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The insult to Kel, the claim that she was nearly a prostitute, brought the soldiers growling to their feet. Kel gave them the hand signal to return to their seats, though she secretly appreciated their championship of her. Then she leaned forward and braced her fists on the table. Though her veins hummed with anger, she made herself smile mockingly as she looked at the Tirrsmont women. “Mistresses, have you ever noticed that when we disagree with a male—I hesitate to say ‘man’—or find ourselves in a position over males, the first comment they make is always about our reputations or our monthlies?”
One of the new women snorted. Others snickered.
Kel looked at the man, who was momentarily speechless. “If I disagree with you, should I place blame on the misworkings of your manhood? Or do I refrain from so serious an insult”—she made a face—“far more serious, of course, than your hint that I am a whore. Because my mother taught me courtesy, I only suggest that my monthlies will come long after your hair has escaped your head entirely.”
That brought a laugh from most of the Tirrsmont refugees and guffaws from Kel’s soldiers.
Kel hardened her face. “I am Keladry of Mindelan, lady knight and the commander of Haven,” she said icily. “My reputation is no concern of yours. What is your name?”
The man drew himself up. “Idrius Valestone, fur merchant.”
“Here you are just another refugee, Idrius Valestone,” Kel informed him. “Subject to the laws that govern this camp. While I command, you will address me with respect, understand? If you have complaints about me, address them to my lord Wyldon of Cavall, the district commander. Until you get his reply, keep your opinions of me to yourself. You are dismissed.”
“My lady, please!” It was a woman who stood close to Idrius’s elbow. “He wasn’t thinking—”
“Then he had best learn,” Kel remarked. “Who are you?”
“His wife,” the woman said. She was a plain creature, face chapped by wind and cold, thin-lipped, with nearly straight black brows and greasy brown hair. Her orange dress was patched and stained, like those of the other refugees. The brown shawl around her shoulders was as worn as the rest of her.
“ ‘His wife’ is an odd name,” Kel replied.
“Olka,” the woman answered. “Olka Valestone.”
“I demand to speak to my lord Wyldon immediately.” Idrius glared at his wife, who looked down. “Today!” the man continued.
Kel sat on her bench again and speared a hunk of venison in her bowl. “Go, with my blessing. If you follow the road across the Greenwoods River and north, then ride west on the Vassa road, you should reach Fort Mastiff by midnight. That’s his headquarters.”
“I will need a horse and an escort,” Idrius pointed out.
Kel raised her brows. “I can’t spare them. You may not have noticed, but we are at war. I need every guard and every horse to protect this camp.”
“I demand a horse and escort!” Idrius barked, as if he didn’t hear.
“And I said no,” Kel informed him patiently. “You may write to my lord Wyldon and send your complaint with the next courier. In the meantime, you are still dismissed.”
The Tirrsmont people were trying to drag the purple-faced Idrius away. “You haven’t heard the last of this!” he cried. “I won’t be ordered about by some brass-faced wench!”
The soldiers stirred, their anger a rumble in their throats. Kel, chewing busily, shook her head. The soldiers quieted as the Tirrsmont refugees forced Idrius to sit at a table far from Kel’s.
“Have you done the work schedules yet?” Kel asked Zamiel quietly after she’d swallowed her venison.
“I wanted to get the Tirrsmont people in before we did them,” the clerk replied.
Kel spooned up a last mouthful of vegetables and gravy, then stood. “See that Master Idrius gets latrine detail for a week, if you please. Perhaps it will sweeten him.”
“Not that one, milady,” Zamiel replied. “Men like him eternally feel cheated of their due.”
“Well, it will make me feel better,” Kel said, gathering her dirty dishes. “I’ll settle for that.”
That afternoon she walked through the Tirrsmont barracks, greeting people, learning their names, making sure they settled in. She met the newborn Haven, a very small, very red scrap of humankind. She even held the girl briefly and competently, as she’d once held her nieces and nephews. After returning the infant to her mother, Kel finished greeting the newcomers, including the Valestones. Not once did she act as if she remembered her conversation with them in the mess hall.
