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Chapter Text

Part I – Samradh 

June – August, 461 HE

Chapter One — Returning

15–18 June

“We can’t go much further tonight, Kel.”

            Trudging beside Peachblossom in the summer dusk the grim-faced young woman in armour looked wearily round at Neal, walking beside Magewhisper. Each warhorse bore three young children, and though neither animals nor people were complaining she could see how tired all were. Behind her many children were nodding as they rode or stumbling as they walked, and the half-starved adult refugees were close to exhaustion. Looking ahead she could see Dom’s squad on point were faring better, but the sparrows who had been scouting for them had begun to roost on the warhorses’ manes. Uinse and the other convict soldiers were struggling, and all the dogs had lolling tongues. Kel’s own legs were a burning, leaden ache, but had she been on her own she would have walked until she dropped.

            “No, I know.”

            Neal grimaced sympathy with the frustration in her voice. Since leaving Castle Rathhausak in flames behind them four days before they had seen no sign of pursuit, but just being in enemy territory made his shoulder-blades itch. For Kel the responsibility of command made it worse, and he knew she had despite everything hoped to reach Tortallan soil today, or at least to contact the smugglers. When in mid-morning Tobe had been able to summon from the river-meadows the Scanran horses he’d persuaded to wait there a week before, on their outward journey, Neal had himself hoped that with extra mounts they might make it today. But logistics dictated otherwise. Driven as all were by fear of pursuit and hope of sanctuary, sixteen knights and soldiers, one-hundred-and-eighty-three rescued children ranging from infancy to the cusp of adulthood, three injured Tortallan civilians, and more than forty painfully thin Scanran refugees did not—could not—cover ground at more than a walk. Without the scores of horses they’d taken from the stables at Rathhausak it wouldn’t have been even that.

            “We need to be in better shape to cross the Vassa anyway. And Mithros knows what the smugglers will say when we show up, especially if the others crossed a few days back.”

            He saw Kel try to summon a grin, then simply nod.

            “I’ve wondered about that. We’re hardly what they bargained for. But the flatboats Stenmun used might be on this side of the Vassa, and I want to take all the horses across if we can. Else we’ll be crawling for another week to reach Mastiff.” Kel stumbled, righting herself with effort and reaching up to steady the five-year-old sitting on her shoulders. “Sorry, Meech,” she murmured, but the boy hadn’t woken from the doze Neal’s healing of his gashed leg had induced.

            “Mmm. Flatboats. Lovely.” Neal’s mind caught up with his mouth, and he frowned. “You think they’ll refuse us help?”

            “No.” Without Meech’s weight and her wound Kel might have shrugged. “We’d have nowhere to go, and I think that old mage would weigh in. But I don’t want to be leaving a trail of IOUs. It won’t help.”

            Neal thought about that, blinking. “Help with what?”

            Kel’s look tried for Yamani-blank but was tinged with emotions he couldn’t identify.

            “With whatever charges we face. Dom and his men are covered by Raoul’s orders, but I don’t know about the rest of us. And there’s the Scanran refugees too—that’s already a hefty bill for food and shelter.”

            Neal blinked again. “Kel, you can’t seriously be worrying about that? We’re heroes, for Mithros’s sake!” His voice was indignant. “We’ve rescued more than four hundred people—I still can’t believe it—and killed almost as many Scanrans. Even the Stump’s not going to punish you for that!”

            Kel sighed, again reaching up to steady Meech. “Who says the decision’ll be in his hands? Neal, every one of us under arms, except Dom and his squad, is guilty of whatever mix of disobedience, mutiny, desertion, and treason General Vanget or the King chooses to charge us with.” Her forehead creased. “I hope and pray you are safe, on your father’s account and as a healer, and I’ve more-or-less persuaded myself that if they don’t charge you they can’t charge Merric, Esmond, or Seaver. And the other ranks and convicts can say they just did as they were ordered.” She grimaced. “But I’m worried for Owen.”

            Neal frowned, surprised by the political flavour and not liking the implications. “And you, Kel? You really think you’ll face a charge of some kind? What about your father’s account? Your parents are central to the Yamani treaty.”

            “Maybe so, but I can’t hide behind the treaty. It might compromise Cricket and Yuki. And Roald. They have a bad enough time of it already.”

            “What? Why does Yuki have a bad time of it?”

            Kel shook her head, as much as Meech’s dangling legs allowed. “Just as Yamanis, Neal—funny-faced barbarians, remember, defiling the realm. Do you really want to add association with treason?”

            “Only the dimmest conservatives could think that.”

            This time Kel did manage a crooked grin. “Who are among the most important and vocal, Meathead.” The grin faded. “Think about it, Neal. If the King knows—and I bet he does—the Council will be involved, and some of the worst conservatives are on it. What kind of golden opportunity do you think my undoubted mutiny and arguable treason offers them?” Neal scowled. “They’ll be drooling for my head. And what kind of defence is rescuing commoners? Bringing extra foreign mouths to feed when we can barely feed our own?”

            Neal’s scowl became thunderous. “And killing the necromancer whose machines were Scanra’s best weapons and whom everyone’s been searching for since the war began? Not to mention burning Maggot’s castle. Kel, I know you don’t like Jonathan, and Mithros knows I don’t blame you, but he’s not stupid. You’ve done a great thing, and he’ll see that.” He paused, looking at Kel, before adding shrewdly, “He’ll also know, as will the Stump and Vanget, that if he tries to punish you as a sop to conservatives who haven’t left Corus since the war began, he’ll have a lot of very unhappy people to contend with.”

            Kel shook her head minutely again. “The Lioness can’t shield me from this, Neal, nor should she. She has her own duty to discipline.”

            “I didn’t mean my esteemed former knight mistress, Kel, or even Raoul, Buri, the Wildmage, and Master Numair—though their collective anger is … well, unimaginable, actually.” He was rewarded with a ghostly grin. “I didn’t even mean all the Tortallan refugees you’ve just rescued, though I bet they’d be pretty vocal too.”

            “So who did you mean?”

            “The Own and the rank-and-file of the army.”

            Kel’s eyebrows rose. “Who have what to do with the price of peas in Persopolis?”

            Neal managed a tired snort. “You have no idea how they think of you, have you?” Needing no answer he pushed on. “You know the troops assigned to Haven as well as any commander can, and the refugees in your care. But you only see the rank-and-file of the army or the Own in passing or in battle, except for Dom’s squad, and you think they’re exceptions because you happened to be in command when you all met that first killing device. But I see them when they’re injured, or visiting friends who are, or trying to scrounge herbs and balms. And I know what they say about you. Even what they feel.”

            They trudged on for a bit, feeling the strain as the trail rose towards a bend. Neal entertained himself watching the struggle on Kel’s face. She was so tired—and, he suspected, in so much pain from her half-healed wound and morbid thoughts—that her Yamani mask was barely working, and he had long ago learned to read her blankness better than most. It wasn’t until the trail flattened, narrowing as it turned into a wood, that she gave in.

            “So what do they think and even feel, Wise Healer?”

            The mock-title stung a little, but Mithros knew she needed all the comfort she could get, though he thought her fears exaggerated.

            “They admire you.” He tried for a healer’s detached tone. “Love you, even, as a symbol, yes, but also as a reality. ‘Protector of the Small’ will just cap it.” Her bewildered look was pleasing, and a rueful memory drifted into his mind of Tobe explaining with barely suppressed laughter that Peachblossom savaged him so often because ‘he likes the noise you make when you’re bit’. “Kel, besides the Own and the soldiers at Haven, a lot of companies have rotated through Steadfast and Mastiff since this war began. The sentries and night patrols see you waving that glaive every morning before dawn. Soldiers talk to one another, you know, and they hear from the refugees too, about the way you’ve trained them and how you run Haven.”

            Kel blinked. “They do?”

            “Of course they do, Kel. More than half the Haven adults are women, many single or widowed, and those are in short supply at army forts in wartime. With all the training in self-defence you’ve given them, they’re also pretty picky about whom they see. So word passes—along with other things—and by now I shouldn’t think there’s a soldier on this front who doesn’t know about the Lady Knight Commander.” He summoned strength to wave a hand airily. “And it’s not that freak-show woman warrior thing you hate so much. It’s the noble lady who backs her commoners against all comers, the green commander whose first act was to throw her predecessor’s whip into the midden, the woman who rescued an orphaned horsemage from an abusive master”—he grinned—“and the twelve-year-old page who took the mean-dog skinner Breakbone Dell squarely in the tripes.”

            Neal cursed himself as Kel’s wide eyes darkened with painful memory of Gil Lofts, who had spread that tale and burned in the Tortallan pyre at Rathhausak, but he was saved further mistakes as they rounded another bend to emerge from trees into a small valley with a stream chuckling through its meadow. Dom’s scouts had halted on the far side and the man himself waited a dozen yards ahead, eyebrows raised in silent question. Kel nodded and without breaking stride swung round to walk backwards, producing a version of her command voice that made everyone listen without stopping them in their tracks.

            “People! We’re entering a small valley with a stream, and we’ll camp here tonight. Children, keep together, older caring for younger, and find a latrine area. Don’t bother digging trenches, but make sure it’s downstream of the camp. Owen’s in charge. Dom and his squad on sentry duty. Uinse, you and yours on KP, and gather dry firewood.” There were tired cheers, and Kel smiled. “We’ve seen no-one and we need hot food, but douse them as soon as cooking’s done. Civilians, please help the cooks and children as you can, but stay inside the perimeter. Tobe and Zerhalm, the horses, ponies, and dogs. Any blisters, sores, or footrot to Sir Neal. All clear?”

            A lone voice called back. “And what are you doing, Lady Kel?”

            Kel scowled magnificently. “Writing a report with no paper and less ink, Jacut. Elsewise the army’ll stop in its tracks, you know that.”

            A murmuring laugh went up, and Neal grinned. “See, Kel? I told you.”

* * * * *

Kel had actually completed her report the night before, unable to sleep, and to update it with the extra horses and absence of Scanran troops throughout the day took only a moment. Then she wandered round, checking with Tobe and Zerhalm that the animals were alright and feeding sleepy sparrows berries she’d collected during the day. She also slipped Peachblossom a wrinkled apple she’d kept back from her own rations, and leaned against his warm bulk before forcing herself back to her rounds. After making sure the firewood was bone dry, and seeing the cooks start to heat soup and stew game the dogs had caught during the day, she headed over to the children, trying to radiate good cheer. Their courage amazed her, but despite the lack of complaint she knew all were suffering not only the pains of riding and walking for so long but also the lingering terrors of their abduction. Owen had been wonderful with them throughout the journey, and even now was patiently helping some five- and six-year-olds scared of the dark yards to the latrine area, but he was deeply grieved by the loss of Happy and not his usual, ebullient self at all.  With Loesia and other older ones Kel cuddled and played with the littles, offering the solace of attention and her determination that they would all soon be safe.

            After a while, having seen to the adults’ needs, Neal joined them, checking for blisters and bruises and pulsing bursts of his Gift into small hands, thighs, and feet. After dealing with some grim saddle-sores on a mute eight-year-old he sat beside Kel as she finished a story about Daine winning a snow-fight one Midwinter by transforming herself into an ice-bear.

            “I remember that. Master Numair was still shouting about her cheating when she rolled him into a snowdrift.” He grinned at the avid children. “The complaints went on until Imbolc, at least! But what of you, Lady Knight? Any blisters to be healed? And how’s your shoulder? I’ve still some juice left.”

            Kel smiled wryly. Neal had half-recovered from draining his Gift at Rathhausak, saving her as well as Tobe, Saefas, and two of the convicts and trying vainly to save Gil Lofts, but thin rations, little sleep, daily slog, and the constant call for minor healings were no recipe for swift recharge.

            “It’s well enough, Neal.” And hurt abominably. “Save yourself against need. And to get better faster”—she gathered the littles with her eye and they chorused with her—“eat your vegetables!”

            Neal scowled. “Conspiracy! You have no respect! It’s meat I need to be a proper meathead, not all that green stuff.” The hushed giggles of the children were a kind of music, he thought, but as he cudgelled his brains for more jokes to offer Dom came to report.

            “Fires lit, soup heating, rabbits and squirrels stewing nicely, and perimeter secure, Kel. No alarms, but those stormwings who’ve been following us have roosted nearby—again.”

            “The same ones? You’re sure?”

            “Yes. I recognise that female Yamani one who was watching us at the castle.” He frowned. “They’re keeping their distance. And keeping quiet.” A shrug. “Do you want me to try to speak to them?”

            “No.” Kel shook her head. “Leave well alone, and let’s hope they do the same. But make sure all the sentries know where they are, please.”

            “Will do. Food’ll be ready soon, younglings.”

            They cheered quietly as he walked away and Kel marvelled again at their spirit.

            “Alright, then. Everyone ready to eat? Hands and faces washed?”

            By the time the children regathered, soup was ready—watered to stretch, but very welcome just the same. With so many mouths and such pressing haste food was a serious problem, and only the trail rations and cured meats they’d taken from Rathhausak had made it possible for all to have enough to keep going—but supplies for two-hundred-and-forty-six people walking more than a hundred miles over the best part of a week meant packhorses, forcing children who might have ridden to walk and slowing their progress down the Pakkai and Smiskir valleys. The dogs—and the one cat—had helped enormously with rabbits and squirrels they’d brought in, asking only for the guts and lights, but without the boarhound Shepherd, another casualty at Rathhausak, none could take larger game even if they started some. After tonight no soup-balls remained, breakfast would use the last trail rations, and Kel was horribly aware that if the smugglers—or if they were lucky, Tortallan troops—couldn’t feed them tomorrow, she’d have no choice but to slaughter at least one horse. Tobe knew it too, and was grimly determined it wouldn’t come to that.

            The convict ladling out portions of rabbit-and-squirrel stew peered at Kel shrewdly before making sure she got some extra meat, withering her protest with a glance at the visible gauntness of her wrist as she held out her plate. She also received an oversize portion of a tasteless vegetable mass that might once have been roots, and after finishing the few mouthfuls of stew applied herself conscientiously to it with sidelong glances at Neal that drew a scowl from him and laughter from the nearest children.

            “Just think of the advantages, Neal. You’ll never be able to complain about regular vegetables again.”

            His scowl deepened comically. “No vegetables are regular. And advantages for whom?”

            “Yuki, mostly. And everyone who ever eats with you.”

            “Ha. My Yamani rose completely understands the horror of vegetables.” He frowned. “Though why she thinks pickling everything helps is a mystery even to me.”

            Kel laughed. “Yuki made tsukemono? Good for her. Did she tell you there are markets in the Islands that sell nothing else? Just hundreds and hundreds of pickles.”

            “She said something like that, but there can’t really be hundreds of pickles, can there? There aren’t that many different vegetables.”

            “Of course there are. But it’s not just what you pickle, it’s what you pickle it in. There’s brine and vinegar, of course—but Yamanis use sake, cider, beers, oils, and wines of all kinds, and any of those can be specially flavoured. I remember loving the smell the first time I visited a pickle-market, when I sneaked out with the palace cooks who were buying supplies. I think I was six.” She smiled at the memory as she chewed her last, tasteless mouthful, wishing she had some umeboshi now; the tart sweetness of the pickled plums would help anything go down. “Will you and Yuki visit the Islands on honeymoon?”

            Neal’s face softened. “War permitting. After I proposed to her the Lioness helped us speak to her parents, in the fire, but she wants me to meet them properly.”

            “And show you off to her many cousins, I should think, as well as around the palace. You’ll be toast.”

            “A fate I shall meet with my usual wit and dignity.”

            “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

            The banter was cheering, and Kel could see the children relaxing with the warmth in their bellies and the humour in adult voices, but her fears weighed on her as bitterly as a new training-harness. To have exposed herself to a justified call for her head was, she knew all too well, the stupidest thing she could possibly have done, but she also knew that in the same circumstances she’d do it again, unhesitatingly. The possibility of having to make such a decision had been a bruise in her mind ever since the Chamber had shown her its appalling vision of Blayce’s workshop, and one part of her still felt a kind of relief that at least the waiting was over, come what may. But that may was fearful, and at worst might prove a bitter social and political shame for her family as well as a place on Traitor’s Hill for herself. The thought of the pain she might cause those she loved made her cringe, though she hoped and believed her punishment would be kept an army matter. King Jonathan had always preferred clean hands.

            Pushing down the black mood she hauled herself upright, wincing at the stiffness already gathering in her legs, and collected empty bowls from the children to rinse and return to the cooks. Uinse, Jacut, and the other convict soldiers on KP had needed no orders to feed themselves or to keep soup and stew back for Dom’s squad, whom they now relieved on watch. She greeted her first true comrades-in-arms softly as they drifted in from the perimeter, and sat with them companionably as they ate. Fulcher and Lofren were the squad’s first losses since Derom and Symric had been killed at Forgotten Well the year before, and the deaths had hit them hard, especially Dom. Like Owen, he’d been unflagging but without his usual cheer, and her own grief left her feeling she had nothing to offer him in comfort; not that anything anyone could offer would change the facts. The convict squads, issued inferior equipment and far less well trained despite her efforts in the time she and Merric had had charge of them, had suffered much more seriously, losing six of fourteen at Rathhausak as well as the man they’d found hanged by the slavers at Pakkai junction—but they hadn’t been together as long and had yet to develop the intense camaraderie of the Own.

            Clearing his plate, Dom set it down and looked around.

            “Same shifts as last night, and keep an eye on those stormwings.” They all nodded. “Orders for tomorrow, Lady Kel? Straight on to the main crossing or turn off for the smugglers’ den?”

            “Straight on, Dom. We’re too many for the narrow tracks, and it would add miles to the journey. I’m hoping there’ll be flatboats this side of the Vassa, but if they’re on the Tortallan side we’ll have to ask the smugglers to run them across to us.”

            “Makes sense.” He paused. “I’m half-expecting a picket at the crossing, though, if the other lot made it back with the adults. I don’t know how long it would have taken them with so many on foot, but from their trail-sign they’re at least three days ahead of us, so they should have reached Tortall two days ago, latest. Maybe three. And with any luck they’ll have met a patrol and got messengers off. It depends who’s making decisions but I’ll be surprised if a lot of orders haven’t already been given.”

            Kel nodded, having made the same calculations herself. “Let’s hope so. But while I’ve got you all here there is one other thing, because we might not like some of those orders.”

            To her surprise it was Wolset who broke the tense silence.

            “Worried about punishments, Lady Kel? Sir Neal said you was. But he’s right—we’re the heroes, this time.”

            “I hope so, Wolset. And I thank the gods you’re all protected by my Lord’s orders. But however you cut it, Owen and all the knights, including me, are likely to be in hot water. But whatever happens to us I don’t want any of you getting yourselves in trouble protesting.” She held up a hand to forestall retorts. “I mean it. If it is bad, and it might be, it’ll be dangerous to mess with. But what I really wanted to ask you all was to look out for Tobe, if I can’t. Get him to Onua Chamtong, will you? Or to Daine. He’ll be safe and valued there.”

            “We will, Kel. I will. But for once I agree with Sir Meathead—you’re not thinking straight.” Dom’s look was as shrewd as the convict’s who’d served her food. “Almost as if you think you ought to be punished for what happened at Haven, rather than rewarded for an astonishing rescue and killing that godshat mage.”

            He spat aside as Kel blinked surprise at his blasphemy, a rarity despite often colourful language with his men.

            “But I don’t think my Lord’ll see it that way, or even Sir Meathead’s Stump.” Dom stood, stretching. “Nor yet the King. But that’s for later. For now, first shift, on your way, and let Uinse’s boys get some kip. I’ll bed down here until third shift—wake me at need and take no chances. Clear?” There were nods all round. “Walk with me a moment, Kel? I haven’t shown you where the stormwings are.”

            “Of course.” She let him pull her up, feeling even in her bone-weariness a little heartflutter at his touch and the concern in his blue eyes. But nothing showed in her face: she’d realised long ago that her scarred, thickset body could offer nothing like the graceful curves Dom sought out at the Palace, and she wouldn’t risk a crucial friendship over hopeless mooning. As the squad headed back on watch or to their bedrolls, they walked slowly upstream, stopping short of the perimeter where Alden of Uinse’s squad stood guard. The convict’s mark on his forehead showed pale as he turned to look at them, nodding respect before looking outwards again. Their own eyes automatically scanned the meadow and the darker treeline beyond. Dom spoke quietly without turning his head.

            “I’ve been thinking about the reports we need to make, Kel. Not just the combat report, though that’s going to make good reading, but the situation report.” He paused, tensing as an owl hooted in the forests, then eased again. “Real one. Of course the King needs to know about Blayce’s death, if he doesn’t already. But I reckon the story those villagers have to tell ought to be made known, among Scanran soldiers as well as our own.” He glanced at her, then looked at his feet. “Until this week they were just the enemy to me, you know, but now I’m wondering how many of the soldiers we’ve been fighting knew how those killing devices were made. A liegelord who kills his own liegers’ children …”

            “I know, Dom, and I’ll say so, believe me. Burning the castle will mean something to Scanrans too—it’s a blódbeallár challenge, their blood and clan law. Besides, if the villagers are known witnesses as victims of Maggur’s atrocities it’ll secure their protection as well.”

            “Still thinking of others.” His voice was wry. “And what of the commander who rescued them? No, don’t answer. Just tell me if you’re going to bother telling anyone the Chamber of the Ordeal was involved.”

            Kel waited as Wolset passed them on his way to relieve Alden and the convict headed back to camp.

            “That’s tricky, Dom. You saw how Merric and the others reacted to anything about the Chamber. If even my friends don’t really believe me, why should anyone else?” He was silent. “I have to mention Irnai to explain why the villagers were so ready to help us, and anyone who sees her eyes will know she’s one of Shakith’s chosen. But if I start saying the Chamber chose me specially … well, my Lord might believe me, but gods, imagine the fuss and jeering there’d be.” She strove to keep bitterness out of her voice, looking away from him. “You know Stone Mountain and his cronies already claim I’ve corrupted the Chamber by being allowed to enter it, and I’ve just handed them a giant Midsummer gift by inviting any one of three capital charges. I don’t think either saying I’m a special case or admitting to nightmares and hearing voices would help.”

            When she looked back at Dom he was staring at her. “You do have witnesses, you know,” he said gently. “Neal, Owen, and I all heard it speak through Irnai.”

            “And how do you know that was the Chamber?”

            “You said it was …” His voice tailed away. “Oh. Mithros.”

            “Exactly. There’s no proof at all, Dom, unless the Chamber provides some, and I can’t count on that. It’s got no manners anyway.”

            Her grumpiness provoked a short laugh but Dom’s eyes were troubled. “Even so, Kel, promise me you’ll tell my Lord, Lord Wyldon, and the King? They ought to know and the King can truthspell you if he wants.”

            Kel thought about it. “Alright, Dom, those three. But why do you think they need to know? There’s nothing any of them can do about it.”

            It was his turn to look away.

            “I’m not sure, but I feel it’s so.” He hunched inside his filthy tunic. “I’ve never been much for talking of the gods. I’m a soldier. I just get on with what needs doing. But that old mage said the hand of fate was on you, and when I heard that awful voice come out of a little girl I knew the gods were watching us and I think they still are. In any case, the King should know what the Chamber did in case it happens again.”

            “I suppose. And I do promise. Now, where are those stormwings?”

            He accepted the change of subject and gestured up the valley. “About half-a-mile, to the west. Why do you think they’re following us?”

            Kel shook her head. “I don’t know, Dom. They’ve spoken to me twice now. When I was between Haven and Giantkiller one mocked me—well, rebuked me really—for assuming they’d defile a body I found. One of the clerks, who’d bled out. But back at Haven that Yamani female said they were half-sorry to have soiled our dead because it was a refugee camp.” Anger laced her voice. “She also said I was the only Tortallan commander who didn’t let them have the enemy dead, and if I had they might have restrained themselves. That’s partly why I left them the Scanran dead at Rathhausak.”

            “Partly?”

            She sighed. “If anyone ever deserved to be stormwing toys it was Stenmun and his crew. And we couldn’t burn or bury them, so I hoped for a profit on necessity. But I really don’t think the stormwings will try to harm us, and they might even warn us of any Scanrans. This will sound odd, but I think they might be guarding us, in a way. Daine once told me they like children, and feel for them.”

            “They do?”

            “Apparently. She said they have a hard time birthing their own young, and don’t like to see anyone’s mistreated. So maybe we’re in their good books just now.”

            “Huh. You never know what’ll you’ll learn next.” A genuine smile lit his face and her heart fluttered again. “You realise that makes them surprisingly like you? Terrors of the battlefield with soft spots for any youngling in trouble?” He laughed aloud at the indignation on her face. “Protector of the Small.”

            “Oy!” She punched his arm, without force. “I hate that name.”

            “Get used to it, Kel. It’s going to stick.” She made a face and he laughed again, softly. “I promise I’ll make Wolset stick to ‘Mother’, though, so you can rest easy.” He dodged a fist with more power behind it. “Hey, it’s better than ‘Sir Meathead’, isn’t it?”

            “Not by much, Dom. And if you tell anyone you think I’m like a stormwing, Tortall will not be big enough to hide in. That’s a promise too.”

            He raised his hands in mock-surrender, pleased to have lightened her mood. “Of course. But in that case we’d best shut up before we attract Wolset’s attention any more. We should get our heads down anyway if we’re moving at dawn.”

* * * * *

With everyone eager to reach Tortall they were on the move before dawn. The high cloud cover of recent days had cleared overnight and the waning gibbous moon gave enough light to break camp. The children ate the remaining rations on the move, and false dawn found them all more than a mile on their way. Soon sunshine began slanting across trees and meadows soft with summer growth, lifting hearts and hopes; the sparrows flew off to scout, and Kel picked up the pace a little. Of the stormwings there was no sign.

            With the sun still rising the trail topped a hill and they came to the true valley of the Vassa, catching a first glimpse of its waters sparkling to the south. Stepping up for a moment on Peachblossom’s stirrup, Kel realised they were a lot closer to the crossing-point than she’d thought, then whipped her head round as she heard Dom’s voice and Jump’s bark raised in challenge up the trail. A man had stepped out of the trees a dozen yards in front of them, hands wide.

            Calling a command to halt Kel dropped back to the ground, told Peachblossom to stay with Neal, and forced herself into a jog. Coming closer she realised it was one of the smugglers they’d met on the far bank; his gaze raked her, then flicked to the children on Peachblossom’s and Magewhisper’s backs.

            “You got your younglings, then. All of them?” He spoke in Common.

            “Yes, we got them.”

            “And the Kinslayer?”

            “Dead, with his mage-master.”

            “Ah.” His fist clenched. “Whose hand?”

            Kel blinked. “Mine, if it matters. The castle’s burned, too. And the survivors of Rathhausak village are with us.”

            “Ah.” He spat aside and then to Kel’s complete astonishment bowed to her. “Old Gella was right, Lady. Fate walked with you. And if ever a man needed killing, it was the Kinslayer.”

            Kel shrugged, wincing as her wound pulsed. “No argument from me. And thank you.” She decided there was no point in fencing. “Have you seen the other knights and the adults?”

            “Ay, we took them across three nights back. All two hundred and more.” He shook his head as Kel felt a weight lift from her. “More like ferrymen than honest smugglers.”

            She grinned. “Come peacetime you could try it. Do you know if the flatboats are on this side of the water?”

            He grinned back. “They’re not. But there’s a bunch of maroon soldiers guarding them on the other, and a picket on this, with the ropes strung.” Kel and Dom both sighed relief and the smuggler grinned again. “You won’t need us today—and a good thing if you’ve as many horses as I reckon you must.” He glanced up at the clear sky. “Good weather, too. The Vassa’s running calm as she ever does and you needn’t worry about Maggur’s men. They crossed to the west ten days back, and lost a battle the day after full moon. No survivors made it back this far east and there’s none within ten miles now. I think luck walks with you as well as fate, Lady.”

            He turned back towards the trees.

            “Wait.” Kel closed the distance between them and stuck out her hand. “Thank you, for everything. We wouldn’t have made it in time without your help, and your news now is trebly welcome.”

            His eyebrows rose but he took her hand gingerly. “You made good use of our help, Lady, and many beside me will drink to the Kinslayer’s death this night.”

            She let him go and he vanished among the trees in less than a minute. Dom shook his head, and Nari peeped apologetically from his shoulder.

            “Like a ghost. Sorry, Lady Kel. We should have flushed him earlier. I’ll be having words. Still, trebly welcome is right—the others all safe and help waiting at the crossing.”

            Kel nodded, and gave a sharp whistle to summon Peachblossom and tell Wolset, with the rearguard, to get everyone else moving again. Dom looked at her thoughtfully.

            “You think he’s telling the truth there’s no-one to hear us, then?”

            “Yes.  Remember Owen’s tale of a major Scanran crossing at the full moon? It explains why we’ve seen no-one. Go find that picket and get the flatboats brought across?”

            “Will do, Kel.”

            It was three miles before a side-trail forked off through a wooded notch in the bluffs and snaked down to the Vassa. Dom and his squad were clustered round four men in army maroon, and behind them Kel could see three flatboats being hauled across by more soldiers on thick ropes spanning the river. As she and Peachblossom trudged up to the talking men a hard-faced sergeant she didn’t recognise stood forward and saluted her, eyes straying back along the column.

            “Lady Knight. Sergeant Domitan says you have the refugee children and about forty Scanrans wanting sanctuary?”

            “We do, yes. Two-hundred-and-forty-six people, all told, Sergeant, including one-hundred-and-eighty-three children. Plus eleven dogs, a cat, and about one-hundred-and-eighty horses and ponies.”

            He whistled, but army discipline and experience held. “Well, that’ll take some ferrying. We’ll get started as soon as the boats get across.” He glanced back at the men hauling on the river. “Five minutes, about. You’re to head straight to Mastiff, my Lady. The other refugees you sent back with Sir Merric are there. There’s not enough barrack-space inside, so some are in tents outside the walls, but we couldn’t feed ’em anywhere else.”

            “Very well. And speaking of food, do you have any spare, Sergeant? The children have gone short for days.”

            He looked at her steadily. “You too, my Lady, by your face. We weren’t issued much more than trail-rations but we’ve taken some small game. I’ll get it heating and send word to Mastiff you need a cook-wagon to meet you tomorrow. For tonight, there’s a way-point about twenty miles east with enough for a full company at least.”

            “Thank you, Sergeant. That all sounds good. Now, how is this going to work?”

            It took the rest of the morning and half the afternoon, as well as heroic efforts by Tobe and Zerhalm in coaxing the horses and ponies onto the rocking flatboats. Kel dreaded to think what it would have been like without fresh soldiers working in relay on the ropes. She also sent silent thanks to any gods who might be listening for the sunshine and relative benignity of the fierce river. By common consent the children went first, older mixed among younger to keep them together on the far side and help with feeding them. When all were across the long process of ferrying horses began, Scanran adults among them in fours and fives to keep them calm, until only Kel and the friends who had accompanied her north were left to clamber aboard with their warhorses and be drawn slowly back to the Tortallan bank.

            By the time they disembarked most children were already remounted and within a few minutes the motley column was again underway. Five soldiers from the picket reinforced Dom’s squad as point and rearguard, and in little more than an hour the trail spilled onto the main road between Northwatch and Frasrlund. The broader, well-kept pathway allowed the horses to spread out and their pace to quicken, and as the sun westered Kel realised with a tightening chest that the younger children had begun to talk and laugh as they rode. She met Neal’s eyes and knew he shared her emotion.

            “I hadn’t realised how unnatural their silence was. Or how good it would be hear them sound carefree again.”

            “Me either. I’ll sleep better tonight than I have for a while. They will, too, as the nightmares fade.”

            “Let’s hope so. Are there any you’re worried about?” Kel shook her head. “What a dumb question. What they lived through was giving me nightmares from five hundred miles away.”

            “I knew what you meant, and yes, there’s some who’ll need help. Maybe for a while.” Neal gave a crooked smile. “We never really talk about this sort of thing, except among healers, and there isn’t usually much we can do except listen to people. Just make sure their carers know, if a child starts to talk about it, don’t hush them, let it spill.” His face grew thoughtful. “It’s like infection, I think. Talking’s a way of draining the wound so it can heal.”

            Kel chewed on the idea, wondering what her Yamani and Tortallan selves thought. “That makes sense. I danced round this with Yuki and Cricket once, when they were having a heart-to-heart about something. But they tried to use my experience with my ma and the raiders as an example, and I loved that memory so I didn’t really understand what they were saying.”

            Neal looked at her sidelong. “You should have told them about your dear brother dangling you off a tower.”

            No longer batophobic, Kel still winced at the memory. “But it was real heights that scared me, not dream ones.” She frowned, searching her mind. “Come to think of it, I never really had nightmares before I met the Chamber.”

            “Those ‘Nothing Man’ visions Tobe mentioned?”

            “Yes. And before that one with Lalasa and Cricket and everyone being auctioned off to Joren, or killed when he rejected them.”

            “What?” Neal’s eye were wide. “When was this?”

            “After Joren’s trial. I tested myself against the Chamber door, and that was what it showed me. For months I saw it whenever I slept.”

            “Wait. You touched the Chamber door again?”

            “Of course I did. Doesn’t everyone?”

            His eyebrows almost reached the unkempt hair sticking out under his helmet. “No, Kel, they don’t. And I told you not to. Why did you? Because of what Joren said at the trial?”

            “No. not really. I was doing it anyway, and that’s what happened that time.”

            “That time? Kel, please don’t tell me you did this more than twice?”

            She stared at him with genuine puzzlement. “Of course I did, about every six months. I thought you all did, but no-one said anything because you don’t, about the Chamber, and because it’s all too personal and horrible anyway.” A thought clicked. “Are you telling me that when you entered the Chamber for your Ordeal you’d only approached it once before?”

            “Too right I am. Once is plenty.”

            Kel stared again. “Neal, that’s crazy. Don’t you believe in scouting?”

            “Oh, I like that. You put yourself through tortures no-one else even thinks of doing and I’m crazy?” He shook his head sorrowfully. “All I can say, Kel, is that if you were chatting on a regular basis with that, that, sessile psychopath, no wonder it picked you for a mission.”

            “Huh.” They walked on, each digesting surprise. “What’s a sessile psychopath?”

            “A criminal lunatic that stays in one place.”

            “Huh.” A long pause. “It’s not mad. Or criminal. It’s just not human, nor mortal. Master Numair said it was an elemental, but I never really understood what that is.” A shorter pause. “And you heard it talking through Irnai. That’s not staying in place.”

            “True.” He frowned. “You should tell someone about that, actually. Who knows what the mobile psychopath will do next?”

            “Oh hush.” They passed a berry bush and Kel grabbed a handful for the sparrows who flitted back to rest on Peachblossom’s mane between scouting patterns. “Dom said I should report it as well.”

            “For once he’s right. Joking aside, Kel, the King ought to know it happened. It might happen again. And Lord Padraig, I suppose, in case it happens to anyone else.”

            “I promised him I would.” A very long pause. “I’ve been regretting it ever since.”

            “Why?”

            “Why d’you think, Neal? The Girl claims a special relationship with the Chamber of the Ordeal. Right.” Her voice dropped to a mutter. “Perhaps I slept with it, somewhere between all of you and Third Company.”

            Despite himself Neal laughed, then sobered. “I see your point, Kel, but Dom is right. This truth matters more than those stupid conservative lies.”

            “Maybe.”

            They rode in companionable silence, listening to the children, as shadows lengthened and the long dusk began. It was almost over, the summer stars beginning to show, when they came to the way-point, a clearing on the far side of a little ford, to find Dom’s squad and the army men had already started fires and set cauldrons of soup and what smelled like boar stew heating. They’d also broken out bales of hay for the horses and ponies, who pushed forward impatiently as they were relieved of their burdens and unsaddled. Kel secured some for Peachblossom before turning back to the mob of waiting children.

            With extra hands available end-of-day chores seemed ridiculously easier, but the children’s relaxation was great enough that despite tiredness their play became more energetic, and for the first time Kel could remember minor squabbles broke out. Picking apart two entangled six-year-olds, orphans from Goatstrack, Kel found herself helped by a strange corporal, an older man who must have had children of his own and effortlessly held one crying youngster while Kel held the other. Mindful of Neal’s words she let the tears flow, rocking the boy gently, and saw the corporal doing likewise. As sobs subsided he gave a smile.

            “How far’ve you come wiv ’em, me Lady?” His voice had the unmistakeable accent of the Corus slums.

            Kel added it up. “They were taken twelve days ago, and this’ll be the sixth night since we rescued them. We’ve come a bit over a hundred miles.”

            He gave her a respectful look. “Fair speed wiv such a passel o’ kids. It must ’ave been ’ard for you.”

            “Actually, they’ve been as good as gold, corporal. This is the first fussing we’ve had, even from the littles. It’s just that they’re relaxing, I think.”

            “Ah.” He set his burden down, and Kel did likewise, crouching to hug both children and gently admonish them to wash their hands and faces before eating. As they ran off, tears forgotten, he looked at her again, his eyes sad. “It was that bad, then?”

            She nodded. “It was, corporal. Not our journey, so much, but their capture and what came after. They’ve all seen things no-one should ever have to see.”

            “Ah. Well, they’re rescued now. I should get some wood.” He half-turned away, then swung back. “Beggin’ your pardon, me Lady, but what did the Scanrans want ’em for? From what the other lot said it weren’t just for slaves.”

            Kel hesitated but decided the soldier as much as the children deserved the truth, which was no secret anyway. “They were going to make more killing devices, corporal. One from each child murdered. And from what we saw and heard at Rathhausak, probably raped first by the mage doing the death-magic.”

            “No!” Eyes wide he spat, making the gods’-circle on his chest. “Black God take that mage.”

            “He already has.”

            “Ah, gods all bless you, me Lady.”

             “It was my pleasure, corporal.” She hesitated again, but hope and curiosity won. “Tell me, do you know if anything happened to the killing devices already in the field, about six days ago?”

            He nodded vigorously, eyes widening again. “They all stopped, me Lady, or so I ’eard back at Mastiff before I left. I ain’t seen them meself, but command was all runnin’ round squawkin’ on—let me see, now—the mornin’ o’ the eleventh, it bein’ the sixteenth today. An’ what the clerks said was, it was coz the killin’ devices ’ad stopped ’ere an’ at Frasrlund an’ the City o’ the Gods.” He stopped to let Kel complete her muttered prayer of thanks to Mithros, his eyes sharp with calculation. “It was you what stopped ’em, then, me Lady?”

            “That’s when we killed the mage, yes. I hoped it’d mean all the devices stopped, but who knows what’ll happen when mages are involved.”

            “You got that right, me Lady.” He made the sign against evil again. “Should I tell others, then? About the devices stoppin’, I mean. It’s no secret they did.”

            “Please do.”

            Kel went to tell Neal herself, who gave his own thanks as a healer, and hugged her quickly, as did Fanche and Saefas. Dom and his men, she discovered, had already learned the news and were elated, remembering the first device they’d fought together at Forgotten Well and feeling that Lofren’s and Fulcher’s deaths had helped achieve even more than the rescue of the children. Their joviality drew in Uinse and the convicts, who also cheered, having themselves faced the devices both victoriously and in the horror of Haven’s fall.

            With all in good heart as well as better rations and bigger portions than any of them had seen in days there was real warmth in the evening conversation, though to Kel’s mild irritation Wolset coaxed Irnai into repeating for the army men her prophecy of Kel’s arrival. There was  murmuring about the litany of names and unsubtle questions about Tobe as the ‘horse boy’ and Fanche as the ‘bitter mother’, as well as some very sidelong looks at the Protector of the Small. Neal, she thought glumly, was probably right that the Chamber’s ridiculous tag would stick, and her only comfort was that fuller bellies made for sooner and sounder sleep.

            They were later starting off the next morning, but not much, and the good trail with continuing fine weather allowed them to keep a faster pace. During the morning they crossed the Greenwoods River, passing the trail to Haven, and Kel found herself wondering with more urgency how Lord Wyldon would house the refugees. Haven itself was ruined beyond easy repair, and she thought the refugees would be as superstitious about rebuilding it as the soldiers were about rebuilding Giantkiller.

            By the time dusk drew down Kel reckoned they’d managed more than forty miles in the day, double their average in Scanra, but it was eighty from the Vassa crossing to Mastiff. Their last night on the road was made easier still when they were met by the promised cook-wagon and a squad of soldiers escorting three healers, to offer Neal relief with the children. The faster passage had made for uglier saddle-sores and she gave thanks for someone’s foresight—Lord Raoul’s, she’d bet, though to be fair she knew that despite Lord Wyldon’s manner as training-master he had his own soft spot for little ones.

            With a proper breakfast and wonderfully fresh bread available they started later still, and at the healers’ collective insistence kept the pace down, stopping frequently to allow children to switch places and animals. A further cook-wagon with a squad to guard it provided lunch and a longer break than usual, so it was early evening before Kel and Peachblossom led the long procession up the hillside into the great clearing that housed Mastiff. Coming from Haven she’d always ridden the courier-route over the hills, entering the open land from the north, and this western approach was unfamiliar—as were the scores of tents clustered around the fort, and the guards patrolling the treeline.

            The sergeant who saluted them where the trail entered the clearing gave a hand-signal, and Kel was barely past him when she heard the horn-call rising behind her into the dusk. The answer was prompt, and before its echoes died she could see people running towards them from the tents, and more emerging from the fort. By the time the whole column had entered the meadow they were surrounded by the rescued adults from Haven, full of tears and joy as they welcomed children who scrambled down from patient horses and ponies to hug and be hugged. Mindful of how many were orphans Kel dismounted herself, seeing Neal, Owen, and Dom do the same, and began lifting more children down from the bigger horses, hugging each hard before letting them run or stand blinking, and turning for the next. Tobe, summoning abandoned horses for corralling and fodder, had a broad smile on his face, and the expressions of parents and carers reunited with children they’d seen carried off by Stenmun and his men brought a lump to her throat. When groups began clustering round her, muttering gruff thanks and praises, she didn’t try to stop her tears. It wasn’t sobs that would have called out her Yamani mask, even now, just a silent overflow of relief and simple happiness at duty done.

            As the press eased she dried her face and led Peachblossom slowly towards the fort, Jump at her heels. Irnai skipped from among the Scanran refugees to grasp her hand, smiling. Kel smiled back, but her stomach hollowed as she realised why Irnai had sought her out, and her heart began to hammer as she caught sight of the three men standing outside the open gates of the fort, watching as the first children ran or were carried past them. Dom, carrying Meech and holding Gydo’s hand, was well ahead of her, and she saw Lord Raoul clap him on his free shoulder, asking something that drew a laugh and a bantering reply she couldn’t hear. Beside Raoul, the faces of Duke Baird and Lord Wyldon seemed blanker, though after a moment she saw Baird spot Neal in the group behind her and abruptly start towards him. Courteous as always he detoured to pass her and paused a moment, glancing curiously at Irnai.

            “Congratulations, Keladry. I didn’t think I’d ever see these children again.”

            His voice was warm but his attention was on Neal and she waved him on, heartened by his praise but steeling herself for what she knew must follow. The last yards before she reached her trainers and commanders seemed the longest of the whole journey. Finally she trudged to a halt before them both, let go of Irnai’s hand, and was trying to bend her aching legs to go to one knee when Raoul stepped forward and swept her into a crushing hug that bought a bolt of pain to her wounded shoulder.

            “Gods, Kel, don’t ever scare me like that again.” Easing back as he heard her grunt of pain his eyes searched hers. “You’re hurt?”

            “Just my shoulder, my Lord. It’s still tender.”

            “Mmh. You’ve lost weight, too. Do you need a healer?”

            “Not immediately, my Lord.” Gently she disengaged from him, and turned to Lord Wyldon. His face was as emotionless as ever but his dark eyes were intent.

            “Well, Mindelan? Report.”

            She drew a deep breath. “I’m very sorry for my disobedience, my Lord. But before what must happen, I do need to report, not only to you, but to my Lord of Goldenlake, General Vanget, and probably the King.”

            His eyes went cool. “Concerning?”

            “Blayce Younger the Gallan, my Lord, and how he was doing what he was at Castle Rathhausak.”

            He exchanged a surprised look with Lord Raoul.

            “Rathhausak? King Maggur’s clan-fief?”

            “Yes, sir.” She rested a hand lightly on Irnai’s shoulder, seeing the moment when both men caught sight of the seer’s intense green eyes. “This is Irnai, lately of Rathhausak, who can witness certain things and has a story of her own. She’s chosen of Shakith, I believe. And my Lord, the Scanran refugees with us are all that remains of Maggur’s own liegemen. Will you ensure they’re kept together, and safe? It worries me they might be targets, when he hears they’ve fled.”

            The look in Lord Wyldon’s eyes was unreadable, but after a moment and another glance at Raoul he nodded, and gave orders to a waiting sergeant to make arrangements. The man loped off and his gaze came back to her.

            “This report is urgent?”

            Kel nodded. “Yes, my Lord. Not in the sense that lives depend on it, but … well, politically. There are things you should all know before you decide what to say about the killing devices.”

            Both men frowned, before Lord Raoul replied.

            “You know they all collapsed? We assumed … yes, well, we had to say something, so we’ve put it about that a new mage has entered the war and disabled them. Should we not?”

            Kel gave her limited shrug. “I’m not sure, my Lord, but there’s a better story than that if you want it.”

            “Very well.” Lord Wyldon’s voice was brisk. “But in that case we should do it now, if you’re up to it, Lady Knight.” Turning, he sent a man to fetch Duke Baird and another to find someone whose name Kel didn’t catch. “Vanget retires early when he can. Come. Let one of the men take your horse.” He looked at Peachblossom. “And no nonsense out of you.”

            Peachblossom snorted, but let Kel reluctantly give his reins to a waiting soldier, patting his neck and wondering when—if—she’d see him again, or the sparrows perched on his mane and Jump trotting behind. Lord Wyldon had already turned and gone, and Lord Raoul had taken Irnai’s hand and followed, bending absurdly to speak to the girl. With a juddering breath and a last glance after Peachblossom, Kel forced herself to follow them through the great gates of the fort.

Chapter Text

Chapter Two — Reporting

18–19 June

To Kel’s surprise Lord Wyldon didn’t lead them to his office but up narrow stairs to a meeting-room she’d never seen. Despite summer warmth a small, well-tended fire crackled in an oddly placed hearth with flanking baskets of kindling and trimmed logs; a polished sheet of metal hung on a nearby wall. There were also a table, pushed aside, a large-scale map of the district, studded with pins, and a semi-circle of chairs with cushions facing both hearth and metal sheet. Kel realised the King would be contacted through the fire; how the sheet of metal worked she had no idea, but presumed it must be a mage-link to General Vanget at Northwatch.

            Ahead of her Raoul gestured Irnai to a chair, and turned. “Hot juice, Kel? You look done in.”

            She nodded her thanks. “That sounds good, my Lord.”

            “I’ll get some. Sit, sit.”

            He swung back out, calling for someone, and Kel looked wearily round. A chair was tempting but besides being in armour and unlikely to do any furniture much good, she knew that once she surrendered to exhaustion she’d go out like a light. Instead she fell into the ‘at ease’ stance she’d learned with the Own. Lord Wyldon, seating himself, looked at her curiously.

            “You prefer to stand, Mindelan?”

            “Once I’m down I’ll be out, my Lord. Standing’s safer.”

            “As you will.” He peered. “Are you sure you don’t need a healer?”

            “It’s not necessary, my Lord. And would certainly send me to sleep. Healing always does.”

            He grunted acknowledgement, fingers drumming on his thigh, and seemed about to speak when Raoul returned carrying a tray with a steaming pitcher and sturdy clay mugs. Behind him came Duke Baird and Harailt of Aili; Kel had always liked the powerful university mage, and nodded gratefully at his congratulations on recovering the refugees.

            Raoul poured juice, introducing Irnai to Duke Baird and Harailt as he gave her a cup and passed one to Kel. She cupped her hands around the warmth and sipped, savouring the tartness and spice-flavours.

            “Will you not sit, Kel?”

            “I’d rather stand, my Lord.”

            “I did ask her, Goldenlake. Now, Harailt, Baird?”

            Both nodded. Baird went to the metal sheet, summoning a handful of green magic to send flowing across the surface. Beside him Harailt knelt before the fire, murmuring words that made it blaze up with flames the deep red of his Gift.

            Vanget responded first, Baird’s magic clearing with a soft chime to reveal the haMinchi army commander leaning back with a frown against an enormous desk heaped with papers.

            “What’s up, Wyldon?” Kel had only once heard him speak before, though she’d seen him several times at a distance. His voice was deep but crisp, with a northern burr, fitting his weathered face and close-cropped hair. “Oh, she’s back, I see.” Kel met shrewd brown eyes. “I’ve been hearing remarkable things about you, Lady Knight.” His gaze went back to Wyldon. “This is her report?”

            “It is, Vanget. You’re here at her request and we’re waiting on His Majesty. Oh, and this is Irnai of Rathhausak, here with Mindelan.”

            Vanget frowned. “Rathhausak? Maggur’s clanseat on the Pakkai? Is that—”

            He was interrupted by Harailt’s deliberately loud “Your Majesty”, and Kel hastily gulped juice and set her mug on the table. As the mage rose from the fire and sat, a line of his Gift still connected to the flames, she could see that within them a window had opened to show King Jonathan of Conté. This manner of mage-talking had always unnerved Kel, though its usefulness was undeniable, but she braced herself with her familiar indifference to the King’s striking good looks. Beneath handsome features his face was drawn, and he seemed far more tired than when she’d last seen him, six months before at the Palace. He was looking at Harailt, but as the fire bloomed with the deep blue of his Gift, mixing with Harailt’s red, the window enlarged and his eyes swiftly scanned the room before resting on Kel.

            “Ah. General Vanget, my Lords. You’re back then, Lady Knight. With the kidnapped children?”

            “Yes, your Majesty.”

            He smiled satisfaction. “Good, very good. You have my thanks, and Thayet’s.” Kel flushed and those piercing blue eyes studied her for a moment, before flicking to Irnai. “This girl is with you?”

            “Yes, sire. May I present Irnai of Rathhausak.” As General Vanget had, King Jonathan frowned. “She is witness to a thing I must report that you … well, you won’t want to believe it, sire.

            His face hardened. “That doesn’t sound good, Lady Knight. But we’d best get to it. What have you to say?”

            Kel swallowed and began the pitch she’d been rehearsing in her mind for days. “Sire, my Lords, I have a full written report of my actions, and the casualty roll.” She took battered scrolls from her left vambrace and gave them to Wyldon, whose eyebrows rose. “But what matters is, first and most, that Blayce Younger the Gallan is dead and his papers and workshop put to the torch.”

            Vanget interrupted, meaty hands smacking together. “Thank Mithros for that. Numair said he must be dead when the killing devices collapsed, but I’m delighted to have confirmation. And his workshop destroyed! Good work. What of the man Stenmun working with him, that Scanrans call the Kinslayer?”

            “Dead also, my Lord.”

            “Better and better. He’s been a nasty name on this border for twenty years and more. Who killed him?”

            Kel blinked. She didn’t know any more quite what she’d envisioned but it hadn’t been this affably blunt warrior curiosity. “I did, sir. I had to go through him to get to Blayce.”

            “Good for you. On both counts.”

            “Thank you, sir.” She forced herself back on track, trying not to let too much hope rise at his cheerful demeanour, and shifted her gaze back to the King. “The second thing, sire, is how Blayce was doing what he did.” She hesitated. “I think you know that when the devices were killed by cracking their head domes, the voices were those of children?” Jonathan grimaced, nodding. “Well, I can confirm he murdered a child to make each one.”

            Kel saw both mages make the sign against evil and Raoul’s fists clench.

            “Haven’s children were the real target of Stenmun’s raid. The adults who resisted were hanged, and the rest sold to slavers on the Smiskir road. But the children were kept alive, no matter what they did, and taken on to Castle Rathhausak, where Blayce waited for them.” She allowed herself a moment’s pause. “Sire, no language I know has words for what he did. The villagers of Rathhausak speak of him as a nicor, a child-eating monster.” To Kel, Blayce would always be the Nothing Man, a mousy, pimpled contradiction to the hideous scale of his magical crimes, but the old Scanran legend fitted her need. “Though I’ve never heard of a child-eater that played dressing-up games with its victims or raped them before it ate.” She saw the King blanch. “And the reason Stenmun needed our children, sire, is that he’d already taken all of their own. Irnai here was the only Scanran child alive in Rathhausak.”

            In the horrified silence Irnai slipped from her chair to stand calmly beside Kel looking at the semicircle of men. Neither flame nor mirror seemed to interest her and her voice had no tremor.

            “And for two score miles around. Stenmun took them all. First the pretty boys and girls, that the Gallan wanted most, then more and more, until few of any age were left. This spring he took even the slow ones, and the lame. Then there was only me.”

            The King spoke first. “Forgive me, Irnai, but how did you escape him, then?”

            “The god warned me, and when they came I hid where they would not be.”

            Master Harailt’s voice was gentle. “Do you know which god?”

            “The blind one who sees the future. She shows it to me sometimes.”

            “You mean Shakith?”

            Irnai shrugged. “She has many names and many forms. She showed me where I should hide and where I should go, and she told me that when the Protector of the Small came, with her knowing animals, and the healer and the horse boy, the armed men and the marked men, the trapper and the bitter mother, then the Gallan would fall.” From the looks on the men’s faces Kel knew Irnai had given that smile that was far too old for any child. “She was right.”

            The King’s eyes found Kel. “Can you explain, Lady Knight?”

            “The names fit the people who were with me, sire.”

            His eyebrows rose. “They do?”

            “The healer would be Sir Neal, sire, and I have a boy with horse magic. The marked men are the convict soldiers, and the others are two leaders among the Haven refugees, Fanche Miller and Saefas Ploughman.  Both refused to return with the adults and came on to Rathhausak.”

            “So the ‘knowing animals’ were that dog of yours and the sparrows? And you are the Protector of the Small, eh?” He gave a slight smile, at the name or her omission of it from her explanation. “It suits you.”

            Kel felt herself flush. ‘It’s just a silly name, sire. What matters is that King Maggur gave his own liege-children over to be killed.” She couldn’t stop contempt lacing her voice. “And his neighbouring clans’ children. And I don’t believe most of his soldiers know that.”

            Irnai’s voice was emotionless. “News passes slowly in Scanra even in peace. And Rathhausak was shut up for years. Before the Kinslayer came for us we heard nothing but rumours of slaving.”

            Jonathan’s eyes came back to Kel, widening. “You are suggesting we let them know?”

            “I am, sire. It can only cause King Maggur trouble. And in the tents here there are now all forty-three adult survivors of Rathhausak, as well as Irnai, to bear witness to his slaughters.” Kel hesitated and swallowed, knowing what she was about to say could be taken in many ways. “Your enemy’s betrayed liege-families, sire, whom you delivered from his doom, and now ask for your shelter.” She swallowed again. “You also burned down his castle, cleansing an evil even the gods abominate. I believe Sir Myles might do something with such a truth to save Tortallan lives. It also represents a blódbeallár challenge in Scanran bloodlaw.”

            Not wanting to stare at Jonathan she looked aside and saw Raoul’s face waver into a grin. “You said you had a better story than the one we’d made up, Kel, and you don’t disappoint.”

            For the first time Lord Wyldon sat forward. “How much did you burn at Rathhausak?”

            “Keep, hall, and stables, my Lord. Blayce’s workroom was in the keep. Sparks lit the hall roof, and we fired the stables for good measure after we’d emptied them. We had nothing to blast with, so the walls and gatehouse stand, but it’ll take some fixing.”

            “And the dead?”

            “We burned our own in the courtyard. For the rest, well, we left the stormwings beginning their feast.”

            “Mmmh.” He sat back, eyes hooded. “Very well. Is there anything else, Lady Knight.”

            Kel counted in her mind, tiredness pulling at her concentration more and more heavily. “Not really, my Lord. Blayce, his methods, and the chance to hurt Maggur with the truth. The safety of the villagers, after surviving so much. Oh, and coming back we didn’t meet a single Scanran soldier between Rathhausak and the Vassa, but I don’t suppose that matters now.”

            Irnai tugged at her sleeve and she looked down at the girl. Green eyes glowed back at her, something swirling behind them.

            “You promised the sergeant you’d tell.”

            Kel cursed silently, glowering, but it was foolish to wonder how Irnai knew things, and whether it had been Dom or some quite other being who told her made no difference now. She rested her hand on Irnai’s shoulder. “I know I did.”

            “Tell us what, Kel?” Raoul’s look was concerned.

            Defeated, Kel looked back at him, then at the curious mages, an intent General Vanget, and finally the King. She didn’t dare meet Lord Wyldon’s eyes. “Another thing I don’t think you’ll want to believe, sire, and that I do not willingly speak of.” She stopped to draw a deep breath and heard Irnai sigh, then speak herself.

            “Your Chamber chose her and spoke through me. The god was its path.”

            “My Chamber?” King Jonathan’s brows drew down as he looked at Irnai and then Kel. “The Chamber of the Ordeal?”

            Kel nodded reluctantly. “Yes, sire. So I believe. After my ordeal, at Midwinter, while I was still inside, it showed me a vision of Blayce. Later I spoke to it again, and it showed me the same thing.”

            “Wait.” His voice was incredulous. “You entered the Chamber a second time?”

            “Yes, sire.” She turned to Lord Raoul. “Do you remember, my Lord, I tried to ask your advice, but I didn’t know then I was allowed to speak of the vision.”

            He nodded slowly. “Yes, I do remember. I told you no-one ever went in a second time.” He glanced at Lord Wyldon, whose face was stone. “So you went straight there, I suppose.”

            “No, my Lord, but I had to, in the end. It showed me the vision of Blayce again and told me I could speak of it if I thought anyone would believe me.” She shrugged faintly. “I didn’t. And afterwards, it sent the vision again and again, in dreams.” Her voice dropped. “So many times, always the same.” Forcing herself away from the jagged emotions the memories still raised, even knowing Blayce was dead, she met the King’s stare. “Then in Rathhausak I heard its voice from Irnai’s lips. And in the castle, after I’d killed Blayce, its face appeared in the wall.” She saw raw disbelief in his blue eyes. “I’m sorry, sire. I would never claim this in public. And I know how it must seem. But Sergeant Domitan heard Irnai too and he thought you ought to know. So did Sir Neal, who also believed you should inform Lord Padraig as training master.”

            The King’s frown deepened into a scowl and his gaze swung around the room, gauging reactions before returning to her.

            “It is not easy to believe, Lady Knight.” His voice was hard. “I have never heard of the Chamber operating at a distance.”

            “There was never a need before, Jonathan of Conté.”

            Kel started at the familiar thin, whispering voice that came from Irnai’s mouth but her reaction was nothing to that of the men, who uniformly went white. Even Lord Wyldon paled; every man there except Master Harailt was a knight by ordeal, whatever their inherited titles, and the Chamber’s was not a voice anyone ever forgot.

            “This time there was. The Protector of the Small spoke true. The gods hate death magic. I acted with Shakith and Gainel to end it, and I speak here with their aid.”

            Kel could feel her cheeks burning and hear the breaths drawn by all. General Vanget was no longer leaning against his desk but bolt upright, and tension sang in every face.

            “I showed her this.”

            Eyes closed, Irnai raised her hands and light flowed from them, building another window that from their intent stares everyone could see. In it Kel’s nightmare appeared yet again, workshop, devices and all, and she looked at the floor, willing herself to Yamani blankness as the Nothing Man once more added another small, broken body to the pile already there. Risking a glance around she saw every face now flushed and openly shocked, mouths twisting in horror.

            “And she did this.”

            The thin whisper sounded satisfied, as it had at Rathhausak, and this time Kel did watch in horrified fascination as the scene changed to the keep at Rathhausak and she once more tripped Stenmun and smashed the butt of her glaive between his eyes before cutting his throat. She found she was willing herself to find the severed griffin-feather headband sooner, to take Blayce as soon as she saw him in his workroom, not to be fooled by his hypnotising magic—but everything played out just as she remembered, save that she didn’t recognise her own voice and Blayce remained visible to all but her image-self as he scrambled away from her and up onto a table. She had forgotten the necromancer’s sneering arguments as he tried to save himself, boasting of his power and offering to make killing devices for Jonathan instead of Maggur, and she felt fierce satisfaction as her glaive at last caught him behind the knees to bring him down, then neatly beheaded him. But watching herself sway with effort she remembered with complete clarity what she’d said to his corpse and watched her mouth begin to open with an appalled sense of the floor again moving beneath her feet.

            “You’re wrong about my king, I think, but better that he not have the chance to be tempted by the likes of you. And frankly? What you just got was far more merciful than you deserved.”

            As her image-self turned away, leaning on her glaive, the doors of the Chamber appeared as they had then, from the inside, its yellow-eyed face sculpted into the keystone. Then the picture froze, and after a second the light disappeared as Irnai’s hands fell to her sides. But the Chamber still possessed the girl, and Kel knew in her fear and mortification it was again amused at her expense.

            “Remember it, Jonathan of Conté. I do not judge or choose amiss. Nor do the gods.” Abruptly the Chamber’s tone modulated into what Kel thought of as its grumpy voice. “Shakith wants her chosen back.”

            Even as it spoke Irnai’s body went rigid, eyes opening wide and white, her hair crackling and standing away from her head. The voice that broke from her was high and shrill, a hawk’s call in the distance.

            “When the stormwings play again above the Greenwoods, the war will end.”

            Irnai sagged as her knees buckled and would have fallen if Kel hadn’t stretched to catch her, clamping her mouth against sharp pain as the sudden movement tore at her wounded shoulder. Holding Irnai she felt blood trickling onto her breast but Duke Baird was with her, easing the small body to the floor and letting his magic play over Irnai’s face and torso for a long minute.

            “She’s alright, I think.” His voice was rougher than usual, edged with unease. “Knocked out by the divine passing through her, I suppose. Numair has more experience of this sort of thing.” He snagged a cushion to slip under Irnai’s head, stroking her wild hair a little flatter. “Her fugue will pass into true sleep, I expect, but I’ve no idea when.” He reached for her wrist, then laid a hand on her arm. “She’s freezing. Wyldon, is there—”

            “I’ll get a blanket.”

            He rose and left swiftly, and Kel heard breaths let raggedly out around the room before the King spoke.

            “Gods! Literally.” His expression was unfathomably complex and his voice very flat. “I loathe prophecies. Any guesses as to what exactly that one meant?”

            Kel’s eyes met General Vanget’s, dark in his pale and sweating face, and he nodded her to speak. Her voice sounded harsh but at least it seemed her own, unlike the voice she’d heard from her image-self. “Haven is in the Greenwoods valley, sire. And after Stenmun’s raid its dead were defiled by stormwings.” She had to swallow her rage. “One of them apologised to me for it, afterwards, in a stormwing way.” She ignored the startled looks and Lord Wyldon’s return with a blanket that he knelt to tuck gently around Irnai, though she felt an urge to thank him. “So what it meant, sire, is that whoever next commands in that valley should expect the war’s last battle to be fought there.”

            Seating himself again, Lord Wyldon nodded sharply. “I would agree, sire, though I note that the girl—or the god—did not say with whom or what the stormwings might play. Will you ask Master Numair?”

            “I will. Not that I’ll get sensible answers. Which I now require.” The King’s gaze pinned Kel. “Lady Knight, I do not believe I have been so astonished by anyone since I first met Daine. And she proved Godborn. Plainly, please, when you went after Blayce, were you compelled?”

            Kel shook her head, feeling tiredness seep back into her limbs as the shock of hearing the prophecy wore off. “No. sire, not magically. My actions were my own to choose and I went after my people, not after Blayce. But I knew in my heart he would be waiting for them, and the children were foremost in my mind.” She hesitated, trying to search her conscience. “I think knowing I obeyed the Chamber helped me ignore my doubts and fears.” She swallowed, hard. “And my regrets.”

            “I imagine it might.” His voice was very dry. “So, Lady Knight. The gods gave you no Gift but watch you as they watch their chosen. And I find myself deeply in your debt.”

            Kel stared, confusion crowding her mind. Her shoulder hurt horribly. “I don’t understand, sire.”

            “Do you not, Lady Knight? Is there nothing you would ask of me?”

            He must mean her treason, and some part of her mind tried to sharpen. “Oh. That.” The King frowned and she made a huge effort to marshal her thoughts. “I would ask your pardon for those who followed me, sire. Especially Owen.” His frown dissolved into puzzlement and Kel hurried on. “Jesslaw, sire. And I would beg your care of the villagers from Rathhausak, and your defence of Mindelan if King Maggur learns of my part in what happened.” Was there anything else? Should she ask about the convicts who had borne so much, so valiantly?

            The King’s voice was still bone dry. “All this for others, Lady Knight? And nothing for yourself?”

            Gathering her last strength Kel straightened, ignoring her shoulder. “I cannot honourably ask pardon for myself, sire, for were my choice to make over I would do the same thing again.” She felt herself sway and forced more effort into her legs.

            “Wait. What has pardon …” His face became incredulous as he worked it out. “You give this report and stand there believing I would have you charged with treason? Are you mad?”

            Kel felt indignation blossom. “Not in the least, Your Majesty. But after nine years of it, I know full well what the political consequences of my disobedience must be.”

            King Jonathan’s face froze. “The political … You think I’d throw you to Stone Mountain for this? That”—his voice again took on that controlled flatness—“that I’d have you executed to shut him up? You cannot …” His voice trailed off and Kel heard herself speak.

            “I know what reality has taught me, sire.” She felt herself sway again. “But I thought you’d leave it as an army matter.”

            “You think I want you dead?” Lord Wyldon’s voice held a note she’d never heard and her head snapped round to face his pain.

            “What does want have to do with anything, my Lord? It’s your duty to maintain discipline, as it proved mine to break it. I regret nothing but my dead.”

            “Gods. Mindelan.”

            Kel didn’t know how long the silence lasted until she heard Duke Baird’s voice in the distance.

            “Keladry, you’re bleeding! Wyldon, can you get her—“

            She felt hands unbuckling her armour, the halves of her cuirass lifted away, and her filthy gambeson unbuttoned and slipped down her arms as she was pushed into a chair. Someone hissed, and she heard Baird’s voice again, coolly professional.

            “I’ll have to cut off the shirt. It’s beyond saving anyway.”

            Cool metal slid against her skin, air brushed against her, and the wound above her breast shrieked as  more scabs were lifted away with her shirt. Then a blessed coolth and ease surged into her, her blurred vision sparkling with green before clearing to show her a strip of floor with a blood-soaked swatch of material. Faintly she heard a voice she thought was the King’s, awake? … things … saying, before she felt her hands grasped and another voice drove into her fogged mind, as once through sheer terror.

            “Mindelan! Listen to me. Listen. You’ve lost a lot of blood. What gave this wound?”

            “Axe-head,” she heard herself mutter in compelled response. “Stenmun.”

            Duke Baird’s voice sounded cross and her indignation flared again. “Nealan should have done better.”

            She spoke as loudly as she could. “He was exhausted, your Grace.”

            “He should know how to triage by now.”

            With a huge effort she pulled her good hand free and reached up to grasp Baird’s wrist. “He does. He did. Three at least live who wouldn’t otherwise. Including me.” Her hand dropped back into her lap, where it was again held.

            Baird’s voice was gentler. “I understand, Keladry. Yet much was left undone, and for long.” A hand cupped her neck and green fire cleared her head. “Say what you must with all speed, Wyldon.”

            The driving voice came again, Mindelan!, and she blinked mute protest. “I hear you, my Lord.”

            “Good.” His voice became as dry as the King’s had been, and he sat back slightly on his heels though keeping his grip on her hands. “Your military analysis was flawed, Mindelan. My duty to discipline must be balanced with my duties to those I command, to the future of the realm, and to morale. You will face no charge, nor any who accompanied you. Now heed the King.”

            Obediently her gaze tracked across to the face leaning forward from the fire.

            “Your political analysis was flawed for the same reason, Lady Knight. You must learn to value yourself as we have learned, not least tonight.” Blue eyes seemed to grow even bluer. “Once you are healed, we must talk again. But now I will make you a political deal I believe you will accept.”

            Kel watched with a sense of faint puzzlement as he drew a deep breath and seemed to brace himself.

            “Keladry of Mindelan, nine years ago Lord Wyldon and I did you a grave disservice. You know it, he knows it, and I know it. When we imposed that probationary year, we bent justice against you. So now we bend it in your favour and judge the great services you—and all who helped you—have done us, and the realm, without noticing the disobedience from which they grew. Are we agreed?”

            Kel thought about it. Somewhere in her mind a sardonic voice she didn’t like was saying that Jonathan of Conté, as usual, had got himself a good deal, paying down his own expediency with someone else’s sacrifice, but the louder voice sang pure relief, for Owen and her family, Yuki and Shinko who might have been tainted by her treason, and underneath it all for herself. The girl who could, and did, and had. She would see Peachblossom again, and Jump and Nari. Head slightly wobbly, she nodded.

            “I can live with that, sire.”

            She tried to smile at him, to convey her happiness and relief, and blackness tinged with green swirled up to claim her.

* * * * *

As Kel was carried out, shoulder tightly bandaged with Baird hovering beside her and a blanket-wrapped Irnai, Raoul dropped onto a chair and let out a long breath.

            “Gods! I know how to pick ’em, don’t I?” His eyes met Jonathan’s and he shook his head ruefully. “I’m sorry I didn’t realise she was talking to the Chamber, Jon. She did ask about it, but, well, who’d have thought—”

            “No blame to you, Raoul. Wild horses wouldn’t get me inside it again.”

            “Nor me.” Vanget’s expression mixed admiration and incredulity. “Two ordeals? What’s she made of? Yamani steel?” He barked a laugh. “You must admit, Wyldon, the joke’s on us this time.”

            Wyldon’s face was drawn but his eyes sparked as he nodded. “Yes. I’ve never known a finer knight, nor one so blind to her own worth. And that is the mark of my failing.”

            “And of mine.” Jonathan’s voice was clear and hard. “Nor are we alone. A lot of people are going to look rather silly when this news breaks. And Mithros knows Alanna will be impossible. But our consciences must wait. General Vanget, do you agree we should use this tale? And get Sir Myles to spread it inside Scanra?”

            “Yes, sire, I do. With the devices dead Maggur must be having problems already, and the horror of this will hit his men and his authority hard. As it should.”

            “Mmmm. Then I think we must have our Lady Knight leading.” He sighed. “It couldn’t well be concealed anyway, and truth is usually best. But with apologies, Lord Wyldon, I think we have to say she went at your and my command.”

            Wyldon nodded. “Agreed, sire.” He gave a faint shrug. “It cuts through the muddle.”

            “And will head off Stone Mountain or anyone else who hears some rumour and wants to make trouble for her.” Jonathan’s voice was shrewd. “To be fair to her fears, he probably would try it if he thought of it. He’s still half-deranged by his son’s death. Which brings us to the Chamber. What should we do about that, my Lords?”

            “There’s nothing we can do, sire, or that we should.” Wyldon’s voice was unyielding and there were sharp nods all round. “It does as it will, always. As do the gods. It was I who misjudged Joren and Keladry as pages, not the Chamber.” He frowned. “Much as I hate to agree with him, Sir Nealan’s right you should tell Lord Padraig about all this, not that there’s much he can do. Though I suppose knight masters could ask those emerging from their Ordeals if they have been given any … quest is the word, I think. But Mindelan’s right that this part of events should not be publicised.” He glanced at Vanget and Harailt, then looked at Raoul. “I’m not endorsing them, Goldenlake, but conservatives would find it hard to swallow the Lady Knight as the Chamber’s chosen.”

            Raoul’s smile was mirthless. “So would progressives, Cavall. So do I, come to that. And Kel would hate it—you heard her.” His face tightened. “But while Mithros knows I’ll be delighted to see her given her due otherwise, I think she’s right about the risk of Maggur’s revenge. If his control is slipping he’ll be desperate to regain it, and if we put the story about he’ll know exactly who to blame for killing his pet mage and burning his castle.” His fist banged softly on the chair leg. “We know he’ll hurt whoever’s in his reach, and then there’s the blódbeallár thing—home fief for home fief. Pull two navy ships off piracy patrol and get them to Mindelan, Jon? If half-a-dozen wolf-ships came in there out of an autumn fog …” The King winced, nodding, and Raoul’s gaze went back to Wyldon. “What are you going to do with Kel, Cavall?”

            “Give her back to her refugees, I should think. There’d probably be a riot otherwise. You saw how they greeted her.” Wyldon rubbed his forehead. “They’ll have to go back to the Greenwoods valley, prophecy or no. With the south closed there’s nowhere else to put them. So someone has to be in charge there, and she’s still by far the best option I have.”

            “Fair enough. But that prophecy needs thinking on. If we know there’s to be another battle there …”

            “And where do we get the men, Goldenlake? I can find a few extra squads, but more would leave Mastiff vulnerable, and you know it.”

            “We can build properly, though.” Vanget’s voice was crisp. “I’ve not seen that valley for years, but if Harailt and Numair can lift enough ground we ought to be able to give the camp a proper wall and gates. Extra men won’t mean much if they end up facing an attack in force with a single half-height palisade and no earthworks or abatis. When you’ve a site sorted I can send the eastern building team along as well. They can help out at Giantkiller too, once they’re done.”

            Harailt, Raoul, and Wyldon were nodding and Jonathan gave a crooked grin. “Good. Something else settled. I’ll let Numair know he’ll be needed.”

            “Daine too, if she’s available, Jon. Those ‘knowing animals’ weren’t just Kel’s dog and birdies, but a whole pack of dogs and cats Daine magicked a few months back.”

            “She did?”

            “She did. Masbolle told me she thought they needed all the help they could get.”

            “Very well. With Blayce found and killed she should have a bit less on her spying plate. Not that that means much, gods know, with all we ask of her. Now, my Lords, anything else tonight? Raoul?”

            “One thing, maybe, Jon. Those convict soldiers—might you order their magemarks cancelled? All else aside, it should help us recruit more of the condemned in the mines, and Kel’s shown a real knack for getting the best out of them. Same way she’s so good with the commoners and rank-and-file.”

            “Well enough. I’ll try Turomot. They certainly deserve something.”

            “I can send you their names.” Wyldon uncharacteristically hesitated. “Do you propose other rewards, sire?”

            “Eventually, certainly.” Jonathan frowned. “You think we should do something sooner?”

            “Maybe. It would go with their story.”

            “Mmm. What, though? A purse and a promise?”

            “I was thinking of some smaller, less usual purses. Those under arms were doing their duty, but the civilians—Mistress  Fanche and her Saefas, perhaps. Even young Tobe, from the number of beasts they bought back.”

            “Who?”

            “Mindelan’s boy with horse magic. The one who brought us word of the attack on Haven.”

            “Oh, yes. Alright.”

            “But for Mindelan herself … I don’t know.”

            “Then it must wait. Or you’ve a suggestion, Raoul?”

            “Not for Kel. But I wondered, while they’re rebuilding, if Roald might visit. And if it’s quiet enough, the Princess too. Kel’s close to both of them, and if the villagers from Rathhausak are there as well …”

            Jonathan’s face was very still. “Vanget?”

            “Fine by me, sire, if it’s quiet. And actually, it might help the Prince. You know he goes half-crazy cooped up here.”

            “Alright. I like it and I’ll talk to Thayet. Anything more? Then I must find Sir Myles, my Lords, and for once surprise him. Goodnight, and gods all bless.”

            As the King’s blue magic faded and Harailt let his own line to the flames drop, the blaze in the hearth vanished to show only ash and embers. Vanget grunted.

            “Never did understand how those fire-links go on working when they’ve no fuel left. These spellmirrors are much better, never mind that the mages needn’t stay. No offence, Harailt.”

            “None taken.” Harailt’s scholarly face was drawn. “What an astonishing evening. I don’t like how direct the gods are being, at all. For months even good seers have been saying everything’s splintered, and now this. Numair tells me Daine’s parents say we’re at some kind of crossroads in time, with even the gods waiting to see what happens. But something’s changed, obviously, with Blayce’s death.”

            “And the Kinslayer’s, maybe.” Vanget sounded thoughtful. “As best we can guess he was one of Maggur’s long-time hatchet-men. Before we had reports of him as Blayce’s keeper Myles reckoned he was in charge of Maggur’s hostages—so his loss may be a bigger blow for the Maggot than we know.”

            “Your mouth to Mithros’s ear.” Raoul hunched, cracking his knuckles. “I should go see Masbolle and his men. He said they lost two at Rathhausak and they’re a tight-knit bunch.”

            Vanget grunted. “What was the butcher’s bill, Wyldon? I’ll want copies of those reports she gave you as soon as you can, but I confess I’m curious.”

            “I haven’t looked.” Wyldon retrieved the crumpled scrolls Kel had given him, flattening them on his lap. “More credit to her. A full and legible report, written on the move. I still don’t have one from Hollyrose.” He shuffled papers. “This must be the … Mithros!”

            “What?” Raoul and Vanget spoke in unison.

            Wyldon didn’t look up but slowly reflattened the papers and began to read.

            “The Tortallan dead, excluding those found and buried at Haven. Before the Vassa. Hildurra Ward, clerk of Haven, bled out. Kelton of Hannaford, logger, hanged, and his wife Lerna, bled out in childbed; also her unborn.

            “At Vassa Bluffs, all found hanged. Senner and Anta Forgeman of Hannaford, smiths. Vordern of Tirrsmont, farrier. Broder Reed, convict soldier. Einur Peterson, army cook.

            “At Rathhausak, in battle. Gilead Lofts, Morun Locksman, Petter Miller, Cladir Sweep, Garto Freeman, and Jorvik Rider, convict soldiers of Haven. Corporal of the Own Jerol Fulcher and Ownsman Ardis Lofren, Third Company, on detached service. Windtreader, known as Happy, warhorse. Shepherd, a boarhound, and three nameless dogs of Haven.

            “In all, thirteen men, three women, one unborn, and the animals.”

            Vanget harrumphed. “Good detail. Good attitude, too. And lower numbers than I’d expected, Wyldon. You too surely?”

            “It wasn’t our casualties that made me exclaim, Vanget. It was the enemy’s.” Wyldon’s voice cracked slightly as he continued reading. “The Scanran dead. Between the Vassa and the Smiskir. Twenty-five soldiers, twenty-three adults and two youths. Ten soldiers, all adults.

            “At Pakkai Junction. Ninety-seven soldiers, eighty-one adults and sixteen youths. One-hundred-and-eleven armed slavers, ninety-nine adult men, seven youths, and five adult women.

            “In the Pakkai valley. Eighteen soldiers, all adult. Three killing devices.

            “At Castle Rathhausak. One-hundred-and-forty-six soldiers, all adult. Stenmun Kinslayer. Blayce Younger the Gallan.

            “In all, four-hundred-and-four, including twenty-five youths, five women, and three children already dead.”

            He looked up, shock plain on his face. “They killed more than twenty for one and lost less than one in three.”

            Vanget had been scribbling numbers as Wyldon read them and looked up, face grim. “Discounting our civilians but not the slavers, the ratio of dead is one to forty-four and some. Gods! Do you believe it?”

            “Kel doesn’t lie, Vanget.” Raoul’s voice was certain despite his own shock. “You heard her. And it makes sense, sort of—apart from the slavers, where Hollyrose said she somehow got the adult refugees free before she attacked, and the fight at Rathhausak, it sounds like whittling ’em down. She knows my line about changing the odds if you don’t like ’em. So, four defeats in detail. And from what Masbolle told me, Rathhausak was a successful night assault from within and without that achieved complete surprise. The fighting odds there were … what, five-to-one? I bet all but a score of those Scanrans died without their armour on.”

            “Gods is still right, though, Raoul.” Harailt reached to pour himself some long-cold juice. “I’m sure Keladry speaks nothing but the truth and equally sure the gods watched her fight. Even as we did.”

            “Maybe. But for all we were watching by magic, Harailt, there was no sign of anything but guts and skill in what we saw.”

            “I don’t deny it, but even so.” A sly look came into the mage’s eyes. “By the way, my Lords, what did you make of Keladry’s words to Blayce’s corpse about the King? I almost thought from her expression that she felt the Chamber was teasing her when it showed us that.”

            Raoul grinned. “I didn’t see Kel’s face but the look on Jon’s was priceless. And she was right on both counts. He wouldn’t countenance necromancy for a second and it’s far better he never be tempted.” His grin faded. “As we all learned from Thom of Trebond necromancy has a way of tempting men.”

            “Mithros!” Wyldon snapped his fingers and the others looked at him in surprise. “Do you not see the pattern? You were there, weren’t you, Goldenlake, when the Lioness killed Duke Roger?”

            “Both times, Cavall, as you well know. What of it? And what pattern?”

            “A Lady Knight kills a necromancer? Against all odds, twice over, in successive generations?”

            Raoul sat back, surprise on his face as on Vanget’s and Harailt’s. “Good point.” They all considered it. “No earthquake this time, though, thank Mithros and the Goddess.”

            Harailt nodded. “The latter, I think. Children are in her care and of all the Great Gods she and the Black God have always been said to loathe necromancy the most. It’s an offence against the natural orders of birth and death. I’ll mention your thought to Numair, Wyldon, if I may. It’s a very interesting coincidence.”

            “As you will, Harailt, but it’s no coincidence.” His voice slowed in thought. “Though perhaps while the gods acted through the Lioness, they have blessed us with Mindelan.” He paused, seeming embarrassed at what he’d said, and went on briskly “Be that as it may, my Lords, I’ve had enough theology for one night. And we should all be doing.”

            The meeting broke up, Vanget wishing them well and repeating his requests for copies of Kel’s and any other reports before disappearing from the spellmirror, while Harailt wandered out, muttering something about Numair. Wyldon followed but turned in the door to look back at Raoul, still slumped in his chair.

            “Come with me to see the refugees before you see Masbolle, Goldenlake? I’d be grateful for your sense of these Scanrans, and I imagine you’d like to hear what they have to say about their rescuers.”

            Sighing, Raoul heaved himself upright, feeling a greater liking for the former training master than he had for a while.

            “Of course.”

 * * * * *

Kel woke slowly, realising it was the kind of waking that followed deep healing. When she tried to open her eyes her blurry vision was full of tiny sparks, so she left them closed and considered. Her mouth felt foul and her limbs heavy, but warm and relaxed, and the pain in her shoulder was a fraction of what it had been. It felt bandaged but she didn’t seem to be wearing much else, and presumed she must be in an infirmary until the thought brought a rush of memory.

            Foremost was the profound relief of realising that the children and all their rescuers were at last safe from Scanrans and Tortallans alike, but hard on its heels came realisation that she had collapsed and been stripped to her breastband in front of her entire chain of command. Mortification jerked her eyes open and she simultaneously felt a weight stir by her leg, saw an out-of-focus sparrow peering down at her from the headboard, and heard a familiar voice.

            “You’re awake. Hold still a minute.”

            Neal felt her pulse and forehead, then nodded and helped her sit up a little, plumping a pillow behind her head before hurrying out. Jump looked on approvingly, tail thumping, and Nari hopped down to her uninjured shoulder, peeping softly as Neal returned, supporting her head to present her with one of his vile teas. How something so foul-tasting could cleanse her mouth Kel had no idea, and her reward for choking it down was both to feel her head clear and to have the tea replaced with a tall glass of a fruit twilsey she was trusted to hold for herself.

            “Drink up. You need fluid.” Neal shifted his chair and sat again, looking at her. His face had the pained expression she knew meant he was exasperated, blended with something she couldn’t identify. Lowering the glass to her chest, which had the benefit of holding the sheet in place to preserve her modesty, she looked at him affectionately.

            “What time is it?”

            “Late morning. You’ve been out for twelve hours. But the important thing, Kel, is that you’re an idiot.”           

            She thought about it. “I am?”

            “Yes, you are. Do you remember me asking you, oh, a dozen times while we were travelling, if you were alright? And you saying every single time you were fine? Yes? Well, you weren’t, because I didn’t do a good enough job on you at Rathhausak, for which I have been thoroughly scolded by my dear papa.”

            “Oh.” She tried a smile. “I told him you did all you possibly could, Neal, and more. Don’t be cross.”

            “Cross? Cross! I’m not cross with you, Kel. I’m … I’m …”

            “Upset?”

            He stared at her. “Try baffled and worried. Kel, you must have been in serious pain from that wound.”

            “It was only pain. I suppressed it.”

            “You suppressed it.” He shuddered. “Kel, you must have a brain in there somewhere so will you please use it. Pain is a warning. Serious pain is an alarm. It tells you something’s wrong. Something I could have fixed.”

            “I couldn’t risk wasting your Gift on me when we might have had to fight at any time. Suppose a child had been wounded, Neal? Suppose one had died because I thought my shoulder hurt too much? I’d never forgive myself.”

            “You didn’t think it hurt too much, Kel. It did hurt too much. And it’s not wasting the Gift when the alternative is doing yourself serious damage and fainting from blood loss!”

            She tried to hide her blushes in the glass of twilsey. “No fair, Neal. That was only because I tore it open again grabbing Irnai when she fainted. I didn’t realise it was bleeding so badly.”

            “And it was bleeding so badly because you hadn’t let me treat you as you needed.” He still sounded indignant but curiosity distracted him. “Why did Irnai faint, anyway? She was fine earlier and wandered off this morning as if nothing had happened, but father was fussing like a loon over her last night when he wasn’t flapping his arms about you and telling me off from here to Midwinter.”

            The images made Kel smile but caution gripped her tongue. “What did anyone else say about what happened?”

            “No-one said a gods-blessed thing to me. That’s why I’m asking you.”

            Kel hesitated. “I think I’d better stay quiet too, I’m afraid. But the Chamber spoke through her, so that’s all dealt with. Your father thought she fainted because of its power.”

            “Oh. Well, that makes sense.” He looked disappointed. “Can you really say nothing else, Kel?”

            “Not about Irnai.” The memory of the seer’s prophecy made her extremely uncomfortable and she thought it unlikely it would be made public any time soon. “For the rest, I reported. General Vanget and the King asked questions, were very happy Blayce and Stenmun were dead, and pardoned our disobedience.”

            Neal grinned. “Told you. What did the Stump say?”

            “I didn’t have the chance to talk to him properly. Nor to my Lord. It was all General Vanget and the King.” She turned the subject. “What were you and the others doing?”

            “Getting the younglings settled and having a long, glorious wash, mostly. Until I was summoned to explain your wound and be told off, that is.”

            She was glad to hear a teasing note return to his voice but gladder still when Duke Baird’s voice came from the doorway.

            “As was proper. How else will you learn?” He came forward, dropping a hand on Neal’s shoulder. “How are you feeling, Keladry? You lost a lot of blood.”

            “Fine, thank you, your Grace.”

            “I doubt it.” He shifted his hand to her bandaged shoulder, sending a pulse of magic into her, then a longer stream. “You should drink as much as you can and sleep again. And no more stoicism. Your weight’s down badly and you need to put it back. The gods know you’ll be busy again soon enough. Neal, there’s a soldier coming in with a badly crushed finger. You’re still too drained to help, but you should come watch the bonework.”

            With a quick smile he strode out, and Neal stood with a muttered curse. “I’ll be back.”

            Left to herself Kel stroked Nari with a gentle forefinger, then felt the healing tug at her mind and let her hand drop as her eyes closed. When she woke again the animals were gone and there was no sign of Neal, but an orderly was setting down a tray beside her bed. Seeing her eyes open he helped her to sit up, awkwardly clutching the sheet, and shifted the tray to her lap.

            “You’ve missed lunch by a ways, my Lady, but we saved you cold cuts and fruit. When you’ve eaten and drunk you’re cleared to rise and dress, but must keep your arm in a sling until His Grace says otherwise. There’s people who want to see you, then you’re to report to my Lord of Cavall.”

            He bustled out as Kel murmured thanks. Finding herself ravenous and thirsty she tackled the contents of the tray with gusto. Repletion and what seemed like a gallon of twilsey left her feeling sleepy again but her bladder was demanding she make it at least as far as the adjoining privy. Once there and more comfortable, simple decency and the waiting ewer of warm water required that she strip off the stained loincloth that was all she had on and cleanse herself from top to toe, working round the bandages on her shoulder. Much happier but sharply conscious of her nakedness she peered carefully round the privy door, prepared to make a dash for the sheets, but found the outer door closed and a pile of clothes folded neatly on the bed. A worn breastband and loincloth must belong to a Queen’s Rider; the clean breeches, shirt, and tunic were her own, and after a moment she realised her travel bag had been left here when news of Haven’s fall had sent her riding into the night.

            Decent again, though unshod, she reluctantly donned the last item, a linen sling, and let her arm rest below her breasts. The ease in her shoulder was palpable, and she wondered how soon she could return to her dawn glaive practice. Healers were always fusspots but the next battle didn’t wait on their caution, nor the next chore, and a warrior out of practice was a liability. Boots were all she needed to face the world and she wondered where hers had got to—and her armour, come to that. Fuelled with determination she opened the door and promptly found her waist and leg engulfed by Gydo and Meech; beyond them Tobe and Loesia rose from chairs, the former holding up her boots, cleaned and polished.

            Smiling at the pair, she hugged Gydo with her free arm and crouched to transfer it to Meech. Easing his grip on her leg the boy reached out gently to stroke the hand protruding from her sling and again buried his head against her.

            “You’re hurt.” His voice was almost inaudible. “Will you get better?”

            “Oh yes, sweeting. I’m all healed. I just have to rest my shoulder for a while.” She stroked his hair. “How are you? I’m so proud of you being so brave for so long.”

            He peeked up at her. “I was scared.”

            “So was I, Meech.” She eased him back so she could look straight at him. “Bravery isn’t not being scared. Everyone gets scared sometimes. It’s doing what you have to do even when you’re scared. And you did, brilliantly. You’re my hero, you know.”

            His smile was blinding. “And you’re mine.”

            She hugged him hard enough to produce a faint squeak, and rose slowly so whatever blood she had left didn’t drain from her head and embarrass her again. Meech held her leg and she let her good arm rest across Gydo’s shoulders as she met Tobe’s eyes. “How are you? And how’s your side?” He’d taken an arrow at Rathhausak.

            “Never better, Mother. The wound’s just a scar now, and I’m fed an’ washed an’ everythin’ but home.”

            “That’ll take a while, Tobe.” She reached to ruffle his hair affectionately. “Wherever home might turn out to be.”

            He nodded. “My lord said we’d be rebuildin’ soon as we can.”

            “Which my lord?”

            “Lord Wyldon.” Tobe never used Neal’s nickname for Mastiff’s commander. “You’re to see him straightaway. Let me do your boots.”

            She let herself be persuaded to a chair, exchanging a quick handclasp with Loesia. Sitting put her eyes at Gydo’s level, and while Tobe eased her boots on she asked quiet questions about the girl’s welfare, and how other children were faring. Reassured, and intrigued by Meech’s excited claim that ‘the big, curly man’ had told them the King was very pleased with them all, she accepted Loesia’s hand to haul herself to her feet and they set off towards the sunshine streaming through the infirmary door.

            Outside the girls skipped away, Meech happily swinging between them, and Kel walked slowly with Tobe towards the command building. Halfway across the parade ground she realised the casual conversations and background noise of a working fort had dropped away as soldiers stared at her, not only on the ground but from the gateway and alures. Her Yamani mask slipped into place but when clapping started she could not prevent herself flushing scarlet. A glance at Tobe showed him beaming boyish pride and her mortification was complete when Lord Wyldon appeared in the doorway of the command building, drawn by the noise, and stood watching too, puzzlement vanishing into his usual impassivity as he took in what was happening.

            “Mindelan.” She had expected his voice to be sardonic but it was simply calm as he inspected her briefly. “You’re looking better. Come in.”

            He went back inside and Kel followed, squeezing Tobe’s shoulder in silent thanks and being rewarded with a dazzling smile as he trotted off towards the stables. The door to Lord Wyldon’s office stood open and he waved her to a chair, closing the door behind her before pouring her yet more twilsey and seating himself behind his neatly crowded desk.

            “Baird says you need to drink.”

            Wishing her face would cool faster she thanked him and sipped, sitting as upright as her chair allowed. To her surprise he leaned back, one hand rising to touch his scarred cheek and rub his forehead. He seemed oddly hesitant but sat forward again, taking a breath.

            “Lady Knight—Keladry—I owe you an apology. Two in fact.”

            She managed to catch her jaw before it dropped.

            “You owe me an apology? Surely I owe one to you, my Lord, for my disobedience.”

            He waved a hand. “No, no. We dealt with that and one apology I owe you is for the misguided order you disobeyed. I placed the refugees in your care and had not relieved you of that responsibility. I should not have ordered you to abandon them.”

            Uneasily she let her gaze fall to the papers on his desk. “You had other responsibilities, my Lord, of which I knew nothing.”

            “Maggur’s little foray, you mean? It makes no odds, and events have shown you were right to do as you did. Look at me, please.”

            Startled she raised her eyes and saw his expression was at once compassionate and, she would have sworn, embarrassed.

            “The other apology is more complicated, I’m afraid, and more serious. Do you recall what the King and I said to you last night?”

            She thought back and realised what he must mean. “You both said my analysis was flawed.”

            “Yes, military and political alike, for the same reason—you placed no value on yourself. Some of that is simply lack of experience of what the King, or people like myself and Duke Turomot, will and will not do to placate people like Stone Mountain and Genlith. But some is not and in large part my fault. Don’t look so startled—we both know I did little to encourage you as a page and much to make it harder for you than it should have been.”

            Kel’s surprise was compounded by his wry smile. When she’d first seen him here in the north, at Giantkiller, she’d realised that in field command he was happier than he’d ever been as training master. But she still couldn’t recall seeing him smile.

