Protector - Squire Part 7

"Jump, Crown, Freckle - stop!" Kel shouted. "He's supposed to do that! I don't always need help, you know!"

Jump looked at Kel over a mouthful of quilted legging and let go, dropping to the ground with a thump. He trotted to Kel, his lone ear flat, rump and shoulders down, the picture of the apologetic dog. The sparrows hovered briefly, looking from Kel to Raoul, then returned to their perch on the fence.

Raoul, to Kel's relief, was laughing. "Next time, explain it to them first," he suggested. "I think they scared poor Drum." He patted his black gelding's neck. He looked at Kel. "A bit different from the quintain, isn't it?"

Kel nodded fervently. "It is, my lord."

"Most squires don't get anywhere near the shield, their first time," he said with approval. "That training Wyldon had you do with the wood circles paid off."

"But what if I hadn't hit the shield?" Kel asked, worried again. "I might have speared you, sir!"

Raoul smiled. "My dear squire, I'd be a poor knight if I couldn't dodge an off-target lance, don't you think?"

"Oh," Kel said sheepishly. She hadn't thought of that.

"Ready for another go?"

Kel shifted her lance to her shield hand, shook out her right arm, then transferred shield and lance to her right hand and shook out her left. Both ached, but not too badly. "Yessir," she replied, settling shield and lance again.

Raoul trotted Drum back to their place as Kel took hers. Qasim walked out into the center, looking first to Raoul, then Kel, to make sure they were ready. He raised his arm, dropped it, and dashed for the fence.

"Go faster," Kel told Peachblossom, trying to grip her lance properly in her sore hand. She was grateful that she used an ordinary lance, not her practice weapon. That was weighted with lead. She doubted she could hold onto a weighted lance right now.

Grimly she lowered her weapon as Peachblossom raced down the jousting lane, headed for Raoul. There was the black target circle, jiggling with the beat of Drum's hooves and Raoul's movement. She stood in the stirrups and leaned forward, bracing herself for another clash.

Only later did the pain in her lance arm tell her that she must have struck Raoul's shield. She didn't notice it right away because she had taken flight. As she watched the blue sky above, Kel shed her lance and shield. She turned in the air to take her fall on the flats of her arms, as she did in hand-to-hand combat. Breath exploded from her lungs as she hit. She rolled onto her back, wheezing as she tried to breathe. Jump leaped onto her chest to lick her face frantically.

"Standing there does no good, Jump," Qasim said. He moved the dog and helped Kel to sit up. Jump whined. "Your wind is knocked out, my friend," Qasim said, slapping Kel's back. "Was flight as glorious as it looked?"

Kel gasped, then began to cough. Qasim offered his water bottle to her. She took a hasty gulp, coughed some more, and finally got her body under control. "I tell you what," she croaked, "why don't you take the next run and see for yourself? I won't begrudge you." She patted Jump so he would know she was alive.

"Do you remember how I did that?" Raoul had cantered over to see how she did.

Kel squinted up at her big knight-master. "I felt it," she said, marveling that she did remember. "You hit - and then you popped me out, like - like somebody levers a clam from the sh.e.l.l."

"Exactly," Raoul said with approval. "There's a trick to it. Often as not the other fellow knows, and nothing happens, but sometimes he's green or overconfident, and you can dump him on his behind. Ready for another go?"

Never again! cried her inner, sensible self. Her traitor mouth replied, "Yes, sir." She forced herself to stand, mount Peachblossom, and take the shield and lance from Qasim. Running away would be far more sensible, she scolded herself as she guided Peachblossom to his place and settled her lance. But whoever said I'm sensible?

After two more runs, Raoul's lance shattered. Kel rested while Qasim secured a coromanel and padding to a fresh lance.

On the next run Kel struck the center of Raoul's shield, but at an angle - her lance skidded off. His took her squarely, slamming her into the saddle's quilted back.

Kel thought over and over, I love my saddle, I love my saddle. In a plain saddle she would have flown over more ground than her birds. The high front and back of the tilting saddle kept her ahorse, and the quilting on it meant her bruises weren't as bad as they could be.

"You're done in, and I've worked up a sweat," Raoul said. "We've both time to soak before supper. I'll care for Drum, Kel. You can't see straight."

"I ought to argue, but I won't," she croaked. Her throat was caked with dust, and Qasim's water bottle was empty.

She looked up in time to see Raoul's grin. "I knew when I took you on you'd learn quickly."

She grinned back at him, pleased that he was pleased. Qasim tugged on her shield. She gave it to him, then pa.s.sed her lance down as well. I can do this, she thought, gripping the saddle as she readied to dismount. It's how I got up here in the first place.

