Lady Knight. Tamora Pierce
‘Mithros save us, they’ll allow just any freak of nature up here, won’t they?’ a familiar male voice proclaimed. Kel, Merric, and Neal turned to see the speaker. One of the sledge guards, a tall, broad-shouldered young man, dismounted from his horse. Bright blue eyes blazed and a broad grin flashed in a face splattered with mud. Under other mud Kel could see the familiar tunic, chain mail, and armband of a sergeant in the King’s Own. ‘Meathead!’ he called, handing his reins to a guard. ‘They sent you out with no keeper?’
Neal laughed and strode forward to hug the slightly taller man despite the mud. Kel almost ran to the newcomer as well, remembering just in time that a commander couldn’t throw herself at an old friend. She knew Domitan of Masbolle, Neal’s cousin and a sergeant of the King’s Own, very well indeed. They’d become friends during her four years with the King’s Own. She’d had a terrible, unreturned, crush on him – he was handsome, mud or no.
Neal pushed Dom away. ‘Insubordinate!’ he scoffed. ‘That’s Sir Meathead, to you. What have you been doing, chasing mudhoppers?’
‘It’s a skin treatment. I’ve got so chapped here in the north,’ retorted Dom. He turned to Kel and bowed. ‘Lady knight,’ he said, and straightened with a wide grin. ‘You did it. We knew you would.’
Kel reached out her hand; they clasped forearms, Dom squeezing hers tightly before he let go.
Another voice sounded out. ‘Squire Kel – I mean, lady knight!’ The other men who’d been guarding the sledge came over. Kel cheerfully shook hands with each of them, Dom’s squad in the King’s Own. One hot day the previous summer, at a place called Forgotten Well, she had commanded these men after an arrow shot had put Dom out of action. Both Wolset and Fulcher now wore mud-splashed armbands with the circle mark for a corporal. Dom had lost one corporal before he’d been wounded; the second was killed after Kel took command. She’d given Wolset a field promotion to corporal for keeping his head, and Dom had confirmed it. Two of the other six men before her she did not know. They simply bowed to her and stayed back, watching with interest.
‘What are you doing here, anyway?’ she asked Dom when the greetings were over.
‘Lord Wyldon asked for one of our squads to work here till the place is finished, since we’ve been in the area almost a year. It’s just coincidence that my boys got tapped,’ Dom told her. ‘Have you seen Giantkiller? Just when we got the place all fixed up, the regular army kicked us out. I bet they ruined all of our chair cushions.’
‘I noticed a sad lack of taste,’ Neal said in his usual drawl, ‘but I supposed it was left over from when the King’s Own lived there.’
Dom grinned, then looked at Kel. ‘Do you like your flag?’ he asked.
She smiled at him with all the gratitude in her heart. ‘I love it,’ she told him.
‘He don’t get all the credit,’ Corporal Wolset said. ‘It was me that thought of it.’
‘And you what nearly ruined the embroidering,’ retorted Corporal Fulcher.
Dom cleared his throat. ‘Here comes command. We’ll talk later, Lady Kel, Sir Meathead.’ He waved his squad back to the sledge. They helped the civilians unload the logs.
‘That was friendly,’ Merric remarked, folding his arms.
‘They’re from Third Company,’ Kel said. ‘We rode together for four years.’
‘Dom’s squad fought one of the metal killing devices under Kel’s command.’ Neal’s voice sounded clearly over the racket of nearby hammers and saws. His wry tone told Kel what he thought of her not mentioning such important specifics. ‘Dom got shot; they lost two men.’
‘And it took all of us to beat the cursed thing,’ Kel retorted, wishing Neal hadn’t spoken. It seemed like bragging, even if it was Neal’s comment, not hers.
‘You fought one of those things?’ Elbridge demanded, hard eyes fixed on Kel.
She was starting to feel cross. She didn’t want to boast. Wolset had trapped the thing’s head as the other men roped its limbs. Still, she didn’t appreciate the captain’s disbelief, either. ‘Together with Sergeant Domitan’s squad, captain,’ she replied, locking her hands behind her back as a reminder to keep her face and voice bland and polite. ‘None of us wants to repeat it.’
‘Mithros witness that,’ murmured Duke Baird.
Wyldon and the captain murmured the ritual reply ‘So mote it be,’ Neal and Merric just a syllable behind them. Kel said nothing. She didn’t think anything she said to Mithros on the subject of the killing devices would stop the war god from allowing more of them to swarm over the border that summer.
After lunch, Wyldon, Kel, Merric, the captain, Owen, and a squad rode out to view the land immediately around the fort, returning with Elbridge’s regular patrol as the sun vanished behind the western mountains.
That night the soldiers who rode with Lord Wyldon took supper in the barracks where they slept. Those who would remain to guard the camp – recovering wounded men, convicts, and such whole soldiers as Wyldon could spare – Dom’s squad, and the civilian loggers, carpenters, smiths, and men-of-all-work took their supper in the mess hall. The nobles, Captain Elbridge, and Dom shared a table at one end of the building.
Listening to the men talk, Kel wished that Dom and his squad were to stay all summer, and not just because he was easy on the eyes. Cleaned up and wearing a fresh blue tunic, Dom was fair-skinned, with Neal’s curved brows and that same long nose, wide at the tip. Dom had a relaxed, comfortable charm that made anyone feel confident. That charm could help to ease Kel’s dealings with the men she had to command. Dom would influence those who believed Kel to be no warrior. Like Raoul, Dom had always taken Kel’s fighting skills as a matter of course. He would make it clear to any doubters that she pulled her weight in a fight or a march. She knew that she couldn’t depend on Dom, though. Once the real fighting began, he would return to Fort Steadfast and Raoul.
Over supper, news from the palace and the border was traded. Kel let the others do the talking as she sneaked bits of meat to Jump. At last Lord Wyldon pushed his plate away. Duke Baird had finished some time ago, and Captain Elbridge was nearly done.
‘Keladry,’ Wyldon said quietly. ‘Time.’
‘Yessir,’ Kel said automatically. She extracted herself from her seat between Neal and Merric, then wiped her hands on a handkerchief. For a moment she nearly forgot and raised her hands to check her hair but stopped herself in time. It would not do for men whom she was to command to see her do something so feminine when her mind should be on business.
I can’t do this, she thought desperately as she took a last swig of cider and set down her cup. I’m eighteen! Someone should be commanding me, not the other way around! Wyldon’s trusting me with their lives, and me with the paint still wet on my shield …
Somehow her feet and legs carried her down the long rows of men and tables, past Tobe and Saefas to the open part of the hall. Before her now sat four squads of soldiers, forty men in uniform, and about sixty-five civilians who were all refugees. These were the first people she had to deal with in her new position, and they would carry their impression of her to those who would arrive soon.
Kel looked for something to stand on and found a wooden box. She wiggled it when she put it in position, just to make sure it could bear her weight. The men, who had watched her come their way, chuckled quietly.
Kel looked up and smiled. ‘There’s so much of me,’ she explained. ‘It would be undignified if I stepped on it and it broke.’
Another, louder chuckle rose from them. One of the knots in her chest came undone. Just like the men of Third Company, they liked a joke at an officer’s expense. Carefully she stepped onto the box: it held her. She waited as men set down their forks and knives.
As she waited, she looked them over, face by face. None of them,