            “In my defence, I might say boys do not usually need their self-importance boosting, and your mask led me to believe your defiance of convention was fed by a pride that would sustain you. But I entirely misunderstood your modesty, and your clear inability last night to understand how important a figure you are becoming must be addressed, however uncomfortable we both find it.”

            His gaze swung away for a moment before returning to her.

            “I also belatedly realise that my decision to place you in command at Haven must have seemed a further denigration of your abilities. I believed you might think, however wrongly, that I was protecting you from front-line combat. And I knew you understood my decision was nevertheless genuine, that you were—are—the best commander available to me. But I regret it did not occur to me that you might think it a political refusal to credit your worth.”

            Kel had never heard him speak so openly, but as she tried to absorb his words she realised she’d never had a genuine conversation with him, even reporting to him as a commander—and his demeanour towards her as training master was at the root of that. But there was no trace of that reserved disapproval today. She fumbled for words.

            “I didn’t, exactly, my Lord. And I soon realised how much the work mattered, and that I enjoyed it. It was just … I don’t know, it was like waiting to be picked as a squire, before Lord Raoul came back to the palace and I thought with Lady Alanna forbidden from choosing me no knight would want to take The Girl.”

            His wry smile returned. “I can see that. And I realised last night, after the drama, that you reminded me of your attitude after rescuing your maid. You truly believed then, though nothing that happened was any fault of yours, that I would make you repeat all four years.”

            “That was the rule.”

            He snorted. “That was a threat, Keladry. What possible use would it be to the realm to make someone as capable as you kick your heels for four years repeating training you had mastered? In any case, the threat was designed to ensure punctuality, not punish someone who was criminally prevented from arriving at all.”

            The reference to Joren’s kidnapping of Lalasa brought a look of extreme distaste to his austere face.

            “Similarly, penalties for disobedience are severe for good reason. But what is necessary when a soldier is a real troublemaker, or a coward, is hardly called for when a full commander knows their senior is ignorant of something that matters, and in disregarding a misguided last-minute order saves hundreds of lives that would otherwise be lost.”

            Kel’s eyes widened steadily as he spoke. “But you were only ignorant because I hadn’t explained what I feared would happen to the children.”

            “And you think I would have heeded you?” He shook his head. “I should like to believe I would have listened carefully, but if the Chamber hadn’t made its appearance last night I’m not sure I’d believe you now, though I know you don’t lie. And that too is an aspect of the problem, Keladry, because the politics of your knighthood as a woman would have been at work.” He tapped fingers on his desk, slowly, brow furrowed. “It is unjust and unwise, but also an effect of your unique position, and will ease as more women undergo their ordeals. Did you know there will be three more female pages starting in the autumn?”

            Her startlement showed, to Lord Wyldon’s evident amusement.

            “You shouldn’t be so surprised—it’s largely your doing. You must have known people were watching you closely, and heard them at the tilts on that never-ending Progress.”

            “Well, yes, but I didn’t expect …”

            “Anyone but your close friends to approve your example? Including the King and Padraig haMinch?” He shook his head again. “I can’t blame you. Mithros knows we’ve given you little reason to expect more of us.” His fingers drummed again. “We cannot deal with all of that today, but I suggest you consider carefully—from a military as well as political angle—that those nobles who are called or call themselves conservative are of very different kinds. There are those for whom pride of blood is overriding, as for Stone Mountain and his son. That kind may serve in the army or the Own, but under His Majesty you will not find them commanding. Glaisdan of Haryse was the last and you know what happened to him, Black God rest his soul.” He made the circle on his chest. “Then there are traditionalists like myself and Vanget, who believe crown service is an essential discipline and dislike change for the sake of change, when we see no need. But when change proves itself or we do see a practical need we are at heart realists and accept it. Yes?”

            Captivated, she nodded.

            “So. Your mistake was to confuse what the first might say with what the second would do. Vanget as much as I doubted your fitness for knight training when you began, and we would both prefer a world in which women did not have to fight at all, let alone train for knighthood. But we’re not likely to get it and neither of us now doubts your exceptional competence as a knight and commander. Nor do men like His Grace of Naxen and my Lord of Legann, who have followed your progress carefully and drawn their own conclusions.”

            It seemed to be Kel’s day for blushing uncontrollably and she looked down again. Lord Wyldon sighed softly.

            “Goldenlake said you’d need it spelling out. Keladry, Haven may be a refugee camp rather than a fort, but it is a full command. When you and the other pages ran into those bandits, what qualities did the others show? And what are their current appointments? Put it together. You are the only commander of your generation anywhere and if you live you’ll replace Goldenlake at the Own within a decade. Come to that, next time the Scanrans decide they want a war you might well be in Vanget’s shoes. Don’t look at me like that—it’s no more than truth.”

            Kel found herself beyond embarrassment, or perhaps just no longer concerned with it as she strove to digest his astonishing words. It was true Raoul had always implied she’d command but she’d never entirely believed him, thinking neither knights nor soldiers would accept a girl in authority. But enough was enough, her tongue had at last unfrozen, and she met his gaze.

            “Forgive me, my Lord, but if I didn’t believe command at Haven was quite the same as command at Mastiff or Steadfast, I had reason. You have eight companies. I had four squads. You have a double wall reaching thirty feet, with earthworks and abatis. I had a single palisade that struggled to reach fifteen. You have a score of battle-mages. I had one healer. And while I realised that under regulations I was technically senior to anyone in the district other than yourself or my Lord of Goldenlake, there was nothing to suggest anyone took that seriously.”

            He surprised her again with what she could only call a grin.

            “Better, Mindelan. Much better. And you’re right on all counts—we did not sufficiently consider Maggur’s tactics when Haven was built and staffed, and the fact you were sent straight there prevented me from integrating you properly into the command structure, as I would had you been here. But we shan’t be making the same mistakes again, and these new spellmirrors of Numair’s are a great boon.”

            She’d thought as much when she first saw one the night before, and nodded. “I wondered if they were Master Numair’s work.”

            “A Carthaki spell he adapted, he says. I’ll make sure you get one.”

            As she had passed beyond embarrassment Kel found herself beyond surprise, and raised her eyebrows in query. Lord Wyldon grinned again.

            “Better still. Yes, you remain in your command. Now”—he gestured to the district map on the wall—“despite that prophecy there’s nowhere we can put refugees except the Greenwoods valley. Anak’s Eyrie is deserted and we can’t hope to get anyone back there at least until Giantkiller is rebuilt. Riversedge and Bearsford have taken in everyone they can support, and Tirrsmont won’t even take his own.” He scowled. “So the Greenwoods it must be.”

            Kel nodded shortly. She didn’t like the logic and bitterly resented the selfish arrogance of the lord of Tirrsmont, father of the knight who’d tried to kill her in a joust, whose only concern with the death and displacement of hundreds of his liegefolk was his loss of tithes. The young lord of Anak’s Eyrie had died defending his exposed fief, leaving no heir, so he deserved no blame, but she knew the refugees were barred from the south only by nobles who wanted no trouble or expense. She watched as Lord Wyldon carefully steepled his fingers.

            “With the death of Blayce the situation changes somewhat. We no longer have reason to fear a raid of the kind Stenmun led, but do have reason to fear attacks targeted specifically on you and your people. Giantkiller will be enlarged, and as many additional companies as we can find stationed there, to screen you. But Haven must be rebuilt with far better defences. Tell me, how much have you studied fortification and defensive works? You know some of the terms.”

            Kel managed a shrug with her good shoulder. “Nothing formal, my Lord, beyond page-classes, but Lord Raoul had me study anywhere the Own took us. We talked about what we saw and I read military history when I have the chance.”

            “Fair enough. And you did a good, job improvising at Haven with those stones, but you might look at this.” He slid a small dog-eared book towards her. “Orchan of Eridui. He wasn’t very original but he is clear, and he had an idea or two worth knowing about mageblasts. In any case, you’ve fought behind walls enough to know what works and what’s only for show. And this time you’ll have proper resources to work with.”

            “I will?”

            “Yes. On Vanget’s orders Haven is to be rebuilt as a true fort, and he’ll be sending the eastern building team to join our own. So your first job, when you’re recovered and Numair can get here, is to choose a site and get started. You’ll have any refugees who are able and willing, and we’ll supply guards and a commissariat until you can get kitchens running behind decent walls. In the longer run, though, there’ll be limits on the soldiers I can give you, especially with Giantkiller to man as well.”

            “I understand, my Lord.” And while she didn’t like this logic any more than the other she did understand. Though a smaller country with fewer people, Scanra’s fighting strength represented far more of its total population than Tortall’s, and she knew from her years in the Own that recruitment to Crown forces was a constant struggle. Tortall had taken heavy casualties only a decade ago during the Immortals War, with all too many places still underpopulated and making good damage sustained. And in this war the killing devices had already taken an appalling toll. But it wasn’t just soldiers as such who mattered. “About how many should I expect to have?”

            She saw Wyldon review numbers in his head. “A company, in addition to Connac’s squad and the convict soldiers you already have. Perhaps more, but if so they’ll be convicts too. Given the likely length of your perimeter you’ll still need refugees to help man the walls, but that’ll give you a genuine force to put in the field at need.”

            Kel’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “A regular company?”

            “Maybe. More likely scratch.”

            “So no company staff.”

            He frowned. “Probably not. Why?”

            “Mages. And clerks”

            “Ah. Clerks I can manage but mages are a problem. We’ve been badly stretched, magically, by the killing devices. We’re not sure if they actually targeted mages or if it was just that mages felt they had to try to fight them first. Either way, our mage numbers are down.”

            “So are the enemy’s, by one at least.” Kel’s voice was edged and it was his turn to look surprised. “I want at least one mage, my Lord. One decent battlemage, with enough juice to blast anyone he’s likely to encounter. Or we’ll be nicely penned-in ducks when any Scanran party that does have a mage worth his feed turns up.”

            He rubbed his forehead in that characteristic gesture. “If we think you’re likely to be targeted at least once, we can hardly suppose Maggur would not send such a mage against you. Very well. Haven will have first claim on any mage I can get.”

            Something snapped in the back of Kel’s mind. “Forgive me, my Lord, but you already have dozens. So do Lord Raoul and General Vanget.” Her mask was already so far off she laid it aside and locked eyes, passion pouring into her voice. “Do you know what I was thinking when you rode off and left me to bury my dead at Haven? That your Company Eight with one hundred well-armed men had mages who could hold four killing devices at once. And that my five hundred half-trained civilians had faced six or more of those nightmares with no-one but a healer and a hedgewitch. I believe you said you wouldn’t be repeating your mistakes.”

            He stared, surprise shifting into a thin smile. “You were always a fast learner. And you’re right, again. Unless some further threat like the devices enters the field—gods forfend—I can reasonably strip one mage from each company for you.” He frowned. “Or, better, take the scratch company here and give you a regular one, mages and all. You’d lose Hollyrose, though. The company second would be in charge of patrols.”

            Kel thought hard for a moment. “I think Merric would be willing to serve as joint second. He knows he made a mistake at Haven, not believing the sparrows. There wasn’t anything he could have done anyway and Goddess knows he did his best after, but that’s why he insisted the others take him along, I think. They had to tie him to his horse.”

            He snorted. “I imagine they did, though that’s rich from you.”

            Kel was very glad she still seemed to be beyond embarrassment. “I wonder where we learned such attitudes, my Lord.” His mouth twitched. “But the point is that time as second to someone experienced would be of benefit. Goddess knows I’d prefer it myself. And I’d like to keep Merric, if I may. He’s popular with the refugees, too.”

            “I thought his attitudes towards them were a bit stiff.”           

            Kel did her one-shoulder shrug. “At first, a little. But he was unsure of himself, as we all were. And while he did think Neal and I were a bit soft on commoners he was never like Quinden, or that lord of Tirrsmont. And he soon learned. Everyone did at Haven.”

            “Very well, then. And that reminds me—you said in your report that before you crossed the Vassa a patrol led by Marti’s Hill passed within yards of you and saw nothing. What were their scouts doing?”

            “There were none, my Lord.” She knew her voice had flattened. “Just Quinden and ten mounted soldiers behind him.” She hesitated, but it had been an afternoon for truths. “I didn’t really want to mention it. It feels like telling tales. But if we’d been Scanrans he and those men would all be dead, and the men deserve better.”

            “Quite right.” Wyldon looked both annoyed and thoughtful. “And harder to say because you dislike him, I imagine. I’d find it so. But if the fool had no scouts words must be had. He knew Giantkiller had fallen and that he was very much the front line. Is it just arrogance, do you think?”

            Even in this conversation Kel was surprised he would ask such a question. “Mostly. He’s never thought rules apply to him. But he’s also lazy and I’m not sure he’s ever realised that cribbing an answer isn’t the same as working it out.”

            Wyldon smiled. “A useful summary. Goldenlake was a good teacher.”

            “So were you, my Lord.”

            “Not so much, I think.”

            “You’re wrong.”

            He stared at her flat denial, but Kel had had a chance to absorb some of the astonishing things he had said to her when this strange conversation started, what felt like hours ago. The memory of the King’s words the night before was also burning in her mind—the truths she had heard Wyldon acknowledge five years before, when he resigned as training master, and there were things she wished she had said then.

            “I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, my Lord, and the mistake you made with Joren and Vinson wasn’t in what you taught them. It was what you didn’t teach them. The tension between us meant it took me longer than it should to realise you credited them with the same honour you have yourself, so it never occurred to you to teach them chivalry as well as combat. But both were honourless.”

            She smiled crookedly. “All those times we fell down, did you ever wonder about the chivalry of three seniors fighting one junior? Or about the kind of person who bullies not to gain results but because they covet fear as greenly as any stormwing? Of course you didn’t. You’d no more do such things yourself than you’d strike a servant or one of the littles. I know he annoys you but Neal has the right words for Joren and Vinson. He says they were lame in their souls as a man is halt in the leg. In the end even the Chamber couldn’t fix Joren, but your mistake was one of omission, not commission.”

            He was still staring, a very strange expression on his face.

            “As for myself, I’m not sure. You and the King are right about how I was thinking but I need time to know if I agree about why I do that.” She hesitated. “I don’t deny the attitudes I faced played a part. But I fear it goes deeper.” Even today, in this conversation, she wasn’t about to tell him she thought the open contempt of some of her sisters and in-laws for her shape and ambitions had sunk barbs in her as deeply as the bullying assault by her brother that birthed her fear of heights. “And I did not fear you would act in prejudice, my Lord, only that you would have to act in duty.”

            His glance was penetrating. “I am glad to know it. But you did fear the King would act in expedience, hmm?”

            She faced it squarely. “Yes. I don’t like him, not that that matters. But I don’t trust him either. ”

            “Nor should you, altogether. He is a king, and does as he must.”

            “I know.”

            “And yet you will find with closer knowledge that he is as loyal as you to those he counts friends and allies.” Suddenly he waved a hand. “But all this can be boiled down to something much simpler—the law of success. Had you dragged in here a failure with a casualty roll and no refugees, or been captured and given information, your fears might not have been altogether foolish though I would have preferred no charge. But success changes everything.” His thin smile returned. “Which is the story of your career, so perhaps you should just keep doing it.” He leaned back. “Now, I have things I must do and you should go see your refugees. They were concerned to hear you were in the infirmary and will appreciate some reassurances.”

            “Of course, my Lord. May I tell them about rebuilding?”

            “By all means.” He hesitated before continuing stiffly. “And there is one more thing. I have several times used your personal name but you have not presumed on mine. I would be honoured if in private you would do so.”

            Yet again Kel caught her jaw from dropping by a whisker and spoke in shock. “But you don’t even call Lord Raoul anything but Goldenlake.”

            “We are colleagues, not friends. But you and I …” He swallowed, and looked her in the eye. “I once said I spoke to you as my daughter. That was an impertinence, however sincere. But I will say plainly I have taught no-one I more admire, and given how we have spoken together today …”

            I am a lake. I am calm. Kel didn’t need the second ellipsis from a man whose speech was always resoundingly crisp to know how embarrassed he was. How vulnerable. Who would have imagined that? Slowly she stood, gathering herself before offering her good hand.

            “The honour is mine, Wyldon.”

            He took it.

            A minute later Kel found herself once more standing scarlet-faced in the parade ground, holding Orchan of Eridui and aware of sentries contenting themselves glancing at her from the corners of their eyes. After depositing Orchan in her rooms, where she found her armour and travel pack, all clean, she wandered to the refugee barracks, then out to the tents below the walls, letting inner turmoil fade into the warmth of adults and excited hugs of children, answering endless questions about her sling. Jump and Nari found her there and she endured the peeps of the sparrow’s scolding as she tucked herself onto Kel’s good shoulder.

            Sensing some signs of the haunting nightmares she knew so well, and mindful of Neal’s warning, she gathered Fanche, Saefas, and Olka Valestone into quiet conversation. Neal’s analogy with draining a wound met with sharp nods, and other adults were drawn in. Relieved, Kel also spread word of the rebuilding, asking for opinions about the site, and promptly gained a volley of ideas that added up to higher walls, concern about what would happen to the ruins of Haven, and the need to keep as much of the valley’s arable land as possible.

            Returning towards the gate, Nari on her shoulder and Jump at her heels, she met Owen, Merric, and Seaver heading the other way. Exchanging hugs she gathered Faleron had already returned to duty, Merric had at last completed his report, and Owen had not been blamed by Wyldon for the death of Happy nor (after stern words) for following Kel, and had begun to forgive himself. She also heard a mixed account of the knights’ tense but uneventful return with the adults, and was delighted to realise they were on their way to check on refugees they had come to know in the peculiar intimacy of that journey. Owen, similarly, was off to see some children he said reminded him of his little brother, killed by bandits with his mother.

            “It’s sad,” he remarked. “Odd, but nice too. And I do think they were brave.”

            Smiling Kel bade them farewell and went in search of Lord Raoul. Her progress was delayed by encounters with a respectful Sergeant Connac, who managed to convey enthusiasm at remaining under her command and greeted Jump handsomely, and then with Neal, who suspiciously felt her forehead and pulse before beginning to mutter about teas. She was tempted to tell him what had passed between her and Wyldon but reserved the pleasure and made her escape by directing him to a nasty suspicion of a sniffle in one of the younglings. Finally she was able to slip behind the command building to the guest quarters for visiting officers, and knock softly on Raoul’s door.

            She was in luck and he contemplated her with a grin. “Come in, Kel. I was hoping to see you. I’m back to Steadfast in the morning. Dom and his lads too, I’m afraid. Juice?”

            With it he bought a strip of jerky for Jump and a handful of seed for Nari, and they talked easily for a while, about the ‘little army’ of Maggur’s that Raoul’s and Wyldon’s men had smashed and the fight at Rathhausak. He quizzed her hard for a moment about how she’d used the forces available to her, then blew out a breath.

            “Hag’s bones, Kel. You’ve a spine of steel as well as the luck of the gods. What you needed was blazebalm for the barracks.”

            “I know, but I’m actually glad we had none. Neal would have had to set it off, and I’d as soon not leave him with that kind of nightmare. It’s bad enough with spidrens.” She shuddered at those memories.

            “Point. But it’s better than being killed.” He sat forward. “Kel, I know I believe in whittling down odds, and you did it magnificently. But gods! Twenty-nine to rescue two hundred children and fight one-hundred-and-fifty experienced men? It was a desperation throw.”

            Kel nodded. “It was that or give up and go home. And if I can’t take a joke I shouldn’t have joined.”

            He laughed at the old saw. “Right you are. And a knight’s life is all cheer and glory.”

            She laughed back, then gathered herself. “May I ask you something, my Lord?”

            He scowled hugely. “Of course you may. And what’s all this my-lording? If I’ve told you once I’m just Raoul, I’ve told you a hundred times. And why in Mithros’s name are you blushing like that?”

            Hesitantly Kel explained that she found herself on first-name terms with Wyldon, and after a moment he collapsed into his chair with a long whistle followed by a guffaw.

            “Kel, that’s … superb. I always knew he was a decent old stick, even when I wanted to brain him for sheer stubbornness. You join a very select band. Even Jon feels it’s a liberty to omit the man’s title.”

            Kel gathered herself. “Actually it was the king I wanted to ask about.”

            “Oh yes? You’re blushing again. Out with it.”

            She retreated into a fragile dignity. “I realise there’s nothing to be done about appearing before his Majesty in very little except breeches and a breastband.”

            Raoul’s eyes twinkled. “It was rather spectacular. But if you will refuse healings when you need ’em …”

            “I know, and if I didn’t Neal has already reminded me.”

            “I bet he has. Baird was quite agitated.”

            “Yes, yes. Healers!” Raoul grinned unrepentantly. “But what I wanted to ask was if the King was angry.”

            “Angry? About seeing you receive treatment you needed?”

            “No. About what I said.”

            “Which bit?”

            She glared at him. “To Blayce’s corpse.”

            “Oh, that. Gods, no. It goosed him magnificently and his face was a picture, but he won’t be angry. We didn’t discuss it but I’ll bet you he was impressed, and devoutly glad you did spare him the temptation. As kings go Jon’s really not that touchy, especially when people hand him great big surprise presents.” He grinned at her. “Kel, I don’t recommend you try shouting at him the way Alanna and I do. Gary too, sometimes, and Thayet often. We were all young together, and it’s different. But Jon’s got pretty good truthsense, and he won’t punish anyone for honest words loyally spoken. All else aside, he knows it doesn’t pay. And nothing you said to his face, nor in that weird vision, was anything but true and loyal.” He raised his glass to her. “Nice move with Stenmun, by the way. I hadn’t really thought about using a glaive like that, for all it’s a move in one of your dances.”

            Accepted his assurance, she took the lighter gambit gratefully and they fell back into chat for a moment, before she rose and thanked him.

            “Anytime, Kel.”

            Parting, she couldn’t resist telling him that Meech had christened him ‘the big curly man’ and Tobe said he made a pair with the Storkman.

            “The Storkman?”

            “Master Numair. It’s what Daine’s pony calls him, apparently.”

            “Cloud?” He guffawed again. “That’s a hoot. I wonder if Buri knows. And I’m happy to be big and curly for Meech. He’s the little boy whose doll’s yarn you followed?”

            “That’s right. I’ve promised to get him a new one. I thought Lalasa would have some nice red wool.”

            He ruffled her hair. “You’re a treasure, Kel. And your report’s a classic. If you don’t see them I’ll give Dom and the others your best. And there’s the wedding at Steadfast next month, of course—you won’t be missing that. Now, go find some food and then your bed.”

            Comforted by his simple friendship, she went.

Chapter Text

Chapter Three — Surveying

20 June – 2 July

It was four days before Kel was allowed to leave off her sling. With the distraction of Samradh ceremonies and her unmarked birthday past she tried to invent a pattern dance using only her good shoulder—an exercise watched by soldiers with caution and Baird with exasperation. When he reluctantly gave permission to work her shoulder again, he was healer-blunt.

            “Keladry, the axe-point hit your shoulder-blade, and the bone really didn’t like it. I’ve speeded healing, but it must finish on its own. Stick to slow exercises for at least a week. No push-ups or pull-ups or anything of that kind for ten days, and no tumbling. Make sure you eat well too—meat, milk, cheese—and I should check that bone again in a month or so.”

            She obeyed, knowing she’d be a fool to abuse the luck she’d had in both Queenscove healers but disliking the limitation intently before deciding it was a useful challenge. With her refugees in Mastiff’s charge she had little to do administratively, though she spent time every day with the children and usually ate with the adults; Peachblossom and Hoshi enjoyed extended grooming and Jump was thoroughly washed, to the sparrows’ amusement. Once both Kel’s arms were again her own she scrounged swords and spears from the fort’s armourer and restarted training sessions for the refugees, Tortallans, Scanrans, adults, and children alike, which led to another, less welcome lesson for herself.

            At Haven the scorn of army regulars for her egalitarian approach had been tempered by respect for results; here soldiers seemed to expect to see her training civilians at arms; nor was a single voice raised to protest training Scanrans. Sergeants and corporals, Connac among them, went out of their way to help, demonstrating exercises to those having difficulty and cutting down spears for younger children. Connac had been her first real supporter in training them beside the adults, approving the deadly seriousness with which even under-tens practiced staff and spearwork, and she sought him out to thank him for whatever magic he’d worked on her behalf here. Smiling, he shook his head.

            “Oh, when I’ve been asked I’ve said what I saw, Lady Kel, and they heard me well enough. But it’s not me you’ve to thank. You put yourself on the line for your people, army and civilian alike, when war sold ’em down the river. That goes a long way with us.” He shrugged. “It’s a lot of why I came with you. Someone had to. And word’s out it was you that stopped the killing devices when you rescued the children and killed that mage, so there’s not a man here who hasn’t thanked Mithros and the Black God both for blessing us with you.”

            He paused thoughtfully, sucking his teeth.

            “And begging your pardon, my Lady, but you’re like my Lord of Goldenlake with those lads of his. Plenty of fun with hard work but no nonsense when it counts, and never any needless temper or injustice.” He shrugged. “The lads here like you, they respect you, and they’re very thankful to you. I couldn’t stop ’em helping you if I tried. And if you want anything else doing, you’ve only to say.”

            Back in her room, once again red-faced, she decided she was tired of such embarrassments. It struck her that the Lioness must have had a similar problem becoming famous and she smiled at the thought of the things Sir Alanna might have said before realising she’d just compared herself with the age’s greatest heroine, and blushing again. Thoroughly irritated with herself she tucked Orchan of Eridui under her arm and took herself off to a quiet corner of the kitchen garden.

            After working steadily through the short treatise she decided Wyldon had been exactly right. She hadn’t really learned anything new save a few words, but the principles of defensive fortification were now clear in her mind. An enemy’s approach was made difficult and exhausting with slopes, ditches, and obstacles. The abatis protected the base of the outer wall and if an enemy did surmount it, using ladders, the gap between the walls was a killing field for well-armed defenders on the alure of the inner wall. Short of warmagery or siege engines, the danger was hinged ladders or planks that could span the gap from the allering of the outer wall to the parapet of the inner, but unless the alure were seriously undermanned, attackers would have to be prepared to spend blood like water. Most weren’t, and successful attacks almost always breached the one inevitable weak-point in any enclosing wall.

            Her memory of shattered, gaping gates at Giantkiller and Haven underlined Orchan’s blunt conclusion. After describing the defences a gatehouse barbican should have, from multiple portcullises to traps and positions covering the roadway—a scale of construction even Mastiff lacked—he did devote a couple of pages to ways whereby the approach to a gate might be protected. She read that passage twice but the long and short of it stayed the same, that if a gate were to serve its whole purpose and let your own people in and out, it could be made to admit others. The only thing that struck her was the observation that it was desirable to restrict the level space before a gate, and that when the fortified position was atop a hill the gate-road should turn, narrow, and rise sharply just before reaching it. A trap in the roadway itself might be possible, she supposed, wondering how deep a pit would have to be to be effective. There had been another mention of mageblasts in an earlier chapter, about ladderwork, and she flipped back to find it.

            The siege of Rostholm in 118 is famous as a successful escalade, but if the assailants were bold and well equipped, with surprise on their side, Lord Grogar had placed overmuch faith in the height of his walls and paid dearly for undermanned alures. A more interesting lesson is that the smaller castle at Graverran did not fall, though assaulted by another division of haMinch’s army on the same night, using the same method. Its commander, Grogar’s elder son but cut from another cloth, had filled large nets (to which mageblasts were attached) with rocks, and suspended them below every second merlon of his outer parapets. When the attempted escalade began the alert duty commander fired the mageblasts, and the resulting rockfalls smashed most ladders and inflicted considerable casualties on troops clustered around them. The fallen rocks proved awkward obstacles to any further escalade, and after desultory exchanges the surviving haMinchi forces, learning their fellows had taken Rostholm, withdrew in search of easier pickings.

            Kel vaguely recalled the more enterprising younger Grogar coming to an unfortunate end of some kind, but she very much liked his rocks. At Haven she had used nets against killing devices but hadn’t considered their use as passive weapons, holding something back until need arose. And such passivity, she thought with rising excitement, might be applied more widely. She and a score of men had spent a back-breaking morning making safe a pile of rocks fallen from crags on the valley’s western side that had threatened the field below—but if a mage were available for heavy lifting, and rockpiles rested on cradles mined with mageblasts, she could put lethal traps in many places. Roads might be blocked as well as places to stand ladders. And much as she hated the stuff she was going to have to lay hands on blazebalm too, for one good thing about ladders was that they burned. The problem would be making sure you didn’t set fire to your outer wall. Energised, she trotted back towards her room, but crossing the parade ground heard herself hailed by Owen.

            “Kel, I was looking for you. Master Numair’s here.” Coming up to her he grinned. “I know you want to be doing but don’t get too excited. He can’t go to the Greenwoods until the day after tomorrow because he’s making spellmirrors, but the Wildmage should be here by then, too.” He leaned in confidentially. “She’s at Anak’s Eyrie, negotiating with a spidren. Can you believe it?”

            Kel stared astonishment. Spidrens didn’t negotiate or come in good and bad flavours, like so many immortals. But their babies scream when we burn them. She choked down the thought: little spidrens meant big spidrens and all spidrens were bad.

            “I know. But it’s interesting, I suppose. Different, anyway. Oh, and Master Numair wants to see you as soon as you like.” He brightened. “There’s a slap-up meal tonight, with that boar that was silly enough to charge Seaver yesterday. We’re all invited.”

            “Who’s we?”

            “We heroes of the Great Rescue. Isn’t it jolly?” At her horrified expression his face fell. “What’s wrong?”

            “Are you seriously telling me this dinner is for us, Owen?”

            “Well of course it is.” A light came into his eye. “Don’t tell me you haven’t seen it, Kel? You wrote it.”

            “I wrote what? Owen, if you don’t explain yourself very clearly right now, I shall feed you to Peachblossom.”

            “The King has published your report, Kel.” His enthusiasm returned full-bore. “You write beautifully, you know. My Lord had me post a copy on the general noticeboard. He says it’s being proclaimed in Corus and right along the border.”

            “Oh.” Kel felt hollow. She was impressed that the tactic she’d suggested had been put into effect so soon, but it hadn’t occurred to her that King Jonathan would not write his own version of events but simply publish hers. She swallowed.

            “Don’t you want to be a hero, Kel? Heroine, I mean.”

            “Not really.”

            “Too late.” He patted her shoulder. “You’ll get used to it.” He frowned. “Actually, you should be already because you’ve always been one. It’s the rest of us who ought to be surprised. And we are!”

            His logic baffled her and she looked at him warily. “You are?”

            “Yes. I mean, I knew we’d all done a good thing, and that was jolly. But I didn’t expect you’d say such nice things about us all, or that they’d be proclaimed like this. And you mentioned Happy! He’s famous too. I wanted to thank you for that.”

            She’d written her report hoping to protect her friends and cringed at the thought of Neal—and Dom—reading her praises of them. But her mind’s eye offered a vision of Lord Raoul laughingly calling her report a classic and she heard his bad-man’s voice observing to a dubious squire that reports were meant to be read, and you never did know what might be done with them. Uncertainly she smiled at Owen.

            “I just said what was true, you know.”

            “No you didn’t, Mother. You left out everything bad and polished up the good till we all gleamed like armour. The only person you didn’t mention besides the smugglers was yourself, but I think the King’s taken care of that because the whole thing’s headed, now let me get this right, The report of Lady Knight Commander Keladry of Mindelan on her successful mission to rescue Tortallan civilians and children abducted by the Scanran Kinslayer and to end the evil work of Maggur’s necromancer. I think that’s it. And your signature’s at the bottom—Keladry of Mindelan, Lady Knight Commander. The casualty roll’s been posted too, just as you recorded it.”

            Appalled, she stalked across the parade ground to the offending noticeboard only to find Owen had been word perfect, though she saw with relief that her mention of Quinden’s idiocy had been deleted. Owen stood grinning when she finally turned from the absurd display, and a circle of solemn soldiers stood watching them both. Their clapping the other day had been for rescuing the children, but now the demand they represented was palpable and she couldn’t pretend she didn’t understand why they hungered for the success and safety she’d been made to represent. Mama and Papa will read that report. And Anders, Inness, Conal. Actually, that thought left her feeling rather warm. Meeting her sisters-in-law again would also find her with a new advantage: not many cows were heroines, after all; nor lumps. And if she was honest, once she’d had the chance to think about the astonishing things Wyldon had said about her command abilities, she’d been far more gratified then embarrassed. Suddenly confident, she raised an eyebrow at the soldiers.

            “You do realise that thing’s been polished like your parade kit? In the doing it was all mud and luck.”

            After some glances a grizzled veteran made himself spokesman. “We knows that, Lady Knight Commander sir. But you still got the littles back, and you got the mage what was killin’ us.”

            She found herself thinking rapidly and clearly. “Lady Kel’s fine, soldier, unless some stickler’s around. Lord Raoul trained me and I don’t stand on ceremony.” The lord of Goldenlake’s dislike of noble pomp was widely known and grins flickered. “But yes, we got the littles back, and by the gods’ grace we got the mage and the Kinslayer. A nightmare and his dog, sent where they belonged. But I’ll tell you something.”

            They leaned in, intent on her.

            “That mage was a pimply mouse of a man. He killed hundreds and hurt us all, but to me he was the Nothing Man. Stenmun Kinslayer was evil right through. He liked to have men skinned and stole children for gold, but he wasn’t a coward. The mage was and I’ve been hoping the Black God’s judges have been thinking about that. But what matters is that he was more an illusion than anything else.”

            The soldier frowned. “Them killin’ devices was real , Lady Kel.”           

            “Yes, they were. But though they scared the wits out of us all and could chop up anyone in range, one good crossbow-bolt in the dome and they were done. You can’t do that to a giant or the kraken. What I’m saying is their weapon was more their terror than their knives. When all’s said and done they were dead children who just wanted to stop hurting. And once you got through that, there was only a greasy fool with bad breath and spots who got his head cut off by a girl.”

            There was a second’s silence followed by a roar of laughter and when Kel walked straight at them they parted easily, grinning among themselves. Owen fell in behind, chortling admiringly and reminding her Master Numair wanted to talk before he peeled off for the command building and left Kel to make her way to the guest quarters. She found Numair reading, long legs stretched out and half-unpacked saddlebags piled on the bed. Seeing he was oblivious she rapped gently on the door.

            “You wanted to see me, Master Numair?”

            “Keladry, come in.” He folded away papers and stood, inspecting her gravely. “I heard you were wounded. How are you now?”

            “Much improved, thank you.”

            “Good. And my heartfelt thanks for killing Blayce. Jonathan described what he’d seen in your vision—that sounds so odd—and it was everything I’d feared. Gods! What a horror necromancy is. Please, sit.”

            When she had settled he regarded her curiously. “It’s the behaviour of the Chamber that has the King exercised, of course, and this girl Irnai. I must meet her, but for now would you just tell me, please, about everything you’ve experienced with that elemental. Oh, except your Ordeal, of course.”

            “Alright.” She hesitated, delaying. “I don’t really understand what elementals are.”

            He thought for a moment. “I think the best description is that they’re organised wild magic. But how organised is … variable. Some are older than most gods and very complex beings indeed, like Chitral, who made the Dominion Jewel and chose to give it to Alanna. Others aren’t much more than emergent patterns.” He frowned. “I had believed our Chamber was somewhere in the middle but given what it’s been up to I begin to think it’s of the older, more complex kind. And plainly in contact with the Great Gods, as Chitral must have been, which complicates everything, always. But tell me your story, please.”

            Reluctantly she began. Despite knowing they’d been only nightmare visions she found it shockingly hard to expose the deep fears the Chamber always found to trade on, but she trusted Master Numair and tried conscientiously to include all her experiences of touching the chamber-door. He was interested in the first occasion she’d thought it had spoken to her, breathing amusement at her repeated self-testing, and seemed especially struck by her haunting experience after Joren’s trial, and how the Chamber had worked her feelings about Lalasa’s legal vulnerability into a scenario whose terror was as much political as visceral. She ended with her repeated dreams of Blayce’s workshop and what she’d seen and heard at Rathhausak, including the Chamber’s grumpiness over her dislike of the name it had given her and her belief it had been teasing her in choosing where it stopped its spectacular display during her debriefing. Numair grinned.

            “You’re probably right. Alanna certainly thinks Chitral has a warped sense of humour. I tend to find that more reassuring than upsetting, though many wouldn’t. Still, that’s some story of yours.” He pondered. “Do other squires touch its door as you did?”

            “I always thought so. There was a lot of joshing among pages about the tradition that says it’s bad luck if they do, and what I thought was an unspoken expectation that once one became a squire, one should. But when I told Neal he said I was mad and no-one else did.”

            “Mmm. So probably some do, but if the experiences are typically as they were for you, deep fears forcibly played out, those people would not say anything much afterwards.”

            She nodded, pleased that he understood. “That’s what I decided. It must be the same sort of thing for everyone—friends and family being killed, being helpless to stop it—and I certainly didn’t want to talk about it to anyone.”

            “I’m sure you didn’t. But it sounds as if your, um, persistence is unusual and the Chamber did, perhaps as a result, take special notice. So I’m afraid I must ask why you kept having it subject you to nightmares?”

            She stared at him, then shrugged. “Don’t you want to have a feel for a mage you’re going to have to fight?”

            “Fair enough. Was it only that?”

            “Well, no.” She thought about it, and amid new things crowding her head realised something. “You have to understand, Master Numair, I faced a lot of disapproval. Even before I started as a page, in my own family, harsh things were said. Once I was at the palace there was Lord Wyldon’s probation and open dislike, as well as Joren and his gang. And when we started serving at banquets there were court ladies, and guests who refused to have me serve them, or sniffed and said I should be ashamed of myself, not for doing anything wrong but just because I was a girl.” The memories were vivid. “The only thing I had to set against all that was that the Chamber alone bestows knighthood and it passed women until a century back, as well as Sir Alanna.” She took a deep breath. “I wanted to touch the door as soon as I became a page but I knew of the tradition from my brothers and respected it. But once I was a squire nothing would have stopped me. If the Chamber thought I wasn’t worthy I had to know.”

            The mage was regarding her with a compassionate look that made her want to cry, and she stilled herself.

            “That makes good sense, Keladry. And I’m sorry you had such a miserable time with bigots. Believe me, I understand that.” Thin fingers tapped. “But it’s clear the Chamber chose you for exactly the reasons you’ve done so astoundingly well. The problem is that it’s still not clear when it chose you and Jon seems to feel he needs to know.”

            “Then why doesn’t he ask?”

            “Eh? Ask what?”

            “The Chamber.” Numair gaped and a thought crystallised. “I just realised that when I was reporting to him and the others, they thought re-entering the Chamber was like undergoing another Ordeal. When it spoke through Irnai they all went white, as if they were being tested.”

            Numair had caught up and was nodding. “Because they’ve only ever had contact with the elemental during their Ordeals.”

            “Yes. But talking to it isn’t like that at all and its whole purpose is to serve Tortall. If the King’s truly worried about what it’s doing I can’t believe it wouldn’t speak to him about it. And there’d be no point in it giving him another Ordeal anyway—he passed its test years ago. So he should just go inside it and ask.”

            Slowly Numair smiled. “I shall tell him so, Keladry. His reply should be entertaining. And perhaps I’ll ask it myself about Shakith.”

            “And Lord Gainel, it said.”

            He grinned. “Yes, but I’ve met Gainel myself at my in-laws’.” Kel was well repaid for leaving him nonplussed a minute before and he chuckled at her expression. “I know. I still don’t always believe it myself but it comes with my Godborn magelet, bless her. She should be here tomorrow, by the way.”

            “So Owen said. I was hoping to see her. She’s always been so kind to me.” Numair beamed. She wondered if Owen shouldn’t have mentioned it, but curiosity won. “Is she really negotiating with a spidren?”

            He didn’t seem surprised she knew and nodded. “She is. It contacted her father at Samradh, when the barriers are thin, and he sent the Badger to convey its message.” Kel looked a query. “The male badger god. He’s a friend of Daine’s and Weiryn’s.”

            “Oh.” She blinked away surprise at how intimate he seemed with all manner of gods. “I meant, what was the message?”

            “So far as we can tell, that it wants to make a treaty, as we do with other immortals, and have someplace safe to live. Otherwise we know only that its name is Quenuresh, that it leads a small family group and must be a mage of some degree, and that Weiryn says it’s very old for its kind, though as it’s an immortal what that means is itself a mystery.”

            “There are spidren mages?” Kel was horrified.

            “A few. Their webs are intrinsically magical and that’s usually it, thank Mithros, but not always.”

            “Are you worried it’s a trap?”

            He shook his head. “No more than usual. Daine can defend herself against most things, she has an army escort, and the Badger promised to be there. It’s more than she often has.” He sighed and stood, bringing Kel to her feet. “Can you take me to meet Irnai now?”

            “Of course.”

            Passing her own room Kel stopped in to leave Orchan of Eridui, and found Tobe feeding sparrows. On his advice she and Master Numair then headed for the cookhouse, where as promised Irnai was helping to peel vegetables and listening to cooks’ gossip. Besides the innate attraction of food for a child who’d gone hungry for months, Kel had noticed on their journey that Irnai sought out mundane tasks, and thought it was probably a combination of repeatedly having to win acceptance from strangers and needing something more regular in her life than splinters of divine vision. She cheerfully came and sat with them at an empty table, holding Kel’s hand and answering questions straightforwardly, but to Kel’s mind there was nothing useful they didn’t already know. The only surprising thing was that while Irnai remembered all the Chamber had said, and even with eyes closed had seen the visions it projected through her, she had no memory of the words she’d spoken as Shakith gripped her and refused to hear what they were.

            “The god told me if I don’t remember what I’ve said it’s best I don’t know. It won’t affect me, and it’s for others to worry about.”

            Accepting this, Numair asked a few more questions about reactions to her prophecies, and let her return to the vegetables. Back outside he complimented Kel warmly on her care of the girl and all the children, before remarking with a frown that the stronger seers were the harder it was to tell anything, but he thought Irnai’s connection with Shakith unusually direct and suspected the goddess was actually trying to be helpful, which might or might not be a good thing. By the end his voice had sunk to a murmur and abruptly bidding Kel farewell until the feast in her honour he stalked off, still muttering. Kel was left to contemplate the further embarrassment in store and the need to dress for it.

            In the event it wasn’t as nerve-racking as she’d feared. She had no gown (and wasn’t sure, after Haven’s destruction, what if any clothes she had left) so a thorough wash and clean tunic had to serve. To her pleasure Fanche and Saefas were seated at the high table too, with a beaming Tobe; the messhall below was packed to the rafters with refugees, including children and Scanran villagers, as well as hundreds of soldiers. Seaver’s boar proved tender, the vegetables fresh, and the sweets an indulgence leaving her delightfully sated. The only bad moment came when Wyldon ended his remarks following the royal toast by proposing a further toast to their collective valour and she realised she was expected to reply—but even that proved easier than her first address at Haven as commander, and once on her feet she knew what she wanted to say. Carefully smoothing her Mindelan tunic she let her gaze circle, collecting fierce attention.

            “My Lord of Cavall is right to say all of us singled out for honour here depended on one another, and I would express my deep gratitude to my friends, and to Sergeants Domitan and Connac and all the soldiers with us, without whom none of it would have been possible. But we all depended also on the men and women of Haven, who did much to rescue themselves, on the villagers of Rathhausak, and in full measure on the children, who endured without complaint more than anyone should ever have to suffer, and showed the greatest courage you can imagine. There were others I cannot name, too, who helped along our way. So my first toast is to all who helped, not just we who are praised.”

            They drank, cheering, and when she remained standing quieted.

            “And there are our dead, at Haven and beyond.” The mood sobered. “I think of the captive adults who did all they could to slow the enemy’s progress and paid with their lives. Of our comrades and animals who fell at Rathhausak, giving their lives that others might live. And of the many children and adults who died at Blayce’s hands, given by their liegelord to a human monster. So in the names of Lord Mithros, and the Goddess, and the Black God, I give you our dead, in honoured memory.” She gestured and they stood. “May our lives be worthy of them, in winning this war and in the peace to follow.”

            “So mote it be.”

            The unison was thunderous, and she sat to murmurs of approval from her friends and a look from Wyldon that made her feel distinctly strange. Since their peculiar conversation they’d met only in public and their boundaries of friendship remained uncertain, but Kel had found a happiness she couldn’t recall growing in her as she absorbed the fact of his admiration for her as knight and commander. As the weight of his disapproval had haunted her training, so the glow of his regard warmed her as she struggled to come to terms with success and burgeoning fame. It was a vast improvement. Aided by the glass of wine she had to drink with the toasts she slept that night more deeply and dreamlessly than at any time since her Ordeal and first vision of pimpled slaughter.

* * * * *

Two days later a beautiful June morning found Kel riding a lively Peachblossom on the familiar courier track towards Haven, Jump in his carry-box and sparrows flitting to-and-fro. Numair rode behind her on the long-suffering Spots, as badly as ever, with Daine on a borrowed horse and behind them the young but assured leader of the western building team, sent from Steadfast to advise. More surprisingly, Daine had Kitten with her, the dragonet having become so bored with her parents’ repeated absence from Corus, and so advanced in magic for her age, that Daine felt it riskier to leave her behind than to expose her to hazard in the north. She perched on Daine’s horse’s withers, peering alertly and occasionally trilling excitement. Soldiers had point and rearguard and a screen surrounded them, but the mages were their defence should they meet any genuine force that had escaped detection.

            Starting at dawn and riding hard despite Numair’s complaints they came by late morning to the last ridge before the Greenwoods valley. Here towards its southern end the western hills were rounded and well wooded, criss-crossed with animal trails. The track bent sharply before curling into a gulley and running through trees down to the river, which it accompanied north to Haven; approaching that bend Kel pulled up.

            “If no-one objects I’d like to get a view over the whole valley before anything else.”

            No-one did and the building officer, Geraint of Legann, nodded approval. After letting horses breathe and scouts re-orient themselves Kel led them onto a deertrack angling up the hill. Steady climbing and a scramble where the slope steepened brought them to the crown of the hill, where they dismounted. Then she led them cautiously through the trees, sparrows scouting ahead, and after a few minutes came to the position she remembered, above crags with the sunlit valley spread out below them. As the others emerged from the trees to stand beside her, exclaiming at the view, Kel folded herself to sit cross-legged, back against warm tree-bark and one hand absently tugging Jump’s ears in the way he loved. Daine sat beside her, Kitten scrambling into her lap, and the others followed suit, Master Numair letting long legs dangle over the crags and Geraint producing a notebook in which he began to sketch.

            To their left the broadening valley descended north-east towards the distant Vassa, until the Greenwoods bent north to skirt intruding, higher hills beyond which lay Tirrsmont, the ruins of Goatstrack, and ill-fated Giantkiller. About three miles from their lookout the blackened rectangle of Haven perched on its artificial knoll above the river, bare flagpole and air of desertion a stark reminder of why they were here. Surrounding it was the best cropland, in the rich valley bottom and on the lower slopes; more good growing and grazing lay immediately below, limited by sheer cliffs on the eastern side, culminating in an outlying root the Grimhold Mountains thrust through the lower hills.

             It was this Kel had really wanted to see, and after a general survey though the splendid spyglass Alanna had given her she settled to a careful quartering of the ground. Why the limestone steepened so much on the east she had no idea, but the great fin of darker rock that all but cut off the southernmost third of the valley was another matter altogether. It ended well out on the valley floor in a ragged cliff thirty foot high, leaving a half-mile of open ground bisected by the river foaming down a stretch of rapids, but where the fin cut the eastern cliffs, themselves rising more than four hundred feet, it towered above them. Compared to its base and even to the limestone cliffs, which for nearly a mile to the north rose like a wall from the rich soil, the slope up to the angle of fin and cliffs seemed oddly shallow—because, as Kel half-remembered and her spyglass confirmed, it was filled with an immense screepile. Straggling shrubs made it hard to be sure but she thought the loose stone extended onto the valley floor for a hundred-and-fifty yards or more, and rose at least two hundred feet before tapering to meet the intersecting cliffs. A wide, ragged chimney in the paler limestone and a deep notch in the clifftop above showed where the debris had come from. More importantly, denser vegetation with damp ground below told of a spring beneath the scree and from this height Kel could see a line of greener growth tracing a course towards the Greenwoods. Thoughtfully she let the spyglass drop from her eye and took in the wider view again, letting her hand drift back to Jump’s head.

            May I look though it, please?

            Startled, she turned her head to meet Kitten’s slit-pupilled eyes. Behind the dragonet Daine seemed amused.

            “Did she talk to you? I expect she wants to use the spyglass.”

            Swallowing surprise, Kel offered Kitten the brass tube. “Of course you can, ah—”

            Skysong is my true name, but I don’t mind if you call me Kitten, as Mama does.

            “Skysong. Right, I knew that. I’m sorry I forgot. Please be careful with the glass.”

            I will. Thank you. What should I call you?

            “Um, Keladry. Or Kel’s fine.”

            Thank you, Kel.

            The dragonet set the spyglass gently to her eye, whistling pleasure, and seeing that she clearly knew how to twist the eyepiece to focus Kel let her eyes meet Daine’s, alight with laughter.

            “When did this happen? She couldn’t talk before, could she?”

            “Well, she could, actually, but not to us two-leggers. She was too young, so far as we knew, to mindspeak between the kinds as adult dragons do, and fair frustrating we all found it.” The Wildmage grinned at the memory. “But when we were in Carthak for Kalassin’s wedding she found Kawit, who gave her one of her scales to eat, and Kit’s been chattering non-stop ever since, making up for lost time. She still finds it hard to speak to more than one two-legger at once, though, so others won’t necessarily hear what you do. It can make conversations a bit awkward.” A chirp told them the dragonet was listening and Daine reached to stroke her flank. “I know, Kit, but you’re doing very well.” Her smoky blue-grey eyes came back to Kel’s. “She’s cautious with strangers, having discovered the hard way that not everyone likes a talking and very inquisitive dragon, so she must trust you.”

            “Oh.” Kel felt absurdly pleased. “Perhaps she remembers me from the palace. I did meet her once, when I first brought you Jump.” Hearing his name the dog thumped his tail.

            Yes, I remember. You knelt to greet me. I always remember kindness. Kitten took the spyglass from her eye and swivelled her snout to look up at Kel. What were you looking at so carefully?

            “I was wondering if we might be able to use the angle of the cliffs and that great fin. It would mean we’d only have two walls to defend.”

            The fallen rocks are in the way.

            “They could be moved.” Kel shrugged. “I don’t really know what’s possible, but I’ve seen Master Numair shift tons of boulders at once, and I was wondering what’s under those rocks. Do you see the greener vegetation leading to the river? There’s a spring in there, and above the scree the cliffs rise sheer, so perhaps they’re like that right along.”

            Kitten chirped and took up the spyglass, peering at screeslope and the cliffs to either side before again looking at Kel.

            The black cliff is very strong rock, so that is probably right. She sounded thoughtful. There is a dragonspell that would tell me what is hidden under the fall, but I could not cast it powerfully enough for a pile of rocks that big.

            Daine heard this and looked at Kitten consideringly. “You’re always good with rocks, Kit. Numair might be able to boost you. Tell him about the spell you mean?”

            With a cluck of agreement the dragonet carefully handed the spyglass back to Kel and trotted over to Numair, whistling and tugging at his sleeve. He listened carefully before glancing across at Kel.

            “She says you want to know what’s under all that scree?”

            Kel nodded. “I wondered if the cliffs were sheer all the way down, Master Numair. I may be dreaming the impossible, but if they are, and that scree pile could be shifted forward and levelled out …”

            “Mmm.” His eyes lost focus for a minute. “There’s no problem moving the rocks, but I don’t think they’d be stable enough to build on.”

            “Can we look anyway? I realise you could raise another knoll, as before, but I want to keep as much good land as possible for planting. So do the refugees. We need all the food we can grow. And if we were backed against the cliffs we’d only have two sides to defend.”

            Beyond Numair Geraint nodded. “I like your thinking, my Lady, but Master Numair is right. Loose scree like that can be used as filler, or for a glacis, say, but it won’t take post-holes or foundations.”

            Kitten again tugged at Numair’s sleeve, and a look of surprise crossed his face.

            “That’s true, Kit. Good thinking.” He glanced at Geraint, then looked round at Kel. “She reminds me basilisks can do all sorts of things with stone—it’s their native element—and as it happens Tkaa isn’t far away.”

            “He isn’t?” The basilisk courtier-diplomat had taught Kel as a page, and if having a seven-foot-tall beaded lizard as a teacher had been unnerving at first she’d grown very fond of him. His lessons about the many kinds of immortal had always been interesting and often valuable, but she’d loved his complete indifference to her gender.

            “He’s visiting a basilisk mother-and-son living south of here, near Wolfwood, who’ve been finding some locals suspicious and hostile.”

            “Oh.” She felt a pang for the unknown mother-and-son—or perhaps not unknown. “I might have met those basilisks, once, when I was riding with the Own. Did they use to live in the Royal Forest?”

            “Yes, that’s them. They’ve been all over northern Tortall since then. The mother’s St’aara and her son is Amiir’aan.” Kitten chirped what sounded like a correction and Numair smiled. “Of course Kitten can pronounce their full names properly and delights in doing so at great length, but even knowing Old Thak I can never get the gutturals of the spoken form right, so I stick to the short versions.” He pulled himself back from the crag edge and stood. “I’ve no idea if your idea is practical, Keladry, but we can certainly look.”

            It didn’t take them long to descend back to the courier trail and canter down to the valley floor. A mile below the rapids the river shallowed and broadened as it ran over a shelf of rock covered in sand, making a perfect ford. From his snorts Kel knew Peachblossom was enjoying the rush of cool mountain water against cannonbones and knees, and the valley looked beautiful in the sunlight, but the shell of Haven to the north prevented her relaxing. Reaching the further bank she let Peachblossom stretch his legs in a brief gallop that brought her to the foot of the scree, and dismounted.

            Before trying any spellwork they broke out food and Geraint built a small fire, setting water to boil. The Mastiff cooks had provided rolls, cheese, and cold meat, and despite dark Haven in the distance Kel felt her spirits rise. She pulled herself onto a small boulder at the edge of the scree, looking down-valley and letting legs dangle while she shared a roll with the sparrows and meat with Jump. This would be a good corner of the valley to dwell if her strange idea worked out; the towering fin would limit direct light, especially when the northern sun made only winter arches, but now, Samradh a week past, the shadow was pleasantly cool and the Greenwoods sparkled.

            Bringing a cup of strong soldiers’ tea Geraint sat beside her, smiling when a sparrow landed on his shoulder. His voice was soft.

            “Lady Knight, wherever we build we’re going to need to use as much timber from Haven as we can. I’m sorry.” She nodded bleakly, having known the remains of her first command would have to be dismantled. “With your permission I’ll take a couple of men and survey it. The fire-damage doesn’t look as bad as I’d feared.”

            There was a question in his voice and Kel nodded again, eyes on Haven. “Master Numair had strong fire-protections on everything except the infirmary. And the Scanrans wanted to capture, not kill.” She shifted to face him, drawing one leg up. “Master Geraint, the dead who fell there are buried in a mass-grave by the flagpole. There was no time for more, and I will not move them. Rather, we will make Haven our burial-ground. I know we need the timber, but please make sure everyone knows to respect that ground.”

            “Of course, my Lady. We will honour them.”

            A thought struck her forcibly. “I don’t know what if anything survived inside any of the barracks—not much, from what I saw—but though the headquarters building was ransacked it wasn’t torched in the same way.” She flushed slightly. “My own room was there …”

            “And you need your things. I understand, my Lady.”

            “Most of it can wait, Geraint, but I am going to need some clothing. Perhaps I should come with you.”

            “Please don’t. I can get what’s needed and it won’t affect me the same way.” Gently dislodging the sparrow he slid to his feet, turned, and to her surprise offered a salute. “Permission to go, my Lady?”

            “Yes, carry on, Geraint. You’ll have a good view from the knoll, so make sure someone keeps watch and has a horn.”

            “Right.”

            He walked off, calling soldiers, and Kel slid off the boulder, looking round. Kitten had scrambled almost to the top of the scree pile, followed more cautiously by Master Numair, obviously concerned about its stability; black fire glittered at his fingertips in case he found the ground moving under his feet. As Kel gazed at them Daine came to stand beside her.

            “If Kitten’s going to do what I think this might be very pretty.”

            “Pretty?” Kel quirked an eyebrow. “What happens?”

            “The rocks light up. She learned the basic spell years ago, when we first met Tkaa in Dunlath, and she’s always loved it.” A smile warmed her face. “At the siege of Port Legann she was showing off to Diamondflame and made the battlement light up, all in different colours. It’s—what’s that word Numair uses—all up and down, like rotten teeth.” Her hand traced a pattern in the air.

            “Crenellated?”

            “That’s the one. Kitten made the teeth-bits light up. The ones that stick up.”

            “Merlons.”

            “If you say so.” She grinned. “It was fair wonderful, but Lord Imrah was already having to walk round an invisible eighty-foot dragon on his keep roof and I don’t think he wanted colourful merlons just then.”

            Kel’s smile tipped into a laugh. She suspected she might have shared Lord Imrah’s misgivings, but still. “An eighty-foot dragon?”

            “About that.” Daine’s glance was amused. “Diamondflame’s the strongest dragon, magically, but not the biggest. At the Dragonmeet there was one at least one-hundred-and-twenty feet, nose to rump.”

            Kel stared. “You went to a dragonmeet?”

            “The Dragonmeet.” Daine’s eyes were on Numair and Kitten, crouched in conference. “It’s a … well, legal body, I suppose, like a court. Someone didn’t like mortals in the Dragonlands and tried to get us kicked out but Diamondflame and Rainbow put a stop to that.” Her voice was absent. “Here we go.”

            Kel swallowed curiosity and looked up. Balancing carefully on a boulder thirty feet below the top of the scree, Numair hoisted Kitten to stand on his shoulders, one long arm reaching up to rest on the back of her head, where black-and-silver magic sparkled as Kitten gave a piercing whistle. As Daine had predicted the scree above them blazed in response and Kitten chortled. She whistled again, a lower note, and the dark rock of the fin glowed a strange blue; a third note made the limestone cliffs glow a lighter greeny-blue that reminded Kel of water. Then mage and dragonet began a more systematic lightshow, probing the scree and slowly descending in sweeps, colours flaring before them.

            Tearing her eyes away Kel saw the soldiers who hadn’t gone with Geraint edging back, faces strained. Even Jump and the horses were keeping their distance, though sparrows fluttered about the scree, peeping excitedly. She considered offering the soldiers a reassuring word, but it would make no difference to their fear of the black-robe mage. She’d seen it in poor Einur the cook at Haven, and even in the Riders and Own, where Daine was always welcome, Master Numair was treated with wary caution. The man had, after all, once turned an enemy mage into a tree—a story she’d barely believed when Neal first told it, but had since heard confirmed though she’d never seen the tree itself, somewhere at Dunlath. That name sparked an idea but before she could pursue it she realised that even in her mind she always called Master Numair by his title, though she thought of the Godborn Wildmage at her side just as Daine. Wasn’t that her own way of keeping him at a safe distance, even after all he’d done for Haven? And he always called her Keladry, never the diminutive. A resolution formed.

            “Daine, why does Numair never call me Kel?”

            Daine glanced at her, eyebrows raised. “You always call him by his title. Etiquette bores him but he likes you so he offers respect. Why?”

            “I’ve had cause to think about things like that recently. But I just realised I always call him ‘Master Numair’ for the same reason those soldiers are looking so wary. It’s not fair on him.”

            The Wildmage’s smile was warm. “No, it isn’t. He’s philosophical about it and says he can’t expect anything else. But I remember at the siege of Pirate’s Swoop, when I’d just come to Tortall, how the stable-hands and servants who’d seemed to like me went all stiff-legged after I healed Kit’s ma and summoned the Kraken, though it saved us all. It still happens, if villagers see me change.” She shrugged. “I don’t blame them but it’s hard.” Smokey eyes gave Kel a shrewd look. “Are you finding the same, as Protector of the Small?”

            “You’ve heard that silly name?”

            “Kel, everyone’s heard it, up here anyway, and I don’t suppose Corus missed out.” Daine grinned. “I’d get used to it. And anyway, it suits you.”

            “So the King said.” Kel knew she sounded grumpy, and Daine grinned again. “But no, it’s not really the same. The men aren’t afraid of me, and they know I haven’t a drop of magic. But they look at me differently and I can feel the weight of expectation, as if I’m going to do something extraordinary any moment.”

            “Yes, that’s it.” Daine’s eyes were back on Numair and Kitten, working round the dampness by the limestone cliff. “As if I might suddenly turn wolf just to scare them. One reason I like Dunlath is no-one much cares anymore what I do. They see ogres and wolves and eagles in the castle whenever Maura’s Council meets so what’s a shapeshifter more or less?”

            Kel’s elusive thought returned and she grabbed it, exploring it as it unfolded. A dozen ideas popped into her head, some making her wonder if she were mad after all, but Numair was now climbing back down towards them, Kitten still riding his shoulders.

            “Daine, there’s no time now but when we’ve a chance there’s something complicated I want to ask you.”

            Daine looked at her curiously. “About what?”

            “Dunlath, sort of.”

            “Alright.”

            Numair came off the scree, face sheened with sweat, and swung Kitten down. Sparrows fluttered before perching where they could.

            “There you are, monster. Happy now?”

            Kit chortled, hugging Numair’s leg, then chirped at Daine, who smiled. “He spoils you rotten, Kit. You could perfectly well have climbed down yourself. But yes, that was all very pretty and I do think your grandsire would be impressed. The sparrows certainly were and say thank you. What did you learn? Can you tell Kel at the same time?”

            I can. There was a strain in the dragonet’s happy mindvoice, but it was clear. The rocks are tightly packed and there are lots of them but I felt the cliffs behind. Both drop straight down to the ground, and in the white rock, where it meets the black rock, there is a cave. It is partly filled with rocks that have tumbled in, but I think it is big. And the water all comes from one place in the white rock, about forty feet above the ground. The flow is quite strong but much seeps straight down and disappears again. Only what the rocks divert forms the underground flow you saw from the crags where we stopped.

            Kel’s fist clenched. “Excellent. Thank you, Skysong, that’s very helpful. I don’t know about your grandsire, never having met him, but I’m impressed.”

            Kitten preened and Kel grabbed a stick and scuffed some ground clear. They leaned in to see as she squatted and drew crude lines to represent limestone and fin, then two enclosing walls.

            “I’m no artist, but what I’m thinking is that we move all the scree, so the base of the angle is clear, and pile it up further out.” She switched to a profile view, dragging the stick quickly through the soft dirt. “So around the base and this cavemouth you’d have a space at ground level, then a slope up to a much bigger level area. I’m not sure how high that slope could be, but I’ve tried to calculate the volume of this scree-pile, and my first guess is thirty feet or so. That would be the main level, with the barracks, stables, infirmary and so on. And around that, a raised rim, as sheer as you can make it outside. I’m guessing again, but I think if we did it like that, and you can magically revet it so it’s stable, we might be able to get an outside face of fifty foot, all hard climbing at best—and there’d be the palisade on top of that. Plus from what Kitten says about that spring, we could have an internal water-source and channel what we don’t need along the cliff to the outer wall, down, and back along below it before heading for the river.” She looked up at them triumphantly. “A moat, then a fifty-foot scramble with traps and obstacles, and then fifteen- and thirty-foot double walls enclosing a killing field. Let the Scanrans try to climb that.”

            Kitten chortled, nodding, and Daine smiled, but Numair had a bemused look.

            “You don’t think small, do you, Keladry? You’re describing a better fortress than Northwatch.”

            “Just Kel, please.” She stood, dusting her hands as he gave her a sharp look. “And no, not any more. I realise it’s not being made public, but you know what Irnai prophesied, so I’m expecting to have to defend whatever we build here. Mithros knows against what sort of force, but I have to assume the worst. So I’d want a gatehouse there”—she pointed with her foot—“hard against the fin, and the only approach a road sloping up across the west face of the glacis, right under the walls.”

            She looked Numair in the eye. “You have to understand that while Wyldon’s giving me a regular company as well as the squads from Haven, I’ll still be relying on refugees to man the walls. Giantkiller will screen us, but if Maggur puts together a real force—and he’s been dealing in armies of several thousand this year—he can besiege Giantkiller and Mastiff with five hundred men apiece and send everything else at us. And if that happens there will be no way I can fight them in the field, whatever Wyldon thinks. So I shall have to fort up and defy them, for however long it takes for relief to arrive, which might be a week or more. And that means that to stand any chance I have to repel repeated assaults, and bleed the enemy hard. I’m sorry to be blunt, but that’s the logic. And I’m not letting my people be hung out to dry again.”

            She gestured towards the shell of Haven, noticing as she did so distant figures—Geraint and soldiers—trotting back towards them.

            “You know it. All those refugees, all those children, left in harm’s way while lords bickered, and harm came calling. And here we are again, facing exactly the same problem, for all that Blayce is dead. So I want a fort that cannot fall while its defenders stay true.”

            Numair nodded sharply. “Right on all counts. I spoke again to Jonathan about these risks but he can’t overrule the lords on their own lands without risking real trouble for the realm.” He sighed. “It depends on stabilising the scree, Kel.” She noted she hadn’t had to ask him twice. “Harailt and I can move and shape it, but fixing it to give the kind of slopes you want and support those walls and buildings for, what? a thousand people or more—that’s another matter.”

            But Tkaa can make any stones stick together.

            Numair frowned. “Using heat, you mean, Kit?”

            No, they just stuck. And if you packed the stones with mud he could use the rock-spell. Would that not hold everything together?

            “The rock-spell? What’s that?”

            Numair’s eyes were losing focus and Daine answered Kel’s question.

            “It turns things to stone—a basilisk’s main hunting and defence spell.” Her voice was wry. “Sounds like an avalanche with a lot of shrieking thrown in, but it works. Tkaa used it to save me from a coldfang once, and against attacking hurroks at Port Legann.”

            “Oh.” Kel thought furiously. “Is it a blasting spell, or can it be used … I don’t know, more delicately?”

            “Surely. Last time I met St’aara she said she’d had some luck turning wooden bowls and jars into stone, for villagers over by the Drell somewhere who’d lost their stonecarver. What are you thinking?”

            “I’m not sure.” But her visions now included fireproof roofs, and neither the palisades above a formidable glacis nor the spikes lining pits below magetraps were still made of vulnerable wood.

            Numair’s focus returned. “I don’t know if Kitten’s right, but I can contact Tkaa tonight and ask what’s possible.” He smiled with a certain grimness. “I don’t think it’s what the army had in mind, nor yet Jonathan, but it makes sense to me, Kel, and we’ll do our best.”

            “Thank you, Numair.” She met his eyes again. “For everything.” She let her gaze drop to Kitten and remembering the dragonet’s words went to one knee. “Thank you too, Skysong. You’ve been a well of ideas today. If it all works out we should give you the freedom of—well, I don’t know what we’re going to call it. New Haven, maybe. Or New Hope.”

            The dragonet went pink. I like New Hope. That is always good.

            “It is. The refugees have a say but I think they’ll like it too.”

            Kitten chirped agreement and behind her Kel heard Geraint arrive. Rising, she steeled herself to hear his assessment of what could be salvaged from Haven. It would always be a nightmare memory but her raw determination to prevent another such fall had become laced with optimism. The implications of Irnai’s prophecy frightened her badly, but if New Hope could shelter behind the walls she envisaged it would not be her people with whom stormwings would play. Let whoever brought the war to them pay that price.

* * * * *

Wyldon took some convincing that Kel’s idea was feasible, but Geraint had been willing, if bemused, and after talking to Tkaa Numair was firm there was a good enough chance to warrant trying.

            “Both basilisks say sticking loose stone is simple,” he reported, “and they can make the bond as strong as they want. Tkaa’s intrigued, I think. St’aara said she’d offered help with stonework before, trying to earn a place to stay, but villagers have always been too frightened and quarrymen hostile. This could be an opportunity in more ways than one.”

            Wyldon didn’t seem much happier but Kel was definite on that point. On their ride back to Mastiff she’d been able to ask Daine about Dunlath, and how agreement had been reached with ogres to live peacefully with people and animals. War had taught Kel vividly how much trouble a single giant could make on a battlefield, how deadly centaurs were with arrows and how profoundly intimidating adult griffins, and that most immortals who made treaties kept them honourably. But she also knew that though the army made no provision to house or feed them, some of those living under treaty had been displaced by the war, while others had found nowhere to settle or preferred wandering. And if the most the realm could find to defend her refugees was a scant company of men she needed to make whatever allies she could.

            That was the point she made to Wyldon, less bluntly and with subtle stress on the genuine difficulties in staffing she knew he faced—winning a wry nod. To Daine on the trail she’d emphasised her determination to be honest with all comers, telling them frankly she expected New Hope to have to fight against hard odds before the war was done but also her belief that if immortals would try to fit in, she thought they could .

            “We’ve an advantage in that everyone’s a refugee and used to getting along with whoever’s there. We’ve also been shown the hard way what can happen in war, how vulnerable we are. We’re taking Scanrans from Rathhausak and if anyone’s objected Fanche and Saefas have set them right so fast I’ve not heard of it. The Haven refugees have actually been helping them get acquainted with the dogs and cats and birds you magicked before, though a couple of the older ones still mutter about wine besten duguth being unnatural.”

            Daine had laughed. “Yes, I’ve heard that from other Scanrans. ‘Friendly animal retainers’, I suppose you’d say. But they don’t mind the People’s help when they need it.”

            “No. And the Rathhausakers are used to Zerhalm. He’s got animal healing magic, thank the Goddess, or we’d have lost that marmalade cat who was so helpful.” She told Daine about the cat’s bravery and concussion fighting Stenmun. “She’s taken up residence with Fanche and Saefas since Dom left, and behaves like a queen, of course. Well, how you’d think a queen would behave, not like Thayet.” Daine had laughed at that. “But getting back to the point, though frankly I don’t like this side of it at all, with Irnai’s tale circulating and the idea the gods were with us against death magic, they’ve also got the idea we have a special blessing. And like it or not, I can use that if anyone objects to a basilisk or an ogre. I’ve also been wondering about that griffin kit, and if his parents might be willing to take up residence.”

            Then she’d taken a deep breath and made an offer she hoped she wouldn’t regret. “I’m not sure about that spidren, Quenuresh, and her kin, though. I’m sorry, Daine—I don’t know if I could stick a spidren at close quarters. I’ve fought them so often and seen what they do to people they capture. But there’s a patch of dense old woodland north of Haven, that spidrens have used before, and if you’re sure Quenuresh means what she says and will honour a treaty, I think we could co-exist. For me it’s enough if they’ll leave people alone and defend their territory against any hostiles.” Her fighting brain prompted an addition. “And if they want more, I don’t mind trading though I’m not sure what. Meat for webbing, or whatever Quenuresh’s magecraft lets her do.”

            Daine had ridden in silence for a while. Kel suspected she was talking to Kitten, who’d listened carefully and was now twisted round to look at Daine, but if so their conversation was strictly between themselves until the Wildmage suddenly nodded and looked at her.

            “Alright, Kel, I’ll try. There’s not a lot of people I’d trust to say they’ll protect peaceful immortals against upset two-leggers and actually deliver, but you’re surely one. Kit thinks so too. And I’ve been feeling wretched about immortal refugees. Maggur probably makes the same offer to ogres and centaurs he makes to giants, but giants like fighting. Most ogres in the mortal realms don’t. They’re miners or farmers, and you need both. And male centaurs just want to pasture their herds in peace and do well enough to keep females happy, so I think some will consider it. The griffins might too. They’re not big on gratitude but they know they owe you a lot more than that sack of feathers, and the Vassa has big enough fish to interest them. I’m also grateful for the offer about Quenuresh. I think she’s sincere, and she said several times she knew it’d be hard to win mortals’ trust but she was sick of running and hiding and having no choice but to kill to defend herself and her kin.”

            She’d smiled wryly.

            “It’s odd, you know. They’re immortals right enough, but most spidrens die young. They probably breed and grow the fastest of any immortal, but the fight for food means the younglings kill one another as often as not, and those who do make it to adulthood end up taking too many risks and getting killed anyway. Quenuresh came north in the hope of finding space and avoiding contact with two-leggers, but ran into the war and wasn’t sure what to do. Then going south again she happened to skirt Dunlath, met an ogre who explained their treaty and how I’d been able to establish it, and came up with the idea of contacting my Da.”

            He was very surprised. Kitten’s chortle had been rich and Daine had laughed, patting the dragonet.

            “Yes, he was. So was I, come to that. But none of us could think of anywhere except Dunlath where it might work and Brokefang wouldn’t like it—he’s getting grumpier with age every time I see him. So your offer’s very welcome, and I’ll spread word as widely as I can among friendly immortals. The Badger’ll help too.”

            That had led to explanations of how Daine came to know a Badger god that left Kel wondering why anyone thought her adventures strange, but to her surprise it was that detail that convinced Wyldon to support the whole thing. He had, he said dryly, had occasion to see the Badger in action before, delivering darkings to Thayet during the Immortals War, and in any case knew better than to argue with a god of any stripe. So calculations had been made, messages sent, and plans laid, and three days after she’d got back to Mastiff Kel led out a large column, with Harailt to help Numair, Daine and Kitten, and the western building team as well as a regular company to provide guards and commissariat. To Neal’s disappointment he and the other knights had to fill gaps left in Mastiff’s rosters, with Connac’s men and Uinse’s convicts. Nor would they have any of the refugees who’d volunteered help until there were walls to sleep behind, but Tkaa and no less than three other basilisks, including St’aara and Amiir’aan, were to meet them there.

            The building team had a wagon-train loaded with tools, piping, and all manner of materials; there were also tents and food, so they had to take the longer, easier way, using the Frasrlund road and angling back to Haven from the north. Even on the wide trail the column travelled slowly and it took two days to reach the Greenwoods valley. Kel spent time getting to know the building team, a cheerful bunch, and the regulars who would be her permanent company at New Hope. She’d hesitated to ask Wyldon to make his choice so soon, but she wanted her men to see New Hope created, not least because if they knew they’d be defending its walls they’d have a commitment from the first. But he’d anticipated her, following the same logic, and she’d been surprised (if delighted) to discover there’d actually been competition among Mastiff companies to be chosen. The men selected, Company Eight under Brodhelm of Frasrlund, were proud of their assignment, and though she laced her words to them with cautions her descriptions of what she hoped to build with their help fired their enthusiasm.

            It was too late when they came to the valley to consider starting anything that night, but the basilisks were waiting as promised, and while the builders made camp in the meadow north of the fin and Brodhelm organised corralling, sentry-points, and patrol routes, Kel collected Geraint and went to make the immortals’ acquaintances. Tkaa turned from his conversation with Harailt, Daine, Numair, and Kitten to greet her in that familiar, fluting whisper, and offered congratulations on her exploit. St’aara and Amiir’aan—as endearingly shy as she remembered—seemed pleased she knew their names and recalled their brief meeting five years before; the other basilisk was a male who said his name among mortals was Var’istaan, and that he’d been living near Northwatch but had headed south when the killing devices started appearing and been wandering ever since. The tale of her actions to end the necromancy had reached him via Tkaa and made him think very well of her, so here he was. Offering polite thanks, Kel half-suspected there might be some basilisk courting going on and made a mental note to ask Tkaa about it as soon as she had an opportunity to do so discreetly.

            Then they got down to business. Kel again described what she envisaged, producing drawings that if still sketchy offered more detail than lines in earth, before Numair explained in magical terms and Geraint in engineering ones what the mortals could and couldn’t do. A whispery exchange followed in a language that sounded as if stones popped into gravel in its depths. Then Tkaa fetched five small rocks from the bottom of the scree and set them in a row, tail and one forepaw ensuring they were hard against one another. Motioning the others back he leaned forward, tail outstretched, and cocked his head above the stones before making a noise the like of which Kel had never heard in her life—low and rumbling but with something almost inaudible threading through it that made her think of a vixen’s scream, or the noises men made in the madness of battle. It lasted only a few seconds before Tkaa reached down to grasp the rock nearest him and picked up all five, extending them to a gaping Geraint.

            “They are fused, and the bonds are stronger than the rocks themselves. Limestone is too porous for real resilience but I believe this would suffice for any stress mortals might generate.”

            Speechlessly the building officer took the assemblage, peering at the joins and trying to break the rocks apart. Numair and Harailt examined it magically before grinning at one another, then at Kel.

            “Forgive me, Tkaa, but can you all do this?”

            “We can, Keladry. It is only a variant of the rock-spell.”

            “And you can do it on the scale we need here?”

            “Certainly. Numair may have to boost us if a very large area needs to be stabilised fast, and in that case another mage would have to shield all mortals from the spell, but it is not intrinsically difficult, nor exhausting to perform. You had a question, Geraint?”

            “Two, my Lord. How deeply your spell can penetrate the pile when it’s been rearranged, and how we should best sink foundations into it.”

            “I am no mortal’s lord, Geraint of Legann, nor may any basilisk be such. But to answer, as deeply as we wish, and with the same spell applied differently. When you know where you wish to sink a post or foundation, we will loosen the stone, and when the post is in place, re-set it. Also, if mud is packed around it, to fill any gaps, we can turn that to stone also. With that work even young Amiir’aan will be able to assist.”

            The visions this conjured left Geraint and Kel rubbing their hands in glee, and she left builder, basilisks, and mages deep in half-magical, half-mathematical  argument about how best to set about things. Daine turned to come with her, looking round for Kit, and saw the dragonet nose to nose with the young basilisk, scales pink. Checking with St’aara, who gravely consented, Daine collected both immortals, giving a hand to each, and caught up with Kel, who had watched in fascination.

            “Start as we mean to go on, Kel? I think Amiir’aan’s a bit shy, but he’s got good magic and Kit’s dying to show off her light-spell to anyone she can get to watch. Introduce them to your men?”

            Kel couldn’t have asked for more and spent a cheerful, amusing hour seeing the extrovert Kitten cajole Amiir’aan into turning various sticks, small carvings, and copper bits into stone she could light up with all the colours of the rainbow. Initially wary but not unwilling, and increasingly charmed both by free entertainment and a sense of the young immortals as more of the children their Protector of the Small was properly given to rescuing, the soldiers were soon relaxed and laughing, proffering new things to be petrified. After a while Daine called a maternal halt to the magic, and sat to tell stories of Kitten lighting up battlements to impress her grandsire, Tkaa petrifying hurroks, and St’aara’s and Amiir’aan’s wanderings around Tortall. When she sat Kitten scrambled into her lap and Amiir’aan quietly tucked himself between her and Kel, tail draped over his arm; by the time she was done the young basilisk had made contributions of his own to explain why he and his mama had always ended up moving on. The men were silent when he spoke in his whisper, craning to catch every word and (Kel sensed with fierce pleasure) becoming indignant on his behalf at fearful villagers who thought they might be turned to stone, hostile quarrymen, and masons so sure they needed no immortal competition they wouldn’t stop to consider advantages they might reap. Tkaa always said basilisks were by nature observer-diplomats, and watching Amiir’aan win the affections of her men Kel understood in a new way what he meant.

            After the grinding logistics of her journey with the children Kel found having a commissariat made field command so much easier that her sense of lightness was almost palpable. A force of well-trained and experienced professionals made all the difference in the world, and while Brodhelm was punctilious in reporting to her she wouldn’t dream of interfering in Company Eight’s well-oiled routine. Raoul had taught her long ago that the first rule of giving orders was not to do so whenever it could be avoided, for once you started they’d be expected every time. “It breeds inertia in men and makes martinets of officers who should be doing something useful,” he’d said. “Make sure they all know what needs doing, and leave ’em to it while you do your own work.” So she did, though she took care to go over patrol routes and sentry-points with Brodhelm, telling him of problems presented by dead ground and dense trees. She sensed approval of her detailed knowledge and returned the respect—he was careful and thorough, and though his manner with his sergeants and men was easy they were swift to obey. Merric could learn a lot from him.

            Everyone was up with dawn, and after breakfast the mages prepared. Kel had wondered if Numair would use the Sorcerer’s Dance, as he had to bring boulders to Haven, and when she saw him and Harailt holding recorders she knew she’d been right. They positioned themselves on either side of the scree-pile, stared hard at one another for a moment, then simultaneously drew breath and began to play. The first eerie notes seemed to stir only the hair on Kel’s neck but a lilting tune emerged as lines of melody entwined and after a moment she saw—and heard—rock begin to move, not from the top of the scree but about half-way down. Other rocks slipped as their haphazard balance was disturbed and soon the whole surface of the scree was in motion, scrub wavering and disappearing into a rocktide that rumbled and banged to the foot of the pile and kept going, flowing outwards across the valley floor for a thousand feet to pile up again in a broad arc. By then everyone had retreated; only Numair and Harailt remained within the moving stone, fingers flying as boulders swerved around their feet.

            Seeing it would be hours before the level of the scree would sink enough to expose the spring and cave Kitten had mentioned, Kel took herself off to see what else might need doing. The unhappy truth was that until the mages were done there wasn’t a great deal anyone could do except make their own preparations. Geraint and the building team had headed off for Haven but Kel had no heart for that job, and was only glad the rumble of magework drowned out the distant rasp of saws and creaking timber that would otherwise be making her miserable. Nor would it help to put herself on patrol or watch, and as yet New Hope had no paperwork to be outstanding. She had hoped for a chance to ask Tkaa about the other basilisks, but all four were watching the magical dance of rock as raptly as if it were a show by players or a fine piece of music. Perhaps to them it was, but she noticed after a while that Kitten was growing bored, so with a wave of approval from Daine, intent on Numair, she collected the dragonet and took Peachblossom for a ride.

            The big gelding, white-eyed at the ground-shaking rumble and audible notes, was delighted to get further away and made no objection to Kitten’s weight on his withers, nor to her claws carefully gripping his mane. The dragonet was an experienced rider but Kel didn’t risk a gallop; seeing the river had dropped a little she did canter Peachblossom across the ford and back, to his snorting and Kitten’s whistling delight. Then she took them up valley, passing between the rapids and the jagged end of the fin into its southernmost third.

            It had been in her mind for a while that from Haven, three miles north, they had underused this part of their resources. It had been on patrol routes, of course, and nuts and berries had been harvested, as the trees had been combed for deadwood, but they’d had no manpower to plough the bottomland nor protect any crops. But with New Hope—a name refugees and soldiers alike had approvingly adopted—at better than company strength and in all probability receiving more refugees as the war went on, that would no longer be true and Kel wanted to see what else there might be beyond the fin that she had neglected.

            With the limestone cliffs rising sheer for a mile, though dropping in height, and the western hills closing in steadily to force the Greenwoods ever closer to them, the upper valley was narrower but there were still hundreds of acres of good cropland. And for all it narrowed it was long, stretching another ten miles to where the Great North Road crossed it and beyond towards the peak where the river had its source among the snows. Kel had no wish to extend cultivation that far, but there were good meadows immediately beyond the fin that would be only a couple of miles from the gates of New Hope. When she explained her thoughts to Kitten the dragonet agreed politely that the soil looked rich but to Kel’s amusement obviously felt much as Neal did about vegetables. The seamed limestone cliffs were a better attraction, and after trotting south for a mile or so along the river Kel cut across the meadow and returned north sticking close to them, studying the southern face of the fin from this new angle with growing satisfaction; the rock wasn’t entirely sheer but not even mountain goats were going to be climbing into New Hope that way. The angle of fin and limestone was again softened by scree but on this side there was less and lacking a spring it had no plant cover. Reaching it Kel dismounted, lifting Kitten down, and watched with interest as the dragonet scrambled up to a largish boulder and began whistling it into flares of white and yellow. The lightshow really was pretty, but Kel’s more useful thought was that a second Sorcerer’s Dance might with basilisk help make of this angle a simple enclosure to serve as a corral and handy defensive position, closer than New Hope and far better than open fields for anyone working beyond the fin when Scanran raiders tried their luck.

            Calling a reluctant but obedient Kitten down and remounting, she cantered Peachblossom along the base of the fin, noting with surprise a slight sparkle in its dark hues. Pointing it out she was informed that the dark rock was made of different things stuck together, which made it strong, and among them were crystals and another kind that formed sharp edges. Fascinated by the dragonet’s odd knowledge and view of the world, it occurred to Kel that she made the rock sound like the kind of community New Hope would have to become, finding its strength and resilience not in sameness but in difference bound together. It was the kind of analogy Neal mangled in his attempts at poetry, not something she’d usually think, and she wondered if she’d been overexposed to his pining for Yuki or if the revolution in her mind since getting back to Mastiff was prompting a different kind of imagination.

            Rounding the end of the fin she saw the arc of scree had grown to thirty feet, blocking any view of the mages though notes sounded intermittently through the bass rumble of the rocktide. The top of the screepile had vanished though its outline remained in the lightness of newly exposed limestone, but from the sound it would be a while before there was anything to inspect. Kitten stayed while she unsaddled and rubbed Peachblossom down, then made a circuit of sentries, but when she settled to discussion of company matters with Brodhelm the dragonet offered farewells, startling and pleasing the officer, and went to see if the basilisks were being any more interesting. Kel shared her thoughts about the valley beyond the fin and was glad to find Brodhelm receptive, promising to look for himself. He asked in turn how she and Sir Merric had managed with so few troops at Haven and seemed struck by what she told him about the capacities refugees had shown, ending in their annihilation of a raiding party without calling for help at all.

            “It was a small party, mind—eleven irregulars, not organised troops, but they did well. And Haven fell to the killing devices as much as troops. Saefas Ploughman and Uinse, who leads the convict soldiers, told me they’d got everyone inside and were holding out until three devices came over the eastern wall together. They got one there, with nets and a pickaxe, and another inside, but not before they all wreaked havoc and dragged too many soldiers off the gate. And that was that.”

            Brodhelm nodded grimly. “I’ve seen them training, my Lady, and was surprised how good they were, even the children. You’ve done a fine job. And I’ve heard what Sergeant Connac said to my sergeants. But I didn’t know they’d killed two devices here. That’s impressive.”

            “I know. Sir Merric didn’t have them patrolling, of course—they were needed for ploughing and the rest of the work—but he did have the best archers and spearmen worked into watch rosters so no-one had to do nights for more than a week at a time. I realise you’ve enough men to do that anyway, but when the time comes I’d be glad if you’d consider it. Like the training, it helped them to know they were contributing to their own defence, not depending on others.”

            “Mmm, I see that. And I’ve no objections in principle, once I’ve a sense of who I’m trusting.” He hesitated. “Did the convict soldiers stand watches and patrol?”

            “They did. And every one came on to Rathhausak voluntarily.” The one benefit Kel had discovered to having her report become everyone’s favourite reading was that she could assume any Mastiff soldier understood in fair detail how things had unfolded.

            Brodhelm nodded. “I hear you, my Lady. Those lads have proven themselves, right enough. I was asking because my Lord of Cavall said he thought any extra troops we’d get would be convicts, and I’ve heard there are some due in a week or two, from the mines over by Seabeth.”

            “Let’s hope so. I’ll say frankly that my predecessor at Haven, Captain Elbridge”—Brodhelm nodded that he knew the name—“told me as he handed me his whip that convicts were scum who understood nothing else. He seems to have made sure their rations were short and their care from healers non-existent. My own experience, and Sir Neal’s, is that being properly cared for and fed soon turns sullen resentment and foot-dragging into pride, with hard work and loyalty fast following.” She shrugged. “I know they did wrong but they were thieves and brawlers, not men like Blayce or Stenmun, driven more by poverty than greed. In any case, the King gives them the choice to volunteer, by way of a fresh start, and I’ll not have anyone treated the way Elbridge thought fitting.”

            “Fair enough, my Lady. I’d not expect that of you and I’ve heard Captain Elbridge is a deal too fond of his whip.” His tone became curious. “Tell me, though, what punishments do you use when need arises?”

            Kel grinned. “Scouring armour and latrine duty, mostly. A solid week of it works wonders, I find.” Brodhelm chuckled. “The stocks if someone has to be restrained but that’s only happened once. We’ve had problems when new refugees arrive, but just squabbles from upset for the most part. Nothing worse than fisticuffs and no military problems that made it to me.” She thought for a moment. “It’ll depend if they already have squad sergeants, but if we get more convicts I’d be inclined to put Uinse in charge under you of all those squads, with Jacut as senior corporal. I can promote that far on my own authority and Uinse’s a natural.”

            He nodded. “Yes, they sound good men. If convict numbers go beyond a squad or two having one of their own over them makes sense.” He looked over her shoulder. “I think you’re wanted, my Lady.”

            Kel turned to see Daine waving at her, and jogged over.

            “They’ve uncovered the spring, Kel, and the top of a cavemouth. It looks big, and there’s a lot of rock spilled inside it. I’ve made Numair and Harailt stop for a bit to eat and drink, just, and it’ll be hours before they can clear it to the ground.”

            It was well into the afternoon before Kel could pick her way over a low pass left in what had become a hummocky scree-field to see the spring, a steady gush of water pattering onto the lowered stone slope beneath it, a white streak in shadow; more startlingly the dark outline of a cavemouth showed in the angle of the cliffs, a half-arch leaning against the darker rock of the fin. About thirty feet of ground around it had been cleared, and she followed Daine down the last few feet of stone to join the mages and Kitten with a childhood sense of exploring the unknown and finding a natural den. Numair, bathed in sweat and coated in dust, was chugging water from a bottle Daine had brought, but after a moment passed it to an equally wet and dusty Harailt.

            “It’s big, Kel, and the air smells fresh so there must be other openings. Good storage, though you’ll need to watch for damp.” He grinned. “Kitten wants to try her lightshow, though we might try magelight first.”

            “By all means, but only when you’re ready.”

            “Oh I’m not that tired magically. Just hot and dusty.”

            Harailt raised eyebrows, wiping his forehead, but if without Numair’s reserves didn’t have the pinched look mages got when they’d drained themselves and followed readily as Numair led them to the cavemouth. Enough daylight spilled in for Kel to see the floor was flat for some yards, but the entranceway angled away from the fin and she could see little beyond that. Numair called a ball of light into his hand, picking his way forward, then stepped to one side.

            “Come on in—it really opens up.”

            He let the spill of light from his hand play on the floor until they were all level with him, then cast it into the air. It floated upwards for what seemed a long way, before flaring dazzlingly to illuminate a wonderland that drew them all forward. The cave was enormous, deep and high with rounded walls white enough to gleam in the light; on the far side spears of rippled rock hung from the roof while others stood up from the floor, surrounding a pool. Its dark surface was still and Kel knew it would be deep and bone-cold. Closer to the fin the cave seemed dry, and thought the floor was uneven there was certainly space for storage and at need people. Nor could she see any end, and from the feel of air moving knew the cave must extend for some distance and would have to be explored, if only to be certain it offered no way in from elsewhere. But that was for another day.

            “Well, now, that’s useful.” Harailt spoke with a smile. “You’ve got a water reserve, Keladry. And it’s cool enough to keep provender fresh.”

            “You’re also going to have some happy basilisks, Kel. They’ll be glad to explore it for you.” Daine grinned. “All sorts of crunchy treats to find, though I don’t think you get gemstones in this kind of rock.”

            “You get fossils though, and Tkaa’s been known to say how tasty they are.” Numair sounded dubious. “I think he was teasing Bonedancer. But Daine’s right they’ll like a cave this big. Oh my, that’s fine.”

            The exclamation was prompted by Kitten, sitting by the rock spears thrusting from the floor by the pool and happily making them glow with beads of emerald and blue iridescence that chased one another up and down the stone in whirling spirals.

            “She’s refining that spell every day, I swear. Soon enough, Harailt, we’ll be able to improve that Carthaki light-spell we got from Lindhall.”

            “Don’t start on theory, love.” Daine laid a hand on Numair’s arm and he smiled at her ruefully. “Just be glad Kitten’s found something to keep herself amused while you go back to rock dancing.”

            “Slavedriver.” Leaving his light-ball glowing above he headed back toward the daylight of the cavemouth, holding Daine’s hand. “Kel, we need to know what to do so far as that spring is concerned. There’s no point moving the scree under it if we’re only going to have to put it back later. If we get the basilisks in, can you show us exactly what you want?”

Chapter Text

Chapter Four — Allying

July – August

It took ten days of hard labour punctuated by the rumbling shrieks, and left mages and basilisks looking the worse for wear, but when it was done Kel’s satisfaction was immense, and shared. From the circle of clear ground in front of the cavemouth a broad path rose across a gentle, curved thirty-foot slope of bonded scree smoothly faced with petrified mud, reaching the top about two-thirds of the way round. Beyond its end the scree nearest the limestone cliffs rose again more sharply before flattening to meet them in a broad terrace five feet below the level of the spring, splashing into a large stone cistern; the overflow was carried away in an open trough along the cliff wall. Below the terrace the main level spread like a plain for a thousand feet along cliffs and fin, rising steeply at its outer edge another eighteen feet into a shelf sixty wide, along the outside of which the walls would stand. And beyond that the stone plunged a full fifty feet at better than seventy degrees: the work of facing the glacis remained, but even with footholds among bonded rocks and free hands it was an awkward climb.

            Where the trough from the spring met the outer shelf it fed into a copper pipe laid through the rock, the water arching out to fall into a newly dug and lined pool that would connect to the moat. At the other end of the girdling shelf, where it met the fin, the roadway cut across the western face of the glacis turned, narrowed, and rose sharply (as Orchan advised) before reaching the top. Wide enough for a single cart, the roadway had a low inner side, exposing it to fire from above, but a near-vertical drop on the outer; at the bottom it curved sharply away, crossing the only part of the moat that had been dug out on a single fifteen-foot wooden span the building team had put together, complete with mageblasts to drop it at need, in less time than Kel would have believed possible. Beyond that there was only a beaten track across the valley bottom but paving would follow, and a bridge of basilisk-quarried limestone blocks was being built by the ford over the Greenwoods, against the annual snowmelt.