Gritting her teeth, she pulled one trembling leg over the saddle's back. She slid to the ground and gathered Peachblossom's reins in her hand. The sparrows fluttered over, cheeping as anxiously as if she were a fledgling they had misplaced. Tiny beaks ran through the sweat-matted hair that stuck out from under her helm.

When one of them stuck his beak into her ear, Kel sighed. "Stop it. I'm fine," she told them softly. "Just... pounded. For hours. Like you pound salt fish before you can eat it." She turned to lead Peachblossom to the gate and got a surprise. They had an audience: servants, men from the Own, and a few Riders, including Commander Buri.

I'm so glad to entertain people, Kel thought. She put on her best, most unreadable, Yamani Lump face and led Peachblossom to the gate.

Dom held it open, shaking his head. "You're alive. Most people who go five rounds with my lord can only babble about funeral plans."

"Their lances were padded, for Mithros's sake," Lerant pointed out crossly. "How much harm could they do?"

"Good," Buri said. "You get one and have a go."

Kel ignored them as she and Peachblossom trudged to the stables. She wasn't at all sure that she didn't need to make funeral plans.

How she groomed Peachblossom she had no idea. It felt as if she simply leaned against him while he rubbed his side along the brush. Once he was settled, she fed him and Hoshi, then lurched outside. She knew she'd want to live after a soak.

The women's baths were empty when she sank her throbbing flesh into the hottest pool. She dozed briefly until a group of women, servants by their talk, waded into the far end. With them came bath attendants: one gave Kel a sponge and soap scented with lily of the valley. Kel scrubbed herself and washed sweat-sticky hair as the women talked of work and families.

She caught an attendant's eye and stood; the woman came over with a large towel. As Kel climbed out of the water, the conversation behind her came to a halt. The attendant took a step back. Kel frowned, puzzled, and reached for the towel.

"My dear!" someone called. "My dear, wait!"

Kel looked behind her. Two women swam over and climbed out beside her. Everyone in the pool seemed shocked or frightened; the two who approached her looked worried.

"Your back is covered with bruises," the older woman said as her companion touched Kel's shoulder. "They look painful, and recent. And your arms and hands are scarred."

Kel twisted to look behind her, wincing as her ribs protested. She could see only a large bruise covering one hip. The scars, tokens of the griffin's regard for her, were easy to find. The worst, the deep pockmark between her thumb and forefinger, was swollen after her afternoon's lance work.

"You don't have to bear this," the younger woman said. "The Moon of Truth Temple will take you in. They'll protect you."

"They'll get the man who did it," the older woman said. The younger one and the attendant nodded. "Even if it's a n.o.ble. After the rapes last winter, they have a new commander for their troops. She's very aggressive."

Kel suddenly realized what was wrong, what they were trying to say. They thought a man had beaten her. She began to giggle, then to laugh.

It took some time to convince them that her injuries were normal for a squire who was silly enough to joust with Lord Raoul and get stuck with a baby griffin.

Kel dressed, fed the griffin, and went to eat supper with the men of the Own. Raoul nodded to her as she came in, then returned to his conversation with Flyn and Glaisdan of Haryse. Kel knew better than to try to wait on him. When he sat in the mess hall with the Own, he was Knight Commander, and fended for himself. Only at banquets was she expected to wait on Raoul of Goldenlake and Malorie's Peak. Kel usually thought it odd to calculate things for two different Raouls, but tonight she welcomed it. Sitting with Dom, Qasim, and their friends was as much effort as she wanted to make today.

After supper she walked back to her quarters and fed the griffin. All she wanted to do after that was lie down and read.

Looking around to make sure she had nothing else to do that was pressing, she saw that the connecting door to Raoul's study was open. She looked in. He sat at his desk, sorting through papers.

He grinned when he saw her. "Kel, my squire, pull up a chair. Tonight we start lessons in calculating supplies for different numbers of men under your command."

Kel looked at him, seeing unholy amus.e.m.e.nt in his face. He had to know how her body felt. Finally she said, "Begging my lord's pardon, but you are a bad man."

He laughed. By now she had learned that she could get away with remarks Lord Wyldon would call insubordinate. "I am a bad man," Raoul said, falsely contrite. "Chair, squire. If you'd like a cushion, there are some in the window seat."

Kel hobbled over to a chair and carried it to his desk. Putting it down, she eyed the papers, slates, chalk, and abacus he'd laid out, then fetched a cushion.