Tobe and the rest of her spear class waited for her by the gate. None of the young people had quit. In fact, the group had increased by four; Tobe had recruited some Tirrsmont refugees already. One of them was a boy who looked to be only about five.
“Meech won’t take part,” his older sister, a moon-faced girl with frizzy black hair and pale eyes, assured Kel earnestly. “But Ma says watch ’im, an’ I want to learn to fight. I don’t want the enemy havin’ ’is way with me.”
Kel understood that. “As long as he behaves,” she said, crouching so that her eyes were on the same level as the boy’s. He clung to his sister’s skirt, clutching a rag doll close to his side. It was grubby and battered, but obviously well made, right down to the shock of scarlet yarn hair that must have been salvaged from an expensive garment. “What of it, Meech? Will you stay out of our way?” The boy nodded soberly. “Very well.” Kel straightened. “Let’s go,” she ordered the group.
On their way down the Haven road, she fell in step with Meech’s sister. “What’s your name?” she asked.
The girl smiled shyly. “Gydo—Gydane Elder, if it please my lady.”
“Welcome to Haven, Gydo,” Kel said. “Let me know if you’d like to try any other weapons besides spears.”
Gydo’s thin face lit. “Tobe says you teach ’im to shoot a bow, mornings.”
Kel nodded. “You’re welcome to join us.”
When they reached the practice ground on the far side of the Greenwoods, Kel noticed that Tobe and his friend Loesia had found spears for the newcomers. Kel eyed the well-polished wood and razor-sharp points. She wouldn’t ask where the weapons had come from. Few of the soldiers knew how to use a spear; fewer still wanted to learn. At least if the young folk used them, the weapons wouldn’t go to waste.
eight
FIRST DEFENSE
Kel rose at her usual time before dawn, heavy-eyed and achy. She had been up late the night before, working on the reports she would have to take to Lord Wyldon when she visited Fort Mastiff in a few days.
She cleaned up and got dressed, sniffling all the while. She was getting a cold; she needed to see Neal or his father sometime today. It vexed her to have to take the time for that when she had so much to do.
She watched Tobe as the lad pursued the morning cleanup she’d taught him, wondering if she ought to suggest once again that he at least remain in bed until sunrise. She decided it wasn’t worth the effort. Tobe always refused.
This morning Jump and the sparrows settled onto Kel’s still-warm bed after she made it. They had returned from their conference with Daine at some late hour. Whatever they had been doing, it had exhausted the animals. Kel grimaced at them. “Some of us have the luxury of sleep,” she complained, then coughed.
Outside, she walked into the open space between headquarters and the infirmary and began her practice dance with the heavy glaive. At her first spin she came to an abrupt halt. There was Tobe, as always. With him stood some of her other spear students, including Loesia, Gydo, and Meech. Meech yawned. Resettling his doll, he put his thumb in his mouth, almost asleep on his feet.
“You must be joking,” Kel said, looking down into determined faces.
Loesia shook her head, curls bouncing. “We won’t get good fast doin’ this just once a day,” she pointed out. “Barrabul, Keon, Dortie, and me practice extra when we’ve time—”
“ ’Cept lately, time’s the last thing
we got,” the boy Keon interrupted.
Kel sneezed. If she weren’t sniffly and achy, she would feel more pride that these youngsters understood the need for practice better than most adults. As it was, she smiled at them and croaked, “Very well. Form your lines.”
Once their practice ended, all of them trooped to the mess hall for their morning meal. While the young people wolfed their food, Kel picked at hers. Neal, slow to wake though he was, saw she had a cold before he’d touched his breakfast. He required less time than it took to fry a slice of ham to work a healing spell on her. Once he had finished, he ordered Tobe to make sure that she drank the noxious tea he prescribed, three times a day for a week. As he did, Kel’s appetite returned. She ate two bowls of porridge and two slices of ham, her sniffles only a memory.
Leaving the mess hall with Tobe and Jump, Kel asked, “I don’t suppose you could be persuaded to forget the tea?”
Tobe looked at her with reproach.
“Yes, maybe it was a stupid question,” Kel said in answer to his unspoken reply. “Just wait till you get sick.”