            Gatehouse, headquarters, infirmary, cookhouse and messhall, military and civilian barracks, stables, smithy, storage buildings, barns, latrines, and woodsheds had corner posts sunk, enabling teams spreading and smoothing mud Amiir’aan then petrified to concentrate on areas of immediate use. Kel was wary of making too much smooth stone too soon; they would want greenspace and trees besides a kitchen garden, but pathways were in place to save turned ankles, and work had started on the shelf. She won a mild argument with Geraint about a schoolhouse, agreeing cheerfully it came after essentials and reserving ammunition for a more serious dispute.

            Unexpected fifty-foot glacis or no, Geraint’s orders were to build double walls, of fifteen and thirty feet with a twenty-foot killing field between them, and that he would do. Kel had no objections, but after considerable thought decided she wanted the outer walls to have proper alures, which meant access from the inner wall—a bridge over the killing field, to Geraint an abomination. Access one way meant access the other, but after contentious discussions including Brodhelm Kel still felt that while there should only be one bridge, at the junction of western and eastern walls, with mageblasts all over it, the advantage of giving her archers better views, sharper, plunging angles of fire, and closer range unless and until anyone took the outer wall was too great to forgo. From the inner wall the outer would provide cover for anyone who made it any distance up the glacis, and though the increase in range to the ground was not that great it would degrade accuracy. And at bottom Kel wasn’t prepared to sit and let an attack happen; she’d meant what she said about the need to bleed an enemy, and that meant giving her people every chance to do so she could manufacture. Geraint hadn’t been happy but Brodhelm cautiously supported her, and the outer wall starting to rise along the eastern side of the glacis, using timbers from Haven, had a full alure, with inner stairways to give access to the killing field.

            In consequence, one further structure had been added to the plans, a square tower at the junction of the inner walls to house a permanent guard on the bridge; backup mageblast keys would be held elsewhere but if attackers got so far the tower captain would be in the best position to blow the bridge as late as possible and no later. Its elevated roof would also command clear views of the killing field, with more angles of fire than the inner wall would allow.

            The work had so absorbed Kel that when Numair observed one morning that she’d need to leave with him and Daine tomorrow to make Steadfast in time for the weddings, she was shocked to realise it was already the third week of July. Part of her was loath to go but she couldn’t let down Neal or Raoul, let alone Yuki and Buri. Dom would also be there, a bittersweet attraction, and anyway she’d promised. Numair, Harailt, and Tkaa would not be returning, and she persuaded them to spend the day shifting scree on the far side of the fin into a circular heap enclosing a four-hundred foot quarter-circle, twenty-five foot high and steep enough to require real climbing. A gap wide enough for one horse but not two was left hard against the fin, and Kel climbed the roadway back to New Hope with renewed satisfaction.

            What she could wear to the weddings was a sore puzzle. Geraint had recovered her things from Haven and she’d been absurdly happy to see her Yamani cats and paintings, as well as the bag of griffin feathers and spare weaponry, though she presently had nowhere to put them. But if the headquarters building hadn’t burned it had been smoke-filled, and her clothes were soot-speckled and reeking. None of the finery cleaned easily, and she feared the dresses were ruined, but had reluctantly taken her best Mindelan tunic and breeches to the cistern trough and rinsed them thoroughly, thinking Yuki would kill her for attending her wedding in such gear. Nor was she altogether relieved on the courier trail to Mastiff the next day, when she mentioned the problem to Daine only to be informed it was taken care of.

            “Neal realised you’d probably lost everything when you wore a tunic to that feast they gave for you, and came belting round to get Numair to open a firelink to the Palace. Yuki was always going to be bringing his new finery and now she’s bringing something for you too.”

            Kel imagined her Yamani friend was. Visions of flowery pink kimonos floated in her mind but Daine was looking thoughtful.

            “And actually, Kel, I think there’ll be more guests than we know about. If Thayet lets Buri get married without her I’ll be very surprised, so we may find more court dresses at Steadfast than the north’s seen since the Great Progress.”

            Kel wasn’t any happier for that but thought Daine might be right about the Queen, who was after all Buri’s oldest friend. If she’d thought about it in time she could have sent to Lalasa for something that wouldn’t make her look like a decorated treestump, but events had driven it from her mind despite Neal’s constant paeans to Yuki’s eyebrows, toes, and golden Yamani complexion. And while Thayet always seemed sensible she wasn’t called the Peerless for nothing, and her presence would mean an entourage of elegant court beauties who made Kel feel most acutely the price paid for her training in thickened ankles, column waist, and scars. At least her monthly had finished a few days before, with the bloated feeling that had accompanied her first courses since returning from Rathhausak, but it was cold comfort.

            Shortly after noon they stopped at Mastiff to eat and allow Kel to report to Wyldon. He heard her enthusiastic description of the defences already achieved with interest, informed her the eastern building team were due shortly, and when she lingered sent her on her way with instructions to enjoy herself and a request to convey formal letters of congratulation to Queenscove and Goldenlake. Neal, Seaver, Faleron, and Owen had left two days before with Duke Baird, but Wyldon and Harailt were staying.

            “Someone has to hold the fort while you’re all disporting yourselves.” His face was stern but Kel could see through his demeanour to a dignified amusement. “Go on with you, Keladry. The whole front’s been quiet since your return and Sir Myles says Maggur’s back in Hamrkeng trying to hold his army together, so I expect we’ll be safe enough in your absence, this time.”

            Feeling emotion surge as she realised he’d seen to the core of her reluctance, she turned back from the door and before she could persuade herself out of it gave him a quick hug.

            “Thank you, Wyldon. You’re a good man.”

            Then she fled, for once leaving him pink-cheeked, and within minutes was waving to children as she rode past the tents with Daine and Numair, heading down to the Northwatch road and west for Steadfast. After a quiet night at a waypoint, marked only by a conversation between Daine and a bear they found hopefully snuffling at the mage-locked storage bins and delighted with a small gift of honey, they rode through the fort’s imposing gates in time for lunch, and found social bedlam winning a struggle against army order. Queen Thayet was there, an Ownsman on the gate informed her gloomily, as were Prince Roald and Princess Shinkokami with a half-dozen Queen’s ladies, three groups of Queen’s Riders, and five squads of the Own’s Second. Moreover, he added with a sniff, half Corus had taken advantage to ride along and seemed surprised to find a frontline fort in wartime did not have every comfort they thought essential. Passing to the stables Kel got no further than dismounting before being tackled fiercely by Tobe and Jump, who’d ridden with Neal and the others, then by the groom-to-be, hair in wilder disorder than usual and jittering as if his breeches were full of ants.

            “There you are at last, Kel. You’ve cut it very fine. The weddings are tomorrow, you realise? You delight in torturing my last hours as a bachelor. Yuki’s been beside herself since her brother arrived and whacking me with her fan every other minute. Even Raoul’s growling.”

            “Keiichi’s here?”

            “With more swords than any man needs. You’re looking after him tomorrow, seeing as you speak Yamani and he doesn’t speak much Tortallan or Common. Now come on, for pity’s sake, or there won’t be a wedding because Yuki will have killed me.”       

            Abandoning Peachblossom and the sparrows to Tobe and Jump with a promise to see them properly as soon as she could, Kel let herself be dragged to the barracks serving as female quarters and thrust through the door as Neal rushed off on some other errand, still jabbering like a madman. She had no time to ponder Keiichi’s presence, though, or that he spoke very good Tortallan, Common, and two other languages because an unusually demonstrative Yuki fell on her with a rush of words and a string of orders to a company of seamstresses and maids. Sorting through the chatter Kel decided Neal had not been exaggerating as much as she’d suspected: her friend was bright-eyed and her shukusen did look as if it had received hard usage lately, but there was that purpose in the apparent confusion that told her Yuki was running everything smoothly, and the panic was Neal’s. Amid the bustle she found herself stripped to breastband and loincloth and measured in all directions by an efficient woman who consulted Yuki and rushed off. She was reaching self-consciously for her shirt when Yuki stopped her.

            “No, Kel, we can do the fitting straight away.” She frowned, looking her friend up and down. “You’ve lost weight but Lalasa’s measurements are still good, so there’s not much to adjust—some tucking for the bust of the underdress, and perhaps the hips.” Coming forward she grasped Kel’s hands, searching her eyes with a serious look. “It is very good to see you alive and well. We’re all so proud of you. Was it very bad?”

            Kel smiled, ignoring polite Yamani blankness and her undress, and leaned forward to hug Yuki. “It wasn’t pretty but it’s over and everyone’s safe. What about you? All set for tomorrow? And who’s this we? You and Cricket?”

            “Oh yes, all is ready except your dress and the flowers, but they won’t be done until tomorrow morning. Lord Sakuyo knows how the food will be—we brought delicacies from Corus but we’re having to rely on the Own’s cooks—and yes, Shinko’s proud of you, of course, but there are other people who want to see you too.” A sly smile lit her eyes. “Including one I doubt you’re expecting.”

            “That sounds ominous. Who—”

            Kel’s curiosity had to be stifled as the seamstress returned with what appeared to be an entire wardrobe and set about investing Kel with more layers than one of Numair’s explanations. There was a fine lawn shift that made her very conscious of shabby small clothes, then an underdress the woman ruthlessly adjusted and pinned beneath her breasts and at her hips, indifferent to Kel’s embarrassment at being rather intimately handled and her squeak when a pin went astray. Once that was completed with a brusque promise to have bust and waist properly sewn for the morning, the next layer was a gorgeous cream silk under-kimono decorated with a leaf pattern, and finally a magnificent over-kimono in a deep forest green with Mindelan owls and its own creamy distaff border and obi—beyond question Lalasa’s handiwork and repeated on a pair of fine slippers. Speechless, Kel stared at the elegant stranger in the metal mirror the seamstress held up, then at Yuki who dimpled pleasure, smiling so much she had to hide behind her fan.

            “That’s better.”

            “It’s amazing, Yuki. You can’t have had this done in a month!”

            “No. I was always going to bring you a proper dress kimono or I knew I’d have a bridesmaid in breeches.”

            “A bridesmaid?”

            “Yes, Keladry. You’re my oldest friend. Did you think you’d be standing idly about?”

            Kel spluttered and Yuki grinned. “Cricket insisted on being matron of honour, as the Queen did for Buri, so you’re in good company.”

            “What do I have to do? I’ve never been a bridesmaid, Yuki.”

            “You haven’t? But all your sisters are married.”

            “I missed Oranie’s and Adalia’s weddings. And Demadria’s.” She wasn’t going to tell even Yuki that despite her mother’s efforts her fashion-conscious, very feminine sisters would sooner have had a stormwing attend them than the Cow. “Just give me clear orders, Yuki.”

            “It’s not complicated. You and Cricket walk behind me holding flowers as we go in and follow us out afterwards, pairing with Neal’s best man and supporter. Then you help me change, we go to the second ceremony, and you’re off duty.”

            “I can do that, though why you think I can help you change is beyond me.”

            Yuki grinned. “There’ll be maids, don’t worry.”

            “Good. Who are Neal’s best man and supporter?”

            “His cousin Domitan and Roald.”

            “Oh.” Kel’s heart bounced. “Right. Flowers, behind you in and beside Dom out, defer to the maids. Anything else?”

            “Face paint, Yamani-style. I’ll do you when I do myself.”

            Kel scowled. “Must I?”

            “Of course you must. Do you want Keiichi to report that I was attended by a barbarian?”

            “As if he’d care. How is he, anyway? I didn’t think he could make it. And why does Neal think he can’t speak Tortallan?”

            Yuki’s eyes crinkled and she whipped her fan up again. “He’s well, and the emperor overruled his mother-in-law. Very publicly.”

            “Oh my. That must have been fun all round.”

            “So he says. I think he adopted the dumb act for the fun of teasing Neal, the dubious pleasure of hearing him mangle Yamani half to death, and to win time to see me and Cricket by ensuring no-one else is thought competent to entertain him.”

            Kel laughed. “Sensible man. I’d forgotten how wicked he can be. From Neal’s babbling about swords I take it he’s in full samurai fig?”

            “Certainly. He is representing the emperor as well as my parents.”

            “Really? He’s doing very well.”

            “Yes. My parents are exceedingly happy with both of us. Let Sabila take the kimonos and the rest until tomorrow, and come to see Cricket.”

            Beautiful and flattering as the outfit was, Kel was glad to get back to her comfortable breeches, shirt, and tunic. Her relaxation was short-lived, though, for when Yuki showed her to the room where Shinko was waiting she found not only Thayet and Buri with the Queen’s Ladies, Uline haMinch among them, but to her astonishment her mother.

            “Kel, sweeting.” Ilane of Mindelan grasped her youngest daughter’s hands fiercely before enfolding her in a tight hug. “By the time we heard about it all you were safe, thank the Goddess, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen your father have so many kittens as he did when the King showed him your report. Or be so proud. We both are.”

            “Oh Mama.” Kel felt herself tearing up and swallowed hard, clinging to the practical. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t not.”

            Ilane gave her a searching look. “Sorry? Whatever for?”

            “Risking so much. Our honour. If Lord Wyldon and the King hadn’t been so generous—”

            “Nonsense, Keladry.” Thayet’s voice was firm but kind. “You did nothing of which you shouldn’t be very proud. And that deal Jonathan made with you shamelessly took advantage of your confusion and injury. He can’t pay off one debt with another, as he knows perfectly well. If I’d had my fan when he told me I’d have whacked him, as Yuki does Neal. No, don’t look at me like that—it’s no more than the truth. And I’m bothered if you’ll apologise for saving all those people from that putrid mage. But I’m afraid we do want a first-hand account, so come tell us.”

            Kel wasn’t sure if that was the royal we but despite the confusions roiling inside her there was clearly no getting out of it, so she let herself be seated and plied with tea before answering questions as best she could. Though the Queen’s Ladies were graceful, courtly women they were also trained to arms, if not as knights were; their questions were practical and if tinged with admiration that made Kel increasingly uneasy showed a grasp of logistics as well as sharp appreciation of the assistance her animals had given. Buri’s and Thayet’s questions were more searching; Cricket and her mother listened intently with a stillness that told Kel they were holding in strong emotions. Eventually Thayet and Buri exchanged a long glance and sat back, faces thoughtful.

            “Raoul said you’d taken a deathly risk at Rathhausak, Kel, and he wasn’t wrong. But what else were you to do?” Buri smiled dryly. “And I have nothing but admiration for you getting those children back to Tortall. Thayet and I once had the dubious pleasure of escorting a tenth that many through a war-zone, and what we’d have done with two hundred I cannot begin to think.”

            “Gods, that’s true.” Thayet shook her head. “We didn’t have any men-at-arms, mind, but until we met Alanna and Liam we didn’t have any idea what to do. Sarain was a nightmare in those days.”

            This story was new to Kel and from their looks to most of the Queen’s Ladies, and as Thayet and Buri were coaxed into telling it Kel gratefully withdrew from attention. Shifting to sit between her mother and Cricket she quietly caught up with both, finding Cricket eager for her own, long postponed wedding to Roald and wistful that Yuki would precede her into the mysteries and pleasures of marriage. A similar thought had crossed Kel’s mind but this was hardly the place for intimate talk and she let conversation slide to preparations Cricket was making, and the Yamani delegation that would attend. A month’s leave for the round trip to the capital was out of the question, unless Maggur were to drop dead and end the war, and though they both hoped for it she knew in her heart that wasn’t how events would play out.

            Ilane had assorted news of family and brought Kel shocked congratulations from Anders and Inness with welcome news of two royal warships stationed at Mindelan against possible reprisals. Perhaps mercifully, she hadn’t seen Conal since Kel’s report had been published, or tactfully wasn’t saying. Later, when they slipped out to find the lunch Kel had missed and tucked themselves into Ilane’s guest-room, she also wormed out of her daughter some explanations of her apology and what Thayet had meant about a deal, eyes darkening.

            “Thayet was right, Kel. That stinks.”

            “I didn’t think so, Mama.”

            “You wouldn’t. But if it makes you happier, that’s good.” She sat in thought for a minute. “The King’s right you were grossly underestimating yourself, though. I didn’t bring you up to …” Her gaze sharpened. “It’s because you weren’t there, isn’t it? You were trying to punish yourself.”

            Kel flushed. “That’s what Dom thought.”

            “Masbolle? Wise man.”

            “I don’t know, Mama. Maybe. It’s hard.” Truth broke through. “It’s not that I wasn’t there for the attack. I know I can’t be everywhere I should—no commander can. But I didn’t do enough before. I knew the defences weren’t up to any real attack. Gods, I even knew why we were being attacked so often, that the children were the target. I should have got more men out of Wyldon and Raoul somehow. I knew I should. And if I had many people would be alive, and the children wouldn’t have had to survive a nightmare.”

            “Wait, Kel. How could you know all that?”

            The King’s explanations had not extended to the Chamber nor the involvement of Irnai and at least two gods, and Ilane’s eyebrows moved steadily skywards as she listened. But whatever curses she wanted to heap on the Chamber, she was impatient with her daughter’s guilt.

            “Whatever you thought you knew, Kel, the vulnerability of the refugees was political maths, nothing you or Lord Wyldon could have done anything about. I agree it’s wrong but it’s how it is. And war’s never logical close to. You did all you could. Actually, you did a great deal more. Venting at command wouldn’t have got you anywhere but everyone’s black books, and when it did all happen as you feared you did something truly amazing to save your people. I doubt they’re complaining or calling for your head, so why are you?”

            “I’m not any more, Mama. I accepted the King’s deal gratefully. And I’m putting the energy into fixing that political maths another way.” Kel wasn’t going to report Irnai’s prophecy and worry her parents when there was nothing they could do, but she could describe New Hope and its improbable construction, winning riveted attention. Ilane was too observant not to realise something driving her daughter was going unspoken, but the building capacity of mage–basilisk teams given loose stone to work with was news for anyone to ponder, and when one or two questions shaved close to the bone Kel shyly proffered the tale of her conversation with Wyldon. Just like Raoul, Ilane first stared and then collapsed in her chair with a whoop. Kel glared at her.

            “What’s so funny about it? Raoul’s reaction was the same, as if Wyldon really were like the stump Neal calls him. He’s just a person.”

            Ilane whooped again. “This from you? Sweeting, he’s the stiffest man I’ve ever met who can still move and he treated you appallingly.”

            “Not really. He just didn’t treat me well. But he let me stay and cured my fear of heights. I couldn’t be what I am without him.”

            “I know, sweeting. And it’s not really funny, you’re right. Actually, it’s rather touching. But it is the best irony I’ve heard in a while, that after all his bile about the unfitness of women in arms you and he should become better friends than he is with most people in his own political circle.” Ilane wiped her eyes. “I take it this isn’t public news?”

            “Certainly not. It’s no-one’s business but our own.” Kel smiled. “And I’m keeping the pleasure of telling Neal in reserve for when I really want to shock him.

            Ilane grinned. “That makes sense, though I shall have to tell your papa. And Anders, if I may—he’ll enjoy the irony too, when he’s picked himself up off the floor.”

            Their conversation drifted into domesticities about Mindelan, and after a while Kel went to discharge her promise to Tobe and hear what he’d been up to with the fine warhorses Wyldon kept, and Jump with the equally fine wardogs. Afterwards she ate supper with Neal and the other knights of her year, hearing news of quiet patrols and when they were briefly joined by Roald and Owen describing New Hope to some amazement, but declined their invitation to help get Neal drunk. Before taking herself off to bed, though, she did manage a quiet chat with Merric, telling him about Brodhelm and how Company Eight were working patrols and defence. He nodded and met her gaze.

            “Lord Wyldon told me that you wanted me as Brodhelm’s second, if I was willing. And I am, Kel, never doubt it. I’m just glad you still trust me after—”

            “Hush.” She laid a hand on his arm. “There were a lot of mistakes made, Merric. Command screwed up, not us—we were left holding the babies, literally. I want you at New Hope because I can trust you, not just as a knight and captain. You know our people and they like you. I think Brodhelm can teach us both a lot, but you can keep him up to the mark if he steps astray. Thank you for agreeing to come back.”

            It had been a more emotional afternoon and evening than Kel had been expecting, but Merric’s strength and commitment was a good place to end it, and she found her small bed in a barracks-room shared with a Queen’s Rider with a sense of another step taken.

            She rose before dawn, fed Jump and the sparrows, and fitted in an hour of exercise and pattern dances as well as delivering Wyldon’s letters to Neal’s and Raoul’s rooms before eating breakfast and dutifully reporting to Yuki to be painted. It had been years since she’d worn the full white mask with bright lips and shadowed eyes high etiquette required, and while she disliked the sense of constriction all that was needed was her familiar mask, as expressionless as the white paint. Yuki turned her brushes on Cricket, who returned the favour, and all three were assisted into their layers of clothing. The adjustments to Kel’s underdress were a marvel, and the fabric now lifted her bust into near-respectability and flared at her hips, making her waist seem thinner. The changes enabled the thin ties of her under-kimono and obi to be drawn tighter, extending the benefits outwards.

            Yuki’s kimonos were the pure white traditional for wedding, in Yaman as in Tortall, with the most delicate white-on-white embroidery showing the arms of Daiomoru and Queenscove; to Kel’s impressed amusement there was also a proper tsunokakushi headpiece in the design that always reminded her of a broad-beamed riverboat. Cricket’s outfit, by contrast, was a deep red as dark as Kel’s forest green, embroidered in gold with the Conté sword and imperial Yamani dragon, and bound with a black obi. When they presented themselves for inspection to Thayet, green and red framing Yuki’s bridal white, the Queen sighed pleasure and congratulations, as did Ilane, in fine grey kimonos but without face-paint. To Kel’s delight and envy Thayet, Buri, and Onua Chamtong, Buri’s bridesmaid, had broken out their best K’miri outfits, loose, embroidered white leggings and long, richly coloured, elaborately decorated tunics. Buri said she wasn’t about to start married life by abandoning trousers and giving Raoul strange notions of domesticity, and there were a few improper remarks that made Kel grateful for paint that hid all blushes.

            The ceremonies were not until afternoon but time seemed to fly. At one point Kel answered a brisk rap on the door of the women’s quarters to find Dom, magnificent in silk trousers and a Masbolle tunic, bearing the groom’s gift to the bride and elaborately sealed letters patent approved by King and Emperor that made Yuki heir to Queenscove until she and Neal had children, established her style as Lady Yukimi noh Daiomoru of Queenscove, and symbolically granted a parcel of land in a corner of the second largest Yamani Isle. Bowing in almost correct style, Dom proffered her a long, thin box and bundled scrolls.

            “My lady, these are for …” His voice trailed away as he saw the Mindelan owl on her kimono and searched her face. “Kel? Is that really you in there?”

            “I can’t smile in all this paint, Dom, but yes, it’s really me. You’re well? It’s good to see you.”

            “Oh, I’m good. You look splendid, though.”

            Was she imagining that his eyes lingered longer than was polite on her boosted curves? Her heart thudded, and she found herself again grateful for concealing paint, but they talked easily for a few moments. Raoul had filled Dom in on the essentials of her meeting with General Vanget and King Jonathan, and he twitted her gently about her fears beforehand and offered amused congratulations on the fate of her written report. She in turn gave him an outline of the startling building of New Hope, which he promised to see as soon as he could, but both had other duties calling and after hastily fetching the bride’s gift to the groom, a magnificent Yamani sword, they ended with mutual promises of a proper chat later.

            Neal’s gift turned out to be a finely worked shukusen, in finest Yamani steel with the Queenscove arms, which made Yuki quite tearful and necessitated careful dabbing by Cricket to save her face-paint. The mutual exchange of weaponry by two of the least warlike people Kel knew struck her as far more ironic than her understanding with Wyldon, but in Yamani terms the coincidence of gifts was a good sign—one of the occasions when they said Lord Sakuyo was favouring you with a benign joke. Moved by an impulse she didn’t entirely understand but felt it wise to honour, Kel slipped away to Cricket’s rooms—in so far as her outfit allowed her to slip anywhere—and lit an incense-stick at the portable shrine the Princess maintained in thanks for delivery from the marriage arranged for her before the emperor decided she must replace the late Princess Chisokami in binding the Yamani–Tortallan treaty. In the islands Kel had loved stories of Sakuyo’s jokes, and lighting the incense after murmuring a short prayer for Neal’s and Yuki’s happiness felt a welling peace that left her breathless. She peered suspiciously at the shrine with its smiling figure of the god amid shide and braided shimenawa, but a sharp call from Yuki recalled her to duty and she set the puzzle aside.

            The wedding went without a hitch, and indrawn breaths from the packed assembly as Yuki walked into the fort’s Mithran temple, Kel and Shinko bearing flowers behind her, were very satisfactory. Keiichi, an impressive figure in dress samurai kimonos, unarmoured but wearing both swords, waited to claim Yuki’s hand and pass it to Neal, proclaiming their parents’ consent and the emperor’s blessings in the high imperial mode Kel hadn’t heard in years. Vows were spoken in Yamani and Tortallan, and if Neal’s accent was execrable he did get words and grammar correct. Catching Keiichi’s eye as the intent groom just avoided swearing stability rather than fidelity she had to bite her cheek, and from Keiichi’s stillness thought he too was having difficulty maintaining decorum. Then it was done, marigold necklaces exchanged, fire lit, and a demonstrative Tortallan kiss exchanged. She fell in with Dom behind Roald and Shinko, accepting his arm and feeling hot flesh beneath his fine broadcloth tunic.

            As soon as they were outside she had to trot after Yuki to watch a flock of maids help her friend exchange white kimonos for others in Queenscove colours, befitting her new status and avoiding the ill fortune of wearing white to another’s wedding. Despite the mock-protests of her friends and its use in concealing blushes, Kel took the chance to remove her face-paint and the enhancements to eyes and lips that made her feel fraudulent. Then it was back to the temple to see Raoul in best Goldenlake finery and Buri in her splendid K’miri outfit claim one another as if no-one else existed in the world, which Kel thought an achievement with Thayet ten feet away, radiant with joy for her friend. And finally there was food by the bushel and drink by the gallon, the Own’s cooks showing themselves more than equal to Corus delicacies and clearly possessed of excellent contacts among locals who fished the Vassa for its large and succulent bream.

            Kel was indeed seated next to Keiichi, who greeted her solemnly but with twinkling eyes in that high imperial mode.

            “Keladry-sama.  It is my honour to meet again the valiant daughter of your most honourable mother. My Imperial Master commands me to convey to you his personal congratulations on your achievement of knighthood.” Slipping into the familiar mode between friends he added, “And had He known of it, I am sure He would have added His admiration for your more recent exploit, which I shall report to Him.”

            Surprised by Keiichi’s high honorific and touched the emperor would bother himself with pleasantries, though she knew it was a tribute more to her mother than herself, Kel summoned her memory of the proper reply in such a matter to a ranking samurai scholar-diplomat.

            “Keiichi-sensei, this fortunate person is overwhelmed by the honour of His Imperial Majesty’s most gracious notice and begs you will forgive her deficiencies in responding.” With relief she let herself follow him into the familiar. “Which you’ll have to do anyway, Keiichi-san, as while I don’t in the least mind keeping up your pretence of such dreadful ignorance I haven’t used the high mode for more than ten years.”

            He let a smile show. “Am I not a most shameful brother-in-law? It was just that Nealan greeted me in such fine Yamani I hadn’t the heart to tell him he need not torture himself with our absurd language.”

            “Oh, was that it? Yuki-chan thought you merely wished to avoid all the dull people with whom you would otherwise have had to make polite small talk in a barbarian tongue.”

            “That too, of course. Though you may find it of use yourself given the portly gentleman on your other side. He is some relation of Lord Raoul’s, I believe, who does not entirely approve of foreigners.”

            Kel had no idea who the man was, and as he omitted to introduce himself when she sat she was happy to return the favour and stay in Yamani for a pleasant conversation with Keiichi. He knew she’d known Neal for a long time and discreetly sought impressions, moved, Kel thought, by genuine concern for his sister’s happiness; he also quizzed her about her sudden fame, and in return gave news of all kinds from the Islands. Although he was eight years older than Yuki he’d been very protective of her as a child, and Kel had always liked him for that as well as himself, so her evening was enjoyable. Even the speeches weren’t bad, especially as she was mercifully spared any such duties herself—though she was mentioned by both Neal, who looked dazed with happiness and relief, as the person who first made him appreciate Yamani culture and warned him of how their poetry differed from Tortallan romanticism, and a beaming Raoul as the finest, not to say only, matchmaking squire he’d ever had. Both regretted the absence of the Lioness, as knight master and best friend, but she hadn’t been able to leave Frasrlund.

            Quite how people managed it after such a meal Kel wasn’t sure, but speeches were followed by hours of dancing before the retirement of the newlyweds to their bridebeds, accompanied by raucous and indecent encouragements. Having endured stiff or simpering congratulations on her heroism from assorted people she didn’t know, who seemed far more curious about the oddity of a Lady Knight than interested in what she’d actually done, she cornered Dom and despite the difficulties of moving in kimonos managed one dance with him, enjoying his scent and the hand resting at her waist as they rounded the floor. But she saw his attention stray to an hourglass blonde flirting indiscriminately and let him go with a pang, slipping out of the messhall in the hope of finding a seamstress or someone else competent to help her shed and fold the kimonos.

            She was in luck, and touched to discover Yuki had provided rigid panniers in which her new best clothing could be properly packed. After reverting to shirt and breeches Kel took the panniers to her room and considered going to bed, but decided her full stomach called for a turn along the walls. The night was as balmy as the north ever became, and though the moon was only a sliver the stars were bright and light spilled from many windows with sounds of good cheer. Softly greeting the sentries she climbed to the alure and had worked her way round two walls when she found Daine with a bird whose rippled plumage made Kel think of treebark. Uncertain she hesitated, but Daine glanced up and beckoned her on.

            “It’s alright, Kel. He doesn’t mind.”

            She went forward. “What is he?”

            “Nighthawk. He was out after moths and stopped to say hello.”

            Tentatively Kel extended a hand to stroke the bird’s head, finding the feathers softer than those of sparrows. “He’s very handsome.”

            “Flatterer. You’ll give him ideas.”

            The bird flew off, revealing surprisingly long wings, and Daine turned amused eyes on Kel.

            “Given your arms, there’s someone else you should meet, if you can wait a moment. I sensed him a little while back.”

            She took a thick cloth from her waist, wrapping it around her forearm, and closed her eyes, extending her arm. Kel could hear nothing beyond familiar insect noises and the faint murmur of the Vassa but after a moment a tremendous white shape ghosted soundlessly from the darkness to perch on Daine’s improvised guard with thickly feathered feet, talons flexing. Great yellow eyes considered Kel from amid pure white plumage before turning to the Wildmage, who raised her hand to stroke the owl’s face softly. Kel found she was holding her breath.

            “Hello, wing-brother. How goes your hunting?”

            The reply must have been satisfactory, for Daine went on to explain that Kel’s arms included an owl. The puzzle of what understanding even this magnificent a bird might have of heraldry seemed unimportant when the owl again regarded her unblinkingly.

            “He approves. You should stroke his cheek. He likes that.”

            Hesitantly, not so much for the hooked bill as in delighted wonder, Kel did and the owl leaned into her caress before Daine launched him into darkness. Eyes shining, Kel laid her hand on the Wildmage’s arm.

            “Thank you. That was … special.”

            “The pleasure’s mine. I’ve always liked owls. They have clear minds.”

            They leaned together companionably in a crenel, looking out to the forest. There was a pensive expression on Daine’s face.

            “A copper for your thoughts?”

            “Oh, just marriages. Since Numair and I were wed three years back we’ve both wanted children, but there was that trip to Carthak with Kally, and by the time we were back this war was beginning. It’s frustrating, and today’s made me fret on it. My Ma’s getting impatient too. She gave me one of those looks when I told her at Samradh I’d be here today and asked her blessing.” Daine grinned wickedly. “She’s supposed to be a goddess of pregnancy and childbed but she seems to reckon that includes what comes first. She always liked a good gossip.”

            Kel shook her head, smiling, though inwardly she was embarrassed. “And I thought it was strange when Numair said he’d met Lord Gainel at his in-laws.”

            Daine grinned again. “Only once, when we were godknapped during the Immortals War. He’s been using that line ever since.” She gurgled a laugh. “He’s more cautious these days, though. He tried it during that eternal Progress on some old biddy who was boring him and got treated to an account of every dream she’d ever had before he could escape. I passed that story on to Da and he said Gainel thought it was funny too. What is it, Kel?”

            “Sorry, I’m just thinking about gods and how you and Numair are so familiar with them.” Kel waved a hand. “I’ve never had any magic and though I always honour Lord Mithros and the Goddess, and Lord Sakuyo, I never felt or experienced anything strange.” She turned, taking a deep breath and letting her eyes wander over the familiar order of the fort. “And it was important that I didn’t. Everyone knew the Lioness was god-touched and I wasn’t. And that was fine, a kind of honesty—what I achieved was through my own sweat. Even the Chamber didn’t seem strange, really—it was supposed to give you visions, and when the Nothing Man became a recurring dream it was just more of the same. But then I met Irnai and found out it wasn’t just the Chamber but Lord Gainel and Shakith. And today when I lit a stick of incense to Lord Sakuyo for Yuki’s and Neal’s happiness, I felt … I don’t know, a sudden peacefulness that wasn’t quite me.”

            Daine’s voice was wry. “Gods are unsettling, right enough, never mind having your Ma turn into one. They’re nothing like as perfect as they think either, even the Great Gods. At least my Ma remembers what hunger’s like, and living with folk who scorn you. The Great Gods have never been mortal and they’ve no more humanity than your Chamber. Shakith I’ve only seen once, not to speak to, but Gainel … well, he’s the best of them like that. It’s the foot he has in Chaos, I suppose, and the time he spends in mortal heads. Still”—she took Kel’s hand, squeezing—“you’re probably right you’ve caught their attention now, if you hadn’t before, and that’s uncomfortable. I won’t say you should trust them—they’ll do what they think needs done and mortals get hurt in the process. So do the People. But I think just now they’re … on your side. And that you should keep on just as you are.” She sighed, letting Kel’s hand go. “Da says even they don’t know what’s going to happen but something is, connected with the war that changes what comes after, and until it does everything’s in what he calls flux. But the Badger said he was pleased about you killing Blayce, and others too, so while gods are no better at gratitude than griffins I guess you have favours owing. Just be careful what you pray for.”

            Kel blinked. “Huh. Honours in Corus and favours from gods. I was just looking out for my people, Daine, not looking for rewards.”

            Daine smiled. “I know, but there’s no more refusing gods’ generosity than their anger. And they can do things no-one else can. It’s fair useful sometimes.”

            And with that disturbing but hopeful thought Kel had to be content.

* * * * *

She had the next day to see Cricket, Keiichi, her mother, and Raoul. Her former knight master might have used noble privilege to marry but couldn’t leave the fort without a commander, so Buri would stay at Steadfast in his enlarged quarters and, though she’d resigned command of the Queen’s Riders, act as co-ordinator for Rider groups sent north. Kel had hoped to spend time with Dom also, but he and his squad, with Balim’s, had headed out shortly after dawn, with throbbing heads, to investigate a frantic report of a tauros attack further west. Disturbed by the news, Kel managed to lunch with Yuki and Neal, who had a week’s leave before he was due to return to New Hope, while Yuki would go to Corus for Roald’s and Shinko’s marriage. What came after was moot, but to Kel’s pleased surprise she found Yuki wanted to join Neal at New Hope. Giving Kel a newly knowing look she said she found marriage agreed with her and hadn’t wedded Neal only to live apart from him.

            Not for the first time Kel thought she really didn’t want to imagine her best friends in that way, especially with news of a tauros in her mind, but also felt the familiar ache of her own frustrations and growing regret for the possibilities she had sacrificed for knighthood. The sense of being isolated in chastity had never bothered her as page or squire, even when Cleon made clumsy jokes before her jousts about dying a virgin, and she’d expected to sleep with him sooner or later; but it hadn’t happened, she’d lost her feelings for him as those for Dom grew stronger, and his arranged marriage to Ermelian of Aminar in April had separated them permanently. Now, as she saw her friends’ happiness, hands lingering in touches as strangely intimate as they were public, and thought about the marriages of her yearmates that were sure to follow, she began to understand more clearly the kind of sorrow lonely nights would become. There was, she couldn’t help feeling, too much truth in the old verse her father liked quoting in difficult negotiations: The toad beneath the harrow knows / where every separate tooth-point goes; / the butterfly upon the road / preaches contentment to that toad. As a dreaming ten-year-old she hadn’t known what she was surrendering but today knowledge pressed. Annoyed with self-pity she took herself off to find Tobe and pack, thinking that while she might not have had the fun of conceiving him—whatever it was like—or the burden of carrying him, she already had, to all intents and purposes, a ten-year-old son.

            On the following day, having made farewells and wondering how long it might be before she saw Keiichi again, the ride to Mastiff with Owen, Esmond, Seaver, and Faleron as well as Tobe, Jump, and her sparrows was peaceful. Arriving as dusk faded into night she was concerned to see considerable bustle around the refugees’ tents and within the fort, but when she strode to his office, abandoning Peachblossom and the animals to Tobe, Wyldon was talking calmly to a burly, fair-haired man of about thirty whom she didn’t know.

            “Ah, Mindelan, you’re back.” Punctilious as ever he rose to greet her, as did the other. “I don’t believe you’ve met Sir Rannac of Greendale. He’s come in as my second and patrol captain here, replacing poor Sir Berrinol.” Wyldon’s former second had died in the battle on the day after Kel’s attack at Rathhausak. “Greendale, this is Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan, commanding at New Hope and ranking officer of the district after myself and Goldenlake.”

            The man offered a heelclick with a bow, and a calloused hand. “Lady Knight. I’m honoured to meet you. Your report made the best reading I’ve had in a while, and I offer my sincere congratulations and thanks for killing that mage. I was at Northwatch before being posted here and we lost a lot of good men to those gods-cursed killing devices.”

            Wyldon’s eyes flickered disapproval of the profanity but Kel could detect nothing but professional courtesy and genuine gratitude and took the hand willingly. Greendale was east of Goldenlake, on the Drell, and while its politics were conservative she didn’t recall any of its knights or nobles among her challengers during the Progress.

            “Sit, sit.” Wyldon waved her to a chair. “All went well at Steadfast? And all quiet there now?”

            “It did, my Lord—a fine occasion—and I delivered your letters. The Queen was there, supporting Commander Turiakom, as well as the Prince and Princess, and much to my surprise my mother, so I had a good time. And yes, all was quiet when I left, militarily, but yesterday there was a report of a tauros attack further west. They’re investigating.”

            “A tauros attack? Mithros. Where did one of those horrors spring from?” Wyldon frowned distaste for the compulsively and violently libidinous immortals. “Let’s hope it proves a false alarm. We haven’t had a tauros this far north for a while. But I’ll draw up a warning notice for our civilians, Greendale, and we’d best get women and girls behind the walls as soon as we can. Post additional sentries at the treeline tonight and make sure all company captains are aware of this news.” His brow furrowed. “Tauros hoofprints are distinctive but few men will have seen one. We must make sure everyone brushes up on immortal fieldsign.”

            Sir Rannac nodded and Wyldon turned to Kel.

            “Please do the same with Frasrlund and Company Eight, Mindelan, and both building teams. The eastern team reached New Hope the day after you left and the startled report their leader sent me bore out all you said about what you’d managed there. I’d already been considering letting the volunteer refugees go—a fellow called Adner’s been rightly insistent about recovering as much crop as possible—and that report decided me. Civilians will be at least as safe behind that glacis you’ve got as outside the walls here, so I told Fanche and Saefas yesterday the adults who wanted to help build and farm could go as soon as you were back. That’s the bustle I expect you saw.”

            Kel had been prepared to make exactly those arguments about crops and safety, and was delighted to find herself anticipated.

            “Thank you, my Lord. The eastern team and a hundred plus civilians will make a big difference.” She didn’t doubt more would volunteer but there were children to care for.

            Wyldon nodded. “Yes. And we’ll be able to get all remaining here inside the walls. There’s no sign of Scanrans but I’ve never been happy to have so many in tents. And with even a hint of a tauros, that doubles.”

            Appreciating Wyldon’s priorities and lack of complaint about having his well-ordered military command set about with hordes of children for weeks on end, Kel met his eyes as she nodded, conveying her thanks.

            “I couldn’t agree more, my Lord. As soon as the walls and gatehouse are done, I’ll make the cookhouse, barracks, and stables priorities. Then we can take the children back and relieve you of their care. But we will need food, I’m afraid. A lot of crops were trampled and though we should get a second lot in, we’ll not have half what I was hoping for.”

            “Fair enough, Mindelan. The quartermasters know that and the livestock recovered from Haven is doing well enough, so you’ll have that as well as whatever game you bring in.”

            “And kitchen-garden stuff, my Lord. We’ve already planted one at New Hope. It’s bulk foods and staples we’ll lack, though Geraint did manage to recover some grain and rice from Haven.”

            “Understood.” He frowned suddenly. “We’ll need to think about your immortals, though. The basilisks can find stone enough, I dare say, but Vanget said he’d had enquiries from ogres and centaurs who’ve had problems with Maggur’s men. You look pleased.”

            “I am, my Lord. I’ve spoken at length with the Wildmage about the set-up at Dunlath, and I don’t see why we can’t make it work too. I’m hoping anyone—any being—who comes will be willing to fight, if only to protect themselves. But immortal refugees are still refugees, and the treaties mean we owe them protection, so I believe it’s my job as well as our advantage to recruit all I can.”

            “Hmmph. Well said. I only hope you feel that way when, what’s her name, Quenuresh turns up.”

            “It’s agreed?” Kel nearly kept her voice level.

            “She has. Food for thought, eh? General Vanget and the King will be wanting regular reports on how that works out or doesn’t, gods forfend. Which reminds me I have your spellmirror. It’s set for Northwatch and here, and Vanget or I can bring in His Majesty by fire if needed.”

            Kel digested this. “Sir Neal’s not back for another week. Can one of Company Eight’s mages activate it for me?”

            “Yes, anyone with the Gift can and needn’t stay.” His fingers drummed on his desk. “I shall come with you to New Hope tomorrow. I’m meeting Vanget at Giantkiller the evening after to decide what we do there and I want to see that glacis for myself.”

            Kel nodded, surprised. “Very well, my Lord.”

            “Mmm.” Wyldon seemed to reach a decision. “Greendale, would you excuse us? Get started on the tauros warnings and post those extra sentries. I’ll join you shortly.”

            “At once, my Lord.”

            As the door closed behind him Wyldon gazed at her with a wry smile. “The thing is, Keladry, you’ve set us by the ears again. No, no, it’s nothing bad. The opposite, really. Giantkiller’s supposed to screen New Hope, as well as defending the Brown River valley, but from descriptions of your glacis they’re more likely to find themselves falling back on you if things go badly.” He shook his head admiringly. “It’s Goldenlake’s rule about changing odds you don’t like, isn’t it? And you didn’t like the best odds we could offer you and your people. Astonishing. But having a fortification that strong in the Greenwoods valley changes the balance that made us build Giantkiller in the first place.”

            Thoroughly alarmed Kel sat very straight. “Wyldon, I’ll still be relying on civilians to man my parapets. Are you proposing to transfer all the companies earmarked for Giantkiller to New Hope?”

            “Mithros, no.” His face went thoughtful. “Not yet, anyway. Could you take them?”

            Kel thought about space. “Yes, just. But that many extra barracks and stables would double the buildings we’d need.”

            “Mmm. I’m not sure it’s an option. Covering Riversedge and Tirrsmont from there would be a problem and we need a central fort closer to the Vassa. But if Giantkiller faces attack in force you’ll be the nearest refuge. And ours from here, come to that, so I have to see the place for myself.”

            That Kel understood: no commander could rely on the unknown. “Will General Vanget come on to New Hope from Giantkiller?”

            “I suspect so. He’s been wanting to meet you properly and doesn’t often get away from Northwatch.” Wyldon gave a slight smile. “If things stay reasonably quiet and we don’t get early snow you’ll have other visitors in September as well. The King’s agreed the Prince and Princess will visit New Hope after their wedding.”

            Kel’s eyes widened. “Really? Cricket didn’t say anything. Nor Roald.”

            “Cricket?”

            “Oh, I’m sorry. Princess Shinkokami. It was her childhood nickname and Yuki and I still use it.”

            “I didn’t realise you knew her that well. Interesting. And I doubt she or the Prince yet know themselves. It won’t be announced until the last minute.” He regarded her curiously. “It’s a political decision, of course. Your report was very well received by the whole of Corus, I understand. Do you object?”

            Kel thought about it. “No, not at all. I rather like it, actually. And I think the refugees will too.” She hesitated, but they’d touched on this ground before. “I’m not sure His Majesty would get such a warm reception. The Tirrsmonters don’t feel too good about the nobility in general and the King’s the only authority that could overrule their liege-lord, but hasn’t.”

            “That’s understandable.” Wyldon’s hand clenched. “That man’s a disgrace to all of us and if I’d been burned or raided out I don’t think I’d be interested in explanations of why we can’t do anything about his bl—his incompetence. I’m sorry—Greendale’s setting me a bad example.”

            Kel looked at him affectionately. “I’ve heard worse, Wyldon. Even said worse myself, occasionally. And Mithros knows I’ve nothing but hard words for Tirrsmont.” She raised an eyebrow. “Was it going to be ‘bloody’ or ‘blasted’?”

            He huffed a little, then smiled, at himself as much as her. “The latter. It’s not because you’re a woman, you know. I dislike all profanity. Always have. My knight master was too often a foul-mouthed man and I vowed I would not follow his example in that regard.”

            If Kel remembered rightly Squire Wyldon’s master had been Sir Everhart of Haryse, whose prose was certainly choleric.

            “That must have been miserable for you.”

            He shrugged. “Done and dusted long ago. You should eat and sleep if we’re off at the crack tomorrow. Was there anything else?”

            She thought. “One thing, maybe. I wasn’t going to say anything yet, but I’ve been trying to absorb the, um, divine interest there seems to be in events here. And one conclusion I reached was that I want a temple at New Hope, or at least proper shrines.”

            “That seems wise. To Mithros and the Goddess?”

            “Yes, but perhaps others as well. Shakith and Lord Gainel don’t usually have shrines but I wondered if it might be wise to honour them somehow.” She hesitated, then pushed resolutely on. Wyldon would not laugh at anything divine. “And Daine was telling me about her parents. Apparently Lords Weiryn and Gainel are friends.” His mouth quirked with her own. “I know. But I was thinking shrines to Weiryn and the Green Lady might be, um, a good investment. We’re in hunting country, needing game, and with the number of young women among the refugees we’re bound to have midwifery problems.”

            “Mmm. Yes, that sounds wise too, Keladry. But forgive me, how does it concern us now?”

            “Well, I was wondering if the Prince and Princess might bring a senior divine for a dedication.” She gave him back a wry smile. “If we can stage the ceremony at Mabon and Daine’s there, who knows what other guests might come?”

            He stared. “Setting the gods as well as us by the ears. Huh. I’ll pass the idea along. And it’s hardly a request the Archdivines of Mithros and the Goddess could refuse.” To her surprise he sat back, smiling as widely as she’d ever seen. “You really are a remarkable young woman, Keladry, and I’m most impressed with how you quickly you’re learning to think politically on top of everything else. The royal visit was Goldenlake’s idea, a good one, but you’ve refined it.” He looked at her consideringly. “You realise it will compound your personal fame considerably?”

            She flushed. “That’s not my intent.”

            “Oh I realise that, or I’d not have asked. But a first visit by the heir after his marriage, with our future queen, in acknowledgement of heroism by a personal friend of both in saving children and ending the killing devices, as well as properly thanking the gods—who are already known to have blessed you as Protector of the Small? People want good news from this war, and that’s going to qualify in spades.”

            Kel sat speechless, and when she did speak her voice was subdued. “I hadn’t thought of it like that at all. I just want my people to survive whatever it is that’s coming, and not thanking the gods when we know they’re watching doesn’t seem right.”

            “Just so. And the more celebrated you and your people are, the more the Crown will feel obliged to ensure you have the resources you need. It’s a virtuous circle, Keladry, and you seem to be learning it instinctively, in the best way.” Wyldon paused, seeming to debate with himself, then shrugged. “Frankly, for better or worse you’ve been a symbol for many people ever since you started as a page. And you’ve handled it exceptionally well, mostly by not realising your own potency. But you were always going to have to come to terms with your political status, and that you’ve proven yourself a first-rate commander at a time when we need such people desperately only makes that more urgent. If you want advice, don’t fret about it and do keep on just as you were.”

            She glared. “Easier said than done.”

            He chuckled. “I know. But I’ve learned to have faith in you, and everything’s easier on a full stomach and a good night’s sleep. I imagine King’s Reach and the others will have found the food I told the cooks to keep back. Jesslaw certainly will have, and you should too. I’ll walk you over and greet them before I go to Greendale. Come.”

* * * * *

The horses and ponies from Rathhausak meant all adult refugees coming to New Hope—nearly one-hundred-and-fifty, including most of the Scanrans—could be mounted, and they took the courier trail in a half-mile column, armed squads at point and rearguard but no scouts save for sparrows. Kel rode behind Wyldon in the van, admiring his warhorse, but though she was pleased to lead the refugees back to a new, safer home her mind was chewing Wyldon’s words and the bizarre dance of politics her straightforward actions seemed to generate.

            She couldn’t pretend unfamiliarity with the phenomenon. Her dream had been to be a knight, adventurously helping people, not to set the realm ablaze with extremities of praise and censure; but it happened anyway before she had the slightest awareness of it. Joren and Vinson had come to loathe her personally but they’d hated her before they’d ever seen her, as The Girl and, absurdly, a symbol of everything their fathers disliked about events older than she was—as had all the tedious, mostly third-rate knights who’d challenged her during the Progress. Her only response had been to be herself, letting hostility bounce off her Yamani mask and never complaining. It had served her well as Raoul’s squire, riding with the Own, and she’d hoped when she finally passed her Ordeal to return to the relative anonymity of muddy, happy service among Third Company’s ranks. A part of her been cautious, remembering Raoul’s intimations of command, girls who’d watched her joust, and the Lioness’s flattering words on the night after her Ordeal about the example she’d set, but she hadn’t begun to imagine the situation she found herself in. Still worse was divine attention and she couldn’t wholly suppress resentful indignation at the turnaround it represented. The Lioness had walked with the Goddess to marvellous purpose, and within Kel the girl who’d dreamed of emulating her rejoiced at the idea of truly doing so—but Alanna had had a divine guide and her formidable Gifts as warmage and healer, and Kel was less than amused to find she was expected to endure similar difficulties with neither.

            But resentment got her nowhere and induced a sense of shame at impiety into the bargain. Thayet’s and her mother’s reactions to the deal the King had made her were also unsettling, as was the strange parallel between their belief she’d sold herself short and her own conviction of having let down those in her care. How was she to know what was proper self-confidence and political assessment, and what the arrogant self-assertion she’d always hated, in this brave new world that had such problems in it? By the time they came to the gulley that led to the Greenwoods valley and passed the challenge of Brodhelm’s scouts she’d decided Wyldon had again been right, and all she could sensibly do was carry on and let gods and politics do what they’d do anyway.

            The courier trail came into the valley just south of the fin, so she could point out to Wyldon the corral and anticipate his reaction to first sight of New Hope as they wound back into trees for a half-mile before emerging onto greensward above the rapids. She was eager herself to see the progress and when Wyldon abruptly slowed, directing his horse to stand off the trail, she followed suit, waving the column on and ignoring the exclamations as refugees saw their new home.

            The sight was all she could have hoped for. With a second building team at work even the five days she’d been away had seen dramatic transformation. The outer wall was complete, base bristling with the heavy, close-set spikes of an abatis that gleamed with the sharp edges of obsidian, captured Scanran banners that had hung from Haven’s walls standing out colourfully; along the western face the inner wall was beginning to rise, extending from the heavy timbers of a gatehouse. At the junction of the walls the outline of the tower was visible, and distant hammering and sawing could be heard. On the glacis work parties secured by ropes were packing and smoothing mud, while a basilisk—Var’istaan, she thought, from its size—was petrifying dried rendering, careful movement in a rope cradle punctuated by rumbling echoes of the rock spell. Other parties were digging out the moat, which extended along most of the western face; working on the roadway to the ford; and, with glimmering magecraft and the occasional sound of St’aara shaping stone with a spell that sounded like a gravel-slide, on the central arch of the stone bridge that now all but spanned the Greenwoods.

            Further up the valley the walls of Haven had disappeared with most of the buildings, leaving the burned-out infirmary and one work party strangely visible. Those timbers would have to go, Kel decided instantly, and had a sudden vision of how they could be used to surround the mass grave at the centre of the knoll, where the flagpole still stood. A swirl of breeze showed her her own flag at half-mast, and she felt a rush of gratitude to Geraint and his men, who honoured the ground they trod even as they reclaimed all they could. Wyldon followed her gaze.

            “Your orders?”

            “Not specifically, but I told Geraint about the grave, and that we’d make the knoll New Hope’s burial ground.”

            He nodded again. “More good thinking, Mindelan. And by Legann. But that”—he gestured towards New Hope and its glacis—“is astonishing.” He looked at her intently, then at the busy scene below where the squad on point and the first refugees were crossing the ford, slowing to examine the bridge and talk to the work party. “Godfrey of Carent, who leads the eastern building team, said flat out this place would be harder to take than Northwatch, but I didn’t believe him. Nor Harailt, for all he described it accurately. Foolish of me. Tell me again how this was done?”

            She described the co-operation, Numair and Harailt lifting and shaping heaped stone section by section, as a child shapes sand, and the basilisks, boosted by power stored in black opals Numair provided, roaring overlapping spells that fused rocks for hundreds of feet into the pile while everyone kept their distance, sheltered from the echoing spells by mages of Company Eight.

            “Huh. Remarkable, and important. Is a black-robe mage necessary, do you think?”

            “No. Without Numair we’d have needed far more mages, I suppose, but if you were bringing in well-broken rock, rather than reshaping a mound already there, you could build up from the ground, bucket by bucket. It’d be slower but if you had the basilisks you’d hardly need any other magecraft at all.”

            His eyebrows lifted. “So you wouldn’t. When word gets round basilisks are going to find themselves in demand. Did it exhaust them?”

            “Not really. Tire them, yes, but the rock-spell and its variants don’t seem to use up their magic as they would for mortal mages. Or perhaps they have so much any depletion didn’t show.” She looked at him. “I’ve been chary about asking that sort of thing directly but it’s on my list of questions. I did discover from Tkaa that the male, Var’istaan, on the glacis, is courting St’aara, on the bridge. Her son Amiir’aan will be working on the surfaces within the walls, I expect—he can do the spell perfectly, but can’t cover the same sort of area.”

            Wyldon’s face was unreadable. “The adult basilisks are courting?”

            “So Tkaa said. Or deciding if they’re going to court. Basilisks mate for life, apparently, so as they’re immortal they don’t choose fast. He also said Amiir’aan’s father was killed more than a century ago, in the Divine Realms, but wouldn’t say how, only that St’aara might be ready to court again and would certainly be considering her son’s needs. I was surprised because I was thinking of Amiir’aan as pretty young, given his size, and hadn’t quite equated that with ‘only in his second century’.”

            He blinked. “You’re serious?”

            “Entirely. Daine says it’s the same with dragons and they aren’t regarded as adults until they reach their twenty-first century. It puts things in perspective, rather.” She carefully kept a straight face without resorting to her Yamani mask. “Tkaa’s in his four-thousands, and travelled the mortal realms extensively before the Human Era began. St’aara and Var’istaan are both an epoch or so younger.”

            She saw Wyldon’s lips twitch. “Such precision, Mindelan. If Tkaa would co-operate, or other immortals under treaty, perhaps we should have it as a question for the Big Tests. ‘Estimate the age of this being to the nearest epoch.’”

            Kel let a grin show. “I’m not sure Lord Padraig would appreciate the answers, Cavall.” His lips twitched again. “And there’s another side to it.” She sobered as the last refugees and rearguard cantered past. “We know spidrens grow and breed the fastest of any immortal but Daine says they also have the shortest life expectancy. If they don’t kill one another competing for food and mates they get themselves killed by mortals for the same reasons. Like young centaur bucks trying to get gifts to win mares, I suppose, but worse. I thought it was interesting both St’aara and Quenuresh want somewhere safe for their young.”

            He nodded thoughtfully. “Yes. I don’t mean to embarrass you, but did they know of you as Protector of the Small?”

            “Var’istaan did. He mentioned it.” Even to herself her voice sounded resigned to the Chamber’s unwieldy label. When did that happen? “I don’t know about Quenuresh.”

            “Hmm. It’s a point to bear in mind. I don’t believe we’ve ever seen the young of different immortals interacting—even at Dunlath.”

            They set off again, catching the guards and rearmost refugees at the ford. Kel made a point of introducing Wyldon to St’aara, thanking her as well as the party from the building team for their work—an easy task as the bridge was decidedly impressive, with the keystone of the final, central arch just emplaced. The senior builder backed her up with equal sincerity, explaining that the basilisks’ ability to shape limestone blocks far faster than masons could manage and bond the voussoirs of each arch as soon as they were in physical contact had enabled them to dispense with a form as well as slow-drying mortar, turning a month’s work into a week’s. Wyldon was his punctilious self in greeting and thanking all, and Kel knew the refugees lingering to listen were absorbing their example.

            Splashing up the far bank they trotted behind the rearguard towards the base of the glacis, greeting the parties heaping and grading the roadway or laying flagstones. When they came to the bridge over the moat Wyldon again reined in, staring at the stone-lined trough studded with sharpened stakes that gleamed like the abatis. Petrified spoil was steeply piled on the outer side, increasing the difficulty of crossing it. Kel halted Peachblossom beside Wyldon’s horse, then kept pace as he moved on slowly, looking carefully about as they rounded the sharp corner and began to mount the glacis. The drop on the outer side grew as the warhorses’ heavily shod hooves rang on the stone.

            “We paved the roadway with a thin layer of petrified mud straight away for safety, but the bridge party’s next priority will be a series of traps right along here. Pits six feet deep and twelve long, across the full width, staked, with cross-supports mined with mageblasts to support wooden roadway over them. I’ve also wondered about blazebalm with mageblasts to fire it along the inner wall.”

            Wyldon winced but nodded. “The whole thing will be a killing field.”

            “It has to be. There’ll be a pit within the gatehouse too. And I shall certainly be following the example of the younger Lord Grogar with bags of rocks suspended from the merlons. Thank you for putting me on to Orchan, by the way.”

            He nodded acknowledgement, gesturing ahead to where the last refugees were vanishing from sight. “I saw you’d taken his advice about turn, narrow, and rise. You’ve improved on him, though. I can hardly begin to calculate what would be needed to assault this place.”

            Kel never stopped such calculations. “Magery. Failing that, mangonels or trebuchets, giants, anything with wings, and a force sufficiently large and disciplined to take heavy casualties and keep coming. Or enough beserkir. Fire too—but the walls will be stone and I’m hoping for stone roofs on every building.”

            He blinked and stared. “Too heavy, surely?”

            “Not with stone pillars. The basilisks’ rock spell is very precise and directional when they want it to be. Build in wood, petrify selectively.”

            “Mithros. You are thinking well.” He rubbed his forehead as if to clear it. “Anything else up your sleeve?”

            “Mined rockfalls around the valley, especially above the road north. It might be possible to knock out siege engines before they arrived; even a command or mage group. And whatever else I can think of or comes to hand. Centaurs could shoot and run from the trees, or sally from the corral. I’m not sure what ogres can do but if Quenuresh proves willing there have to be all sorts of uses for spidren webbing—bundles of it stored on the alures to drop on attackers to start with. Cases of griffin-fletched arrows there too, and griffin-feather bands to cancel illusion spells. I still have most of the feathers I was given for raising that little monster I was idiot enough to rescue at Owlshollow.”

            “Huh. I’d forgotten about that.”

            “Lucky you. The scars on my hands remind me every day.”

            Making the sharp turn where the roadway narrowed they breasted the steep rise and the noise of carpentry abruptly increased. A score of men were labouring within the framing timbers of the gatehouse, floors taking shape. Geraint, working one end of a large saw, waved swift greeting but didn’t stop, and they rode through the forest of timbers to the broad shelf, New Hope spread before them. Wyldon would have reined in again but the noise was too loud for conversation and at Kel’s gesture he followed her down the path to the main level. Some buildings were only foundations but to their left the messhall lacked only a roof and along the fin stables, a headquarters building, and eight barracks had begun to rise, parties working on all of them. Commissariat wagons defined a central eating area, and tenting to one side dormitories and latrines; wagons that must have come with the eastern building team stood in rows, laden with seasoned timber. Horses were neatly picketed along the foot of the eastern shelf, hay spread before them, and refugees and guards were gathered in a knot around Brodhelm. Seeing them approach he pushed towards them as they dismounted.

            “My Lord, my Lady. You travelled safely?”

            After a fractional glance at Wyldon, who merely nodded, Kel answered. She commanded here.

            “We did, thank you, Brodhelm. All’s well? You’ve done wonders.”

            “No problems, my Lady, nor any sign of Scanrans. And it’s been Masters Geraint’s and Godfrey’s men who’ve done wonders. Godfrey’s at Haven, supervising the last dismantling, but he’ll be back soon. Do you have orders for these new hands, my Lady?

            ‘I do, Brodhelm. Let’s take care of that now.” Many refugees had followed the captain anyway and Kel could see Saefas pushing towards her with a fierce look. “It won’t take a minute.”

            “Lady Kel.” She thought Saefas might have embraced her had Lord Wyldon not been there and found herself clapped heartily on the arm. “We don’t know how you did this but it’s a wonder.”

            “And a comfort, I hope. But as you see there’s a lot of work still to do.” She raised her voice to cut through banging and rasping from the barracks. “People, listen up. Right now the weather’s dry, which is good as none of us have a roof to sleep under. That has to be fixed, but your priority is crops. Adner, as soon as everyone’s eaten take whoever you need and get to it. What equipment do we still have, what do we lack, and what are the urgent tasks? Assign work parties as you will, and if there’s anything you need that someone else has, ask Captain Brodhelm here or Master Geraint, who’s working on the gatehouse, or Master Godfrey, who’s over at Haven. Questions?”

            Adner shook his head. “No, Lady Kel. I’ll know by this evening exactly what we’ll need for tomorrow.”

            “Good. Tell us all when we eat. Anyone Adner doesn’t need, now or tomorrow, you’re building. The only exception is Zerhalm and anyone he picks to help with horses. All others, unless someone in authority asks you to work on the walls or glacis, you’re on barracks and stables. Captain Brodhelm will introduce you to the foremen here on the main level. Work to your strengths but take direction from them—they’re very experienced—and if you really think someone’s missing a trick, ask politely. They’re interested in getting it done, I’ve found, not ignoring good ideas. All clear?”

            It was, and she held up a hand.

            “Security. Before anyone does anything, even Adner, you’re all going to listen with both ears to Captain Brodhelm brief you on patrols and sentries, where’s off-limits, and who needs to know where how many of you are. Everyone is counted out and back in. No arguments and no messing, or someone’s in trouble.” They grinned though they knew she meant it. “Next, Captain, I’m sorry to have to tell you Steadfast had a report of a tauros attack. It’s not confirmed yet but we act as if it had been. Warn your patrols, please, and brief everyone tonight on tauros prints and other fieldsign. No-one goes out of sight in less than a group of five with at least one steady archer and pole arms.”

            He nodded, grim-faced. “My Lady.”

            “One last thing. You all knew we had basilisks helping here and now you’ve seen them. The lady at the bridge is St’aara. Her son, petrifying mud over there and sneaking looks at us between times, is Amiir’aan, and he’s a sweetie. The big fellow working on the glacis is Var’istaan. St’aara. Amiir’aan. Var’istaan. Remember the names and get them right, please. They’re good people—good beings—and they’ll be staying to make their way among us and continue helping.” She surveyed them under lowered brows. “I doubt any of you need telling that arguing with a basilisk is a dumb idea, but if you have a problem, or might have a problem, or even imagine a problem you could have somewhere down the road next time there’s a week of Tuesdays, you come to me, as soon as may be. I don’t expect trouble, and I do think that if you’ll give a seven-foot beaded lizard who’s sweated hard to build this place for us all a chance, you’ll find we have three immortal friends, and maybe more to come.”

            Their concentration was fierce and she couldn’t see any dissent, though some looked more dubious than thoughtful.

            “But if there is trouble, of whatever kind, you stop right there and tell the basilisk, this goes to Lady Kel, now. And if you see someone else forgetting that, remind them, as forcibly as you have to. And I’ll tell you one more thing—these basilisks and other immortals who may come are refugees too. They signed treaties and kept them faithfully, and the Maggot didn’t care any more than he did about your homes and families and livings. Yes, they’re immortals, and sometimes they scare me too, but they’re our immortals and they’re going to scare Maggot a whole lot worse if he comes calling.”

            Ending, she felt a shiver as if someone had walked over her grave, but her line got the cheer she’d worked for, and she waved Brodhelm to carry on while collecting Wyldon with her eye. She led him to the inner corner of the main level, then down to the cavemouth where a corporal stood guard, right hand bandaged. He saluted awkwardly with the other.

            “My Lord, my Lady.”

            “You’re here in case anything comes out, Kelner?”

            He nodded. “Yes, my Lady. Just to be safe, like. We’ve some lamps inside but haven’t explored, and I cut my hand so the captain put me here today.”

            “Sensible. How’s the hand?”

            “Oh, not bad. Healer Morri just wanted it rested for a day or two because the cut was deep.”

            He sounded glum and Kel clapped him on the shoulder, smiling shared frustration with healer caution before leading Wyldon through the slanting entrance to the cave. Numair’s lightball had long faded but an oil lamp burned on the floor just inside with others, unlit, standing ready if needed. Kel lifted it high and saw stone spears gleam though the surface of the pool remained as dark and still as ever. Wyldon stood at her side, looking round.

            “This is good, too. Water and a retreat at need.” He breathed deeply, wetted a finger, and held it up, slowly turning it. “Air’s moving. That’s what Kelner meant about exploring?”

            “Yes. The basilisks like it. Amiir’aan’s done some looking and says there are a lot of cracks and little passageways. St’aara’s promised they’ll check it out properly as soon as the buildings are done. Meantime”—she shrugged—“there’s no other cave at ground level in the valley that could connect, not that anyone can find, anyway, so it didn’t seem a priority.”

            “Fair enough. Those stone formations are impressive.”

            “Yes, I’ve never seen the like, but Numair says they happen in big limestone caves where there’s water.” She angled the lamp to show the matching spears studding the roof above the pool, and smiled. “You should have seen Kitten—she made them light up with little beads of light, all spiralling round. Very pretty.”

            “Kitten? Oh, Veralidaine’s dragonet.”

            “Yes.” Checking Kelner hadn’t followed them in she punched him lightly on the arm. “It’s just Daine, Wyldon. It wouldn’t kill you to say it.” He looked his surprise. “She doesn’t like the full form. I think it reminds her of people in Galla who’d use it with her Sarrasri surname to needle her about not having a da.”

            “Oh.” He frowned. “I can see that. Thank you for telling me.” After a moment he added with a smile, “Besides my stuffy habits I suppose I thought it an impudence to use a diminutive now she goes by Weirynsra. And while I’ve come to know her quite well, at the Palace and with this war, I wouldn’t say we’re close.”

            Kel smiled back gently. “Just unbend a little, if you would. She doesn’t like formality any more than Raoul.” He snorted. “Why not ask her about your horses and dogs sometime?”

            Leading the way out, with a word to Kelner, they climbed the path and up again to the cistern and gurgling spring.

            “We’ll pipe water directly to infirmary and cookhouse. The slope should give us a decent feed. And the overflow trough runs through a pipe at the end of the eastern wall to supply the moat.” She walked along the terrace for seventy or eighty yards to a wide, shallow bay in the cliff where the trough cut straight across, leaving an irregular crescent of unpaved scree between it and the limestone. “This is where I thought to put shrines. Niches in the rock, as in Yaman and that cliff-temple at Port Caynn. Some woodsmen refugees are fair hands at carving.”

            Wyldon studied the area. “Yes again. You’ve an excellent eye for possibility. This whole interior layout is first-rate.”

            Warmed by his praise Kel smiled and they went on along the terrace, then round to the eastern shelf, where postholes marked the line of the inner wall and picketed horses looked up at them, towards the busy frame of the north tower. As the noise of hammering grew louder Wyldon turned to her.

            “Let me wander on my own, Mindelan, and take it in. I appreciate your argument for alures on the outer wall but I’d like to see the angles myself. Then I want a closer look at what they’re doing with that glacis.”

            She left him to it and after eating threw herself into work. Knowing from experience the carpenters wouldn’t welcome her fumble-fingered help and mindful of Duke Baird’s cautions about overworking her shoulder, she resigned herself to latrine duty, releasing a more able pair of hands, and spent a smelly hour loading the soil wagon. It wasn’t dignified but after their initial surprise the Company Eight soldiers she was with began to show appreciation of a commander who didn’t shirk unpopular jobs, and cajoled details of the night-attack on Rathhausak. After that she spent time with Amiir’aan, joining the men fetching and spreading mud for him to petrify into clean, flat stone and raised paths, before the return in late afternoon of Master Godfrey. He proved as pleasantly efficient as Geraint, and after offering thanks for his work and respect for the dead at Haven they had a satisfactory discussion about using timbers from the burned infirmary to frame the mass grave. Then Adner returned from inspecting fields, for once smiling. More crops might be recovered than he’d hoped and though ploughframes had burned at Haven the shares had survived, as had equipment stored in fieldsheds. He agreed with her about the bottomland north of the fin and promised to start its cultivation at once.

            With everyone working all the hours of daylight time flew. Wyldon left at dawn next day for Giantkiller, accompanied by squads from Mastiff and followed down the roadway by Adner and nearly a hundred refugees intent on getting a second crop sown. Kel fell into her day’s work, lugging soil buckets, fetching mud from excavation of the moat, and helping carry timbers from laden wagons to wherever they were needed. With the stone bridge complete St’aara and that party began on roadway pit-traps, half by half so people could pass. Var’istaan and other parties were busy facing the glacis but with fifty-odd additional pairs of hands—many experienced in woodwork—to help the bulk of two building teams, barracks and stables seemed to fly up and the messhall acquired a low-pitched wood-shingled roof.

            Three days after leaving, Wyldon and his escort returned with General Vanget and his, and Kel had the pleasure of welcoming her superiors to a fort visibly taking proper shape. In person the haMinchi general was as cheerfully bluff as he’d been by spellmirror, full of congratulations on the rescue and building. After giving him the tour and outlining various additions to the defences she had in mind, he expressed grimmer approval and sat with her and Wyldon on the terrace by the cliffs to discuss wider strategy. Against the wishes of many, who thought it bad luck, Giantkiller was being rebuilt with an additional wall and earthworks but not enlarged, and would continue as a central shield for Riversedge and what remained of the Brown River valley population. The timber freed would be sent to her and, when possible, a second regular company and no less than eight squads of convict soldiers assembling at Steadfast.

            “Frankly, Lady Knight, they’re volunteering in such numbers because they’ve heard about you and that their predecessors who were with you in Scanra have had their magemarks cancelled, so you rightfully get ’em.” Kel hadn’t heard that bit of news and was viscerally pleased for the men who’d redeemed themselves so valiantly. “Use your own judgement. If you want to keep them as loose squads, that’s fine, but if you want to make a full company out of ’em, go ahead.”

            She thought for a moment. “Full company, sir. It’ll be better for their morale.”

            “Well enough. Wyldon said that’s what you’d choose. And if you think that fellow Uinse you praised in your report is up to it, appoint him captain. I’ll confirm it. Elsewise I can send someone from Northwatch.”

            Very surprised at such patronage, Kel immediately opted for Uinse, whose capabilities as a leader she didn’t doubt though she thought he’d need help with paperwork, and thanked General Vanget warmly.

            “No, no, man’s earned it by all accounts. So have you, gods know. Now, less pleasantly, I’m afraid that tauros attack west of Steadfast has been confirmed. Two women dead, poor things. And there was another east of Northwatch. One victim.” He made the gods’ circle on his chest and Kel followed suit, murmuring a prayer to the Black God for the lost souls and trying not to think of how they’d died. “We’ve also had a report from Hamrkeng that they were in Scanra, somewhere well north, but the Maggot somehow persuaded them to head down here. So there’ll be more attacks for a certainty until we can kill ‘em. I know the basilisks have done wonders, and we’ll see what happens with that spidren when she gets here, but tauroses I cannot abide.”

            He scowled ferociously, a sentiment Kel shared. She’d never been able to understand why any god would create beings whose sole purpose seemed to be raping mortal women, almost always fatally, and no-one she‘d met, even Numair, had an explanation either. Even stormwings, grotesque as they were, served a purpose and despite their stench and behaviour were a fiercely moral object lesson about the realities of war, however little humans heeded it. But tauroses were purely vile.

            “We’re also starting to see Scanran soldiers again north of the Vassa. No crossings reported yet but it’s only a matter of time. Maggot’s reasserted his grip, more or less. Had to do a lot of fast talking and kill at least one hostage, Sir Myles says, but if no-one’s happy about it they aren’t turning on him yet either. Whether he’ll be able to do more than raid before the snows is a toss-up, but for sure and certain he’ll be back in force in the spring, latest. So you keep right on fortifying for all you’re worth, Lady Knight. Sooner or later you’ll need these defences.”

            He ate with them that evening, listening as she updated everyone on tauros attacks and additional resources and soldiers, before giving a speech—brisk in praise of what had been achieved, unsparing in assessing continuing threats, and cheerfully blunt about how they’d be met. He left next morning for Northwatch, and before leaving himself for Mastiff, Wyldon, eyeing the state of barracks and stable, promised to send the remaining adult refugees, children, and livestock the following week, when Neal returned from leave.

            Then it was back to her developing routine, from dawn practice and renewed weapons drills with refugees to meals in the completed messhall where she came to know the soldiers of Company Eight better. She also had discussions with the basilisks, and after careful experimentation they found that Amiir’aan’s as yet low-powered rock spell, directed over a wider area, petrified only the upper quarter-inch or so of a one-inch wooden shingle. Thereafter he added the low-pitched roofs to his work-load, and the adult basilisks had no difficulty petrifying the supporting pillars to take the extra weight. The process spawned another activity, woodcarvers among refugees and building teams insisting the messhall be left for last and snatching time in the evenings to carve its pillars with simple, dramatic panels telling the tale of Haven’s fall, the rescue, and New Hope’s rise. Kel thought their depiction of her went beyond flattery to the absurd, but everyone was so pleased with the results, the refugees fiercely so, that she did her best to acquiesce with a smile.

            By the time August began with heavy showers the glacis was fully faced and the moat complete. It took a day to fill before the last section, below the gatehouse, brimmed and the overflow began trickling along a shallow sough to the Greenwoods, but everyone was happy with the results. Inner wall, gatehouse, and north tower with its bridge were also substantially complete, and the killing field between the walls studded with petrified spikes. St’aara and the party building roadway traps were reinforced, and men from the building teams released to the remaining barracks, internal structures of headquarters, and smaller buildings—forge, woodsheds, and latrines.

            News of a sizeable Scanran war band that all but besieged the soldiers working at Giantkiller until companies hastily despatched from Mastiff and Northwatch could drive them off with heavy casualties delayed the arrival of the promised column from Mastiff, but as the second week of August began horn-calls from one of Brodhelm’s patrols announced them. Kel had thought carefully about how to handle the children, and while Adner and others relieved Jump and the knowing dogs of bellowing, bleating, oinking, and clucking livestock, driving some up the roadway to pens prepared in the eastern corner of the main level and others to the corral beyond the fin, she had all the refugees, the knights, Connac’s squad, and the convict soldiers wait by the bridge over the moat. She spent a while greeting friends of all ages, hugging Tobe, patting Jump, and congratulating Uinse, self-conscious but proud and determined in a new uniform with captain’s insignia, and once the noise of the animals abated with distance raised her hand to command silence.

            Concentrating on children and dogs she gave graphic descriptions of the spikes concealed beneath the water of the moat and what they would do to anyone, two-or four-legged, who fancied a swim, then bluntly reminded women and girls about the tauros threat and laid out her standing orders about never being out of sight unless in strength and appropriately armed. Satisfied they’d absorbed the warnings, she hoisted a happy Meech to her side and walked them up the roadway, explaining the traps, emphasising the sheer drop on the outer side, and collecting the work party and St’aara as they passed. Meech peered shyly from behind her arm at the tall basilisk, and when she reached the gatehouse Kel set him down, sent the children to line up along the shelf,  and used the guards’ horn to stop the building work and call everyone together. Brodhelm and his sergeants, Geraint, Godfrey, and the basilisks were clearly named and layout demonstrated. Going the other way she introduced Irnai, known from her report and accompanied by the marmalade cat, with wry instructions that if anyone heard the seer say anything unusual they should pay serious attention. Then, as work resumed, she took the children and animals to the slope above the cave, assuring them they would soon be able to go in as they wished, but flatly commanding them that it was as yet unexplored and strictly off-limits.

            The rest of the day was filled with happy chaos as carts were unloaded, barrack spaces claimed, and the new stables filled with horses and ponies. The piping shouts and laughter of the young, even the squabbles that broke out, and the various barks were a welcome change to Kel’s ears, and next morning, with extra soldiers boosting Brodhelm’s resources and supplementing work parties, she decided she’d done enough latrine duty for a bit and switched to childcare. Creating rosters for older to watch younger, a familiar routine, and recruiting Amiir’aan to help break down fear of immortals, she set them to work digging out a large, shallow pit, roughly three hundred foot square, in the centre of the main level. Basilisk-loosened scree was carried away to be piled by the inner wall, until it could be strung up in nets from the outer, and the excavated pit was gradually filled with soil and turfed with sod claimed from the field beyond the fin that Adner’s teams had ploughed. One of Brodhelm’s patrols was instructed to find and bring back four sturdy saplings, birch, alder, rowan, and ash, to plant in deepened corners; in the middle, where diagonal paths intersected, a circle of raised rock eventually housed a great flagpole, rising above the walls to be visible from much of the valley floor, and her flag from Haven was set flying. Archery ranges and a play area with a low fence were also established between the south-eastern side of the green and the terrace.

            The arrival of Neal, Merric, and Seaver improved Kel’s daily life dramatically, adding a distributed command presence that eased her workload. Uinse consolidated authority over his new company, working with Merric and Brodner, while Seaver began working with Company Eight’s mages and the hedgewitches among the refugees, and Neal claimed his healer’s domain in the infirmary. The knights’ presence also brightened Kel’s evenings with old acquaintance uncompromised by social deference or appeal to authority. Neal bemoaned separation from Yuki as during their engagement, but Kel thought marriage—and, she admitted to herself, the marriage-bed—had begun to mellow him. He’d always been kind; now he was more tolerant and while still given to dramatics somehow more relaxed even when vapouring. If her own bed remained a lonely refuge, the installation of Tobe in a small room next to her quarters, and his delight in the first private space he’d ever had, were compensations beyond measure.

            There were also clerks, wonderful clerks, to inhabit the completed headquarters and begin generating the paperwork that made army quartermasters and senior sergeants happy and would ensure New Hope’s smooth integration into courier and resupply systems. The spellmirror, thus far unused, was installed in a conference room near Kel’s new and to her eye needlessly spacious quarters, beginning a duty of regular reports to Wyldon and occasional summons to receive news.

            Ten days into this new dispensation Kel was packing turf around the rowan sapling when a hawk screamed close above. Waving and trotting to the headquarters building she climbed to her rooms and threw open her bedroom shutters. As she set out small clothes on the bed with a shirt and breeches the hawk perched on the window sill, and a moment after she’d politely withdrawn to the outer room a tousled Daine emerged, buttoning her borrowed shirt.

            “Kel, I can’t believe how much has been done. It’s fair wonderful. But catching-up must wait. Quenuresh is here.”

            Kel’s heart beat fiercely. “Where?”

            “In that old woodland. I told her you’d come to meet her with a small party of military and civilian leaders.”

            “Right. Follow me.”

            She clattered down the stairs and strode out, Daine behind her. A passing Gydo was sent at the run to tell Adner to meet her at the moatbridge. Then she walked a quick circuit, collecting Brodhelm and Uinse for soldiers, Fanche and Saefas for refugees, Zerhalm for Scanrans, and prompted by a sudden impulse, Irnai for children; she also took Neal as senior healer, and Seaver, whose father had been killed by a spidren. She’d spent hours over the past week talking with him about the alliances she hoped to form, and what she knew of Quenuresh; he’d had to grit his teeth much as she had forcing herself to face her fear of heights, but had become grimly determined to overcome his visceral repugnance. The fact that she largely shared it helped him, and when the small group rode down the roadway to collect a waiting Adner he was immediately behind her, face set.

            The woodland was a good four miles beyond Haven, and it was more than an hour after Daine’s arrival before they approached its eaves, dark with shadow even in sunlight. No spidrens were visible, but Daine had them dismount and picket the horses a hundred yards from the trees, and as they walked forward put fingers to mouth and gave a piercing whistle. They halted ten yards from the treeline, Kel and Irnai in the centre, with Daine in front, Seaver and Neal flanking them, the soldiers and civilians on either side. After what seemed an eternity but wasn’t more than a minute shadows stirred under the trees and the biggest spidren Kel had ever seen stalked slowly out into the sunlight.

            Most of the octoped immortals, though as much as four feet in legspan, stood no taller than two to three feet at their bizarrely human heads. Quenuresh’s head was at least five foot from the ground, jointed legs rising above it, and her body twice the usual size. Yet her face, surprisingly attractive, was if tense also more open than Kel had ever seen, and without steel teeth on display infinitely less threatening. Behind her a dozen smaller spidrens, one with four young riding its back, emerged to spread themselves warily along the treeline.

            Kel could hear deep, ragged breaths from Neal and Seaver on either side of her, but Irnai was calm and Kel kept hold of her hand as she carefully advanced behind Daine, controlling trembling legs with sheer willpower. Halting bare yards from a very still Quenuresh, whose gaze flickered from face to face, Kel offered a dip of her head somewhere between a nod and short bow, and stood waiting. Quenuresh looked her in the eye for a long second, nostrils flaring, then awkwardly dipped her own head and body. Her voice was low, not unpleasant, and Kel realised with muted shock she’d only ever heard spidrens speak—or shout and scream—in combat and in agony.

            “Godborn, you keep your word. Protector of the Small, your fame has reached my ears. This girlchild is unknown to me but bears the marks of Shakith’s chosen. She is Irnai of Rathhausak?”

            “She is. Forgive me, but how should we address you?”

            “I am Quenuresh. I claim no title.”

            Kel swallowed. “I understand you and yours would live with us in peace, offering harm to none and claiming the King’s protection.”

            “We would. In the divine realms I was a mage and scholar, and would be so again. All of us are tired of warfare and killing.”

            “That I can understand, for so are we all. But I believe the war—”

            Kel broke off because Irnai was walking forward, stopping only feet from Quenuresh. Slowly her hand rose to touch the huge spidren’s cheek. Quenuresh was utterly still but the spidrens behind skittered as they watched, surprise on their faces; what her own might look like Kel couldn’t imagine. Letting her hand drop Irnai spoke, her voice distant.

            “Your cheek is soft. I see no futures where you harm us, spidren-mage, but hazard comes all the same. Will you aid us when it does?”

            “I and mine will defend ourselves, and you, against any who enter this valley, Shakith’s daughter. This we have sworn to the King of this land, to stay his swords and fire sent against us. But we will not fight in mortal wars beyond our own home.”

            “The Protector asks no more.”

            Forcing herself forward until she stood beside Irnai, well within the spidren’s killing reach, Kel met Quenuresh’s eyes.

            “Does Shakith’s daughter speak true, Protector of the Small?”

            Kel’s voice was calm despite her churning stomach. “She does, Quenuresh. On those terms you and yours are welcome to New Hope.” Generosity worked best, she thought. “Yet there is much we must determine. Wise animals live among us, lawful prey for none, and livestock we need to survive. Basilisks dwell here and we hope other immortals may come. You know of the Council at Dunlath?”

            “I do.”

            “Though command here is mine it is in my mind we should do likewise and one seat on that Council should be yours. Do you accept it?”

            Quenuresh studied her for a moment, not concealing surprise. “That is more than I expected. I accept gladly.”

            “We must also guard against misunderstandings and accidents.” Kel swallowed. “There are those among us who have lost dearly to your kind. And you can have few reasons to trust us.”

            Kel felt Seaver come to her side and sensed others’ tension behind her. A sidelong glance showed her a face sheened with sweat. His throat worked and when he spoke his voice was harsh.

            “I am Seaver of Tasride.” He swallowed convulsively. “A spidren killed my father.”

            Quenuresh studied him warily, nostrils flaring again. “I am sorry for your loss, Seaver of Tasride. I have never dwelt in that place, nor any of my get.” For the first time the immortal hesitated. “I understand we are monstrous in your eyes, and I smell the fear in all save the Godborn and Shakith’s daughter. Yet you approach despite it, restraining your sword and Gift, and we speak as your father and that one of my kind who slew him never could. If it does not offend, I would honour your courage. And we have sorrows of our own, beyond counting, learned at mortal hands.”

            Kel laid a gentle hand on Seaver’s arm. “We understand, Quenuresh. It is our hope that your children and ours may be free of such sorrows, but we must be cautious if all are to prosper. Forgive my ignorance, but can spidrens sound a horn?”

            “We can.”

            “Then we will place one at the edge of your woodland, and should we need to speak with you, or you with us, its summons will be heeded. If a child of either kind were lost, and needed to be searched for, perhaps, or other aid were needed.” Quenuresh nodded and Kel swallowed again. “Will you also consider trading with us? I do not know what we might have that you need, nor what of yours we could use. But trust cannot grow in isolation.”

            Daine came to rest a hand on Irnai’s shoulder. “We discussed this a bit, Kel.” Her voice was dry. “Exchanges are certainly possible.”

            To everyone’s surprise a smile lit Quenuresh’s face, though a glimpse of steel teeth made it less reassuring that it might have been.

            “They are, Godborn. We hunt, but if we are not to trespass on your lands we need livestock, or to trade for food. Meat, but also cheese.”

            “Cheese?”

            “You heard right, Kel. Cheese.” Daine let a smile show. “Seems spidrens have a taste for it but aren’t equipped to make it themselves.”

            “In return, we offer webwork and our ability to climb.”

            Kel’s fist clenched. Yes. “That is more than acceptable.” Amid her satisfaction she felt whimsy rise. “We must devise a cheese schedule.”

            Quenuresh nodded, eyes alight. “And one for webwork, Protector. I had hoped spidren web would appeal to one who must defend many.”

            “Oh it does, Quenuresh. It does.”

            Neal came to her other side, white but with a look suggesting he might be laughing about cheese later, and the spidren turned to him.

            “I am Nealan of Queenscove, Quenuresh.”

            Dark eyes studied him and nostrils flared. “You are the healer of Shakith’s daughter’s prophecy.” It wasn’t a question.

            “I am. I can also firespeak, though not over great distance. Seaver has lightcraft, and some training in warmagery. And you are a mage. Can you tell me in what your power lies?”

            “You ask much, Nealan of Queenscove, though you offer trust even as you ask it.” The immortal’s face was very still, no trace of humour remaining. “I know to hold this back would deny trust, yet it galls to speak it. Still, it must be. Beyond my webbing, I can speak over distance, not by fire, and when the barriers are thin, between realms. But my true power is of illusion and concealment.” She neither moved nor made any visible gesture, but faded swiftly where she stood into invisibility for a second and then returned. “Even as the dragons, I can move unseen through a city, and have done so.”

            The demonstration alarmed Neal and Seaver, and Kel could hear shocked breathing behind her, but she’d guessed from what Daine said that Quenuresh must be able to conceal herself and her kin effectively, and magecraft was the obvious answer. Calmly she took her griffin headband from her pouch and bound it over eyes and ears.

            “Would you repeat that spell, Quenuresh, staying invisible longer?”

            Slowly the spidren nodded, nostrils again flaring. “Yes. The virtue of the griffins I cannot wholly defeat, but I will do as you ask.”

            She faded again but to Kel’s sight an outline remained, the invisible body blocking woodland behind. She undid the band and passed it to Neal, then Seaver, summoning Brodhelm, Uinse, Fanche, and Saefas forward for turns. Irnai declined, smiling, and Quenuresh reappeared.

            “Well, Protector?”

            Kel made her voice brisk. “It is well, Quenuresh. We have comfort in the griffins’ virtue and you know of it. Yet I would ask your oath that you never seek to pass invisibly within New Hope without our knowledge.”

            The spidren looked at her curiously. “You would trust an immortal’s word, Protector? We have no gods to swear by who will bind us as the Great Gods bind mortals.”

            “I would trust your word, Quenuresh.”

            “Then you have it. And likewise, no mortal mage shall seek to enter our wood unseen.”

            “Agreed.”

            Swiftly Kel named Brodhelm and Uinse as captains, Fanche, Saefas, Adner, and Zerhalm as civilian leaders. Quenuresh nodded gravely to each, repeating names, and studied Zerhalm closely, nostrils flaring.

            “Zerhalm of Rathhausak, you have the Gift to heal animals, though not as the Godborn does.”

            He blinked. “I don’t rightly know the Godborn’s powers but that sounds about right.”

            “It is possible you might also heal us, for that is a magic we lack. Should need arise, are you willing to attempt it?”

            Kel had not anticipated this and looked at Zerhalm anxiously, but as he overcame his surprise he shrugged.

            “I’ve never healed a spider, never mind a spidren. Never tried, nor had the chance. But I’ll leave no animal in pain if I can help, and I can’t see I’d refuse to help one that was hurt, less’n you’d given me reason.”

            “I ask no more, and offer thanks.” Quenuresh looked at Kel. “The young of every kind are vulnerable to injury. Shall I name my kin?”

            As the other spidrens slowly came forward and were introduced, emotions eased. All were Quenuresh’s children or grandchildren, and all were female. What had become of the males no-one asked, but Seaver, still trembling, did ask the other question in everyone’s mind and to Kel’s relief Quenuresh only smiled slightly.

            “No, Seaver of Tasride, it is not with us as with mortals, passing down generations. If they live to number my centuries they will attain my size. But no mortal now living will see it, nor the children of their children’s children.”

            “How old are you, then?”

            Quenuresh smiled again. “I have more centuries than you have years, Nealan of Queenscove, and the youngest here fewer months.” She gestured carefully with a foreleg to the spidrens less than a foot across who clung solemnly to their mother’s back, eyes wide.

            After her conversations with Tkaa and Daine Kel wasn’t surprised, but others were, mouths opening in shock, and she thought everyone had had enough surprises for one day. After agreeing with Quenuresh to meet the following morning, bringing the horn, she made a formal farewell, receiving the same, and the spidrens vanished under the trees. Kel didn’t think it was magic but how such a huge creature could be so easy to lose sight of was a mystery. As they reached the horses Seaver let out explosive breath and leaned against his mount’s side, face grey.

            “Gods, that was hard!”

            “You did it, though. And came to no harm.” Daine’s voice was mild. “Spidren or not, she’s brave and honourable. I used to hate and fear stormwings because the only one I knew truly was a monster. But then I met one who died fighting alongside us at Port Legann, and he was one of the best beings I’ve ever known. He still stank worse than a midden, but now I judge every being as I find them, not kind by kind.”

            Seaver nodded weakly. “I don’t disagree, Wildmage, but I can’t stop what my gut feels.”

            Kel knew he would not be the only one. Her own nausea wasn’t far away, and she didn’t look forward to renewed contact with Quenuresh on the morrow. The matted hair and sharp bristles on her high-jointed legs were as repellent as Kitten and Amiir’aan were attractive, and Kel could not shake the vivid memory of another spidren biting a kitten in half. But she also remembered her sick distress hearing baby spidrens burning to death in caves bombed with blazebalm, and would not ignore any safe alternative to such slaughter. And above all, whatever her fears or anyone’s, she knew that with Quenuresh and her brood holding the woodland and the promise of webbing to bolster New Hope’s defences however proved possible, her people were safer tonight than last, and that was all that truly counted.

Chapter Text

Part II – Mabon  

September – November, 461 HE

Chapter Five — Visitations

1–24 September

The remaining men of the building teams left at the beginning of September. Most had gone to Giantkiller a week before but the heavy gatehouse roof and multiple switchback stairways to the railed alures of the inner wall required specialists, and Geraint had stayed with them. Kel liked the man and would miss his good cheer but waved farewell with a light heart, glad to begin New Hope’s independent life.

            Civil and military routines were already established. Everyone trained with arms before breakfast and for an hour before the evening meal; fieldwork and replacing things lost with Haven occupied the refugees’ days, while Brodhelm and Uinse had sparrow- and dog-aided patrols ranging widely afield, as well as an intense programme to train convict soldiers to regular army standards. Neal was working through the men of New Hope Company One, in private occasionally exploding at evidence of unhealed injuries and untreated disease but doing much to nurture the liking and trust Kel’s fairness had seeded.

