Miles Cameron - The Dread Wyrm

Robin, who was a good sort and widely popular, was also a lord in his own right. Nell liked him because he kept order well, was polite to young girls and worked all the time. Nell mostly rated people by the amount of work they did.

She bent her knee. “My lord?” she said.

“Morning, Nell,” Robin said, still polishing. “Who’s he?”

“Took the silver penny last night. Hight Diccon Twig.”

Robin nodded to the new boy. “Welcome to the company, young Diccon.”

Robin was perhaps three years older than Diccon, but no one made any comment. Robin had fought well at the big battle outside Lonika-he was no longer “young Robin.” Soon he would be “Ser Robin.” Everyone knew it.

“My da-” Diccon looked at the ground. “… my da calls me ‘Bent.’”

Robin smiled. “No. Sorry, Diccon. It’s a good name, but a master archer had it and it died with him. Got another?”

“My mother calls me a God-Damned Fool,” Diccon said with a smile.

“Good, you’ll fit right in. Don’t worry about a nickname, Diccon. You’ll get one when it comes and not before.” Robin looked at Nell.

Nell said, “I think he’s to be your archer.”

Robin raised an eyebrow. “Well-we can certainly use the help. Diccon, get me four armloads of firewood and talk to that woman in the blue kirtle and the soldier’s cloak for further orders.”

“Who’s she?” Diccon asked.

Robin’s face became a shade less friendly. “Diccon, in the normal run of things, you don’t speak to me at all and you don’t ever ask me a question. Eventually-” He smiled at Nell. “Eventually you’ll be welcome to say what you please and ask all the questions you like. But just now, I gave you an order-to do work that will benefit everyone in our mess group. Don’t give me any shit. Go do your work.”

Nell stood with crossed arms and didn’t do anything to support the boy. He flushed with anger, but he swallowed it and went to get wood. Nell followed him. “She’s Lady Kaitlin’s maid, and she’s sort of the head non-combatant in your mess group. She and Robin give the orders.”

“What’s a fewkin’ mess group?” Diccon asked.

She looked at him, as if enjoying his confusion because it reminded her how far she’d come. “Do you know what a lance is?”

He didn’t stay in an ill-humour long. He grabbed a good armload of wood-nice dry maple-and started back to the fires. Just to be supportive, Nell took an armload, too.

“A spear about ten feet long?” he said.

“It’s a knight, a squire, an archer or two and a page,” she said. “Two lances make a mess group, with their lemans and their-”

“What’s a leman?” he asked.

“Lover. Whore. Partner. Wife. Husband. Whatever.” Nell laughed. “You only get to have one permanent-like with the captain’s permission.”

“Christ, it’s worse than being a monk!” Diccon said. He dropped his wood on the right pile and then stooped to stack it before going back for another load. Six pairs of watching eyes noted him stack the wood he’d just dumped with approval.

Nell shrugged. “Lemans cost money for food and bedding and everything. Any road, we don’t leave ours behind. So the veterans have lemans and they bring up the numbers of a mess group to ten or twelve. Everyone in that group eats together, sleeps together, and works together. Most of us fight together.” She grunted as she lifted a big chunk of oak.

He took it from her and held out his arms to be loaded up. “You in my group?” he asked.

“No, sweet. If I were, I wouldn’t buss you or allow any liberties. Got that? It’s a rule, too.” She smiled. “I’m the captain’s page. I’m in the command lance.”

“Is that special?” Diccon asked. His eyes were brimful of questions.

“It’ll be more than a mite special if I don’t have the horses ready for inspection. We move in two hours.” She dropped her load on the pile. “Stack mine, will ye?” she asked. “I’ll come see you later. Anything you fuck up, just say you’re sorry. Don’t cross the captain or the primus pilus . That’s all the advice I have.”

She went back to where Robin was sitting. He had a cup of hippocras in his hand and he was looking at Ser Michael’s sabatons, which had somehow started to rust overnight.

“I’m a dead man,” he said.

Nell thought that was probably true, but felt no pity. She bobbed her head. Squires got one bended knee first thing and then they were pretty much just folk. “I don’t think the new boy has anything,” she said. “Not even a blanket, and certes no horse or arms.”

Lord Robin sighed. “I’m going to catch it. Nell, can you ask Toby to help me?”

“If’n you’ll see to it that the new boy gets sorted,” Nell said. She smiled to show she wasn’t entirely serious.

Robin looked pained. “You like him,” he said.

Nell shrugged. “Yes, sir.”

Robin nodded. “Please find Toby,” he said.

Toby was attending the captain, and Nell didn’t even try and find him until all the horses were done. The sun was well up by the time she found them both, out behind the inn’s barns.

“Toby, Toby,” the captain said. “Again.”

Toby was stripped to hose and a doublet and both men were covered in sweat. They both had arming swords in their hands and, after the captain spoke, Toby cut hard at the captain’s head.

The captain retreated his front foot to his back foot so that he stood in a narrow stance and his forward leg was pulled out of an adversary’s range, standing straighter as he slipped the front foot back and covered his head with his sword . Garda di testa . Nell knew all the guards, now.

Then he uncoiled like a viper striking and Toby got his sword up. But his slip wasn’t deep enough-he didn’t pull back his front foot enough. Still, he covered his head well, and he countered-the same cut.

The captain pulled back his front foot and covered his head. And cut-

Toby raised his sword without retreating.

The captain’s sword moved so fast that it was like watching a hummingbird strike. It came to rest against Toby’s outthrust thigh.

Ser Gabriel frowned. “You’re tired. We’ll call it for today, Toby. But you have to learn to move your legs.”

Toby looked frustrated and angry.

The captain’s eye caught Nell. “Good morning, young lady. How is my beautiful new horse?”

“Eating, my lord,” Nell answered. “It’s all he does. He’ll need exercise today.”

The captain smiled. “If I don’t get on him today, you take him tonight. Yes?”

“Of course, my lord.”

He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “Do you need something, Nell?”

“No, my lord. But I need Toby, if he’s at leisure.” She hoped that Robin appreciated how well she was keeping her end of the bargain, because this was leading with her chin. The captain could be savage, especially early in the morning after he’d been drinking.

Toby sheathed his arming sword after looking at the blade for nicks. “I’m with you, Nell,” he said.

The captain made a sign that they could talk. He was examining his own blade, the new red-gripped arming sword that matched his long sword for war-gilt-steel guard and round pommel, and two newfangled finger rings on the guard.

“What do you need?” Toby asked. He was breathing hard.

“Robin needs you. He’s hard pressed for time and water got at Ser Michael’s armour.”

“Sweet Jesu and all the saints!” Toby shook his head. “If a man will spend all night in the arms of a-” He looked at Nell. “I’ll go.”

“Feel free to give him some shit,” Nell said. “But I promised to fetch you.” Whatever Toby lacked in fighting skills-he was late to the life of arms and a slow physical learner-he was the best metal polisher in the company.