Tamora Pierce - Lady Knight

‘Well, I have a vocabulary,’ said his father, riding behind them. ‘I have often wished I could tie your tongue in a knot. Several of them. I can describe them, if you like.’

‘It’s my fate to be misunderstood,’ Neal announced. He fell back to ride with the more sympathetic Merric.

As the knights shifted riding order, Kel found herself beside Duke Baird. She had often seen Neal’s father for healing after her fights in the palace and felt comfortable enough to talk to him. ‘Your grace, if you don’t mind my asking, what are you doing here?’ she enquired. ‘As the royal healer, shouldn’t you be in Corus?’

‘My assistant has to show whether or not he can step into my office,’ Neal’s father replied. He was a tall, lanky man. His eyes, a darker green than Neal’s, were set in deep sockets. His hair was redder than his son’s, but his nose was the same. ‘It’s time to see if he can handle the nobility alone. And I have experience in the layout of refugee camps.’

‘Refugee camps?’ Kel repeated.

‘When villages are destroyed and there are too many people for single lords to take in, someone must care for them. That’s particularly true here, where people scrabble to feed their own.’ He gestured towards their surroundings: thick woods and stony ridges, the unforgiving north. ‘We need camps for the refugees. We also need field hospitals for the wounded now that we’re faced with all-out war.’

For a moment Kel said nothing, thinking of the grim picture he’d just painted. Could she bear the sight of hundreds who’d been cast from their homes? ‘How do you stand it, your grace?’ she asked quietly.

‘By doing the best I can,’ Baird replied, as quiet as Kel. ‘By remembering my wife, my daughters, and the sons I have left. I can’t afford to brood. Too many people need me.’ He sighed. ‘I worry about Neal,’ he confessed. ‘He tries to hide it, but he’s sensitive.’

Kel nodded. Baird was right.

‘If you are placed together, will you watch him?’ asked Baird suddenly. ‘He respects you, despite the difference in your ages. You’re sensible and level-headed. He listens to you.’

Kel stared at the duke, then nodded again. ‘I will look out for him if I can,’ she replied honestly.

They reached Fief Tirrsmont at twilight and spent the night behind the castle’s grey stone walls. The lord of Tirrsmont pleaded scant room inside the buildings of his inner bailey. He also pleaded scant food, though he feasted Duke Baird and two of the senior knights, along with his own family, on suckling pig, saffron rice, and other delicacies.

Camped in the outer bailey, the army was jammed in among thin, ragged survivors of last year’s fighting who were housed there. Kel looked into the commoners’ haunted eyes and felt rage burn her heart. Most of the newcomers’ rations of porridge and bacon went to the refugees. They accepted the food in silence and fled.

‘How can they treat their own people so shabbily?’ Kel asked Neal. ‘The lord and his family look well fed.’

‘You worry too much about commoners,’ remarked Quinden of Marti’s Hill, who shared the first-years’ fire. ‘They always look as pathetic as they can so we’ll feed them. I’ve never met a commoner who doesn’t beg while they hide what they’ve stolen from you.’

‘You’re an obnoxious canker-blossom,’ Neal snapped. ‘Go and ooze somewhere else.’

‘On your way, Quinden,’ added Merric. ‘Before we help you along.’

Quinden spat into their fire to further express his opinion, then wandered off.

‘I pity the folk of Marti’s Hill when he inherits,’ murmured Kel.

In the morning they rode on to Fort Giantkiller. This was country that Kel knew, though the trees were bare and the ground clothed in snow and ice. They were entering the patrol area she had covered the year before with Third Company. This was hard land, with little farming soil. Any wealth came from the fur trade, silver mines, logging, and fishing. They might have trouble feeding themselves if supply trains didn’t arrive. On the bright side, the enemy would have even more trouble staying fed, with the mighty Vassa River at their backs to cut off supplies from Scanra.

Some daylight remained when they reached Fort Giantkiller. Kel saw many changes. The fort had been turned from a quickly built home for a company of over one hundred into a fortress with two encircling walls. An abatis had been installed on the outer wall: a number of logs sharpened on the forward end, planted in the side of the ditch. They made a thorny barrier that horses would baulk at trying to jump. Watchtowers now stood at each corner of the inner wall. The Tortallan flag snapped in the wind. Below it flapped the commanding officer’s banner, a rearing black dog with a black sword in its paws on a white field bordered in gold: the arms of Fief Cavall. Below it were the flags of the army brigade charged with the defence of the district.

Inside, Kel saw even more changes. Third Company’s tents were gone, replaced by two-storey log buildings. Giantkiller now housed at least five hundred men, their horses, and supplies. Lord Wyldon had taken command of the district when Kel and Lord Raoul had ridden south for her Ordeal. He must have rushed to get all his troops decently housed before winter put a stop to most outdoor work.

‘Kel, Kel!’ someone cried. A stocky young man barrelled into her, flinging strong arms around her to give her a crushing squeeze.

‘Mithros save us, I’d forgotten the Brat,’ Quinden muttered behind Kel.

Kel looked down an inch into a familiar round face and laughed. Owen of Jesslaw’s grey eyes blazed with delight; a grin revealed wide-spaced front teeth. His cap of brown curls tumbled over his forehead. As Wyldon’s squire, he wore his master’s badge. ‘We knew you couldn’t hold the border alone, so we came to lend a hand,’ she said as he released her. Owen’s wild courage was a byword among the pages and squires; he would throw himself into a fight even when he was outnumbered.

‘Neal, you came!’ Owen cried as he crouched to scratch the gleeful Jump’s lone ear. Sparrows swirled around his head as he did so, cheeping their own welcome. ‘Merric, Seaver, Esmond, you’re here!’ He looked up, saw Duke Baird, and straightened abruptly. ‘My lord duke, welcome to Fort Giantkiller,’ he said with a graceful bow. ‘Forgive my inattention. If I may take your mount, your grace?’

‘Mithros save us, the Stump broke him to bridle,’ Neal said, his voice dry as he dismounted. ‘I thought it was impossible.’

‘Do not let me catch that nickname on your lips as long as you are under the man’s command,’ Duke Baird told Neal sternly as he gave his reins to Owen. ‘You owe him the appearance of respect, not to mention proper obedience.’

Neal met his father’s gaze, scowled, then bowed silently. Owen whistled softly; Kel, too, was astounded. She had thought nothing could make Neal back down so quickly.

‘’Scuse me, lady.’ Kel turned. There stood Tobe with Hoshi’s reins. ‘I’ll take ’im now.’

Kel gave Peachblossom’s reins to Tobe. ‘Check his hooves, please?’ she asked.

‘Yes, lady,’ the boy said. He headed towards the stables, gelding and mare in tow.

‘Who was that ?’ The shocked whisper came from Owen. Kel glanced at him: her friend stared gape-jawed at Tobe. ‘Did you see that? He just – Peachblossom! He just took Peachblossom, and Peachblossom went !’

Kel smiled. ‘That’s Tobe,’ she explained. ‘He is good with horses.’

Duke Baird cleared his throat. ‘Did my lord Wyldon say what was to be done with us?’ he enquired tactfully. A proper squire would have bustled the duke away at the first opportunity. Kel was relieved that Lord Wyldon hadn’t changed Owen completely.