            In the mornings children went to the schoolhouse where a surprised but willing St’aara kept order and two clerks ensured all could read, write, and do basic maths. To his mingled disgust and delight Tobe was among them. Other lessons depended on who was free and what they could think of, but between them Neal, Seaver, Faleron, Esmond, an infinitely mellowed Idrius Valestone, Saefas, and Kel herself were gradually covering Tortall’s geography and history, neighbouring lands, healing and the body, magecraft, animal care, tracking and hunting, trade and business, and making and reading maps. Kel ruthlessly recruited for occasional lessons—cooks, seamstresses, hedgewitches, smiths, a shocked Uinse for moral tales of what not to do (or at least, how not to be caught doing it), and a bashful Connac, whose hobby was drawing. For some children it was a first experience of education and for most a welcome return to something that if not normal was at least ordered and dependable.

            Relations with Quenuresh prospered. A round of cheese was delivered to the wood weekly, with meat when they slaughtered or caught enough game, while folded web-nets, spelled to be handled by mortals, were lodged in boxes along the alures. The first time Quenuresh entered New Hope the atmosphere was as tense as bearing cable, some people fainting and others unable to stop themselves vomiting; only Irnai and the basilisks yet felt remotely at ease with the giant immortal but when no-one was harmed and Quenuresh was unfailingly polite, as well as visibly working to bolster defences, fear and revulsion were slowly joined by acceptance and traces of strange pride. No-one else had spidren allies and all knew their experiment was of real importance. It was helpful that Amiir’aan, whom everyone liked, had no fear whatever of the spidren; nor, more oddly, did Jump or the sparrows. Kel herself had come to appreciate her strange ally’s mind and conversation, though her stomach still had its own opinion about proximity to a huge, hairy body and bristled legs.

            To Kel’s disappointment it had not proved practical to suspend rocks from the merlons using spidren web. It would decay over time, and were Quenuresh to be killed all her webbing would rapidly fail. Grumpily Kel set the older children to work knotting ropes and the younger to carrying rocks excavated from the central square up to the outer alures; once the filled nets were securely in place (with mageblasts to blow them open at need) Quenuresh won her renewed gratitude by crawling along the outer wall, cloaking each net in spells that left them invisible from below.

            A different satisfaction came from work on the shrines. The adult basilisks spellcut arched niches in the limestone of the shallow bay and the best seven woodcarvers, dragged away from increasingly elaborate decoration of the messhall, held Kel’s commission for statues. Lords Mithros, Gainel, and Sakuyo would all be honoured, with the Goddess, Shakith, and the Black God; in the centre a double-width niche would hold a double statue of Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady. When Kel had asked Daine by spellmirror for her approval and whether the wedded gods should be shown holding hands, the Wildmage had laughed until her face was wet, assuring her that not only would her Ma and Da be delighted to hold hands, but that any god had the right and power to attend dedications to Themselves and if they didn’t show up for this one, especially with the barriers thin on the equinox, she’d ring down such a scold on them her Da’s horns would curl. Sobering, she’d added in a quieter voice that it would be her Ma’s first major shrine, and her Da had only a few scattered through the northern mountains of Tortall, Scanra, and Galla, small-scale work by woodsmen and their families, so both would likely have a strong proprietary interest. Kel still found a daughter’s irreverence for gods disconcerting but also felt without quite being able to say it that humour was a better companion for faith than either the fear she associated with the Chamber or the profound unease manifestations of divine power usually induced.

            The only real puzzle remaining was the cave. The basilisks had explored as far as they could, discovering a network of small chambers stretching away into the limestone but in every case finding the way blocked by cracks and passages too small even for Amiir’aan to pass, yet with air movement whispering of further connections. They had begun leisurely excavations but more, Kel thought, as a recreation than a task.

            That situation changed with the harvest moon when an extended family of aqua-skinned ogres hesitantly climbed the roadway to request shelter. Miners displaced from further east, peaceful, reserved, and roughly polite, they had been living under treaty since the Immortals’ War and Kel had no hesitation in accepting them and offering their leader, Kuriaju, a Council seat. There were abandoned mines in nearby valleys they could work when peace came; meantime they brought greater drive to exploration of the caves, stringing crystal magelights, levelling floors, and beginning to create useful spaces and open up some passages to discover what lay beyond. Kel also set Var’istaan and Kuriaju to work on a gallery in the fin, extending the alure of the inner wall at a right angle above the upper roadway. In the hard rock progress was slow, even with basilisk spells and ogre muscle, but well-sheltered firing positions covering the gates from a new angle were worth it.

            A few days after the ogres arrived a small herd of centaurs took up residence in the upper valley, pasturing horses on the grassland, living in the woods, and keeping themselves to themselves but agreeing, like Quenuresh, to fight anyone who brought war to New Hope. Their herdmaster, Whitelist, brusquely declined a place on any council, but when he saw the fine bowls and jars made by petrifying turned wood became keen to trade, offering griffin-fletched arrows and to Kel’s astonishment others in which ridged golds and coppers alternated with the metallic sheen of stormwing retrices. Such arrows were magekillers, and several dozen of each kind now resided in cases along the parapets, while week by week the reserve of broadheads and needlepoints with charmed fletching grew.

            The tally of immortals was completed soon afterwards when a tired Daine arrived one afternoon, again in hawk form, followed by a ringing cry that brought everyone out to see two huge brindled forms spiralling down to the green; between them a smaller version landed awkwardly and promptly trotted towards Kel. Ignoring Jump’s wary growl from a safe distance it reached her as Daine emerged from the headquarters building at a run, and when she knelt warily booted her knee and made a snap at her hand she barely avoided.

            “Oy! Little monster.”

            “Yes, he still is.” Daine’s breathless voice was amused. “But for a griffin that was affection all the same, Kel.”

            “Sure it was. And I’m glad to see him, I suppose.” She whipped out a hand to pluck an errant feather from the kit’s side, avoiding his reflex snap. “Got you. You’ll have to speed up.” The kit booted her knee again as she glanced up at Daine. “What’s the deal?”

            “They’ll roost for at least two years in one of the cliff caves and prevent anyone from gaining access to the cliff tops above here, but they won’t fight. They’ll give you feathers when they moult and the male says they’ll put griffin magic into the gate-lintel, if you’d like. It will reveal anyone who tries to enter under an illusion spell, and it’s much stronger than the feather-bands you use.”

            That was an offer Kel had no hesitation accepting, wondering what would be needed in return, but to her surprise Daine shook her head.

            “They don’t want anything, Kel. He says they recognise their debt to you and feel better offering something to repay it.”

            “Coming here at all more than repays it, Daine, and there’s the feathers as well.”

            “They don’t see it like that. They were about to move anyway and like the idea of river-fish for a while. And they couldn’t care less about moulted feathers. Just let them do it and they’ll get to cave-hunting.”

            Walking up to the gates in front of two adult griffins with the kit trotting beside her, Jump circling warily, and everyone except the duty watch at a respectful distance was one of the oddest experiences Kel could remember. Realising the crowd could be a problem with magic being done she swung round briefly to direct people to the outer alure, gatehouse roof, and what there was of the gallery in the fin, then resumed her escort. The adult griffins sensed the pit-trap in the barbican roadway, bounding over it, and turned to study the building from outside. Kel and Daine went to the road edge, safely out of the way, and shortly the kit scampered away from his parents to join them. With the palisades lined with excited faces, the adult griffins reared tall on their hind legs, wings flapping, and directed ringing shrieks at lintel and gateposts that made the stone glow bright copper before slowly fading. Even as it did an eagle eye and beak clap summoned the kit, who again booted Kel’s leg before trotting back to his parents, and all three griffins launched themselves off the outer edge of the roadway, spiralling up to begin flying slowly along the cliffs.

            Kel drew the first breath she remembered for a while. “That’s it?”

            “Yes. One Honesty Gate, all done.”

            “Honesty Gate?”

            “So Numair says. He’s excited and when next here will doubtless crawl all over it. They’re mentioned in old Carthaki books but this is now the first he knows of since griffins returned to the mortal realms.”

            Kel would have liked to hear more but Daine couldn’t stay. Quenuresh, however, aware of the griffins’ magic, came to test the spell. A wagon was placed just outside the gate, wheels wedged with blocks of stone against the steep slope, and while people watched from inside and outside the gate the spidren mage laid illusion spells on it. Those outside saw a procession of things appear—a shed, a lowing bullock, a huge boulder, and a tawny griffin—while those inside saw a wagon doing nothing at all. The experience of stepping out of the gate and back, wagon and illusion playing tag, was altogether disconcerting, as was the discovery that once under the lintel no-one, human or immortal, could tell even the whitest lie. The evident virtue of the Honesty Gate delighted everyone, but to Kel, recalling what she had once seen at Haresfield, as to Brodhelm and other veterans who also knew that gates were more often breached by treachery than assault, it was reassurance beyond price. Very much Commander Kel, she laid down standing orders that any and all non-residents arriving, of whatever kind or importance, must state their names and purposes standing under the lintel, with a declaration that they intended no harm of any sort to place or people.

            Thinking carefully that evening about what she’d done she contacted Wyldon at Mastiff, explained, garnering another surprised head-shake, and asked him to relay a request to Prince Roald—whose marriage had taken place the week before and should even now be half-way to New Hope with the new Princess Shinkokami of Conté and a retinue including Yuki and the Archpriest of Mithros. They were due on Mabon morning, and if (Kel argued) the Crown Prince and Princess were willingly to obey her standing order, a precedent would be set no-one could ignore. Wyldon took her point and, if yet again astonished, agreed to pass her request along.

            The next evening, making her scheduled monthly report to General Vanget, she was told Roald and Shinko had agreed at once. Smiling and shaking his head much as Wyldon had, Vanget commended her initiative warmly and said he’d make sure any officers he sent her way, of whatever rank or nobility, would know they were expected to comply without fuss. Evidently curious, he asked her to list her standing orders, and when she did from memory offered further praise and requested a copy be sent with her next written report.

            “You’ve some good wrinkles in that lot, Lady Knight. I’ve already adopted your tauros-threat rule of fives and pole arms, and that one about sentry rotation during shifts is interesting.” His face darkened. “There’ve been two more tauros attacks, by the way, west of here, so they’re heading your way.”

            “So noted, sir. I’ll reinforce my warnings to women and girls.”

            “Mm. And yourself, Lady Knight. In this you are also at specific risk. Blasted things. Now, what else was I … oh. Yes. Some unhappy news, I’m afraid.” Vanget looked down uneasily before meeting her eyes again and Kel’s stomach muscles tautened. “It’s nothing personal, Lady Knight, it’s just … it’s your yearmate Sir Quinden, Keladry.”

            Her heart sank at news and name. “What of him, sir?”

            His glance was keen. “Just Vanget, in this, if you will. Wyldon told me you’re on first-name terms so I’m bothered if I’ll stand on ceremony. Anyway, you rightly reported Sir Quinden’s slovenly behaviour on patrol and Wyldon reprimanded him. He didn’t mention you, of course, but given where that patrol was and publication of your report it wasn’t hard for him to guess who he hadn’t seen and he became grossly insubordinate. Wyldon transferred him to Northwatch for a last chance, which he’s failed to take.” He drew a deep breath. “I gave him two opportunities to improve but he’s a piss-poor excuse for a knight and a worse officer. I won’t risk men under him any more, so I dismissed him this morning.”

            “You dismissed him?”

            “Sent him back to Corus with a note recommending he be denied any further service and ordering he never have command of men. But the thing is … well, he blamed you, and swore you’d regret what he called blabbing. I thought you should know.”

            Kel stared, mind boiling, and found words she hadn’t intended spilling from her lips. “I’d send a copy of that note separately if you want it to arrive.”

            “What? You think he’d—”

            “Quinden of Marti’s Hill will do anything he thinks it his right to do. As a page he could never play fair and I don’t suppose he’ll start now.”

            He looked at her bleakly. “Right you are, Keladry. I’ll see it’s done. Gods. The Chamber ought to catch someone like that.”

            Her own look was bleak. “I prefer Kel. And the Chamber tests only for courage and a degree of flexibility. I know this is pushing a limit, but it imposes desperation, yes? You can’t do anything as everyone dies?”

            “Pretty much.” He looked at her with respect. “You have got guts, haven’t you?”

            She ignored him, though something in her revelled in his praise. “What the Chamber doesn’t do is tempt. If it had made Quinden king of all the world, with every woman and child helpless before him to do with as he would, it might have seen more truly.”

            There was a long silence before Vanget sighed. “Kel, eh? Very well. That’s a fearsome mind you have there, you know.” His face creased in a mirthless grin. “I heard from Numair about your advice to the king. And you were right about how we were thinking of the Chamber. But I don’t think His Majesty’s had any chats with it yet, though I believe Numair did manage a few words.” He thought hard for a moment. “This matters, Kel. Would you be prepared to talk to it again?”

            “Certainly.” She shrugged, though she didn’t feel that way. “But it’s always been me getting instructions, never the other way round.”

            “I don’t think that matters. I’d just like to know it’s aware of the problem.”

            “It’s not new, Vanget.” When his eyebrows lifted she spoke flatly. “Ansil of Groten. Arknor of Groten. Voelden of Tirrsmont. Belar of Heathercove. Guisant of Torhelm. Given the chance to kill me without consequences every one of them would take it. Others too. Tirrsmont tried to run me through during a joust, and Guisant once said to my face I should be raped to death and thrown on the nearest midden.” His face was pale; she had no idea what her own might look like. “If the test were chivalry, not brute courage and sufficient cunning, not one of them would have left the Chamber alive.”

            “Gods. What an indictment.” He again dropped his gaze, then lifted it painfully to meet her own. “Can’t deny any of it though. You name the most unpleasant knights of the last twenty years. Don’t know any of ’em that well but they all have vile reputations. Torhelm’s a compulsive womaniser by all accounts, like Runnerspring, and Tirrsmont’s no better than his father. I heard about him trying to run you through. Wyldon was livid. Went on about it for weeks. So did the Queen, and the Lioness went the same colour as her eyes. You really think Sir Quinden’s of that stripe?”

            “At page camp he was always trying to sneak up on me at the female latrines, and not just for some mucky thrill. What he wanted was a woman unawares and in no position to fight. And he’s a pincher. My maid at the Palace told me a dozen women at least got bruised cheeks from him, and sometimes worse. He also thinks spitting’s a clever remark.”

            “Gods.” A look of extreme distaste very like Wyldon’s occupied Vanget’s face. “Alright. I’ll discuss it with the King but I bet he’ll think it should be you who talks to the Chamber. I don’t imagine you want to leave New Hope, but even without this matter he’ll want you in Corus for Midwinter.” He raised a hand. “No good protesting to me. Think about it. I would in his shoes, and not just for this or to hear about your Scanran adventure firsthand. There’s Quenuresh and all your other immortals, and the visit next week. Other things too.”

            “Mmph.” Kel fulminated briefly but could see the inevitability of what Vanget said and came to a swift decision. “Humour me a moment. What’s the general picture, along the front and in Hamrkeng?”

            Vanget quirked heavy eyebrows but played along. “Stalemate mostly, while Maggur’s rebuilding. The armies investing Frasrlund and the City of the Gods are still there, and raiding parties continue west and east, though since your exploit and smashing up that little army in June they seem to be avoiding us between here and Steadfast. Wolfships hit some villages round Seabeth and Seajen, but the coast’s been quieter than we’d feared. Meantime Maggur’s pulling together another army, with every man he can rustle up—mostly from fiefs and clans in the far north, we think, where he’s taken more hostages.”

            “Do you expect to have to fight this year?”

            “It’s possible, but I’m thinking spring.”

            “So nothing over the winter?”

            “Not unless something very odd happens to the snow. You know no-one can move far after Samhain.”

            “I do, but if I have to go to Corus—and the other knights as well, probably—I’m still going to ask you to make sure that second regular company is here by the time we go. Brodhelm’s good, and Uinse’s doing very well, but the convicts still have a way to go, and even with all those men we depend on civilians to make up numbers on the parapets and for most of the support work.”

            “Mmm. Nothing’s likely to happen, Kel.”

            “I know but I’m uneasy. If I was a man I’d say I felt it in my water. And unless the snow’s very bad giants can move. Tauroses too.”

            “Point. Alright, I’ll do my best. I can’t see any real force moving in winter but I respect your unease. It was justified last time. And you’re right immortals might manage what men can’t.” He made another note. “Now, unless there’s anything else I must go.”

            Kel wasn’t happy about having to winter in Corus but couldn’t realistically do more and knew her fears of disaster in her absence—because of her absence—were more nightmare than reason. Mulling it over, she pressed Wulfric and Leoten, the Company Eight warmages, to make more mageblasts and with Var’istaan’s help a work party rigged blazebalm bombs at fifteen-foot intervals along the roadway. Small kegs were set in hollows in the bonded rock, packed round with coarse gravel and concealed by petrified squares of the thinnest wood carpenters could produce. Others were scattered through the killing field between the walls. The whole business was nasty, inducing acute distaste in Kel as much as Brodhelm, Uinse, and the knights, but it was another defence that didn’t rely on manpower and she would not pass up any advantage.

            Kel’s good humour was restored two mornings later, when the ogres working in the cave broke through a larger crack to find a substantial chamber—deep, wide, and very high-roofed, reaching up perhaps two hundred feet. It was another useful space, but what really pleased her was the secret it disclosed as day wore on—a dim patch, almost at the top, that was indisputably sunlight. Politely asked for help, with a proffer of additional game, Quenuresh sent one of her kin to clamber up, silver claws biting into the rock, and drop a web-ladder for Kuriaju’s smallest son to climb bearing ropes and spikes. It took a while, but before sunset Kel knew that with a slight scramble and squeeze there was a way through to the cliff-face, just above a jutting lobe of rock that hid the opening from the ground. The ogre managed to lob a painted pebble over the edge, and they found it on the terrace between the shrines and livestock pens.

            Sitting that evening with basilisks, ogres, and the dozen miners among the Tirrsmont refugees Kel described what she wanted—a look-out post, big enough for two people, safely parapetted, with a vantage over the valley far better than gatehouse or north tower could offer. Forewarned was forearmed, and from that height it should be possible to see any movement on the track that ran to the Northwatch road long before it would be visible elsewhere. Limestone was far easier than the harder fin to spellcut or cleave with crude force, and the following day work began on a slanting passageway that would spiral up to the space that admitted daylight. It would take time, but by evening Kel could contemplate a dozen feet of twisting excavation opening another dimension of her command.

* * * * *

Neal knew privately from Yuki what was in the wind, but how to prepare New Hope for Roald and Shinko without anyone realising they were coming was a puzzle that occupied Kel for half-a-day before she realised it was simple. All the statues she’d commissioned were done except Lord Weiryn and his Green Lady, that carver having abandoned hand-holding in favour of a less challenging pose. His second attempt had the divine couple with inner arms around one another and outer ones outstretched, Weiryn holding a bow, the Green Lady the spiral emblem of the Goddess-as-mother, and Kel goosed the man into renewed efforts by announcing at dinner that she’d managed to secure a senior divine to dedicate the shrines at Mabon. After she’d remarked that besides innate respect due a priest he’d be New Hope’s first non-military visitor no-one was surprised to hear she wanted everything spick and span. The next days saw brooms and paintbrushes wielded, armour scoured, and heavy traffic at bathhouses and laundry. Guest rooms in headquarters and the barracks that remained unoccupied were also spruced up.

            Refugees and soldiers alike were keen on the shrines, knowing  Irnai was god-touched, and those who’d been at Rathhausak with Kel, like the Scanrans, were convinced she’d had divine blessings on her mission. Respect for Lord Mithros and the Goddess needed no explanation and Shakith was accounted for by Irnai, but Kel was asked by many about her unusual choice of other gods to honour. Each time she said simply that Lord Gainel had sent visions of Blayce to guide her, necromancy offended against the Black God, and if it were not for the Godborn’s gift to Haven of knowing animals no-one would have been rescued at all, adding a thought about the advantages of good hunting and safe childbed. About Lord Sakuyo she said only she’d grown up in the Yamani Isles respecting their trickster god and didn’t propose to stop now.

            Those who’d seen Daine magicking animals at Haven accepted Kel’s explanation without demur, and newer arrivals who’d seen the Wildmage in hawk-form agreed she was more than a mage. Quite a few were roundly unconvinced of Daine’s supposed parentage even so, the notion that the Green Lady had been an unwed Gallan peasant mother until she was murdered by bandits eleven years ago being neither sensible nor respectable, but the practical advantages of better game and midwifery appealed even to them. Kel didn’t mention Daine had promised more astonishing guests than a priest or even a Crown Prince and Princess—an idea that still seemed absurd to her—but did spend time with the carver as he finished up and was relieved to see the results were rather good, even in the delicate matter of divinely loving expressions.

            On the morning of Mabon eve Kel did two things, the first to put her foot down about the messhall. The panels telling Haven’s and New Hope’s story had long been finished, but the woodworkers had become addicted to pillar-decorating and every exposed wooden surface that could be reached now sported vines, animal heads, images of resident immortals, and abstract patterns. Declaring it complete at breakfast to groans of protest she called on the amused basilisks, who spent the morning transforming load-bearing pillars and beams not into the rough grey stone of walls and gatehouse but a smooth crystalline rock so fine it was translucent, in colours from sunset red to forest green. Kel thought the results looked good, children were entranced, and everyone else happy or not saying otherwise. Amiir’aan then set about the roof and by evening the fire-arrow-proofing of New Hope was complete.

            The second thing was to collect the escort required by her standing orders, ride Hoshi briskly up to Spidren Wood, and blow the horn. It was only a few minutes before a smaller spidren emerged cautiously from the trees, but took longer for Quenuresh to be summoned. Apologising for the late notice and honestly pleading security concerns Kel told the immortal what would be happening on the morrow and formally invited her and all her kin to attend. Quenuresh hadn’t been especially interested in the dedication of shrines, though she approved of one to Weiryn, whom she said in a dry voice was helpful as gods went, but a Tortallan royal in the direct line was another matter. Sceptical all the same of what cheer seventeen spidrens might add to mortal festivities, she agreed they would come to New Hope in the morning. Kel asked her to relay word to the griffins, with whom she alone, save Daine, could communicate directly, and she promised with a half-smile to do so but took leave to doubt they’d be any more interested in royals than she was in gods. Kel tended to agree, but hoped anyway.

            She spent the afternoon in a tour of inspection, warning the head cook he should expect a larger high-table next day than anticipated, as well as catering for extra guests whose number made his eyes widen before narrowing in calculation. Grinning, she told him to keep his suspicions quiet, authorised additional hunting parties, and continued through barns, infirmary, schoolhouse, cave, barracks, and stables before starting on gatehouse and walls. With the weather set fair, though the air was noticeably cooler, she let the children decorate and watched as bunting was strung and bright streamers fixed around the trunks of the four saplings.

            After an evening meal dominated by people getting up to peer at some colourful bit of carving Kel called her captains and knights, with St’aara, Var’istaan, Kuriaju, Fanche, Saefas, Adner, Zerhalm, and Irnai to the headquarters’ briefing room and told them who was coming. Neal was smug, others surprised, impressed, pleased, and in Uinse’s case dumbstruck, and they went over arrangements Kel had drawn up as soon as she’d had confirmation of the visit. Squads were sent to finish preparing barracks accommodation, and a roster for standing guards (and guides) for important guests was drawn up. Kel anticipated no trouble, but knew the surest way to invite it was to leave things undone that might be taken care of beforehand, and after running again through her mental checklist spent a dreamless night.

            The arrival not long after dawn of Wyldon with an escort squad drew thoughtful looks, particularly from those who saw him quietly but warmly greet Lady Kel, unobtrusively seek hot food, and subsequently keep out of everyone’s way, entertaining Jump while hovering around the gatehouse. The arrival in mid-morning of the spidrens caused more unease, lessening as to everyone’s relief (and Kel’s private satisfaction at good planning) they settled on the central grassed square and were joined by ogres and basilisks for what looked like a good immortal gossip. The royal visitors were coming by the Great North Road and had camped overnight where it crossed the Greenwoods, so it wasn’t much later when horn-calls followed by an excited patroller announced their presence. An experienced soldier born in Corus, he had recognised not only the royals but the Archpriest of Mithros, Master Numair, and Tkaa, as well as the flying fossil Bonedancer (who had nearly caused a riot when first exploring the city’s markets but since become a popular sight). Word spread like magic and by the time the visitors passed the fin, collectively blinking astonishment at New Hope’s towering glacis and walls, and reorganised to climb the narrow roadway, the outer alure, gatehouse roof, and every possible vantage point were packed. Even the arrival of the griffins, spiralling down with ringing cries to sit with the other immortals, caused only a brief stir.

            Roald and Shinko led the column up, holding hands and looking to Kel’s eye purely delighted to be married at last if astonished by what they were seeing. They wore fine but practical riding clothes, in Shinko’s case a split skirt over sturdy leggings, and were followed by the elderly but spry Archpriest, robed in orange and yellow, Numair in black, Daine in an elegant tunic and breeches holding Kitten’s paw, and Lindhall Reed in red with Bonedancer perched on his arm. Behind them came a court party, including Yuki in an outfit like Shinko’s, Tkaa, and to Kel’s delighted astonishment both her parents in formal Mindelan colours. Their faces were Yamani masks but when their eyes met hers the leap of pride in her was evident and shy happiness bubbled in her breast. And behind the court party trailed a body of servants and the five squads of the Own’s Second Company who hadn’t been to Steadfast in July.

            Orchan’s turn, narrow, and rise was excellent for making attack more difficult and did just the same for friendlier approaches, so Kel went out to meet them, flanked by Brodhelm in dress maroons and Wyldon, whose public subordination to her in her command did not go unnoticed. Stopping a few feet up the rise, to leave herself clearly visible to all on roadway and alures, Kel bowed and formally welcomed the Crown Prince and Princess with Archpriest Holloran and all the guests, thanking them for the honour they did New Hope and introducing Brodhelm; Wyldon they knew. Roald’s eyes glinted with humour as he replied, also pitching his voice to carry.

            “Lady Knight Commander, Captain Brodhelm, Lord Wyldon, the honour is ours.” He offered Kel a hand, and Cricket her cheek to kiss. “My wife and I have heard much of your valour, Lady Knight, and of New Hope, including the wonder of your Honesty Gate.”

            On cue Kel explained with careful brevity and clarity her standing rule, and the royal couple came beneath the lintel to state their names and declare sincere good wishes for New Hope’s safety and prosperity. Archpriest, mages, basilisk, and court party followed in order, though Kel could see Daine restraining Numair from an evident desire to leave aside formalities and start examining the gate. Perhaps fortunately, he was distracted when Bonedancer, still on Lindhall’s arm, briefly glowed a deep copper colour when carried under the lintel, to its jaw-clattering and Kitten’s warbling delight, and Numair fell instead to speculating about interference between divine and immortals’ spells.

            Though everyone was co-operating in the staged performance it took time, and within the shadow of the barbican Kel was able to greet her parents properly, her father’s bearhug and moist eyes testimony to the more jagged emotions he’d felt on her behalf since she’d last seen him. Roald and Shinko seized the chance to ask her if Quenuresh was present, looked anxious when told she was, and sighed relief on learning all New Hope’s immortals were well within and the only immediate greetings would be of mortal commanders.

            When the important guests were through Kel led them to the shelf where the knights, Uinse, Fanche, Saefas, Adner, Zerhalm, and Irnai waited in their best. Bows and curtsies were received, kind words murmured, and hands shaken, royals warmly gracious and commoners surprised at their easy manners and deeply intrigued by Shinko. For Zerhalm and Irnai there were formal welcomes to Tortall in King Jonathan’s name, extending to all Scanran-born refugees and pitched to carry to the crowd building around them as people streamed down from the alure. Daine and Numair were familiar faces but Kitten’s decision to mindspeak greetings startled and pleased everyone, though Bonedancer received sidelong looks. Neal’s and Yuki’s embrace was greeted with laughing cheer and interested stares, while Kel’s parents, to her mingled pride and embarrassment, were received with fierce pleasure by all New Hopers; if Fanche stopped short of thanking them for conceiving her it wasn’t by much and the enthusiastic applause left Kel flushed. Seeing over massed heads below the shelf the griffin kit and Amiir’aan solemnly nose-to-nose, the basilisk with a spidren youngling clinging to his back, it was, she decided, high time to deal with immortals.

            She led the guests down to the main level and the crowd parted to clear their way. Roald and Shinko both gulped as they saw how large Quenuresh was, and Archpriest Holloran went whiter than his hair. Kel murmured reassurances, praying they and everyone would be able to cope, and when rescue came from an unexpected source wondered if the gods really were listening. Kitten had also seen the young immortals standing nose-to-nose, and after a quick glance at Daine scampered forward to add her snout to the colloquy. Bonedancer took wing, flapping after the dragonet amid alarmed sparrows, and Kel had to suppress laughter bubbling with relief when it decided Quenuresh’s broad back offered the best perch from which to peer at the improbable circle of young immortals. Quenuresh didn’t seem to mind, merely rolling her eyes, and Kel felt everyone’s fear ease. The adult griffins, however, who had little if any sense of humour, were looking as impatient as always, so Kel went to them first, bowing and announcing Roald and Shinko with their full titles before briefly naming Archpriest Holloran, the mages, and Tkaa. The griffins nodded only to the Crown Prince and Princess, looking regal themselves, and to Tkaa. Daine came forward to Kel’s side.

            “Your Highnesses, they’re pleased to meet you and ask you convey to His Majesty their appreciation of his policy towards immortals.”

            Daine’s voice was formal until she added in an amused undertone that that was only the gist but griffins did have strong feelings about orderliness and approved of the treaty system. Roald didn’t miss a beat.

            “It is my pleasure to meet you both, and to see your son again prospering with you. I will convey your words to my father, and in His name thank you for honouring our realm and us with your presence here today, and for creating New Hope’s Honesty Gate.”

            Shinko, face alight with wonder, dropped a curtsey and added her own pleasure in meeting them. Kel thought there was a certain satisfaction in their beak-claps but it didn’t stop the female immediately uttering a squawk of command to the kit, who glanced round, shook his head firmly, and went back to his conference with Amiir’aan and Kitten. The adult griffins looked at one another, managing to convey a resigned parental shrug, and leapt into the air, wingbeats mussing hair and flapping finery until they were high enough to begin their usual spiralling ascent. Junior was clearly thought safe to leave in his present company, and while Kel had her doubts as to whether it would be safe from him took a breath and moved on to Quenuresh.

            Even deep-seated visceral fear of a very large spidren at arm’s length was challenged by the sight of a grinning white fossil perched on her back, wings bating as Quenuresh bent foremost legs and dipped a shallow bow. Though her nostrils flared slightly as she sensed Roald’s measure of the Conté Gift, and much more widely as she glanced at Numair and Lindhall, she was as impeccably polite as usual and swiftly named her kin, who awkwardly offered deeper bows, before seconding the griffins’ praise of the treaty system. Roald’s genuine pragmatic interest helped him reply smoothly before enquiring if Quenuresh was finding life in New Hope’s woods satisfactory.

            “Certainly. Lady Keladry has been helpful and fair, working with mortals is an interesting experience, and the cheese is very good.”

            Roald and Shinko were aware of the part food played in the treaty and nodded, but explanations to the bug-eyed moved things along nicely. Leaving the spidren mage to discuss soft-ripening and blue-veining with Numair and Lindhall, Kel took Roald and Shinko on to the easier basilisks and ogres, all gravely polite, and finally the circle of young. Crouching, she introduced a solemn Amiir’aan and got the baby spidren clinging to his back to squeak its name. When Roald bent to greet them the griffin kit snapped at his hand, only just missing, and instinctively assuming authority Kel swiftly whapped him on the back of the head.

            “Behave, you.”

            He bated surprise but seeing her stern expression changed tack and booted Roald’s knee before turning his head to Kel and cocking it to invite a scratch. She complied, persuading a cautious Shinko to join her, and when clever Yamani fingers found the bony hinge beneath the short feathers of his jaw he crooned pleasure and began a deep rumbling.

            “He’s purring!” The look on Shinko’s face reminded Kel forcefully of the Cricket she’d known as a girl in the Islands, and she thought with real pleasure that her friend was already relaxing into her marriage.

            “So he is. Little brute.” Her voice was affectionate, despite keen memories of the blood lost feeding and grooming the kit. Roald grinned.

            “You’re putting that soft spot to amazing use, Kel. I was briefed about this place but it didn’t convey the wonder at all. And you’ve got me out of having to be back at Northwatch already, bless you. This is much better duty, though Quenuresh is going to take some getting used to.”

            Shinko blew out a breath, fingers stroking the kit. “She is, but lessening the spidren threat even a little is a boon. Kel, the Emperor’s extremely interested and wants to send someone to see how you’re doing it because spidrens have become a terrible problem on Wangetsushima. Would you mind?”

            “Of course not. It’s a bit nerve-racking because everyone has such visceral reactions, but as you can see people do get used to Quenuresh and the others. After a while.” She gave them a crooked smile. “If your stomachs have settled we should get on with lunch, and I think I’d better attend His Reverence. He’s looking a bit lost.”

            Archpriest Holloran was more astonished than upset, and happy to pepper Kel with questions about how she had come to be on such terms with so many immortals, drawing in Tkaa while Roald and Shinko went on greeting people with the bemused court party in support. Not wanting to spoil the surprise of the messhall decorations at the evening feast Kel had arranged for lunch to be, while hot and plentiful, finger-food that could be served outside—rolls, handwiches, and in Shinko’s honour karumetou cake, for which she’d hoarded sugar from her rations (and Neal’s, when he gave her grief about vegetables). To drink there was spring water and to Kel’s mind that was fine; New Hope had enough, barely, and until their crops started coming in luxuries were scarce.

            Once Holloran had a plate in hand she steered him to Irnai, sitting with Kitten, Amiir’aan, and Junior, and suggested he seek their opinions of mingling kinds before adding he should watch his fingers with the griffin and slipping away to join her parents. Being diplomats to the core had not made meeting Quenuresh any easier for them, but beyond their happiness in seeing her both were entirely delighted by the compelling evidence that Kel was following in their footsteps after all.

            “We’d seen flashes of it, dear, in the way you’ve always treated people and the things I learned at Steadfast made me wonder. But I hadn’t anticipated this marvel.” Ilane exchanged a look with her husband and waved a hand. “This astonishing fort, yes, from all you said about it, but despite your letters we didn’t really understand what you were doing. You didn’t say anything about how much all these immortals obviously respect you specifically. And the people love you.”

            “You’ve made us both very proud, Kel. I hope you know that.”

            “Oh Papa.”

            “You have, dear. But don’t cry, please.” Her mother smiled. “Or I shall too, and it would be too entirely rude, as Yuki would say.”

            Kel dabbed her eyes, not feeling very coherent. “You don’t know how much … and after I—”

            “No, no, none of that, Kel.” Her Papa was serious for all his joy. “Your mother told me you tried to apologise to her and I won’t have it any more than she would. Honour’s all very well but if it binds you to doing something dishonourable it’s worse than useless. If you hadn’t gone after those poor refugees no-one would have blamed you, but I’m so glad, so proud you did.” He frowned. “And I agree with Thayet. That deal the King made you is grossly unfair. I can see why you’d accept it but he ought to be rewarding you, not salving his conscience.”

            Through blurry eyes Kel saw her mother lay a hand on her father’s arm and thought he might have said something more, but had to set the puzzle aside when Holloran reappeared.

            “Baron, Baroness. Lady Knight, I’m sorry to intrude on your family reunion.” He smiled. “And to drag myself away from those charming young immortals you adroitly deposited me with. That griffin kit is a handful but young Amiir’aan is very well-spoken and Skysong always interesting. Still, I really do need to talk to you about the ceremony and see the shrines I’m to dedicate.”

            “Of course, Your Reverence.”

            “Oh, just Holloran in private, please. I get reverenced to death half the time when it’s Lord Mithros to whom respect should go.”

            After learning to use the bare ‘Wyldon’ an Archpriest wanting to dispense with protocol presented no problem. His reason also appealed and Kel smiled warmly. “And Keladry, then. Or Kel. The shrines are on the terrace. We could walk over but I ought to give Their Highnesses a tour.” She stood, looking round for Roald and Shinko.

            “They’re talking to Numair and happy to wait on us.”

            “Alright, if you’re sure.”

            He was, and they went, Kel’s parents joining them. She gave Holloran the same explanation of her choice of gods as she had everyone, and he nodded thoughtfully.

            “Honest reasons and very proper, despite the odd mix. I’m afraid I know little of Lord Sakuyo. Is there anything special I ought to do?”

            Kel didn’t think so and explained about the Yamani trickster, her parents chipping in as they crossed the green and ranges, detouring round the playground to the broad steps up to the terrace before the shrines. The crowd watched with interest but respectfully afforded space, and when it became clear where they were headed politely pulled back further to afford Kel some privacy. As they reached the terrace Kel simply gestured with her arm: all the statues had been emplaced the night before, and if the carving was homely by Corus standards the genuine feelings of the makers shone in their power and dignity.

            “Oh my. These are very good.”

            Stepping carefully over the trough Holloran went from statue to statue, bowing to each before peering closely and reaching out to touch or feel the smoothness of the niches. For Lord Sakuyo, shown with a wide smile and laughing eyes, he did the same but then went to one knee.

            “Lord Sakuyo, I am Holloran, a priest of Lord Mithros, here to dedicate all these shrines. Forgive me my ignorance of your customs, High One, and if there is anything I should do to content you of which I am unaware please tell me that I may do all as you would wish.”

            Kel and her parents murmured ‘So mote it be’ and he rose, walking back to the statues of Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady.

            “I confess, Keladry, it’s these High Ones who worry me. Their daughter says—you’ve no idea how odd that makes me feel—they will be, ah, attending in person. Manifesting, in fact.” He took a breath. “And of course that’s right and proper. Lord Mithros graced his temple in Corus when it was dedicated, and there are records of other gods doing as much from time to time. But it hasn’t happened in Tortall in living memory and no-one I’ve asked has any knowledge of two gods manifesting simultaneously, nor of any married gods at all. Lord Weiryn I’ve known about most of my life, of course, but I’ve never served him. And no-one knows anything about the Green Lady because she’s so new!”

            Kel quirked an eyebrow. “Daine does. She lived with her Ma till she was thirteen.”

            Holloran blinked. “Well, yes, but—”

            “I know she wasn’t a goddess then, but Daine says she remembers being human in a way most gods can’t.”

            He sighed. “Yes, we had that discussion. Her attitude to all the Great Gods is, um—”

            “Distressingly irreverent? Yes, I found it so too, at first. I still do, most of the time, if I’m honest. But since the Chamber of the Ordeal pitchforked me into the paths of Lord Gainel and Shakith I’ve learned to appreciate it. She’s an amazing woman, you know. How would you react if you found out your da was a god and your ma just became one?”

            Holloran blinked again and Kel’s laughing eyes found her parents’, who grinned in unison.

            “I’ll also say that if the gods’ attention has taught me anything it’s that there’s nothing anyone can do about it. They’re gods. They do as they will, and they’ll hurt whoever they must in the process. But they also seem to want me to succeed in something. Rathhausak was part of it but there’s something else not done yet, so I don’t think they’d allow this dedication to be upset. And I’m sure neither of Daine’s parents want to shame her, so why don’t we go ahead and see what happens?”

            “Oh my. You’re very direct, Keladry.” Her parents laughed softly and she glared. “But I can’t disagree with your reasoning. The Lioness said much the same, and she did meet both of them, apparently, at Daine’s and Numair’s Beltane wedding. Oh well. On we go, then.”

            They went, and Kel gave the chief guests what was becoming her standard tour, though not with so many people being guided nor such a crowd cheerfully following. On the main level numbers weren’t a problem but for the inner allures and gallery Kel restricted admission to a small group, and at the cave. Kitten, however, pursued by Bonedancer, insisted on joining them at that point to give her lightshow with the stalagmites, and in the recently discovered further chamber Bonedancer soared towards the roof, discovered he could get through to the open air again, and circled round several times, collecting the sparrows as he did so. Trying to use a narrow passage while a flying fossil and a dozen sparrows insisted on going the other way at speed proved somewhere between impossible and heartstopping, but Lindhall eventually managed to get the excited revenant to watch Kitten’s continuing entertainment and an amused Daine persuaded the sparrows to calm down.

            While they were watching the spiralling light Roald called over Holloran and had a quiet word with Kel, whose eyes widened. She hurriedly despatched guards to find the people needed, and once the party emerged back into the daylight led them to the terrace. Fanche and Saefas were waiting with puzzled looks, as was Zerhalm, and a disgruntled Tobe soon appeared, a grinning guard telling Kel she’d been right to think he’d be in the stables meeting the guests’ fine horses. Ignoring the growing curiosity of the crowd who sensed something else they hadn’t known about in the wind, she guided the boy to her parents, made introductions, and crouched to speak quietly. They’d discussed this several times and his decision had been firm. She’d written to her parents and received their blessing, as they warmly confirmed now, so papers had been sent to the Corus magistracy. But she hadn’t thought in terms of today and Tobe’s eyes grew round as saucers.

            “Now?”

            “Only if you want, Tobe. We can wait if you’d rather.”

            Her answer was arms flung round her neck and she had to resist scooping him up, contenting herself with hugging him back. A glance at her mother had Ilane quietly laying a hand gently on Tobe’s shoulder, and Kel took the few paces to stand in front of Roald and Shinko and eyed the crowd. She raised a hand  and they fell silent with gratifying speed, looking at the assembly on the terrace with avid curiosity.

            “People, it turns out there are some things planned that even I didn’t know about, so listen carefully now.” Laughter swept through them at her chagrin. “I’ve told you all before now that His Majesty was very impressed by the way everyone handled themselves in Scanra.” They sobered, and nods could be seen far and wide. “Knights and soldiers are trained for war, and have a sworn duty to protect. But the civilians who did so much to help us, and themselves, did so with little training and infinite courage. In token of that, Crown Prince Roald has some special purses to present to four special people with His Majesty’s thanks. Without all of them we wouldn’t be here today, and that’s the truth.”

            The applause and cheering as Fanche, Saefas, Zerhalm, and a scarlet-faced Tobe were honoured and rewarded was entirely deafening. In other places with other crowds there might have been jealousy or resentment at individuals chosen in part as representatives, but everyone at New Hope had either been there or heard more than enough to know Kel spoke true; that these four had contributed to the great rescue in ways no others could have achieved. Kel was bursting with pride tempered by acute butterflies, and when Tobe stood blinking at the velvet bag in his hand she went to his side and laid an arm across his shaking shoulders. Her parents followed to stand behind them.

            “And there’s one more thing.” She took a breath, hand squeezing the boy. “Legally speaking, Tobe’s been my indentured servant since March, when we met in Queensgrace. But he’s become far more than an indispensable help to me. He’s my son in all but name and he’s come to count me as his ma, so today we put it right. By the King’s grace, and with my parents’ delighted consent, he is today Tobeis of Mindelan.”

            The silence was absolute as they knelt together before Archpriest Holloran for the blessing that sealed the legal papers Roald and Shinko had brought; the roar that followed might have lifted roofs if they hadn’t been stone. Kel waited it out before raising a hand.

            “I couldn’t stop you all celebrating if I tried and I’ve no wish to do so, but please remember we still have serious business this evening—so keep it clean and sober, will you, for everyone’s sake?”

            They did, but it was a close-run thing.

* * * * *

Replacing the usual Mabon harvest ceremony, dedication of the shrines took place at sunset, day and night balanced, barriers between realms at their weakest. Kel stood on the terrace to one side of the shallow bay with Roald, Shinko, Daine, and all the guests in best finery; she wore her owl-embroidered kimonos, attracting startled looks as she walked to her place. Irnai stood beside her in a simple, richly coloured blue dress Kel had given her, and Neal behind her with Yuki in Queenscove kimonos; Tobe stood with her parents, looking dazed and fingering a Mindelan tunic that had belonged to her nephew Lachran as if it might suddenly vanish. On the other side of the bay immortals, including Tkaa, Kitten, and a surprisingly well-behaved Junior, formed an impressive group rising from younglings through smaller spidrens and Quenuresh to tall basilisks and taller ogres. Below them on the main level all the soldiery save a duty watch stood in company formation, armour gleaming, officers to the fore with Merric and Seaver. Civilians packed round, well-scrubbed children within the low fence of the playground and equally well-scrubbed adults massed behind, spilling back to the green.

            An act of dedication was not in itself complicated. An offering was made, a prayer said; what counted was sincerity, not splendour. Even a simple home shrine, no more than a token of the god wetted with a drop of beer, might receive the musical chimes signalling acceptance by divine power. Kel had had warring impulses, to honour the gods as richly as she and New Hope could afford, and to maintain simplicity in keeping with refugee poverty and the minimal fuss she preferred. As the scale of ceremony had sunk in she’d inclined to the richer option, wanting to impress in keeping with Roald’s and Shinko’s status, but in the end sensibly split the difference. Archpriest Holloran had little jugs of good wine and bags of clean grain, some of the first from New Hope’s own fields, and had strongly approved her choices.

            She found herself holding her breath all the same as he completed his prayer to Lord Mithros and stepped forward to pour out grain and splash wine on the base of the statue. But the chimes were immediate and louder than she’d expected, with a stranger noise behind, a distant fury of battle, clashing arms and cries in combat. She saw Holloran’s face pale and heard the collective gust and rustle as everyone made the gods’ circle. Strong voiced, Holloran gave thanks to his patron for his acceptance of the offering and turned to face the crowd, face alight.

            “I have heard that noise of far-off battle twice before and it is Lord Mithros’s own voice. Beyond doubt he watches us tonight, and tells us all that you of New Hope are in his care.”

            The shrine to Mithros was to the left of the central double-width niche, and in deep silence Holloran crossed to its other side where the Goddess stood. His prayer wasn’t the mealy-mouthed afterthought Kel had grown used to the Goddess receiving in military circles devoted to strength and fighting prowess but as full as his prayer to Mithros, invoking the beauty of the maiden, fertility of the mother, and wisdom of the crone. Stepping forward again he poured and splashed, and again the chimes came at once, this time woven with sounds of hounds moiling and belling on a scent. Holloran’s face was charged with fervour as he thanked the Goddess, and Kel could see the immortals showing surprise in quick glances at one another; even Quenuresh looked interested.

            Shakith’s statue was beyond the Goddess, blind eyes staring and the winged staff of prophecy in her hand. For this Holloran called Irnai forward: his prayer thanked the High One for her preservation and aid at Rathhausak, and she poured out the grain and wine. The noise that came with the chimes was the one Kel had heard from Irnai’s mouth when she had voiced the prophecy, great hawks crying somewhere far above, and for a heartbeat light crackled around Irnai, her hair standing away from her head. To Kel’s relief, and from his huffed breath Wyldon’s, the girl didn’t collapse as she had when greater power moved through her, though her face was remote as she walked back to Kel’s side, with a fey smile. Ignoring protocol Kel knelt to hug her a moment, smoothing her hair, and Irnai kissed her cheek before whispering that she was fine and freeing herself. Standing again Kel saw identical looks of approval in her parents’ eyes and Wyldon’s, and her worry dissolved in amusement at the thought of teasing her mother with the observation.

            After Shakith came Lord Gainel, in a sweeping coat with one foot on smooth ground and one on jagged spikes to represent his divided stance between divine order and mortal chaos. He never spoke to mortals directly nor entered the mortal realms and with his chimes there was no further sound, but to everyone’s surprise, including her own, Quenuresh jerked slightly and after a moment shook her head as if to clear it before announcing in a dry voice that the Dream King blessed their nights. Holloran had by this stage passed from exultation back to wonder, and after giving the god due thanks added a word to Quenuresh to acknowledge her conveyance of the divine message.

            On the other side of the funnel, nearer Kel, the shrines beyond Mithros’s were those of the Black God and Lord Sakuyo. When Holloran came to the Black God’s and bowed to the statue, a robed and hooded figure with no face visible, tension rose and he swallowed hard but didn’t delay. Grain and wine were poured and the chimes sounded, behind them the noise of wind soughing through bare trees, and behind that a silence so deep it burned in the ear. Gravely Holloran bowed, giving thanks, and before continuing to the next shrine turned to face the crowd.

            “Being unfamiliar with Lord Sakuyo I prayed here earlier asking that if there were anything special I should do the High One let me know. And while the Lady Knight Commander was showing us around this astonishing fort I found myself believing strongly that our offering here should be of sake, the rice-wine of Yaman. Lady Yukimi found some, the clear liquid in this jug, and it seemed to me right she and Her Royal Highness Crown Princess Shinkokami, who have worshipped Lord Sakuyo all their lives, should make this offering on our behalf.”

            The crowd murmured interested understanding and approval as Yuki and Cricket, resplendent in kimonos and face-paint, moved smoothly forward. Used to Yamani masks Kel knew both were deeply moved and apprehensive, and could see a slight tremor in their hands as they waited for Holloran to complete his prayer mentioning the welcome strength of Tortall’s Yamani alliance and the grace of their future queen. Yuki poured the grain and Shinko, following Yamani custom, touched a finger wet with sake to the god’s lips before pouring the jug’s contents onto the base of the statue. For a moment nothing happened and in the strained silence Kel felt her heart fill with alarm, but then the chimes sounded deafeningly enough to make everyone jump and over them a great peal of unearthly, booming laughter rang that made the pale stone of the cliff blaze with many-hued light.

            Recovering herself as sound and light faded, Kel saw Kitten bouncing with admiration and couldn’t stop a laugh bubbling out. Laughing themselves, faces shining, Shinko and Yuki curtseyed deeply to the statue and after Holloran’s strained prayer of thanks came forward.

            “Lord Sakuyo likes his jests, as you heard.” Shinko’s voice was intense but not loud, and Kel saw people craning to hear. “He is a most wonderful god and in Yaman many laugh at his tricks and those we play on ourselves in his name. But I know of only two people living who have had the grace of hearing him laugh, and there will be much wonder in my land when they learn he laughed here, in the hearing of so many.”

            The crowd had been shaken and didn’t know what to make of this, but Shinko herself had already won their hearts and there was a muted cheer. Face serious, she turned to Kel.

            “Lady Keladry, you will remember, I think, that in Yamani law and custom those two people are known as Sakuyo’s Blessed and have the right to enter anywhere and be welcomed. It is not a duty I had anticipated but as a Princess of the Imperial House it is my honour and obligation to name myself and all here as his Blessed, with the same right, and so I do.” She turned back to the crowd. “It will mean little in Tortall, I think, but when I write to tell His Imperial Majesty of tonight’s wonder, tokens of jade and gold will be sent, and should any of you travel to Yaman you will be most welcome and honoured.”

            She and Yuki curtseyed again, to crowd, immortals, and guests, before returning to places beside and behind Kel. Only a quick squeeze of hands was possible but Kel could feel their trembling, and the emotion in their eyes was plain. She heard Roald draw sharp breath as he hugged Shinko, and Neal embraced Yuki for a longer moment. Her parents’ expressions were abstracted, and the sardonic voice she sometimes heard in some detached part of her mind murmured that if they weren’t calculating what status as Sakuyo’s Blessed might mean when they next returned to the Islands they ought to be. She tore her gaze back to Holloran, who met it with a look at once exalted, serene, and apprehensive, and she managed a nod before Daine came to her side.

            Together they followed Holloran to the central double niche. Holloran had tried to persuade Daine to speak the prayer but she’d flatly refused, asking him if he’d care to supplicate his ma and da, and adding she had a hard enough time standing up to them already. Kel didn’t think the Archpriest had been persuaded by this familial theology but certainly wasn’t going to argue with her friend, and listened in the charged silence as Holloran invoked the wedded gods and praised the wild magic of their daughter that had proven so great an aid to New Hope’s people. Kel had agreed to make the offering and as she walked forward to face the statues could feel the weight of peoples’ attention.

            Iestyn of Goatstrack had done a fine job, Kel thought, looking at the gods’ faces as she loosened the tie and poured grain at their feet. Holloran handed her the wine, and with her heart hammering she poured it, barely finishing before chimes sounded once, again. Silver fire rimmed niche and statues, growing to a heatless blaze that forced her back, eyes watering; she almost stumbled as kimono skirts restricted her stride but a sturdy arm caught her round the shoulders and she heard Daine’s voice close to her ear.

            “Da! Stop it!”

            Kel blinked away tears and her breath caught. Standing before their shrine Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady were as Iestyn had carved them, arms around one another’s waists and carrying bow and spiral. Their faces were not those of the carvings but their expressions were the same, though infinite eyes glinted with light of their own and Kel saw in Weiryn’s something that reminded her of Daine’s liking for owls.

            “Don’t scold me, daughter. It is my first great shrine.” Weiryn’s voice was overwhelming, deep, as rich as the velveted antlers springing from his head. As her ears rang and sight returned Kel saw Holloran had dropped to his knees, face upturned to the manifest gods like a baby’s at the breast, and she heard the rustle and gasps as everyone knelt with him. Even the immortals lowered themselves, spidrens crouching and basilisks and ogres bowing their heads to peer from under brows, but Daine’s arm was holding her up. When it was removed she tried to bend her own knees but Daine seized her hand, pulling her forward and keeping her upright before letting her go and grasping Weiryn’s arms, turning up her face for his kiss.

            “I know, Da, and I’m happy for you, but please don’t be too godly. It scares people.”

            “And attracts them, love.” The Green Lady was stunningly beautiful, her dress a forest of tissue-thin layers swirling with embroidery and her voice the comfort of a cool hand on a sweating brow yet laced with amusement. “He dazzled me that Beltane night, you know.”

            “Oh Ma.” Mother and daughter hugged tightly, and Kel dropped her eyes as much in embarrassment at their intimacy as in belated respect. “You always liked a show. How’s Gran’da?”

            “Happy in the Peaceful Realms. The Black God lets him visit us sometimes.”

            “We have time enough for news, daughter.” Weiryn’s voice also rolled with amusement. “Will you not present your friend?”

            Laughing, Daine let her mother go. “You already know everyone anyway. But yes, of course.” She drew herself up. “Ma, Da, this is Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan, Protector of the Small, who commands here. Kel, Lord Weiryn of the Hunt, and the Green Lady, Sarra Beneksri.”

            Kel curtseyed as deeply as kimonos allowed, and raised her eyes to find both gods intent on her. Daine had once tried to describe Gainel’s eyes and these must be similar, infinite depths in which stars moved and distances swirled, with a gaze that saw everything with utterly inhuman detachment beyond love or pity. Something in the Green Lady’s gaze made her uneasy, as if an urgent warning was going unheeded, but Weiryn was speaking and she had no time to think more of it.

            “Protector of the Small, the elemental of the Chamber and my siblings Shakith and Gainel guided you to Rathhausak, yet you might have failed on your way, or fallen to the axe of Stenmun Kinslayer.” Weiryn’s regard was entirely unsettling and emotions churned Kel’s heart and stomach. “All gods rejoice that you did not, and won through to end the contempt of that mage for our decrees.” His attention swung out to all. “Rise, mortals, and hear us.” He looked sideways a moment, and Kel could have sworn he winked at Quenuresh. “Immortals also.”

            His command was compelling and she saw Holloran rise, trembling, and heard others following; a glance showed open-mouthed faces peering up through the evening dark at the glowing figures on the terrace.

            “For you, Protector, I have a gift in token of that rejoicing.” He offered her the great bow in his hand, and from somewhere produced a quiver with three arrows whose vanes shimmered red and orange. “This bow will seek its mark, and the mark these arrows find will burn, be it metal or stone, for they are fletched with sunbird feathers. And my blessing lies on all who hunt to feed the people of this place. Their steps shall be warded and their game plentiful, by gift of the boar and deer gods.” His voice dropped and Kel didn’t know how far it carried, though from their startled looks Roald and Shinko heard. “The rabbits need no asking to multiply.”

            “The childbeds of New Hope have my blessing and the mothers shall rest easy after labour.” The Green Lady’s eyes shone as she handed the spiral she carried to Kel, and her voice rang. “Your kitchens also shall be blessed, and the food you grow shall savour of its essence.”

            Yes! A knot untied in Kel as the wildest and most daring of her thoughts about what might happen fell into place. Opening her arms despite the gifts she found herself clutching, she curtseyed grateful thanks and straightened, letting her arms fall again to her sides.

            “High Ones, I thank you, for myself and all here. Your gifts are beyond all price.” She took a deep breath, seeing encouragement in Daine’s eyes. “I know we can offer nothing to match the Divine Realms, but will it please you dine with us, that we may honour you with more than symbols of our worship and labour?”

            The gods’ voices came in extraordinary unison. “It will.”

            Suspecting she was grinning like a fool but not caring in the least Kel turned, extending one laden hand to Daine and the other to a dazed Holloran, and started towards the steps down from the terrace. Weiryn and the Green Lady fell in behind and she trusted everyone to follow as the crowd parted before them, faces shining with shock. Distantly she was aware of cooks racing from the back of the assembly for kitchens and messhall, and though she felt like skipping walked with slow care to give them time. As they neared the hall doors Tobe scampered to open them and take the awkward bow, quiver, and spiral from her; his eyes were huge and she ruffled his hair as she swept into the hall and turned.

            “Be welcome, High Ones, to our feast and our hall.”

            New Hope lacked the fine linens and silverware that would grace such a feast at the court or any wealthy fief, but to Kel’s eyes the bare wooden tables crowded with candles and simple place settings looked good amid the striking stone carvings. The gods obviously agreed, for the Green Lady waved a hand and candles burst alight; smiling, Weiryn also gestured, silver fire spilling from his hand, and the crystalline pillars began to glow from within, filling the hall with shimmering washes of colour. As soon as she’d seen the basilisks’ work the day before Kel had decided the unexpected beauty of the hall would be a pleasing highpoint after the ceremonies, and with the added godlight the stunned expressions that came to everyone’s faces as they entered were all she could have hoped for, and more.

            The food was a riot of taste and the wine she cautiously sipped exploded in her mouth as the feast became a delightful whirl of moments she could never remember with any coherence—a grinning Numair introducing Lindhall to his in-laws and the older mage’s chagrin when Bonedancer flapped from his shoulder to perch on the Green Lady’s arm, clattering his beak with pleasure and rubbing his head against her breast; Shinko deep in conversation with Fanche and Saefas, asking about their lives at New Hope and unaware of Kitten by her side making the beads of her necklace glow; Wyldon, in a state of astonishment that transformed his austerity, hesitantly asking Weiryn about dogs and the god answering with pleased humour and a tale of the hounds that ran with the Wild Hunt; Roald absently plucking an inquisitive baby spidren from his leg and hastily putting it down as he talked treaties with Quenuresh and ate cheese; Holloran trying to absorb that he was dining with gods and laughing with wonder at the absurdity of it all; Tkaa gravely remarking to Weiryn that immortal young of all kinds seemed to mature faster in the mortal realms, and perhaps he might convey as much to Diamondflame should they meet; her parents making her blush and Tobe laugh with stories of her childhood in the Islands; Neal in earnest conversation with the Green Lady about the care of pregnancy and later, when all had spilled back outside and musicians among the soldiery and civilians assembled into an inspired impromptu band, leading Yuki in a dance around the green. A reluctant griffin kit had been summoned away after the meal by ringing cries from above, and Quenuresh departed with her kin, remarking that she hadn’t been so surprised in centuries and wondering what the Divine Realms were coming to, but the gods stayed and danced, Weiryn’s antlers gleaming in the light of fires hastily built on each side and the Green Lady’s dress swirling and glittering as they moved among other couples, Roald and Shinko, Daine and Numair, Fanche and Saefas, her grinning parents, Tobe and Irnai, Idrius and Olka Valestone, all manner of refugee couples and soldiers with refugees, and with a sense of bemusement Kel knew would intensify, herself and Wyldon.

            After a while the gods withdrew with Daine and Numair, sitting before their shrine in a family circle. Kel saw Daine rest her head on her mother’s shoulder and Kitten climb on to the goddess’s lap before she turned away, not wishing to intrude, and went to find her own parents, talking with Neal and Yuki about Lord Sakuyo’s blessing. Not much later, however, she felt a tug at her sleeve and looked down to see Kitten.

            The antlered god wants to talk to you before he goes, Kel. Her mindvoice became thoughtful. He is nice. My grandsire says gods are annoying but he has not annoyed me and says my spellwork is very good.

            Kel laughed, agreed it was excellent, and took the dragonet’s paw until they came to the broad steps to the terrace, where Kitten scrambled ahead of her. The gods were standing and Kel was surprised to notice Numair was taller than both, though Weiryn’s antlers gave him an additional foot no mortal could match. He regarded her gravely as she approached and she again felt the unease that had possessed her when the Green Lady had first looked at her.

            “Protector.” Daine jabbed a finger and he glanced down with a smile. “Keladry, then, as my daughter is so scant with titles and says you do not care for the name the elemental gave you. What I can say is limited, both in true uncertainty that besets this time and by command of the Great Gods, who restrict the interference in mortal affairs we are permitted. That mage’s necromancy was one thing, your mortal wars another, and no business of mine, but these are not wholly mortal affairs any longer. We have waited since Dunlath in hope that its example would be followed, but you are the first to do so. That is in large part why my brothers and sisters were so forthcoming earlier.”

            Not at all sure how she ought to respond to this confidence, Kel dropped a curtsey and said the first thing that came into her mind.

            “Our immortals are refugees also, my Lord, driven here by war.”

            “Perhaps so, but other immortals fight for the Scanran king and would claim territory your own neglects.” Having seen the poverty of so many northern villages and knowing only the Scanran threat had forced royal attention away from Tyra, Carthak, and Yaman, Kel couldn’t deny it and her eyes dropped. “It is no shame on you, Keladry, but it is a complication. And Shakith says others among the immortals, as well as stormwings, have parts yet to play here before time is resolved.”

            Meeting his gaze Kel was swept by dizziness and a sense of what she might have called the god’s pity if she hadn’t known he felt no human emotions. When he spoke again his tone was brusquer.

            “Keep faith in us, Keladry, and we will keep faith in you. The elemental named you well, and all that happens here has our attention, as you have our blessings and the gifts we may give. But we cannot prevent all we might wish nor protect all we bless. I cannot say more. We must return to the Divine Realms. Make your farewell, Sarra.”

            The Green Lady embraced Daine, and with a slight frown turned to Kel, kissing her forehead with lips that burned cold.

            “Sarra.” Weiryn’s voice sounded sharp.

            “Yes, yes, I break no rule. Keladry, my spiral will give virtue of itself, and if a woman prays to me here I will answer. But it is also of the Great Goddess and will summon her in your need if you call. Remember.”

            “Thank you, my Lady. Thank you both.”

            Their voices were for a second time in unison. “You have deserved your blessings.” And with a swirl of silver fire they were gone, leaving Kel blinking, Kitten chortling, and Daine frowning puzzlement.

            Kel dabbed watering eyes. “What was that all about?”

            “I don’t know, Kel, but I don’t like it.” Daine shrugged. “Gods are fair confusing, even Ma, and that’s when they’re being helpful. When they get all mysterious there’s no knowing what they really want.”

            “It’s always like that.” Numair rested a hand on Kel’s shoulder. “I tried asking Weiryn about that prophecy but he said he had nothing to add to Shakith’s words. And if Shakith has anything to add I dare say it’ll come the same way and leave us no wiser.” He shook his head. “I think you should be as careful as you possibly can, Kel. Something’s up. But keep doing what you do so amazingly well and try not to worry about what you can’t change.” A smile lit his dark face. “When all’s said and done, eight gods have blessed you tonight with hundreds to witness it, and two came to dinner. The court’ll be hopping sideways for weeks when Roald and Shinko get back and report what’s happened.”

            Kel wasn’t sure she cared for that either, however true, yet Numair was right there was no point fretting on things she could do nothing about. But for all her tiredness and the lingering effects of the unaccustomed, god-bolstered wine she did not sleep for a long while.

            The aftermath of the extraordinary evening took extensive cleaning and straightening next morning, for which Kel bullied everyone awake. Roald and Shinko had been supposed to leave by noon, but Roald unilaterally asserted authority to postpone departure for a day, without any objection from his entourage, and spent several hours talking with basilisks and ogres, as well as refugees bold enough to greet him. After some thought Kel took advantage of Holloran’s continued presence to make a request, and in mid-afternoon a long procession rode to Haven, where the Archpriest blessed the mass grave of its defenders, making up for the scant ceremony with which they’d been buried, and dedicated the ground as a resting place for New Hope’s residents. Using another handful of their first grain and water from the spring he invoked the Black God’s peace for all who lay and would lie here, and chimes sounded with that soughing of wind and burning silence behind them. The only distress was the sight of three stormwings high above, wings glinting in the sun—the first Kel had seen since the return from Rathhausak.

            Riding Peachblossom back to New Hope beside Wyldon, he looked at her with his usual dryness touched by wonder and irony.

            “More congratulations are in order, Lady Knight. I thought I spoke in jest when I said you were setting the gods by the ears as well as Vanget and I. I should have known better.” A rueful amusement entered his voice. “It is going to look very odd in my quarterly report when I have to describe what happened last night. And just now, come to that.”

            She grinned at him. “Oh I don’t know. Military brevity’s a wonderful thing. ‘The shrines at New Hope were dedicated in the usual manner, and offerings accepted by the relevant gods.’”

            “Two of whom stayed to eat and dance, the District Commander taking opportunity to enquire after means of breeding warhounds.”

            They both laughed, startling Neal, riding behind them with Yuki, so much that Magewhisper pranced. Wyldon shot him a dark look before returning attention to Kel and lowering his voice.

            “Jesting aside, Keladry, I don’t like this warning Numair says Lord Weiryn gave you, nor that he could get nothing further from them about that prophecy. I know it’s impossible in war, but do be careful.”

            “Of course.” What else could she say? “I don’t think anyone’s care will make much difference. Even the gods’. Master Harailt was right. They too wait to see what happens. We can only keep on doing our best.”

            Uneasy with the conversation she pulled Peachblossom away from him and gestured Yuki to come forward on her beautiful new mare, a wedding present from Duke Baird.

            “Yuki, could you tell Lord Wyldon of Sakuyo’s Blessed and these tokens? My parents are too busy scheming about all the hospitality they’ll be able to command when they’re next in Yaman.”

            Face dimpling with suppressed laughter, Yuki complied.

Chapter Text

Chapter Six — Invasions

25–30 September

Royal visitors and divine dancing notwithstanding, urgency of harvesting meant Adner had everyone he could order or cajole back in the fields well before Roald and Shinko departed with all guests except Yuki, who set about decorating and rearranging Neal’s quarters to her satisfaction and helping in the kitchens. Fanche and St’aara ruthlessly organised all but the youngest children to bag, stack, or assist with the hot work of boiling, sealing, and storing; an alarmed but very competent Amiir’aan found himself minding a dozen babes and toddlers. There was more to reap and pick than anyone had thought likely, and the food sampled was extremely good—the goddess’s blessing, people said cheerily—but jars ran short, so carpenters turned lathes till they smoked and basilisks roared rock-spells at the results. Some wood was green and the resulting containers lop-sided, but once stone they could neither flavour their contents nor leak and no-one cared about appearances.

            Patrols were reduced to provide more fieldguards, dogs and sparrows reinforcing the five that still went out every day, while Uinse’s Company One took over the gatehouse and alures. Off-duty squads joined refugees in harvesting, adding lightly armed but trained fighters, and the ogres proved willing to work with Adner while there was so much to be done so swiftly. But with more than five hundred pairs of hands working north and south of the fin and carts in constant motion to and fro security was stretched thinner than Kel or Brodhelm liked, and she fretted over her decision to push cultivation in the southern valley.

            “Don’t second guess yourself, Lady Kel.” Brodhelm was phlegmatic. “It’s only for ten days or so and we need that food. No good keeping everyone safe at home only to find ourselves starving at Imbolc.”

            That was unarguable but Kel didn’t like the extent to which people were exposed, and word from Mastiff that a Steadfast patrol had encountered a fair-sized Scanran war party and taken casualties did nothing to ease her mind; worse, the report had no names so she could only hope Dom and his squad hadn’t been involved. Further word from Northwatch of a tauros attack close to them, suggesting the elusive immortals had gone back west, was cold comfort: Kel felt guiltily glad they had become less of a threat to her own people but concerns about how they were evading the search intensified. A tauros was not by any account subtle, and most were killed fairly quickly once spotted. Stormwings were also seen, by patrols and over the valley, always high up but inducing oppressive awareness of what attracted them, though sight of the griffins was more positive. Still uneasy after pulling an extra half-squad from the alures to reinforce Sergeant Connac in the south valley Kel lost temper with her fretful mood and took herself to the archery ranges to try Lord Weiryn’s gift.

            The Green Lady’s spiral hung in the infirmary, to the interest of women enduring pregnancy, but the bow and strangely fletched arrows Kel kept. When she’d first held it it had felt very odd and then superbly right in her hand, despite being by far the tallest bow she’d ever tried, and she suspected it had adjusted itself to her size and strength. What wood it was no-one could say, even Urthor, Company Eight’s experienced bowyer. It was a self bow, a single piece of wood, but the grain was wrong and the colour too dark for yew and without flecking; whether its back and belly were all heartwood or mixed heart- and sapwood was anyone’s guess. Nor could the material of the string be identified beyond saying it wasn’t hemp, flax, or silk, but Kel didn’t care: the stave bent easily for her to string, the nocks seemed integral, the string held tension so well it hummed when she plucked it, and the whole was beautiful, a weapon that appealed beyond utility, as the damascened steel of her glaive and sword made them more than deadly.

            With everyone in the fields the main level was deserted, and she took the chance to move a target to the front of the empty barracks and take her stance all but touching the railing of the livestock pens. The range was more than five hundred feet, and while she’d certainly sent arrows that far before with a self bow she’d been aiming at charging bandits, not a small bullseye. Uinse, standing watch on the eastern alure to replace a man she’d sent to the fieldguard, whistled when he saw what she was doing.

            “That’s some shot you’re trying, Lady Kel.”

            “Lord Weiryn said this bow would seek its mark, so let’s see.”

            She had broadheads and needlepoints in her quiver, with goose-fletching and slot-cut nocks. The sunbird-fletched ones Weiryn had provided, which were warm to the touch, seemed too dangerous to use in anything but deadly earnest; whatever sunbirds might be—she’d meant to ask Daine or Numair before they’d departed for Steadfast. In any case, she wanted to know what the bow alone could do. Deciding there was no point shilly-shallying, she nocked a needlepoint, automatically placing the cock-vane away from the stave, swung the bow up with a thrill at its easy feel, drew, and let fly. She lost sight of the arrow but from his vantage-point Uinse whistled.

            “It went right through , Lady Kel, in the bull so far as I could tell.”

            “I’m not that good a shot, Uinse.”

            “Maybe not with another bow.”

            She squinted disbelief but when she trotted across to the target found he’d been right. A hole was punched an inch from the centre of the bullseye, and the arrow buried in the barrack wall. Humming surprise she worked it loose and walked back to her position. Three broadheads in quick succession with a shallower draw also found the bullseye in a quivering group. Uinse and other sentries called appreciation and she glared, finger circling outwards to tell them to keep attention where it belonged. Grinning they complied, and after a moment’s thought she walked round the livestock pens to the nearest steps to the shelf and climbed to the alure. Her range was over eight hundred feet, approaching the limit of any longbow she’d seen or heard of.

            Archers firing from the alure were usually facing the other way, and after a quick scan of the fields to make sure nothing was happening she positioned herself in front of a crenel; cracking her elbow on a merlon as she drew would not help. She’d stuck with broadheads but after nocking again swung the bow up fast and drew as fully as she could—and again the arrow thwapped into the target. At this distance she couldn’t be sure but it looked like another bullseye and even in her childhood dreams she’d never been that kind of shot. Three more fast broadheads followed with the same result. The sentries were sneaking glances and Uinse, nearest her, was openly watching but there was no banter and she thought they were as spooked as she. Wordlessly she held out the bow and Uinse came forward eagerly, but as soon as he held it shook his head, giving it back.

            “I don’t think so, Lady Kel. It’s a one-woman bow, I reckon. It doesn’t want me to use it.” She raised her eyebrows. “That’s what I felt.” His face was thoughtful. “In an emergency, maybe. It didn’t feel hostile, just wrong.” He grinned. “Maybe it’s like Peachblossom. When you rescued Gil at Haven he was fine but anyone near him in the stables had best watch feet and fingers. I’m taking no chances when there’s no need, and so I’ll tell the lads when they ask.” He gestured and heads hastily swivelled. “Eyes where they should be, lads. Show’s over.”

            Given her suspicions about the bow adjusting to her Kel couldn’t argue, and turned to something Uinse’s words had reminded her about.

            “Tell me, what are the folks who were, um, unconvinced about the Wildmage’s parentage saying since they … showed up in person?”

            He grinned. “Not a lot, Lady Kel. No room for doubt now, is there?”

            “No bad feelings?”

            “Not that I’ve seen—why would anyone not like having a Godborn on our side?” He scratched his head. “It is odd. I always thought gods were … I dunno, ageless. I certainly didn’t reckon there was one only ten years older than me, and born a peasant at that.” He grinned again. “Gives a man hope, Lady Kel. Maybe I’ll get to be a god too some day.”

            “In your dreams.”

            He laughed, and she made her way thoughtfully back to the target. All four arrows were indeed bulls, clustered tightly, so Weiryn had been serious. After unstringing the bow and shifting the target back where it belonged, she went to her quarters and put bow and quiver with her wall-fighting gear. A longbow was no use on horseback or in close combat, and her glaive only of use on the alures if an enemy had already gained them; the full armour needed in field combat would be as much hindrance as protection if she were walking walls in a siege, so her ready gear was divided between functions. Bow and quiver joined half-armour, staff, and a spare griffin-band; one was always in her belt-pouch, and she’d sewn others into the linings of bascinet and close helm.

            After the evening meal she invited Neal and Yuki, Merric, and Seaver to her quarters and told them how her marksmanship seemed to have improved, and what Uinse had said in declining the chance to see if his might do the same.

            “From the alure?” Merric’s eyes were wide.

            “Yes and the target was right over by the barracks.”

            “Kel, that’s … what, nine hundred feet?”

            “Over eight hundred for sure.”

            “I doubt I could hit the barracks at that range, far less a target.”

            “Not just the target, the bull.” Neal rested chin on hand, pondering. “Kel, the only person I’ve ever seen shoot even remotely like that is Daine. Alanna was always telling me what an amazing shot she is, and when we met up with her once—the same trip on which I met those smugglers, actually—she got her to demonstrate. I’ve never seen anything like it. One of my brothers reckoned the longbow his weapon of choice so I’ve heard archers’ tall tales and this was up there with the best of them.” He fell silent, clearly thinking of the brothers he’d lost in the Immortals War, and Yuki reached to grasp his hand.

            “So’s four bulls at more than eight hundred feet, Neal.” Seaver leaned back, grinning. “Lord Weiryn said it’d seek its mark, didn’t he, Kel? Seems he meant it.”

            “That was my point, Seaver. When I asked Daine where she’d got her bow she said it was a present. She didn’t say from whom, but what’s the betting it was her da?”

            “Huh.” Merric’s face was thoughtful. “And Uinse said it felt wrong when he held it?”

            “Yes. Do you want to try?”

            “Please.”

            She got the bow and strung it. Each of them held it in turn, shaking their heads, and Yuki, the last, tried to unstring it.

            “Kel, I can’t even bend this thing.”

            The knights all tried, and though Neal, the tallest, just managed to do so he couldn’t string it again. Surprised, Kel took it back, lodging the base against her foot, and it bent easily in her hands.

            “Well, that settles it.” Merric was definite. “I know exactly what Uinse meant. It wasn’t hostile, but it wasn’t for me.”

            “Uinse said it was like Peachblossom. In an emergency he’ll do whatever’s needed but otherwise he’s a one-woman horse. Except for Tobe, of course.”

            “He’s a vicious brute, Kel, as you know perfectly well.” Neal radiated indignation and got his laugh. “But it’s a good comparison.”

            “So what we have is a guaranteed shot at eight hundred feet plus.” Merric frowned. “Kel, that’s a weapon we need to think about. A mage cooking up a spell might stand at that range and be sure he was safe. Or if we ever face a siege, gods forfend, any engines and their crews would be closer than that. I should talk to Brodhelm and Uinse about this.”

            Kel waved permission; she’d have done so anyway. With the bow restored to its place the talk became general, Merric and Seaver considering Roald’s marriage, sighing over Shinko’s beauty, and teasing Neal and Yuki about wedded bliss.

            “You wait,” Neal retorted to an unsubtle sally from Merric that made Yuki raise her fan. “You’ll find out. If you’re lucky enough to marry a Yamani, that is, supposing you could find one mad enough to have you.”

            “Is Yuki mad then that she had you?”

            Kel laughed with them but when Merric’s remarks remained on the bawdy side she kicked them out, pleading a long day. They went with half-hearted protests, Yuki with a giggle as Neal’s arm snaked possessively round her waist. Her friends’ obvious happiness and Shinko’s contentment with Roald were welcome to Kel, who could not begrudge them joy and wouldn’t have liked herself if she could; but the loneliness she’d felt at Steadfast pressed on her.

            After seeing Tobe abed, Jump by his side, and sitting with them to tug the dog’s tattered ears and tell about the marvellous bow, she returned to her rooms. With combat wear, armour, and weapons set ready, she stripped off shirt, breeches, and small clothing, folding them before reaching for her nightshirt, and caught sight of herself in the metal mirror she’d hung to don her kimonos for the dedication. Straightening, she considered herself dispassionately, looking down and in the mirror: though more heavyset, as well as scarred, her body was of the same kind as her Mama’s, wide-hipped and small-breasted—a contrast Ilane told her changed once her breasts had enlarged with milk, never decreasing to their former size. Kel’s were what she thought men called apple breasts, high and wide-spaced, to Lalasa’s despair when she’d tried dresses that depended on having a cleavage. Nor were her hips as wide as her mother’s, thigh muscles and thickened waist making a column, not the hourglass men like Dom admired. Strength and endurance served her well and she wouldn’t trade them for the world, but despite what her mother said about noblemen who thought of wives as they thought of mares, it wasn’t a body she could imagine a man wanting; desiring to touch as she desired to be touched, to enter in that mystery of which she remained ignorant.

            Sticking out her tongue at her reflection she pulled on her nightshirt, blew out the candle, and tucked herself in; but after a few minutes of staring into the dark got up again, slipped the nightshirt off, and lay back on top of the bed, letting one hand rise to her breasts and the other drift lower. Imagination of Dom’s hands instead of her own was familiar but memory of the looks in Yuki’s and Shinko’s newly married eyes accompanied him. She wanted both, but they would not be hers on her virgin road of knighthood; perhaps she should have done and dedicate her warrior chastity to the Goddess, content with the bloodier penetrations of glaive and sword righteously used. Awareness of Tobe only doors away limited movement and sound but at last the familiar ritual of solitary nights past and to come was complete. Putting her nightshirt on with a shiver she slid gratefully under the blankets into her body’s warmth and let the brief satisfaction carry her into sleep.

* * * * *

Next day was second last of the month and Kel spent the morning tackling the inventory required of commanders every calend. The most important thing was newly harvested grains and fruits, and she spent a weary couple of hours counting bushels, barrels, jars, and crocks. The chief cook and Fanche were conducting an experiment, storing samples of fruits, grain, and variously dried, cured, and smoked meats in different chambers of the cave system, and Kel conscientiously went to count those too; if she took the opportunity to inspect the tunnel to the putative look-out post there was no-one to say she shouldn’t, and the two full spirals basilisks, ogres, and miners had already roared and hewn out were pleasing. Its floor was steeply pitched and after walking up and down she estimated it rose nearly fifty feet, almost a quarter of the way, and with the additional labour available during the snows she might reasonably hope to have her look-out post manned sometime in spring. The limestone blocks building up in the cavern were a bonus, and the back of her mind set to wondering how they might best be used.

            Cheered, she returned to paperwork, sending the inventory to the clerks to be copied, and set about written reports. Knowing it would amuse Wyldon she used the bland military brevity they’d discussed, with “the shrines’ dedications having been accepted in the usual manner with additional noises Archpriest Holloran deemed auspicious” and “manifest gods” who “dined and participated in customary dances”. Reading it with enjoyment she added an equally bland paragraph about the range and accuracy she’d managed with the bow, which would provoke disbelieving requests for clarification, noted Lady Yukimi of Queenscove was now resident, and sent it to the clerks. All that remained was a weapons inventory, and she collared Uinse to help, finishing in time for lunch.

            To everyone’s surprise the godlight Weiryn had set in the pillars continued to wash walls and tables with all the colours the basilisks had induced in the stone, perceptibly warm on the skin—which promised to be of even greater use in winter than the saving in candles. Most people were lunching in the fields and despite the remarkable improvements in flavour since the Green Lady’s blessing the only others present were some of Uinse’s men rotating from guard duty and Fanche’s party taking a break from preserving, Irnai and Yuki among them. Kel sat by the seer, listening to happy chatter about kitchen work she liked and a bounty of nuts found beyond the fin. She said little but took ease in Irnai’s peace, and hugged her before watching her skip back to the kitchens.

            Yuki gave her a look. “Planning on adopting a daughter as well, Kel?”

            She gave her a friend a glare but relented. “If she wants it. I’ve come to care for her very much but she seems happy as is.”

            “Does she live with anyone?”

            “Zerhalm and the Rathhausak folk look out for her, and she sleeps in their bit of the barracks.”

            “Have you asked her about adoption?”

            “Not yet. The time’s never seemed right, and there’s Tobe to think of. He and I decided to go ahead at Steadfast, when we talked to Ma, but we didn’t expect it to happen so soon. Da had just agreed when Cricket asked them to come to the dedications, and they went galloping off to see Duke Turomot there and then.”

            Yuki dimpled. “So they said.” She hesitated. “I was surprised, Kel. Do you not want children of your own? I know I do, as soon as possible.”

            Kel shrugged. “I’m not against it, Yuki, but a husband is traditionally required and I’ve no prospect of that. With Tobe it just seemed right—he’s never belonged anywhere, really, and gods know he had a bad time in Queensgrace with that fat bully of an innkeeper.”

            Yuki nodded, knowing of Alvik’s neglect and heavy hand from Neal, but her eyes were concerned, suspecting something of what beset Kel but unsure how she might broach such a topic. “He’s a good boy, and a wonder with horses. Did I tell you I found him grooming Hokage?”

            “No, but I’m not surprised. She’s beautiful, Yuki, and it’s a lovely name.” The Yamani word meant a shape moving in firelight and perfectly suited the mare’s grace and pangare bay colouring. “But he’s an easy mark for a horse.” She grinned. “That’s one reason he likes Wyldon. He told me no-one with horses that splendid could be as bad as Neal said.”

            They parted with laughter and Kel went to groom Hoshi and Peachblossom, deciding the big gelding could do with a ride. He was getting on, having been older than most Palace horses offered to pages when she’d met him a decade before, but still full of energy and attitude. When she returned to the stables in half-armour, Griffin at her waist and glaive in hand, he co-operated happily. She led him to the gatehouse and signed out with Uinse.

            “Not taking an escort, Lady Kel? Standing orders …”

            “I know, but is anyone free? I can’t take any more men off the alures. And I’m sticking to the fields so I won’t be out of sight.”

            “Even so, Lady Kel.” He scratched his head and made a decision. “I know you’ve your glaive but take Crener and Varlan, eh? They’re decent with lances and fair with swords. And I can spare ‘em—I’ve Harrel on sentry-go today ‘cause he ricked his back carrying a grainsack, the idiot, and after Sir Neal fixed it he said he should give it a day or two.”

            “Alright. And I should obey my own orders.”

            Uinse laughed and went to get the men, Kel taking his place. Peachblossom stamped at the delay and the other duty-guard, a wiry, sandy man from somewhere on the Tusaine border who’d fallen into half-hearted banditry when drought struck the region, looked wary.

            “’E’s a real bruiser, in’t ’e, Lady Kel.”

            “If you get on his bad side, Deren, but he’s been a good friend to me. The first I had at the Palace, really, except Sir Neal.”

            “I ’eard you was pages an’ squires together. An’ Sir Merric said you knew ’is wife when you was both littles.”

            He was fishing but Kel didn’t mind. The barbed probing of nobles who resented her success disgusted her in its surprise that an upstart girl—whose family were only in the Book of Copper and who’d grown up among barbarians—could achieve anything; what was Tortall coming to? The curiosity of men she commanded was free of such disrespect.

            “That’s so, Deren. Lady Yukimi’s parents serve at the Yamani court, and we were of an age when my parents went to negotiate a treaty.” She smiled. “It’s odd my best Yamani friend and best Tortallan friend have wound up getting married, but I like it and they’re very happy.”

            “Yus, anyone can see that. And Sir Neal don’t go on about ’er so much now she’s ’ere.”

            “A blessing in itself, eh?”

            Deren grinned agreement. “Yus, it’s that alright. ’E do talk a streak.” He mulled for a moment. “What’s the Islands like, then, Lady Kel? I ’eard that god of theirs laugh with ev’ryone else, an’ if the Princess ’ad it right we could all go there an’ be treated like kings.”

            Kel laughed. “You’d certainly be honoured. I’m not so sure you’d care for the firefly-and-poetry parties you’d be expected to attend.”

            “The what?”

            She explained, to his astonishment, and they talked of strange things Yamanis did until Crener and Varlan arrived with horses saddled and lances in hand. Mounting, Kel secured her glaive and they carefully negotiated Orchan’s steep rise-and-turn—or drop-and-turn—and trotted down the roadway, reaching the moatbridge just ahead of a well-laden wagon hauled by bored-looking oxen; but then to Kel oxen always looked bored. Waving to its driver and guards, Kel headed round the fin, checking in with Brodhelm and his squads, then with one of Adner’s deputies, and finding all going as it ought.

            It felt odd to ride Peachblossom in armour without Jump and her sparrows in attendance but they were with Merric’s and Connac’s patrols today, in the hills towards Mastiff where dense woodland restricted scouting, and Kel’s eyes were sharp enough in open fields. Shaking her head, she sent a Goatstrack man with a nasty blister from unaccustomed tools to see Neal, and a moment later found herself in the right place to save a badly stacked grainsack from toppling off a wagon. Peachblossom snorted as her weight shifted but kept her in the saddle, and Varlan quickly dismounted, climbing onto the wagon to ease her burden and seat it properly. Several firm words later she left a Hannaford trapper doing the stacking looking chagrined but being more careful, and headed back to the old Haven fields.

            Slowly she worked up valley, offering encouragement and helping out. Crener and Varlan proved as competent as Uinse said, and fair company. Gingery Crener was from haMinchi lands but had nothing bad to say of the clan, admitting he had rustled the prize rams he’d been condemned for stealing, as well as one he’d feasted on, so he couldn’t complain, while blond Varlan was a light-fingered product of Corus with the tattooed thumb-webbings that told of multiple convictions.

            “Pickpocketin’, Lady Kel,” he said cheerfully. “Couldn’t resist all them blind bags wiv pockets so big I could get me ’ole arm in there as well as both fambles. I’d prob’ly be doin’ it now if I ’adn’t bin nabbed by Dogs seekin’ some cracknob what took a gixie over Breakbone Falls an’”—he flushed a little—“you know, forced ’er, like. Never did find ’im that I ’eard, the scummer, but they ’ad me instead.”

            Disentangling his slang Kel wondered with an unhappy jolt in her belly if the man who’d beaten and raped a girl might have been Vinson, and what had become of the vile squire after he’d failed his Ordeal and made confession as the Chamber demanded. Duke Turomot had ordered a trial but she’d never heard what came of it—Fief Genlith had a lot of influence, even without Stone Mountain’s backing, and she doubted anyone of Vinson’s status would have been gaoled for long, if at all. Keeping her voice neutral she asked Varlan when that had been, and thought sadly that the date fitted.

            “Do you know what happened to the girl?”

            “’Fraid I don’t, Lady Kel. I was nabbed and wiv two tats they ’ad me up norf to the mines ’fore I could finish cursin’ me luck.”

            “Oh, of course. I’m sorry, Varlan.”

            “No call to be, me Lady. I might o’ known summat, an’ I did ’ear the Dogs didn’t nab no-one for it.”

            “Still, I should have thought. I was just wondering. Women can have a hard time after, ah, being forced.”

            He nodded soberly. “Ay, I knows it. Even from other mots.”

            “Quite so. And as it happens, I know there was a man, um, nabbed for having done exactly that sort of thing a while back.” She didn’t think names were in order and certainly had no intention of explaining why Vinson’s crimes haunted her own guilts. “I wondered then if I should try to do something to help his victims, and your story reminded me of it.”

            “Now aren’t that you all over, Lady Kel?” Crener was listening with interest. “When I hears a story like that I wants to hurt the man but you thinks of helpin’ the woman.”

            Fortunately for Kel they were just reaching Adner, clucking over a blunt scythe, and by the time she’d found the whetstone in her pouch and heard his assessment while he sharpened it her embarrassment had passed. Moving on she spoke to Brodhelm’s senior sergeant, Ersen, and a while later she, Crener, and Varlan dismounted to help unstick a wagon canted in soft earth. Leaving some of its load to await a second trip the sweating wagoneer eventually got it moving, and Kel dusted off her hands, sighing. The sun was westering and with summer fading the shadow of Haven’s knoll reached further and further up valley, inching towards the ragged end of the limestone and the wooded hills that ran north-east to Spidren Wood. Her back ached from shouldering the cart into motion, but there were two work parties still unvisited, one of older children by the cliffs picking mushrooms that flourished where the earth was dampened by a seep, the other of Tirrsmont farmers and their wives, experienced hands with a scythe, further away on the west side cutting hay high on a slope too steep to plough. Each had two spearmen from Ersen’s squad, who wouldn’t like being left out of an otherwise complete tour, and the children should be heading in soon anyway, so she pulled a face at Varlan and Crener.

            “Only two more, thank Mithros.”

            They had almost reached the mushroom-pickers when a scream loud enough to echo from the cliffs brought Kel’s head snapping round to the north. As she was turning Peachblossom a horn-call began to rise but ended in a hoarse, ugly screech, and by the time she’d snatched breath they were at full gallop. The fields here had been harvested several days before and stubble ploughed under, leaving clods along each sillion that burst under Peachblossom’s hooves to spatter her greaves, but he was outpacing Varlan’s and Crener’s smaller mounts and as the distance to the scything party dropped she could see blurred, bulky shapes among the scattering farmers, and one juddering on the ground. A figure seemed to rise into the air and crumple as it landed, bonelessly rolling downslope; to one side another stood stock still, outstretched hands cloaked in a thick, mud-brown haze, and Kel shifted course. If an enemy mage was at work he was always the prime target: whatever else was a threat could never get worse without magic, and might be neutralised. The back of her mind wondered if Varlan and Crener had their griffin-bands on, as standing orders specified, and if not what they might be seeing—if anything. But they were already fifty yards behind, too far to hear her shout. If she could take out the mage before he realised his spells weren’t working on her it wouldn’t matter anyway.

            Reaching the slope Peachblossom slowed and Kel caught up her glaive before rising in the saddle to see what else she faced. In her gut she knew, though it made no sense, and confirmation sank into her mind like a stone through water. The shapes were tauroses, seven she could see, the one on the ground not down but hammering over the body of one of the Tirrsmont women. One had just fallen to a guard, bellowing agony as silver blood sprayed from his spear in its guts, but as he pulled the point free another gored him from behind; she had passed the other guard, chest ripped open and lifeless face staring to the sky. At least one farmer was down, probably dead, and a vile scream from her right told her a second rape had begun.

            The mage was Scanran, draped and hatted in scraggly furs, and she saw him realise he was her target and skip a few paces to one side with a billow of brown magic. To her sight it was no more than spatter in a practice joust with open helms but she guessed that where he had stood a crude replica of him remained; her brain was crystal and he hadn’t moved far enough away as he gathered magic to hurl as she passed. Stretching out her glaive she let him think she was going for the illusion, pressed Peachblossom with her knee, waited and waited and at the last second, close enough to see satisfaction in his face, swung the glaive out and chopped down. At her speed the Yamani steel carved though his raised arm and most of his torso as he was hurled away in a spray of blood, magic vanishing. If he screamed she didn’t hear as Peachblossom whirled to face two tauroses, tiny eyes glinting above flat bull-faces and open, square-toothed mouths, straining pizzles pointing at her.

            She saw Crener and Varlan starting up the slope, lances lowered but horses labouring, the first of the tauroses to complete its rape bellowing exultation with its head to the sky and an unmoving form beneath, the second still hammering away, and the one that had killed the guard starting towards her and the closer two. Where was the seventh? Taruroses came singly, not in herds, and didn’t plan tactics past charge-and-rape or –gore but these were clearly co-operating, and the two closest began to spread out to flank her. Their numbers had to be reduced and she drew Griffin, shifting the blade to her left hand, and charged forward, holding her glaive down until she could bring it slicing up across the face of the one to her right, feeling the resistance of bone and horn up her arm. The gelding was wheeling and rearing under her and she clamped her knees as his forelegs flailed out to crack sickeningly into a tauros face. Silver erupted and it dropped like a stone but as Peachblossom came down he screamed and agony shot through her right thigh. Somewhere bone snapped and she was falling with the gelding, almost pulling her left leg clear as the saddle hit the ground, but not quite.

            Old Naruko hadn’t trained her for nothing and she still had hold of both Griffin and her glaive, but her left leg was pinned by Peachblossom’s struggling bulk and her right was on fire. The tauros she’d missed leapt over his withers, bellowing triumph, and raised one great hoof, pizzle swinging with the motion, before stamping back to hit Peachblossom’s head, snapping it forward and sending a wave of pain through her trapped leg as the gelding juddered and slumped into immobility. A great wail started in her mind as she swung the glaive to chop into the tauros’s upper arm, cutting into bunched muscle and spurting more silver, but the angle was bad and his other hand smashed the glaive away, tearing it from her grasp. Her right thigh bolted agony as she raised it to push at Peachblossom’s croup, dragging her leg from under his flank and something slammed into her face, filling her vision with blazing stars and dislodging her helmet.

