither do I!

Before dawn she bathed at the washstand and put on a dark gown and a ceremonial breastplate. There was one last thing she meant to do. Tharin and the Companions were waiting outside and fell into step behind her. For the first time, Tamír was achingly aware of Ki’s absence at her side, and Lynx, too, who was going off as one of Ki’s captains.

“You’re really going to do it this time, aren’t you?” Nikides asked.

“He can’t very well refuse this time,” she murmured with a wry smile.

The mounted companies had already formed up when they reached the courtyard, and hundreds of courtiers lined the walls and stairways to see them off.

Jorvai and Ki were there to greet her in full armor. Tamír wished them both luck and said a few words to the captains. Then, trying not to grin, she turned back to Ki. “There’s one more thing. Kneel and present your sword.”

Ki’s eyes widened at that, but he had no choice but to obey.

Tamír drew her own and touched him on the cheek and shoulders. “Before these witnesses, for your years of honest and loyal friendship, and for saving my life more than once, I dub you Lord Kirothieus of Oakmount and Queen’s Mercy, and grant you the steading of your birth, as well as the rents, holdings, and main right of the village of Queen’s Mercy. In addition, you are granted a founding gift of five thousand gold sesters. May you use it wisely, to the honor of your house and Skala. Rise, Lord Kirothieus, and accept your arms.”

Several young women came forward. One held his banner on a standard pole. Two others displayed a tabard. Both showed his new device, laid out by Nikides. The shield was diagonally divided from left to right with the white bar representing legitimate birth. Centered on the bar was a lion skin draped over a stick, to commemorate the first time Ki had risked his life to defend her. She saw him smile at that. The left field was green, with a white tree, for Oakmount. The right was black, with a white tower, for Queen’s Mercy. A silver flame cupped by a crescent moon, honoring the two gods, surmounted the design.

“You have been busy, haven’t you?” Ki muttered, trying to sound put out, but his shining eyes and reddened cheeks said otherwise. He pulled on the tabard and held his sword up before his face. “The house of Oakmount and Queen’s Mercy will ever be your most loyal servants, Majesty.”

Tamír took his hand and turned him to face the assembly. “My people, welcome Lord Kirothieus, my friend and my right hand. Honor him as you honor me.”

A cheer went up and Ki blushed harder. Tamír clapped him on the shoulder and mouthed, “Be careful.”

Ki mounted his horse and fastened his helmet. Jorvai drew his sword and shouted, “For the honor of Skala and the queen!” and his riders took up the cry.

Ki did the same, shouting “For Tamír and Skala!” and a thousand throats behind him took it up.

“I hope you appreciate how jealous I am,” Tamír said, when the shouting died down.

“It’s your own doing.” Jorvai laughed, clapping on his battle-scarred helmet. “Don’t worry. Ki and I will keep each other alive if we can and carry the other’s ashes if we can’t.”

“Good. Go show them this ‘mad boy in a dress’ is not to be trifled with.”

They rode first to the large holding of Duke Zygas, a hard-bitten old lord. He had a large stone keep with strong outlying walls but his wealth lay in his grainfields, which were ripe. He had a few turma of fighters stationed on the road at the outskirts of the holding, but Jorvai and Ki had marched through the night and took them by surprise just after sunrise. Ki led a forward party and quickly dispatched any resistance. Leaving the captains to bring up the foot, Jorvai and the riders rushed on at a gallop to the gates of the keep and sent out a herald under the white banner.

The walls above the earthen moat bristled with archers and gleamed with the reflected light off helms and weapons, but no shaft could be loosed on either side until the herald had spoken and withdrawn.

Zygas’ white-and-black banner with its three horses rose above the barbican. A man leaned over and called down angrily, “Who abuses my rights and hospitality in this manner? I recognize only one banner there. Jorvai of Colath, we have never had bad blood between us. Why are you at my gates as if I were a Plenimaran?”

“The herald speaks for me,” Jorvai called back.

“Your grace, I bear a letter from Tamír Ariani Ghërilain, Queen of Skala,” the herald announced.

“I know no such queen, but I will honor the white banner. Speak your letter.”

“The banners of Lord Jorvai of Colath and Lord Kirothieus of Oakmount and Queen’s Mercy fly at your gates, the liegemen of Tamír Ariani Ghërilain, Queen of Skala by right of blood and birth.