Teaching the spear lessons meant that Kel hadn’t gotten to do a complete pattern dance with her glaive. She collected it from her room and retreated to the corner of the fort where Daine had spent the previous day. She started slowly and speeded up through the dance until the staff was a brown blur and the blade a silver one as she spun, lunged, dodged, and pivoted.
“I’m always sorry I never get the chance to see you spar against someone who knows what they’re doing,” a familiar voice remarked as Kel finished her pattern dance with a stamp and a swirling flourish that brought the glaive to rest at her side. “Every time you practiced with the Yamani ladies on progress, I got called away.”
Kel turned, panting, and smiled at Daine. The Wildmage sat with her back against the headquarters wall, a slender young woman in a pale green shirt, brown jerkin, and brown breeches tucked into black calf-high boots. Her masses of curling, smoky-brown hair were coiled and pinned at the back of her head, tilting it back slightly from the weight. She watched Kel through blue-gray eyes framed with long black lashes as she produced seed from her pocket for the sparrows who had come to see her.
“What were you doing with them yesterday?” Kel asked, leaning on her glaive. “I didn’t want to interrupt.” Now that she had stopped moving, her legs reminded her she’d just had a healing, albeit a small one. Telling herself that she was being polite, not lazy, she sat next to Daine.
“Oh, that.” Daine looked at the ground, then shook her head. “I shouldn’t have, but—Kel, the guard you’ve got is a fair disgrace. I know Lord Wyldon’s stretched thin with troops in this district, but Vanget could spare more soldiers to ward these people. It’s not right. And there’s no talking to Vanget about things like that. He just tells me I don’t see the larger tapestry, and sends me off to play with my animals.”
Kel blinked. Vanget was known for being sensible. Now Kel had to wonder. She knew that no truly sensible man would make the Wildmage cross. “It’s what we have,” she said mildly.
Daine grimaced. “Oh, of course you’ll agree. You’re a warrior. You won’t question orders.”
I do, all the time, thought Kel. Then she remembered and told herself, I just don’t do it out loud.
Daine went on. “But I’m no warrior. I can speak as I please. And I can help, which means a lot to me just now. I, well, there’s a way of changing the People—animals—so their cleverness is more like two-legger—human—cleverness.”
“That’s happening at the palace,” Kel reminded her. “Peachblossom, Jump, the sparrows, they’re all wiser than other animals I’ve known. Hoshi, too.”
“I can’t help that,” Daine said. “That’s just . . . happening, and there’s nothing I can do to change it, except stay away from the palace more. But what I did yesterday, that was stronger. Much stronger. I filled them with my magic.”
“Filled?” Kel asked.
Daine smiled crookedly. “That’s the best I can explain it. Your own sparrows already knew some hand signals. Now they’ll learn them all; the dogs and cats, too. And they’ll understand when you talk. I’d use simple words, though. Simple ideas. They’ll patrol and fight for you on their own, and they’ll report back to you. You’ll have to work that out with them, animal signs you’ll understand, besides the ones you already know.”
Kel shook her head. It was wonderful and frightening and overwhelming. “Daine, I don’t know what to say. I—”
The older woman held up a hand. “Say nothing,” she said, her blue-gray eyes bleak. “I did them no favors, changing them, but they wanted it. I made sure of that. They want to help you, those animals who know you. They want to keep you and most of them that live here safe.” The tiny lines around her mouth and nose deepened. “And the wild birds said it would be interesting, to see how two-leggers think. I wonder if they’ll feel that way in a year. I hope they like it, because I can’t undo what I’ve done. But you need the help so badly.”
Kel laid a hand on Daine’s arm. “I’ll look out for them as best as I can,” she said quietly.
“Oh, that I knew, or I’d never have agreed to it,” replied Daine. “I don’t know how you sleep, with so many to look after, and now I’ve added to your load.”
“But I’m not the one galloping from fort to fort and sending animal spies to hunt for Blayce the Gallan,” Kel pointed out. “You must be exhausted.” She hesitated, then asked, “Any word of him?”