            She felt hard hands grab her arms and toss her several feet, breath exploding as she landed and her sight dimming around stars. There were screams somewhere and a heavy thud, and another scream; she didn’t think it was her because she couldn’t draw breath and another blow to her face sent her mind spinning. Things wrenched at her and she was vaguely conscious of air on her skin before pain greater than she’d ever felt ripped into her breast and a white age later a greater agony still speared like fire into her stomach and spine. There was a vast rumbling noise roaring in her ears but somewhere she could feel her hand on Griffin’s hilt as something slammed her again and again amid waves of pain that burned away thought, and she struggled to pull the sword free. It moved and stuck, moved again and she had it, distant fingers curling around the grip as she tried to angle the blade she couldn’t see and fed everything she had into her arm as she pushed it upward. A blast of pure white pain and another noise that was more vibration than sound crumbled her consciousness and she slid into darkness with her last thoughts a terrible regret at how many people she’d failed and a fragmentary prayer for New Hope.

§

The space was grey void. Blinking what felt like sleep from her eyes Kel tried to look around but there was nothing to see. Memories jumbled in her head and she realised the tauros had killed her, but sick dismay was as much behind glass as the pain she knew she’d felt in dying. Everything was distant until a tall hooded figure stood looking at her.

            “Be easy, Protector. We hoped you might avoid this death also until Shakith said you might no longer do so.”

            When had that been? Kel wondered, but her thoughts seemed as suspended as the rest of her. Did the Black God hear them? His voice soughed wind through bare trees but she couldn’t see beneath his cowl.

            “By my brother’s command you must know the tauroses that assailed you were touched by Uusoae when she conspired with Ozorne, and with others of their kind were in service to King Maggur. It is an interference Mithros and the Goddess have decided they will not permit at this vortex in the timeway, though still they do not deal with Uusoae’s other remnants.”

            In a man Kel would have thought the winter-wind voice exasperated but the idea of the Black God having emotions was one she was glad to see drift away. It sounded as if she was to be sent back, and bleak dread of the pain she was sure would return rose against howling relief.

            “And they are busy elsewhere, as I should be. My daughter’s healing will be only of your life.”

            The pause seemed to last forever but Kel let herself drift in a comforting warmth, seeing the folds of the god’s robe moving slowly. Did he breathe in there? Or was it the air movement she sometimes thought she could feel on her skin. She tried to look down at herself but her head wouldn’t move and the god’s voice resumed.

            “I add one gift of my own giving, Protector, for the death of the necromancer and in the greatness of your soul.” He raised his hand and pulled back his hood. The face was young, aquiline, smooth-skinned yet infinitely weary, and the eyes bottomless pits of shadow shot with silver. Kel’s amazement was as far away as everything but the god. “Fear not for those you send to my judges, nor for yourself in sending them to me. When you shall come yourself before me none shall cry witness against you. And who dies in your service shall find their death their grace, and my mercy infinite. Prepare yourself now. My daughter comes.”

            A wizened hag appeared, black-eyepatched and grinning, lone tooth gleaming in a light Kel couldn’t see. By her side stood a hyena, tongue lolling, and that was as absurd as the cackle from her crooked lips.

            “I told Sakuyo he’d owe me before this was done. And His Spearness.”

            “Daughter, do your business.”

            “Spoilsport. All work and no play. This one needs some teasing.”

            Silver fire blazed and pain screamed in every inch of her body.

§

Sound cracked. A great weight was lifted and black bulk obscured her vision. She blinked. Her mind was clear, memories and emotions sealed behind glass. The weight had been a tauros body and the black bulk was Quenuresh, face creased with an emotion Kel couldn’t recognise.

            “Protector, you’re—” The spidren’s nostrils flared impossibly widely, pupils contracting to pinpoints. “Godwork. You reek of the Graveyard Hag and her father. They have sent you back.”

            It wasn’t a question but Kel nodded. “Only to you, I expect.” With an effort she pushed herself to one elbow. Her breastplate and cuirasses were gone, her clothing in tatters around her, her stomach and thighs thick with bright, congealing blood, red and silver mixed, but she couldn’t see or feel any of her own still flowing. Her leg stabbed fire and she ached all over but there was no feeling in her left breast, and a numbness in her belly; the breast looked oddly clean against the gore below and something was wrong but she couldn’t decide what and it was low on her list of priorities.

            “What happened?”

            “In the mortal realm? There were seven tauroses and a mage using cloaking spells. I sensed something amiss, and when the horn sounded came with all speed. To judge from what I see, you killed the mage and two tauroses before a third unhorsed you. One was killed by a guard, and three by the men who rode here with you.”

            “Who killed the one that … unhorsed me?”

            “You impaled it without killing it while it was … above you. I broke its neck just now.”

            Kel processed this, and saw the tauros’s head at an impossible angle. She remembered that crack of sound.

            “Thank you. Are Crener and Varlan alive?”

            “The men who rode with you? One killed one tauros but was thrown and died where he fell. The other killed two, but was thrown by the second. He is unconscious and injured, but alive.”

            “The farmers? There were six and two guards.”

            Nostrils flared as the spidren raised her body to swing her head back and forth. “One woman is alive. She hides beneath a dead man. The others are dead. Your soldiers will be here shortly, Protector; they near this hill even now. And your horse is alive, but mortally injured, I fear.”

            “Peachblossom?” A dozen things snapped in Kel’s mind. “Where?”

            Quenuresh shifted her body, legs reaching over Kel, and she could see Peachblossom’s unmoving back a few yards away. “He is stunned. Would you wish me to make the mercy stroke before he wakes?”

            “No, never.”

            She struggled to sit, feeling drying blood crinkle on her stomach, and grabbed at Quenuresh’s leg to pull herself up; pain stabbed her hand and the spidren hissed softly.

            “Protector, you are naked and covered in blood. Godwork or no, you need a healer.”

            “It can wait, but please cloak me if you can before the men get here. They won’t understand.” Thoughts reeled and burgeoned in her suddenly aching head. “And please don’t contradict anything I say. The injured are the priority, and I have to hold everything together.”

            Quenuresh’s eyes glittered for a long moment. “Very well, my Lady.”

            Something struck Kel about that but it too could wait. She took a step toward Peachblossom and stumbled as her right leg buckled. Pain lanced up her thigh and points prickled across her back as a solid bar stopped her falling and Quenuresh hissed again.

            “Spidrens are not designed for this. Wait.”

            The prickling on her back vanished and a moment later she felt her legs swept from under her, tipping her back until elastic bars caught her. She moved effortlessly towards Peachblossom and realised she was suspended in spidren webbing that Quenuresh held in her two front legs, scuttling forward on the rest. Gently Kel was deposited by Peachblossom’s head, and painfully manoeuvred until she could with an effort lift it onto her good thigh. Over his flank she could see one of his hind legs was broken, sharp-ended bone peeping white through skin.

            “Your men see only your head.” Quenuresh’s voice was very dry. “Perhaps you might reassure them.”

            Kel dragged her gaze from Peachblossom’s leg to see Sergeant Ersen and four men dismounting twenty yards away, swords drawn and faces grim. A trembling thunder of hoofbeats told her others were close behind and she worked her mouth to summon saliva.

            “Ersen! Over here.”

            He stopped, staring as his jaw dropped.

            “Lady Kel? You’re—”

            “I know. Tauros got most of my clothing before I got it. Quenuresh is cloaking me. Now, listen.” She gave in to her howling heart. “Send someone back to New Hope at the gallop. I want Zerhalm here now and I want Seaver or any mage available to activate the spellmirror to Mastiff and get the Wildmage here yesterday. Top priority. We need healers here soonest, with transport for two injured. And I need clothes, a robe, anything. Got it?”

            Ersen nodded, jaw flapping until he closed it with a gulp.

            “Then do it now.” Her voice cracked command, Ersen wheeled, shouting at someone, and she swung attention to the soldiers staring beside him. “Either Crener or Varlan’s unconscious somewhere, injured, and Quenuresh says there’s a woman hiding under a body. Find them, do all you can. Check the rest but I think they’re all dead. Go.”

            They went, calling to others, and Kel cradled Peachblossom’s head, not looking at his leg but crooning softly even while hoping he’d stay unconscious until Zerhalm could make it. A thought came to her and she looked up at Quenuresh.

            “While I was dead the Black God told me these tauroses had been touched by Uusoae. Can you tell me what that means?”

            The spidren blinked, forehead creasing. “That explains much. If the Queen of Chaos fed power to these immortals it would work against their nature, which is solitary and as dim in mind as they are strong in body. It must be what made them able to work together, with the mage you slew. It will also be why the Black God sent you back, for Uusoae’s agents may not slay mortals.”

            Kel thought about this, listening to the soldiers dealing with bodies, dead and from shouts alive, until Sergeant Ersen’s voice intruded. Focusing, she saw him a dozen feet away, sword sheathed but his face sheened with sweat and eyes as white as staring.           

            “Lady Kel. I can’t see but your head. Are you sure you’re alright?”

            She wasn’t, but apart from her leg she could feel no serious pain and her mind was clear; purged and sealed, anyway. “Yes, Ersen, I’m fine. Just indecent.” Command returned to her voice. “Report, please.”

            He swallowed, still staring. “We found the woman, my Lady, under her husband. She’s not wounded so far as I can tell but just stares. I don’t reckon she’s seeing anything.” He swallowed again. “Varlan’s alive. Arm and collar-bone bust and out cold, but Morri says he’ll live. Crener’s dead. Looks like he went over his lance and broke his neck. His horse is alright but we had to kill Varlan’s. The other refugees are dead and Wallan and Pevis. The men are gored and the women …”

            “I saw.”

            “Should we … your horse is a goner, my Lady. His leg’s—”

            “No. Where’s Zerhalm?”

            “On his way, my Lady. The Wildmage should’ve been sent for by now. Messenger reached New Hope and healers are half-way here.”

            “Right.” Her thoughts turned. “Do you have your notebook, Ersen?”

            He nodded, reaching to his beltpouch. “Who needs to know what?”

            “Lord Wyldon at Mastiff and General Vanget at Northwatch. The spellmirror will reach both. Tell them we’ve been attacked by seven tauroses under the control of a Scanran mage who was cloaking them. All are dead but we’ve lost three soldiers and five civilians. The tauroses were chaos-touched during the Immortals War and have been in Scanra until now. They fought with intelligence—ganged up with one or more in front so another could come in behind.” She heard his muttered curse. “There may be more the same, but I don’t know how many or where. The news must go to Masters Numair and Harailt urgently.”

            “Got it, my Lady, but beggin’ your pardon, how do you know where they came from and about their bein’ chaos-touched? I’ll be asked.”

            She made a snap decision though it wouldn’t hold up to scrutiny. “Quenuresh can smell the chaos on them. Get to it, Ersen.”

            He saluted and turned but then swung back.

            “What about you, my Lady? They’ll be wanting to know that too.”

            She looked through him, stroking Peachblossom. News of her death and return was not for a field report. “My leg’s bruised. I’ll be fine. Go.”

            He went and she found Quenuresh looking at her intently. The immortal’s voice was a murmur, pitched for Kel alone.

            “I can indeed smell the chaos now I know it’s there, but I did not know where or when they came by it, nor can I guess where they might have been since. This tale will not do.”

            “I know, but announcing the Black God told me at Lord Mithros’s command isn’t … sensible.”

            “Mortals make everything so complicated.” Quenuresh shook her head. “So Mithros was in this also.”

            “I didn’t see him. Just the Black God and an old woman with an eyepatch he said was his daughter.” Kel frowned. “There was a hyena.”

            The spidren nodded. “They are sacred to the Graveyard Hag and often accompany her.”

            “The god said Mithros commanded him to tell me about the tauroses, and because they were chaos-touched wouldn’t permit what he called interference.” Another memory unfurled. “Then he forgave me.”

            Quenuresh stared at her. “He did what?”

            “Forgave me.” She found the god’s words cleanly in her mind and repeated them. “His hood was back.”

            “You saw his face?” Shock hissed in Quenuresh’s whisper.

            “Yes. So young and sad.”

            “Acchh. Protector, that has not happened in an eon. Our lore says such forgiveness has been granted to a living mortal only thrice since the Godwars. Even after that ceremony of yours I am surprised. Weiryn and Sarra visit the Godborn whenever they can and the signs of the others I put down to your killing the necromancer, but this … this is of another order. Truly the world turns here.”

            Kel shrugged. Gods did what they did. Her grateful wonder was insulated with everything else and she could see Zerhalm pulling up his lathered horse and dismounting.

            “Over here, Zerhalm.”

            He approached, face white. “Lady Kel, you’re—”

            “Doesn’t matter. Peachblossom.” She swallowed. “His right hind.”

            Zerhalm knelt by the gelding, hissing. “My Lady, I can’t fix this. His hock and gaskin are both smashed. I’m sorry.”

            “Set it as best you can while he’s out. Daine’s coming.”

            His look was intent but he dropped to his knees and gingerly began to feel for the shape of the shattered bones. When he spoke his voice was neutral though his Scanran accent thickened.

            “Only your head is visible, my Lady. What’s happening?”

            “I know, Zerhalm. I’m alright. Tauros got my clothes but not me. Quenuresh is covering me until I can get decent.”

            “Are you injured?”

            “My leg’s bruised. Peachblossom got kicked in the head too.”

            Zerhalm glanced up at her, worry in his eyes. “I’ll look when this is done. But I can only line up these bones, Lady Kel. I can’t heal them.”

            He looked doubtful but went on easing bone fragments into place. A larger group arrived, Neal and Seaver among them. Dismounting, Neal ran towards her, stopping abruptly with his mouth falling open but she was so tired of explanations.

            “Neal, here please.” She eased her injured thigh out, gritting her teeth at the stabbing pain as he approached, face whitening when he saw Peachblossom’s leg.

            “Kel, I can’t see you below the neck. What happened?”

            “Kneel down and give me your hand. Tauros hit my thigh when it knocked Peachblossom over. I’m alright, but it tore my clothes off.”

            Hesitantly he knelt and reached his hand for her to take. Looking down she guided it to the purpled and banded swelling filling her thigh.

            “I can feel dried blood.”

            “Just a bad scratch, Neal. It’s the bruising that hurts.”

            “Gods, yes.” His face became remote and green fire spilled from his hands, dulling the pain. She sighed her relief. “The bruise is bone-deep but your femur’s not cracked. Even with healing you’ll be limping for a week. Wait.” His face returned to the present as he frowned. “There’s magic in you already, something very odd.”

            She leaned forward to rest her head on his shoulder as he worked, not caring that her invisible breast rested on the mail of his arm, and whispered to him. “Neal, the gods healed me. Don’t shout, but I think I died and was sent back.” He looked his startlement and she gripped his other shoulder. “No, I’m not mad. It happened, but I am not talking about it here. And the Black God did not send me back to die from my wounds anyway, so believe me, they are already healed.”

            “Mithros.” His free hand made the gods’ circle. “But they didn’t heal your thigh?”

            She managed a smile but it was just movement of her face. “I wasn’t dying from it, I suppose.”

            “Then what …”

            “Shh. It doesn’t matter now.” His eyes were haunted but her attention was on Zerhalm, pushing the last bone-fragment straight. “Can you look at his head?”

            “Ay, if I can get to it, Lady Kel.”

            She realised that to everyone else the gelding’s head was resting on thin air and eased it to the ground, blessing the relief Neal’s magic was affording her thigh. As she settled again he put both his hands on her together and green fire spilled into her more densely. Zerhalm crouched by Peachblossom’s head.

            “That’s as much as I can do now, Kel. It’ll need more later but you can probably stand. If there’s nothing else.” Neal’s gaze burned at her.

            “Nothing broken or bleeding, Neal. I meant what I said. Think about it.” Her glance took in soldiers rigging a horse-litter for Varlan, arm splinted and bound to his chest, and huddled around the blank woman; Jarna—the name came to Kel. The widow Jarna. Others were loading bodies into what should have been a hay wagon and more stood with Seaver, staring. A bundle dangled from his hand, reminding her that however invisible she was also naked but for the tatters of her shirt, and she caught his eye. “Is that clothes for me, Seaver?”

            He nodded, white-faced. “I grabbed a tunic and breeches, Kel. There’s some towels too. Do you want them now?”

            “Please.” She leaned on Neal to stand and slowly try her leg, sighing as it held. “Thanks, Neal. You’re a marvel.”

            “Hardly.” His voice was rough but he looked happier now she was upright. Reaching out she plucked the bundle from a surprised Seaver, realised he couldn’t see her arm, and looked an apology before turning to Quenuresh. “Can you shield me completely for a moment?”

            One  great leg moved slightly, and from the expressions on Neal’s and Seaver’s faces it was clear she and the bundle had vanished.

            “It’s alright, I’m still here.”

            “They cannot hear you.”

            “Oh.” She undid the knot and fished through the contents, then took out a towel.

            “Wait.” Quenuresh muttered something and abruptly the towel was damp in Kel’s hands.

            “Thank you.” She ripped off the shreds of clothing that remained and began wiping the worst of the dried blood from her stomach and thighs. Under her brows she glanced at the spidren, wondering why it didn’t bother her to be naked before the immortal, then looked more openly. “You’re actually very kind, aren’t you?”

            Quenuresh raised her eyebrows. “There are mortals who would tell you otherwise, if they could.”

            “I’m sure. That tauros, too, for which my thanks. But you didn’t have to do this for me.”

            “We have a treaty.”

            “No, I meant the towel. And the cloaking.”

            She hadn’t known a spidren’s smile could be gentle.

            “The gods will be watching and plainly believe you should be aided. It’s always worth attending to those they treat so. Or perhaps I find you worth loyalty, Protector, and kindness follows. The water spell is useful dealing with young spidrens. They are as prone to becoming sticky as all younglings.”

            A genuine smile lit Kel’s face for a moment but other emotions boiled in its wake and she went still, wrestling her Yamani mask into place. Quenuresh eyed her curiously.

            “You do that well. I am no healer but I have become a keen observer of mortals, and I think you will need to let emotion loose, soon. It is no shame, surely, after such a thing as you have borne today?”

            “Maybe not. But it has to wait.”

            She dried herself with a second towel and with relief pulled on breeches and shirt. The soiled cloths went into the bag, and seeing the blood-soaked remains of her old breeches and small clothes where she had lain scooped those up also. Bits of her armour lay scattered about, with the tauros’s body, but that didn’t matter now. She nodded to Quenuresh, watching her with another undecipherable expression, and felt the spell drop with a slight tingle.

            “Kel!” Neal caught her into a fierce hug but she couldn’t return it, and eased away from him.

            “I’m alright, Neal. Peachblossom isn’t.”

            Extracting herself she went back to the gelding, and knelt again by his head. Zerhalm’s expression was bleak.

            “I should try to wake him, Lady Kel. I’ve stopped his leg bleeding and healed his concussion as best I can, but he needs water. Ersen’s getting some.”

            She nodded, and took Peachblossom’s head back onto her lap.

            “Go ahead.”

            He spread his hands on poll and forehead, concentrating, and after a moment ears twitched, the muzzle moved slightly.

            “Come back now, boy. Come back.” She stroked him, heart bursting. His head moved again, then bucked in her hands as he whinnied. “Hold still boy! You’re hurt. Hold still!” Zerhalm’s hands pressed against him, glowing. “It’s alright, boy. I’m alright, but your rear hind’s a mess. Daine’s coming. Just hang on. Don’t move, you’ll make it worse. Shh now. It’s alright. We did well. The enemy’s all dead. Shh.”

            How much he understood she didn’t know but he quieted, letting her hold him and snorting softly, shuddering with pain until Zerhalm pulsed more magic into his head, and returned to his leg, holding it as still as he could. Ersen was waiting with a bucket and Kel inched forward, trying to raise Peachblossom’s shoulder enough for him to drink.

            “Let me, Protector.”

            Carefully positioning herself, Quenuresh shot web from her spinnerets onto her two foremost legs, making a rough cradle, and with an effort Kel lifted Peachblossom enough for her to slip it under his chest and withers. Bracing herself Quenuresh lifted smoothly, slowly, angling him forward so his head could reach into the bucket as Ersen held it for him. Eventually he seemed eased, and the spidren lowered him slowly back to rest his head on Kel’s lap again.

            Dusk was deepening and around her Kel was aware of men setting watchfires, carefully clearing ground and laying stones to stop anything else catching. Others dragged tauroses into a heap and piled wood lower on the hill to burn the body of the mage. The temperature was dropping and fires welcome. A blanket settled over her shoulders and Neal sat beside her, offering a waterbottle. She drank thirstily, feeling better at once. Seaver had another blanket to spread over Peachblossom—his own, she saw, which she’d left folded in his stall.

            Seaver gave a pale smile. “Tobe sent it. He’s worried sick.”

            He would be, of course, but there wasn’t anything she could do. She nodded thanks , watching him carefully tuck the blanket around the gelding’s barrel and cover his wounded leg while she leaned against Neal, hands stroking Peachblossom. Resisting the sleepiness of healing she let her mind drift until it was time for the gelding to drink again.

* * * * *

It was past midnight when Daine arrived. Kel had had more clothes fetched and as the hawk cried and circled down between the fires a soldier stood, holding them up, and took them a few yards into the trees before politely retreating. The hawk perched and glided down, and a few moments later Daine emerged from the trees, face drawn with worry.

            “Kel, I’m sorry to have taken so long. I was at Steadfast. Peachblossom’s hurt?”

            Mutely Kel pointed to the gelding’s leg as Seaver drew away the blanket and Daine’s eyes widened.

            “Odd’s bobs, what did that?”

            “Tauros. He was rearing and it charged him from behind. Can you …” She let her voice trail away before it could break.

            “I’ll try, but it’s bad, Kel.”

            Cross-legged, Daine laid hands on Peachblossom’s gaskin and her face became remote. To Kel’s surprise she could see copper fire spilling from Daine’s hands and winding around and through the torn skin from cannon to hip and she twitched. Quenuresh leant down, voice soft,

            “You see the wild magic? Do you see the great roil of it that is the Godborn or only that which spills from her?”

            Kel shook her head, still watching twining strands of fire being absorbed. Peachblossom trembled and she soothed him.

            “Then your vision is probably just a residue of the Hag’s healing. It may linger a while, but I would expect it to fade.”

            “Good.” She didn’t need any more strange sights.

            Quenuresh laughed softly. “You are learning. Yet it is beautiful.”

            It was, and Kel watched as more and more sank into Peachblossom’s leg until it glowed. Neal brought a roll and tea, fortunately the soldier’s kind, and she ate and drank gratefully. It was dawn when Daine straightened, wiping her forehead.

            “He’ll live, Kel, but he won’t fight or joust again. I’m sorry, but the bones weren’t just broken, they were smashed to bits. Zerhalm did a fine job or I’d have been too late to do anything. He should be able to walk and trot, but he’ll not be able to gallop or carry you in armour.”

            “So long as he lives, Daine. He’ll be happy at pasture, won’t you, boy? He’s earned that.” She looked at her friend, seeing how tired she looked and knew she’d pushed herself hard to get here, as well as pouring out magic. “Thank you. I … couldn’t bear losing him like this.”

            Daine smiled. “It’s alright, Kel. You never ask for yourself and he’s an old friend. He’s groggy but he can walk back if he goes carefully. And I’m afraid people are waiting to hear from both of us.”

            With Quenuresh’s help Peachblossom was helped up, whinnying softly as weight came on to his leg. The men standing round the fires watched with wonder, and scurried to gather gear when Kel nudged him into a walk. The spidren stayed with them to the foot of the slope where the big gelding could walk more easily, then made her farewell.

            “I must return to my kin. They will wonder why I have been so long.”

            “Of course.” Kel turned to her. “Is there anything you can tell me about that mage? You said you sensed his spells.”

            “Yes, when he moved out of the woods and cast them more widely.” She considered. “He was quite powerful, but I think his Gift was largely in concealment and illusion and I am armed against those. I did not recognise what you left of him and his power was not such that his name would have been spoken where I might hear it. I doubt he could have controlled those tauroses alone for long.”

            Kel frowned. “Define long?”

            “Weeks, maybe.”

            “Just a shepherd then. Not the master.”

            “Indeed. I will think on it.”

            “Thank you.” Kel hesitated but trusted her instincts. “You don’t have a hand I can shake, Quenuresh, and hugging you isn’t possible either. But …” She leaned forward and as she had seen Irnai do reached a hand to touch Quenuresh’s cheek, finding the skin soft, and let her arm drop. “Thank you for everything. I will tell the King that at its first hard test you have honoured our treaty in the fullest measure.”

            The spidren’s eyes gleamed. “To be surprised by a mortal twice in the same day at my age. Life around you is interesting, Protector.”

            She moved away, shadow huge in the early light, and Kel caught up with Peachblossom. The trip to New Hope was slow, but no-one said anything as she walked beside the horse who’d been everything to her. Who still was. Climbing the roadway at last, her leg aching fiercely and Peachblossom’s obviously as tender as a sore tooth, they were met by a charging Tobe, face crumpled with emotions that darkened as she and Daine gently told him of the gelding’s new limitations. Faces peered soberly at them as they passed the gatehouse, but Kel couldn’t deal with them now. She left Tobe to care for Peachblossom in the stables with a hug that threatened to break her control, and took simple reports from Morri and Fanche on Varlan, recovering but asleep, and Jarna, mute but physically unhurt, before asking Neal and Daine to come with her to the spellmirror. Reluctantly she included Brodhelm and Uinse, whose eyes were dark with sorrow for Crener.

            She put a hand on his arm. “He did well, Uinse, and Varlan very well. You were right to make me take them with me or I’d not be here. Wallan and Pevis died too, and Esner’s hurting. We’ll see to them all tomorrow. Now, come please. I’m only going to do this once, and it’s not to be repeated to anyone. You’ll see why.”

            Neal sealed the conference room with green fire before working the spellmirror to summon Vanget and Wyldon. When their concerned faces peered out, seemingly side by side, she cut short greetings and began a swift narration of why she’d been where, with whom, when the scream and choked-off horn call came. The combat sequence unreeled, and she emphasised the initial surprise of the attack, felling one guard, the other who’d done his best but been taken from behind, the tactical sense of the tauroses, and the mage with mud-brown magic, adding what Quenuresh had said about his power. Her rape she passed over by saying she’d been knocked out for an unknown period; emotion clawed and she knew the rigidity of her mask was scaring Neal and Daine.

            She took a deep breath. “I woke in a grey place I can’t describe. The Black God was there.” Word for word she told them what he’s said about the tauroses, but omitted his forgiveness and the Hag’s words, saying only she’d appeared and sent Kel back.

            “You died.” Vanget’s voice was very flat and Kel shrugged.

            “Apparently I’m not allowed to just yet. Or not from this cause.” She told him what Quenuresh had said about the rules binding Uusoae, and Daine abruptly nodded.

            “That’s right. She’s bound in starfire for starting the Immortals War, but if these were chaos creatures the gods would intervene. Uusoae’s rebellion roused Father Universe and Mother Flame.” Everyone stared at the Wildmage, who shrugged. “Numair and the King know the story. Ask them if you must, but what Quenuresh said makes sense.”

            Both commanders drummed fingers in such unison Kel almost smiled.

            “Very well, but I want Numair’s analysis as soon as possible.” Vanget growled something low in his throat. “Another cursed mage.”

            “And not the only one.” He stared at Kel. “The Black God said ‘others of their kind’ about the tauroses. I don’t know if that meant chaos-touched ones, but if Maggur’s keeping immortals of any kind to send at us in groups he’ll need more than one mage.”

            Daine nodded again, face bleak. “Yes. Ozorne needed lots.” She frowned. “But he had lots. Maggur doesn’t and he would need them. His giants volunteer, but no other immortals I know of.”

            There was a nasty silence until Wyldon, rubbing his brow with a drawn and set face, looked up. “Keladry, gods know I’m sorry to ask this, but is it at us? or was it at you? I really don’t like an attack on a remote group happening just when you were the nearest support, and not fully equipped or guarded.” He raised a hand, eyes dark. “I mean no criticism. You were being careful—two lancers as escort and men everywhere around, but it feels like a strike at you specifically. Closely observed and exactly timed. If the gods hadn’t intervened …”

            Kel’s mind became cold, turning this over. “Maybe. But I don’t think so. An assassin, yes, or a war party targeting me. But this? It doesn’t seem … I don’t know,  but it doesn’t feel right.”

            “He takes hostages and used a necromancer. Why not this?”

             She groped for a thought. “Taking hostages is honourless, Wyldon, but it’s direct. Obey or your child dies. Your wife or friend dies. And I don’t think he ever liked Blayce. Used him, surely, and wanted the killing devices, but it was Blayce who wanted the children to suffer, Maggur just looked away. Stenmun did his dirty work for him. And to plan this … I can’t see it.”

            “Well, I’ll take that under advisement.” Vanget’s voice had become brisk. “You’ve given us what matters, Lady Knight, and we’ll take it from here. You need to rest, and so does Daine.” His face darkened. “I’m sick and angry this happened, and very grateful you’re still with us, however it came about. And not just because you’re obviously at the heart of the gods’ attentions in this war, and we need you badly. You’ve lost people today and I know how that hurts, but the enemies are dead and you’re not.” He frowned. “Even if you were. Gods. Either way, go, sleep.”

            His half of the spellmirror blanked, and she looked at Wyldon.

            “He’s right. Gods all bless, Keladry.”

            “I think they already have, Wyldon.”

            Neal had a very odd expression but before he could start again on her need for healing or offer some vile tea she summoned strength for some crisp commander mode. Terse discussion arranged a temporary duty schedule with a white-faced Brodhelm and Uinse, and Kel reluctantly agreed burials could be delayed a day so Neal could try to get the mute widow in a state to attend her husband’s last journey. Then she sent them all on their ways, showing Daine to the nearest guest quarters, and finally made it to her own. The washroom and privy behind most doors beckoned and with water trickling into the basin and her face stifled in a towel she let herself go at impossible last.

            Eventually still she hauled herself up and stripped to sponge herself down properly. The cold water stung; or didn’t, and she looked at herself with dawning horror. Her left breast that had been so oddly clean was flesh only in part, its dome replaced by a blunt, smooth greyness that had no sensation. Oblong marks on the boundary with living skin traced the imprint of flat teeth and her mons was similarly scarred, grey, numb hairless lines reaching jaggedly across her inner thighs. She traced them, feeling nothing, realising they were from barbs on the tauros’s pizzle and that she had died from bloodloss. Her living flesh stung and there were little burns spotted around. The inner numbness was still there, and she knew the lines of damage must extend inside her, that Yuki’s question had been unalterably answered. Whatever kind words gods said and however they seemed to dance about her with cries of encouragement, this too had been taken from her, as if her stigmata as a female knight and lonely chastity were not to trusted and true incapacity were needed, her life made an empty vessel filled only with others’ service. Daine had told her to be careful what she prayed for and her half-meant thought about dedicating herself to the Goddess had been acted on by higher powers.

            My daughter’s healing will be only of your life.

            She lay, silent tears rolling into her pillow, arms by her sides. Sleep, when bone-tiredness finally claimed her, was as dreamless as stone.

Chapter Text

Chapter Seven — Explosions

October

The burials took place in bright sunshine and cold, still air, couples sharing a grave and soldiers side-by-side with farmers. The plots had been dug in a row next to the mass grave, beyond its edging of burned timbers, and as the first New Hope burials Kel could set her own precedents. Lacking any priest she led the ceremony, and at each grave had grieving kin and comrades speak of the lives that had been lived. The widow Jarna, sufficiently recovered in her wits to attend, could only sob, but six orphans recalled their parents’ care and gruffly emotional soldiers friends’ bravery and foibles. For Crener Kel spoke of his cheerful admission of the rams he’d rustled and lamb he’d eaten. When all had spoken who would, she named all eight dead not as refugees of Tirrsmont or convicts and soldiers of the realm but as men and women of New Hope, and invoked the Black God’s peace for them all, his words rising to her lips with a careful twist and silent prayer.

            “They died in our service and I pray they shall find their deaths their grace, and his mercy infinite. So mote it be.”

            “So mote it be.”

            To everyone’s surprise save hers chimes rang and wind soughed in stillness. People glanced at one another but she led them away without a word, only speaking again as they reached the picketed horses to send everyone briskly about their work. The children who’d come she saw back to New Hope herself with Neal, Seaver, and men of Crener’s, Varlan’s, Wallan’s, and Pevis’s squads.

            Olleric’s squad, who’d drawn the unenviable duty of burning the tauroses, reported in late afternoon, faces white. The job was done—mostly, for something had been at the corpses.

            “The heads was missin’, Lady Kel.”

            Kel blinked. Olleric was a sensible, experienced man. “Missing?”

            “Cut clean off, and gone. It looked like single blows.”

            “You’d need an axe or a good sword for that sort of thing.”

            “Or a steel wing, maybe. The bodies wasn’t messed with otherwise, but there was a stormwing smell to ’em.”

            What stormwings might want with tauros heads Kel couldn’t imagine and had no wish to try; nor could she summon pity for dead immortals and important matters beckoned, so she shoved the puzzle to the back of her mind, thanked Olleric, and dismissed his squad to the bathhouse.

            She had used the delay in the burials while Neal worked with Jarna to have quiet conversations with Varlan, getting his version of what had happened, and subsequently with Ersen, Brodhelm, Merric, Uinse, Jacut, Fanche, and Saefas. On the evening of the funerals she stood after the meal and ordered everyone to assemble on the green. The weather had begun to turn, fitful wind promising rain; coats were drawn tight, and Kel stood on a plinth she’d had the carpenters make by the flagpole. She hadn’t demanded immortals come but the basilisks and ogres were there.

            “This is going to sound cold, and I’m sorry for that, but it matters. You all know Crener, Wallan, and Pevis died, and Varlan and I didn’t.” She saw puzzled looks. “What you don’t know is that Varlan and I were wearing our griffin-bands, and those who died weren’t. They’d complained the feathers itched under their helmets, and either not sewn them in as ordered or taken them out again.”

            Heads dropped. She knew her voice was flat, the rebuke too blunt, but couldn’t find the mode; the lie about her survival was a sick feeling.

            “No, it’s not that simple. A griffin-band won’t save anyone from anything by itself. But yes, it is that simple. There was a mage spewing illusions that didn’t fool me or Varlan, but fooled our dead. And I noticed something else, because while I was indecent after the attack and cloaked by Quenuresh, men there weren’t looking at a naked woman—so I wonder how many of them had their griffin-bands on too.” She focused on the soldiers, her gaze raking them. Maybe some on the hill had had their bands on, but if so they weren’t saying. “It was in my standing orders. It still is, and they will be obeyed. Griffin-bands are added to weekly inspections, and anyone missing one is on latrines for a week. Any sentry or guard without one on duty anywhere is on latrines for a year.”

            She didn’t pause despite the shock in their faces.

            “Civilians, wear bands when you’re outside the walls.  There are plenty and more are being made. My stash of feathers is nearly gone but we should have more from the winter moult soon. Keep the bands with you, get used to wearing them. Children too, all ages. Sir Neal, Sir Merric, Sir Seaver, and the Company Eight mages will hold classes in the evenings, starting tomorrow, on how to deal with it if you can see reality and others are seeing illusion. I expect to see everyone there. New Hope will not lose one more life we needn’t lose.”

            She paused, breath steaming, seeing unease at her harsh voice.

            “We all know, most of us twice over, what it is to lose people to enemy mages doing something we didn’t expect. And that mage who hid the tauroses until they were only feet away won’t have been the only one King Maggot has. We’ll see more, and maybe they’ll kill more of us. But they won’t do it just because they can chuck some illusion at us.”

            Another breath, her mind and voice very cold.

            “And there’s one more thing. I hear there’s talk about Quenuresh being there but not helping, so know this, all of you. She came at a run as soon as she heard the horn. She killed the last tauros when it had me down. She knew Jarna was alive and guided soldiers to her. And she saved more than my life and modesty—she helped save Peachblossom, and if I hear one word slandering her courage or integrity I will make that person eat their lies whether it takes words or fists or steel.” She made one try at a better note to end on. “I know she’s frightening, and no beauty. But so am I, and she was true to her word in our need. To go on doubting her isn’t caution, but shame, and I won’t have it. That’s all.”

            She stepped down and walked away to her rooms accompanied only by an anxious Tobe, stealing sidelong glances. The soldiers had it coming, and not even Merric or Uinse, who knew what a vital difference a griffin-band could make, had enforced her order; nor Brodhelm, though he’d not make such a mistake again after their private meeting. But whether she had authority to order civilians to wear anything was debatable, and she’d carry that if it meant one fewer trip to Haven. But she knew she should have been able to handle it better, less abrasively, and regretted that as distantly as the warmth and ease she couldn’t summon. When she got to her room Tobe followed her in, face twisting.

            “Are you angry with me? I don’t always wear my band but I will, I promise.”

            This at least she could hope to do right and sat, enfolding him in her hug. The pressure against her side and unfeeling breast was a balm.

            “No, Tobe, I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with myself, really, for not having realised so many soldiers weren’t obeying my order. I wanted to shake them up so they wear them from now on, always, and no more forget than you’d leave Peachblossom or Hoshi all lathered to play.”

            “You sounded really hard and cold.” His voice was small against her shoulder. “I’ve never heard you like that.”

            “I’m sorry, Tobe. I … it was pretty hard on me, the other day. And then Peachblossom …” She bit her lip. “I know it’s hard on you too.”

            “He’s alright. I’ve rubbed him down every morning and evening, and Zerhalm sees him every few hours. He’s standing better on the leg now.”

            “That’s good.” She hadn’t known of Zerhalm’s continuing care and was filled with gratitude to the Scanran, “But he has to retire, you know? I won’t be able to ride him into battle again, or to joust. And I won’t be able to ride him at all in armour.” A thought she’d been holding off crystallised and she eased back, searching the boy’s face. “Actually, Tobe, you’re the person who should ride him, when he can walk more easily. Daine said we should give it at least two weeks, though.”

            The Wildmage had left the day after the attack for Northwatch, to explain more to Vanget about divine rules governing chaos creatures. She’d told Kel something of how she knew about them, leaving her friend bemused but with a vision of Kitten loudly scolding Lord Mithros that was a glowing coal of comfort amid the darkness in her head.

            “Me?” Tobe’s eyes were round.

            “You. No-one else can ride him anyway, and he’ll need more than pasture to be happy.” She tried to think it through. “I wonder … Going up and down the roadway’s not going to be easy for him, for a while. We could build a little stable in the corral for him. It’ll be too cold in winter, but he might get six weeks down there. Do you think he’d like that?”

            Tobe did, and when asked Peachblossom agreed it would be better than a stall with no view. He was subdued, perhaps from pain, but also at having let Kel down. She and Tobe spent a long time with her arms round the gelding’s neck and his around her waist, and a few days later, with demands of harvest slackening, she gave orders. Limestone blocks from the passageway to the lookout post made a snug building with room for three or four horses, and after petrifying the roof-shingles Amiir’aan (with help from St’aara) set warmth in a half-dozen blocks placed round the inside, a spell he could renew every few days. Thereafter the now slow and awkward gelding could usually be seen in the field outside the corral, exercising his leg with or without Tobe’s help and the encouragement of Jump or the sparrows. His continuing docility told Kel he was still in pain, and she quietly added to the gateguards’ duties each dawn and dusk the despatch of pairs—no-one went anywhere outside alone—to open and close the locking iron gate the smiths had made for the gap in the corral wall.

            Her speech had other repercussions, good and bad. Discipline tautened and her orders were obeyed, but the harshness she’d shown and the coldness she couldn’t keep from voice and manner because all her warmth was walled away, as untouchable as the pain behind glass, leached happiness from those around her. No-one bantered with her any more, and if the faces that obeyed lost no respect—quite the contrary—they no longer showed many smiles. They even tried to be openly warm to Quenuresh, when the spidren came to provide another batch of webbing and stayed to talk to St’aara and Kuriaju, but the best Kel could manage was grave thanks.

             She was worrying people, she knew, especially her friends, and Neal was getting harder to fend off, but gave her the wrong opening one night at evening meal when her silence led him to broach the subject with too many ears about even if she’d wanted to discuss it. She cut him off, seeing the hurt in his eyes, and when they’d finished eating took him outside to the kitchen garden while there was no-one to hear.

            “Neal, I know you mean well but if I won’t discuss it with you in private why ever would you think I’ll discuss it in the messhall?”

            He swallowed hurt and tried to be healerly. “Kel, you have to talk about it sometime. It’s killing you.”

            “No, Neal, it isn’t, any more. It killed me at the time. Now it’s just what I have to live with.” He jerked in shock. “And what would you like me to say anyway? That I got myself raped to death in an open field, and yes, it hurt more than anything in life ever did or could? That the Black God had his very odd daughter heal me and sent me back because the tauroses broke some divine rule, but not anyone else who died on their horns or pizzles, sorry, Jarna, I don’t know why? That I’ve new scars to add to my ugly collection? Neal, I am exactly as gods arranged for me to be, and so are our dead, and until I get the chance of dying again and getting it right second time, none of that’s going to change. So leave it, please. It’s just one more thing I can’t do.”

            He was white but held his ground, shaking slightly, though whether with grief or rage, and if so at whom or what, Kel couldn’t tell and found she didn’t much care; or couldn’t.

            “Kel, say every word of that’s true, though I don’t believe the gods wanted anyone dead or you crippled like this—and you are, as much as Peachblossom—I still tell you you have got to talk about it with someone. If not me, then Yuki, or Fanche.” He gestured helplessly. “Peliwin Archer, even. She knows what it means to be raped, by a man anyway. Or one of the gods, in private prayer, if no mortal will do. Kept inside you it’s poison, and it has to be drained. You agreed it was true for the children having nightmares after we got them back from Stenmun and Blayce. Why think it isn’t true for you?”

            “I’m not a child any more, it lasted for a few minutes, not days on end, and I was three-quarters unconscious before it even started. There’s no-one I want to talk to about it. Certainly not Peliwin, who wants only to forget her ordeal, and especially not any gods, who doubtless all saw it anyway. I’m sorry, Neal, but like Peachblossom I’m as healed as I’m ever likely to be.” Pain rolled within her. “I’m sorry it makes my temper uncertain. I’m trying to learn to live with the memories, but it’ll take me a while.”

            Neal looked entirely miserable but something flared in his eyes. “Kel, you don’t lose your temper at all. I’d welcome it if you did. So would almost everyone, I think—it’d be a sign you were feeling something. You say you’re sorry, Mithros knows what for, but you don’t sound sorry or angry or anything, just a long way away.”

            “A lot of me is, Neal. I think some of me didn’t make it back from the Peaceful Realms or wherever that greyness was. Or maybe it’s like the pain old soldiers say they feel in limbs they’ve lost, except what I’m missing is in my mind.” And inside my body. “Please, just leave it. There’s nothing you or anyone can do or say that’ll change anything.”

            She walked away and he subsequently obeyed her, though misery never left his eyes and the darkening of his joy with Yuki tore at her heart behind its glass. Prompted or on her own account, Yuki tried to get her to talk, but though Kel was gentler than with Neal she was equally adamant. Whatever the loving sex of a married couple might be it wasn’t related to what she’d experienced any more than Vinson’s lecherous brutality, and knowing Yuki desired to be with child Kel wouldn’t have spoken of such a topic to her even if she’d had anything to say. Fanche she also rebuffed, as politely as she could, turning the conversation instead to Jarna, who had at last had some account of what she’d seen coaxed from her by Fanche and Saefas.

            As Kel had suspected, the attack had come out of the blue—or mud-brown—with no-one aware enemies were near until the farmer closest to the woodeaves had been gored. Another tauros must have already been close to Wallan and gored him as he blew the horn, hurling him down the hill to land where Kel had seen him. How Jarna had survived she didn’t know, but she’d frozen in shock under her husband’s gutted corpse, drenched in his blood; Kel could only assume the tauros that killed him had been the one taken down by Pevis’s spear, and that she with poor Crener and Varlan had then been distraction enough. Grimly, she revised her standing orders with Brodhelm, Merric, and Uinse: parties working near woodeaves or dead ground would have spearmen looking outwards under griffin-bands, and there’d be more regular training in spearwork, sweeping with the leaf-blades as if they were glaives, not just stabbing and risking getting the point caught, as Pevis had. She made a note to get more glaives, which women among work parties could use more effectively, but that would take time.

            “Slings!” Merric sat up sharply. “Like goatherds use. There’s stones enough for everyone to have a few in their pockets, and a sling folds up small. Easy to make, too. But if you can stop a bear with a good slingshot, it ought to give even a tauros a headache if you hit it between the eyes.”

            “Are they that good?” Seaver was doubtful. “I’ve seen lads drive off a fox, but never a bear, and it ran from fright when they missed it.”

            “They can be, Seaver. There’s a boy at Hollyrose who can hit a mark every time at fifty yards, hard enough to gouge a treetrunk, and he doesn’t do badly at greater distances. He can hit the pond from a thousand feet, most times, when he really winds up. It’s about fifty foot across. I know that’s no use against a tauros—but a dozen stones dropping at five or eight hundred feet might do damage to a charging group, and at closer ranges it’s got to be better than nothing. At least it could buy time for people to run and reinforcements to come.”

            Kel felt some enthusiasm. “Good thinking. We’ll have sling classes.”

            The experiment during the next evening’s regular practice session, with a trio of goatherding lads among the refugees who claimed ability, attracted much attention and the speed at which stones flew, with fair accuracy over shorter ranges, was impressive enough to ensure plenty of volunteers to learn. Kel soon came to enjoy slingwork, liking the way you had to cock your wrist and when you got it right the sharp increase in accuracy that was possible as well as the odd purity of the notes amid the whirring noise before you released. When the best among them found themselves issued with spidren-web slings made by Quenuresh during her next visit, and discovered the elasticity of the webbing increased speed and power, competition to improve redoubled.

            It was a hazardous business and there were accidents—nasty gashes and bruises, a broken nose and cheekbone as well as some permanently dislodged teeth. Neal and Morri complained about needless traffic to the infirmary, and Kel put Connac in charge of training-ground discipline with dire threats of feeding to the pigs anyone who disagreed. One sow was sporting a bruised flank from the previous evening and her well-timed squeal of agreement brought general laughter that Kel joined in her own surprise. It was the first emotion she’d shared since the attack, and people noticed, offering smiles as they got back to whirling and shooting more carefully.

            That night Kel found herself woken by Tobe’s frantic shaking from a nightmare of memory, in which she wasn’t remotely unconscious and everything happened again, slowly and unstoppably. Her scream had brought him running to find her rigid in her bed, face transfigured with pain and bathed in sweat; her nightshirt was drenched. Stumbling to her privy she was vilely sick, and after she’d wiped herself down and donned a clean nightshirt with leggings for warmth it took her a long time to calm Tobe, trying to reassure him nightmares faded. She knew they weren’t Lord Gainel’s doing—the experiences needed no sending—but certainties crumbled when Tobe asked in a small voice if the Hag was like the Nothing Man, and at her shocked denial told her she’d been cursing the god’s daughter when he’d found her. After finally getting him to bed with hot milk and an equally disturbed Jump for company, she lit a fire and sat for a long time staring into the flames. Next day she went to see Neal, shutting the door to his office behind her and asking him to seal the room magically. When he had she sat and met his gaze.

            “You were right. I’m sorry. I’m having nightmares I can’t deal with, and it has to stop, for Tobe’s sake. I can’t talk to anyone here, Neal. I’m sorry. But I’ve thought of someone I could talk to, a woman who knows about gods and violence both, and me. Will you ask Lady Alanna if she can come? Or I’ll go to her at Frasrlund.”

            Neal smacked his head. “I’m an idiot, Kel. I should have thought of her.” He thought a moment. “I’m pretty sure she’s heading to Corus for Midwinter, so she’ll be leaving by full moon after Samhain, or before if snow starts. That’s five weeks. And we have to head south not much later, so I’ll ask her to ride south with us.”

            “That makes sense. I can hold on that long.”

            “Do you want something to make you sleep?”

            “No. They aren’t dreams, Neal—they’re memories. Waking up is my only refuge—they’re still in my head but awake I can push them away. To be held in sleep …” She shivered.

            “Alright. I didn’t think you’d accept. But something to hope for should help a bit.”

            It did, but not much. More useful was a visit to Lord Gainel’s shrine in the deepening cold of a night watch, after she’d struggled awake from under the tauros yet again. Over a cone of incense she whispered prayer that the Dream King let her wake as soon as memory began to claim her from sleep. There was no answer but as she crouched, letting her mind drift with swirls of breath, she felt comforted and thereafter did seem to wake more swiftly from her recurrent helplessness on the afternoon hillside. Broken sleep left her increasingly tired and having to watch the temper Neal said she never lost, but she got an astonishing amount of work done, and for the first time since coming north caught up with reading and letters owed her family.

            They were determinedly busy with minutiae of life at New Hope and the royal and divine visits. She did mention that they’d taken casualties from a Scanran raid in September, but said nothing of her own losses. She didn’t think her mother would be fooled by such evasion but at least she’d managed something normal, and her feelings for the fort—little town, really—she found herself running were genuine, however all emotions remained muted. When she managed a fairly cheerful letter to her always disapproving Seabeth-and-Seajen grandmother, about the dedication ceremonies and the pickling skills Yuki was teaching the cooks, and fell dreamlessly asleep at her desk for several hours one rainy evening over an absurd Gallan romance she’d borrowed from Neal, waking with a stiff neck and numb arm, she thought she’d started on a slow road back.

* * * * *

The ides of October were enlivened by three unexpected visits. The first, unwelcome one, the day before full moon, began when Kel was called from lunch by Sergeant Ersen, on gatehouse duty, because a small group of riders had paused on the stone bridge over the Greenwoods, pointing and gesticulating, before approaching the moatbridge. Standing under the lintel Kel focused her spyglass and Ersen saw her lips whiten.

            “You know them, Lady Kel?”

            “It’s Tirrsmont and his son.” Ersen hissed as Kel snapped the spyglass shut. “I don’t know what they want but unless they’ve orders from Lord Wyldon or General Vanget they’re not coming in. Send for Brodhelm and Uinse, please, and Fanche and Saefas.”

            “At once, my Lady.”

            They were assembled behind her outside the gate by the time the horsemen approached. A thin-faced man in a dirty chainmail byrnie with a Tirrsmont captain’s badge and leather leggings rode in front of his Lord, overweight as ever and wrapped in heavy furs; Sir Voelden, also bulging in armour, flanked his father, while a dozen men-at-arms rode behind them, haubergeons as ill-kept as their captain’s byrnie. Negotiating the sharp turn the captain looked up.

            “Make way for his Lordship, you fools. Clear the road now.”

            Kel didn’t budge and felt Brodhelm tense. “Not until I know his business, captain. And I suggest you learn manners fast.”

            His eyes bulged and she saw his legs tense to spur his horse forward but Tirrsmont barked and he awkwardly backed, seething resentment but letting the noble forward. The lord’s beaky nose didn’t match his bulging cheeks and chins, and he looked at her coldly over it.

            “You are the so-called Lady Knight Cavall was stupid enough to put in charge here?”

            Kel neither nodded nor bowed. “Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan, Commander. And you are?”

            His cheeks bulged. “Don’t be impertinent, girl. You know who I am.”

            “We have never met.”

            Sir Voelden brought his stallion up beside his father’s, sneering. “You know me well enough, wench. Stop this idiot charade and let us in. We’ve business to deal with.”

            Kel looked at him, Yamani mask tightly in place, and kept her voice level. “I know you, Voelden of Tirrsmont, for a man who fouled the field of honour with attempted murder.”

            He flushed. “It was an accident.”

            “Really? Swear that by gods’ oath and I’ll believe you.” His eyes dropped: it had been no accident and whoever swore a false gods’ oath, or broke one truly made, would find blood boiling in their veins. She felt like spitting but that was Quinden’s style. “This is your father?”

            “Of course it is.” Voelden’s voice was truculent.

            “So.” She looked at the older man. “What business do you claim here, Tirrsmont?”

            His face darkened at her lack of deference, but however his ancestors might be in the Book of Silver and hers only recently in the Book of Copper she was noble, and more importantly a knight commander to whom he’d shown no respect at all.

            “This is my land, Mindelan, and you and these shirkers you coddle are here on my sufferance. I’ll ha—”

            That was a claim she could not let stand for a moment. “By what right do you claim this land? Your boundary is the first ridge west of your castle.”

            “This valley has always been mine. I had men surveying here before the war started, and—”

            “It is not yours. This is an army fort under military jurisdiction, so I ask again, what is your business here?”

            He glared furiously, his voice tight. “It will be mine soon. You have men from Tirrsmont here. Miners. I require their labour. Order them to assemble. Their chits and brats can stay.”

            So that was it—his coffers must be feeling the drain of unmined silver as well as lost tithes from people he hadn’t bothered to defend and refused to succour. And knowing well what all the surviving Tirrsmonters in her care had to say about their former lord, she also knew what custom, law, and army regulations each said.

            “You are mistaken. All civilians here have been driven from their homes by the enemy and denied succour by their former lords. Liege-oaths, if ever sworn, are void.” Not that he’d have bothered with such formalities for commoners. “You have no claim on them, nor on this land. And if you desire army work parties to assist you elsewhere you must apply to my Lord of Cavall at Mastiff.”

            Tirrsmont had refused to take more refugees from his own or anyone’s lands. In any case the silver mines were closed with reason.

            “I’ve no time for that nonsense, Mindelan. They’re needed and they’re mine!” His voice rose. “I know what you’re about, you harlot, setting yourself up on my lands to whore with Cavall for a fief of your own. Well, you’ll not have what’s mine.”

            Kel’s head was spinning with his words. She could hear Brodhelm’s sharply drawn breath beside her and distant exclamations of anger, but her own voice stayed even though her gaze was hard.

            “Think what you like about me, Tirrsmont, though I’d be careful what you say of my Lord of Cavall. His lance is heavier than mine, and he does not suffer calumny idly. Nothing here is yours, neither land nor people, and you have no claim on any of it. Nor are you welcome here, prating of rights over people you abandoned.” His face was purple and Voelden’s the same, but Kel had had more than enough of parasitic lords. “Your request for labour is denied with cause. Your silver mines were closed last year because you would not protect them, by order of my Lord of Goldenlake, confirmed by General Vanget, and you have no authority to reopen them or detail miners. Seek it at Northwatch, if you will, but you’ll get short shrift.”

            While they’d been speaking Brodhelm’s and Uinse’s soldiers had filled the gate behind her; others reinforced alures and gatehouse roof, staring with hostile eyes. Opening his mouth to retort Tirrsmont became aware of them, eyes sweeping around and face tightening with rage. He stared at her for a long moment.

            “You will regret this, Mindelan. Your whoring is common knowledge and it is long past time you were put in your place.”

            “Your son said much the same before I knocked him off his horse and rested my blade on his nose. Now get you gone before I knock you from yours and do the same.”

            It wasn’t pretty or quiet but they did go, father and son jostling their men dangerously and clattering down the roadway as the slovenly troops recovered themselves and turned to follow. The captain shot Kel a furious look as derisory insults came from the alures, and Kel shouted for silence, voice cracking.

            “They’re not worth your thought, people, and time’s wasting. Back to work, now. The show’s over.”

            Turning, she saw worry in Fanche’s and Saefas’s eyes, and the sturdy woman she’d come to rely on put a hand anxiously on her arm.

            “Can he claim overlordship here, my Lady?”

            Kel shook her head. “Not unless his fief-grant is formally extended, and I don’t think that’ll be happening. Lord Wyldon and General Vanget would certainly oppose him while the war continues.”

            “And after?” Saefas’s mouth turned down.

            She shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t think any request of his would be looked on very kindly, though. The King’s no happier than Lord Wyldon with the way he’s behaved.”

            She left them muttering and went to her office to think. She hadn’t allowed sexual insults to bother her since her first page-year, before she’d even known what it was to think of a man with desire, and to her surprise discovered experience of rape hadn’t changed that. The irony of insistent accusations that she’d slept her way to knighthood and command when she’d finally lost her virginity only to fatal immortal force was bleak, and part of her hoped the Hag was entertained, but words Tirrsmont clearly thought deadly truths were just sour wind. But the accusation that she was acting to build a fief to claim for herself shook her badly. If she thought about it coldly New Hope was already the match of many fiefs, with more than seven hundred souls—though Brodhelm’s men belonged elsewhere—and a fortified position few even of the oldest and wealthiest could match. But to her it was a safehold for refugees, who planted and sweated to feed themselves not to tithe of their labour to anyone, let alone a man who’d abandoned them. When she spoke by spellmirror to Wyldon that evening, apologetically explaining what had happened, his expression became thunderous.

            “He said that I … that you … Gods, I’ll have his head if he says that to my face.” Abruptly he flushed as red as she’d ever seen him and wouldn’t look at her. “Keladry, I’m so sorry he should speak to you in such a manner after …”

            His voice trailed away and she contemplated him gravely, suddenly wondering how he was coping with his unshared knowledge of what had happened to her, and a determination rose in her that neither gods nor tauroses would take this friendship from her with everything else.

            “After I was raped by a beast? Wyldon, look at me.” Face still flushed he jerked up his head. “It’s of no account, truly.” And in itself it wasn’t, she realised, nightmares notwithstanding; what she grieved wasn’t involuntary chastity but wholeness, the woman who’d been able to think of dedicating herself to the goddess with a salt of self-mockery. “Would you hesitate to mention combat to a veteran who’d once been wounded? This is no different. Please don’t make it so.”

            He drew a breath, eyes gleaming as they came back to her. “As you wish, Keladry. You are worth a thousand of him.”

            “That’s not hard.” Her voice sounded normal but she could feel the flush his compliments always provoked. “In any case, I didn’t interrupt you because he was insulting. It’s what he said about New Hope as a fief, and the claims he tried to make. I checked the maps afterwards but I was right—his boundary’s two ridges east of here. What’s going on?”

            Wyldon sighed. “There’s been a lot of talk about New Hope. Inevitably. It’s an astonishing place, and you’ve done wonders with it, literally. The fact that it’s now the strongest fortification between Northwatch and Frasrlund is enough to have all sorts casting envious eyes, and the Crown Prince’s report on that dedication has put your name on everyone’s lips. Again. Sir Myles warned me last week that a number of younger sons have begun to agitate for it to be formally chartered and granted. I was going to tell you when you next reported, not that it’s an army matter. But I hadn’t anticipated Tirrsmont making a claim. I should have—he’s always been as greedy as he is uncaring of liegers.”

            Kel found herself furious. “How do I stop him? And these pewling sons, whoever they are? No-one’s just walking in and claiming my people.”

            His eyebrows rose at her tone but his voice was suddenly bland. “The easiest way by far, Keladry, would be to claim it yourself.” She felt blood drain from her face but he went on remorselessly. “You call them your people, as any commander might, and they are—all of them, not just the convict soldiers and Brodhelm’s men, but what, four hundred and odd souls. And ogres and basilisks. If you petition the Council, with their support as well as Vanget’s and mine, Goldenlake’s, the Lioness’s …”

            She stared. “I can’t do that!”

            “Why not? A year ago the Greenwoods valley was wilderness. Now it has a superb citadel and a thriving population, as well as the goodwill of eight gods. There is a case that it become a fief—keeping it a ‘refugee fort’ is absurd—and only one person who clearly deserves to be its overlord. Overlady, rather.”

            Mithros knew what colour her cheeks were by now. “But I wasn’t—”

            “Of course you weren’t. You’ve never sought any reward for yourself beyond the right to try for knighthood. But gods know you’ve succeeded magnificently in all you’ve attempted. This is a logical step, entirely traditional.” A smile ghosted onto his face. “It’s deeply appropriate, actually, and if the King didn’t leap at it I’d be very surprised. And the Council. The absence of any proper reward for you has been arousing comment, and those civilian purses the Prince gave out fuelled rather than dampened speculation.”

            “Wyldon, I cannot do such a thing. We’re in the middle of a war! Maybe New Hope should become a fief but this is no time to be playing for rank or money.”

            “Isn’t it? History disagrees, I think. But if that’s truly how you feel, ask the Council to put the question out of bounds until Maggur’s dead or vanquished and we have a proper treaty. It wouldn’t be as popular but I doubt they’d refuse your request.”

            Her mind whirled. “That I could do. I just don’t want Tirrsmont or anyone else bullying in here and sending people he’s abandoned once into further hazard so he can get fatter yet.”

            “Quite right.” His smile broadened. “Did you really tell him to get himself gone before you unhorsed him?”

            Her flush was back but she didn’t drop her eyes. “I’m afraid I did. It was Voelden sitting there—”

            “Oh I’m not objecting. He’d earned a mortal challenge, never mind a controlled retort. And I’ve told you before not to doubt your authority so much—even if he’d been courteous he’s so far outside his rights he hasn’t a leg to stand on.”

            “Thank you.” She swallowed. “Can you advise me about petitioning the Council?”

            “Of course.” He thought, rubbing his forehead. “Send His Grace of Naxen notice of intent at once, copying Vanget and me. And get depositions from your people—civilians—about how they came to be there, and whose lordship they would welcome.” He held up a hand as her mouth opened. “Yes, they’ll name you, but you needn’t say that, just enter the whole lot into evidence to show none will welcome anyone else. Get immortals’ testimonies too, if they’re willing—remind everyone that taking on New Hope means taking on Quenuresh under solemn treaty already honoured in blood. And let your parents know. They have wide connections these days. I’ll talk to Vanget, and Goldenlake.” He looked a query. “I gather the Lioness is coming to you before heading south?”

            “Yes. Neal arranged it. He … I need to talk to her, about … something the Black God said to me. Something personal.”

            “Of course.” He didn’t indulge his obvious curiosity at her mention of the god and she was unspeakably grateful for his courtesy. “I imagine there’s much you might wish to talk to her about, and Mithros knows she’s been wanting to see you since the summer. Frasrlund’s been quiet so she’ll be on her way soon, I’d think.”

            They parted with easier talk of what was happening along the front, minor skirmishes with small war parties and one more serious incursion to the east that Vanget’s companies had repelled. Kel went to bed with more on her mind than memories and for once slept well, waking early but refreshed. An hour of pattern dances left her feeling restored, and a cautious meeting with Fanche after breakfast set collection of testimonies rolling. The immortals she talked to herself, needing her Yamani mask when all said flatly they’d accept no-one else’s authority, Quenuresh adding that her treaty with the King specified residence in the Greenwoods valley under Kel’s command at New Hope.

            The second, equally unwelcome mid-month visitors were a Scanran raiding group, who started a fearful scramble for safety by a large firewood party, taking advantage of a sunny day to comb the increasingly bare woods of the southern end of the valley; but the raiders took so many casualties from the slings and arrows of the woodgatherers and their guards that they started retreating even before reinforcements arrived. Five Scanrans died, at least two from slingshots that unhorsed them as they charged, in return for one guard from Olleric’s squad—leaving everyone grimly pleased. That evening Kel gave generous praise all round and there was a better atmosphere than there’d been since before the tauros attack.

            The third visit, altogether more entertaining if equally alarming, began when a small body of armed riders clattered over the bridges and up the roadway at a canter. Kel was waiting, duty squad behind her and men thickening on the alures, but with surprised pleasure recognised Keiichi noh Daiomoru with another blade-faced Yamani she didn’t know and a squad of the Own as escort. Sending a soldier at the run for Yuki and Neal she welcomed them in proper Yamani mode, bowing with hands on thighs and leading them personally through the gatehouse where both spoke their names and declared goodwill; the blade-faced man called himself Takemahou and the name tugged at Kel’s memory. By the time their horses had been led to the stables and the Ownsmen consigned to Brodhelm’s care, Yuki was jogging up from the main level in one of the Tortallan dresses she wore in the kitchens, Neal behind her. Her eyes were bright as she saw her brother but when they took in the other Yamani they widened and she slowed; her bow was much deeper than Kel’s had been, in the mode to a great lord. Eyeing him warily Kel waited for Keiichi formally to introduce his companion.

            “Lady Knight Commander, Her Royal Highness Crown Princess Shinkokami told you, I believe, that my Imperial Master has expressed His interest in the manner of living with spidrens you are pioneering, and requests you permit an observer of your experiment?”

            “She did, Keiichi-sama, and it will be my honour to welcome any servant of His Imperial Majesty’s to New Hope.”

            “Allow me then to present to you Takemahou-sensei, who comes as I do on our Imperial Master’s command.”

            Sensei—the name clicked. Kel bowed again, matching Yuki. She had heard of this man: his magename meant ‘mountain magic’ and he had once—it was fervently told—persuaded a lavaflow to detour round a town. Numair said it must have been a very small lavaflow, but still. More to the point, he stood very high among Yamani mages and served the Emperor alone. Kel switched to Yamani in what she devoutly hoped was the right mode.

            “Takemahou-sensei, it is our honour that you visit us.”

            “On the contrary, Lady Knight, the honour is mine to come where Lord Sakuyo laughed. I have heard most remarkable tales of you and of New Hope from Keiichi-san and Her Royal Highness, and already I can see they were but shadows of the truth.”

            The excruciatingly polite ritual proceeded. Yuki was plainly embarrassed by her Tortallan dress and lacked a fan to hide her face but Kel introduced her ruthlessly with an equally flustered Neal, to Keiichi’s well-concealed amusement, and got the unexpected visitors first to guestrooms and then to lunch. The still glowing pillars and savour of the food provoked a spate of questions about divine blessings, with the whole business of the dedications. The mage was unfailingly polite, in Yamani and accented Tortallan, but like Numair wanted the oddest details. When he broached the topic of Lord Sakuyo’s laugh Kel had Neal and Yuki add their accounts, collared Seaver for his, and eventually, in desperation, hauled Takemahou off to see the shrines himself.

            After peering at each statue, lingering on Lord Sakuyo, the mage touched his fingers to his eyes, muttering. His yelp took everyone by surprise but Kel managed to catch him as he stumbled backwards, eyes watering before he could gasp cancellation of whatever he’d done to enhance his vision. She saw Neal and Seaver suppress laughs while Keiichi’s eyes brightened, but kept amusement out of her voice as she set him upright, enquiring blandly if something disturbed him.

            Eyes still streaming he drew himself up. “Blessed Keladry-sama, on the second plane these shrines blaze godlight, Lord Sakuyo’s most of all. I am honoured by his laugh, I think.” He murmured again, touching his eyes quickly and snapping them shut before opening them again and giving her a much deeper bow than at the gatehouse. “You too are awash with godlight, my Lady, as no mortal I have ever seen.”

            Given the state of her flesh Kel wasn’t surprised, though the high Yamani honorific had been unexpected, and she found herself liking the man—he might be mage-prickly and demanding but he learned fast and could laugh at himself. Inspired, she laid a hand gently on his arm and quoted one of Kumo’s verses spoken at Sakuyo’s great April festival.

            “Even thunder stills / to hear Him ease His lungs.” She stayed in Yamani, dropping into the mode of instruction. “Takemahou-sensei, we are all supplicants, commanding none but ourselves. That the gods’ purposes are greater than any understand is plain, and they attend us for their own reasons. But in so far as we are favoured it is in our desperation and need, not any imagined greatness. Please, walk freely among us today and ask as you will of what happened here. Tomorrow I will take you to meet Quenuresh.”

            Eyes glittering appreciation, as were Yuki’s and Keiichi’s, he bowed again and let her get back to her work, Neal and Yuki accompanying her and Keiichi catching them up on the green to clap her resoundingly on the shoulder.

            “Keladry-sensei, that was entirely splendid.”

            “I’m no sensei, Keiichi-sama.”

            “Oh but you are. Forgive contradiction, but besides becoming one of Sakuyo’s Blessed you have just dealt with a difficult man better than anyone I’ve ever seen save His Majesty. If that is not mastery, what is?”

            Kel gave him a straight look. “Lord Sakuyo’s favour, merely.”

            “No merely about it.”

            She’d never yet won an argument with Keiichi that she could remember, so after a brief discussion about the tokens of Blessedness he assured her would be sent as soon as may be, the sudden demand for so many having taken even His Imperial Majesty by surprise, she left him to his reunion with Yuki. The refugees to whom Master Takemahou (as he introduced himself in Tortallan) spoke during the afternoon seemed flattered that someone should come from Yaman to learn how they were doing something, and when Kel wore her kimonos that evening—in his honour and to make amends to Yuki for having presented her in a working dress—there was good cheer. It was the first finery Kel had worn since the attack, and though pulling on the undershift she’d looked sadly at her unfeeling breast it was a pleasure in a remote way to feel skirts swish, and know she looked as well as she ever did.

            The trip to see Quenuresh was interesting but not altogether hopeful. Takemahou, filmed in sweat, was extremely polite to the immortal, who listened carefully to his description of the problems on Wangetsushima and shook her head.

            “From what you say very young spidrens plague you, unlikely to listen to proposals of peace or be able to act on them. I am old among my kind, counting life in centuries, and long past the urgencies of first mating. Yet if there is an elder among them something might be done.” She suggested ways in which contact might be attempted, and taught him a spell to set on a message that should attract any spidren. “Use Old Thak for the messages—all of any maturity know it—and set one of these with them.” Extruding a dozen short lengths of web she touched them with forelegs, murmuring, and gave them to him. “If they have a mage of any degree it will be able to contact me—and should any do so, I will tell them how I have fared in Tortall. But—I intend no disrespect—I cannot assure them of your emperor’s good faith, for I have no experience of it. You will need to find a Protector of your own, and I doubt there can be two such mortals at one time.”

            Kel gave the spidren a glare that made her smile but Master Takemahou nodded gravely and assured Quenuresh the need for mutual good faith was understood.

            “We desire true peace, not a false lull. The Scanran raids on Wangetsushima have been bad in recent years also, and all there would welcome a lessened threat from the interior. Only”—he seemed hesitant —“may I ask, Quenuresh-sensei, what we might offer in trade? This cheese is no part of our diet in the Islands, and to many unclean.”

            Kel almost clapped a hand to her mouth. It was true that many Yamanis felt about cheese and all curdled milk much as most Tortallans felt about slivers of raw fish and strong sake pickles, but the problem that now presented hadn’t occurred to her. Quenuresh merely nodded.

            “Cheese is a luxury, not a necessity. Meat and milk should be enough, or land to hunt undisturbed. It is competition for mating rights and the need to feed large broods that drives our aggression towards mortals in this realm, and towards one another in the Divine Realms. If that is addressed, it should suffice.”

            “Will not increase in their numbers then create the same problem again? The islanders’ resources are not infinite.”

            “They may. But if peace can once be achieved, the older spidrens will control their own and allow the population to grow only slowly.”

            Riding back to New Hope Takemahou was effusive in his thanks and praise, and asked Kel if there were anything he could do for New Hope.

            “My Imperial Master would wish it, and I will be happy to do all I may.” His voice dropped. “Speaking as a mage, I count myself in your debt for killing Blayce. Necromancy is the vilest magical art.”

            Kel wondered how long she’d continue to be surprised by the repercussions of her Scanran adventure. “Thank you. Forgive ignorance, Takemahou-sensei, but while I know of course of your great feat with the lavaflow, I do not know what here might best suit your skills.”

            “I am a warmage—not in your Master Numair’s class, but not so far off. I diverted that lavaflow by blasting an overhang on the cliff above into its path, so it ran downhill another way.” He gave her what might have been a grin, but in his sharp face was more threat than relaxation. “One does not persuade a lavaflow to do anything politely, however the chroniclers may report it.”

            Pleased by his saturnine honesty and feeling ideas stir, she risked a return grin though her face was becoming unused to smiling. “I imagine not. But as a warmage far stronger than those here, there is something about which you might advise me.”

            Her plan for rockfalls above the trail had been defeated by practicality. If the piled rock were sufficient to inflict damage, and its support only a wooden cradle, timberwork had to be so massive neither Forist nor Anner were confident it could be blown with the mageblasts they could make. The basilisks could petrify a slighter construction to give it the necessary strength, but mageblasts then had almost no effect at all. Takemahou, though, saw no problem.

            “Certainly, Keladry-sama. I can make mageblasts far more powerful and augment them with a spell to direct force against a specific section of the cradles. Where did you have in mind to set these rockfalls?”

            Pulling up she pointed back along the trail, indicating several places, then across the valley to the end of the limestone cliffs, where broken crags ended close to flatland. It wouldn’t be as useful as ones above the trail, but if she ever faced a real siege part of the enemy’s encampment might be in its path.

            Takemahou nodded. “Good choices. And while your admirable moat means you would not desire any rockfall from the glacis, there is an overhang on the fin—there, do you see?—that might be mined to make it fall at command. It is well away from your walls but will offer shelter if the wind is south or west—the kind an enemy might take advantage of.”

            Kel’s grin was more genuine and the next days saw demonstration of a mageblast whose violent crack shattered a heavy spar, building and emplacement of cradles, and the astonishing sight of Master Takemahou climbing three hundred feet up the fin on spidren-web ropes to clamber about the overhang, planting a score of mageblasts in cracks and hollows along its sides and upper edge. He also helped with brute lifting power to put the first, large rocks in each cradle, and Kel was content: each rockfall could be built up over time, and she instituted a standing order that those going in their direction should take a sack of fist-sized stones from the spoil of the steadily lengthening tunnel to the lookout post, set ready in a pile at the side of the gatehouse. A trip on foot with a heavier sack became an excellent threatened punishment as well, supplementing latrine duty and armour scouring, though the children, eyeing her warily when she first made it, soon worked out that as extra guards would be needed if they were sent they were safe enough. In any case there was no difficulty seeing her order obeyed, and day by day she had the satisfaction of seeing another defence that did not rely on trained warriors or sheer numbers take menacing shape.

            Master Takemahou also proved himself when a cradle-building party was attacked by a small band of Scanrans, whirling from his work to rip a line of earth up into the faces of the riders, and following with a ball of yellow fire that burned two dismounted men out of existence. She had been standing watch herself, armed with godbow as well as sword and glaive, and another two Scanrans fell to her needlepoints, shots that elicited startled admiration. A fifth died from a slingshot that caught him square in the face, plucking him cleanly off his pony, and the rest retreated at speed back to the woods from which they’d emerged. In the excited cheer following sharp and successful action Kel saw the Yamani thanked and clapped on the back, and liked him all the more for the speed with which shock at such impropriety was hidden by a smile.

            He and Keiichi stayed a week, the last two days an indulgence of Yuki more than anything though the effects of the Green Lady’s blessing on Yamani dishes had something to do with it. But the Emperor was waiting, so despite driving rain she, Neal, and Yuki found themselves waving fond farewell one dawn. Keiichi had promised to investigate the possibility of shipping glaives from the Imperial Armoury, adding when Kel demurred at the cost that he thought the Emperor would be happy to make an outright gift to the citadel of Sakuyo’s Blessed. Alarmed at such threatened generosity Kel had written a long letter Keiichi was carrying to her parents, and as the Ownsmen were lost to sight in the rain she dragged Yuki off for glaive practice in an unused barracks she’d had cleared as a practice court. For an hour they did pattern dances, recalling with rueful humour routines old Naruko had taught them, but Yuki declined to spar and blushed when Kel raised an eyebrow.

            “I know I need the practice, Kel, but it has to wait. Until summer in fact.” She looked down, then added in a rush, “I’ve missed my courses. It’s a week now, and I’m usually so regular.”

            It took Kel a second to process before her heart soared. “You’re pregnant? Yuki, that’s wonderful.” She grasped her friend’s shoulders and hugged her. “I’m so happy for you. Neal must be over the moon. I can’t believe he’s kept it quiet.”

            “He doesn’t know yet.”

            “Why ever not?” Yuki looked down, something Kel couldn’t identify in her eyes. “Yuki, what is it?”

            “You’re not upset, Kel?”

            “Of course not. Why should I …” Her voice trailed away as she realised why Yuki might think she would be. She hadn’t realised her friend was late, although their cycles were similar and they recognised one another’s bad days, partly because she’d been so distant, but also because she’d had no courses since the attack, though not, she knew bitterly, for the same reason. A little calculation told her the child had been conceived close to the time she’d been attacked but she couldn’t not be glad for her friends, and if they’d celebrated their wholeness in that way it was no-one’s business but their own. “No, Yuki, not in the least. I’m delighted for you both.”

            Her friend looked miserable and anxious, tears filling her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Kel. I feel terrible. We had that conversation about Irnai and having children, and I just waved you goodbye … and when you came back you looked so awful and Neal was so upset and we … I didn’t have my charm on and we’d been going to wait for children until after the war …”

            “Hush, Yuki. It’s alright.” Kel folded her friend in another hug, cursing her woundedness for becoming such a burden on another. She might remain ignorant herself but she’d spent enough time with the Own to know men didn’t seek female company after surviving combat merely as a pleasure, and Neal had had to deal with a lot while she had sat absorbed in Peachblossom’s injury.

            “How can you not mind, Kel? It’s so unfair, and we … we …”

            “Hush, now.” Kel held Yuki while she cried but her own eyes were dry, her feelings more a growing anger without focus than sorrow. “I mind what happened to me, Yuki, but how can I mind the joy of my best and oldest friends? It’d be fair foolish, as Daine would say, eh? Here, dry those tears—you’re getting all blotchy.”

            She produced a spare handkerchief, thinking of the way Owen and the men of Dom’s squad had taken to calling her ‘Mother’; the irony wasn’t lost on her but getting Yuki presentable again and back to Neal was more important. She left them with Neal unsure if he wanted to hug Yuki three more times or just dance around, and already jabbering about many beneficial varieties of tea he would begin to brew at once. Shuddering, not altogether in mockery, Kel left them to their joy with a heart lighter for it but that night her sleep returned her once again to the hillside and Gainel—or her own searing fright and rage—did not wake her until the tauros’s flat teeth were closing on her breast. Jerking upright as its bull features dissolved into the darkness of her room she found her hand clamped on the blunt grey dome through her soaking nightshirt. At least godflesh or whatever it was didn’t bruise. The thought was black, and if the half-humour of it was oddly comforting it was a long, cold hour before she slept again.

* * * * *

There was still no sign of snow but a gale and a succession of blustery days driving drenching squalls accompanied sharp frosts. The last leaves fell from oaks and alders, and evergreens that thickened in the northern valley stood out, welcome patches of colour among bare wet branches. When the wind did drop at night fog pooled on the valley bottom, and Kel brought a reluctant Peachblossom back to the main stables.

            The prevailing winds in the valley, as across northern Tortall, were from west and north, and while the latter could blow wickedly up valley Kel had thought the fin would provide shelter from westerlies. It did cast a substantial rain-shadow but when the winds picked up strong eddies could whip across the green in any direction, dumping sodden leaves or clearing them. Lying awake during the gale, her shutters rattling, Kel could hear a threnody of thuttering moans and shriller notes as the wind explored stonework and gaps between buildings.

            With the break in the weather routine shifted. Fieldwork was reduced to bare maintenance, clearing windblown trash from winter crops and deepening the sough from the moat to the Greenwoods to prevent flooding as flow from the spring rose. Instead people set to work on giving more buildings piped water and remedying deficiencies driving rain exposed—adjusting gutters, improving drainage of kitchen garden and treeplots, and installing extra bolts to still rattling shutters. One window in the barracks Fanche slept in proved a magnet for drafts even heavy sacking could not deter, and in an inspired moment of rage one night she seized a length of old spidren webbing children had been using as a jump-rope and packed it into the most troublesome gap. It was still there in the morning and Fanche quietly found other pieces to pack all four sides of the window as well as the seam of the shutters—and thereafter wind stayed out. Available webbing was soon exhausted but Quenuresh, no more concerned with old webbing than griffins with moulted feathers, was happy to exchange large bundles for an additional round of cheese and the whole of New Hope was shortly much snugger. Brodhelm and one or two sergeants did shake heads at the peculiar appearance it gave barracks and headquarters, but weren’t about to refuse such an unexpected boon.

            Daily life on the main level became busier, many refugees working in barracks to make and mend, and when some stray bales of spun thread turned up with a convoy of supply wagons two looms were set up. Kel thought hard about a request to use the as yet unfilled barracks, but she’d reminded Vanget in her last report of his promise about a second regular company, and though he’d grumbled they’d soon be on their way. Instead she made a decision she’d been pondering and had the looms put in the cave system, directing everyone’s attention to the sheltered spaces that as yet only miners and children used regularly.

            The first major chamber had proven too damp for food storage, now organised in offshoot chambers and passages, but one of the larger volumes on the way from that chamber to the high-ceilinged one where basilisks, ogres, and miners continued to extend the spiral passageway proved ideal—level, dry, large enough to work in with ease and for people to gather but not so large basilisk-heated blocks didn’t warm it to snugness. Sacking curtains, whitewash on walls and floor, and some benches and chairs soon made it a place people sought out, and the axis of life shifted towards the interior spaces. The first chamber became a place to strip off wet or bulky outer clothing, its level side away from the pool a place for children to run and play when rain and cold made the green a misery. Kel had a chest-high fence built around the pool to prevent accidents, and one of the Hannaford stonemasons began carving the stalagmites into latticed lampholders. The slowly expanding line of lights warned of the pool and were reflected in its surface, while the delicacy of the work, admired by all, exerted a subtle pressure to keep children away when they were rushing about the drier side of the cave.

            The resident immortals were also pleased. They had long since made themselves living spaces in corners and adapted small offshoot caves to suit them, deep in the first chamber on the side towards the fin, and that area became known as Immortals’ Row, where others didn’t go without asking. But it had been a distinct existence from that of the barracks, and the increase in activity all around and cautious rise in the number and frequency of visitors began to map developing friendships and led to story-telling sessions that became a popular evening activity. Beings with centuries of experience had a lot of stories to tell, some hilarious, some entirely baffling; there were also shared experiences of displacement and building New Hope, and conversation discovered interests in common. The children found lessons altered to include basilisk lectures about kinds of rock and what sort of crevices weren’t safe to explore, and ogre observations (supplemented by miners) about how to excavate, shore, and brace.

            Kel was able to spend time with Tobe and Peachblossom, teaching her son pattern dances and comforting the fretful gelding. His leg was easier but the muscle might never be wholly restored—probably a good thing, given the weak, patched-up bones but a loss and indignity he resented. After grooming him and Hoshi extensively one evening she was putting Tobe to bed when he named the problem.

            “He’s bored, Ma, more than anything, and not just because he’s stuck in the stable so much. He’s the brightest horse I’ve ever known except Master Numair’s Spots and the Wildmage’s Cloud. They’d keep him happy because they’d be company. Hoshi’s very clever—she always knows what’s needed—but Peachblossom’s clever like a person.”

            Kel didn’t have to think twice to know he was right. Peachblossom had known Daine longer than Hoshi, and spent far more time at the Palace in her proximity as well as receiving doses of her magic when Kel had first acquired him, to teach him spoken commands and obviate the need for spurring. And while he’d seen little of her in the north before his injury, and Kel didn’t think the healing would have smartened him any more, he’d spent a great deal of the last seven months with Tobe, whose horse-magic wasn’t remotely in Daine’s league but would have kept the gelding on his toes and allowed conversation. Her mind raced and after a moment she hauled a surprised Tobe out of bed, wrapped him in a blanket, and carried him back to the stables.

            One very odd conversation via Tobe’s empathy later a deal was struck, and Peachblossom’s stall door pinned open. A flat wooden block on the sliding latch of the stable doors put it within his capacity and Kel gave him the run of the main level, shelf, and terrace while he agreed to walk only, not to bite unless very provoked, and to stale only in straw laid down by the livestock pens. When Neal discovered next day that his equine nemesis was free to wander at will he was so appalled he could barely speak—but that was succeeded by an impassioned recitation of near-fatal injuries he had suffered at the hands—hooves—teeth—of the most savage piece of horseflesh between Vassa and Olorun, the further south being excluded only because he hadn’t seen enough of their horses to know if some unimaginably ghastly southern brute might be worse. Knowing Neal had some justification and seeing his performance entrancing Tobe and a growing number of children and adults, Kel left him to it. The big gelding soon became a familiar sight on the main level, accompanied by Jump or the sparrows. His pleasure in exercise and variety was a relief to Kel and he began to make himself useful, making night rounds of the shelf, keeping sentries silent company from below and clopping a hoof warningly or sending Jump to growl at closer quarters if he found them less attentive to duty than he thought proper. Besides amusing him this gave him a renewed sense of purpose, annealing lingering guilt at failing Kel in battle, and the improvement in his deeper spirit was a balm to her own.

            She was also pleased, though with more mixed feelings, to learn from a despatch carried by couriers via Steadfast that an attack by wolfships on Mindelan had been more-or-less foiled. Three had come charging in one grey dawn but the naval ships had not been caught napping, and while both had taken casualties and damage, the wolfships had fared far worse, two sunk and one limping away with fewer oarsmen than it needed and boldly carved prow blasted away by a royal warmage. Whether the attack had been planned as retribution for Kel’s killing of Blayce and Stenmun no-one was sure—there had been sporadic attacks along the coast throughout late summer and autumn—but her mulling was interrupted by a white-faced Neal, who’d received letters in the same batch. He dropped into the chair in front of her desk, meeting her eyes.

            “Dom’s been hurt. A Scanran axeman he thought he’d killed and stepped over got his leg and he’s lost what father calls a lot of muscle.”

            Kel’s heart had stopped as Neal spoke, or so it seemed, but the fresh sorrow was still behind the glass in her mind. She found herself aware Neal had never known of her feelings, any more than Dom, and the genuine shock and worry she was showing seemed an act that hid her true yet muted distress. Self-dislike burned her.

            “Oh Mithros. Poor Dom. How bad is it, Neal?”

            “It could have been fatal but they got him to the healers in time to save life and leg. But he’s like Peachblossom, Kel. He won’t fight again.”

            “He’s leaving the Own?”

            “He has to, Kel. Gods.”

            “What will he do? Do you know?”

            “I don’t think anyone does, but he’s going back to Masbolle.” Neal rubbed wet eyes. “Curse it. He loved the Own and never wanted to work at the fief. Now he’ll have to, I suppose.”

            “His leg won’t recover? Muscle regrows, surely?

            “Not when you’re missing a great collop of it. I’ve seen axe-wounds like that. They always leave weakness. Hurt like anything, too, until the skin regrows, and even then. Gods.”

            The news brought commiserations from many, remembering Dom’s vital part in their rescue and that it was his squad who’d made Kel’s Haven command flag, still in use at New Hope.  After consultation a letter of condolence and warm wishes for recovery was written by Idrius Valestone in his best hand and signed on a succession of sheets by all surviving Havenites, adults and children alike. To Kel’s quiet satisfaction all could now write their names, and the parents their children’s, so even toddlers found their fingers inked and touched to paper. Baby Haven, her mark. Adding her own note of commiseration in friendship, with an invitation to visit as soon as he could and small gifts—a book from Neal, a pot of sweet pickle Yuki made, and some sketches of New Hope by a Goatstrack woman with a fair hand—Kel sent the letter to Mastiff for forwarding to Masbolle.

            How Kel actually felt was a mystery to her. In one way she didn’t think her feelings had changed—were she to dream of any man, or in waking life imagine what it would be to be held and touched by one, it would be Dom; but she hadn’t done either since the attack, and didn’t suppose she would again. If any sexuality had been left her after losing the physical capacity it was behind glass with her pain and rage. Sometimes she wasn’t even sure she missed desire, distracting and embarrassing as it had often seemed, but when she pissed or bathed and felt numb godflesh where once there had been rich sensation she knew Neal had been right. She and Peachblossom had been crippled together.

            Any temptation to brood was displaced by a new mystery, or the solution to an older one. One frosty dawn, after a night during which the guards reported odd noises, Kel looked disbelievingly down the roadway through her spyglass and with half-a-dozen men trotted down to a bumpy white mound beyond the moatbridge. Arriving she found she hadn’t been mistaken: piled neatly were seven tauros skulls looking as if they’d been boiled. Horns grew from bone plugs and were still attached, as were flat teeth; empty eye sockets stared in all directions.

            Wary of traps Kel summoned Forist and Anner as well as Neal and Seaver to probe magically for spells or cruder dangers, but none could sense anything but bone, horn, and ivory. Eventually a baffled Kel had the pile carefully picked apart, and the skulls put into the little space between gatehouse and fin, with the ready bags of rocks for cradles. Were the skulls a cruel stormwing joke or an incomprehensible compliment? Neal dryly suggested it might be stormwing art, until Seaver contended that in that case it should be a known behaviour, which it certainly wasn’t; how often did the steel-winged immortals play with other immortals’ corpses? No-one could remember an instance of defiled spidren, hurrok, or giant corpses, but most were burned by whoever killed them. Even immortals weren’t sure what to make of it, Var’istaan and Kuriaju denying knowledge of the stormwing eyries near the Dragonlands, never having been to that part of the Divine Realms. Recalling Daine’s stories about a stormwing who’d died in the Immortals War, Kel resolved to ask Quenuresh at their next meeting.

            The spidren also professed herself baffled, but speculated that the tauroses having been chaos-touched might be relevant—a notion that had occurred to Kel but she couldn’t say aloud at New Hope. After sniffing closely, turning skulls in her foremost legs to peer into cavities, Quenuresh did have a firm suggestion as to what Kel should do.

            “For whatever reason, Keladry, they are given as a gift, and it would be wise to honour it. They can serve a practical use that may prove more. If you can bear it—and you should—set them along the roadway, at the top, where they may glare warning to respect New Hope, as the Scanran battle standards on your outer walls do.”

            Kel suspected Quenuresh was holding something back but she said only that such skull warnings were an ancient practice, and at any great crossroads in time such as they were living through echoes of history were not to be scorned. Kel was reluctant, viscerally so, not wanting to be reminded daily—with their broad bony foreheads, flat noses, teeth, and horns the skulls were not much different except in colour from the living tauros she still met most nights. But she had come to think Quenuresh wise as well as kind, so despite her distaste she spent a long hour sitting and looking at them, morbidly wondering which one had raped and killed her and which horn had gored whom.  Finding a decision no closer she found Jarna, embroidering in the warm loom-cave, and taking her aside quietly asked what she thought. To her surprise, after a trembling moment the fierce answer supported Quenuresh: let the murdering beasts’ bones be set there, seen to be punished as fully as any living thing could be. Though taken aback Kel thought ignoring mortal rage and immortal advice was not sensible for any commander; so the masons set to work, and soon seven skulls stared menacingly down at the roadway immediately below the turn.

            When Uinse’s men on gate duty promptly named them, in descending order, Chargy, Bargy, Horny, Toothy, Dimwit, Flatnose, and Pizzle she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry, and did neither. Her defensively dry observation that Pizzle seemed odd man out got a shocked laugh from the men, as if she shouldn’t be able to say the word, and she retreated wondering how on earth she’d explain it to Wyldon when he next visited and how soon the tale would reach him. She’d have to put it in her next report; and a moment later realised her report was due, for next day was last of the month. Cursing she set about the inventory.

Chapter Text

Chapter Eight — Devotions

November

Yuki’s pregnancy changed the travel plans. She began to experience morning sickness, and though one of Neal’s inevitable teas helped alleviate it he became concerned about the ride to Corus and changes in diet it would involve. Her protests that she would be fine were not, Kel thought, as forceful as they might have been, and diminished as the weather continued wet. Neal was torn between wanting his multiplying Yamani rose secure in Corus and not wanting her to risk the journey, contemplating with equal discontent leaving her alone at New Hope in winter or behind in Corus when he had to return north. Despite the loss of personal support Kel offered him leave to remain in Corus until June—but Yuki was having none of that and suggested she and Neal should both remain at New Hope. He was willing but would have to seek the King’s leave to ignore the summons Kel and all the knights had received, which she didn’t think would be forthcoming—but was wrong. Relaying His Majesty’s approval and congratulations Wyldon smiled at her.

            “It’s you he and the Council want to see, Keladry.” Kel scowled and Wyldon waved a hand. “The others were included in a fit of Palace thoroughness, but while I’m sure they’d have interesting accounts to give they can only supplement yours, especially where the gods are concerned. Queenscove’s request is reasonable and no-one wants to drag a healer away from his wife’s first pregnancy.”

            “Mmm. I’m concerned about their being snowed in here, though.”

            Wyldon shrugged. “Lady Yukimi couldn’t have a better healer on hand in Corus except Duke Baird, and he’ll be back here in spring. Northern cold aside, I don’t see she’s any worse off. In any case the King says they can stay if they want. And I don’t suppose you mind your people having a first-rate healer during the winter.”

            That was true, especially as there were pregnancies more advanced than Yuki’s. New Hope should add several souls before she could hope to be back, and while there was a hedgewitch among the refugees, healer Morri didn’t have much experience of delivery—an issue that bothered Kel though she hadn’t wanted to broach the topic of childbed mishap in Yuki’s presence.

            “Alright, I’ll tell them. Is there anything else?”

            “A couple of things.” He flipped papers, extracting some. “Your last report was another of what Vanget has taken to calling your ‘eyebrow-lifters’—not unreasonably.” His mouth quirked but his eyes were dark. “Did you have to include the nicknames the soldiers gave those skulls? Vanget’s laughter was immoderate but he’s as puzzled as we all are. There’s no doubt it was stormwings?”

            “It wasn’t anyone here, Wyldon. Those skulls were boiled clean and no-one here did that, or placed them where we found them.”

            “Fair enough. I suppose it’s just that a soldiers’ joke would be easier than this … mystery.” He rubbed his brow. “You said a stormwing apologised to you about their desecration of Haven. Have you tried asking one what in the mortal realms they think they’re doing?”

            “There’ve been none to be seen so I’ve not had the chance, but if I get it I surely will. I wanted to ask Daine as well—she’s the only person I know who’s ever said she had a stormwing friend.”