Some time later she reviewed a problem he'd just set her: to calculate the number of bowstrings a company of archers might need for a six-week campaign in damp country, using a formula he'd given her. Kel put the slate down. "My lord, if I may..."

He was writing in an account book, waiting for her to solve the problem. He put his quill down. "What?"

"You say to calculate for people under my command. These problems are for large groups, not the ten-man squad sizes we learned as pages. Um..." She hesitated. How could she phrase it so he wouldn't think she felt sorry for herself?

"And?" he nudged.

"Sir, people never wanted me to make it to squire. They won't like it any better if I become a knight. I doubt I'll get to command a force larger than, well, just me."

Raoul shook his head. "You're wrong." As she started to protest, he raised a hand. "Hear me out. I have some idea of what you've had to bear to get this far, and it won't get easier. But there are larger issues than your fitness for knighthood, issues that involve lives and livelihoods. Attend," he said, so much like Yayin, one of her Mithran teachers, that Kel had to smile.

"At our level, there are four kinds of warrior," he told Kel. He raised a fist and held up one large finger. "Heroes, like Alanna the Lioness. Warriors who find dark places and fight in them alone. This is wonderful, but we live in the real world. There aren't many places without any hope or light."

He raised a second finger. "We have knights - plain, everyday knights, like your brothers. They patrol their borders and protect their tenants, or they go into troubled areas at the king's command and sort them out. They fight in battles, usually against other knights. A hero will work like an everyday knight for a time - it's expected. And most knights must be clever enough to manage alone."

Kel nodded.

"We have soldiers," Raoul continued, raising a third finger. "Those are warriors, including knights, who can manage so long as they're told what to do. These are more common, thank Mithros, and you'll find them in charge of companies in the army, under the eye of a general. Without people who can take orders, we'd be in real trouble.

"Commanders." He raised his little finger. "Good ones, people with a knack for it, like, say, the queen, or Buri, or young Dom, they're as rare as heroes. Commanders have an eye not just for what they do, but for what those around them do. Commanders size up people's strengths and weaknesses. They know where someone will shine and where they will collapse. Other warriors will obey a true commander because they can tell that the commander knows what he - or she - is doing." Raoul picked up a quill and toyed with it. "You've shown flashes of being a commander. I've seen it. So has Qasim, your friend Neal, even Wyldon, though it would be like pulling teeth to get him to admit it. My job is to see if you will do more than flash, with the right training. The realm needs commanders. Tortall is big. We have too many still untamed pockets, too cursed many hideyholes for rogues, and plenty of hungry enemies to nibble at our borders and our seafaring trade. If you have what it takes, the Crown will use you. We're too desperate for good commanders to let one slip away, even a female one. Now, finish that" - he pointed to the slate - "and you can stop for tonight."

Kel wrote the answer without working the problem out on the slate. She liked mathematics, and could do far more complicated sums than this one in her head.

Raoul glanced at her answer. "Show-off," he told her. "Begone!"

Kel obeyed, bowing to him before she closed the door behind her. Then she sat beside her window, staring out at the torchlit courtyard. He had given her serious matters to consider.

Her days took on a pattern. In the morning she fed the griffin, bathed him if he needed it, preened him while trying to keep him from savaging her fingers, and got him to exercise his wings. She took care of her latest griffin wounds, then tended Lord Raoul's armor and weapons. After that she looked after her own gear and fed the griffin again. In the early afternoon she practiced weapons with men of the Own and rode Hoshi to get used to the mare and her paces. She gave the griffin yet another feeding and more exercise, picked up the things he knocked over as he prowled the room, then left for the stable. There she saddled Peachblossom and rode him to her flying lessons from Raoul, always with far too many people gathered to watch. A hot bath and gossip with the serving women followed, then supper, a last meal for the griffin, and finally lessons in logistics and supply, the proper military names for planning and paperwork.

It was nice to have a routine, if only for a while. Two emergency calls came in during those days, but they required one squad or two, not Third Company. Kel knew Raoul would have liked to go, but he seemed to feel her tilting and logistics instruction to be more important.

They had been jousting for three weeks when Raoul came to the grounds with two new men. They were dressed for practice and leading mounts with tilting saddles. Kel knew the knight, Sir Jerel of Nenan, only because she had been interested in the man who chose Garvey of Runnerspring as his squire. Garvey had belonged to the clique led by Joren of Stone Mountain. Seeing Kel now, Garvey made a face and murmured something to his knight-master.

Raoul introduced them to Kel - if he knew of the feud between Kel and Joren's old crowd, he hid it. "We need a change of pace," Raoul explained. "You want to tilt against different opponents, to learn their techniques."