Daine shook her head, brown curls fighting their way out of her hairpins. “Word, oh, we’ve had that. None of it any good. None that tells us where to look for him. I’d settle for word of his man Stenmun, that captains his guard. You’d think even in Scanra it’d be fair hard to hide a man near seven feet tall, but all we ever get of Stenmun is a sniff here and there. He’s bought supplies here, or he’s carried killing devices there, but by the time I’ve word of it, he’s gone.” She pounded her knees with her fists. “It’s so maddening, Kel! If I could lay my hand on that Stenmun, I’d have little birds follow him to doom and beyond, straight back to his master. It’s like he knows to keep on the move, so we can’t get word of his being somewhere.” Her mouth tightened. “Well, sooner or later, I’ll have him. I’d rather it be sooner, though.”
Me too, thought Kel. She patted Daine’s shoulder. “You’ll feel better after you’ve eaten,” she said. “Come to the mess hall. Our cooks have a nice way with porridge.”
Daine rose, scattered more seed from her pocket for the flock of birds that had gathered around them, then offered Kel a hand up. “I like porridge,” she admitted as she and Kel walked toward the mess hall. “And there you go, trying to take care of me, too.” She laughed and reached up to give Kel’s shoulders a quick hug.
Kel was keeping Daine company in the mess hall when Idrius Valestone stormed up to their table, crimson with fury. Gil and one of the other convict soldiers followed him. “These criminals tell me I’m to work!” Idrius snapped at Kel. “Clearing latrines! I’ll have you know I’m a man of affairs and—” He threw up his hands as a small cloud of sparrows descended on him, their angry shrieks sounding like bird curses. “Call them off!”
“Nari,” Kel said wearily.
As one, the sparrows turned and flew back to land on the table between Daine and Kel.
“Jump,” Kel said in warning as the dog advanced on Idrius from behind. Jump raised his lone good ear and sat, panting, the image of canine innocence. Kel gave him a reproving glare, then regarded Idrius. “Everyone works here, Master Valestone. Everyone. The schedule changes every three days for all but the cooks, those who specialize in useful trades like carpentry and smithing, and the soldiers. That way no one gets stuck with one task for very long. I’ve done latrine duty. I’ve got it again next week. And if you don’t quiet down and stop looking for special treatment, I’ll make sure you are listed as having a talent for emptying waste tubs and getting rid of sewage.”
The man had list
ened, clenching and unclenching his fists. “You hold a grudge because I named you for the trull that you are, is that it?”
Jump growled softly.
Kel sighed. “Go away, and take your bile as well,” she recommended. “Otherwise I’ll have to do something with you, and my schedule’s busy enough as is.”
Gil reached for Idrius’s arm. The merchant yanked out of the convict’s grip and stalked out of the mess hall.
“You’ll have more trouble with that one,” Daine remarked. “He’s the kind that will complain if it’s sunny or cool. And, don’t bite me for saying it, calling you a loose woman is the easiest insult there is.”
Kel smiled crookedly. “Why should I bite you for pointing out something I’ve known since I was a page?” she asked. “If talk were true, I’d be the easiest wench in Tortall. There’s nothing I can do about that, so I may as well get on with my work.” She sighed. “That’s all this job is, Daine,” she explained. “Trying to please everyone and pleasing no one. And it will only get worse, not better.”
Outside they heard the shrieks of birds, not sparrows this time, but ravens and jays, dozens of them crying an alarm. Kel raced from the mess hall, Jump and the sparrows streaming behind her, headed for the gate. Merric, still half asleep, changed direction as he walked toward the cookhouse and ran with her, fumbling for the sword belt he didn’t have.
Tobe poked his head out of Kel’s window. “Tobe!” shouted Kel. “Sir Merric’s sword!” Tobe vanished.
Merric let Kel precede him up the stairs to the ramparts. Someone thrust her spyglass into her hand.
“Thank you,” Kel said, and put the glass to her eye. In the east, where the road from Fort Giantkiller emptied into the valley, she saw violent movement.
She turned to the gate trumpeter. “Sound call to arms,” Kel ordered.
As the trumpet’s blast carved the air, a raven soared overhead, coming out of Haven: Daine. She flew toward the distant struggle, calling to other ravens nearby. Stormwings also rose from the trees, shrieking with glee as they climbed into the air for a good view.