            “Oh, during the Immortals War. I do remember her distress when she returned from Port Legann.”

            “Rikash Moonsword.”

            “That’s the one. An odd name for such a creature.”

            “An odd stormwing, I think. Daine said she once dined with him at her parents’ house in the Divine Realms, on the same occasion that Numair met Lord Gainel, as well as the Badger and an animal god I didn’t understand at all, a … duckmole, she said, called Broadfoot.”

            Wyldon sighed. “I saw him very briefly during the Immortals War when that enormous dragon brought her and Numair to Corus—some sort of beaver, so far as I could tell. With a beak. The dragon wanted to talk to him and Daine said he’d been stopping Malady from attacking us. I never did understand what she meant.”

            Kel didn’t understand either. “Sounds like a good thing.”

            “Indeed. I’ll ask about the skulls when I can—she was here last week and may be again next. She flew over Rathhausak ten days ago, by the way, and said nothing had been done to fix the castle. It’s a shell.”

            “Huh. No-one to care, I suppose. The Scanran refugees say Maggur hadn’t visited since he installed Blayce, five years back, and the village is deserted.” She shrugged again, thinking how rotten a man and ruler the Scanran was, whatever his strengths; she might have reservations about King Jonathan but there was no comparison. “His business. Do you want me to remove the skulls? I’m not sure I like them but my people do.”

            “No, no. Gods know I’d understand if you’d just destroyed them but they were given to you, whatever the reason, and Quenuresh is correct it’s an ancient practice to display defeated enemies in that way. Haztor of Pearlmouth records it.”

            Kel considered. “I think Quenuresh meant ancient in her terms, Wyldon. I once heard her say something had happened ‘only thrice since the Godwars’ and Neal says no-one has the slightest idea when those were except that it was at least ten thousand years ago.”

            “Mithros!” Curiosity overcame him for once. “What had happened only three times in all that span?”

            “Oh … what the Black God did.” Conscience squirmed. “Something he said, actually.” Wyldon raised his eyebrows. “I saw his face.”

            His eyebrows snapped down. “You didn’t say that before.”

            “No, it’s … very personal.” She took refuge. “I’ll be talking to Lady Alanna about it. I’m sorry not to say, but …”

            “No, no. Gods are personal, I understand that, especially a meeting with that one.” Obviously concerned he didn’t probe. ”On another matter, then, how’s that horse of yours?”

            That news she hadn’t included in her report and explained how Peachblossom fared, adding with a straight face that he’d taken to inspecting the nightwatch and garnering a laugh that pleased her.

            “That sounds splendid. The sentries must be quaking.”

            “More or less. But they say he keeps them company, as Jump and other dogs do.” She smiled wistfully. “He checks in at the gatehouse regularly. That they keep apples there has nothing to do with it.”

            “Naturally. Still, I’d like to see him doing rounds.” Wyldon seemed to reach a decision. “I shan’t be able to do so for a while—I doubt I’ll get over to you again before the snows—but Owen’ll be along next week.”

            “Really? It’ll be nice to see him, but what warrants a trip?”

            “He’s fretting about his Ordeal and a trip in charge of some escort squads and a mailbag will occupy him nicely. By the time he’s gets back we’ll need to be leaving for Corus. And that reminds me—I’ve been meaning to ask you if you’d be willing to instruct him with me.”

            She managed not to exclaim. “Of course, Wyldon. I’m honoured you’d ask me.” She’d forgotten Owen was due to undergo his Ordeal of Knighthood this Midwinter; it seemed odd that it was less than a year since her own, odder still that she’d be instructing another, but the gift of the offer was intensely pleasing.

            “Excellent. I couldn’t find a better knight for the job and Owen will agree.” He smiled warmly. “He is in a bit of a fidget about it all, though. Understandably, but he does have such a lot of energy to fidget with. The trip’s as much to save me strangling him as to give him something to do, even if only guarding a mailbag.”

            She thought of an antsy Owen and grinned. “He’ll be fine. Anything in that mailbag to concern me?”

            “Not that I know of.” There was a blandness in his voice Kel mistrusted and he raised hands at her look. “Truly, Keladry. The escort is because there’ll be a commander’s purse—I realised you’ve never been issued one and you should have something on hand, if only for occasional food purchases when opportunity knocks.”

            “Oh.” She frowned. “Not many of those except from the Vassa fishermen, sometimes, and they’re happy to barter.”

            “Even so. I bet you’re personally out-of-pocket by now,”

            “Well …” She had paid for fish, and furs to persuade woodmen who survived in the hills between New Hope and Tirrsmont to report Scanran movements and send warning even if meant abandoning traplines.

            “Exactly. I shall expect your first indent to be for reimbursement.”

            “It doesn’t matter, Wyldon, Lalasa insists on tithing to me from her dress-shop so I’ve more money than I can use already. And I won quite a bit jousting during the Progress.”

            “You hang on to it.” The blandness intensified. “Army regulations say a commander should have an official fund, and so you shall.”

            With that she had to be content, waiting for Owen with niggling curiosity. He was preceded by other messengers—a squad accompanying Duke Baird in surprising person, on his way to Corus, and two days later one carrying an urgent letter for Seaver. Baird had been strictly charged by his wife—or rather, an expectant grandmother suffering acute yips—with thrilled approbation and a long, long list of advice for Yuki, most of which Baird sensibly ignored. He was concerned to see her, and did, with delighted pleasure of his own as an expectant grandfather; watching him beaming Kel realised he and the Duchess must have waited for this moment for a long time, since the deaths without issue of their elder sons during the Immortals War. Baird was also deeply curious about New Hope and gratifyingly staggered by its reality, expressing unqualified admiration as Kel gave her ever-expanding tour and lingering a day longer than intended to meet Quenuresh, with a set face but impeccable courtesy. The delay meant he was still there when the letter for Seaver arrived, telling him in his mother’s trembling hand that his eldest brother, Lord of Tasride since the untimely death of his father, had died of a cruel fever that carried off a score of people in the fief. As the youngest of three sons Seaver did not stand to inherit and his brother had left a young heir, but his presence was urgently requested and after granting immediate leave Kel waved him sadly off within the hour, Baird and his escort in hasty tow.

            For the next few days Kel couldn’t help remembering being told years before, in the Islands, of the letter informing her parents that Anders had been crippled—just like poor Dom and Peachblossom. She had never, thank Mithros, had notification of a death herself and prayed it would stay that way for a long time. It had been a worry whenever her parents had gone to Yaman, with all the hazards of shipwreck and piracy on the Emerald Sea, and when she’d known Inness was in action on this border, but the tiring business of daily life as page and squire had kept it largely out of her mind. A commander’s work could do that too, she found, though with winter routines keeping fieldwork to a minimum and reducing patrols in number and range the demands of action and paperwork were slackening, so she threw herself into weapons training with gusto. Jump and the sparrows had a backlog of neglect made up, and when it turned out that neither all the Scanrans nor the newer convict soldiers were adequately familiar with the various signals used by sparrows, dogs, and the marmalade cat who lived with Fanche and Saefas she spent several mornings rectifying the deficiency.

            The arrival of Northwatch Company Fourteen under Mikal of Holtwood was thus doubly welcome, and she watched them marching crisply up valley one happily dry morning with satisfaction. They brought a wagon-train of personal gear and additional food, on which the cooks fell with interest while—after a long, interesting process of naming and declaring under the lintel—an empty barracks filled with men unpacking and stashing spare uniforms and what few personal items each had. Mikal she’d never met but Brodhelm spoke well of him and he seemed competent and pleasant—a swarthy man with a welcome glint of humour and a no-nonsense manner. With many interested onlookers she formed the arrivals up on the green with offduty squads from Brodhelm’s and Uinse’s companies, introduced herself, her knights, captains, civilian leaders, and resident immortals, explained about Quenuresh and the griffins, went carefully through standing orders with flat-voiced emphases, and paired every new man with one of Brodhelm’s or Uinse’s. The sponsors had the duty of showing their charges around and making introductions, and the charges the responsibility of shadowing their sponsors on duty for a week to learn the ropes.

            “You’ll find it different here,” she concluded, generating wry nods from men already bug-eyed at what they’d seen and stealing glances at basilisks and ogres. “But in a good way, I promise. And don’t think it’s any kind of rest camp. You’ll see action here. King Maggot’s been a bit distracted this summer, and the central front’s been quiet for the most part—but we’ve faced several attacks in the last two months and taken casualties, military and civilian. And snow’s not fallen yet so always keep alert. We have regular training sessions for everyone, as you’ve probably heard, and as well as the usual staff, sword-, spear-, and bow-work there’ll be tools and weapons you may not be familiar with—griffin-bands that mean you can’t be fooled by illusions, slings, and ways of using spears as slicing weapons, not just to stab. We’ve plenty of horses so we do lancework as well, for everyone who can ride well enough, not just knights—they’re the weapon of choice against giants and tauroses. And as you saw we’ve had dealings with those. What the lads call our trophies I’ll leave them to tell. Now, to your tours.”

            Keeping her voice cheerful had been an effort but she thought she’d managed, and knew she’d done better than in her last address to assembled soldiers however her mind still keened behind its glass. She directed squads to start in different places and rotate in different directions, so they were spread out, and after watching the efficient bustle for a moment retired to headquarters with Mikal, Brodhelm, Uinse, and Merric to begin proper integration of Company Fourteen into the duty schedule, other rosters, and contingency plans for attacks of all kinds. With three full companies, two regular, all sorts of things could be done properly or augmented, from archers firing by turns on the alures to more thorough patrolling, each with a host of details and consequences. Mikal was surprised by the range of what New Hope did as routine, and pleased with the friendly atmosphere. He was junior to Brodhelm but senior to Uinse and Merric, and would be third-in-command—Brodhelm’s second in her absence—so she in turn was pleased by his professionalism and flexibility.

            They were still at it next afternoon when Owen’s arrival with two escort squads was reported, and she left them to wrangle about how best to organise practices. Owen had made it as far as the shelf when she rounded the stables to see that he was riding a warhorse Wyldon must have given him to replace Happy, a big bay gelding similar to his lamented predecessor, and leading an even larger liver chestnut.

            “Kel! How splendid to see you!” He dismounted and threw his arms around her in a crushing brotherly hug as she reached him.

            “Oof. Put me down, Owen! That’s better.”

            “Sorry, Kel, discipline and all that, I know, but it is good to see you. And you’ve everything running sharp as a pin to judge from the guards. I like your tauros heads too—they’re very jolly.” His face suddenly fell. “But it was horrid what happened. Are you alright?”

            Time as Wyldon’s squire at Mastiff had taught Owen skill in eavesdropping and even some tact, but his artless friendship was all his own. One of her bets with herself when she’d learned he was coming was that Chargy, Bargy, Horny, Toothy, Dimwit, Flatnose, and Pizzle would each be jollier than the last. Affectionately she clapped his shoulder.

            “I’m fine, Owen. You’ve a new horse, I see. He’s a beauty.”

            “Isn’t he just?” Owen beamed. “He’s really called Windstrider because his dam and sire were the same as Happy’s who was really Windtreader but I call him Happy Two because he is! And the liver chestnut’s for you, if you’d like him, with my Lord’s compliments.”

            Kel was trying to parse Owen’s second sentence when the third caught up with her. “What did you say, Owen?”

            “Which what? He’s Happy Two because he’s so like Happy One and he’s happy too. It’s a pun.”

            Kel took a deep breath. “I guessed that, Owen, and I’m happy for you and Happy Two, too.” He grinned. “You said something after that.”

            “The chestnut’s for you. My Lord didn’t want you without a proper warhorse. Hoshi’s splendid but you need a gelding, so he’s giving you this one. He does have a name I can tell you if you want but my Lord said you should feel free to name him yourself so I wasn’t to use it.”

            Shock sank into her. “Wyldon’s giving him to me?”

            “Yes. He wants to and you need a horse. Poor old Peachblossom. I was sorry to hear about him, but his doing night rounds sounds fun. What’s the problem, Kel?”

            “I can’t accept a horse like that. He must be worth a fortune.”

            “Why not? He’s a good ’un, Kel, and right for you. My Lord’s got a wonderful eye for matching horse and rider.”

            “Owen, it’s not right. I ca—”

            “Oh bosh. Of course it’s right, Kel.” His grey eyes were suddenly shrewd. “It’s what my Lord has that he can give, and it’s what friends do when they’re worried, and they can. You can’t tell me you’re not friends. He calls you Keladry in private now, not the Lady Knight, and you just called him by name alone. I like to think he and I are quite close but if I did that he’d freeze me to death in a heartbeat and quite right too.”

            “But it’s …” What was it, exactly? Food for slanderers like Tirrsmont? Probably, but she wouldn’t let that stop her in any other way. A generosity trying to compensate her for what had happened? Perhaps, and she half-understood it might be more complicated; that her rape while under his command, however distantly, might be more difficult for him to deal with than her death in battle would have been. And it wasn’t just embarrassment at a gift beyond her means—she’d accepted gifts as costly from Lady Alanna without knowing who they were from; but this was from Wyldon who … she faced it: who had in a strange way become a second father to her as well as a friend, whose praise meant more to her even than Raoul’s and not because it was harder to earn. Impatient with the delay the liver chestnut poked his muzzle over Owen’s shoulder and she was lost, but there was another thing she must do.

            As Owen stepped aside, smiling, she considered the gelding gravely and stepped forward to let him snuffle at her, then blew gently into his nostrils. He had an irregular blaze and faint list and she wanted to inspect every marvellous inch of him but instead took his reins, told Owen to put the mailsack in her office and settle himself in a guest room, and led him down to the main level, whistling to call Peachblossom, loitering with intent by the infirmary. Exchanging a stare with the newcomer, eyes flicking to her, he walked slowly by the paths to the green, along its west side, and stopped a few feet away.

            She kept her voice as crisp as she could. “Peachblossom, this fellow’s been given to me. Will you two get along?”

            The horses looked at one another and she found Tobe by her side.

            “Is he yours, Ma? For what Peachblossom can’t do any more?”

            “If it works out.”

            Tobe studied the horse with interest. “It will. What’s his name?”

            “I don’t know.”

            “Let’s find out.” Tobe stepped forward to greet the newcomer, resting a hand on his muzzle for a moment afterwards. “I’m not sure he knows it himself. He’d like a name, though.”

            “What do you think, Tobe?”

            “I dunno.” He turned to Peachblossom, reaching hands to his neck looking closely at him for a long minute, then back at her. “Peachblossom says he’s called Alder, and thinks he’ll be alright with training. He says Alder has a good heart and is strong enough for you.”

            Kel was having a difficult time with emotions rising as they hadn’t for a long time, and gave Peachblossom a hard hug, trying to control herself, before fishing apples from her pocket for both horses and showing Alder to a stall by Peachblossom’s and Hoshi’s. The placid mare seemed happy to greet a new friend, snuffling softly, and with Tobe’s help Kel set about grooming Alder thoroughly. Peachblossom stayed, inspecting the liver chestnut himself, and after a while Tobe looked down at her as she ran hands over Alder’s fetlocks and cannons.

            “Peachblossom says he’s smart but hasn’t had any of Daine’s magic. He thinks he can teach Alder your basic commands but you should ask Daine to make him smarter. Then he could teach Alder what you need in battle and how you like things done.”

            Kel’s emotions were bubbling again, but she nodded before looking her gratitude at Peachblossom.

            “It’s alright, Ma.” Tobe’s voice was soft. “He knows you need another horse. He’s glad you’ve got a good one who’ll keep you safe.”

            It was too much and tears filled her eyes but she dared not let them flow; once started she’d never stop. But she did stand to hug Peachblossom’s neck again, tightly, letting drops she couldn’t stop trickle into his mane. The arrival of Jump, tail wagging, and the flutter of sparrows alighting on Peachblossom let her extricate herself with some shreds of dignity, and she made new introductions to Alder.

            It was another hour before she dragged herself out of the stables to find Owen and receive the mail, including the promised purse for which she’d had the smiths make a lockbox bolted to the floor in a corner of her office; Tobe's royal purse was already there. Owen was full of chatter about Happy Two and final training he’d been doing but after ten minutes of breathless and confusing grammar fell silent, turned huge eyes on her, and took a deep breath.

            “Kel, I’m terrified of the Ordeal. Suppose it just minces me up? I know I’m not supposed to talk about it but you talked to the Chamber, just like you’d talk to a person. Will I be alright?”

            Wyldon’s reminder of Owen’s Ordeal had left Kel thinking about her need to speak to the elemental—or rather King Jonathan’s desire that she should; left to herself she’d be happy never to talk to it again—but she hadn’t anticipated this, which she might have. And, she realised, Wyldon had. It was why he’d sent Owen with his astonishing gift rather than coming himself, and it meant he thought she could offer the boy—no, the man—something he couldn’t. She got up to close the door and waved Owen to one of the chairs, taking another opposite him.

            “Not just like you’d talk to a person, Owen. The Chamber’s not a person and doesn’t think like one. But it’s not evil, just hard as nails and not interested in anything except testing you. You’ll be fine. You’ve a heart the size of a mountain and your wild courage is a byword already.”

            “Really?”

            “Oh yes. My Lord of Cavall’s squire who thinks everything’s jolly.”

            He smiled weakly. “It’s a good word.”

            “And you’re a good man.” She considered. “Have you touched the Chamber door.”

            He looked down. “Once, on a dare. It was awful.”

            “Your worst fears played out and you helpless to do anything?”

            “Yes.” His voice was a whisper. “How did you know?”

            “Because that’s what it did when I touched the door, and one of the things it does most, so far as I can tell. I’ve never been sure why, but I think it’s about willingness to go on fighting, whatever the odds, whatever happens. You may get more of the same. But it does other things too—I can’t discuss it, but things that give you choices, or make you … well, let go of something. I suspect that’s what happened to Joren—he couldn’t bend, or let go of all that hate he had for me and everyone he disapproved of. But you’re good all through, and a first-rate fighter. You’ll be a knight by the New Year.”

            “Thank you, Kel. It means a lot to me that you think so, and that’s very helpful about Joren. I’ve always wondered what really happened to him, why he failed. Died.” He swallowed. “And I can’t ask my Lord about that. Anyway, he’s a stickler for rules, and won’t talk about the Chamber except to say it’s a hammer but fair and wants people to pass if it can.”           

            That was very Wyldon and Kel sighed. “I wonder about that rule, Owen. There’s no rule we can’t talk about what happens when we touch the door, but no-one does. I didn’t, and I bet you didn’t either.”

            “No. I couldn’t.”

            “I know. But that’s shame, isn’t it? At being so helpless. And sick rage at whatever nightmare vision it cooks up.” She made a decision. “I can tell you some of the ones it dumped on me, if you like.”

            He stared at her. “You touched the door more than once?”

            She nodded, smiling wryly. “Every six months or so. Neal thought I was mad too, but I thought everyone did and just didn’t say anything.”

            “Mithros! Will it help me to know, do you think?”

            “I can’t say, Owen. Ordeals are … different, or mine was. These were only visions. When you’re in the Chamber … well, when you’re in it for your Ordeal it’s … more powerful. More real.”

            “I think I’d like to know.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I saw my mother getting killed, and my brother, though I wasn’t there when it happened, and I was helpless, as if I was glued to the ground.”

            “Because your dream of being a knight was bound up with wishing you’d been there to save them.”

            “Yes.”

            “That’s exactly what it does to test your dream. I saw friends and family die, and was stuck just like that. And crippled once, from some tilting accident. There was also a really strange one after Joren’s trial.”

            He hadn’t been at the trial though he’d heard about it, of course, and she repeated Joren’s speech of contempt, engraved on her memory, before relaying her vision of the blond squire coldly purchasing or condemning everyone to slaughter. As she spoke the thought that burned in her mind was that one thing the Chamber had never done was to subject her to rape, or even its threat; only to helplessness in the face of others’ deaths, and she wondered if that was because she hadn’t then deeply feared rape or for some reason of its own. Maybe she’d ask, but for now Owen needed her attention.

            “That’s awful, Kel.” He shuddered. “Like a slave market.”

            “Yes. A slave court, I suppose. But at its core it’s the same thing as all the others, Owen—nightmares happening right in front of you that you can’t stop. But you want to stop them, don’t you? Like you want to stop bandits from killing anyone else’s mother ever again?”

            “Gods, yes. That’s exactly what I want.”

            “So let the Chamber know that, and whatever nightmare fight it shows you don’t ever give up, not for a second. If it’s not a fight, you’ll have to think about what’s right to do in whatever situation it is. But trust your heart and instincts and you’ll be fine with that, just as you will with the fights.”

            He nodded, colour returning. “Thanks Kel. That helps a lot. I’d got so I couldn’t think about it clearly at all—there was just this dread and a great blank wall I couldn’t see through or over or anything.”           

            “I know, Owen. It’s what you’ve worked towards for eight years and it’s like walking towards a mountain. It just gets bigger and bigger. But it’s still the mountain you could see whole when you started towards it, and it has a summit you can reach if you keep going.”

            “I can do that.”

            “Yes, you can. Now come meet Mikal of Holtwood. His Northwatch Company Fourteen marched in yesterday and I abandoned him to Brodhelm and Merric too long ago. Let’s find out how far they’ve got.”

* * * * *

Alder proved a pleasure to ride and more than a practical restoration. Kel loved Hoshi for herself and as Raoul’s gift, and the mare had been a comfort, strong and uncomplaining even in the vilest weather; but she was smaller than Peachblossom and without the gelding’s bracing attitude and ferocity in battle. Alder didn’t quite have the attitude—he’d never suffered as Peachblossom had before he met her—but he had the warhorse mind and, whatever Wyldon had taught him as a foal or Peachblossom was telling him now, seemed to understand basic spoken commands; she soon discarded the blunt spurs she’d reluctantly attached to her boots and relied on voice alone.

            On a bright, clear day, gold among the lead of winter’s early coinage, she commandeered a work party with two squads of archers for security and set up a quintain in the field below the western glacis. Alder snorted eagerly when he saw it, and after three hours of steady, careful, and exhilarating work with the target-dummy, then oak and willow rings, she knew she could confidently meet anyone in the jousting-lanes on his back, as she had on Peachblossom’s. He was strong, steady, and responsive, his canter even and gallop rhythmic in the way she loved that enabled her to be absolutely sure how her lance tip would move. On her last run, when the wind dropped for a moment, she managed to pin the willow-ring at a full gallop and whooped triumph as she pulled up and used that hard wrist flick to send it spinning for Jump to catch as it skimmed over him. Watching men cheered, and in the evening, after her staffwork was seen to be equally good in disarming Company Fourteen’s champion, she noticed a new snap in the way Mikal’s men regarded her. They’d seemed to like her well enough and plainly respected the way she ran a tight command with—for the most part—a light hand; now they knew for themselves she was a fighter to fear, for all her unusual ways and the strange place she commanded.

            That night she gasped upright from the hillside after the worst episode in more than a week, hand again clutching fiercely at her numb breast. Shaken and nauseated, she found herself furious—with herself, her ghastly memories, tauroses, the godshat mage who’d been willing to cloak and steer and watch them as they did what tauroses did; with—she knew it—the gods who hadn’t let her die when she should, nor be annealed of her pain in the Peaceful Realms, but had patched her up like stuffing mortar into crumbled brick and sent her straight back to do something they wouldn’t or couldn’t explain. And who hadn’t sent anyone else the tauroses had slain back with her—a guilt rankling like a saddle-burr, though she shuddered to imagine what it would have been like if the women who’d died had been mended as she had, or husbands and guards returned with great grey swathes of chest and stomach.

            Dressing warmly she went to the shrines, wandering up and down before them trying to sort her thoughts. The unfeeling flesh she’d been given might have saved her life but seemed a trick, and she didn’t think it was Lord Sakuyo’s style, nor remotely Lord Mithros’s; her gaze rested most often on the Black God’s hooded statue, thinking of the illimitable sadness in the young face she’d seen, his special mercy, the cackle in his Hag daughter’s voice. Why did the god of death have a daughter anyway, let alone one to all appearances far older than he and as ugly as he was beautiful? It made no sense—but what god did? She tried to bear down on anger and frame a prayer to the Hag, thinking her father’s shrine might be a portal to reach her, but the spikes of rage were too great. I see your clumsy hopes and well-meaning unattractiveness and grant you humiliating perdition. Did she have to carry stigmata of her failure to protect those poor Tirrsmonters? If she had to be sent back, couldn’t she at least be sent whole?

            Peachblossom found her burning holes in the Black God’s shrine with her eyes and nudged her, slobbering concern. Chilled and shaking she went with him to get tea from the gatehouse, saying to Jacut on nightwatch only that she couldn’t sleep, then filched apples from the box the duty watch kept and took Peachblossom back to the stables. After sharing the apples and stroking all her horses she eventually fell asleep in Peachblossom’s stall, head and arms pillowed on a basilisk-warmed block as he stood guard that no more nightmares should pass. Tobe found her at dawn, eyes full of worry and scold, but she woke feeling comforted from a dream of her childhood, full of breathless laughter with Cricket and Yuki about something that faded as her eyes opened. Standing with a groan she ruffled Tobe’s hair, promised him she felt better, and sent a prayer of thanks to Lord Gainel with apologies for her mortal inability to understand—withstand—the gods’ purposes.

            It was her day to deliver cheese, and after a morning going over contingency plans with Brodhelm, probing for weaknesses and noting what would need regular drills while she was away, she saddled Hoshi and rode with Connac’s squad to Spidren Wood. Besides making the delivery she invited Quenuresh to a first full meeting of New Hope’s council next day: there had been no need yet, but with departure nearing and the new company Kel wanted to be sure all were clear on what mattered. Quenuresh agreed it would be sensible, and turned out to be in a talkative mood, explaining cheerfully when Kel enquired that spidrens weren’t bothered by rain or cold and had built themselves a good shelter anyway. If really heavy snow fell she might ask to come into New Hope’s cave-system for a bit, for the younglings’ sake, but might equally stay put under heavy webbing and blanketing snow with a fire for cheer and cooking rather than warmth.

            “We have enough preserved food from you, and smoked game of our own taking, to be fine for a good while, Keladry.”

            “May I ask how you pass the time?”

            “Immortals have a lot of practice at passing time.” Quenuresh’s voice was bland, her eyes warm. “We talk and groom. The younglings have webwork to practice, and games that are fun. I believe mortals call it cats’-cradles though I have never understood why.”

            Filled with imaginings of the glory a multi-player spidrens’-cradle might be Kel trotted back up the valley, observing with satisfaction her more prosaic cradles filled with rocks. They did look obvious, though, especially with trees bare, and scrub to screen them would be wise; Adner could advise her what would grow best. A horn-call from the distant gatehouse telling her riders had been sighted brought attention sharply back to the moment and the whole party to a fast canter in tighter formation, but the reply identifying friends came almost at once. As the distance closed Kel saw for herself the horse ridden by a stocky knight just crossing the limestone bridge, a squad behind, and relaxed with an apprehensive pang. That horse she’d know anywhere.

            “Kel!” The Lioness wore full mail but only a bascinet and called out cheerfully as the parties converged. “It’s good to see you. That’s a fine-looking horse.”

            Kel reined in beside her. “Isn’t he? Tobe says he’s called Alder.”

            “Tobe? Oh, the boy you adopted. Well, he should know. Alder, eh? Where d’you get him? Is he one of Cavall’s?”

            “Yes. Wyldon gave him to me.” As purple eyes widened it struck Kel that a gift of Wyldon’s had replaced a gift of Alanna’s. “I’m so sorry about Peachblossom.”

            “Goddess, don’t apologise, Kel. It’s a risk we run. I was just surprised at Cavall—I came through Mastiff last night and he didn’t say anything. Decent of him, the old curmudgeon.” She grinned at Kel. “But Raoul did tell me, chortling the while, you’d been invited to first-name terms. Astonishing. You have mellowed him. I’d be tempted to make him the same offer just to spook him but we have too much fun Cavalling and Pirate’s-Swooping one another and I’m way ahead on that deal.”

            Alanna’s irreverence was bracing and Kel smiled. “He’s been a great help, truly. He’s asked me to help instruct Owen as well.”

            “Has he indeed? Now that is a good sign. But let’s get in, Kel, and you can show me this amazing place of yours. It’s perishing out here.”

            The Lioness’s dislike of cold was as notorious as Raoul’s of ceremony and Kel swung in beside her, waving Connac’s squad to fall in behind. They paused at the moatbridge, Alanna whistling appreciation when she heard what lurked under the water, then looking up at the glacis and whistling again. Reaching the tauros skulls she scowled ferociously.

            “Cavall did mention these. Blasted things.”

            “Tauroses or stormwings?”

            “Both, but I meant tauroses. Goddess, Kel, I was so sorry to—”

            “Not here, please.” Kel’s mask was firmly in place. “I thought I’d hate seeing the skulls but it’s not too bad and Jarna, who survived the attack but lost her husband, comes to look at them often. So do the orphans. Did Wyldon tell you their nicknames?”

            “He did, though he could hardly bring himself to say ‘Pizzle’ in my hearing.” Her glance was keen. “I was surprised you’d allowed it.”

            “I didn’t have much choice, any more than with that absurd Protector stuff.” They negotiated the turn, Kel waving Alanna ahead at the narrows. “You know about the Honesty Gate?”

            “I certainly do and I want one of my own. George is trying to get the griffins who live down from the Swoop to fix one for us but we need Daine to interpret.” She pulled up under the lintel, raising a gauntleted hand to Merric, waiting as duty captain with an honour guard hastily assembling behind him. “Sir Alanna of Olau and Pirate’s Swoop. I mean no harm to New Hope or any who dwell here. That’s it?”

            “Yes. Try telling a lie, though.”

            Alanna’s mouth opened, then closed. “Goddess, that works alright. Very useful. And anyone under it can’t be fooled by illusions?”

            “Not in the least. Numair couldn’t cast one that fooled it.”

            “Huh. Illusion’s not his strongest talent, though.”

            “No, but neither could Quenuresh, and it is hers. She can vanish in broad daylight almost to fool a griffin-band but couldn’t beat the gate.”

            “Well, well. Interesting. I want to meet her.”

            “She’s coming tomorrow for a Council meeting.”

            “Good.”

            They cleared the gatehouse and dismounted. Kel let Merric speak formalities, thanked the guard, and asked Merric to deal with billeting.

            “Food? Or just a hot drink?”

            “Food would be good, once I’m out of this armour.”

            “Then let’s go see the messhall before I show you round.”

            The Lioness’s wonder at the gleaming, warm pillars of the messhall was matched by appreciation of the food the duty cook produced.

            “Whoosh! If the Green Lady can do this, she’s more powerful than Daine implies.’ She cackled. “Has it reconciled Neal to vegetables?”

            Kel grinned. “Not yet, but it’s definitely making inroads, especially the cabbage. So are Yuki’s tsukemono.”

            “What?”

            “Yamani pickles. Neal absent-mindedly ate a whole bowl of onion-rings in sake the other night before he realised what he was doing.”

            “Wonders will never cease—not here, anyway, by the looks of it.” Alanna’s face grew serious, though not grave. “You know you’ve done something amazing here, Kel? Cavall waxed positively lyrical last night about your defences and he wasn’t wrong. He’s told me about that poltroon Tirrsmont and your petition to the Council as well. I’m inclined to agree with him, Goddess help me, that you should just claim it as your own fief, but I’ll support whatever you want. Raoul too, and Ennor of Frasrlund. I hold his proxy and he was clear he wanted the strongest possible defence in the centre under someone who knows what they’re doing, not some pissant second son from the Corus pack.”

            “Oh. Good.” Kel swallowed, loathing politics though she was touched that the Lord of Frasrlund, whom she’d never met, should support her. “I can’t just claim it, Alanna. It wouldn’t be right. I told Wyldon, it’s no time for people to be angling for themselves when we’re fighting a war.”

            “Yes, he said that too.” She received a piercing look. “I have to say, Kel, if there’s a chance to get it for you I’ll be inclined to do that, however you think yourself undeserving. Jon too, I bet.”

            “It’s not about deserving.” Even to her own ears Kel’s tone was defensive. “These people have had enough of useless overlords. Anak’s Eyrie was brave but stupid and his people paid almost as much as he did for it. And Tirrsmont is just vile.”

            “Useless overlords, surely. I doubt they’ve had enough of you, Kel.”

            “They’ve had all there is.” Her voice was bleak and Alanna clapped her on the shoulder.

            “I doubt it very much but I know how that feels. Let’s find Neal.”

            The reunion of former squire and knight mistress was warm, and Alanna couldn’t resist giving Yuki a healer’s once-over, lingering on her yet unswollen belly and nodding satisfaction, but her attention was drawn to the Green Lady’s spiral. Weighing it in her hand her eyes went distant, then snapped back.

            “This has power from the Goddess as well as the Green Lady. It’s boosted a lot. Mmm. The food too, probably—I wondered about that. What was it she said to you when she was leaving, Kel? As exactly as you can—Numair did tell me but precise wording always matters with gods.”

            Kel thought back. “She kissed my forehead, like a cold burn, Lord Weiryn said ‘Sarra’, sharply, and she replied … Yes, yes, I break no rule. Keladry, my spiral will give virtue of itself, and if a woman prays to me here I will answer. But it is also of the Great Goddess and will summon her in your need if you call. Remember. I thanked them and they both said  I’d ‘deserved my blessings’. Then they went silver and vanished.”

            “And will summon her in your need? Hmm. Have you tried?”

            “Tried what?”

            Alanna clucked impatiently. “Summoning the Goddess in your need.”

            “No. Of course not. I can’t just—”

            “Gah. Why am I not surprised? Neal, any pregnant women except Yuki coming to see you this afternoon?”

            “No. One tomorrow morning, for more tea.”

            “Then I’d like to borrow this, if I may.” Alanna weighed the spiral, hesitating. “It’s not for me, though. Can you take it to—where’ll we be talking, Kel? Your rooms?”

            “I suppose so.”

            “Is there a fire?”

            “Of course there is. I don’t freeze myself, you know.”

            “Could have fooled me. Anyway, show me the rest of this magic castle of yours.”

            Kel gave Alanna the full treatment especially where defences were concerned, starting with gatehouse and fin-gallery. She mentioned the shots she’d managed with Weiryn’s gift, drawing a surprised whistle, and Merric’s ideas about the distance a mage or siege engine might think safe before concluding with slingwork as part of everyone’s training.

            “I don’t know why all soldiers aren’t trained with slings. You can stash one in a pocket, most battlefields have ready ammunition to hand, and even our worst shots are now better with them than with spears.”

            “Spears are pointy.”

            “Doesn’t matter if a stone’s smooth as a lake if it hits with enough force—and they do. The Scanrans we’ve killed with them … one man had been hit in the face and his skull was caved in. I think even a child with a good arm could take out a tauros and I’m wondering about giants. They’re slow, and you can angle a stone up as easily as sending it flat.”

            Alanna whistled again. “It’s an idea, Kel. There’s the training to figure—but you’ve obviously done that. Copy your rosters for practice sessions and do a report. I’ll make sure the idea’s taken seriously.”

            “Alright. That sounds good.”

            “Merric’s thinking well, too. That point about mages is good. I don’t know about engines. They tried a mangonel at the City of the Gods but a Mithran mage burned it. We’ve seen nothing worse.” Alanna frowned. “You really expect to face a siege?”

            “I know it makes no sense, but I can’t shake the thought. And that prophecy … Apart from the tauroses, the stormwings—wherever they’ve been hiding—haven’t bothered with any Scanrans we’ve killed. I can’t help thinking they’ll only play again over the Greenwoods when they’ve a feast.” Kel brooded, kicking the palisade. “And I know Maggot hasn’t used engines but those killing devices came from somewhere.”

            “Eh? They came from Rathhausak.”

            “The dead souls did. Blayce’s workshop wasn’t equipped to produce blades, wire, or gears.”

            “Huh. Numair said it was all the work of one mage—Blayce’s runes and his … what? smell, I suppose, all the way through.”

            “Maybe, but I don’t think he made scores of cogs and miles of wire himself, nor coated hundreds of giants’ long bones and skulls with metal that wasn’t wrapped and hammered—it was coated on, like paint.”

            “Point. Definite point, Kel. Goddess, that’s a good question. So where were they made?”

            “And by whom?”

            “Yush. I don’t want to think about it now, but that’s a point to make forcefully to Jon and the Council.”

            “I’m more bothered by what someone might be making now. And engines are the least of it. There was skilled designwork in those devices—the blades had tremendous force. It was the domes that were vulnerable. If the dead children had been encased in the midsection, behind thicker metal …”

            “Hush, Kel, they weren’t and you’re giving me indigestion.”

            They completed the circuit and Alanna looked back round the walls. “Formidable, Kel. Vanget and Cavall told me this is the strongest place between Northwatch and Frasrlund, but it’s tougher than Northwatch and more compact than Frasrlund, and neither has the same depth of traps. Your box of mageblast-keys must be enormous.”

            “It’s getting that way. All clearly labelled, though.”

            Alanna cackled again, drawing glances from sentries very conscious of her presence but staring dutifully out. “So I should hope. No good blowing up your moatbridge if you mean to drop rocks on someone.” When they came to the shrines the Lioness’s mood sobered. “Neal told me about that Yamani mage nearly wetting himself when he augmented his sight. Nice statues—you’ve good woodcarvers. And about what he said of you—awash with godlight, eh? Ready to talk, Kel? I get the feeling it’s not going to be pretty.”

            “No.” Kel felt reluctance rise. “I know there’s no point delaying but let’s finish first. There’s still the caves and the children will never forgive me if I don’t take the Lioness by the barracks to meet them.”

            “Alright. Whatever you want, Kel. Up to a point.”

            Hoping she wasn’t too flushed she led on to the caves,  where there was a cheerful fug Alanna greatly approved of, and the passageway to the lookout, already with a third spiral and most of a fourth. Everyone was impressed to meet the Lioness, and the children, when they reached the barracks, held back with big eyes before swarming eagerly forward. After Alanna had extricated herself, grinning, Irnai and the Scanran refugees got kind, quiet words and the young seer a searching stare; then there was no putting it off longer and Kel led Alanna to her quarters, confusion roiling in her as to what she’d thought she could say. Alanna had no doubts, though, settling herself by the fire and pointing imperiously to the opposite chair.

            “Unless you’d rather stand. I hear you prefer reporting that way.”

            “Yes. Probably. Seal the room, would you?”

            Eyebrows rose. “That bad? Alright.” Purple fire flared along walls and door. “Done.” Alanna regarded her with what Kel suspected was compassion and she squirmed inside. “Begin at the beginning, which means the Chamber and these visions it gave you. Never did that to me, thank the Goddess. But it seems to be where you got involved with the gods and that’s what matters here, as Neal tells it.”

            The Chamber Kel could manage and set off through her apparently unusual habit of testing herself against the doors, the addition to her Ordeal, and all that followed. Irnai came into the tale and Alanna sharpened as Kel gave a version of her debrief and its interruptions.

            “Then I passed out.”

            Alanna half-smiled, “Yes, I heard about that from Raoul. And about your wound from Neal.”

            “At length, I bet.”

            “He wasn’t happy when I told him off as well as Baird. And I’ll tell you off too, Kel—I understand your reasoning better than he does, but it’s no good keeping your healer fresh while you’re in real pain.”

            “He was barely recovered from saving three of us at Rathhausak .”

            “He says he had enough if you’d said. But it doesn’t matter now, Kel, and what you did does. Every one of us owes you an unpayable debt for killing Blayce. I’m so proud of you I can’t say.”

            Kel flushed. Alanna’s praise, even more than Wyldon’s, was to her fairy gold that might suddenly vanish. “I was just going after my people.”

            “Not entirely, from what you’ve been saying. You knew Blayce was behind the raid.”

            “I guessed he was but I didn’t know.”

            “Yes, you did—you just couldn’t explain how you knew. Anyway, go on from your report. I need the full story.”

            Kel was easy enough with building New Hope, but speaking of dedications and godsigns was oddly upsetting and she knew her voice was tenser. Alanna was listening intently but whenever she paused waved her on, and Kel guessed she’d heard this tale already, probably from several mouths. Eventually the story wound to the day of the attack.

            “Do you want what I experienced then or what I dream?”

            “They’re different?”

            “The tauros knocked me out. It was just pain and confusion. But when I dream it’s … vivid. All in focus.”

            “Then switch to the dream memories when you get there.”

            The alarm and combat weren’t difficult, nor the sudden, appalling pain in her leg, falling with Peachblossom, and the struggle to free herself, but when she got to the tauros leaping over his withers, where her dream usually began its slow, agonising repeat, her voice dried up. Alanna’s eyes seemed huge, their strange purple intense.

            “I know it’s hard, Kel, but Neal right that managing to say it usually helps afterwards. And exactly what happened matters in interpreting whatever it was the Black God said to you.”

            Kel nodded, swallowing. “It … the tauros, it kicked Peachblossom in the head. So hard. It made its pizzle swing, like a mace. He went still and … my mind, I was just wailing inside. I cut its arm with the glaive but the angle was wrong, I couldn’t get any force in the blow and it slammed the glaive away and kicked me. Knocked off my bascinet. That’s when it all became a blur but in my dream I feel the second kick and then it throws me a few feet and …” Her voice was very flat as she struggled to say it. “I landed on my back. I still had Griffin but it was trapped under me and I couldn’t breathe. The tauros tore off my breastplate and greaves, then my shirt and breeches, and … you know what it did.”

            “Did it bite as well as rape you? They often do.”

            “Yes. My breast. Left.” She forced out the words. “It bit the end off.” Alanna blanched. “I didn’t know at the time, only the pain. Great waves of it. Then more, inside me. I knew what was happening in my head somewhere but I didn’t understand at the time. In the dream, if it gets that far before I wake up, I can feel it much more clearly. I even feel my maidenhood go before the real pain starts.”

            “You were a virgin?” Alanna was surprised. “I thought Cleon …”

            “No, we never did.” Welcoming any other topic Kel got up to put more logs on the fire, poking it so she didn’t have to look at Alanna. “We kissed, when we could, and once almost had each other’s shirts off before we were interrupted. But apart from that time he never even put a hand on my breasts. Even when I wanted him to.” She fed smaller sticks to the blaze, watching it flare. “I thought it was because he was serious about marriage, despite his family, and nobles marry virgins.”

            Alanna snorted. “Not always they don’t.”

            “Well, it’s what I thought. But looking back, I don’t think he ever really loved … no, I don’t know that, but never really wanted me. Wanted me, the way I wanted him. It was the idea of a lady knight he liked, in a storybook way.” Understanding bloomed. “And being with me but never doing anything was a way to save himself for his marriage, as he thought he should, and stop me from, from … I don’t know, sullying myself, so his dream stayed pure.”

            Alanna made a rude noise. “I’m beginning to dislike him a great deal. Selfish young idiot. Still, wasn’t there ever anyone else?”

            “Not really.”

            “And you haven’t … well, obviously you haven’t, though you’re free to. Are you romantic or religious about sex?”

            “I’m not anything about it. I’d just never done it before.”

            “You haven’t now, Kel. That wasn’t sex, and don’t ever think it was.”

            “I know. It doesn’t matter anyway. I realised after Cleon had to get married that I’d probably never have a man.”

            “Eh? What do you mean, Kel, never have a man? Why not? Do you prefer women?”

            “What? Do I … oh, you mean fujojoufu. No. Not that I know.”

            “Then why do you—”

            Kel lost her temper though she managed to control her voice. “Alanna, your nickname is the Lioness—fierce, strong, deadly, yes, but also beautiful. Graceful. My nicknames have been The Cow, The Lump, The Girl, and Mother.” She managed a crooked smile. “Now it’s Protector of the Small, and I’ve skipped straight from maiden to crone.”

            Alanna looked appalled. “But Kel—”

            Kel’s voice got flatter still. “There have been three men I’ve ever thought about that way, Alanna, and I’ve told you about Cleon. The other two never noticed I thought anything of them except as friends, and it was clear as sunlight they both liked a very different sort of woman—with curves and graceful hands and no scars everywhere. I wasn’t, what did you say? romantic or religious about being a virgin. It was frustrating and dull, in lots of ways. I was just a realist. Gods know the only living thing that’s ever lusted for me, unless Cleon did, was that tauros. So that’s that. It’s just one more thing I’ve lost.”

            Alanna took a deep breath. “I hear you, Kel, but I don’t think it’s true in the way you mean and we’ll come back to this. But for now please go on. The tauros raped you. Forgive me, but did it spend?”

            Kel looked back at the fire. “I think so. I had these little burns on my stomach and thighs, as well as being numb inside.” Kel frowned. “Actually I think it spent when I stabbed it.”

            “You stabbed it? What with? Griffin?”

            “Yes. I got it out from under me and just pushed up.”

            “Good for you.”

            “Then”—Kel looked up from the fire—“this is guessing, really. My dream never gets this far, but”—she returned her eyes to the flames—“it’s strange, but I think when I stabbed it, it spent and pulled out of me at the same time. I suppose that’s how I got burns from its seed inside and out. And I don’t know if it was the right thing to do, though I wasn’t exactly thinking, because its barbs … I died of blood loss, I think. When I was sent back there was blood everywhere.”

            Alanna ‘s face was very grim. “Come here a minute, Kel.” Reluctantly Kel stood and faced her. “Closer, so I can touch your belly.” Purple fire played over Kel’s stomach, sinking in, and Alanna’s eyes were distant for a few seconds. “Alright. Sit. Look at me.” Kel obeyed, feeling resentment fill her. “It did spend. Have you had a monthly since?”

            “No. I’m infertile, aren’t I?”

            “I’m sorry, yes. The gods didn’t fix that, apparently. Which … no, tell me what happened after you died—as exactly as you can.”

            “Oh, there’s no problem being exact with that, though I’ve not told anyone the full story. Quenuresh knows most—I talked to her while she was helping with Peachblossom afterwards.”

            “Start at the beginning, Kel. You died. Then what?”

            Kel told her, letting the words the Black God and Hag had spoken flow from her memory at last. Alanna was speechless for a long moment.

            “You saw his face.” Her voice was wondering. “I’ve never heard of anyone doing that. Nor of receiving such forgiveness for sending souls to him. Goddess knows you’ve paid a high price but I could envy you that.”

            Kel didn’t turn her head. “Quenuresh said he hadn’t showed anyone his face for an eon, and the forgiveness thing has happened ‘only thrice since the Godwars’, whenever they were. So I’m number four.”

            “And the only one alive, almost certainly. I understand why you haven’t told anyone that bit. But the Black God said it was a gift of his own giving, yes? And before that the key things were that Shakith said you couldn’t have avoided death, the tauroses were chaos-touched and Mithros and the Goddess wouldn’t permit interference by Uusoae, they were busy elsewhere, and his daughter’s healing would be only of your life. Goddess, that’s odd. Then he showed his face, gave you his blessing, and the Hag showed up with her hyena. What were her words again?”

            Still not looking at Alanna, Kel repeated them.

            “Sakuyo’s a mystery to me but he laughed here and he’s obviously watching as closely as any of them. George says the Hag’s a trickster too, so I guess that makes sense. His Spearness would be Mithros, I suppose. Huh. Good one. And the last thing she said was that you needed teasing? It doesn’t make much sense. Do you know what she meant?”

            “Oh yes. I know exactly what that … what she meant.”

            Alanna cocked an eyebrow. “You sound angry with her, Kel.”

            “Furious. I know I shouldn’t be but … oh curse that Hag. I’ll just show you. It’s easier.” She took off tunic and shirt and unwound her breastband, movements jerky with rage. “There. See? Even the tauros’s bitemarks are preserved but nothing else. It has no feeling at all.”

            “Goddess!” Alanna peered at the grey thing that was shaped like but wasn’t her breast—blunt and lifeless. “It’s numb, you say? May I …?”

            “Go ahead. I won’t feel anything.”

            Dubiously Alanna prodded. “It’s warm. You don’t feel anything?”

            “Not directly. If it moves enough to pull the living bit I feel that.”

            “And is—”

            “Yes, the same, where the barbs ripped me. Do you need to see?”

            “Yes. I’m sorry.”

            Wordlessly Kel stripped off the rest of her clothes. Distantly, behind rage, she thought Alanna might be more embarrassed than she was, but her shame was being drowned in fury. Pulling breeches back on and rewrapping her breastband she found her hands shaking and couldn’t tuck in the loose end.

            “Let me.”

            Alanna did it efficiently and Kel found herself spitting words again.

            “That’s the Hag’s tease. Mockery would be a better word. It wasn’t enough not to let me die or to send me back alone.”

            “Alone?”

            “The tauroses killed nine people, not counting me. Did they somehow get magically not chaos-touched when they were killing Wallan and Pevis and Crener and those poor farmers, or raping the other women? My death’s forbidden for some reason but not theirs. That’s why I didn’t say anything about being dead. I was ashamed. I am ashamed. I can hardly look Jarna in the eye.”

            “Goddess, Kel—”

            “It’s not even punishment. If I’d done something to warrant that I’d understand. But I haven’t, that I know. And I think the Black God’s grace was a kind of compensation for what he knew his daughter would do. But he didn’t stop her.”

            “Kel, I don’t believe the Goddess intended this at all. It’s not like anything I’ve ever heard of.”

            “Yes, she did. The night before I …” Embarrassment suddenly returned. “I was … in bed, I was … I touched myself thinking about D— … about a man I … imagined I wanted and it was lonely and … and honourless and I thought maybe I should just have done, and dedicate my virginity as a warrior, a Lady Knight, to the goddess, like those fighting priestesses in Sarain.” Kel could hear bitterness crowding her voice and couldn’t stop it. “Daine told me to be careful what I prayed for but it wasn’t a prayer, only a thought. I was mocking myself, my own stupid needs and wanting someone who doesn’t notice me because no-one wants a cow with a body like a tree-trunk. But they heard me in all my stupidity and shame and they mocked me for real.” Her voice was rising and she couldn’t control it. “I was thinking I should put the energy into service, not mooning about, and I would have, but no, I can’t be trusted to do that even when I’m already so plain I’m of no interest to any man, I have to be made a horror to myself too.”

            Her face was wet, mortification and rage seamlessly one.

            “All I ever wanted was to be a knight so I could help people, and just for that all those people insulted and mocked me, the Girl, the Probationer, the Lump. Joren and Vinson and Garvey and Quinden and all those boys, jeering and tricking and spitting, and now the gods have done it too and I can’t stand it. They want me to do something and it needs this? It’s …it’s …”

            Whooping for breath, aching with rage, she ran out of words and truth as a shaking Alanna grabbed and held her, silently, until she’d stilled, then guided her to her chair. In some part of her mind Kel noted she was again dealing with her high command stripped to her breastband and wondered if she’d ever find anything funny again, with self-mockery such a bitter taste in her mouth.

            “Kel, Goddess knows I can understand why you’d think all that, and I’m sorry I didn’t realise how isolated you’ve been. Well, I did, but thanks to Cavall and that blasted probation nonsense there wasn’t anything I could do. But you’re wrong about the Goddess, I swear. She’d never intend this, or do this.”

            “She already did.”

            “No she didn’t, the Hag did. Now, listen. The Black God said his daughter’s healing was only of your life—and I don’t think she can do any more than that. She’s the only god who can raise the dead—it’s the power she lent Daine in Carthak that got us Bonedancer—and I suspect she was needed here, for you, because of it. But he didn’t say anything about any other god’s healing, and when the Green Lady gave you that warning about calling on the Goddess in need, I’m betting she knew this death was waiting for you, and knew what would happen, and wanted you to call on the Goddess to heal you properly. Only you haven’t because you thought you were meant to stay like this. We can fix that right now.”

            Kel blinked tears, trying to process what Alanna was saying. “Fix what? How?”

            “Fix you, by calling on her, of course. She usually listens to me and we’ve got that spiral.”

            “No.” Kel’s reaction was panic-stricken. “I can’t face the Goddess.”

            “Why ever not?”

            “I … I …” Truth broke through again, the thing all her anger had done its best to hide though it never really hid anything and tears rolled again down her face. “I’m too ashamed. I failed her, failed myself and those poor women. But I’ve been given another chance to do what I most want, to defend them all against whatever it is that’s going to happen, sent back by the Black God himself with such sadness and kindness in his eyes. I can’t demand more.”

            “Kel, that’s nonsense. You didn’t fail anyone.”

            “Yes I did, Alanna. They’re dead and I should be. Protector of the Small? I couldn’t even protect myself.”

            “Horsebuns. We need the Goddess right now. Where’s that spiral?”

            Ignoring Kel’s protests Alanna rose and fetched it, then to Kel’s distant shock grinned. “You might want to put your shirt on first.”

            Shaking, Kel did so, wondering if she could stand another god but knowing she couldn’t stop Alanna and finding some part of her wondering if the Lioness was right, the grey lines in her flesh just a stopgap, not a judgement. But there was no time—Alanna didn’t use much ritual, just held the spiral, took a few dried leaves from her belt pouch and threw them into the fire, and closed her eyes, concentrating. For a moment nothing happened, then a glow filled the room, brightening swiftly to silver and vanished leaving a tall woman in a long dress standing beside Alanna. Kel stared as her stomach churned. I am a lake, I am calm, I am a lake. The mantra didn’t have much effect but the Goddess was looking at Alanna, not at her.

            “My daughter. You did well to call me.” The voice pierced like a blade, with that same belling of hounds running through it, and the face turned to Kel, as remote and serene as it was impossibly close, eyes a gateway to stars. “And you have done well also, my daughter. This suffering was no part of our intent.”

            Kel felt like a little girl again, at her mother’s knee, though the goddess was no taller than she was herself. She hung her head, voice a whisper. “I’m so sorry I failed you.”

            “You did not fail me, daughter, though you have not served yourself so well. Look at me.” The command could not be refused and those eyes swallowed her. “Come now and be healed.”

            The goddess held out her arms and Kel tottered into them, dissolving. Alanna found herself looking away from the anguished noise, tears in her eyes, but mercifully the sound faded in that divine embrace as silver cloaked Kel from head to foot. When Alanna turned back the Goddess was looking at her, face filled with sorrow and something else.

            “I have been in distant lands and she did not call on me. But I shall have words for the Hag. You were right that her power was needed but she chose this manner.”

            Alanna took a deep breath, thinking bitterly that her restoration in Carthak after Ozorne’s fall didn’t seem to have improved the Hag’s manners or temperament. “What is it you need Kel to do, my Lady? Or was it just Uusoae’s interference?”

            “Both. But I cannot speak of the future even to you, daughter. The balance is undecided and much may rest on her. She has chosen well so far, and we would not let remnants of Chaos prevent her.”

            “Kel was … very distressed about the others who were killed.”

            “They are at ease in the Peaceful Realms. Even for this my brother would not have let her return from the death of her body were it not for what Shakith has seen. But having allowed her return he does not grudge her wholeness. I will heal her in her womanhood but I cannot heal her mind, and the damage she has suffered in coming so far is grievous.”

            “I realise, my Lady. It’s not just the rape.”

            “No, though few deaths are worse. It is the hatred she has faced for long, and her reaction to the visions the elemental sent to guide her to the necromancer. The lives she saved seem to her less than the lives she could not. Tell her when she wakes that my brother gives special care to the children the necromancer killed. They play in peace and are annealed of pain and sorrow. And she is free to speak of all she knows.”

            Surprised, Alanna thought furiously. “Of being sent back, my Lady?”

            “All.”

            “I’ll tell her, but I doubt she’ll want to. Few would believe her.”

            “She may have need and we will attest it, if she calls us. Tell her.”

            “I will, my Lady.”

            The silver faded. “It is done. She will wake at dawn.”

            Hastily Alanna stepped forward to take Kel as the goddess released her, sliding an arm around her. A hand rested momently on her head.

            “You have my blessing too, my daughter, as you have always done.”

            Power swirled and Alanna was alone with Kel’s considerable weight resting on her. With a grunt she lifted Kel to her shoulder and made for what must be the bedroom door, blessing military consistency when it was. After laying her on the bed she pulled off boots, set them down, and muttering curses at the Hag managed the rest of Kel’s clothes, thought about a nightshirt, then just manoeuvred her into bed. The flesh she saw for the second time was pink and healthy, breast restored and womanhood unmarked. Alanna smoothed her hair affectionately.

            “Little idiot. Big idiot, actually. The Goddess isn’t like that at all.” She straightened groaning, hands in the small of her back. “How could you think it?”

            But she knew: she hadn’t faced such hatred until she was a knight, she’d always had her Gift and since she’d been a squire the Goddess, and Faithful, and she’d found her body’s grace with Jonathan knowing George was waiting. In those terms Kel had had nothing and Alanna marvelled anew, as when she’d heard about Lalasa Isran’s kidnapping and what Kel had done, and when she’d seen Kel joust and realised how good she was. She’d felt it again this summer when Jon told her Kel was back and confirmed Blayce’s death and the rescue of all—count ’em, all—the kidnapped children, all but a dozen adults, and all surviving liegers of King Maggot himself; whose clanhome, Jon added with grim satisfaction, had been burnt. And now this—gods all over doing things they hadn’t done for millennia and Kel working wonders while believing herself as mocked by gods as she had been by so many fellow Tortallans.

            “You’re still an idiot, but Goddess, you’re amazing.” Stooping Alanna kissed Kel’s brow and went back to the study, adding logs to the fire and putting up the guard before recalling her magic from walls and door and heading out to find some of that excellent food and do some reassuring. As she closed the outer door behind her the next along opened and Tobe’s head stuck out, followed by Neal’s above and Jump’s below, a sparrow perched between his ears. Alanna shook her head.

            “She’ll be fine. The goddess has healed her properly and she’s sleeping. Tobe, go keep her company, and take Jump and Nari, is it? Keep an eye on the fire too. Oh, and I couldn’t get her into a nightshirt so mind how you hug her. Neal, I’m not saying a thing—it’s up to Kel what she chooses to tell anyone, but I promise you she’s better now than the last two gods she met left her.”

            “The last two … Mithros.”

            “No, he’s one she hasn’t met yet. Something to look forward to. Now, take me to food, quickly. I want to try these whatchamacallums, pickles that Yuki makes. Chop chop.”

            Wisely, Neal chopped.

* * * * *

It was exactly dawn when Kel opened her eyes to find Alanna sitting on the end of her bed, drinking a mug of tea and offering another.

            “She said you’d wake at dawn. The gods’ sense of time isn’t always so precise but I thought it might be this time. Here. Door’s shut and Tobe’s asleep, finally, so you can sit up. How much do you remember?”

            “Everything, I think.” Slowly Kel sat up, sheet and blanket falling away. She looked at her healthy breast and cupped it, rejoicing in sensation. “Is my …”

            “Yes, the rest of you’s fixed as well. Do you want this tea? It’s proper stuff, not a healer’s brew.”

            “Please.” She was very thirsty, hungry too; healings did that and she’d missed dinner. “Thank you, that’s good. And thank you for—”

            “You don’t have to thank me, Kel. You were owed. Are owed. Now, if you’re properly awake, listen a minute. With your Council meeting at mid-morning we don’t have a lot of time but there’s a few things that need saying, starting with the fact that you’re an idiot. I called you one several times last night while I was putting you to bed. I am beginning to understand just how bad a time you’ve had, and I do understand how it felt like mockery, as if the gods had done what Joren did, the same way the tauros echoed that rapist Genlith.”

            Kel hadn’t thought of that at all and blinked surprise.

            “You were dealing with the Hag and she can be plain mean, though you’d no reason to know. But even so you shouldn’t have thought the Goddess had done that. All gods are baffling, I know, but few do things like that. And you let it stay that way when if you’d called on the Goddess—which the Lady told you to do—you’d have been fixed quicker.”

            “Maybe so—”

            “No maybes about it, Kel. And if you’d told me what was afflicting you, even hinted, I’d have told you there and then to use that spiral and call the Goddess.” Alanna wagged a finger. “It’s not talking to the healer, again. I have more sympathy for Neal about your shoulder than I did yesterday. It’s also what you did when you reported to Jon expecting him to send you off to Traitor’s Hill for having disobeyed Cavall’s idiot order, hmm? Thinking you deserve to be punished when the opposite is true? Well, stop it. Natural modesty served you well as a page and squire, very well, but as a commander we need you beating up Scanrans, not yourself. Not that you don’t beat up Scanrans too.”

            Given that she was sitting topless in bed, and bottomless too from the feel of it—the feel of it—Kel wasn’t so sure about modesty, natural or otherwise, but did hear what Alanna was saying; then again, she’d heard Wyldon to the same effect as well. All she really wanted to do was inspect herself and absorb being whole, but Alanna wasn’t done.

            “Now, a couple of other things. The Goddess said she’d healed you in your womanhood, so expect monthlies to start again and get an anti-pregnancy charm.” Alanna held up a hand. “Don’t tell me you’re unlikely to need one. It’s your body and your decision but all that stuff you were saying about being ugly just isn’t true, Kel. You just haven’t met the right person, and I doubt you’ve been trying. But there’s something else as well, because just as all the insults made you feel ugly, and Goddess knows I understand how that works, the adulation you’ll get in Corus will make you feel very differently about yourself. Or it should.”

            “Adulation? Alanna, why in the mortal realms should I—”

            Alanna sighed. “Kel, your report was published, remember—and that doesn’t mean copied by a clerk for the files. It was read out in the main square and when we ride into Corus there’s going to be a young riot. Jon wanted an official welcome but I managed to head him off. Can’t do that to the people, though.”

            Appalled, Kel hunched into her pillows. “I don’t want adulation.”

            “Tough. Shouldn’t be a heroine then—comes with the job. Anyway, everyone knows about Rathhausak and the killing devices. Jon put one on show as soon as he was sure Blayce was dead.” Kel shuddered. “It was a good move. And it’s gone now, I’m assured. But they don’t know about your dying and being sent back.” Again she held up a hand. “Hear me out. I’m not saying you should or shouldn’t tell whoever, and I won’t tell anyone before you do, even George or Jon. But I am saying it’s your decision if and whom you do. The Goddess said Tell her also that she is free to speak of all she knows. I said I didn’t think you’d want to and people wouldn’t believe you, but she said She may have need and we will attest it, if she calls on us. So—if you need at some point to say what happened, and anyone scoffs, swear by her and make the circle.”

            Wide-eyed, Kel nodded. “Alright. I can’t imagine why I’d want to tell anyone but I’ll remember.”

            “See you do. For the Goddess to mention it there must be a future where you’ll need to, for some reason. Who knows?”

            Kel mulled it over. “You said she said ‘Tell her also …’. Also what?”

            Alanna’s face softened. “Pure comfort. The children Blayce killed have special treatment from the Black God. They play in peace, and are annealed of their pain and sorrow, she said. And the others the tauroses killed. The Black God was only willing to let you return because of what Shakith has seen, Uusoae’s influence or no, but the others have been comforted. I thought you’d want to let the orphans know, and Jarna. Best do it today. I don’t like the look of the weather and we’ll need to be gone tomorrow.”

            Too grateful to speak Kel nodded and Alanna rose. “Go wash. I’m going to sleep, but have me woken in good time for the meeting please.”

            “Of course. Were you up all night? I’m sor—”

            “Do stop apologising, Kel. And I wasn’t. You were sleeping and I left you to it. Tobe kept the fire going, bless him, until I sent him to bed a candle-mark ago. But I was up late with Neal and Yuki—having had to miss their wedding thanks to Maggot we had catching up to do. I didn’t say anything except the Goddess healed you properly; what you tell them’s up to you. Now I’m going, and you need to be.”

            Left with a sense of bobbing in Alanna’s wake like a cork Kel was able at last to examine and find herself whole. Washing, the simple pleasure of responsive flesh brought tears and she let them flow, but the morning was too good, much too good, to spend snivelling. Dressed and feeling wonderful, if bemused, she looked in on a sleeping Tobe, collected Jump and Nari, and went to find people to give good news. Most at New Hope rose at dawn and neither the orphaned children or Jarna were exceptions. Though the sun was shining the fort remained in the fin’s shadow and the air had a bite, but telling them to dress warm and swinging her arms in a brisk routine while she waited, she led them to the shrines and quietly told them of the Goddess’s reassurances. The tears were collective, with prayers of thanks to the Black God, and when they’d run their course Kel scooted them all off to breakfast.

            Ravenous, she piled her tray with extra bacon and went to sit with Neal and Yuki, tucking in. Both eyed her curiously.

            “You seem better. The Goddess came, Alanna said?”

            “She did. I am. Never better.” Kel applied herself to eating as they exchanged glances, then relented. “I expect I’ll tell you sometime, but not now. It’s too good to be whole again, and I have to prepare for the meeting as I didn’t get anything done last night.”

            “It sounds like you got a great deal done, Kel.” Yuki smiled, relief in her eyes. “Just not for the meeting.”

            Kel cleaned her plate. “I suppose. I wasn’t really doing anything, though. Just talking and being healed.”

            “Exhausting activities both.” Neal’s irony was a refuge, his voice light. “It is good to see you less troubled, Kel.”

            “It’s good to be so.” She reached to squeeze their hands, then stood and on impulse leaned and kissed them both, Neal on the forehead and Yuki on the cheek. “Thank you both, for everything. You’re better friends than I deserve. I must go. See you both at the meeting.”

            Pleased to leave someone else looking as bemused as she felt she bounced to the stables, woke Peachblossom by kissing his muzzle, and spent twenty minutes apologising to her horses for having been moody and spreading cheer with apples. That done she went to headquarters, goosed clerks with warm greetings, and retired to her office to sort out what she wanted from the meeting. There wasn’t much, mostly to make sure everyone knew what should happen in her absence, but with her mind spinning she did think of a few points to mention and soon had a neatly written agenda. She fitted in a check with the gatehouse and a quick round before getting mugs of tea from the messhall and going to wake Alanna with a return favour as a downpayment of gratitude.

            The meeting was both extraordinary and without event. All but Alanna knew one another well by now but were self-consciously pleased to inaugurate New Hope’s Council; then again, there were ten people, three of them women, a basilisk, an ogre, and a very large spidren more or less sitting round a table. Alanna had been distinctly pale when first introduced to Quenuresh at the gatehouse, but the spidren mage’s respectful enquiry about the divine disturbance the previous evening, followed by a warm greeting to Kel and a deal of magely talk, had left Lioness and immortal more interested in one another than wary.

            The routine issues of Brodhelm’s command with Mikal as second, with what he might and might not ask of immortals, and work priorities until winter harvest were all briskly sorted—practice sessions, especially with bows and slings; the gallery and lookout post; children’s education and care; cross-training for adults. Then they turned to contingencies for attacks or emergencies and the only sharp moment came when Merric leaned back and gestured at the window.

            “Surely, Kel, but unless my nose is all wrong snow will be here tonight or tomorrow, and everything’ll seize up until the thaw.”

            “Never think it, Merric.” Kel’s voice was hard and Merric sat straighter. “Tell me, what would you do if you wanted to attack New Hope, and had reports of an unscaleable glacis?”

            “I’m not sure, Kel. I’d hate to have to assault this place.”

            “Think again.”

            There was a pause before Brodhelm spoke. “Treason. Gates fall to treachery way more often than assault.”

            “Exactly.” Kel looked Merric in the eye, then ran round everyone. “Don’t relax because it snows. Merric, it’s Midwinter Eve, nightwatch, snowing like crazy, and a party of obviously poor Scanrans shows up. They’re freezing and there are children, at least one evidently injured. ‘Please.’ they say, ‘we ask for refuge. We’ve fled Maggot’s cruel oppression. Let us in.’ What do you do?”

            Merric looked at her. “Stay suspicious, obviously.”

            “Right. No-one, no-one you don’t know personally comes in without the full gate routine, and if you do know them but they’ve never been here before you do the routine anyway. All of it, every time. The slightest hesitation or doubt—anything at all—and you treble the questions. Think about what’s appropriate—not just ‘do you mean harm?’ but where were you born, where have you come from, are you loyal to Maggur, are you under orders, have you come because anyone asked you to, or told you to, do you have any mission here? The works.”

            “Kel, half those are the same thing.” Merric frowned. “If someone isn’t loyal to Maggur they wouldn’t be coming here on a mission for him.”

            “Not true, Sir Merric,” Zerhalm was blunt, Scanran accent thick. “Maggur Reidarsson deals in hostages and terror. It is well within his cunning to hold a wife or child and send the husband here. Or to hold husband and wife and send the child.”

            “Just so.” Kel looked round. “If any Scanrans show up send for Zerhalm at once—he can question them in ways we can’t. Similarly, if Tortallan commoners show up send for Fanche and Saefas, or if immortals show up—which I’m really not expecting but that’s when it happens—send for our residents.”

            “And what do we do if someone is suspicious?”

            “Good question. If they’re armed, fight. If it’s civilians or military wounded, well, I’ve been thinking. We don’t have a secure cell because we’ve never needed one, but that can change. Var’istaan, Kuriaju, can you carve out a small chamber, no larger than it need be, with exactly one door? Thank you. Brodhelm, the smiths can see to that door. I want new locks for the gates, too—those up-and-down ones as well as crossbars.”

            “Good idea.” Brodhelm made a note.

            “If anyone is really problematical ask Quenuresh to wrap them up tighter than any fly and spoonfeed them. She can call the griffins if there’s any uncertainty about anyone lying.” Kel checked her agenda. “Brodhelm, Mikal, Merric, Uinse, when it snows be sure Peachblossom’s loose and double your inspections of the duty watch—there’s nothing like long cold winter nights to make sentries silly. Keep the roadway clear as far as the moatbridge too—it’s no good having a killing field if you can’t see your traps. And one more thing.” She leaned back herself. “Uinse, what would you do if you wanted to weaken us as much as you could?”

            The former convict thought deeply. “Anything I could. Armies can’t move in snow, but small bands can. I’d scout all I could while I thought we were dozing, salt winter crops, trigger rockfalls if I knew about them, and take killing shots from deep cover at anyone who came out.”

            “So would I.” Kel looked in turn at Brodhelm, Mikal, and Merric, the last her real worry; knight or no, even after Haven Merric didn’t quite believe the worst could occur, regardless of precautions and weather. He’d never died of it. “Don’t think it might happen—assume it will, every day, every night. Check fields regularly for tracks. Quenuresh, could you ask the griffins to keep careful watch also whenever they fly? If it’s moving on two legs Brodhelm needs to know. I’ll ask the centaurs, and the sparrows can patrol as well. Oh, and the griffins and centaurs are welcome to food or shelter if they want it.”

            Quenuresh smiled widely. “I doubt either will but they’ll be pleased you think to offer.”

            “As they will. What matters is that everyone is vigilant, always. I don’t expect an army but I do expect something, some try for advantage or a killing. And please be careful yourselves. Everyone here is a prime target for anyone who wants to weaken us.”

            Zerhalm leaned forward. “You also, Lady Kel. An agent of Maggur’s need not come to New Hope to weaken us if you are in Corus.”

            “True. I doubt he’s thinking quite that way, but I shall be taking care, every day, I promise.”

            The meeting broke up, various participants seeking more personal discussions, and after lunch Kel, Brodhelm, and a shivering Alanna rode out with two squads to find the centaurs. Besides visits to trade and occasional sight of them with their horses in the southern valley Kel had seen little of the immortals, but when she blew the civil summons Whitelist and his mates soon trotted out of the woods. Presenting stone bowls and smoked meat Kel made introductions and requests, and after some polite, mutually satisfactory exchanges everyone trotted away again satisfied. By the time they were back at New Hope the bitter cold had vanished as even grey cloud began to set in.

            “We’ll be riding in snow tomorrow, Kel.” Alanna shivered despite the rise in temperature. “How many are we?”

            Kel counted in her head. Seaver, Neal, and Yuki wouldn’t be there, but besides Alanna there would be herself with Tobe, who had never seen Corus and preferred the idea of Midwinter celebrations at court to whatever New Hope did; Irnai, whose presence had been requested; and three men from Brodhelm’s and Uinse’s companies whom she’d granted leave to attend memorials and a wedding. Jump and the sparrows would keep Peachblossom and Hoshi company.

            “Seven, two children. Plus two squads as far as Bearsford.”

            “We’d best be off at the crack then, if we’ll have twenty-nine to find rooms for in Bearsford. Even for you I’m not camping in snow—and the Drunken Carter does excellent hotpot. The innkeep was an army bowyer before he retired to marry the last one’s daughter.”

            Laughing, Kel followed her childhood heroine and friend to the messhall.

Chapter Text

Part III – Midwinter

December 461 – February 462 HE

Chapter Nine — Kinship

5–16 December

To Kel’s eyes Corus was at once familiar and strange. Buildings were where they ought to be but the City wall and Palace enclosure seemed less impressive than she remembered. After a day she decided it was because her image had been made when she was a newcome page to whom everything was oversized, and fixed by her fear of heights and having to run the allering of the Palace wall. When she mentioned it the Lioness agreed, waggling a hand, but retorted it wasn’t Corus seeming smaller but Kel being bigger, and that as the world wouldn’t make more room for her on that account until she cleared some for herself she was bound to feel cramped. Kel took this under advisement, protesting there was quite enough of her already, but suspected Alanna was right.

            Their journey had been pleasant enough. Alder had proven as good for a journey as a joust, with an easy gait, and they had made good time. The fun of watching Tobe and Irnai see new landscapes, continuing their practical educations and drawing in soldiers travelling with them, kept conversation animated, and the children’s excited reactions to Corus and the wide Olorun, the Palace rising above the city and the expanse of the Royal Forest beyond were deeply satisfying to Kel—they ought to know what was at the heart of the realm. Her own bemused happiness continued, simple pleasure in restored well being remaining undiminished. Even resumption of her monthlies with accompanying aches and inconvenience proved welcome.

            What had not been enjoyable at all, in Kel’s opinion—Alanna and Tobe begged to differ—was entry into the city. Mindful of Alanna’s prediction about her probable reception Kel had done her level best to persuade everyone not to stop only ten miles north of the last rise before the city and ride on in winter dark and persistent drizzle, hoping an arrival closer to midnight than dinnertime would spare her whatever fuss was waiting. But Alanna had been unmoved, wanting food and warmth, with the inevitable result next day that after parting with the soldiers, all heading east, they reached the gates in late morning. The exaggerated respect of watchmen on the Kingsbridge when they identified the arrivals had been bad enough, but as they rode up Palace Way Kel heard the Chamber’s absurd tag being shouted. By the time they reached the Daymarket the crowd had thickened, and cheering started with cries of ‘Protector’ and ‘Mindelan’. Kel put her Yamani mask firmly in place until Alanna told her to smile; she thought she must look like a grinning idiot, and regarded the slow miles until they escaped into the Palace district as an ordeal she could have done without.

            She had waved, mouthing platitudes amid noise while knowing she’d gone as red as a beet. It all seemed absurd, unconnected with anything that had driven her into Scanra, but she knew plenty of soldiers who’d faced killing devices and too often died on their blades had been from Corus. Even so, the relative calm of the Palace enclosure had never been so welcome, and after they’d stabled their horses she automatically set off with relief for her old rooms only to be hauled back by Alanna and steered instead not even to the knight’s wing but to a set of rooms in the commanders’ quadrant, an area new to her. Startlement ebbed when she realised Tobe and Irnai were billeted with her and had cotbeds in a side-chamber, but even more than the crowds the rooms brought home to her how her status had risen; that her command was not limited to New Hope. Sprawling as the Palace might be rooms were at a premium, and a set like these, with a privy, side-chamber, and sitting room, were gold, an unarguable sign of rank.

            Practicalities rescued her from shock and she spent an hour making sure Tobe and Irnai knew the basic layout and places that mattered, including the day-kitchen where they snagged turnovers for lunch. Then she took them to see the pages’ and squires’ wing where she’d spent so long. The pages were out with Lord Padraig in the Royal Forest, so she was spared embarrassments but missed her nephew Lachran. She and the children did get strange looks from squires who happened to see them, and though Kel had intended to go on to the Own’s barracks and stables, where Tobe would appreciate the horseflesh and someone might have news of Dom, she headed instead up to the teachers’ floor hoping to find Daine. It turned out the Wildmage wasn’t back yet from the north but Kitten welcomed them volubly and dragged Numair from his books. Greeting Irnai gravely, he offered her meetings with other seers resident at the Palace, if she’d like, while Kel and a charmed Tobe were enthusiastically bombarded by Kitten with the news that her grandsire had promised to visit her during the celebrations to see how she fared and teach her new dragonspells. The opal dragon Kawit was already at the Palace and he wanted to have a long talk with her too.

            “There’s another dragon here?”

            There is. Kitten’s mindvoice sounded very smug.

            “And your grandsire is Diamondflame? The eighty-foot one?”

            Eighty-five, not counting his tail. Dragons don’t have kings but he is the most important except for Rainbow Windheart and the strongest magically. He says I will be very strong too because I have started young and had many experiences in the mortal realms. I saw him in the Dragonlands five years ago but he has not been here since he brought Mama and me back from the Divine Realms after she killed Ozorne.

            Who Rainbow Windheart might be Kel wasn’t sure but a memory clicked in her mind. “Was that when you gave Lord Mithros a scolding?”

            Yes, but he didn’t listen. Grandsire says gods usually don’t and that is one reason they are so annoying.

            Kel hadn’t thought of gods that way but decided Diamondflame sounded a very sensible dragon. “Well, if you meet the Graveyard Hag, please scold her for me. Bite her too, if you get a chance.”

            She is strange even for a god. I met her in Carthak and she upset Mama a great deal, so I will certainly bite her if I get the chance. What has she done to annoy you?

            “She played a trick on me I didn’t like at all. It was nasty and personal, so I hope you do get the chance. But please don’t ever bite the Goddess or the Black God—they’ve both been very nice to me.”

            Alright. You have been meeting a lot of gods, Kel. I saw a great many at their Court with Mama but I haven’t met any since except Mama’s parents. Grandsire says dragons annoy them as much as they annoy us, but that is silly. Most dragons are nice.

            “If they’re like you they must be, and I’m happy you’re so happy about seeing your grandsire.” Whether anyone else would be pleased by a visiting eighty-five-foot dragon Kel doubted, but looked forward to the event. “I need to see my parents, too, and take Irnai to meet them.”

            They will be pleased to see you, as I am. How long are you staying?

            “I’m not sure, but until after the celebrations at least. Then it depends on the weather. I’ll see you again when your Mama gets back if not before. And if you get bored I’m sure Tobe and Irnai would be glad of a visit. Do you know where my new rooms are?”

            Kitten didn’t so Kel explained, and after quietly telling Numair that the Goddess had visited New Hope and there were fragments of information he could get from Alanna, she took Tobe and Irnai to bathe and change before going to her parents’ townhouse. Determined to avoid any repeat of the fuss in the city she put her status to use and nabbed a closed carriage from the palace yard, which pleased both children. Her parents’ house-steward Hiroaki was surprised but pleased to see her, offering dignified congratulations in a reserved Yamani way she could deal with, and they made their way to the sitting room her parents used.

            Both were there, delighted to see her and Tobe and meet Irnai again, but so was Conal and even while her parents were greeting Irnai Kel knew that however popular her adventures might have made her with the citizens of Corus it had only deepened his open dislike. In the strange way of bullies he’d never forgiven her for being his victim in childhood, nor for the threats to disown him in which her father had exploded after the tower episode; perhaps in consequence he’d come to regard their parents as too liberal, and as a knight had drifted towards conservatives who loudly condemned the ‘irresponsible and sacrilegious decision’ to allow a girl page. His first words were an aggressive sneer.

            “So, little sister, you think your popularity and pet status entitles you to disrespect nobles from the Book of Silver, do you? You’d better not try such a thing in my presence.”

            Kel blinked, realising he must be referring to Tirrsmont, and though dismayed to discover that story in circulation anger flared with memory of the man’s disregarded responsibilities. Her voice came out clipped.

            “If you mean Tirrsmont, Conal, I suggest you discover how General Vanget refers to him before you decide he’s a paragon of virtue. Unlike him I said nothing untrue or obscene, and he was far outside his rights.”

            Her tone brought her mother’s head round but he didn’t notice.

            “You insulted and threatened him on his own lands and you’ll not get away with it.”

            “They’re not his, Conal, and never will be. He disgraces his title.”

            “You’re the disgrace, you and this Scanran bastard.”

            Red-faced he left, ignoring the children save for a look of contempt that brought concern to Tobe’s face, and Kel cursed him viciously in her mind before telling her son he was in a bad mood and not to fret. Obviously cross, her mother started to apologise to Tobe but Kel hushed her.

            “It doesn’t matter, mama. He’s always been a grouch.”

            “It’s worse than that, Kel, and you know it. He has no civility or judgement these days. I’m really quite tired of the boy.”

            For her mother those were strong words and Kel wondered what Conal had been saying or doing to warrant them, but friendlier family chat was more enticing. A letter from Patricine in the Islands had arrived the previous week, and after news of Anders, Inness, and her sisters—Oranie and Adelia would shortly be arriving with husbands and children but pregnant Demadria was staying with her new husband—there was the foiled attack on Mindelan to hash over.

            “Are the navy ships still there?”

            Her father nodded. “The damaged one is being repaired but another arrived as cover. Wolfship season’s over though, thank Mithros.”

            “Good. I have a horrible feeling it was a revenge attack. I’m sorry.”

            “Oh nonsense, Kel. Even if we were targeted you’ve no call to apologise.” Her mother searched her face. “But what about you? Your letters said nothing but there was a rumour you’d been hurt again. The King said it was just a close call but wouldn’t say what happened.”

            The invitation was obvious and Kel had reluctantly decided honesty required her to tell her mother the truth, but hoped to tell the story only once and had warned Tobe and Irnai—who knew how badly she’d been affected—she’d be deflecting enquiries.

            “Not now, Mama. It’s complicated and it was rough for a while, but I promise you I’m well. Very well, in fact. Are you training in the mornings with Shinko and the Queen?”

            Accepting her words, though obviously concerned, Ilane nodded. “Whenever I can. Will you join us tomorrow?”

            “Yes. If Shinko and the Queen have time after we might talk then.”

            “Alright. Now, about those glaives you wanted …”

            An hour passed in chatter and Kel was delighted to see Tobe relaxing, though wide-eyed at the size of the house and the more exotic Yamani items among her parents’ décor. Irnai was more self-contained but obviously happy too, interested in lifestyles new to her. Dragging herself reluctantly away Kel took them to Lalasa’s dress shop, for the pleasure of seeing her friend and the serious business of tailoring. Her dresses damaged at Haven had never recovered and while she hoped to get away with attending only the Queen’s and King’s balls there was no escaping those; she also wanted a dress to celebrate her healing, and was determined Tobe and Irnai would have some finery.

            As soon as Lalasa saw them she excused herself from a hectoring woman whom no skill in needlework would ever make look other than comfortably plump but whose affront seemed almost to become pleasure when she realised with squeaking excitement she’d been abandoned for the Protector of the Small herself. Ignoring her, Lalasa took them to a private room and after shutting the door hugged Kel fiercely.

            “Oh, my Lady, it’s so good to see you. I nearly burst when they proclaimed your report in the Daymarket. And business has been non-stop ever since.”

            “It’s your skills that do that Lalasa, and it’s good to see you too. Thank you for that wonderful kimono as well—it’s lovely, and it’s been a boon. But let me introduce you to Tobe, my son, and to Irnai.”

            Lalasa knew about her adoption of Tobe and recognised Irnai’s name from Kel’s report, eyes widening before natural kindness took over and she welcomed the girl. They chatted, Kel learning with a first real satisfaction in her new status that besides swelling Lalasa’s business with a range of customers from circles that hadn’t previously patronised her, the self-defence classes for women had also swollen in size and number since the report had made Kel famous.

            “Most people knew you’d taught me, of course—I tell every new group about that—but when I started out some lower-city men were very rude about women fighting, and about you, my Lady. Not now, though—they’re proud of a connection. I’ve four women teaching classes, including a Dog from the Jane Street Kennel, and it’s put a spring in all our steps, that you did what all the top knights and mages couldn’t.”

            Kel still wanted to be flustered by such inordinate praise but her genuine gladness at the increase in the number of women who could reasonably hope to defend themselves against a predator like Vinson made it easier to accept. She did steer conversation as swiftly as possible to New Hope, letting the children describe it and the visit of the Wildmage’s parents. Lalasa just smiled at their account of the glacis and caves, not visualising what they meant in physical terms, but the tale of the gods’ sounds behind the chimes had her making the circle on her chest, and when she heard that when Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady had manifested Kel had asked them to dinner and they had danced she was for once rendered speechless, staring consternation.

            “You … you invited them to dinner, my Lady?”

            Kel smiled ruefully. “I did, Lalasa. They wanted to see their daughter as well as bless their shrines so it was only polite. And they were very kind though Lord Weiryn’s antlers are a bit disconcerting.” Lalasa didn’t look convinced simple politeness required divine dining, nor sure what to make of anyone having antlers, but with a surge of affection and a sense of mischief she hadn’t felt for a long time and rejoiced to feel again Kel leaned forward confidentially.

            “I’ll tell you what was much more surprising, Lalasa—I danced with Lord Wyldon!”

            Lalasa’s hands flew to her mouth. “You didn’t!”

            “”Oh yes I did. He asked and I could hardly refuse. He’s mellowed more than you’d think possible. He’s a good dancer too.”

            “My Lady!”

            Lalasa’s real amusement at the idea of stiffly proper Wyldon doing such a thing and having light feet got her over her astonishment at Kel’s consorting with gods and they turned to business. Kel explained with apologies and regret what had happened to her wardrobe when Haven burned and her need for a dress to wear to balls as well some further replacements in due course.

            “But I also want things for the children, Lalasa. A proper Mindelan tunic and good breeches for Tobe, and something lovely for Irnai. I don’t think she’s ever had new clothes or anything fine.” She ruffled the girl’s hair and was rewarded with a smile. “I know it’s a lot in a short time but they’ll be coming to the balls with me as well, so I was hoping you could manage. I’d like some sturdy everyday outfits for them too, but that’s not so urgent.”

            “It’s no problem, my Lady. Lady Oranie told me you’d be here and I know how hard you are on clothes, so I’ve things set aside. And the children’s wear is easier anyway. Let me measure you all.”

            She bustled for a moment with the knotted strings of her trade, making both children giggle by ending with careful measurement of noses, and took them off to a marvellous storeroom to discuss fabrics and details. Familiar with Kel’s taste for simpler wear than court fashion dictated she had cunning suggestions; they settled on a design Kel had never seen with a very high waist and a long skirt. The neckline would conceal the scar from Stenmun’s axe, the fall of the skirt meant she didn’t have to worry about her unfashionable figure, and the high-cinched waist worked far better with her small, widely spaced breasts than the low-cut, exposing necklines court women favoured and Kel had always thought more revealing than was polite. She didn’t believe Lalasa’s satisfied prediction that her appearance would make it the new fashion, though an odd look came into Irnai’s eyes as she heard the words, but if the style was experimental Kel didn’t mind—it was modest, it became her, and the worst anyone could say was that it was unfashionable which bothered her not one whit. The colour would be a gorgeous deep blue Tobe wanted for his own tunic, and at Kel’s insistence embroidery would be limited to the hem and one Mindelan owl over her crossed glaives with distaff border.

            Tobe’s tunic would have owl and glaives without the border, and Lalasa found a lighter blue fabric for breeches. Irnai was more of a conundrum, so taken with the rich colours and fabrics she couldn’t say which she liked most. She was clear she didn’t want anything she couldn’t move freely in, and they decided on fine dark brown wool and a simple cut, Lalasa promising to have the dress embroidered with borders of flame in bright reds and yellows. Kel was reminded of a promise too long forgotten and asked for some red yarn for a new doll for Meech, explaining about the slow but so important balding of the old one.

            “Oh, my Lady.” Lalasa’s face softened. “What a brave lad. And only five, fancy! I’m sure I couldn’t have thought to do such a thing at that age. I know a woman in Festive Lane who makes dolls like that. She could do one for you with the right hair easily, if you’d like.”

            Kel did like, and they proceeded briskly to ordinary garments for herself and the children before returning to the private room for their usual wrangle about payment. Kel conceded on her dress, as she’d known she’d have to, but managed to get Lalasa to agree the cost of materials for the children, and a portion of the labour, would be set against Kel’s tithe from the shop’s earnings. She tried again, as hard as she could, to persuade Lalasa that profits were rightfully hers and she shouldn’t give anything to Kel—a case pressed all the harder because business was booming and the size of the payments a real embarrassment—but on the principle of the thing Lalasa was absolute.

            “If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t have shop or profit, my Lady, and I’m still your maid. I always set my proper wage against the accounts.” She folded her arms defiantly. “I’ve more money already than I ever expected and I’ll not stint a penny of what’s yours by right and custom.”

            Kel hadn’t realised she was still—on paper—paying Lalasa a wage but stifled protest; she’d have to do some research before confronting that trick of Lalasa’s accounting. She did, however, see a different counter.

            “When’s the last time I gave you a raise? I thought so. Your wage should have gone up three or four times by now, by at least half the original sum every time. You figure that in next time you do accounts, and backdate everything—I won’t stint a penny of what’s yours either.”

            Humour and admiration sparked in Lalasa’s eyes. “Alright, my Lady. That’s proper. And there’s something else I was going to ask you. That woman in Festive Lane, and others I know, do good work and could do more if they could get themselves proper premises and stock and hire help. They can hardly get the time of day from the goldsmiths and can’t afford the rates nimmers down here charge, but don’t want charity. I lent one woman something to get herself started by hiring her as my undermaid and now she tithes to me. But you could do more and I know most of what I’ve tithed to you is just sitting in that goldsmith’s vault.”

            This idea Kel liked far more and promised to see the goldsmith to authorise Lalasa to withdraw whatever was needed. If these women had a tenth of Lalasa’s skills it promised to make Kel richer in the long run but what pleased her was allowing talented women held back by nothing more than Tortall’s snobbish conservatism to escape the poverty of so much of the lower city.

            The spark returned to Lalasa’s eye. “I thought you’d say that. Perhaps we’ll call ourselves the Protector’s Maids.”

            “You dare!”

            Lalasa grinned and her face softened into a broader smile as a tap on the door was followed by a man’s head poked through the opening.

            “Lal, are you—oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were busy.”

            “That’s alright, Tom, we’re about done, I think. Come in, please. I’d like to present you to my Lady. This is Tomas Weaver, my Lady. We met down at the fabrics warehouse at the dock and we’re good friends.”

            The man was short, slim, and cheerful, open face breaking into a smile as Lalasa spoke. “We’re courtin’, Lal, not just good friends, I hope. You’d be Lady Knight Keladry, then. I’m honoured to meet you—and thank you for all you’ve done for Lal. She’s told me a lot about you.”

            He drew himself up to bow but Kel forestalled him, offering a hand he took with pleased surprise. His own was strong and clean, with a weaver’s callouses, and though Kel was taken aback by his words, knowing Lalasa’s history and lingering aversion to male company, she could see from her eyes that Tomas Weaver had been the man to persuade her otherwise. His obvious affection and easy kindness to the children, inviting them to call him Tom, put him further in her good books. He was as enthusiastic as Lalasa about the scheme, one of the women being a lacemaker he’d known since childhood, and a plan was hatched for Kel to meet some over the festival. By the time they’d had tea and biscuits, the light was fading and Kel reluctantly rose. Tobe bounced out with Tom, but as the women followed Irnai laid a hand softly on Lalasa’s arm.

            “The god says if you choose him he will be always true and gentle.”

            Startled, Kel and Lalasa looked down at the seer smiling up at them.

            “Shakith?” Kel spoke for Lalasa’s benefit.

            “Yes.  I asked how you’d look in your dress and she showed me, just as Tom came in, then added what I said. He’s nice.”

            She skipped out after Tom and Tobe.

            “She’s for true, my Lady?”

            “She is, Lalasa. Master Numair has no doubt she’s one of Shakith’s Chosen and her voice sounded when Irnai dedicated her shrine at New Hope—like a hawk in the distance. She sort of lit up for a moment too.”

            “Oh. And Tom’s …” Her face was transformed. “I do trust him, my Lady, he’s been nothing but kind. But I couldn’t help remembering how my … how men can change with the drink in them. And now the goddess herself reassures me. Me.”           

            “Are you thinking to accept his proposal, then?”

            “I think I would have anyway but to be sure I’m not being a fool …”

            “Well, I hope you’ll be very happy. I’m delighted for you.”

            She gave Lalasa a hug as warmly returned and they followed the children. Not wanting to trouble with formalities after a long day Kel ignored the formal dinner sitting and took them to the kitchens that served the Own. Few she knew well were present, Raoul and Third Company having remained at Steadfast, but there were men of the First and Second she recognised who welcomed them to a plain but satisfying plat, and excellent winter-apple pie. They soon found they got better answers about Rathhausak and events at New Hope from Tobe and Irnai, so there was more chatter than Kel was comfortable with but she steeled herself. They also found a corporal from Second she didn’t know who was from Masbolle and told her that though so far as he knew no-one had heard directly from Sergeant Domitan, he gathered the injured veteran was back at home, helping his brother with the estates but afflicted with a bad limp and by all appearances a deal of pain. Wincing, Kel thanked him and promised herself she’d write to Dom again as soon as she’d got the children to bed. It wasn’t easy when she came to it, her recent experiences precluding frankness, but eventually she had a version that seemed informative and cheerful, mentioning Quenuresh and with a double exclamation-mark the litany of nicknames for the tauros skulls. She concluded with a renewed invitation to come to New Hope in spring, and went to bed in good heart.