"You're going to enter her in the tournaments during the Grand Progress, Raoul?" asked Sir Jerel with a smile.

Raoul nodded. "I'm going to win money on her," he said, with a wink at Kel. "Squire Garvey, why don't you two give it a try?"

Garvey bowed and led his mount to the far end of the tilting lane. Kel watched him go, wondering if he planned anything nasty. Joren claimed that he had changed after he became a squire - perhaps Garvey had, too.

Kel led Peachblossom to her starting point and mounted up, then positioned her lance and shield. What had Garvey been up to during the last two years? Had he matured at all? Sir Jerel had been posted on the southwestern coast, helping to defend that part of Tortall from slave traders and freebooters. Garvey would have seen a fair bit of combat.

Raoul gave the signal. Garvey kicked his horse into a gallop as he brought his shield down and his lance up. Kel followed suit, narrowing her focus to her target.

Garvey hit her shield squarely, thumping her back in the saddle. Kel struck his shield as well; he didn't falter. She rode back to her place, taking inventory of her pains. Apart from the fading ache of impact in both arms, she barely had any. Even those weren't as bad as they would have been had she clashed with Raoul.

There was the signal. Now Garvey galloped down the lane hard: he meant business. He and Kel struck each other's shields squarely. Kel resettled herself and came on for their third pa.s.s, knowing just where to strike to slam the shield into its bearer. Instead, her lance shattered on contact. Garvey's skidded off her shield. Instead of turning his mount, he surged forward. In a slide, hook motion, he locked Kel's shield with his, trapping her.

"Getting fancy, aren't you, Lump?" he asked with a crooked smile. "When do you surrender and go home?"

Kel shoved sideways, freeing her shield. "Never," she retorted. "You want to dance, or do you want to take another run?"

"I'd love to knock you on your rump, but I'm late for my appointment at the perfumery," he retorted, turning his mount. "The scent I've been wearing just isn't fussy enough." He shook his head. "I need a feminine perfume, the way court is going to the girls." He rode over to speak to his knight-master.

Raoul walked out. "Are you all right?" he asked Kel. "Was he being unchivalrous?"

Kel sighed. "No - he was just being Garvey."

"I see," Raoul commented, his voice dry. "Are you done in, or would you like a go with Jerel?"

"If he wishes to, I'd be honored, my lord," Kel said, forgetting about Garvey.

Jerel mounted and took his place at one end of the lane. Qasim brought Kel a fresh lance with coromanel tip. He hadn't padded it, as he did the lances she and Raoul used. Kel hoped he knew what he was doing. As she took her place, she realized Garvey's lance had not been padded, either.

I guess - I hope - Sir Jerel doesn't hit as hard as my lord, she thought. Raoul gave the signal. Peachblossom surged into his mild gallop without being told: he was used to the routine. Kel thundered toward Jerel, focusing on his shield, and struck him squarely. He did the same to her. There was more force behind his impact than Garvey's, but it was still bearable. Taking her place for the next run, Kel wondered if she would measure every opponent by Raoul.

At least I'm not flying yet, she thought as Raoul gave the signal.

She and Jerel hit one another perfectly. Kel rode to her start point, thoughtful. Jerel wasn't as strong in the saddle as Raoul. And he didn't surge hard behind his lance - because she was a squire, or because she was a girl?

Raoul gave the signal. Kel and Jerel came on, Kel studying the knight. She rose, changed position, and jammed her lance into Jerel's shield, just to one side of the center boss. As she struck she threw her entire weight behind the thrust.

Jerel's shield jerked aside; Kel's lance rammed through. Jerel swerved to avoid being hit. Kel jerked her lance up as Peachblossom turned.

"Whoa," she ordered. The gelding halted.

Sir Jerel turned, shaking his head. "Well done, squire!" he called. "If I'd been in armor you'd've had me on the ground!" He shook out his shield arm as Kel always did after a pa.s.s with Raoul.

Kel wondered if she ought to go again and see if she could unhorse the man. A look at Peachblossom changed her mind. His withers were sweat-streaked. While he could go longer and might have to one day, she saw no reason to exhaust him to satisfy her pride.

"Thank you, Sir Jerel," she said politely instead. "You're too kind."

Raoul walked over to take her shield and lance; Dom came to do the same service for Jerel. "Well said, Kel," he told her quietly. "I see you know it's bad form to gloat."

"If I'd actually had him out of the saddle I'd have gloated a little," she replied. "Maybe not. He's a decent sort."

Raoul grinned up at her. "And so are you. Go on, take Peachblossom in. I'll see you at supper."

seven.