Tamora Pierce - Lady Knight

‘Your grace, forgive me,’ Owen said with a deep bow. ‘My lord is out riding patrol yet, but I am to show you where you will sleep and ask if you will dine with him later. To the knights who accompany you’ – he bowed to the group that stood behind the duke and Kel – ‘he sends greetings. Lukin will show you to your quarters’ – he beckoned a soldier forward – ‘and lead you to supper when you choose. My lord asks you to remain in the officers’ mess hall after supper. He will send for you to talk of your assignments.’

Lukin bowed and beckoned; other soldiers swarmed forward to take charge of the newcomers. Kel, Jump, and the sparrows followed them as Owen guided Duke Baird to headquarters.

Over supper with the officers in their mess hall, the newly arrived knights got some idea of what they would face when the fighting began. So interesting was the talk that Kel didn’t realize immediately that Owen came from time to time to lead knights from the mess hall. When he gathered up three at once, she realized he was taking them to Wyldon for orders.

Kel watched as Owen led the knights away. The men’s backs were straight under their tunics, their air businesslike as they left. Were any afraid? she wondered. Did they have unsettled dreams of war, as she did? Were any hoping for a post in a fortified place with orders that kept them from battle? Some would get part of the district to guard, with squads of soldiers to command and a small fort to build. Others would go to Wyldon’s new fortress between Giantkiller and Steadfast, to the town of Riversedge, or to the castles, to be placed under a senior commander. Some would remain here.

Owen came for Quinden, Seaver, and Esmond, then for Neal and Merric. Suddenly Kel realized that she was the last newly arrived knight to be called. A fist clenched in her belly. She didn’t like this. She didn’t like it at all.

Wyldon of Cavall had not wanted a girl page. He thought females had no place in battle, Alanna the Lioness and lady knights of the past notwithstanding. He had wanted to send Kel home, then shocked everyone, including himself, when he’d allowed her to stay after a year’s probation. Once he’d decided she would remain, he’d taught her as thoroughly as he taught the boys. But he had also said, often, that girls didn’t belong in combat, even if they did have good combat skills. Doubt entered Kel’s heart. What if he planned to keep her safe with him?

She hadn’t become a knight to be safe.

Owen came for her at last. She followed him across the torchlit yard between mess hall and headquarters, her feet crunching the ice that rimmed the ruts in the ground. Surely if Wyldon planned to give Kel a safe assignment, Owen would know and warn her. Owen was a terrible liar, even when he lied by omission. Instead, he bubbled over with plans. Before he entered Wyldon’s office and announced her, he’d predicted that they’d send the Scanrans back to their longhouses in a trice. He left, closing the door behind him.

Inside Wyldon’s office, Kel studied her old training master. The crow’s-feet around Wyldon’s hard, dark eyes had deepened, as had the lines at the corners of his firm, well-carved mouth. The scar that ran from the corner of his right eye into his short cropped hair was puffy, which meant it probably ached in the night’s raw damp. If it hurt, then certainly the arm that had also been savaged by a killer winged horse called a hurrok would be in pain, too.

Silver gleamed in the hair at Wyldon’s temples. His bald pate shone in the light of a globe spelled by mages to cast steady light. Wyldon’s skin was chapped, like everyone else’s, by northern weather. His cream wool shirt was neat and plain, as was the brown quilted tunic he wore. Kel knew his breeches and boots would also be made for warmth and comfort, not elegance.

‘Have a seat, lady knight,’ he said. ‘Wine? Or cider?’

Kel sat in the chair before his desk. Despite her fear of what was coming, she was deeply pleased that this man she respected used her new title. ‘Cider, please, my lord.’ Recently she had found that wine or liquor gave her ferocious, nauseous headaches. She was happy to give up spirits; she hadn’t liked the loose, careless feelings they gave her.

Wyldon poured cups for both of them, then raised his in a toast. ‘To your shield.’

Kel smiled. ‘To my fine instructors,’ she replied. They both sipped. The cider, touched with spices, was very good.

Wyldon leaned back in his chair. ‘I won’t dance about,’ he said. ‘I’m giving you the hardest assignment of any knight in this district. I think you will hate it, and perhaps me.’

Kel’s skin tingled. So the news was bad. She set her cup on his desk and straightened. ‘My lord?’

‘General Vanget has asked me to build and staff a refugee camp in addition to the new fort. As soon as it’s ready, we’ll take about three hundred refugees, all ages, from Tirrsmont, Anak’s Eyrie, Riversedge, Goatstrack village, and outlying districts. About two hundred more will arrive once fighting begins. Maybe seven hundred in all by summer’s end.’ He reached for a map of the countryside before him and tapped it with a blunt forefinger. ‘The only ground I can get for it is an open piece of elk-dung valley between Fiefs Tirrsmont and Anak’s Eyrie, on the Greenwoods River. There’s the river for water, and flat ground for planting if no one expects to grow more than enough to survive. There’s fortified high ground now, and troops to defend it. My new fort, Mastiff, will be here, on the other side of these hills. We’ll patrol as much as we can, to keep Scanrans from getting very far, but there’s just too much empty ground and too much forest to plug all our gaps.’

Kel nodded. From her experience the year before, she knew how easy it was for the enemy to slip by Tortall’s defenders.

‘I tried to get land farther south,’ Wyldon continued. ‘The nobles there say they pity the refugees and send old clothes, tools, perhaps some grain, but they don’t want all those extra mouths on their lands, hunting their game.’

So her worst fears were true. He didn’t want her in combat. Instead, she was relegated to the protection of refugees. It wasn’t right . She had more real fighting experience than any first-year knight, even Neal. If she had to wait to pursue the mysterious Blayce and his guard dog, Stenmun, she wanted to spend that time fighting.

She swallowed hard to fight off the urge to cry, then cleared her throat. A knight didn’t complain. A knight did her duty even when the duty was unpleasant. Even when everyone would say Wyldon had so little confidence in her that he was tucking her away behind the front lines.

‘Who’s to command this place, sir?’ she asked, forcing her voice to remain even, her features smooth and calm.

Wyldon raised his brows. ‘You are.’

For a moment her ears felt very strange. That feeling promptly spread to the rest of her. ‘Forgive me, my lord, but – I could have sworn that you said I will be in command.’

‘I did.’ Wyldon’s eyes were direct. ‘It’s work, Mindelan. Half of the men I can spare to build and guard the camp are convicts. They agreed to fight if we took them from the quarries and mines. They must be watched and further trained. All have mage marks to expose them as convicts if they run, so you shouldn’t worry about desertions, unless they’re fool enough to go to Scanra. The other half of the men I could find’ – he shrugged – ‘I did my best.’

Kel looked at her hands as thoughts tumbled wildly in her head. She voiced the first thought that came to mind. ‘I expected to serve under an experienced warrior. In combat.’

‘You are more useful with the refugees. You will have advisors. Duke Baird will reside with you temporarily, to help in matters both medical and social,’ Wyldon said drily.