* * * * *

When she made her way to the private practice courts at dawn, glaive in hand in case no practice weapon was available, Kel was astonished to find not only the Queen, Shinko, her mother, and a number of the Queen’s Ladies, but also Lord Padraig. The Training Master had always been a swordsman by choice, preferring his blade to any polearm, and was uncomfortable with a glaive, hands slightly misplaced and stance off, leaving his warm-up pattern dance unbalanced. As there was a practice weapon waiting for her, once Kel had greeted everyone, giving Cricket a hug, she made sure he could see her as she weighed it more judiciously than she needed and carefully positioned her hands before beginning her warm-up with the slow, extended sweeps that were impossible unless your balance with the weapon was perfect. Their slowness allowed her to watch in peripheral vision as he read the lesson and adjusted his grip, at once finding a smoother rhythm. After two slow dances she recentred and started a more complex set, accelerating until her glaive was a blur and the comfortable heat of readiness filled her, sweat filming her face. When she came to a precise halt, glaive poised for the broom-sweeps-clean, there was applause and Lord Padraig came forward smiling to offer a hand she took with renewed surprise.

            “Thank you, Lady Knight. That was a most tactful lesson before your impressive display. I felt the difference at once—like staffwork, really. I should have guessed for myself what I was doing wrong.”

            She smiled as she mopped face and hands. “I had it beaten into me for years, my Lord, by old Naruko at the Imperial Palace.”

            “That’s what I wanted to ask about, actually. All three girls starting this year specifically asked about glaive training, with their parents’ support, and I saw a fine display, like yours just now, from one of the Yamani delegation who came for the Princess’s wedding, so I know what a good weapon it can be. It’s interesting—staff, stabbing spear, and sword all in one, but unlike any of them. The problem is we don’t have anyone who can instruct. The King has written to the Emperor requesting teachers to train up our own but it’ll be spring before they’re here. We do have practice weapons, though few live ones yet, so I wondered if you might introduce the pages to the basics in the next few days, and make sure they’re started right.”

            Extremely pleased with flexibility in thinking she hadn’t expected—and for which he’d never been known—Kel agreed at once and they arranged for her to come to the pages’ practice courts the following afternoon. Then sparring began, partners regularly swapping so Kel found herself paired successively with Uline, who grinned widely and offered congratulations between blows, a Queen’s Lady she didn’t know whose defence was ragged, and Thayet before finishing with her mother, by far the best match for her but without Kel’s strength or reach. Time flew as practice absorbed attention and she was sorry when Thayet called a halt, groaning and arching her back.

            “I’m getting old. Practice never used to feel like this.”

            “Nonsense, Thayet. I can give you fifteen years. You just ate too much at that shindig with the ambassadors last night.”

            Thayet laughed. “Guilty as charged, Ilane. The food was excellent and why you didn’t stuff yourself too I can’t imagine. Keladry, your mother said you wanted a word with Shinko and me so I’ve laid on breakfast in my rooms, if that’s alright.”

            Kel walked with her mother behind the royals, telling her Lalasa was being courted and relaying news about clothing and the plan to finance women who needed only a start to get businesses up and running. Thayet and Shinko had been chatting about court gossip and switched attention to the conversation behind them when they caught its gist, continuing to quiz Kel over the table. Though distracted by some astonishingly flaky crescent-rolls, as light as she’d ever tasted and entirely delicious, Kel was happy to answer, adding information about Lalasa’s self-defence classes entering a second generation, with the best of her first pupils acting as instructors to cope with demand. Thayet theatrically struck her forehead.

            “Keladry, that’s superb, and I’m an idiot. After the Chamber exposed that disgusting Vinson and I discovered how the Palace maids were being harassed I came down on the senior housekeepers like a ton of bricks, so I hope things are better but I’m not kidding myself I solved the problem. Jon and I subsidise the Temple of the Goddess to run patrols in the lower city and do what they can to aid and deter, but that’s only a drop in the ocean. Teaching women to defend themselves, and mark any attacker, that’s a real step.”

            Kel nodded. “Now there are more instructors available why don’t you require all female Palace staff to attend classes? They’d have to go in rotation but I’m sure Lalasa would be glad to help and a royal imprimatur would bring more lower-city women in too.”

            Thayet hit her forehead again. “Twice an idiot—that’s a deal, Kel.”

            Remembering her curiosity, Kel asked what had happened to Vinson at his trial, and Thayet scowled.

            “He was found guilty right enough—with bruises and cuts still appearing randomly all over him and his confession on impeccable record no-one was defending him. Turomot sentenced him to five years in the mines as well as fining Genlith very heavily for trying to bribe him, so that was right too. And he gave the fine to the Temple of the Goddess, the upright old coot. But while Vinson was being transported north the party was attacked. Three guards and two convicts were killed, and he was taken—or freed. Jon and I are sure Genlith or Stone Mountain hired it done but we can’t prove anything and he’s not been seen since.”

            “Oh.” Disturbed Kel nevertheless took the opportunity. “That’s ill news. And it connects with what I wanted to tell you all. Well, not wanted, but feel I should. Is this safe from eavesdroppers? It’s really not for anyone else’s ears.”

            “It can be. A moment.” Thayet disappeared into an adjoining room, returning with an elaborately set ruby on a golden chain fastened round her neck. “It’s spelled to mask conversation from more than a few feet away—a present from Kaddar that’s proved very useful.”

            Kel imagined it had. “Thank you.” She took a breath and looked at her mother. “The thing is … well, I met the Goddess recently, through Alanna, and she told Alanna I might need to tell someone about this—publicly, I mean—and if I swore it by gods’ oath she’d make sure it was upheld. I can’t imagine why I’d want to tell anyone at all, but Alanna didn’t think she’d spoken idly and I wouldn’t for the world have any of you learn this unexpectedly or by report. So I have to make sure you all know but please don’t tell anyone else unless it happens, especially Papa.”

            Ilane’s Yamani mask in place; so was Cricket’s while Thayet was frowning at mention of the Goddess.

            “Alright, Kel. I have a feeling I’m not going to like this one bit, but that’s reasonable. What is it?”

            Kel decided shock tactics were best. “Back in September, not long after you left New Hope, we were attacked—a mage and seven tauroses went after an outlying group cutting hay down the valley and killed both guards and five of the six farmers. I wasn’t far away with two guards and between us we killed the mage and six tauroses, but my guards were down—one dead, the other out cold—and there was the seventh tauros. It unhorsed me, and, well, you know what tauroses do. But then, and I swear this is true—I died.” It sounded ridiculous even to her and Ilane’s eyes were huge. She hurried on. “I met the Black God and he was very kind to me before his daughter healed me and sent me back, because the tauroses had been touched by Uusoae during the Immortals War and Lord Mithros and the Great Goddess wouldn’t allow her interference to have any effects they didn’t like.” She looked at Thayet’s shocked face. “Daine said that made sense, and I believe the King knows the story so I hope you do too.”

            The Queen nodded, tight-lipped. “You died, Kel? From the tauros?”

            “I’m afraid so. And was sent back, very much alive again. Peachblossom was mortally hurt as well, hind leg in smithereens, but Daine managed to heal him though he’s had to retire as a warhorse. And there’s one more thing, because the Hag’s healing wasn’t, um, very satisfactory and that’s why Alanna called the Goddess who did heal me properly, um, everywhere and I promise you I’m fine now. I swear I am.”

            She made the gods’ circle as she spoke and chimes sounded softly with the Goddess’s hounds behind. All her listeners started, Shinko paling even further and Thayet looking around in wonder.

            “Was that other noise…?”

            “The Goddess, yes.”

            The next few minutes were emotional, Ilane and Shinko hugging her repeatedly with most unYamani expressions despite Kel’s protests that she was fine, and while yes, she had been dead for some very short time, she wasn’t any more and was thoroughly healed. Over their heads she made a mute appeal to Thayet, watching with a frown and tears in her eyes, but the queen shrugged and opened her hands eloquently: if Kel would drop such anvils into conversation she must expect to be hammered. Ruefully Kel agreed but after a while managed to ease her mother and Cricket back, feeling with some pleasure a sparking irony as she managed—in practice clothing—to produce a clean handkerchief for them to dab their eyes; Thayet had already used a napkin.

            “Well, I can see why you don’t want your papa to know, sweeting. He’d have fifty kinds of fit, even with you alive and well in front of him. Was it … was it very bad, dearest?”

            Kel wasn’t going to start lying at this stage. “Yes. I was pretty much unconscious at the time but the dream memories were vile, and I was in a bad way for a while—frozen inside and very snappy with everyone. But Lord Gainel helped, waking me from bad dreams and sending nice ones—being a child in the Islands, Cricket, full of laughter with you and Yuki, though I couldn’t remember about what. Then the Goddess healed me properly and they’ve stopped.” She considered her mother carefully. “I really don’t want to say more but if you have to know ask Alanna. I’ll tell her it’s alright to speak to you. But please don’t—details don’t matter and it’s over.” She took a breath and added a truth she’d recognised on her journey south, offering a crooked smile. “It was what you might call a learning experience and I’ve learned a lot—though there’s still one mystery no-one’s solved and that’s the stormwings.”

            “Stormwings?”

            The voices were in unison and Kel explained the strange business of the tauroses’ heads, ending with the familiar litany of Chargy, Bargy, Horny, Toothy, Dimwit, Flatnose, and Pizzle, which she was beginning to think more inspired than she’d realised; it was certainly useful, and all three women’s hands leaped to their mouths, as Lalasa’s had done at the news of Wyldon dancing. Ilane was the first to recover.

            “Kel, sweeting, if it’s taught you that kind of resilient self-mockery I almost have to be grateful—you’ve always been earnest to a fault. But gods, love, I wouldn’t have had you learn it this way for the world.”

            Thayet nodded fierce agreement but had a probing question. “Was it really just the tauroses having been chaos-touched, Keladry? You didn’t say the other dead  were sent back too.”

            “No it wasn’t,” Kel confessed. “As best I understand that was the main reason but the Goddess said they’d seen some future she wouldn’t describe where I do something that matters to them and plays in.”

            “Connected with Irnai’s prophecy?”

            “What prophecy?” Ilane’s voice was sharp as she looked between her queen and her daughter.

            “Oops.” Thayet shrugged. “Sorry. I forgot Ilane didn’t know.”

            Though dismayed Kel shrugged—it had been bound to come out sooner or later—and told her mother what Irnai had said so surprisingly during her verbal report.

            “It’s all so inconclusive. Numair says prophecies almost always are.”

            “Jon hates them.” Thayet frowned again. “But it does seem you’re going to face something at New Hope.”

            “Yes, I think so—it’s why I’ve driven hard to make it as impregnable as I can. Mama, I know it’s worrying and you have to tell Papa, but please remember I’m behind the best fortifications between Northwatch and Frasrlund and we’re on guard against everything.”

            “It didn’t stop that tauros.” Ilane’s voice was mild; her eyes weren’t.

            Kel shrugged again. “True, but I can’t stay in my room for the rest of my life. If I’m to die in battle I’ll die fighting all the way.” Seeing her mother’s face she added something she hadn’t meant to. “And I have the Black God’s promise that all the people I’ve sent to him myself won’t speak against me before his judges. I hope it’s a long time away, but if it’s tomorrow I’ll be at peace. Oh, and Th—Your Majesty, the—”

            “I prefer Thayet, Keladry. I’ve been waiting for you to do that.”

            “Then it’s Kel. Thayet, the Goddess said the children Blayce murdered are specially cared for by the Black God and contented in the Peaceful Realms. The other tauros victims too. I though you might want to have that proclaimed—about the children I mean—though I’d much rather you didn’t mention me. It’s another sign of how the gods regard necromancy and I don’t think Alanna would mind being named as the source. It’s her the Goddess told, when I was sleeping after healing.”

            Thayet nodded sharply. “Yes, that’s good. I’ll talk to Jon and Alanna. Since we made the proclamation accompanying your report that explained about that vile mage and the killing devices I’ve heard real anger and disgust about the children. We had a killing device put on show, did you know? So people will be glad to be reassured about that.” Her face took on a different look Kel couldn’t interpret. “Forgive me, Kel, but you’re constantly surprising me these days and I’m not the only one. You’re so … well, frankly, unschooled in politics you can condemn yourself out-of-hand when it’d be madness for Jon to take offence, but then come up with something like this—and what you said about Lalasa’s classes and training Palace women—that’s politically very smart indeed.”

            “Don’t worry about it, Thayet.” Ilane’s voice was dry. “Just imagine a good diplomat’s self-effacement with romantic chivalry and warrior stoicism behind it instead of cold calculation, then throw in an oversize dollop of heroism and being the youngest of nine. Do you wonder the gods are watching as intently as all of us?”

            “Not really. That makes sense, Ilane. Very Mindelan sense.”

            Kel didn’t know where to look and glared at her mother wrathfully. “That’s … that’s …”

            “Entirely true, sweeting? You’ve taken the best of your papa and me and added something all your own. Several somethings, actually. Do you have the slightest idea how formidable a woman you’ve become?”

            Kel’s annoyance turned to confusion and the conversation ran down gently, though she was still dismayed by the look on Shinko’s face and when the royals had to leave took care to hug her again, promising time soon to talk—not least about Yuki. When maids came to clear the table her mother towed her out to the Queen’s Garden where a sheltered bench afforded privacy and clasping her hands painfully made her go through what had happened with the gods again. Kel saw no reason to detail the Hag’s grey flesh or the state she’d got herself into believing it mockery, and even with her mother shied from the embarrassing intimacies involved, but did relate what the Black God had said and added that she’d seen his face. Stunned and big-eyed again, her mother once more had to borrow her handkerchief before smiling weakly.

            “Oh sweeting, I don’t know what to say. What can I say? I’m horrified by what you’ve been through and so relieved you’re alive and don’t have any idea what to make of these things the Black God said. I’ve never heard of anything like that.”

            “It doesn’t happen often.” Kel relayed Quenuresh’s comment.

            “You talked to that spidren about it?”

            “She killed the last tauros, Mama, and got it off me, so she was there when I … came alive again. She was very helpful, cloaking me when I wasn’t decent and helping with Peachblossom until Daine got there.”

            “Then I owe her a debt I can’t repay.”

            “I doubt she sees it like that but I’ll tell her, if you like.”

            “Please do. Perhaps we can make a deal with spidrens at Mindelan or something.” Ilane’s eyes sharpened. “So poor Peachblossom’s not fit for work anymore? I’m sorry—I know how you love that horse, for all his terrible temper. Did you ride Hoshi south?”

            “I’ll miss him horribly on the battlefield but he’s not too bad. He’s so smart I’ve given him the run of New Hope and he does rounds inspecting sentries.” That brought the expected laugh. “And no. I didn’t ride Hoshi, I have a new horse—Alder. He’s in the stables here.”

            “A warhorse? Where did you get one in the north?”

            “Wyldon gave him to me.” Kel blushed as her mother’s eyebrows rose. “I haven’t had a chance to thank him yet, but he and Owen should be here soon. Owen told me he didn’t want me to be without a gelding but said something wise too, I thought—that it was what Wyldon can give. He’s apologised to me about the probation thing, twice now, but he … well, we both find that sort of conversation difficult, and I think this is his way of making up for doing something he thought was right at the time but now thinks a mistake.”

            “Maybe, Kel, love—I can see him doing something like that. And I’m relieved you’ve a good warhorse—the ones he breeds are fine animals—but it’s a remarkable gift all the same.”

            “I think he feels guilty about what happened, Mama. Gods know he’s no reason to, but it was … on his watch, I suppose he’d say.”

            “I understand that—I feel the same and so will your papa if he finds out. Still, I think there’s more to it, Kel. It’s a father’s gift more than a friend’s.”

            “Perhaps.” Kel wasn’t comfortable with this at all, though oddly she thought she might have been if she were talking to Yuki or Shinko. “He taught me a lot and still does, so his good opinion matters to me more than anyone’s except yours and Papa’s and Raoul’s.”

            “Mmm, I realised that long ago, sweeting. Mind you, it had to matter given the position you were in.” Ilane hesitated. “Did he advise you about petitioning the Council? I wondered—we thought you’d made a very smart move there—Duke Gary told us about the notice you sent and the documents that followed, not long after we got your letter. I think it’ll sail through, but did you know Tirrsmont is in town? He was refused accommodation at the Palace, much to his fury, but he’s taken rooms at that big inn near the Provost’s House and there’s talk he’s going to make a formal claim for New Hope as well as a complaint about you not being servile enough for his taste.”

            Kel’s eyes went hard. “He can claim and complain all he likes. He was pig-rude and had no authority anyway. Do you know what he wanted from New Hope, apart from owning it? Miners to hack him out silver, even though the mines are closed and he refused the miners shelter when they had to flee their homes. Vanget, Wyldon, Raoul, Alanna, and Ennor of Frasrlund are all dead set against him getting another inch of land, let alone New Hope, so he can whistle for it.” A mark dropped in Kel’s mind. “Has Conal been drawn to him?”

            “Oh yes, like a moth to flame.” Her mother’s voice was tight. “Was that what you had words about yesterday?”

            “More or less. He told me I wouldn’t get away with insulting Tirrsmont. Oh, and that my ‘Scanran bastard’ was a disgrace.” Anxiety assailed her. “What do Anders and Inness think? Or Orie and Adie?”

            “Don’t worry, love. Anders and Inness were fine, Patricine was interested, Avinar thought it a virtuous thing, as he would, and your sisters seemed to think it just like you to graduate from stray animals to stray children.” Ilane smiled, warmth breaking through worry. “Which it is. Only Conal fussed, blethering about reputation, and I’m sorry for that. I don’t know where we went wrong with that boy, and though I don’t like to say so of any child of mine he’s not grown into a nice man. It’s no wonder he’s unmarried still, though he’ll turn thirty next year.”

            Kel shrugged. “He hasn’t changed in all the time I’ve known him, Mama, so I can’t see you or Papa did anything wrong. He was a bully then and still is. Some people are. I can stay away but I won’t have him insulting Tobe—he had enough of that sort of thing before I met him.”

            “Don’t you dare stay away, love—if Conal can’t be civil he can stay away. He’s no pleasure to talk to these days—one complaint after another about how we’re going to the dogs. It’s rubbish.”

            “Well, so’s Tirrsmont.”

            “Yes he is, but I can’t help remembering how his son tried to kill you and claimed his lance slipped. Take care, Kel, even here. Especially here.”

            Kel promised but was uncomfortably reminded of Zerhalm’s words at the council, thinking ruefully that she had relaxed vigilance. Parting from her mother with promises to come with the children again once Adie and Orie arrived, she walked in the gardens a while, thinking hard, then went to find Numair. He was not long up and tousle-haired, hunched over breakfast, but smiled and offered a seat.

            “I hope you don’t mind, Kel, but I sent Kitten to take up your offer of playing with the children. She’s so chirpy in the mornings and I’m not.”

            Kel grinned. “That’s fine. I can’t be with them all the time and I expect Kitten’s missing her ma. Actually, she’s probably a protection for them and that’s what I wanted to ask you about.”           

            “A protection?” His gaze sharpened as she explained her concerns.

            “I know it seems unlikely, but I promised Zerhalm and my Mama to do all I can. And one thing I’ve started to realise about politics is that people do the same things all the time, even if it didn’t work before, so I can’t help remembering what happened to Lalasa. I can take my chances but Tobe and Irnai can’t, so I wondered if you could do magical protections—my windows and door, and I don’t know if it’s possible but if there’s anything that could help locate them if something happens …”

            “It may be unlikely, Kel—I can’t see who’d do that—but it’s good thinking. It’s always better to prevent something than have to try fixing it after. I can certainly spell your rooms so only you and the children can enter without invitation, and if you keep safe a lock of each of the children’s hair I could locate them . Mmm. There’s also … wait a minute.”

            He went to his workroom and came back with three slim bracelets set with a dull green stone. “Here. Put the largest one on.”

            Kel did, Numair muttered words under his breath, and to her surprise the bracelet vanished, though she could still feel it.

            “No-one need know it’s there, but make sure it’s clear of your sleeve when you’re going to eat or drink anything—within a few feet of anything poisoned the stone will flash.” He grinned without humour at the look on Kel’s face. “I made them for us when we visited Carthak. I can put the others on the children and hide them when I do the room. Poison’s not likely, maybe, but it’s a political weapon, and a coward’s, and none of the likely villains are going to want to challenge you openly so it’s possible they’d try something like that.”

            Kel was grateful, poison never having crossed her mind, and once Numair had finished his food they went to her rooms. Kitten was happily making individual stones in the walls light up, flashing colours in complex patterns, with an avid Tobe and Irnai applauding, but after discovering why Numair had come wanted to watch his magic. While he set about spelling windows, chimneys, and outer door Kel gave the bracelets to the children, explaining how they worked, and took clippings of their hair which she put safely away. Returning, she saw wide eyes and squatted.

            “It’s just being careful, you know—I’m not expecting anything like that, really. But do you remember the man who came to the gate wanting to take our miners? The Lord of Tirrsmont? Well, he’s here, still angling to get New Hope for himself, and that’s not going to happen so he might be stupid enough to try something else. And six years ago someone who wanted to hurt me kidnapped Lalasa so I want to make sure you’re both safe. We’ll also get you each a good beltknife so you have something with bite if you need it.”

            That cheered Tobe up though Irnai looked doubtful. “The god hasn’t warned me of anything.”

            “Good. I hope she would, Irnai, but it doesn’t do to count on it. And the gods like us to make an effort, I think.”

            Irnai nodded, face clearing. “Yes. When the god warned me about the Kinslayer I had to hide, for ages sometimes. And when she told me to go to Rathhausak she said to travel by night and hide during the day.”

            “That’s the sort of thing, yes. This is the same. I don’t want you worrying, just being careful. Being with Kitten’s good too—she has magic and sharp teeth, and no-one in their right mind would take a chance of hurting her. Now, I’m sorry I was away so long—a meeting dragged on and then I had to see Numair. Have you had breakfast?”

            They hadn’t, so once Numair had spelled bracelets into invisibility, which pleased both of them, they went to the day kitchen and once they’d eaten set about errands. Kel took them to meet as many senior Palace servants as she knew and could find, including Salma and the duty officers of the Palace Guard, so they knew people who could help them and were themselves known. After that, deciding the crowds, if they formed, had to be endured, she took them to the Temple District to make offerings to the Goddess and Lord Mithros for their safety while she gave thanks for her healing. Then they headed to an armourer on Palace Way, less expensive than Raven Armoury but used to dealing with pages and with a better stock of weapons for smaller hands; with Alanna’s gifts Kel had never needed to buy from him herself but had been with others, and he’d never been less than gravely polite, seeming not to notice her gender.

            There were smiles as they were recognised but the fuss the day before seemed to have got it out of people’s systems and Kel was able to smile back with reasonable cheer. She nevertheless found herself newly conscious of vulnerability to a crossbow bolt from some hidden spot and her shoulders itched, but she could hardly put the children in mail or wear it herself on everyday business; she did however make a mental note to get three good buff jerkins that might turn a blade. The armourer was as polite as ever, greyer than she remembered, and dealt with the children well, making them jab with several knives before advising which he thought best-suited. When she asked about jerkins he was able to produce some that had sheets of an astonishingly light metal between tough outer leather and a thin inner layer, with warm linings.

            “The metal comes from Carthak, my Lady—a fruit of the Princess’s marriage. It won’t stop a full blow with a real weapon or a bolt at close range, but with the leather it’ll stop most daggers and arrows short of a needlehead. I’ve the smaller ones because a noble ordered them for his children but decided he’d go for full chainmail without telling me, so I’d be glad to move them, to be frank. And we keep a range in adult female sizes and cuts—they’re becoming quite popular with the ladies who do proper weapons training as a safeguard that’s lighter than mail.”

            Kel took them at once with one for herself and after a moment’s thought the largest they had, for Numair as a Midwinter gift—even exposed on alures or battlefields he never wore mail, relying on magic, but she thought he might accept one of these and that Daine would be happy. Pleased, she had the children put theirs on, with belts to hang their knives from, and donned her own. When the armourer presented the bill she discovered a generous discount and turned in protest.

            “You’re robbing yourself, Master Randall. This can hardly cover costs, never mind any profit. I’m happy to pay properly and I should.”

            He raised eyebrows. “Wonders never cease—a noble wanting to pay more than I ask?” He shook his head. “No, my Lady, I’ll not take a penny more. My children are grown but I have a father’s  care, and I knew about the killing devices and how they sounded when slain, so I rejoiced when I heard you’d killed the necromancer. It’s my honour and pleasure to serve you, and the horse boy and seer who helped you.”

            The cynical voice Kel didn’t like told her Master Randall might be making shrewder calculations, about benefits for business of serving the people’s present darlings, but she thought him sincere and reluctantly accepted. To salve her conscience she made a more expensive plunge, still at discount, and ordered a complete set of scale-armour barding for Alder in the Carthaki metal—shaffron, crinet, peytral, flanchards, crupper, and protection for reins, omitting only caparisons for which she had no use or taste and weren’t an armourer’s business anyway. Cost aside, she’d never used barding for Peachblossom or Hoshi because in iron the weight was so great the horse was slowed, unable to rear and soon exhausted, but lighter metal would offer considerable protection for less disadvantage, and for skirmishing should serve well.

            They left Alder in the armourer’s stables to be measured, with the children’s horses for company, tipping the ostler to see to them, and Kel took the children on a whirlwind tour of the main shopping area lower on Palace Way, buying Midwinter gifts and helping Tobe choose things for her parents and sisters, and both children tokens for Alanna, Daine, Numair, and Kitten. It all added up, and their final visit, to the goldsmith to authorise Lalasa’s withdrawals and payments to the armourer and shopkeeps sending purchases to the Palace made her feel better, though the sum hardly dented the balance her frugality and Lalasa’s tithing had built up. Tobe’s eyes widened as he saw the goldsmith’s obsequious respect and heard the sums involved, and outside he looked at her with that old man she thought she’d driven away in his eyes.

            “I didn’t know you were so rich, Ma. Alvik woulda killed for a hundredth of what you have.”

            Nonplussed, Kel shrugged weakly. “Would he, Tobe? More fool him. It is a lot, I know, far more than most people have—it’s because of what Lalasa gives me from her shop and money I won jousting when those stupid conservatives would insist on challenging me because I was a girl—but there are plenty of people with more, not just nobles. My Papa taught me a lot about how money works, and so did Sir Myles—Alanna’s da. You haven’t met him yet, but you will. You’ll like him, I think—he’s fun, though he sometimes drinks too much.”

            The moment passed, to Kel’s relief, but she added money matters to her list for Tobe’s education and wondered if it should go on the New Hope school curriculum; Idrius Valestone had been dealing with barter and principles of stock-keeping and accounting, but straight talk about finance would be a good thing all around. Meanwhile, the children’s stomachs agreed with her own that they’d earned lunch, and feeling safer with the jerkins, and the reticence of people who smiled as they passed but didn’t interrupt, she took them to a stall in the Daymarket that served the best meatrolls and bubbly pies in Corus; and afterwards on a tour of the city walls. It produced meetings with two gate captains and many of the duty watch, and in her mind safety points racked up; when they eventually collected the horses and headed back, weary and satisfied, Kel felt she’d redeemed her promises as far as she could. Any assault was more likely to be aimed at her than the children, and to be verbal or legal rather than physical, but she’d covered all possibilities she could think of and with Numair’s help one she hadn’t. Not even the gods could ask more.

* * * * *

As Midwinter neared Kel’s days fell into a routine. After glaive practice at dawn and breakfasts with Thayet and Cricket, she took the children to eat and spent mornings with them, in lessons or showing them around and introducing them to friends. Tobe ingratiated himself with Onua and Stefan Groomsman and spent afternoons learning horselore, while Irnai, doubtful at first, found she liked an elderly seer Numair took her to see and usually went to the old man for tea; both became thick as thieves with Kitten, to Kel’s and Numair’s mingled relief and consternation. Kel spent afternoons with the pages, training with the Own, or in the Palace Library, carefully checking legalities of fief-grants and claims for extension; she sought one of Turomot’s senior clerks for instruction in the complexities of what happened when military regulations, statute law, and noble privilege clashed. She also had a long morning with Shinko.

            Her initial glaive session with the pages, among them a pleased Lachran grown out of all recognition and two girls she recognised from those who’d talked to her after seeing her joust, had been a spectacular success. After showing her live weapon and starting them on a pattern dance that contained all the basic moves she’d asked Sergeant Ezeko to get a cheap training sword and similar axe and run through the most efficient ways in which glaive could defeat swords. Then she’d gathered the pages by eye and tried to make her voice unthreatening but intense.

            “And that’s just basics. I know the pattern dances seem boring, but there is no substitute in building skill and balance. And you’re lucky—you’ll have them built into training. I did mine as extras, before dawn every day. I still do most dawns, with Her Majesty and Princess Shinkokami, who is very good, I warn you. Sergeant Ezeko, if you’ll trust me, would you try attacking for real for a moment and let me defend?”

            She knew Ezeko’s style well, and when after a few moments of right-side thrusts and sweeps he suddenly switched left, angling his blade in at her stomach she was ready and perfectly positioned to bring her glaive down hard. The rippled Yamani steel cut straight through the cheap metal of the training sword, and a twist of her wrists brought the blade to rest on his chest as he hastily stepped back. Politely she picked up the severed blade and handed it to him.

            “The Yamanis make good weapons—don’t ever think otherwise. Raven Armoury’s as good, not better. And the glaive has two ends. Sergeant, could you grab that axe and attack again, assuming you’ve stuck me with the point in the left shoulder, so I’m losing mobility in that arm, and close, using your superior strength against my weak side?”

            Ezeko looked glum but gamely did as asked, bearing down hard with his full weight and strength when she restricted her defence on the left side to simulate the effects of the injury she remembered all too well. Neatly she hooked his legs from under him and as he hit the floor, arms flying out to break his fall, brought the iron-shod butt of her glaive to rest on his forehead. After helping him up she turned back to the pages.

            “And that’s how Stenmun Kinslayer died, the butt of this glaive breaking his skull right between his eyes. I cut his throat to be sure, but that was belt-and-braces. So remember your glaive has two ends. Hajikoru does. His Fourteen Moonlight Dances with the Naginata is in the Palace Library, in a decent translation, and as good a basic text as I know for any weapon. You’ll find the language flowery but don’t be fooled—he makes very good sense. Now, pair up and let’s see what you can all do.”

            Thereafter the session was something of a mess because everyone was enthusiastic, none more so than the girls whom Kel was careful not to favour but did give warm smiles and advice about using slow dances to strengthen muscle and improve balance. As their bodies developed they’d need to adjust their stances, especially if they turned out bigger breasted or narrower hipped than she was, but Eda Bell knew all about that. Afterwards Lord Padraig was extremely pleased.

            “You’re a natural teacher, Lady Knight—solid stuff to start, a demonstration to rivet all, and excellent interventions in the practice pairings.” He shook his head. “So many good knights are hopeless teachers it makes this job harder than I’d expected. But I’ll welcome you as often as you’re free, for glaivework or anything you fancy—tilting, perhaps? I saw you stay seated against Wyldon on Progress, when you were a squire, which I confess I’ve never managed. And I’ve heard squires who remember you—Mandash and Vikison Lake in particular—say you’re like butter with a staff. What was it Mandash said? ‘All smooth and no cowhairs’, I think.”

            Kel laughed. “He was quoting Iden. They came to me for help when they were first years and I was third. It was just stance and grip.” She glanced at him sidelong. “Sergeant Ezeko’s an excellent fighter, but he doesn’t always see basic problems like that.”

            “Or expects them to work it out for themselves, yes. I’ve noticed that, Lady Knight.”

            Taking a chance she put a hand on his arm. “I’d prefer Keladry, my Lord. Or just Kel, though I’ve not persuaded Wyldon to such levity yet.”

            His glance was keen and amused. “I wish you luck—he told me you were on first-name terms. And in that case, Keladry, it’s Padraig.”

            They parted with an invitation to Kel and the children to dine on the high table in the pages’ hall that evening—an event that gave her the strangest feeling but Tobe especially enjoyed, not only for Padraig’s unpatronising conversation about horses but the alacrity with which the pages stood when she entered and obvious excitement at her presence. It was, he told her afterwards, proper given all she’d done for so many people, and after tucking him and Irnai in she retired to bed unable to distinguish embarrassed gratification from gratified embarrassment and almost wishing for the isolated ease of New Hope.

            There were interruptions to routine as people arrived. Orie and Adie were first, with husbands and children, and Kel took Tobe and Irnai to a family feast at her parents’ townhouse that went better than she’d expected. Conal stayed away, whether by choice or parental command she wasn’t sure, and her sisters showed a newly wary respect, as did their husbands, Meronec of Nond and Ortien of Hannalof, Lady Uline’s cousin. Meronec made it quietly clear that while his parents had been approached by Tirrsmont he’d seen his father’s letter from Lord Ferghal haMinch, as Ortien had seen his uncle’s. Vanget’s elder brother ruled the haMinchi clan and both brothers-in-law insisted everyone knew whom they believed when it came to defence of the northern border. Half-flattered, half-irritated, and altogether loathing politics Kel thanked them but was better pleased that Tobe and Irnai got on with Lachran, released for the event, and highly amused when her nephew found himself co-opted into the familiar New Hope discipline of older caring for younger. Her sisters and their husbands were surprised, impressed, and relieved, and though Tobe and Irnai lacked the polished manners some thought important and had rougher voices—as well as Tobe his blond Scanran looks, making him stand out among them like a straw against earth—both were painstakingly polite to all adults and so clearly good-hearted that they made better impressions than they knew. Hearing surprised wifely whispers from her sisters Kel knew word would spread, and if she detested the inconsequential social rounds Orie and Adie seemed to live for she knew well what hurt and malice they could sow, and gave silent thanks on Tobe’s behalf.

            The following day Wyldon and Owen arrived, cutting it finer than intended because the snowstorm that brushed New Hope had been far heavier at Mastiff, making their journey very slow until Bearsford. The cold in the north had deepened sharply, Wyldon said, all thoughts of a mild winter vanquished by continuing heavy snowfall. Kel wasn’t sure if she was more relieved at the impediment to the enemy or worried by New Hope’s perhaps lengthy isolation, but she had thanks for Alder to give and did so directly, heightening both their colours.

            Owen, after greeting her with his usual exuberance, bounced off to find his father, and Wyldon tried to steer conversation away from his generosity to hers in helping Owen, who had, he said, been much calmer and properly determined since visiting her. Waving this away in turn Kel told him about the barding she’d ordered and at his surprise showed him a sample of the Carthaki metal she’d been given by the armourer. They fell into mutually congenial discussion about savings in weight against loss of strength, Wyldon dubious and Kel pointing out that while the metal could be pierced by a determined thrust at close range it would deflect anything short of that and, more importantly, give protection against arrow volleys at distance without slowing a charge; they both knew what kind of havoc those could wreak, not by piercing armour but by injuring mounts or making them stumble and pitch riders off. Wyldon wound up agreeing to see the barding when Kel took Alder for a fitting, and as she helped him tote bags to his rooms, not far from her own, she told him with shared enjoyment and irony about Padraig’s invitation and demonstrating her move against Stenmun at Sergeant Ezeko’s expense.

            She also received a brief letter from Dom that left her more worried than reassured. Besides thanking her for gifts and good wishes and asserting he was doing well he said next to nothing yet managed to suggest that however much better his leg his spirit was unhealed. Duke Baird had had a similar letter and was equally worried but didn’t see what could be done; the axe-wound had left Dom’s right calf very weak and even standing would be problematic, the leg liable to buckle, while riding an estate would be somewhere between painful and impossible. Distressed, Kel tried to think.

            “Can it not be braced?”

            “Perhaps, but I’ve known too many cases where the weight of the brace is a problem in itself, Keladry. Even in strong men it tends to cause such severe cramping in the thigh muscle that help standing isn’t worth the price. Chafes nastily, too. A cane is better.”

            Kel reached into her pocket. “Could you use this new Carthaki metal? It’s much lighter.”

            Baird frowned, weighing it in his hand. “This is the stuff in those jerkins? I see you have one. It is light, isn’t it? Is it strong enough?”

            Kel explained how she’d learned about it, her barding, and her reasoning about weight. Baird’s eyes were intent as he thanked her, promising to see what could be done, and she left in better heart.

            The final arrival, on a horse borrowed from Raoul at Steadfast and accompanied by an escort, was Daine, and when Kel learned of it from an exuberant Kitten one morning she also learned the delay and mundane transport had been because the Wildmage was pregnant.

            I shall have a brother or sister in May though Mama says she doesn’t want to know which. Kitten’s mindvoice was a chortle.

            “May?” Kel did a quick calculation. “But she was shapeshifting after—is that possible?           

            Oh yes, but she wouldn’t have shifted if she’d known—she says it’s given the baby ideas and it keeps shifting in her womb. Wolf-shape, mostly, Mama says, but also bird-forms and once a river-horse. While it is still small it is just uncomfortable but when the baby gets bigger it might be very awkward.

            Kel stared, trying and entirely failing to imagine what it might mean to find yourself abruptly pregnant with a wolf-cub or a hundredweight of river-horse. “Is she alright, Kitten?”

            Yes, but she is tired and I think she will be very grumpy.

            “Well, that happens. How did Numair take the news?”

            He said he was beside himself with joy but there is still only one of him. I think he meant he was very happy.

            “He did. Will you tell them I’m delighted for them both?”

            I will but Mama wants to see you. She said she had interesting news. And Kawit should be back from exploring the Forest today so you must meet her. She is very nice and does the best illusions of anyone.

            “She does?”

            Yes. Opal dragons are best at illusions and she is very good. Even I could not tell when I met her but she has to try hard to fool me now.

            “Oh.” Wondering how this opal dragon would fare against a griffin Honesty Gate Kel asked when she should come to see Daine and was told anytime was good, so she left Kitten telling Tobe and Irnai about the animal forms her Mama liked best, interspersed with educational remarks, and went to find her friend. Far from being obviously tired Daine seemed full of energy, sheepishly accepted congratulations, enquired earnestly after Kel’s wellbeing, declaring herself fair relieved at the further healing from the Goddess, and complained at length that she hadn’t intended to get pregnant, tearfully adding how sorry she was that she wouldn’t be able to fly over Scanran territory when at any moment she might have to turn her lower half into a wolf or a river-horse. Kel hadn’t quite extrapolated that Tortallan intelligence would be severely crimped but hid dismay, knowing how much time and energy Daine had already sacrificed for her adopted country, and to Numair’s amusement produced yet another clean handkerchief.

            “It will be alright, magelet. You can magic some hawks and send them to meet the owls that gather information from the smaller birds.”

            Never having understood how the information-gathering worked Kel was fascinated, but Daine just scowled.

            “And what do the poor hawks do with themselves afterwards when just being hawks isn’t enough any more?”

            “Whatever they want, magelet. Their possibilities will be greater.”

            “Which the People don’t always enjoy, and you know it. Think of poor Brokefang. I gave him awful headaches.”

            “And saved his pack and Dunlath as a hunting-ground.”           

            “Mmph.”

            Wisely, Numair changed tack. “Tell Kel about Barzha and Hebakh.”

            Daine brightened. “That’s right, Kel—I’ve solved your stormwing mystery. When Lord Wyldon told me about it he described the stormwings you said talked to you after Haven—a Yamani-looking female and big-nosed male? That rang a bell because there were two like that in the Stone Tree Nation, Rikash’s flock, and I know their queen, Barzha Razorwing, and her consort Hebakh from Carthak and the Immortals War, so I looked them up. It was the Stone Tree Nation who followed you to Rathhausak and back, and they were protecting you on behalf of the children, as you thought—they were very impressed with you all round, actually, though they say you’re mean about letting them have enemy dead to play with.”

            “And the tauros heads?”

            “That was them too. They sensed the divine presences when you were first healed, Barzha said, as well as the deaths of many immortals and the mage and came to see what had happened. She wouldn’t tell me why they’d cleaned and returned the skulls but she will tell you, if you want. They’re roosting in the Royal Forest for the winter.”

            “Oh.” Kel frowned, not wanting in the least to meet stormwings but knowing she’d have to. “Did she say why they’ve not been letting themselves be seen? They never hid before.”

            “No, but I bet she knows about Irnai’s prophecy and is being very careful about the Greenwoods valley.”

            “How would stormwings know about that? Not many people do, and it hasn’t leaked.”

            Daine shrugged and Numair steepled fingers. “I can’t be certain, Kel, but I’ve read that if a true prophecy involves any immortal they will be aware when Shakith speaks through her Chosen. I’ve no idea if Barzha heard it herself or was told about it by a stormwing who did, though, or even if all stormwings heard it. You could ask her.”

            Kel steeled herself. “Alright. When?”

            Daine shrugged again. “Now, if you and the children are free—we should take them both. And I’d rather deal with stormwing stink before lunch than after.”           

            That was true so Kel reluctantly collected the children, Kitten bouncing and asking to come, made sure they were warmly dressed, and grabbed a pot of strong-smelling unguent that was useful when a summer battlefield had to be cleared. When they came to the paddocks which backed onto the Forest Daine warned the watchmen what would be happening while Kel dabbed the children’s noses and her own with unguent before offering it to Numair, who hadn’t known the trick and accepted gratefully. Daine also accepted, when she returned, but Kitten sniffed warily, sneezed, and indignantly refused, saying she’d rather smell stormwings than hurt her nose.

            “Is this a common thing, Kel?” Numair’s laughter was tempered by curiosity. “It’s made from a southern plant used in very small quantities in perfumery but I don’t recall seeing soldiers using it like this before.”

            “I learned the trick in the Own, from one of the sergeants when we had to clear bodies after an earthquake, and I’ve made sure we have some at New Hope. Latrine crews use it when the weather’s warmer.”

            “I bet they do.”

            Climbing the paddock rails they went across to the eaves to a point Daine chose, looking at available branches, and she closed her eyes.

            “They’re coming.”

            She tipped her face skyward and Kel heard wingbeats, gathering the children with an arm round each. There were half-a-dozen, steel wings glinting in the winter light, including the Yamani-looking female who cackled as she saw Kel. The sound was horribly familiar, but as the immortals perched and the backdraft brought a stench of ordure and rot Kel realised the glass-crowned queen and fidgety male beside her were very different propositions. They landed lower than the others and carried themselves with conscious authority, the queen’s face as regal as her gaze was piercing. Deciding proactivity was called for Kel didn’t wait for introductions but gave a bow, speaking as she straightened and put her arms once more around the children’s shoulders.

            “Your Majesty, I am Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan, commanding at New Hope. These are Tobeis of Mindelan and Irnai of Rathhausak. The Godborn tells me you and your flock were responsible for guarding our return from Rathhausak, and for cleaning the tauros heads. May I offer you thanks for your aid and gift, but also ask why you gave it? It has caused much mortal confusion.”

            Barzha arched her eyebrows. “You are very direct, Protector of the Small, and unusually polite for a mortal. You also reek of godwork.”

            Biting back a retort about reeks Kel nodded. “So Quenuresh informed me. It is beyond my control but I am sorry if it troubles you.”

            Beside Barzha, Hebakh bated, sidling on the branch, but the queen took her gaze from Kel only to inspect the children. “It does not, but I have never met a mortal save perhaps Ozorne on whom so much of the timeway rests. The Godborn says you understand we treasure the young, and we too despise necromancy. The tauros skulls were tributes to your courage in saving so many from such a mage.”

            Hebakh sidled again, steel claws gouging wood. “If you’re going to tell her at all, tell her properly.”

            Barzha still gazed at Kel. “The form of the tribute goes back to an incident of the Godwars. The skulls of seven godslain dragons were mounted on a new way to Lord Mithros’s hall.”

            Kel didn’t dare look at Kitten but heard an indignant whistle. Barzha took no notice but obviously understood.

            “The dragons objected then too, filling the skulls with dragonfire so hot even a god who passes will be scorched to the bone. They are there still, and no god has taken that path in all the centuries since. We were struck by the number of tauroses, by nature solitary immortals, and by the Black God sending you back—the first mortal to whom he has done that in a very long time. You placed the skulls on your roadway. Draw your own conclusions, Protector.”

            One part of Kel’s brain was confused, the rest spinning furiously. “The Black God said the tauroses were touched by Uusoae before her banishment. Lord Mithros and the Goddess would not permit her interference, and Quenuresh says disorder acted against their solitary natures. Will you tell me your conclusions, Your Majesty?”

            Barzha shrugged. “The timeway completes a spiral. Much that is old comes round again. None can do more than play the odds—even gods.”

            “Do you know of Shakith’s prophecy through Irnai, after Samradh?”

            “All stormwings heard it as it was made.” Barzha nodded to Irnai, as relaxed under Kel’s arm as Tobe was tense.

            “Is that why you have stayed away from the Greenwoods valley? And beheaded the tauroses at night, not soiling the bodies?”

            “Of course. Such a prophecy is not to be trifled with. Shakith did not mean we would play with the fruits only of a skirmish.”

            Kel’s gaze bored into the queen’s. “How do you know? The prophecy doesn’t say anything about that.”

            “True but irrelevant. The gods may like their stupid jokes but the timeway no more plays with irony than Uusoae. Shakith spoke from the heart of light. It will be no skirmish, Protector.”

            Kel knew it for truth and on instinct made a decision she’d been pondering since the skulls reappeared. “Will you hear an offer, then?” Barzha inclined her head. “Come openly to the Greenwoods. No mortal or immortal under treaty will offer harm, and while I live you will play with nothing dead there, nor slay anything yourselves, without my let. If there is anything practical you need of mortal or immortal, you will ask and within our reason and capacity we will answer.”

            Kel was aware of Numair’s mouth opening and closing like a fish’s but her attention was on the queen, whom she knew she’d surprised.

            “That is … an interesting offer, Protector. Would you add us to your immortal menagerie, like Ozorne?”

            Kel shrugged, puzzled. “I don’t know about Ozorne’s menagerie but I meant nothing like that. Will you call Dunlath a menagerie? Or tell Quenuresh I keep her as a pet? We deal fairly with one another and I strive to protect all my people, of whatever shape, however I may as this timeway completes its spiral. Aren’t you doing the same?”

            Hebakh turned a malicious grin on his mate. “She has you there.”

            Barzha again ignored him. “Of course I am. Our numbers are yet low from our losses in the Immortals War.”

            Kel made a leap. “Then come to the Greenwoods. Know your young are safe there, that in need we will shelter and aid them. And if there is aught we can do to help in their bearing or delivery, we will. Forgive me, but I can’t help thinking a pair of hands might sometimes be of use.”

            There were wild cackles and Barzha bated, making Hebakh hop sideways. Her voice was iron.

            “And will a mortal healer or midwife tolerate our smell, Protector?”

            “You wash first, as best you can, and we’ll stick pegs on our noses if we have to, but if there’s a stormwing in labour or a youngling we can help, we will, by my word, who has seen the Black God’s face.”

            Kel didn’t know where the last words came from but they seemed right and Barzha’s face went very still.

            “I will think on it, Protector. When you return to New Hope, we will speak again. Now we must go.”

            She and Hebakh leaped from their branch, others following. The downdraft again drove stench and even Kitten wrinkled her snout; mortals found themselves with watering eyes and burning noses despite the unguent, and Kel blindly produced another clean handkerchief, giving Irnai and Tobe first use. They had just recovered when Kitten spun round with a squawk followed by a trill at once annoyed and happy. Kel stared but there was nothing to see—until air rippled to disclose a scaly, multicoloured creature eighteen foot long, standing twenty feet behind them with what Kel would swear was a smile on its enormous face.

            I nearly had you, Skysong. Greetings, Godborn and Numair. The mind voice was unlike Kitten’s, though what the equivalents of depth and timbre might be Kel had no idea, let alone of pleased good humour. Daine and Numair, who’d jumped at the creature’s appearance, nodded.

            “Hello, Kawit.”

            Kitten flicked her tail. I was distracted by the stormwings. There was a punch to the statement that told Kel everyone heard it.

            Even so you should keep alert, though I grant they were being quite interesting. I did not know there is a new skullroad. That news will stir the Dragonlands. The great head swung to look at Kel and the children, who realised the dragon had no wings. Will you introduce your friends?

            Of course. Kitten drew herself up, tail neatly over one arm, and her mindvoice became proudly correct. Kawit, these are Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan, Protector of the Small, and Tobeis and Irnai. Kel, this is Kawit Pearlscale, of whom I have told you.

            Huge eyes considered them, not infinite like the gods’ but with the depth of Quenuresh’s and Tkaa’s, only more so, and Kel knew Kawit was very old indeed. Shaking free from shock she bowed.

            “Greetings, ah, Mistress Pearlscale. It is our honour to meet you. Skysong has told us how much you have helped her.”

            Kawit seemed amused. I have not been Mistress Pearlscale in many an age, if ever. Kawit is name enough in these realms. Greetings, and to Tobeis and Irnai. I see horse magic and Shakith’s gift in them, and much godwork in you, Protector of the Small. May I ask where that title came from? And what gods you have been meeting? I heard you say you had seen the Black God’s face, which he does not show.

            Kel was unsure of Kawit’s status but saw Numair nod and knew there wasn’t much point trying to conceal things from immortals. She squared her shoulders. “The name was bestowed by the elemental of the Chamber of the Ordeal. The rest’s a long story, Kawit, so perhaps we might go indoors if there’s somewhere that suits?”

            Indeed. I have been granted use of a stableblock. It will be cold but I can warm it.  Her head swung. Yes you may, Skysong. Abandoning dignity Kitten scrambled up to Kawit’s back, and perched triumphantly where neck joined torso, trilling pleasure. She loves to ride there. Would Tobeis and Irnai also like to ride?

             To Kel’s surprise Irnai accepted immediately, climbing up with a boost from Numair. Tobe was less keen but wouldn’t be outdone and with Kel’s help settled behind Irnai. The dragon’s scent was musky dustiness, making Kel think of rock in the desert. As Kawit set off, spine swaying and making Tobe clutch at Irnai, Kel realised ostlers and other servants were gawking along the fence. Automatically she straightened, Yamani mask sliding into place, but realised wild rumours would soon be titillating those with a taste for them. There was nothing to do, and she wondered what else this strange Midwinter might hold besides the promised visit of far larger dragon. Numair came up beside her.

            “I was surprised by your offer to Barzha, Kel—we’ve no stormwing treaties, because they don’t attack the living. But things are changing, plainly, and the more I think about it the better it seems. It gives you an entirely legitimate edge with that wretched prophecy—my warmest congratulations for that—but this skullroad thing gives me the fidgets. I’ve never seen or heard anything so detailed about the Godwars.”

            “Do you know about this timeway?”

            “Not really, but seers say things like that. I think it’s because there’s only one past and present but thousands of possible futures, likely and wildly improbable—but some improbable ones do come to pass, and the timeway is where the futures that will be… I was going to say join but it’s more like collapse together, I believe. Akker, Irnai’s new friend, says he’s always thought of it like becks joining into streams and rivers until at the sea there’s only water. But as he tells it, until the last minute all the rivers are moving about and might split off again.”

            He grinned at Kel, whose head was aching as she tried to follow.

            “I told you prophecies hurt to think about. In any case, I was going to say I think I’d better come and see this skullroad myself.”

            “Of course, but you’ve seen the road, Numair—you built it! It’s just seven tauros skulls on the wall at the top.”

            “Even so.”

            Kel wished the tauroses weren’t attracting so much attention. Seeing them dead as a comfort to victims was one thing, having them echo something that had involved gods and dragons at war quite another. But her glumness was offset by a sense that with Queen Barzha she’d done something that mattered, placed another weight on her side of whatever scale it was that counted, and for now there was the radiant look on Tobe’s face as he realised he was riding a dragon.

Chapter Text

Chapter Ten — Worship

17 December

The Midwinter session of the King’s Council and the Queen’s Ball were both on the first day of festivities, and less than an hour after the Council started a messenger came to summon Kel and the children. They’d collected their finery from Lalasa the morning before, and other outfits—a working Mindelan tunic for Tobe, with black breeches, and a velvet dress for Irnai. Lalasa had done simple but striking embroidery on the jerkins so they looked less like protective garments, and even for this they wore them. She’d also trimmed hair and recommended a cobbler where Kel bought both children sturdy boots. Giving them a once over she nodded and they followed the messenger down the corridor.

            Kel had not been amused two days earlier to be summoned by His Grace of Naxen and told the children would be required.

            “Why in Tortall are they needed, Your Grace?”

            The Duke’s eyebrows went up. “The Council are interested in them.”

            “Interested? Or merely curious?”

            He smiled. “More the latter, I confess.”

            “Not good enough, Your Grace. They are children, not toys.”

            The smile faded. “They have seen a great deal of concern to us, Lady Knight. As you mentioned in your report. The Council’s interest is not altogether idle.”

            Kel knew she wouldn’t win this argument though reason and propriety as well as kindness were on her side, and changed tack.

            “Can you tell me who will be present, Your Grace? I know the formal composition, of course, but not who is here. I am aware Lady Alanna holds the proxies of Lords Raoul and Ennor.”

            “Mmm, yes. Cavall holds Vanget’s, Padraig holds Ferghal’s, Numair holds Harailt’s, and the Wildmage holds Dunlath’s—Lady Maura was granted membership when she came of age last year, because of the treaty there.” Kel hadn’t known that and another reason for the grasping interest in New Hope clicked into place. “Baird’s here, of course, and Imrah, so besides myself, Myles, and Turomot—and your father, of course—there’ll be Blue Harbour, Disart, Haryse, Macayhill, Nond, Runnerspring, Stone Mountain, and Torhelm.”

            The last three names leapt at Kel and her Yamani mask stilled her face. “Runnerspring, Stone Mountain, and Torhelm are all coming?”

            “Yes, of course.” Gareth looked at her uneasily. “Torhelm always attends and the others are wealthy fiefs, you know—before we come to your business there’re issues concerning port duties and the like they have considerable interest in.” He tried a smile. “Actually, I’m rather hoping that’ll go more quickly than it might because everyone will want to get to the main event.”

            Kel didn’t smile. “Be that as it may, Your Grace, you should be aware I have met my Lords of Runnerspring and Stone Mountain once each, and both were foul-mouthed in the extreme. For myself I might tolerate it. Before my son and Irnai I will not.”

            He stared. “Oh come, Lady Knight, I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

            “Lord Burchard, whom I had never previously met, called me a bitch, a trollop, and a jumped-up merchant slut. He implied I was a murderer. It is true he had just learned of his son’s death in the Chamber, but I hear he continues unbalanced. Can you say otherwise?”

            Gareth looked shocked. “Well … no, I suppose not.”

            “Lord Carolan accosted me after a tilt during the Grand Progress, in company of his son and Sir Guisant of Torhelm, whose father I have never met. Sir Guisant told me I should be raped to death and thrown on the nearest midden. Sir Garvey and Lord Carolan laughed loudly, called me an upstart whore, and spat.”

            “Mithros!” Gareth was clearly appalled but Kel wasn’t impressed that the characters of those men came as news. “I knew they dislike the idea of female knights, of course, but I’d no idea they behaved like that.” Doubt came into his eyes. “I’ve never heard them speak so.”

            Kel’s voice was cold. “If you want corroboration of my word, Your Grace, I suggest you ask women. You might start with Alanna and the pages in training—I spoke to Fiannola of Linshart a few days ago about a verbal assault she suffered from Sir Garvey. He did not learn language and manners from his mother.”

            “Well, well. They are responsible for their own conduct, Lady Knight. I cannot stop them.”

            “Then I suggest you speak to His Majesty. I tell you that if they offer me insult, or either child whose presence you require, I will silence them however necessary and sort the rest out on the field of honour.”

            “Lady Knight! You cannot challenge a member of the Council!”

            Kel did not know it but her face went a dangerous white though her mask never wavered. “But they can offer insult at will? Your Grace, if one of them said such things to your daughter, in your hearing, would you let it pass because it was during a Council session?” She might as well ask him if he were a poltroon. “No? Then explain why I must do so.” There was silence. “Very well. Now, is there anything else?”

            He shuffled papers. “Ah, yes, actually. Properly, your petition about New Hope should be heard at Imbolc, but Tirrsmont is here and there are those who want the matter heard while you can both speak to it.”

            “Those being the three lords we have just discussed?”

            “Not only them, but yes, Runnerspring pushed for it.”

            “And will His Majesty agree?”

            “He may. There is a certain logic. Should it come to a vote do you know who would definitely support you?”

            Kel had of necessity done this maths. “Alanna and both proxies, Wyldon, Daine, and Numair with theirs, Baird, and Padraig. I have not discussed Lord Ferghal’s proxy with him but he doesn’t care for Tirrsmont’s record defending land he already holds. Neither does Nond.”

            He looked surprised but she wasn’t sure if it was because he hadn’t expected her to be able to answer or hadn’t known her northern support was so strong. Her confidence in him fell further.

            “Huh. Then you have a majority. You have my support also. Macayhill might vote with Runnerspring, Stone Mountain, and Torhelm, but I doubt Blue Harbour, Disart, or Haryse would.” He fiddled with papers again. “It is a curious petition, Lady Knight. The materials submitted clearly support your claim and I imagine that would pass as easily. Why not claim land and people alike and have done?”

            Kel’s anger faded into weariness. “I defend them, Your Grace, because they deserve defending and it is my duty. I don’t want to own them and I don’t want Tirrsmont or any other mercenary incompetent doing so either, especially while war threatens. We’ll have time enough to decide something as important as a new fief when Maggur’s dead.”

            “Hmm. Your appointment may be the best solution all the same.”

            “Not for anyone who actually lives there, Your Grace.”

            She’d left it at that and he had taken a deep breath. “There is also the matter of the Chamber of the Ordeal. The Council is aware of its, ah, role in sending you to Rathhausak. There’ll be questions.”

            Kel shrugged. “So long as they are civil, Your Grace. The elemental does as it will. None can change that.”

            He frowned. “True. But it’s all very irregular.”

            “So is necromancy.”

            “Also true. Still, the Council has been … exercised, shall we say? His Majesty also. And as you point out, it matters to Stone Mountain.”

            Kel knew it, and with considerable reluctance had spent the evening before the Council telling the children about members they hadn’t met and giving descriptions of Burchard of Stone Mountain and Carolan of Runnerspring. Now, as she and the children reached the doors of the Council chamber and saw them thrown back, she was braced against the need to defend the children.

            She was aware of Lord Burchard at once, pale faced and still, seated on the left of the open oblong of tables. He was flanked by Runnerspring and Torhelm, Macayhill beyond them and a space at the nearer end of that side. On the opposite table were Padraig, Wyldon, Lord Imrah, Nond, Daine, Numair, and Sir Myles. On the longer side away from her were King Jonathan and Thayet with Roald and Shinko, flanked on one side by Dukes Baird and Turomot, and on the other by Duke Gareth and Alanna, who rolled her eyes; in front of Kel was a wide gap, Blue Harbour and Disart on the left and her father smiling warmly at her next to Haryse on the right. There was a chair for her but nothing else and she reined in temper as she and the children bowed.

            Jonathan smiled greeting. “Welcome, Lady Knight Commander. Please be seated.”

            “Thank you, sire. Where should Tobeis and Irnai sit?”

            Torhelm, who looked like his son and had the same malice in his eyes, sat up from his slouch. “Children stand in the presence of their elders, and commoners in the presence of nobles.”

            She kept her voice even despite his insulting omission of any address. “Perhaps so, my Lord, but my son is not a commoner while Irnai is here because she is Chosen of Shakith. And both are here at the Council’s request for what may be a long meeting.”

            Torhelm sneered as she insisted on Tobe’s status and Thayet’s voice was sharp. “Of course, Lady Keladry—it was thoughtless of us. Your objections are uncalled for, my Lord.” She pulled a hanging cord and a side-door swung silently open to admit a palace steward.

            “Your Majesty?”

            “Bring stools for the children please, Erran.”

            “At once, Your Majesty.”

            It was only a few breaths before he returned and Kel wondered if it had been a test, sounding her response to indirect insult. Unthinking unkindness to the unimportant and stools the servants used themselves during their long waits seemed as likely. With the children seated she sat herself and the King invited her to give her account, voice dry.

            “Begin, if you would, with the vision given you by the Chamber of the Ordeal. Despite my own description concerns have been expressed.”

            Kel bet they had and the spasm that twisted Lord Burchard’s face told her by whom; but he said nothing while she narrated as clearly as she could her vision and recurrent dreams, then Rathhausak. She omitted the order she’d disobeyed, seeing approval in Wyldon’s eyes, and the smugglers—producing the first interruption, from Blue Harbour.

            “How’d you get across the Vassa?”

            Kel didn’t think The Whisper Man would care to be invoked, even here, but it went against the grain to lie. “Going north we obtained the use of boats, my Lord. Coming south, the army controlled the crossing.”

            “Use of boats, eh?” His look was shrewd. “Very well. Go on.”

            She did, but there were further questions from Imrah and Haryse, both experienced warriors, about the parties of Scanran soldiers they’d encountered, and how they’d been dealt with.

            Haryse looked grimly approving. “Hard when it’s like that. You did well to deal with the larger group. Not sure I understand about the horses, though—calling them, yes, but asking them to wait for you?”

            “Tobeis has horse magic, my Lord.”

            “So’s my chief ostler, but he couldn’t do that.”

            “Tobe?”

            He leaned forward to address Haryse properly, face determined. “I didn’t know they’d wait, my Lord, and if something scared them they’d have run off. But I asked and they agreed. They were hungry and the river meadows had good grass.”

            “Huh. No offence, but is the lad really that strong, Wildmage?”

            “It’s hard to say how strong he may become, but he’s stronger than Stefan Groomsman now.”

            Haryse whistled. “Is he indeed? You’ve a real talent, then, young Tobeis. Useful. Go on, Lady Knight.”

            Kel did, though the illusion and griffin-band generated questions and a digression into her standing order that they be worn by all at New Hope. The swift despatch of three killing devices also stirred questions, and for the first time Lord Carolan spoke.

            “You expect us to believe you killed three of those things in as many minutes?”

            “I shot one in its dome, my Lord, and the dog Shepherd snapped the shaft.” Did he understand why that mattered? “The broken end fell into the dome and the trapped spirit escaped through the hole. Fanche Miller and I shot another, and its own blades sheared the shafts. Sergeant Domitan’s squad immobilised the third with metal-cored ropes and he opened its dome with an axe.”

            “Two women and a dog killed two devices? It’s absurd.”

            Kel shrugged but Wyldon’s voice was crisp. “As you never faced one, Runnerspring, you’re hardly in a position to judge. Tell me, Lady Knight, how many devices have you personally slain? Besides them all, I mean.”

            Kel enjoyed the look on Lord Carolan’s face enough to make the embarrassment seem worth it. “Personally? Five.”

            “Five?” Padraig’s surprise was evident.

            “One at Forgotten Well last year, two at Haven in the spring—Master Numair knocked one down with a ton of logs first—and two at Rathhausak.” She remembered the stumbling gait and confusion and frowned. “One of those was odd—slow and awkward.”

            Irnai’s voice was dreamy; her eyes were not. “It was a girl called Frenna. She was simple and halt but the Kinslayer took her anyway. It was Ostara day. She went to gather flowers and was gathered herself.”

            There was an ugly little silence before the King spoke gently. “I am sorry to ask, Irnai, but tell us how you came to be at Rathhausak.”

            The girl’s words were the same as during Kel’s first report—the goddess told her to hide and run, guided her, and told her about the Protector of the Small. Lord Burchard had been fidgeting and at that name slapped the table, eyes glittering.

            “The goddess said, the goddess did—anyone can say such things. And that idiot title could come from anywhere. You expect us to believe this rot, Mindelan?”

            I am a lake. “I first heard the title from the elemental of the Chamber, my Lord. And Irnai is chosen of Shakith.”

            “I expect you to believe me, my Lord.” The King’s voice was cold. “And my Lord of Cavall, His Grace of Queenscove, General Vanget, and Master Harailt, as well as Lady Keladry. We all heard Shakith speak.”

            Beside Burchard, Torhelm’s face took on a cunning look. “You heard something, sire. Who can say it is a god when only a girl speaks, and a foreigner at that? No-one heard all these other instructions.”

            “It was Shakith.” Baird’s voice admitted no doubt. “I once heard Isner of Pearlmouth prophesy in that same voice. And Irnai lit up as Shakith spoke through her. Her hair stood out. There was no mistaking it. If we know she has spoken through her once, why doubt the rest?”

            “She glowed when she dedicated Shakith’s shrine at New Hope. The same voice sounded behind the chimes. Shinko and I can attest it, with many others.” Roald looked at Kel.

            “Hawks in the distance.”

            “Yes, that’s it.” Baird nodded at once. “Someone else described it like that too, I think.”

            “Many people have.” Numair’s face was expressionless. “Shakith’s voice is consistently described in all countries as like a hawk or eagle screaming, which is what I heard. And all the sounds of the great gods’ voices seem at a distance behind and within their speech.”

            “Da says it’s because mortals couldn’t bear them otherwise.” Daine’s eyes were mischievous, irritation beneath. “There’s no doubt. The stormwings heard the prophecy and Kawit sees Shakith’s Gift in Irnai.”

            Torhelm laughed derisively. “The testimony of animals! Worthless!”

            “And am I such a worthless animal, my Lord?” The King’s voice was deadly soft.

            “I didn’t mean that, sire.”

            “Then what did you mean?”

            “Stormwings, some foreign dragon no-one can see half the time. They add nothing.”

            Numair sighed. “You are talking of beings with millennia of experience, who have travelled and dwelt beyond the mortal realms and met the gods. Calling them animals is silly—they’re immortals.”

            “This Scanran tr—isn’t.’

            He’d bitten off the epithet but Kel was on her feet. “Lord of Torhelm, you stand against your King, your future king and queen, and six others here besides myself who heard Shakith’s prophecy or her voice at the dedications. Within the Court are another dozen at least who heard and saw. The Godborn tells you every stormwing heard the prophecy and a dragon sees Shakith’s gift in Irnai. So does the spidren-mage Quenuresh. And though you swallowed obscenity directed at a child your tone insults one who has suffered and done more to save Tortallans than any of us can imagine. If you continue in this manner I shall remove my son and charge to fitter surroundings. Need I do so?”

            Torhelm’s face bulged and the look in Lord Burchard’s eyes was poisonous, but the King spoke first.

            “You need not, Lady Keladry. The subject of Shakith is closed, and we thank her for preserving Irnai, to our great benefit. Please sit and continue from your swift destruction of the three killing devices.”

            The atmosphere crackled but Kel complied, and the help they’d had from villagers in the desperate night attack gripped the genuine interest of the majority. She simply said she’d killed Stenmun and Blayce, omitting all detail save burning the workshop, and compressed their exhausting, nerve-racking return into a sentence. Then it was building New Hope with immortals’ assistance, and when Quenuresh came into it questioning became widespread. Only Lord Burchard and his allies were silent, full of disdain, and those who’d met the huge spidren were drawn in by those who hadn’t. To Kel it was old ground, and she knew only experience of talking to Quenuresh would build trust; what did interest her was that Macayhill was listening intently and making notes. When the questions finally paused he leaned forward.

            “So at heart, Lady Knight, you trust these spidrens.”

            “I trust Quenuresh, and have no reason not to extend trust to her kin. But as I said, she is ancient among her kind and a mage—she admits she is unusual, and warned the observer sent by His Imperial Majesty it might be impossible to make peace with younger spidrens.”

            “Yes, I spoke with Master Takemahou before he left.” Kel was surprised by his correct pronunciation and her concentration sharpened. “But you think if communication can be established, and a treaty agreed, it will be kept?”

            “Without knowing the spidrens in question I cannot say, my Lord. Would you trust an unspecified mortal to keep his or her word? But I believe Quenuresh and her kin will keep the treaty, and have already observed it in full.” Kel wanted to avoid the whole business of the tauros attack. She knew the truth had not been given the Council, but at least five people present knew and she imagined Roald had been told something; in any case she couldn’t omit Quenuresh’s loyalty. “You know that in September we lost some farmers to a tauros attack? Quenuresh came at a run and killed the last—I heard her break its neck. She gave critical assistance afterwards, sensing the whereabouts of the survivor and helping save an injured warhorse until the Wildmage arrived.”

            “Helped how?”

            “It was down with a broken leg. She lifted its forequarters in webbing so it could drink.”

            “Remarkable.” Suddenly he smiled, making his narrow face much pleasanter, and she saw Lord Burchard scowl. “You give me hope, Lady Knight. We’ve had grave problems with spidrens at Macayhill.”

            Kel spoke carefully. “New Hope is of course under military authority but with permission from His Majesty or General Vanget you would be welcome to consult Quenuresh. She gave Takemahou-sensei as much help as she could, and I believe would do the same for you if you ask.”

            He thanked her sincerely, giving her hope in turn, and Sir Myles owlishly asked Tobe and Irnai how they liked Quenuresh.

            “She saved Peachblossom, my Lord, so I owe her big. Liking’s neither here nor there.”

            Kel managed to still her smile, but Sir Myles didn’t.

            “You consider yourself honour bound to her, then?”

            Tobe shrugged. “We all are, by treaty. But I love Peachblossom so I am especially, I reckon.”

            “And you, Irnai? Has the god said anything about Quenuresh?”

            “She showed me futures with her helping us and told me not to be afraid of her, so I am not.”

            “Helping how?”

            “As she has already done, with webs and climbing.”

            Sir Myles looked at Kel, eyebrows asking the question. She felt reluctant to discuss New Hope’s defences but something was required.

            “We have spidren-web nets stored on our alures, Sir Myles, to cast down as needed. And we discover old webbing is perfect for sealing shutters against winter winds.”

            “Aid both military and domestic, then.”

            “Yes. One of her kin also assisted in exploring the cave system. A spidren can climb where we cannot.”

            The King came in briskly. “So all in all, Lady Keladry, you report that the treaty is working well, and has stood up in the face of Scanran and immortal attack. That is very good news and we thank you for undertaking the experiment. There remains a question about what Quenuresh might do if other spidrens enter the Greenwoods valley, but that must wait on the event. Now, other matters.” He turned to Lord Burchard. “My Lord of Stone Mountain, you have repeatedly expressed concern about the elemental of the Chamber. I share your unease that it has behaved unusually, but it is plain it contributed significantly to killing the necromancer, for which all must be grateful, and I cannot see there is anything we can do whatever we feel. It does as it does and no man may command it. It was on this account you demanded we hear Lady Keladry and Irnai in person. Are you satisfied?”

            “Why?” Burchard was staring at Kel and for the first time she saw grief as well as hate in his eyes. “Why choose you, and kill my son?”

            She spoke as gently as she could. “I do not know, my Lord.”

            “But you have spoken with it, you conspire with it—”

            “I do not. It chose me and filled my head with a vision of the Nothing Man’s horror—a score of children dead in a pile. It has said it expressed the outrage of the gods. What conspiracy can you mean?”

            “It killed my son! And sent you of all people, who overset custom—”

            Kel cut off his rant before it could get going, trying to keep calm.

            “My Lord! Though Joren hated and sought to injure me I did not wish his death and have wondered often and long what happened in his Ordeal. I know you believe no woman should seek knighthood but the elemental has never shared that opinion—a dozen people here have Lady Knights among their forebears. And I too am disturbed by its behaviour—it is my life it has affected.” She took a breath. “Do you wish me to ask it why it killed Joren? I cannot promise it will answer, but I can promise to enter the Chamber a third time and ask.”

            “To ask it …”

            “Yes, ask it. It is a being of great age and intelligence—you have yourself spoken to it once, if not in words. By my experience, it would not seek to test you again. Shall I ask it? Will you accompany me?”

            “You are serious, Lady Keladry?” She couldn’t read the King’s face. “You would enter the Chamber again to question the elemental?

             “I am, sire. It works for us. Why should it seek our harm?”

            “Indeed. Well, Lord Burchard? I will second Lady Keladry’s offer, for I have thought for some while that I must myself speak with the elemental, if I can. Given your loss, it is only right that you join us.”

            “When?” Burchard’s voice was a whisper, his eyes almost blank.

            “This year’s Ordeals begin in three nights. Should it be before that, or after they are finished?”

            The question was open but Kel’s answer was instinctive. “Before, sire.” The King looked enquiry and her reason scrambled to catch up. “If there is anything of concern we should know before committing others to Ordeals. I was the last squire to face it, last Midwinter, and to speak to it, at Imbolc. I … I feel we should not delay.”

            “Numair? You have tried to speak to it since.”

            “And was told to take myself off as it had no business with me. I have no opinion, sire, but I’d trust Lady Keladry’s instincts. From your account of it speaking through Irnai it recognised you and Kel by name, but no-one else, and she has had more dealings with it than anyone.”

            “Will I be safe?” Burchard’s voice was hoarse.

            Numair shrugged. “I do not control the elemental, Lord Burchard—no-one does or can. But while it has killed and injured squires other than your son there is no record it has ever harmed anyone not undergoing their Ordeal of Knighthood. I don’t see why it should begin now.”

            The King nodded. “Very well, then—tomorrow afternoon. Lady Keladry, please attend me for lunch beforehand. Lord Burchard, meet us in the Chapel of the Ordeal at the first afternoon-bell, if you will. So that is settled. Now, other matters concerning New Hope. Turomot?”

            The Lord Magistrate inclined his head. “Sire. Lady Knight Keladry, are you aware a complaint has been filed against you by the Lord of Tirrsmont, alleging that you wrongfully denied him access to land he claims and offered insult?”

            Kel’s mind became very cold and clear. “I was not, Your Grace, but I am aware of the incident to which I imagine Tirrsmont refers.”

            “Mmm. The complaint is irregular—it was presented only yesterday, and lacks supporting documentation.”

            “If I may, Your Grace?” Lord Carolan’s face was pinched with anticipation. “My Lord of Tirrsmont waits without, that he may give testimony and the gross insult he suffered be properly redressed.”

            Kel’s heart sank but Turomot was frowning.

            “It is not a complaint to this Council, Runnerspring, but to the court. No hearing here can be appropriate.”

            Duke Gareth intervened. “Entirely true, Your Grace, but there are two relevant petitions that would properly come before us at Imbolc, from my Lord of Tirrsmont claiming New Hope and much beside, and from Lady Keladry, asking all petitions for New Hope to become a fief and claims for it be set aside until the area is discharged from military governance. At the cost of some impropriety we might deal with all now.”

            “It is more than impropriety, Naxen.” Turomot was stiff but not outraged, and Kel thought this was all rehearsed.

            “True, but I do not suggest you make a ruling of any kind here—only that the Council of necessity include Tirrsmont’s complaint in its deliberations. Of course, the outcome here is one you might properly consider in your own judgement.”

            “Very well.” Turomot inclined his head. “Lady Keladry, are you willing to agree that anything you may say here today be considered as evidence in answering this complaint? You are of course free to make additional submissions to the court.”

            “Entirely willing, Your Grace, and I do so agree. May I know the terms of the complaint?”

            “Of course.” He took papers from a pile and passed them to Baird to hand on. Lords Carolan and Burchard did so with neutral faces, Torhelm gave his habitual sneer. When they reached Kel she ran eyes down the neat legal hand. The opening was formulaic; the meat began on the second page with a claim of extensive surveying of the Greenwoods valley interrupted by war, and continued with an account of his attempt to enter New Hope as untrue as it was insinuatingly plausible, insisting on Kel’s ‘nervous inexperience as a green commander’ and a clash with Tirrsmont’s ‘experienced captain’ leading to a gross overreaction, denying a lord free passage of his lands and offering foul insult. Coming to the end she raised her eyes to Turomot’s, and conscious of scrutiny on all sides, friendly and avidly hostile, strove for calm.

            I am a lake. “An interesting piece of writing, Your Grace. I note my Lord of Tirrsmont does not explain why he came to New Hope, nor what demands he made.”

            “I noted that too, Lady Knight.” Turomot’s voice was always dust-dry but he sounded unimpressed. “Do you wish to make a response now?”

            She thought hard. “I think it might be better to deal directly with his evidence, Your Grace, but”—she looked at the King—“I would ask, sire, that you be prepared to cast a truth-spell. If my Lord of Tirrsmont repeats what he has written his evidence and mine will clash.”

            “Of course, Lady Keladry.” That was satisfaction in the King’s tone and Kel realised that while this was staged, it was not she who had been set-up. Lords Carolan and Torhelm didn’t seem to realise and Burchard was uninterested, eyes distant and face slack. The King pulled the cord and gave orders for Tirrsmont to be summoned, and in a few moments he entered, finery stretched over corpulence and head swivelling as he took in who was present. He was shown to the empty place by Torhelm and Kel realised there was no chair for him. His glance at her before bowing to the King was rancid with gloating.

            Kel kept silent, resting a hand on Tobe’s tense arm as Turomot took Tirrsmont through his account, spoken lies seamlessly matching those he’d written. His purpose in coming to New Hope he claimed as concern for his people ‘unhappily forced to shelter there’, drawing snorts from Alanna and Wyldon, but he ploughed on. When he said he wouldn’t repeat the obscene things she had shouted, Kel had had enough and rose.

            “I am perfectly happy to repeat all of them, should anyone wish, for I neither shouted nor used any obscenity, and do so swear. Sire?”

            Blue fire sprang from Jonathan’s hand to settle over Kel, flared white, and vanished. “You speak the truth, Lady Knight.”

            “Thank you, sire. My Lord of Tirrsmont, however, was discourteous from the first, and did use obscenity. He omits to say that his ‘experienced captain’, whose byrnie was dirty and rusted, ‘requested entry’ by shouting ‘Make way for his Lordship, you fools. Clear the road now’—addressed to myself, two uniformed captains, and senior civilian leaders. He also omits to say his son addressed me as ‘wench’, and denied he had attempted murder in the tilt but declined to swear it by gods’ oath. His Lordship’s own address to me was successively as ‘the so-called Lady Knight’, ‘girl’, ‘Mindelan’, twice, and ‘you harlot’.”

            “You lie!” Tirrsmont’s face was twisted.

            “I swear I speak truth. Sire?”

            The blue fire again settled, flared white, and vanished.

            “She does speak truth, my Lord. Which means you lie, and have lied in a sworn deposition to the court as well as in person to me and every member of this Council.” The King’s voice was cold. “You will do well not to lie again. And I give you oath-warning I will truthspell you at need.”

            Turomot took over. “I ask you again, my Lord. Why did you go to New Hope? You have filed no claim or notice of intent hitherto, as you should if you were surveying it so extensively. Why did you go there?”

            “I was concerned for the welfare of my people, Your Grace, nothing more. On my word.”

            Kel hadn’t bothered to sit. “Sire?” Blue fire swirled and rebounded, flaring scarlet. “He has no concern for his people, as General Vanget and my Lord of Cavall will attest. Those who were his are at New Hope because he refused them shelter, voiding all liege-oaths. He wanted miners as a work party to reopen silver mines closed by order of my Lord of Goldenlake and General Vanget, though he consulted neither.” She spared the scarlet-faced Tirrsmont one withering glance and moved from defence to attack. “It is for his demonstrated unfitness to rule that I oppose his claim, as does the northern army command and the great lords from Frasrlund to haMinchi land. The issue, my Lords, is not whether he should be given more to abuse and abandon but whether what he has should be taken away for gross dereliction of duties to his people, king, and realm.”

            “You godshat whore! I’ll have you—”

            I am a lake be damned. Kel had warned Duke Gareth, if not about Tirrsmont, and she was over the table in a second, Tirrsmont’s voice chopping off in a gasp as he stumbled backwards. She was vaguely aware of shouts but her attention was all on the man before her.

            “I’ve taken all the filth I will endure, Tirrsmont. If you again speak such vileness in my hearing or my son’s we will meet on the field of honour, where I will cut out your tongue. Do you understand?” He goggled, blood draining from his face. “Do you understand?”

            There was silence until Wyldon’s voice came from behind, sounding oddly gentle. “I believe he does, Lady Keladry. And should he not, I will second your righteous challenge. I also concur that Tirrsmont should face an enquiry of noble competence, as does General Vanget.”

            “You what?” Lord Carolan’s eyes were popping. “Cavall, you can’t—”

            “Silence!” The King’s voice was raised but Kel’s eyes were boring into Tirrsmont, now a dirty white, breath rasping. “Lady Keladry, you have our apologies for the gross insult you were offered. Please sit.”

            Silently Kel did, ignoring her father’s look but letting Tobe and Irnai take her hands under the table. The King drew himself up.

            “My Lord of Tirrsmont, your behaviour here is wholly unacceptable, both in repeated perjury and in using blasphemous obscenity against a knight who has given this realm exceptional service. Nor can I ignore the strongly adverse opinions of your conduct in your fief that have been expressed over many months by my most senior commanders, my Champion, the Knight Commander of my Own, and many of your peers. Our first matter for a vote, then, is whether Arnolf of Tirrsmont should face an enquiry of noble competence. My Lords?”

            It was a landslide. Counting proxies, but with the royals and Duke Turomot abstaining, there were twenty-two votes and only Lords Carolan and Torhelm voted against. Lord Burchard seemed barely aware of what was going on and abstained by saying nothing. Macayhill expressionlessly supported the majority despite Carolan’s glare.

            “That is clear. Given your conduct, Arnolf of Tirrsmont, you will remain in royal custody until His Grace of Wellam convenes the hearing.”

            A double tug of the cord brought in a guard captain and two sergeants, armoured, armed, and clearly waiting. Something in Kel shivered as she wondered how deeply she’d been used and saw the sheer bewilderment on Tirrsmont’s face, as well as Torhelm’s loathing for her, and Lord Carolan’s; but Tobe’s simple satisfaction, and the faces of Alanna, Wyldon, Lord Imrah, Nond, and Disart, who’d said almost nothing, gave her pause. She hated dishonesty and drama but something had been achieved. As the doors closed the King was brisk.

            “Regardless of the outcome of that hearing, my Lords, it is clear Tirrsmont’s claim for New Hope must be summarily dismissed. Do any demur? Lord Carolan? Then it is so dismissed. There are also those other claims for it as a fief, and Lady Keladry’s petition for their dismissal until peace shall allow deliberation, with which she submitted compelling documentation you have seen. I ask that you vote on her petition, and considering that documentation and what we have heard of Quenuresh I add a rider by royal authority—that when the matter of New Hope’s status as a fief is considered, Lady Keladry’s claim, or that of her heirs and assigns, shall be considered first.”

            Kel was too busy parsing ‘heirs and assigns’—did he mean Tobe?—to do more than glare and the King took no notice. The vote was nineteen–two, and despite her surprise at Lord Burchard’s second silent abstention she managed to express thanks for the Council’s care of New Hope, though she wasn’t persuaded care or anything like it lay at the heart of what had happened. She found herself thanked in turn for all she’d done, and slightly mollified when the King extended thanks to Tobe and Irnai for all they had done and attending today. Then she was politely dismissed until the morrow, but as she rose her father requested he be excused from remaining business, and receiving permission accompanied them out.

            In the ante-chamber he spoke only once—“Your rooms I think, my dear”—but once they were there, and the children had escaped to her bedroom to play with Kitten, whom they found waiting impatiently outside her door, he enfolded her in a hard hug. When he let her go his face was a complex of emotions.

            “My dear, I am sorry you had to endure that. And the children. I realised yesterday something was in the wind but His Majesty forbade me to speak to you.”

            “It was all a set-up then?”

            “In essence—Vanget’s complaints about Tirrsmont have been savage—but not entirely, I think. Certainly the force of your reactions was not foreseen.” He shook his head. “For all my rage at his words my heart was in my mouth when you went after Tirrsmont so fast.” He hesitated. “Has it often been as vile as that for you, my dear? I knew you faced dislike and suspicion from the hidebound, of course, and about Joren. But these … sexual slanders, and the hatred in Torhelm …”

            She couldn’t lie to him. “It’s not new, Papa. I never let it bother me when it started, nor for a long time, but I won’t accept it in front of Tobe. I’d warned Duke Gareth I wouldn’t.”

            “Nor should you—I wasn’t complaining, my dear. It was splendid, actually, and I’m proud of you for defending yourself and my grandson, as you should. Under other circumstances … Council members may not challenge one another, of course, but that was not at issue …” His voice trailed away until he swallowed and looked her in the eye. “You have changed, Kel—you’re so much stronger—so disciplined and reserved, as you have always been, but then so forceful … I had thought it was your experiences of the Chamber and at Rathhausak. But you have changed again since I saw you at those marvellous dedications.” He swallowed. “I know something happened at New Hope, my dear, something bad, but even your mother will not tell me what it was.”

            Kel’s heart hurt. “I didn’t want to upset you, Papa, but yes, something happened. I …. met some gods. It changes you.”

            “You mean at the dedications? Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady?”

            “No. Yes. Them too. But I met the Black God, the Graveyard Hag, and the Goddess.” It was hopeless and she felt tears hot in her eyes. “Can you promise not to shout or anything? I don’t think I could bear that, and I am alive and well now.”

            “Of course you are. I won’t shout. My dear, please, what is it?”

            As barely as she could she told him, and his hands on her shoulders tightened painfully before he stood, kissed her forehead hard, and walked back and forth, fists clenched. She could see his distress and the control he was exerting and her heart quailed; when he turned back to her there were tears in his eyes but joy as well as horror and rage in his face, and his voice was wondering.

            “My worst possible nightmare, and you are alive. Strengthened and returned by the god himself. Without harm, however changed.”

            His hug was no fiercer than her own, and both their shoulders were damp by the time they released one another. Although she had dreaded his knowledge of what had happened she felt only relief and a singing emptiness, and knew exactly what she wanted to do.

            “Can you come with us to the Temple District, Papa? I wanted to thank Shakith for Irnai and the Goddess for myself.” Her smile was crooked. “I’ve thanked the Black God several times already but I’d like to do that again too.”

            “Of course. I’d have been going myself anyway.” There was a burst of laughter and an accompanying trill from Kitten in the bedroom. “But perhaps cleaning ourselves up and having lunch first would be an idea.”

* * * * *

The day was dry and intermittently sunny, and after the tensely seated morning they decided to walk despite the chill wind. Tobe and Irnai had cloaks among their acquisitions; Kel found the jerkin over her tunic sufficient, Piers collected his cloak from the office he maintained at the Palace, and Kitten, who chose to come, needed only dragonhide.

            It was a mile-and-a-half from Palace to Temple District, separated from the lower city by the Common, where herds and flocks grazed under watchful eyes. Leaving Palace Way as soon as they could they took the path across the half-wooded slope below the Palace enclosure, Irnai and Tobe running and skipping, while Kel and her father answered with a few evasions a lively barrage of questions from Kitten about mortal attitudes to the gods and why they were going to the temples today.

            It is very confusing. Kitten sounded resigned. Dragons fought a war with gods a long time ago, and my Grandsire said we now avoid one another. But when a dragon does have to meet a god, as Grandsire and I did, we just talk, though as I told you, Kel, gods seem very bad at listening. Mithros certainly didn’t listen to me properly when I scolded him for upsetting Mama. Dragons don’t do this worshipping the gods that mortals do. I understand you wanting to say thank you to the gods who have helped you—that is only polite—but why do more?

            Kel had watched her father’s eyebrows take several trips up and down during this but he answered civilly enough.

            “You must remember we mortals are mortal, Skysong. We do not live long by dragon standards, we are physically small and weak, and all but a few great mages, like Numair, weaker magically than any dragon. We are at the gods’ mercy and worship is a way of trying to gain favour.”

            I suppose so, but when Mama wants something from my grandparents she just asks them. It is much less complicated.

            “She is their daughter, Kit. It’s different for the Godborn.”

            But you say all the gods are parents to you. They do not seem to be very good parents. Oh look, Irnai has found the wildflowers she wanted.

            She scrambled off to help gather wintersweet and Kel’s father turned to her with a look of bemusement.

            “She scolded Lord Mithros? Do you know about that?”

            “A little.” Kel smiled. “It sounded rather wonderful. Daine said it was after she’d killed Ozorne and found herself in the Court of the Gods with all of them there. She’d been chasing him in bird-form so she was naked, poor woman, and Lord Gainel lent her his coat. Uusoae was banished by Father Universe and Mother Flame to a cage somewhere I didn’t understand, and Lord Mithros gave Daine a choice between remaining in the Divine Realms as a minor goddess or returning to the mortal realm for good. At some point Diamondflame and Kitten arrived—Daine says dragons go wherever they want—and when she thought she’d have to stay with her parents and leave her mortal friends she got upset and Kitten set about Lord Mithros. It must have been quite a sight.”

            “Glory, yes. I imagine Lord Sakuyo was amused. Did it do any good?”

            “Maybe. Daine does visit her parents sometimes, as they visit her, so the limitations on travel can’t be absolute, but whether it was Kitten’s doing I doubt. Unless Lord Mithros agreed in self-preservation.”

            Her father laughed. “She does talk nineteen-to-the-dozen, doesn’t she? But she’s always interesting, if sometimes alarming.” He shook his head. “A war between dragons and gods—Mithros! I’m glad that was long ago and now they just talk.”

            “Mmm. It’s odd, you know, Papa—the Godwars have come up several times recently.” She told him what Queen Barzha had told her.

            “You offered a treaty to stormwings?”

            “I did, Papa. You know that phrase about wanting people in not out?”

            “Pissing out rather than in, you mean? Yes—and that’s appropriate for stormwings! Still. Does the King know?”

            “Numair and Daine do. And Numair saw at once why I did it.”

            “That wretched prophecy, I suppose. Your mother told me about it.”

            “Yes. I know in my heart that we’ll face a real fight at New Hope sooner or later, and I’m just trying to get every edge I can.”

            “Of course, and very well, my dear. I was only surprised. I gathered you met Kawit—astonishing creature! Did you try to recruit her as well?”

            Kel laughed. “No, though she’d be welcome if she wants. After Quenuresh we’d take her in our stride. I’m not sure about Diamondflame, though, all eighty-five foot of him. What do you think will happen when he shows up? Kitten says he’s promised to visit her.”

            “He has? News to me, my dear. Did you say eighty-five foot?”

            Cheerful speculation about probable reactions and what Master Oakbridge would consider proper dragon etiquette brought them to the guarded entrance of the Temple District, where Piers was recognised and Kitten, Kel, and the children scrutinised with interest. Her father made a point of introducing them and they talked for a few minutes to the guards, charmed to be spoken to by the dragonet. The main gates were nearer Palace Way and this side-entrance led them behind the temple of the Smith God and the smaller one of Harrier the Clawed to the main square where the temples they wanted clustered.

            Shakith’s temple was smallest, her great centre being in Carthak, but Kel liked the building, winter sunlight from high windows striping the interior. She felt no special indebtedness to the blind goddess but was happy to see Irnai skip forward to lay half the flowers she’d collected at the statue’s feet. An elderly priestess who sat to one side opened her mouth when she saw skipping but abruptly closed it, peered at Irnai, and stood, bowing. After she’d laid the flowers and reached a hand to touch the staff of prophecy, the girl looked at the old woman, face guileless.

            “She told me she likes wintersweet. I was hiding from the Kinslayer and there was a patch growing in front of where I was lying.”

            The priestess’s eyes went wide. “I did not know, Chosen. I will make sure we offer it more often.” A hesitation. “You are Irnai?”

            Irnai nodded.

            “You bless us with your presence, Chosen.” To Kel’s relief she added a more sensible invitation. “You are welcome here always.”

            “Thank you.”

            They went on to the temple of the Great Goddess, where Kel laid the rest of the flowers, sending thanks for being made whole. She felt a sense of warmth and benison, and when she stood and bowed to the statue, tracing the gods’ circle on her chest, there was a faint echo of hounds belling that brought a dozing priestess awake, looking around. Kel didn’t wait to offer explanations, but when they were outside again her father—who had given his own fervent thanks for his daughter’s life and health but felt nothing—looked at her piercingly.

            “She watches you still, then, my dear. It is a great comfort, if also something of a terror, I find.”

            “Tell me.” Kel smiled wryly. “I’m every bit as grateful as I should be, but to be honest I’d just as soon the gods had never noticed me at all.”

            I told you Grandsire said gods were annoying.

            “So you did, Kit, but I’m not annoyed exactly—I just feel very out of my depth with them.”

            And is that not annoying?

            Kel smiled. “You have me there. But there’s not much I can do.”

            That is annoying too. You are going to the Temple of Mithros now? I will wait outside. I am not giving him the chance to ignore me again.

            “Of course, Kit—that’s very sensible of you.”

            Laughing inside they entered. Flowers hadn’t seemed appropriate for the Lord of fire and war, but Kel had a tiny mageblast with its key that Takemahou-sensei had made, one of a stock in different sizes he’d left her, and hoped it would please the god who had commanded her return from death; she’d left another at his shrine in New Hope. The great polished sun-disc and flaring torches on the walls were familiar on a lesser scale from the Chapel of the Ordeal but impressed Tobe, who had his own offering—a horse he’d carved to ask for Peachblossom’s continued recovery and Alder’s and Kel’s safety in battle. They nodded gravely to watching priests before laying their offerings and praying together before the imposing statue, black skin, gold robes, and gleaming spear, with a strange expression as if he peered into distance. Kel’s prayer was simply for New Hope to be safe, keeping battle outside its walls, with a promise to do all she could to ensure it herself, and a request that if she were in any way failing she be upbraided in time to rectify the problem. She felt nothing like the warmth of the goddess but did have a sense of acceptance, and Tobe said he didn’t know if it had been acceptance, exactly, but had felt his offering was right.

            “That sounds like it.”

            Kel ruffled his hair and braced herself. The Black God’s temple was windowless in plain black stone, a striking contrast with the decorated whiteness of the other main temples, and the dark interior lit only by five tall candles by the hooded statue. She laid her offering—a tiny Yamani ihai, a spirit tablet made from New Hope’s limestone, that she had incised with her own name—and prayed. In Kel’s mind the face beneath his hood was clear; she thought she could never forget any detail of its beauty or infinite sadness, and her heartfelt wish for the god to find the solace he offered twined with pure thanks for her life and sparing her parents grief. She had brought a cone of the best incense she could find and lit it as she completed her prayer, gazing at the face that was not there. Wind soughed through the silence of the temple as candleflames sprang tall and straight; so did the flame on her incense and its rich fragrance spread everywhere. Comforted again, she stood and bowed deeply, thanking the god one more time and took the children’s hands as they followed her wide-eyed father back out. Blinking in sunlight Kel heard her name in a familiar voice and Alanna rose from a bench to saunter across, Kitten bouncing beside her.

            “Hello Tobe, Irnai. Piers. They said I’d find you here, Kel.”

            “I have much to be thankful for.”

            “Mmm.” Alanna’s gaze went past Kel. “Did the Black God speak to you, by chance? There’s some wild-eyed priests headed your way.”

            “Oh bother.” There was no getting out of it. “He didn’t speak but there was that wind sound and the candles flared. My incense, too. Give me a minute, would you?”

            A puffing, black-robed priest with the rank knots of authority tied in his belt approached, others behind with equally disturbed faces.

            “Forgive me, my Lady, but did you just make the offering the Black God accepted so decisively?”

            “I did, Your Reverence. Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan, at your service. May I present Sir Alanna of Pirate’s Swoop and Olau, my father, Baron Piers of Mindelan, my son Tobeis, and Irnai of Rathhausak, Chosen of Shakith.”

            “Ah. Indeed. My.” All the priests bowed in many directions, trying for several at once so far as Kel could see. “I am Riellin, my Lady. I have the honour to be Third Priest here.” His eyes goggled. “The god’s response to you was spectacular.”

            He was obviously dying to ask Kel what she’d prayed for and while she had no intention of giving him a theological revelation that would have every priest of the Black God for miles around beating a path to her door she saw no reason not to say what she could.

            “Yes, it was. When we dedicated his shrine at New Hope his breath sounded behind the chimes, and when we dedicated the burial ground, so I know he watches over us and gave thanks. I prayed also he might find the comfort he offers—you might try it. He bears such sadness for us all, you realise?” A thought struck her. “Do you worship the Hag?”

            Riellin’s look combined bewilderment and panic. “Ah, no, my Lady. Lady Knight. Commander. We don’t. She is, ah, potent only in Carthak.”

            Kel shook her head. “Don’t you believe it, Riellin. She gets about and has a vile sense of humour, I warn you. The hyena’s a shock too. Now if you’ll excuse us, we have urgent business. Sir Alanna came to summon us from our devotions.”

            She bowed more deeply than was called for and swept away, arms round the children, hearing a priestly babble rise. Alanna and her father followed in silence until they had made it through the gate, where to the consternation of the guards Alanna wheezed to a halt and gave herself over to laughter, actually slapping her thigh as she rocked back and forth. Kel had read of people doing that in one of the absurd romances Neil recommended, but she’d never seen anyone do it and had thought it another ridiculous exaggeration. She watched with interest and eventually Alanna sobered, wagging her finger in Kel’s direction.

            “Kel, that was priceless. Riellin’s nice enough but a godly bore. He’ll be hopping in circles for weeks. I must tell Jon.”

            Kel shrugged, content Riellin should. “I expect they all will. The Goddess breathed too, when I thanked her, though I ducked questions there, and Irnai told a priestess Shakith likes wintersweet. You can expect the Palace gardens to be raided after the hillside’s gleaned.”

            Alanna dissolved in laughter again. “Three responses? Oh glory. Kel, Kel, Jon says Holloran already makes the gods’ circle whenever he mentions you. You’ll have all of them doing it.”

            “Only two, Alanna. Shakith didn’t say anything.”

            “She said hello to me but I knew the priestess hadn’t heard.” Irnai’s smile was as often far too old for her face but Alanna laughed yet again.

            “Quite right, Irnai. It’s awkward when that happens, isn’t it? Oh that’s a far better afternoon than I could have hoped for.” Still chuckling, she straightened and they began to walk back up the path.

            Kel frowned. “Did you walk down, Alanna?”

            “I did. There’s no urgency and I felt like getting out after this morning. I do have a message, though, which is that they did the draw for Ordeals. There’re six squires this year so it’s three nights before and three after Longnight. Owen’s on the first night after.”

            “Right, thank you. And Prosper of Tameran?”

            “Um, night after Owen. Did I know you knew him?”

            “I’ve no idea. He was with us when we fought those hillmen in my second page year and we’ve been friends ever since.”

            “I did know, then. I’d forgotten. I’m getting old. Anyway, what I really came for was to apologise for being so silent this morning, Kel—Jon wanted me to stay out of it and he had a point. It wouldn’t have helped if I’d told Stone Mountain or Runnerspring or that unspeakable Torhelm what I think of them. Again.”

            “I guessed it must be something like that, Alanna. Papa says he was forbidden to talk to me when he realised what was being set-up.”

            “Really? Jon leaned on you, Piers?”

            “He did, Alanna. Yesterday, when I heard Tirrsmont had filed a complaint and Runnerspring was planning to ambush Kel.”

            “Yes, that was icing on the cake. But I came to apologise and to congratulate you on the way you handled it all, Kel. Polite as you like in the face of considerable rudeness and then Bam! I’ve rarely seen a man change colour as fast as Tirrsmont, the poltroon. Jon’s been itching to take him down, but for the southerners and westerners it was all so far away until they heard him lie to them.”

            “I didn’t handle it, Alanna. I meant every word I said.”

            “Then I like the way you meant it.”

            “I don’t like being used, Alanna, and I’ll tell the King so tomorrow. If he wants me to do something he can command or ask it. All this, I don’t know”—she waved her hand—“hugger mugger does no-one favours. Tirrsmont is a poltroon but he should be tried fairly, not ambushed. And anyone supposed to spring an ambush should know they’re doing it.”

            “You tell Jon exactly that. I did, but he’s so much more complicated than he used to be. Though to be fair it has been a problem.” Alanna’s glance was shrewd. “Do you understand what you did this morning, Kel? Have you asked your father?”

            “We had other concerns, Alanna. I suspect you should know Kel told me what happened to her. Before anything else I must thank you with all my heart for summoning the Goddess.”

            “You did, Kel? Good for you.” Alanna clapped her arm. “I hoped you would but I didn’t think it’d be this soon. And you’re welcome, Piers, as Kel is. But tell her what she did, politically speaking, because I’m not sure she has a clue.”

            “Don’t you, my dear? I think what Alanna means is that you, um, broke the logjam that has delayed things in the Council for months.”

            “Years more like.” Alanna’s voice was a growl.

            “Well, yes. For the first time the military north—both haMinch seats, Cavall, Blue Harbour, and Frasrlund—voted with the Progressives against the Conservative west and south—and you pulled in Nond, Disart, and Macayhill. They’ll find it harder to go back than they might think.”

            “Too right. You’ve also given Jon a half-dozen nicely pointy things to use when he wants, including one that with luck will see that pig Voelden excluded from succession at Tirrsmont. Turomot will be delighted to require a gods’ oath he’s never sullied the field of honour.” Alanna grinned. “And if you don’t end up as Baroness of New Hope, Kel, I’ll eat my armet. Your petition worked beautifully but if you survive whatever it is that’s going to happen Jon’ll have you ennobled in your own right far faster than you can say ‘no’.”

            “What?” Appalled, Kel came to a dead halt. “Alanna, you’re joking?”

            “Not at all. Tell her, Piers.”

            Tobe and Irnai pulled Kel back into motion, Kitten bouncing beside them with what looked to Kel like a draconic grin.

            “I suspect Alanna is correct, my dear. From any sensible point-of-view a central northern fief with a stronghold like New Hope is a godsend, and from the King’s perspective he’d be reinforcing the border with someone Prince Roald likes and trusts who is our future queen’s oldest Tortallan friend.” He hesitated and Alanna wagged a finger.

            “Not yet, Piers.”

            “No. There are considerations I’m forbidden to mention, my dear, though I hope you’ll learn of them soon. But they help to explain why the King hasn’t ennobled you in your own right already. He wanted to, you know, and there’s considerable pressure on him to do so.”

            “There is?” Kel felt bewildered, though Tobe’s and Irnai’s hands were tight on her own. “From whom?”

            “From many sides, my dear, not least the lower city. I know you think of Miss Isran as a friend, but she was becoming an interesting voice in city affairs even before your report was published. You know what happened when you and Alanna arrived, and your conduct since has been widely and positively noticed. I would be surprised if a dozen people in the lower city were ignorant of the Protector of the Small.”

            “And they arrived today, drunk.” Alanna grinned widely at Kel.

            “Gah.” Kel hunched her shoulders. “I’m going to strangle that elemental. It’s ridiculous.”

            “Well, you’ll have a chance tomorrow. Rather you than me, frankly. More importantly, I hear you’re going to show off a new style Lalasa’s devised this evening and set all the court women by the ears. Do tell.”

            Kel would have screamed if it weren’t for the children.

* * * * *

After an early supper Lalasa came to help them dress, cheery and talkative, and by the time they passed her inspection even Kel had to admit they were all looking presentable. The flames hemming Irnai’s dress were vivid, and the sight of her fingering the fine material with a dreamy smile was warmth in Kel’s heart. So was Tobe’s scrubbed face atop his blue tunic with its owl and crossed glaives, fine light blue breeches, and shining boots. She even thought she looked well enough herself, thanks to Lalasa, and though she refused lip-paint did let herself be persuaded into eye-shadow that worked nicely. The freckles banding her cheeks had faded with winter and the blue-black traces Lalasa applied made her hazel eyes stand out.

            “There, my Lady. You look a picture, though I say so myself.”

            Kel wasn’t persuaded, but Lalasa had news of what she still teasingly called the Protector’s Maids and draft contracts for Kel to consider, modelled on their own curious employer-servant way of doing things. It had evolved when service as Raoul’s squire took Kel from Corus and Lalasa hadn’t wanted to work for anyone else save as a seamstress; now Kel would in effect be hiring these other women, nominally as maids, and providing capital to let them work for themselves, their wages being underwritten and the money repaid as tithes from profit. It seemed to favour her more than it ought and she argued figures, but Lalasa was clear the women liked the arrangement—employment in Kel’s service gave them status they could use and guaranteed income greatly mollified opposition from kith and kin. Kel did insist on greater generosity in a few places and for everyone’s sake a clause requiring review of wages and tithes at regular intervals with a rider that gave her freedom to deal with difficulties on an individual basis.

            “I’ll check these with Papa, but I think that’s all fine now. Oh, and I’ve been meaning to tell you—you should get a boost with the self-defence classes. I think I’ve persuaded Thayet to require every female servant at the Palace to be trained, in batches. I didn’t think you’d mind some royal patronage.”

            “Oh my Lady. That is good news.” Lalasa knew exactly what women might endure in the warren of the Palace, and beamed. “I do have an appointment with Her Majesty in a few days, but I thought it was another order—she’s been generous buying from me. The Princess and some of her ladies too.”

            “They want the best, Lalasa.” Kel’s sense of mischief tweaked her. “When you marry Tomas you should invite them to your wedding.”

            Lalasa’s scandalised pleasure at the thought and enquiries from Kel about the kind of wedding she wanted filled time until they set off for the Great Ballroom. Given the children’s excitement and likely crowds Kel had thought to arrive earlier than later, but there was already a sizeable queue of couples waiting to be announced, and from the noise many already inside. She could see Adie and Orie with Merovec and Ortien about to enter, so they wound up waiting with people Kel didn’t know or half-recognised from serving as a page and squire. Both she and the children attracted scrutiny and she saw eyes flicking from the Mindelan owl and glaives on her dress to those on Tobe’s tunic, but only the couple behind them bothered—or dared—introduce themselves. An evidently wealthy merchant and his cheerful wife, they were pleasant and interested in the children as well as Kel. They offered congratulations on her report, decrying necromancy, but didn’t harp on it when Kel asked instead about the merchant’s business. She did her bit for Lalasa’s friends, mentioning the shops that would open in the new year, and was gratified by his immediate promise to investigate.

            “Quality wares sell everywhere, my Lady. Carthakis and Yamanis don’t want our ordinary stuff any more than we want theirs—food excepted, at need—but fine work commands a price in both empires.”

            “Yes indeed, Master Orman. I know that from my time in the Islands—there were always exotic things available.” A thought struck her. “Would there be a market for unusual stoneware, do you think—for storage or display? Up at New Hope we’re mostly dealing in necessities, thanks to the war, but our basilisks can petrify wood so anything our carpenters can turn we can render in stone.”

            “There certainly would, my Lady. New Hope is the fort that replaced Haven? Mmm—there’s not many willing to travel so near the front but I’ll send someone to see this stoneware, if that is acceptable.”

            “Very much so. We’re in a military area, so your man will need travel papers from General Vanget or my Lord of Cavall. He’s here for Midwinter so I can ask him to issue them as soon as you know whom you might send. And I can have an escort meet them at Bearsford.”

            “That’s very kind, my Lady.”

            “It’s to our advantage, Master Orman. We’ve so little it’s not easy, but the more we do ourselves the less the burden on army and realm.”

            She couldn’t make out his look as he nodded. “I would more nobles thought so, my Lady. And commanders. All else aside, it’s to my advantage as well—the loss of northern trade these last two years has been felt, and you’ve something new to offer. Fine basilisk stoneware—I can sell that! Does the wood grain stay visible?”

            “It can—depends on what the basilisks want to do.” Her mischief surged again. “And if you don’t mind dealing with a friendly spidren you can swap cheese for the best insulating material I’ve ever come across.”

            She let Tobe explain how useful old webbing was and watched as suspicion she’d been pulling his leg faded into thoughtful consideration.

            “The Carthakis might be interested if it seals against dust-storms and there’d be Gallan and Yamani markets. Did you say cheese?”

            “Spidrens really like it—ours do, at any rate. All kinds, but blue especially, and strong goats’ milk ones. They might want other things too, or money to get them. Your man can ask when he comes.”

            “I’ll think on it right enough, my Lady. Be sure of that.”

            The encounter left her cheerful as they reached the doorway and she gave their names to the servant announcing each arrival. His glance was keen.

            “Rart-howsak? Is that correct, my Lady?”

            “Irnai?”

            The girl looked up at the man gravely. “More Rraat-hausac, sir.”

            Her courtesy produced a wide smile. “Rraat-hausac. Got it. Do you prefer Sir or Lady Knight Commander, my Lady?”

            “Lady Knight.”

            “Military rank is always included.”

            Kel had been watching announcements through the door and none seemed to make much impression on the crowd, but when she and the children stepped in heads turned.

            “Lady Knight Commander Keladry of Mindelan, with Tobeis of Mindelan and Irnai of Rathhausak.”

            The weight of attention was palpable but her arms were round the children’s shoulders and she could see her sisters and in-laws with her parents—both in marvellous kimonos—and Alanna. Ignoring the buzz that rose she headed for them, thinking how striking Alanna looked in a dress that matched her eyes but halted abruptly as three burly forms swung out to block her path. Torhelm was clearly already the worse for drink, face mottled; flanking him his vile son, Sir Guisant, and Sir Garvey of Runnerspring wore identically malicious smiles of anticipation. Her hands tightened on the children’s shoulders.

            “So you bring your Scanran bastard even here? Shameless bitch.”

            Whether Torhelm had pitched his voice to carry or was just shouting drunk Kel couldn’t tell but it hardly mattered. Gut tightening and mind chilling with rage she drew herself up, one hand squeezing Tobe’s shoulder, and in her peripheral vision saw Alanna starting towards them, red-faced with purple fire beginning to spark in her hand.

            “Are you entirely stupid, Torhelm? If Tobe were my natural son I would have borne him when I was nine.”

            “Wouldn’ta stopped a slut like you.” Three pairs of eyes gleamed at her, like animals’ at night. “And if you think you’re getting away with your bitch slanders on Tirrsmont, think again. He’ll cut out your tongue and your coyne too before we’re done with you.”

            Kel’s vision was hazing with red that sparkled silver but huge effort kept her voice level. “I think His Grace of Wellam will act as he judges in the realm’s best interests, Torhelm. You’re stupid drunk already and if you’ve the least sense you’ll leave, now. I give you fair warning I’ll—”

            “You warn me, you arrogant cow? Any real man would cut your bitch’s head off and piss down the stump. You’re not even worth swiving. Gods know how you’ve whored it so high. From what I hear even a tauros ran away—didn’t have a bag to cover you with I suppose.”

            He roared laughter, drowning his son’s and Garvey’s sniggers, and Kel’s vision edged everything silver. As time slowed she watched his open mouth, lip trembling and droplets of spittle exploding into the air. His teeth were crooked and his tongue discoloured with the wine he’d been drinking. Somewhere thunder pealed and hounds whined.

            “Or you ran away fast enough, mebbe, when you saw a real pizzle. Oh yes, we know the truth, how you left your so-called people to it and ran.” The drunken face took on a look of cunning. “But you coulda taken it easily, by all accounts—you must be as slack as an old shirt by now, all the whoring you’ve done. Lady Knight be cursed—you’re a bloated bitch who’s whored Tortall to the dogs. If the gods gave a flying shit about us that tauros woulda swived you dead.”

            Thunder pealed again and hounds bayed. Time released her speech.

            “Angors of Torhelm, you are as ignorant as you are blasphemous and malicious. Six tauroses we killed. The seventh did rape me, and I died of it.” She was distantly aware of confusion warring with startled pleasure in Guisant’s eyes. “In a space I cannot describe I met the Black God, who forgave me and at the command of Lord Mithros returned me to the world. By the grace of the Lady Alanna I met the Great Goddess and was healed in my womanhood. If you are wise you will go to your knees and beg the gods’ forgiveness.”

            Something had driven Guisant and Garvey back a pace but Torhelm was too drunk or crazed to realise and his laughter roared again as the torches in the wall sconces flared with candles and oil-lamps all round the room, and the crystal mage-lights above dimmed.

            “Gods this, gods that—you’re a gods’ fool, bitch. P’raps you swived them too, eh? Gave Mithros a jiggy ride in that slack coyne of yours.”

            Kel’s hand rose to her chest and began to trace the gods’ circle. “I, Keladry of Mindelan, swear I have spoken truth and call on Lord Mithros, the Great Goddess, and the Black God to witness it.” Her hand stilled and the sky waited. “And I ask that for his vile blasphemies and falsehoods this night Angors of Torhelm be stricken dumb and halt for a year and a day, that he may consider the peril in which his soul stands.”

            Her hand moved on and the air heaved. Every flame leaped tall and silver and voices rang amid cresting thunder, clashing arms and cries and belling hounds with the winter wind soughing through them all like a gale.

            Heard and Granted. Heard and Granted. Heard and Granted.

            Kel felt only pressure as air thickened and pulled the trembling children closer to her, hands tightening on their shoulders, but Guisant and Garvey were bowled backwards, faces slack with terror, and Torhelm dropped like a felled steer, one hand clapping to his throat and the other his right leg. The sound he made was a mewling version of the death-scream of the women who’d died by the tauroses and from the smell Kel knew he’d voided himself. Her mind burned clearly in the gods’ presence and her voice rang through the Hall.

            “So is your blasphemy answered, Angors of Torhelm. Think on it as you limp in silence. You will have no second chance.” Pressure eased and the mage-lights half-brightened again as flames guttered. Kel’s head turned smoothly to meet Master Oakbridge’s eyes, wide and shocked where he stood inside the door. “Master Oakbridge, this lord and these knights require assistance to leave, and there is soil to clear, I believe.” She smiled gently. “I fear the torches and candles need renewing also.”

            That distant part of her had never appreciated the training of protocol more as Oakbridge jerked and bowed. “At once, my Lady.”

            He didn’t need to signal—the servant at the door and others came nervously forward with pages, bowing to Kel and the children before hauling a whimpering Torhelm and the dazed knights to their feet and dragging them roughly out. As a maid came scurrying with bucket and mop Kel saw Alanna staring from a position half-way towards her parents and sisters, blurred behind her, but waited until the shaking woman had mopped Torhelm’s mess and dropped to her knees to polish the floor. A white face peered anxiously up at her.

            “Is that alright, my Lady?”

            “It’s fine.” Extending a hand Kel grasped her arm and effortlessly lifted the woman to her feet. “I thank you, of your kindness. Go with the gods’ blessings.” Looking up she saw beyond Alanna a path extending to the foot of the throne-chairs on the dais at the end of the room, with Jonathan and Thayet as arrested as Alanna. All around pale faces hung suspended. Her voice rang again, full of an ease she truly felt.

            “Your Majesties, I can make no apology for the drama—Lord Angors and the gods’ were responsible for that—but I am sorry for the delay. I was bringing the children to present to you.”

            They walked beside her as she went forward, Alanna stepping aside, purple eyes wide, then falling in behind with her parents, the crowd clearing like scuffed leaves.

            “My adopted son, Tobeis of Mindelan, Your Majesties, and the seer Irnai of Rathhausak, Chosen of Shakith. Without them both my mission to Scanra could not have succeeded.”

            Prompted by the comfortable skirt of her dress she curtseyed, feeling Irnai follow as Tobe bowed. Jonathan’s face was unreadable.

            “Lady Knight Commander, no apology is necessary save Ours for the obscene insults you have suffered from a drunken guest here, and the gods have shown what they thought of that. Lord Angors of Torhelm is summarily dismissed Our Council, and he and the knights of Torhelm and Runnerspring who stood with him are banished Our court.” He gestured aside and a uniformed sergeant of the guard shook himself and headed briskly for the door. “Tobeis of Mindelan and Irnai of Rathhausak, yet young you have each done Us great service, and We honour you both. Lady Knight Keladry, Our indebtedness grows daily and We hereby recognise the title the Chamber of the Ordeal bestowed on you with the gods’ blessings—Protector of the Small, who cannot defend themselves and whom you champion, even as Lady Alanna champions Us.”

            Kel didn’t even blink though something inside her sighed resignation. “You are generous, sire.” She turned to Thayet. “I am sure the gods intended no disruption to your ball, Your Majesty, and I am sorry for any I have occasioned.”

            “There has been no disruption, Lady Keladry, only welcome justice and blessings.” The mage-lights brightened to the full at Thayet’s words and Kel was aware of servants replacing candles. “Share with Us now a grace cup, if you will.” From somewhere a liveried servant appeared at her elbow with a great two-handled golden goblet and a fine lawn napkin. “We give thanks to the gods for their witness and judgement, and to Lady Knight Keladry for her great services and mercy.”

            Thayet drank, wiped the lip, and passed the cup to the King, who did the same and passed it to Kel. To her relief it wasn’t wine but warm, spiced apple-juice, and after wiping the lip herself she passed it to Tobe, making sure he had it securely. He was equally careful passing it to Irnai, and the liveried man took it back with a bow.

            “Lady Knight, you have yet to greet your family.” The King’s voice was velvet. “Be at ease with them now, and with all.”

            He gestured with both hands and conversation grew as people began to break shocked entrancement and move normally again. Alanna softly clapped Kel’s arm as she turned, a muttered ‘Very well handled’ audible only to her and perhaps the King, and she found herself enfolded by her father’s arms for a  second time that day, then her mother’s, and to her surprise her sisters’, both with tears in their eyes. Her own were dry and the sense of inward ease continued though somewhere emotions were clamouring and the wary wonder on Ortien’s and Merovec’s faces was disturbing. She was pleased though to see them talking to Tobe, and her sisters to Irnai, as her mother slipped an arm round her waist and turned her to see the King and Queen in a half-circle with her father. Everyone else was keeping their distance and Thayet’s voice was low.

            “Keladry, I am so sorry you were confronted by that vileness and as amazed as we all are at what you and the gods did. Alanna and your father have told us how they responded to you this afternoon in the temples, and now this. They watch you very closely.”

            There was a question under her words and Kel shrugged slightly.

            “They do seem to, Thayet, but your guess is as good as mine. It’s New Hope and the war, plainly, and this timeway thing Queen Barzha mentioned—but she thought even the gods could only wait and see and Daine’s parents said the same. I think they’re just making sure the people they want to be there get there safely for whatever it is.”

            “You’re very calm about it, Lady Knight.” The King’s statement was a question. “Even Alanna is not so poised when the Goddess has spoken to her, and you saw Irnai when Shakith made her a mouthpiece.”

            Kel felt herself smile—Alanna was often uncalm but she didn’t say that. “I don’t think divine power passed through me in the same way, sire. It struck Torhelm directly but we were shielded. I believe the Goddess bestowed a gift of ease. I am surprised myself but I feel calm.”

            “Then you are the only one. Forgive me—was that judgement yours or the gods’? The voice was yours but the words were ancient.”

            Kel considered. “I don’t rightly know, sire. I was seeing red—literally—but everything was edged in silver and moving so slowly, as in combat sometimes. I was tracing the god’s circle and I paused and the words I spoke came to me. I think it was me—I read something in which a mage did that to a man who offended and it seemed right.” A thought struck her. “I’m sorry if it causes you political difficulties.”

            “I’m not, Lady Knight, and you shouldn’t be. It was better justice than I could achieve, and far swifter. I’m delighted to have him gone.”

            Thayet’s gaze had moved over Kel’s shoulder and her eyes widened. “As are we all. But we’re going to have to put this off until tomorrow, Jon—the dragons are here.”

            As she spoke Kel heard gasps and turned to see Numair in best robes, Daine in a dress like her own, Kitten with a beautiful silk bow and ribbon round her neck, and, dwarfing them all as she constricted herself to pass through the doors, Kawit. The servant’s voice rang out.

            “Master Numair Salmalín, Veralidaine Weirynsra, Wildmage, and the dragons Skysong and Kawit Pearlscale.”

            Kel heard the King’s and Queen’s breaths as they started forward with smiles of welcome and was overcome with amusement harder to conceal than the distress everyone expected from her would have been. She almost wished Quenuresh were here too, and Kuriaju and Amiir’aan with St’aara, but there was Tkaa, greeting his distant relations in that carrying whisper and skilfully drawing in a couple to whom he’d been talking—Master Orman and his wife. Kawit’s sheer size and length of tail made for odd patterns as people skirted her but normal conversation slowly resumed and then rose rapidly to a great buzz. Her father rested a hand on her shoulder.

            “They will be talking about it all for longer than that year and a day, my dear. Are you really alright? I am sure divine power did move through you—your voice as you cast him down …”

            “I feel fine, Papa, truly. I think I might not later but I’m fine now. We should rescue the children from Orie and Adie.”

            “Or them from the children, maybe.”

            It was true that Tobe and Irnai seemed to be holding their own, faces shining as they chattered and took her sisters, fascinated and reluctant, to meet Kitten and Kawit. Kel and her father began to circulate, greeting those they knew—lords of the Council, in whom the morning’s respect was fused with startled wariness, save for Wyldon, who gravely kissed her hand, offering his apologies for not having been able to warn her of the planned ambush; the Yamani ambassador and his wife, who gave Kel bows of respect to Sakuyo’s Blessed and to her relief wanted to talk about glaives rather than what had just happened; a pensive Lachran, stealing a moment from duty after he’d brought them fresh juice and eyeing his aunt with wonder until Kel turned their conversation to his training; and various other Mindelan or Seabeth-and-Seajen relatives, who goggled deference Kel found tiresome. Piers also introduced her to scores of new faces—ambassadors, Yamanis and Carthakis at the Tortallan court for one or another reason, merchants in the Emerald Ocean trades, guildmasters with their wives and older children, and others who ran Corus, from the Lord Provost and senior Dogs to Wardsmen from the city council. Kel’s head swam trying to remember them all but she said the right things, passing over the divine but making positive reports of the war and the strength of New Hope’s defences, lodging its name in their minds as a place with people, and making tart remarks about how much those who’d refused to accept them had deprived themselves. After the fourth discreet enquiry from an avid wife about her dress she had to concede Lalasa had been right, and happily directed custom her way while discreetly warning that Her Majesty and Princess Shinkokami had priority but adding that Lalasa’s growing custom had brought other seamstresses of exceptional quality into her employ.

            It was a relief to reach Daine and Kitten, beside Kawit in a corner to which the opal dragon had courteously retired, crouched with her tail furled neatly around her forelegs. Daine’s pregnancy didn’t show beneath the loose fall of the dress and she grinned.

            “Isn’t Lalasa a marvel? I couldn’t stand the tighter dresses I had and she whipped this up in a jiffy.” Irony entered her eyes. “I felt the gods arriving clean over in our rooms. Kawit too, and Sir Myles told us what happened. Good for you, Kel—Torhelm’s always been disgusting and I’m only sorry I missed it. Are you alright, though? You’re looking wonderful but it must be costing you plenty.”

            The Goddess’s power yet lingers within her, Godborn, and soothes her distress. Kawit’s great eyes turned to Kel. You are a most unusual mortal, Keladry. Mithros has always had a temper to strike down those who cross him, but for three to strike together and the Black God among them is a rare departure. May I ask if they spoke to you?

            “They didn’t, Kawit, nor even through me, I don’t think. Their voices just sounded from the air, so far as I could tell, and their words were only ‘heard and granted’, like a chorus.”

            They are ever secretive, even when there is no obvious need.

            “And dragons aren’t?”

            Kel could hear amusement in Kawit’s mindvoice.

            It depends on the dragon, but not in the same way. Save in our first centuries we are less playful, as a rule, and our anger far more direct.

            “The gods were pretty direct with Torhelm this evening.”

            Indeed. Perhaps they learn wisdom at last.

            Kel knew better than to accept that gambit and the children’s return with her mother helped the conversation to less charged matters. Sophisticated finger-food was being served and identifying the ingredients for Tobe and Irnai and watching them sample Kmiri, Carthaki, and Yamani delicacies scattered among the Tortallan became an adventure in itself. When Tkaa joined them they saw he was munching from a bowl of stone fragments .

            “Black opal matrix,” he explained to a fascinated Tobe. “Queen Thayet knows I have a taste for it, as many basilisks do, and is kind enough to indulge me. I fear you would find it indigestible. A whole opal would serve you better.”

            The conversation wound to power stones and their uses, Daine telling the children about the mage-barrier at Dunlath that had been anchored in black opals, her friend Brokefang and the wolf called Short Snout, another cheese lover, before ending with Numair turning an enemy mage into a tree and subsequently searching for a year to find the tree he had in necessary balance turned into a man. They listened happily, asking sensible questions, and when she saw eyelids drooping Kel gathered them and they made farewells. When she had them safely tucked up Kel was at last able to close her bedroom door behind her and try to take stock of her emotions.

            The Goddess’s ease was still present, she thought, a warm cushion, and the passage of divine power certainly hadn’t harmed her, but below it all she knew a great bruise spread from the obscenities Torhelm had spewed, hammering relentlessly in language and thought at the lack she felt most keenly and the convictions of unattractiveness Lalasa’s dress had briefly assuaged. His careless mention of the paradox that had always run through such obsessively sexual insults, making her at once too ugly for any man to desire and the most successful spread-legged jade lurid imaginations could conjure, had been a greater knife in her heart than his cruder language, though she didn’t really understand why. She’d felt the lone cow among his bitches and whores too, almost sadly, as if it were a confirmation though she knew it was only an echo of Joren’s childish malice. As she cleaned her eyes of the colour Lalasa had applied they were wet but she wasn’t sobbing, just leaking heartfelt sorrow. Could she do nothing without lords she barely knew brandishing the mysteries so relentlessly closed to her? To the understandable reluctance of men to attempt a woman who could throw or decapitate them was added an equally understandable reluctance even to consider one who might call massed gods to strike them down if they displeased her—for nonsense as it might be Kel knew enough about gossip to have a sure sense of how the tales of this night would be told and retold.

            When she had put on her nightshirt, blown out the candle, and climbed between the cold sheets tears were still slowly welling and she thought it would be a long time before she slept. But within minutes she was amid her dream of the Islands, running with Yuki and Cricket in spring sunlight through the great gardens of the Imperial Palace and seeing the marvellous new blossoms limning the Emperor’s flowering trees in white and pink glory.

Chapter Text

Chapter Eleven — Lordship

18–31 December

Kel’s lunch with the King was not what she’d expected. Instead of Thayet or Shinko their companions were Roald and a grumpy Numair, who clearly didn’t think he needed to be there. Nor, after brief remarks as he led her to private apartments she’d never seen, did the King talk of the previous evening—his concern was entirely with the elemental.

            “It is a foundation of the realm, Lady Keladry. Its incorruptibility is critical. Forgive me, but it has never before shown such favouritism, and the double failure of three years ago still has people on edge.”

            Kel blinked. “Favouritism? Forgive me, sire, but that’s … not accurate.” Telling him it was complete rot didn’t seem wise. “Do you call it favouritism when you send the nearest capable servant to unblock a drain? I have no idea how the elemental really perceives time—I asked it when I would meet Blayce and it said something incomprehensible about mortals being fish in a bowl who see nothing beyond, while it is the beyond and sees everything at once—but the fact is, mine was the first year of squires to face ordeals after the killing devices appeared. It picked someone as soon as it knew someone was needed, that’s all.”

            “Mmm, perhaps so. But it picked you, Lady Keladry.”

            “It didn’t have a large choice, sire. There were only six of us, and of those one was no use to anyone—you know about Quinden, I imagine.”

            “Quinden? Oh, Marti’s Hill. Vanget dismissed him, didn’t he, with a snorter of a letter.”

            “I haven’t seen the letter but he certainly dismissed him, with cause. So in effect there was me, Neal, Seaver, Esmond, and Merric, who all came with me anyway.”

            “And you are the outstanding commander—the only commander—among them. Yes, alright—I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

            “Because you were distracted by my being a woman, sire? I did tell you the elemental gave no sign of even recognising the fact, let alone caring. It’s interested in results, not mortal prejudices.”

            Roald ghosted a wink. “I told you too, father. Kel’s plainly the outstanding knight of our generation and while I like the others of her year well enough, except Quinden who’s an ass, she must have been first choice. And I’m very glad she was because she did do what had to be done and I don’t think the others would have, not so quickly anyway. I saw those devices on the battlefield and I’ve never seen anything worse.”

            “I can’t argue with that, Roald, but being in the north so much you don’t realise how difficult this business has been politically. The death of Joren was bad enough—having his principal target treated so differently by the Chamber has compounded it severely.”

            Kel felt her temper spark. “I imagine it has, sire, but again, that is not the elemental’s concern, nor should it be. I know no more than anyone about why it killed Joren, but as he was a hate-filled and cruel boy who would have been an appalling knight and tyrannical lord I’m not complaining. And yes, there’s friction as women reassert themselves after a long period, but it wouldn’t be a problem if it weren’t for a fat handful of lords who despise anyone they think weaker than themselves and like demeaning women. Frankly, sire, while I understand that as a voting block in the Council they slow the progress you can make, I’ve never understood why you seem to respect their prejudice so much.”

            The King’s voice took on an edge. “It’s more than a handful of lords, Lady Keladry, and their prejudice has deep roots.”

            “Is it, sire? Most knights who challenged me during the Progress were set on by Joren. One was Tirrsmont’s son, another Torhelm’s. How many people causing you problems are independent of Stone Mountain, Genlith, and Runnerspring?”

            The King said nothing but glared at Numair’s muttered ‘None’.

            “As to deep roots, again, I’m sorry but I disagree. I’ve had reason to study the history of women in Tortall very carefully, and I can find no sign of the restrictions some people claim as traditional before the rise of that ridiculous cult of the Gentle Mother in the third century. It found champions among over-pious nobles, like Baylisa of Disart, but it’s hard to discount baser motives—she was involved with that Duke who was executed after the mages’ revolt. It grew during the reigns of Roger II and Gareth, as an opposition focus. It’s never had significant popular support outside fiefs whose lords enforce it as a justification of their own policies, it doesn’t make sense below the middle classes, where women necessarily work hard, and you barely hear of it these days—they haven’t replaced their leader since the last one was killed in the Immortals War. Besides, the Goddess showed plainly what she thinks of it when she chose Alanna.”

            Numair sighed. “You’re completely right, Kel, and I’ve told him all that before. So has Sir Myles. And you’ve accelerated change among the middle-classes and nobility. Honestly, Jon, you ought to get behind the landslide, not wave your arms at it hoping it’ll stop. If you didn’t feel bad about forbidding Kally knight-training because the Carthakis wouldn’t like it you would have, long ago.”

            Kel was fascinated by such an analysis but the King clearly wasn’t and crossly wrenched discussion back to the Chamber.

            “We must deal with Joren’s death first, Lady Keladry, then I want Lord Burchard to leave. Inviting him was a superb move and might lance this thing cleanly, depending on what the Chamber says, but there are things I want to ask I’d as soon he wasn’t privy to.”

            “If it says anything.” Numair was twisting a ring. “It wasn’t interested in our concerns about Shakith.”

            “Yes, yes, but Lady Keladry wasn’t there. It won’t ignore her.”

            Kel shrugged. “We’ll find out . May I ask what things, sire?”

            “Bluntly, whether it intends to give anyone else such a task as it gave you, and if so whether it’s willing to let us know. I don’t want to interfere with it—I meant what I said about its incorruptibility—but suppose one of this year’s knights or next’s does something against orders and says he was just doing what it told him?”

            It hadn’t occurred to Kel that someone might falsely claim special privilege on the elemental’s behalf and she thought it improbable in the extreme, but also couldn’t see a problem.

            “In my case it made itself known, sire, so presumably it would again. And if you’ve any doubt ask the knight to re-enter the Chamber and declare their task done. Or use your truth spell.”

            It was Jonathan’s turn to blink. “I cannot just use the truth spell on nobles whenever I feel like it, Lady Keladry.”

            “Why not? If they’re telling the truth all’s well, and if not they’re lying to their king and ought to be stopped.”

            “It’s in Our reciprocal oaths that no magic shall be used on a noble without consent. Has been since that mages’ revolt you mentioned.”

            “Then add a rider excepting truth magic to all new oaths and let it spread naturally. It’d be a good thing all round. And as far as the elemental is concerned, order anyone claiming its patronage to report back to it.”

            “I suppose. The other I’ll take under advisement.”

            “It’s a good one, Jon. What arguments d’you think anyone could advance to say they should be allowed to lie to you?” Numair grinned. “And wouldn’t you enjoy dealing with them?”

            “I have to say I like it too, father. My truth spell’s not as good as yours but I’ll have someone who does have the juice, even for a lord with the Gift.” Roald was thoughtful. “This came up with Shinko because she didn’t understand why nobles could give sworn evidence in court or to the Council and refuse to be truth-spelled. They can’t in Yaman.”

            Numair nodded. “Nor Carthak. I’m not sure about the Copper Isles but I can’t see the Rittevons accepting such a limit on their power any more than Ozorne.”

            A smile glimmered on the King’s face. “Alright, alright, you needn’t gang up. I said I’ll think about it. I’ll ask Turomot too.” He looked at Kel. “You do have a direct way, Lady Keladry, don’t you? It tends to be alarming but it’s clearly stood you in good stead.”

            Kel shrugged. “There’s proper tact, sire, and going all round the houses when you’ve only to open the door. That’s why I’m willing to try to talk to the elemental—maybe it’ll tell us all to run along, as it did Numair, but fidgeting speculation about why it did this or that without trying to ask it directly seems a waste of time.”

            “Indeed. Then again, you seem to ask spidrens and other immortals about whatever’s on your mind as well. Kings too, come to that.”

            “You think so, sire?” Kel’s voice was cool. “I’ve never asked why you agreed to have me put on probation, didn’t condemn my fear of heights, or allowed Joren to get away with a speech openly insulting your queen, arranged marriages for Roald and Princess Kalasin, and champion. They were questions much on my mind, but I didn’t ask them and never will.”

            “Ouch.” The King regarded her quizzically while Roald tried to hide his smile. Numair didn’t bother.

            “All of us who know Kel have told you she doesn’t ask many questions, Jon—nothing like enough when it comes to her own needs, though she’s getting better.” Numair winked at her. “She looks for an answer herself. What she does, consistently, is put things into question by not making the same wrong assumptions the rest of us are prone to.”

            Astonishment overcame Kel’s indignation. “I make enough wrong assumptions of my own, then, Numair, to add to the stock.”

            “I don’t think so, Kel.” Roald shook his head. “Numair’s right—you don’t make assumptions the way most do. I could never decide if it was all the nonsense you face or seeing through Yamani eyes. Both, maybe.”

            The King nodded sharply. “I have to agree, Lady Keladry—you seem to make very few assumptions. You drew a wrong conclusion from inadequate evidence, thinking I’d punish you for having disobeyed Cavall, but we can all do that, and as he insisted we’d given you little reason to expect fairness. Even then one could say you weren’t assuming success would pay for all transgressions, as many people do. When I thought about it I realised it was also because of how you felt about what had happened to your command in your forced absence. When people have consciences at all they can be odd like that.” His face was distant with memory. “No matter. You’re correct about trying to talk to the Chamber and it’s time we did. Whatever his faults, and gods know they’re legion, it would not be kind to keep Lord Burchard waiting on this matter. You’re sure you don’t want to come, Numair?”

            “Not in the least, Jon. It told me to go away nicely last time and I’ve no wish to irritate it. In their own domains elementals as old as that one has to be are powerful things.”

            “Roald?”

            “Not unless you think I must, father. I didn’t enjoy my own Ordeal very much and I don’t know how Kel’s so calm about it.”

            “It’s not like an Ordeal, Roald, truly. It … just shows up, in the face carved above the door lintel or in the earth, and talks.”

            “That infernal plain without anything in sight?”

            “Yes.”

            “Then no thanks. Horrid place.”

            Kel found her sense of humour restored by Roald’s exaggerated shudder. “I did ask it why it hadn’t decorated with trees and birds or something but it got all huffy. It probably likes a nice bare desert.”

            Only Numair laughed, shaking his head. Two Conté men stared at her with identical expressions hovering between bemusement and shock. The King recovered first.

            “You asked the Chamber of the Ordeal why it hadn’t decorated its desert. And it got huffy. I don’t blame it. Mithros!”

            “I asked the elemental, sire, not the room it lives in. Would you like to live there permanently? Ordeals happen in people’s heads anyway—it would make no difference if you whitewashed and furnished the room.”

            “Don’t even think it. Gods preserve us from decorating women.”

            But he did smile this time, quite warmly, and making her farewells to Roald and Numair they went together, guards falling in behind as they left the private apartments. The first afternoon bell struck as they arrived and Lord Burchard was waiting, accompanied by two men in Stone Mountain livery. He was in unrelieved black, pale face and white-blond hair standing out in the gloom. He offered the King a stiff bow and to Kel’s surprise made one to her as well. His voice was strained.

            “Lady Knight, I have been told what happened last night and dissociate myself wholly from Torhelm. Angors was always blasphemous and a fool in his cups. I am neither, and do not oppose the gods’ will.”

            Kel forbore to point out that in condemning female knights he did nothing but oppose the goddess. “Thank you, Lord Burchard.”

            He nodded jerkily. “You are generous, undertaking this. I spoke badly to you after Joren’s death and I apologise. I was in shock.”

            Kel had little doubt he’d spoken badly of her many times. “Of course. There can be few griefs greater than a parent’s for their child.”

            “There are none.” His face became almost animated. “It possesses you. Food and company have no savour. Work is the only solace and what is the point when your best and eldest has been taken from you?”

            Joren had two brothers and a sister; Kel winced at the bleakness of lives with such a father but her face showed nothing as the King nodded gravely and swung open the doors of the Chapel, urging Burchard forward. Over their shoulders Kel saw the room prepared as for an Ordeal, a lamp burning before the gold sun disc and a bench before the door of the Chamber. She was last in, closing the doors in the face of the King’s guards and liveried men, but when she turned found she was expected to lead on, and bracing herself inside as she had so often walked forward and laid hands on the cold metal of the door.

            “Elemental of the Chamber, I come with King Jonathan and Lord Burchard of Stone Mountain, who have asked me to question you on matters of high concern. Will you let us enter?”

            She heard no answer save perhaps a sigh but the door gave under her hand and she walked into the small, bare stone room that held such strange power. The King was behind her, face austere, but Burchard hesitated, swallowing before forcing himself forward. The door swung closed and Kel’s eyes went to the face carved above the lintel, where yellow eyes looked down at them all and thin stone lips never moved

            What matters of high concern, Protector? I told that mage I will say nothing of Shakith or any god. They speak for themselves if they wish, as you found last night.

            “It’s not that.” Kel realised the men had heard nothing when they looked surprise and followed her gaze to the carved face. “Three years ago, at Midwinter, a squire entered this Chamber and did not leave it alive. Joren of Stone Mountain. He was pale blond, as his father here.”

            What of it?

            A sidelong glance told her she was still the only one hearing, and she didn’t know if they could see the yellow eyes. Not good. “Many people besides Lord Burchard were shocked by Joren’s death, and sorely puzzled. In the same year you rejected another squire, Vinson of Genlith, requiring confession of his crimes and punishing him with the harm he had done others.”

            So?

            “You know mortal understandings are limited, and we are confused by the difference in your judgements and actions. It causes disturbance in the realm, as the King stands here to attest. Will you tell us why you judged so? I ask that you speak so we all hear—please do not burden me alone with knowledge none but you can ever confirm.”

            Very well. Kel felt a wave of relief as the King and Burchard stiffened, eyes turning to the carved face. You will not like what I have to say, Protector, if I do as you ask. Nor you, Lord of Stone Mountain.

            “Please.” Burchard was hoarse. “I must know why you killed my son.”

            I was the vessel of his death only. His heart burst with hatred in the test I set him. Would you know the details of his Ordeal?

            “You made me fight, climb, and watch awful things I couldn’t stop.”

            As I made him. Like you he fought well, and was strong. But the vision of friends and kin dying did not move him. Your death gladdened him, Lord of Stone Mountain, for he would inherit and chafed under your rule. Deaths of women excited him, for his mind was filled with desire to kill her who has become Protector of the Small—to kill, torture, and rape. To him the sum of knighthood was the power to do so. I made him live a world of female power, where the Protector was queen and the safety of his liege-people required loyal submission. He died rather than do so. The Black God took him safely.

            Kel felt sick and the anguished noise Burchard made didn’t help as he turned away, stumbling towards the door which swung open to let him pass. She heard him drop to his knees, anguish become retching, and before the smell could reach her spoke more sharply than she meant.

            “Shut it again, please. Now.”

            It shut and yellow eyes looked at her with what might be surprise.

            There is more?

            “Sire?”

            The King swallowed, looking deeply disturbed. “Ah—yes, Lord of the Chamber, there is more.”

            Ask then, Jonathan of Conté. I serve your realm and will answer what serves that end.

            “First, a clarification, if you will. Did Joren of Stone Mountain truly intend to kill Lady Keladry? Or only dream of it?”

            He intended murder and had attempted it by proxy, paying knights to try to kill her on the field of honour. It was his hatred of you as all he could never be, Protector, that drew you to my closer attention, not only your repeated visits to my door.

            “And why did you choose her to kill the necromancer?”

            I chose the tool that would work. I told her I did not know when or where she would meet that mage but in visions of his death the knight who killed him always acted alone. The others of that year were good knights, save one who barely passed my test, but I did not think they would act alone as the timeway required. Why does this matter to you?

            “Because you are a cornerstone of my realm, and your decision to give the first known Lady Knight in more than a century a special task has had … repercussions.”

            Stone couldn’t shrug but Kel felt an equivalent in her mind and abruptly they stood on the earthen plain, bare even of grass and without a cloud in the sky. The face formed in earth before them.

            This is the context in which I judge squires, Jonathan of Conté, without distraction. Mortal ephemera are not my concern. Why you ceased to send me female squires I never understood for it greatly weakens your realm, and their return pleases me. The Protector is the strongest knight you have sent in a long while, since your Lioness and the Lord of Goldenlake. Should I not use her to your realm’s best advantage?

            Kel was bothered if the elemental would make her blush but its words rang her heart with joy. She had always known she’d been very lucky in Raoul as a knight master, but she’d been deprived of contact with Alanna for so long, and to know herself joined with her childhood heroine in the elemental’s mind was a testimony she’d never expected.

            “I am glad you did, Lord of the Chamber. But if you should again need to give a new knight a special task, will you tell Us? Or Our heir, Roald, when he shall sit on Our throne? I will gladly swear to support that task, whatever it may be, or do nothing, if you so command, but to be ignorant of such a thing is … onerous to a king. And unsafe.”

            There was what seemed to Kel a long silence, though it probably wasn’t more than a few moments—bare earth and windless air made time very abstract. The King looked at her once or twice but she silently indicated they should wait.

            I make no promise, Jonathan of Conté. None but the Great Gods can command me, nor will I command a mortal king. But I will say I do not believe it likely I will need to assign further tasks, as I did to the Protector. I have done so only once before her, and even should another necromancer arise to disgust the gods he or she will not stand so close to the roil in the timeway that we approach. The voice became what Kel thought of as disgruntled. It is only in recent years Conté kings have ceased to speak to me about each set of squires. Do you wish to reinstitute the custom?

            The King looked very surprised. “What custom? To speak to you about squires? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

            Your knowledge is at fault. Your grandfather Jasson was the last to do so, early in his reign. He said he would be absent from Corus the following year, and never came again. Your father I only ever spoke to at his Ordeal, as I had spoken to you only once before the Protector.

            “What was it the custom to speak of? And how was it done?”

            On the night after the last ordeal each Midwinter the king would come, and we spoke of fitness and unfitness I had found, new knights’ strengths and weaknesses, the realm’s needs. It was part of my service.

            The King shook his head ruefully. “We have forgotten much, it seems. Thank you for reminding Us, Lord of the Chamber. I will come on the night after the last Ordeal.”

            Kel was fascinated by the jumping pronouns of the King and the man the elemental insisted on, Jonathan of Conté, but she had no time to think about either.

            Very well. Is that all, Protector?

            “Not quite. I have two questions.” She glanced at the King, again looking surprised, and subdued embarrassment. “One is personal but I am content the King hear it. The other concerns you and the realm.”

            Ask then.

            She looked around, delaying, and a thought struck her. “You read our minds, yes? Our thoughts and memories and emotions?”

            You know I do. The voice seemed unusually patient.

            “So you know what has happened to me in the last six months?”

            You have suffered and achieved much. The gods echo in you.

            “Yes, well. I know you like your desert but can you put us at New Hope? On the gatehouse roof, on a sunny day?”

            Seamlessly they were there, New Hope behind them, neatly ordered but deserted, the Greenwoods valley stretched before them. Though she knew it for illusion the familiar view was a comfort and Kel felt something in her relax. For the King, however, all was surprise.

            “Mithros! This is New Hope?” He took a step to the parapet and leaned through a crenel, peering down. “Gods, it is a stronghold, isn’t it?”

            Pulling himself back he walked round, looking at the double palisade and killing field, then over the shelf and main level stretching away to terrace and shrines. When he spoke his voice was warm.

            “Formidable, Lady Keladry, truly. Lord of the Chamber, can you create anywhere in my realm like this?”

            The thin-lipped face appeared on a merlon. If I have encountered one who knows it. Much of your realm is within my knowledge. If you have need you may ask to see a place you do not know yourself. I did this for your forebears long ago, but that custom too passed. What were your questions, Protector?

            Kel steeled herself. “May I speak of my Ordeal?”

            I have never forbidden any person to speak of what I do. It is a mortal custom to insist on silence about it.

            “Mithros!”

            “I thought as much.” Kel’s voice overlapped the King’s but her eyes were resting on a distant slope, beyond Haven. “So. In my Ordeal, as in the visions given through your door, you made me watch everyone I love and like die, horribly—all my deepest fears. But I realised after the tauros that one thing you never did was threaten or use rape. Why not?”

            Why should I? Something that might be distaste curled in the mindvoice. It was no deep fear of yours then nor mortal mating any part of your knowledge. What purpose would it serve so to test you?

            “None, I hope. Yet those who oppose female knights speak insistently of what you call mating. I think you should be testing them.”

            What do you mean?

            “It links with my second question. You said last year a squire barely passed your test. I’m guessing that was Quinden of Marti’s Hill.”

            It was.

            “Do you know what happened to him?”

            Has he died? That happens. He was a weak fighter with a streak of treachery but with the war the realm needs knights.

            The indifference chilled Kel. “No, he didn’t die—he caused serious disciplinary problems and was dismissed from service. And as much as Joren he seems to hate and despise women.”

            Yes, such hatred was in his mind, including hatred of you, Protector, but he had no plans to kill you and I let him pass.

            “Well, he says he has such plans now. And there are other knights with the same hatred—Ansil and Arknor of Groten, Voelden of Tirrsmont, Belar of Heathercove, Guisant of Torhelm, and his father Angors, whom three gods struck down last night for suggesting I’d seduced Lord Mithros. And the other knight with him, Garvey of Runnerspring.” The thing that most rankled and appalled spilled from her lips. “When Guisant heard me say I’d died of the tauros rape his first reaction before confusion set in was pleasure. The thought thrilled him.”

            She heard the King exclaim but her attention was on the elemental, whose face seemed to frown.

            I read the truth of what you say in your mind, Protector. You believe I should not have passed these men, nor those who hate women as they do? All could fight well.

            “I call them a danger and a disgrace to the realm. But I’m not trying to say who you should or shouldn’t pass. I’m saying you should test for such hatred as a weakness.            You hammer people with their deepest fears. Well and good. What you don’t do, or never did to me, is tempt them with their basest desires. A knight should be chivalrous as well as strong. You test for strength, always, but not chivalry. And men carry from here the sanction of knighthood, though they poison the realm with minds that cannot separate anything from their own desires to rut.”

            There was another silence. Kel met the King’s eyes defiantly but said nothing as she watched him grapple with what she’d already said.

            Jonathan of Conté, do you share the Protector’s concern?

            Kel knew the elemental could read both their minds but didn’t care, and her gaze dared the King to say to her face that he would allow such men to be knights in full knowledge of their vileness. After a tense moment he nodded.

            “Lord of the Chamber, I do. I cannot deny I wonder how each man Lady Keladry named became a knight and wish them to perdition.”

            There will be more failures.

            The King took a deep breath. “Then there must be more failures.”

            “Tell them why they fail when you release them—that they are not incapable of fighting but of protecting the weak as knights are sworn to do. That knighthood is more than capable butchery and a knight more than a tauros in mail.” Kel’s voice was passionate but she hadn’t wholly forgotten politics. “You will be talking to the King after each year’s Ordeals so he will know. And the training master can know also—it was Wyldon’s failure not to know this, because in his own honour he could not imagine the minds of Joren and Vinson and to him they concealed their baseness. But they could not conceal it from you, and you denied them.”

            I will think about it, Protector. Stone lips couldn’t smile any more than stone could shrug. I said you would do nicely. Is that all?

            “Yes, thank you.” Kel looked down and the King’s voice startled her.

            “Is it possible for me to walk around New Hope while I am here?”

            The mindvoice was very dry. The Protector’s knowledge of her command is extremely detailed. Go where you will, but swiftly.

            A surprised Kel found herself giving the strangest tour yet. Everything was solid and complete but the absence of people was disconcerting and she concentrated on the layered defences. As they stood on the North Tower roof the King looked at her sidelong.

            “You didn’t say you had your own agenda, Lady Keladry.”

            “I didn’t altogether know it, sire, until I heard why Joren died and that Quinden barely passed.”

            “You’d been thinking about it, though.”

            “And last night you heard why. Torhelm was grosser and more blasphemous but the tenor of his words was no surprise to me.”

            He winced. “It was grotesque. I can’t say you’re wrong.”

            They continued round the alure to the cliffs and descended to the terrace. The shrines glittered strangely and Kel stopped, staring.

            “They don’t usually look like that but Takemahou-sensei said they were filled with godlight. The elemental must be adding it.

            You are correct, Protector. Even in your mind I perceive the traces of the gods’ blessings here.

            Kel thought of dedications and an idea struck her—she and the King were within the shallow bay so they wouldn’t be in the way. She fixed the image in her mind, from Quenuresh’s bulk to Kitten and Junior.

            “Can you add the immortals, as they were at the dedications?” Silently they appeared, unmoving as statues. “Thank you.”

            “Mithros!” The King took an involuntary step back. “That’s Quenuresh? She’s huge. Roald said she was but seeing her is different.”

            “Isn’t it? I tried to tell Macayhill and the others—you have to live with her and learn trust. You can’t command it.” She named the other immortals. “We held a first council when I left. It was odd but worked.”

            Unsure, she led him round the still immortals and down to the caves. They were there too, but she felt the elemental’s patience wearing thin and went no further than the main cavern, mentioning what lay elsewhere. When they climbed back to the main level it shimmered and vanished, leaving them in the bare Chamber with the dimmest light.

            Kel bowed to the stone face. “Thank you.”

            You are welcome, Protector. It was not such a bad name after all, was it? Go now and protect someone else.

            The door swung open, letting in the light of the Chapel beyond. The King blinked.

            “Why are you glaring at the carving, Lady Keladry? Did it speak?”

            “It was being sarcastic.”

            “Sarcastic? Mithros! I won’t ask. Come, I’ve no idea how long we’ve been in here but I want true daylight again.”

            In the Chapel a damp patch showed where Lord Burchard’s lunch had been cleaned away, but a sour reek lingered in the air and with mutual haste Kel and the King crossed to the doors. At his enquiry one guard said it had been only a few minutes before Lord Burchard stumbled out and they’d seen what had happened and summoned a servant; it had been barely half-a-candle-mark since they’d all gone in.

            “Now that’s like an Ordeal.”

            Kel agreed, and they went together in silence, parting at the foot of the stairway to the private apartments. Before the King had taken a dozen steps up he clattered down again, calling her back and asking the guards to stand away.

            “Lady Keladry, I owe you far greater thanks than I have yet offered, and my indebtedness grows every hour, it seems. The last two days have been one amazement after another. And New Hope is astonishing, as a fort and a model of treaty peace. There are reasons I have bestowed no greater reward on you that you will soon learn, but I would not have you think me unappreciative.”

            That un-Yamani frankness that came closer to Kel’s surface with every experience gripped her. “Thank you, sire. I don’t do anything in hope of reward, but if you’re feeling grateful don’t ever set me up again as you did yesterday. I’ll play the goat if you ask it with fair reason but not blind. It’s wrong, needlessly. And if we’re going to speak like this, please, it’s Keladry. There’s a limit to how much ladyship I can take.”

            He looked at her with what in another man she’d have called admiration but that was absurd.

            “I think there will be few limits otherwise, Keladry. A Councillor who speaks plainly without fear or favour is worth a great deal to any king.” Something settled in his eyes. “It will take a while to arrange but Torhelm’s seat is yours and will remain so irrespective of what happens with New Hope. To hinder your passage to knighthood was the single stupidest thing I’ve done since I proposed to Alanna.” He ignored Kel’s complete confusion. “I say this to few but I have said it to your father in matters of Yaman, and say it to you in respect of immortals under treaty at New Hope, or others who come there. If there is no time to ask but you need my authority, you have it, without fear of traducement. I will not forget.”

            He turned and was gone again, leaving Kel speechless. The seat on the Council was a shock and not altogether welcome, but would serve New Hope well and she wasn’t unaware she’d be the first knight of her generation on the Council as well as a second Mindelan seat. The covert authority was interesting too, and effectively ratified her offer to Queen Barzha, which was useful. But … the King had proposed to Alanna? And been refused, presumably. When did that happen, and what was the story? Kel didn’t usually relish gossip but this was far too good to pass up and she went in search of Alanna to find out.

            After gratifying her curiosity with an entirely scurrilous saga that left Kel having to remember to keep her mouth closed—disguised squire and knight master? and the Rogue?—the conversation turned inevitably to the Chamber and a while later Kel found herself in an improbable meeting with Alanna, Wyldon, and Padraig. She relayed what the elemental had said and each point brought intense discussion—Joren’s death, its indifference to whether people spoke of their Ordeals and duty of meeting the King each Midwinter, mapping ability, her request for a new kind of testing. She found herself nervous about Wyldon’s reaction to the last but he was supportive.

            “I’ve thought a lot about what you said, Keladry, and come to the conclusion you were exactly right. A lad like Genlith should not be a knight—no-one can dispute that—and neither should a man like Torhelm. I’m sorry it should have to be tested for, but it’s plain it should.”

            Not having known Joren Padraig was shocked by the elemental’s revelation of corruption, but as a fair-minded man had no quarrel with the exclusion of anyone similar, though the thought of increased failures was deeply unwelcome. Kel was blunt.

            “Why don’t you read all new pages key passages from the Code of Chivalry, Padraig? Tell them from the first the elemental tests all of it—protecting those weaker than you, living to honour your kingdom and gods, not just defend them, not refusing any cry for help from man, woman, or child. It’s all there—it’s just some of it’s slipped in practice, like annual meetings and other things the elemental will do.”

            “Yes, that’s sound advice, Keladry.” He sighed. “It’s only that, well, the Chamber’s always been the great mystery, above everything and everyone. It’s disconcerting to find it thinks we’ve been ignoring it and wants to talk. I wonder why Jasson let that custom lapse—it seems a very odd thing to do.”

            Kel had been thinking about that. “It said it was early in his reign and he warned it he’d be away next year—which sounds like the winter campaign against Barzun, when he was injured. I’ve had no chance to check but I recall he was unconscious for a while, a day at least.”

            “That’s right.” Wyldon was definite. “It’s in Emry of Haryse. They were worried about him. You think he forgot after injury?”

            “Or thought about it differently.”

            “And if only he knew …” Alanna nodded thoughtfully.

            “Exactly. That’s why I’ve told you all, so a pool of people know.”

            “Good thinking.” Alanna and Wyldon spoke in unison and looked at one another in horror before Alanna cackled and Wyldon winced.

            “Kel, you’ve spanked the Council, called three gods down on Torhelm, and solved a mystery we didn’t even know existed, but that’s nothing to getting Cavall and me to agree. Goddess, what are you going to do next?”

* * * * *

On Longnight Eve it began to snow, and before the storm eased four days later everything became a wonderland. It meant Owen could do little on the day before his Ordeal but mooch around the Palace, until Kel and Wyldon took him to the indoor practice courts to burn off nervous energy sparring with glaives borrowed from the pages. Having seen how devastatingly she used it he’d been experimenting, and Wyldon, if now interested, was a novice, so Kel taught them a pattern dance with the benefit of inducing meditative calm. Afterwards they sent him to have dinner with his father, ate companionably, arguing merits of glaive, spear, and halberd, and met him again at the Chapel when the hour came.

            To instruct a candidate for knighthood was a special responsibility and Kel felt the honour keenly. Neither she nor Wyldon had said anything to Owen about contact with the elemental, and had no fears for his temper of mind, but as they spoke the phrases of the Code she wondered if it was listening. She had reluctantly agreed not to stay in the Chapel during Owen’s vigil, as Turomot had for her, lest anyone suspect interference—the opposite of Turomot’s reasoning and an unwelcome irony, however sensible. But she was there with the children, Wyldon, and many people, including Owen’s pacing father, to see him stagger out, hectic but triumphant.

            “Not even a bit jolly,” he said as they surrounded him with congratulations , “but being a knight at last is. Bandits here I come.”

            Wyldon took him and his father off, and at sunset Kel saw the King knight him in the Great Hall. Next dawn she saw Prosper emerge, equally exhausted and relieved, and the dinner Padraig gave two evenings later for all six new knights with their knight masters and second instructors was an interesting innovation. It brought Kel into contact with people she knew only by sight, and if there was a wary courtesy in the way everyone treated her she wasn’t complaining. None of those who knew mentioned that the King would be entering the Chamber that evening, though it was on their minds, but Kel and Wyldon were asked if they knew what Quinden had done to enrage General Vanget, and made it clear his crime had been to endanger men he’d been leading. The conversation turned to responsibilities of command and Kel was surprised to realise she had more experience than anyone at the table except Wyldon and Padraig, but more pleased with professional respect than wariness of divine intervention—the only good thing about which was that no-one was prepared to ask about her experience of dying.

            She also had other things on her mind, and though she wouldn’t have told Owen for the world one had been more memorable than even the honour of instructing him. On Midwinter morning, after she and the children exchanged gifts they’d collected outdoor gear in hope of a good snowfight and taken presents for Numair, Daine, and Kitten to their rooms. Everyone was left very pleased with one another: Kel gained a black opal Numair had managed to rig to let her activate spellmirrors, Giftless as she was, and the children a clever Carthaki toy whose irregular wooden blocks fitted together in scores of ways; Numair appreciated his jerkin, embroidered with stars, while Daine was tearfully grateful for the thought but cheered by dark green trousers to accommodate her pregnancy. For Kitten they’d found a fine model of the Palace, complete with towers and finials, that Kel had an amused Tkaa petrify. The dragonet was happily lighting it in a rainbow of colours when she sat bolt upright, magic winking out.

            Grandsire is coming!

            Daine’s and Numair’s rooms had an additional outside door to allow four-legged visitors to come to them directly, and a piercing trill had it swinging wide for Kitten to charge out. Snowflakes swirled in and a cursing Daine struggled up while Numair pushed it to until they could all don outside gear and follow. Nearly a foot of snow proved a greater obstacle than Kitten had anticipated, and they caught up with her determinedly ploughing along half-way to the horse-meadows adjoining the Forest. Chuckling, Numair scooped her up, brushing off snow and setting her on his shoulders. Horses and ponies had been stabled when snow began and the field was empty, but Daine had them wait.

            “Diamondflame needs a fair space to land.”

            After cold moments in which they saw nothing but snowflakes Daine cocked an eyebrow at Kitten, whose snout was turned skyward.

            “Sure he’s coming now, Kit? Did he speak or did you sense him?”

            “Something’s happening, magelet.” Numair’s long nose was also pointing up. “The spiral spell, I think.”

            Kel’s question led to an explanation that didn’t leave her much wiser and broke off as a vast, dark shape passed overhead, disappearing again into the snowstorm before reappearing much lower and cupping massive wings to settle surprisingly lightly in the field. Diamondflame was huge, even with wings furled, black against the snow save for a golden crest, and Kel instinctively hung back clutching Tobe’s and Irnai’s hands tightly as Kitten leaped clean over Numair’s head and began ploughing through the snow towards him, trilling fit to burst. Seeing her the great dragon flicked out a paw, one silver claw extended, and a line of flame melted snow in Kitten’s path in a heartbeat. Ploughing became a headlong rush, but as she reached him she skidded to a halt, bowed deeply, and bounced into a welcoming paw that grasped her, clearly talking twenty-nine to the dozen, never mind nineteen. Daine and Numair followed, Kel and the children cautiously trailing, fascinated but unwilling to intrude. She realised Diamondflame wasn’t black but the darkest blue, like the ink of tentacle-fish that washed up at Mindelan. Eyes larger even than Kawit’s surveyed them benevolently.

            Greetings, Godborn, and to you, Numair Salmalín. My granddaughter seems in high spirits and to have progressed remarkably. Diamondflame’s mindvoice was astounding, as rich and deep as a great singer’s but crackling with power, impossible age audible—or whatever a mindvoice was. You have looked after her well, and the debt is acknowledged. Wingstar and Rainbow send greetings.

            “Thank you. And ours to them, Diamondflame. Kit’s been no trouble and she’s worked hard at magic and understanding mortals. Kawit’s spell enabling her to speak to us has been a great help.”

            I would think so. Amusement rolled in the voice. Though it is not exactly a spell, but an ancient magic inhering in opal dragons even I had forgotten. It is long since one of my cousins walked in the world and I look forward to seeing Kawit—it is three score centuries since we spoke.

            She was asleep for twenty, Grandsire, but I am very glad I woke her up. Not being able to talk to anyone was very frustrating and she and the basilisk Tkaa have taught me much since then. Look!

            Sitting in the huge paw Kitten trill-croaked a complicated sequence and each of Diamondflame’s great silver claws, longer than the blade of Kel’s glaive, flashed a different colour.

            That is excellent, Skysong. There are dragons with a century for each of your years who cannot do as much. Perhaps I should send them to dwell in the mortal realms also.

            Kel was bemusedly contemplating an influx of dragonets on mortal furlough when she was aware of the dragon’s gaze.

            Will you introduce your friends, Skysong? One youngling sparkles with Shakith’s gift, the other with the wild magic of horses, while the woman is radiant with lingering godlight.

            Oh, I’m sorry. Grandsire, this is Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan, Protector of the Small. The Graveyard Hag played a trick on her she did not like, but the Goddess and Black God have favoured her and six days ago with Mithros they struck down a mortal who was upsetting her. The boy is her adopted son, Tobeis, and the girl Irnai of Rathhausak. Kel rescued her from the Scanran king no-one likes. Kel, Tobe, Irnai, this is my grandsire Diamondflame. He is the most important dragon of all except Rainbow Windheart and fought with us in the Immortals War.

            Kel and both children had completed deep bows long before Kitten finished and saw Diamondflame’s eyes spark with interest.

            Thank you, Skysong, and greetings, Lady Knight Keladry, Tobeis, Irnai. I felt gods move together and wondered what they were about. One mortal upsetting another does not seem sufficient cause.

            “Um, he was very blasphemous, my Lord, and gods have been watching me lately. Queen Barzha Razorwing of the Stone Tree Nation says the timeway rests on me, though I have no idea why it should.”

            That is interesting. Barzha Razorwing is wise, as stormwings go.

            She gave Kel the skulls of some tauroses Kel killed and she made a skullroad. Barzha said they did it because of an old skullroad lined with dragon skulls. Kitten’s indignation was undiminished. Is that true?

            Diamondflame’s gaze became a palpable weight. A skullroad? That is an ancient term. I cannot know why stormwings do anything they do, Skysong—they are their own creatures though their eyries border our lands—but it is true a skullroad in the Divine Realms was created during the Godwars. There is a dragonsong about it, and a godsong. Lady Knight, there is a tale here, plainly. Perhaps we might go somewhere and hear it.

            Kel bowed again. “Of course, my Lord, but I have no idea where you might, ah, fit.”

            Dimensions present no difficulty. I go where I will.

            “Kawit’s stable-block is nearest,” Daine suggested, “and I know she’s looking forward to seeing you too.”

            Very well. Let us go.

            What followed was the strangest day of Kel’s life, tauroses and gods notwithstanding. At the stables Kawit was waiting, swishing snow with her tail, and welcomed them. How Diamondflame fitted into a building smaller than he was Kel had no idea, but doors, walls, and ceiling somehow bulged out of his way and he entered with ease, settling along one wall with Kawit opposite him and everyone else grouped round their heads; Kitten again snuggled into one huge paw, a mouse on a mountain. Seeing the mortals retained coats Diamondflame waved his other forepaw and walls and floor became warm to the touch, soon heating the whole block sufficiently that layers were shed. Irnai settled against Kawit, smiling at the dragon’s heat, and a surprised Tobe found himself sent to inform the King who had arrived and returned even wider-eyed than he’d left, with Jonathan, Thayet, Roald, and Shinko, who all bowed greetings and settled to listen. By then Kel was deep in her tale of what the elemental and assorted gods had been saying to her and how the skullroad had come to be, passing over her death while feeling she didn’t fool Diamondflame for one minute. He let out a breath redolent with heat and spices.

            The gods’ concern with chaos-touched tauroses makes sense, but their number may be coincidence. Still, I share Barzha’s suspicion, and anything that induces stormwings to boil seven skulls clean is worth thought. This gathering of kinds at New Hope is interesting also—and Quenuresh as sensible a spidren as I have met. I wondered when I heard of the treaty between ogres, mortals, and the People at Dunlath, but this is closer to the mark. Is there anything else you can say about the skullroad, Keladry? Perhaps something you think trivial?

            Wondering what mark he meant Kel hesitantly mentioned the way the stormwings had piled up skulls, almost as a sculpture, and added with some embarrassment the soldiers’ nicknames for them.

            That is as strange as anything in this tale, for the gods did as much for the dragonskulls set in their road. Language then was not as it is now, but the names of those dragons might be rendered as Firebreath, Golden Eggs, and their five kits; their skulls became, in your idiom, let me see, Cinders, Yolky, Flinders, Croaky, Parcel, Morsel, and Runt. It was the contempt for the kits that enraged dragons to their revenge.

            Kel didn’t know where to look. “I’m sorry. I’ll remove the skulls.”

            Your feeling does you honour but there is no need. Tauroses have neither names nor mates nor young. None will take offence or revenge. What intrigues me is that no mortal could have known this tale, nor would any god speak of it, even Crooked Kyprioth. Barzha must be right about the timeway’s spiral.

            “I didn’t really understand about that, I’m afraid, my Lord.”

            Mortal perceptions of time are limited. Even such as young Irnai, who sometimes see the timeway through Shakith’s eyes, cannot grasp it as dragons and gods do. And we do not control what we understand. The timeway is how all that might be refines itself into what will be and is. It existed before Father Universe and Mother Flame and will exist after them. It has patterns of its own making.

            “Its own making?”

            Yes. It is not a being one talks with but far more than blind force.

            “Huh. May I ask what you meant when you said New Hope was nearer the mark than Dunlath?”

            Prophecies speak of a time when all will live in peace together but it has not been so since the Godwars broke the peace of the beginning. And never in the mortal realm. I learned of Dunlath through Skysong even as Uusoae came close to bringing about the ending of all things that she desires. Now you build peace between kinds in the face of war. It may mean nothing but it is interesting.

            Kel didn’t want more prophecies, however interesting. “Is there anything I should do?”

            Continue as you have, striving with honour for what matters. None can do more and it is plain the gods who see possible outcomes guide you as they can. They seem sincere. But I will come to see this skullroad if Rainbow does not think it unwise. A skullroad is dragon business.

            Kel had to be satisfied and talk broadened, wandering through Irnai’s and Tobe’s experiences, Daine’s encounters with her parents and difficulties of being a pregnant shapeshifter, Numair’s researches and Kitten’s progress, Kawit’s impressions of the mortal realms after her two-thousand-year nap, Roald’s and Shinko’s marriage, and affairs of Tortall, including treaties with immortals, alliances, the war, killing devices, necromancy, and King Maggur’s methods of obedience. Hearing the King’s impressive voice sound thin beside the weight of Kawit’s and impossible depth of Diamondflame’s Kel found perspectives expanded even more than by her sense of Quenuresh’s and Tkaa’s ages.

            The mortal need for lunch—fortunately not shared by dragons—was dealt with by relays of pasties, but in mid-afternoon Jonathan and Thayet reluctantly left for duties not even Midwinter spared them. Tobe and Irnai were getting restless and Kel thought she’d best get them some exercise before heading to her parents’ townhouse for the evening, but Kitten was fidgety too and to Kel’s astonishment Kawit, eyeing the dragonet, proposed a snow fight.

            It is centuries since I saw such a snowstorm, but Skysong has told me about throwing balls of it and it sounds an enjoyable game.

            What followed was surreal. Diamondflame declined to do more than observe on the grounds that he was too large a target but the others found themselves involved in pitched battle. Roald and Shinko proved a dangerous pair, while Kawit’s ability to become invisible was offset by the snowless dragon-shape she left in the air, as well as Kitten’s considerable and Numair’s limited ability to pinpoint her anyway. Daine couldn’t shapeshift into an ice-bear but pregnancy didn’t stop her transforming one arm and hand to scoop larger missiles and throw them harder, teaming up with Kitten to track Kawit and with the children to ambush Kel and Numair. Shrieks, snorts, and trills of laughter brought ostlers, guards, servants, and a stray priest to see what was happening, stopping in shock when they saw Diamondflame crouched beside the railings; but he welcomed them with reassurances and spread a vast wing to provide shelter against the flakes that continued to fall. Thereafter hits were cheered or groaned and encouragement shouted, especially for the children and Kit, and when the dragonet managed to scramble up Kawit’s tail to her back—apparently walking on air—and place a snowball Tobe tossed to her squarely on the opal dragon’s head there was applause. Declaring Kit the winner Kawit let her stay there as they headed in, grinning at the enchanted audience, and Diamondflame reheated the stable so efficiently everyone was soon warm again.

            As night fell the mortals left the dragons to talk, Kawit promising to return Kitten to Daine’s and Numair’s rooms. Their outside staircase being the quickest way back they went together, Numair starting to pull at the story of skullroad and timeway and Kel determined to worry about neither.

            “There’s nothing I can do, Numair, and they’re even more of a distraction than prophecy.” She rested a hand on Irnai’s shoulder. “Besides, I may do better not knowing—if I had known about this dragon skullroad I’d never have allowed the tauros skulls to be made into one.”

            He didn’t disagree but his speculation continued in a mumble and they left him to it, parting from Daine with a hug and hurrying to change and head for another family dinner. Whether Adie and Orie entirely believed Tobe and Irnai had spent the day with three dragons was doubtful, though Kel solemnly assured them it was true, but with her sisters newly warm to her and more gifts exchanged to delight the children it capped the happiest as well as strangest Midwinter Kel remembered since Yamani childhood.

* * * * *

The King’s Ball closed the celebrations as the Queen’s Ball began them, and Kel and the children received magnificent invitations more-or-less commanding them to attend. Her parents were suspiciously insistent all Mindelans go together and when she asked Wyldon what was happening he was irritatingly mysterious. When Lalasa brought her another new dress, in the same style and colour but more elaborately embroidered and in extremely fine wool—a gift from Thayet she could hardly refuse and was expected to wear—Kel started to feel quite cranky.

            She solaced herself by going to see the women she’d lent money. The children stayed with Kitten, disconsolate since Diamondflame’s departure despite his reported promise to return next Midwinter as she had made such excellent progress. The storm had stopped but the snow was too deep to clear, and its crust, melting in the bright sunshine that followed, refroze hard and icy each night so no-one was risking horses. Lalasa had walked to the palace, in excellent boots and a wool cape with furred hood that reassured Kel she was spending some money on herself, and they walked to the city together. Versions of what had happened at the Queen’s Ball had come to Lalasa’s ears, and after hesitant enquiries Kel decided at least one true one ought to join them, and was surprised by Lalasa’s practical reaction.

            “I’m sorry you experienced that, my Lady, and to die of it, well, that’s as bad as can be. But if being forced is a lot worse than some men are willing to admit, it’s doesn’t have to be the end of the world as others say either. I found that out thanks to Uncle Gower and you. And you’re here and alive doing a world of good, you seem happier, and the creatures who did it are dead, so I’ll thank the Goddess and Black God for preserving you. And set people straight. Did that Lord of Torhelm really say such a disgusting thing? I can scarcely believe it.”

            Kel had always suspected that Lalasa’s abuse by her family had included rape and found her strength in having recovered without divine aid deeply admirable. She said as much, bringing a flush to Lalasa’s cheeks, before confirming just how obscenely blasphemous Torhelm had been and that he’d been dismissed the council and banished court. Then she pushed conversation to what could be done for other women who fell victim, and they discussed healers and temple help that might be procured. Lalasa was sanguine but again unexpectedly cheerful.

            “It’ll never stop, my Lady, but the classes and other things have already made a difference. This tale will make more.”

            “What other things?”

            “Well, it’s not proper to say to you, my Lady, but the Rogue’s made it known he’ll act against anyone who forces a woman, and made an example of a man who didn’t believe him. He’ll not be doing it again.” There was satisfaction in Lalasa’s voice, but she hesitated. “And you might not like this but I heard a story that a woman in trouble in a tavern shouted she was a Protector’s Maid and bought herself time to run. I’m sorry, my Lady—I meant it as a joke, but it’s spread and the women you’ve hired do like it, so I’m afraid it’ll stick.”

            Kel shrugged. “If it has that effect, Lalasa, good luck to it. The King made Protector of the Small an official title. I don’t know if it means anything, mind, and I’m not sure he does either—he was trying to hold the Queen’s Ball together after Torhelm was struck down—but I’m stuck with it so I might as well use it. And if that’s what these women want, that’s what they get.”

            Lalasa was pleased and Kel took advantage to press her again to drop the my-Ladying—meeting familiar resistance with a new suggestion for compromise, the Lady Kel standard at New Hope.

            “You know I’ve never been comfortable with noble address—it’s such a palaver—but I’ve grown used to Lady Kel from soldiers and it keeps things reasonable. Now they only my-Lady me when I’m cross with them or they’re up on a charge, so I’d much rather start off with these women as Lady Kel too and I wish you’d introduce me as that. It ought to be respectful enough for anyone who cares about proprieties, but it’s friendly rather than stand-offish.”

            Lalasa herself cared about proprieties in ways Kel had never understood but knew had to do with more than gratitude or protective vocatives that larded servants’ speech. Kel might think her as friend rather than maid but while Lalasa joyfully counted herself a friend also it did not displace awareness of noble status, and for all the personal confidence she’d found she remained in most ways far more conservative than Kel had ever been, imbibing a reasoned political liberalism with mother’s milk and diplomatic tolerance at her father’s knee. It wasn’t conservatism of Stone Mountain’s kind or Turomot’s, but it wasn’t much less suspicious of innovation than Wyldon and she gave Lalasa time to mull as they came to cleared parts of Palace Way and could walk faster.

            “Alright, my—Lady Kel. If that’s what you want it seems wrong to object thought I think it’s a dreadful liberty for those soldiers to call you by your name—a nickname too!”

            “Not really. When you fight alongside someone, or share latrine duty, or slog through mud up to your knees there’s respect enough without more formalities than are needed.”

            “Latrine duty? Why on earth would you be doing that?”

            “Oh, I put myself on all the rosters—it means no-one else can object and shows I’m not the kind of commander who won’t get my hands dirty. And rotating through once in a while, even now, keeps me on top of what’s happening—they’re more likely to make a request or a complaint if they’re working with me than if I tuck myself away in headquarters.”

            Lalasa nodded dubiously but Kel was saved further argument when they reached the first new premises, shared by a woman with a flair for cakes and pastries and her cousin, who made jams from every fruit and berry Kel had ever heard of and more besides. Feeling fatter and having placed a substantial jam order for New Hope, they went on to the doll-maker and collected one with hair red enough to delight Meech sideways. Kel tried to pay but was briskly refused, and as the woman had heard Meech’s story and said she was giving it to the boy there was nothing to do but graciously accept, and place another order for New Hope’s children. Kel did manage to escape gifts from a lacemaker, a woman who made window-curtains, drapes, and cushions, and a laundress specialising in finery who offered to have a go at her smoke-smutted dresses, but she left the last premises, an art shop, with a beautiful small drawing of herself arriving in Corus with Alanna and the children; it embarrassed her but she knew Tobe would love it. As she walked Lalasa back to her own shop she wondered how the artist, a young woman from the deep slum of Mutt Piddle Lane, could make a living.

            “The work’s beautiful, Lalasa, and she’s obviously very talented. I’m just surprised enough people would spend money on such a luxury.”

            “Oh, the drawings are only part of it, my—Lady Kel.” Kel grinned. “Tcha, I’ll get used to it. She sketches for me, to show what a dress’ll be like, and sometimes ladies ordering want a copy, a separate commission. She gets portrait work too, children mostly, and she’s a knack for faces. She’s done it for kin and friends since she was a girl, with charcoal, and been paid a little, so it’s just putting it on a proper basis.”

            Lalasa invited her in but Tom was there and the children would be waiting, so she declined and set off back to the Palace. People skittered out of her way, bowing, and she smiled back as openly as she could manage but made a point of standing aside herself for anyone burdened with children or elderly. On the snowy part of Palace Way she scooped up a crying little whose feet went from under him and presented him to the elder sister who came running back from whatever had distracted her; the simple practicality restored her good humour, and Tobe’s reaction to a picture that included him was all she had hoped.

            Dressing for the ball Kel was surprised and nervous when Irnai offered to duplicate Lalasa’s efforts with eye-shadow and turned out to have been given some by Adie, but the girl’s fingers were gentle and precise, the results just as good. The dress was also as splendid to wear as it had looked, and as they went to meet her family at her father’s office Kel felt as reconciled as she ever did to high festivities. At least the chances of anyone offering her insult this time were non-existent.

            Her confidence about that wavered when she realised Conal was present, but he kept aloof, nodding curt greeting and standing apart. Her parents’ dress surprised her—normally both wore either Tortallan or Yamani dress, but tonight her mother was in a new kimono-set, with the Mindelan owl and Seabeth-and-Seajen fouled anchor, while her father wore a rich Mindelan tunic and breeches. Her sisters and their husbands were also dressed to the nines, but when she managed to ask Orie what was going on her sister shrugged.

            “Your guess is as good as mine, Kel, but it’s plain Papa’s getting some honour—he’s been like a cat on hot bricks all week.”

            Ortien nodded. “There’s been speculation something’s due Mindelan, especially with Prince Roald’s marriage sealing the treaty, but I don’t think anyone knows except your parents and the King.”

            “Wyldon does but wouldn’t say.”

            Ortien blinked. “You’re on first-name terms?”

            “We’re friends these days. It’s nicer than being at loggerheads.”

            She left him nonplussed, to Orie’s amusement, and tried complimenting her mother, eyeing the kimonos, but received a wink and gave up, instead telling Adie about the new shops. Her sister nodded.

            “Yes, Tian was telling me. She says Lalasa has a suitor.”

            “Mmm, I met him—Tomas Weaver. He seems nice and she glows when he’s there.” Shakith’s assurances could stay private.

            “Oh. I’m pleased for her, of course, but a bit surprised. I thought she and Tian were, well, you know, together.”

            “Fujojoufu, you mean? I think they might have been at one time, when Lalasa was so nervous and could hardly bear to look at a man, but I don’t think it was ever a settled thing. And it’s harder here than in Yaman—more for men than women, I suppose, but still.”

            “That’s true. Merovec has a cousin who’s very unmarried and staying that way, and he gets quite bilious about it sometimes.”

            Kel glanced around but Merovec was deep in talk with Ortien and Conal staring into space. She kept her voice low. “You know, Adie, if there’s one thing conservatives have taught me it’s that they seem to link sex to everything. All else aside, did you realise how incoherent Torhelm’s insults were? It’s been the same ever since I grew breasts. And while they think nothing—or used to think nothing—of implying anything they dream up about me, if anyone suggested anything about them they’d lose it completely.”

            “I don’t think that’s conservatives, Kel—it’s just men.”

            “It’s not Papa, Anders, Inness, or Avinar—only Conal. And not Raoul, Neal, Dom, or most of the men in the Own. It’s not Wyldon, either, so it’s not all conservatives but it’s definitely a conservative trait.”

            “Maybe. I do agree it makes no sense at all.”

            “Well, if you ever figure it out, let me know.”

            “Alright.” Adie laid a hand on Kel’s arm. “Kel, what happened to you—gods know I’m sick and sorry but it’s made you, I don’t know, sharper. You wouldn’t have said anything like that a year ago.”

            “I thought it, though. I’ve been through a lot, Adie, and, well, dying seems to put things in perspective. Doesn’t it sound absurd? But it’s as much the experience of war generally, and especially of command—New Hope has close to a thousand people now and a lot to get done.”

            “A thousand people?”

            “Three companies, two of them regular with staffs, the clerks, and four hundred plus Tortallan refugees with the Scanrans and immortals. There’ll be more Tortallans in the spring and summer, almost certainly.”

            “Goddess! I hadn’t put it together.” Adie looked down. “Kel, I know Orie and I weren’t … we didn’t help you much with becoming a knight, and we thought it, well, foolish of you. It embarrassed us, if I’m honest, when we were hunting for husbands. But look at you now—you’ve done more already than any of us except Papa and Mama.”

            Self-consciousness warred with gratitude and Kel wondered what that had cost her sister to say. “I know it was awkward for you, Adie, but you stood up for me against people like that Doanna. And gods know what Lady Florzile will say now!”

            “She better hadn’t.” Adie’s eyes glittered. “And if she does I’ll ask her why she opposes the gods’ will when they’ve demonstrated it so spectacularly. She’s as rude as a Scanran at the best of times but not stupid or impious. She was yacking on about Tirrsmont’s arrest though.”

            “Tell her Nond voted for an enquiry of noble competence, so she should take it up with him before she makes a fool of herself in public.”

            “He did?”

            “Yes, with both haMinch votes and Cavall, Haryse, Frasrlund—everyone but Torhelm and Runnerspring. Tirrsmont perjured himself to Turomot and the Council and was caught red-handed.” Kel frowned. “Merovec and Ortien both knew Nond would oppose Tirrsmont’s grab for New Hope, so it sounds as if Lady Florzile’s not been keeping up.”

            “Kel, you’re priceless. Giving the old bat a set-down will make my week.”

            Lachran arrived, scrubbed and full of apologetic explanations about being caught up in training, and they headed for the Ballroom. Kel was surprised her nephew had been released—pages never were merely to be with family, service being in high demand at events this big—and expanded her guesses about what might be happening. The servant at the door was the man who’d been on duty for the Queen’s Ball, who bowed to her, winked at Irnai, and again got the pronunciation right. They were in family order so only Lachran and the children were behind Kel, and by the time they entered everyone seemed to be applauding. She provoked a particular outburst but was getting used to it and with everyone in, her parents headed confidently forwards to an area below the dais where representatives of the realms’ great families stood around the King and Queen, seated with Roald and Shinko—Duke Baird with Duchess Wilina, Haryse’s cousin; Duke Gareth and Duchess Cythera; Lord Imrah, a widower; and Padraig; Duke Turomot was there, beside a table with paraphernalia of formal oath-taking. Everyone was in robes and Shinko in face-paint, but Kel could tell she was excited.

            When they were assembled and had made bows and curtseys Jonathan and Thayet rose.

            “My lords and ladies, honoured guests, we begin this evening with a rare and pleasant duty of reward. Everyone knows that my forebear  Jonathan I wrote in The Scroll of Salute that four houses were the shield of Tortall—Legann, Naxen, haMinch, Queenscove—and it stays true. Duke Gareth serves me as his father served mine, and haMinchi lords hold Our northern border as they have ever done, too often, as now, against Scanran attack. In the Immortals War the greatest action was at Legann, where Lord Imrah was a tower of strength. And all know of the fearsome losses Duke Baird and Duchess Wilina sustained in that conflict, as well as His Grace’s outstanding service as the realm’s chief healer for more than thirty years. No praise can be too great.”

            All that was true, and if Kel hadn’t been as impressed with Duke Gareth as with the others she was happy to join general applause.

            “Yet those great houses no longer stand alone, for in Our reign another has risen to give the best service any king could desire. Though Mindelan was enrolled in the Book of Copper only three generations past none have done more in the last two decades. The painstaking work of securing Our Yamani alliance could not have been carried forward without Baron Piers, and though too few appreciate it without the great valour of Baroness Ilane, who slew Scanran raiders to defend the treasured Swords of Law and Duty, winning favour of His Imperial Majesty. And all know their labours culminated this year in the marriage of Our heir. And yet there is more.”

            All that was true too but Kel was getting the strangest feeling. That her parents deserved recognition she knew, and was delighted by it, but what the King had in mind she was less and less sure.

            “Baron Piers’s eldest daughter, Patricine, Lady noh Akaneru, herself made an important Yamani alliance, and stands high in His Imperial Majesty’s favour. Lady Demadria haMinch cannot be here as she is increasing, but Lady Adalia of Nond and Lady Oranie of Hannalof are here with their husbands. Lord Avinar is also absent, continuing his work at the City of the Gods where he too rises high. And beyond this, Mindelan has given four knights to Tortall in this generation alone, with another in training. Sir Anders and Sir Inness, absent directing winter defence of Mindelan, and Sir Conal, who is here, have each given most valiant service, Sir Anders at personal cost, and We have no doubt Sir Lachran will do the same when he shall join the roll. And there is Lady Knight Commander Keladry, who has already done more in this war than any other, rescuing hundreds of Our subjects foully kidnapped, slaying a vile necromancer, burning King Maggur’s own castle, and building in New Hope the finest strongpoint in many generations while pioneering treaties with spidrens and basilisks.”

            The last words were drowned by applause that the King let run its course before holding up a hand. Kel knew she was flushed and wished he hadn’t enumerated everything again; at least he’d left out the gods and her siblings had all been mentioned, though Conal was scowling and Lachran looked as if he’d swallowed juice to find it ardent wine.

            “Now, the rules of Tortallan nobility are … complicated.” Laughter murmured round the ballroom. “Naxen and Queenscove have been ducal houses for generations, and it has become veritable tradition for a Conté king to offer a haMinchi overlord the same status and be refused, the haMinchi lords preferring their unique clan system.” He didn’t need to add that no-one not a haMinch understood its finer points, and everyone called any adult haMinch ‘my Lord’ or ‘my Lady’ on safe principle. “Lord Imrah too has twice declined promotion, declaring himself content as Count of Legann and not wishing to be dragged away from his fief more than he already is. But We insist no-one be held back from honours rightfully earned, and it is my great pleasure to declare that with the consent of all here with Us, and of the Council of Nobles, Mindelan today becomes a ducal house, in recognition of its very great collective service. My Lord Baron, Lady Baroness, come forward.”

            Kel was dumbstruck as were the rest of the family, even Conal’s jaw dropping. In her wildest dreams she’d never imagined the King had such a thing in mind, but in some ways even stranger to her was the wild cheering that broke out. She knew Shinko was a darling and Roald’s marriage popular, so her parents, very much a public face of the Yamani alliance, were also popular, aided by their lack of noble arrogance; but what she hadn’t grasped inwardly, despite everything, was that above all she was popular, the one great hero to emerge so far from the dragging Scanran War, whose deeds had tangible form in the dead killing device and rescued children; who was firmly associated with the burgeoning self-defence classes and new Protector’s Maids and walked respectfully among commoners on the streets; whom the gods themselves protected against the unspeakable slurs of a senior lord and his cronies. The core of the old nobility, standing with the King, were evidently content; new nobility saw the first dukedom of the Book of Copper as an affirmation of their own status; and city merchants and elders were more than willing to embrace any honour done Kel—so all cheered, loud and long, while Piers and Ilane signed the necessary documents, quieting only to let them kneel and swear new oaths of loyalty.

            “My Lords and ladies, honoured guests, I give you His Grace Duke Piers and Her Grace Duchess Ilane of Mindelan.”

            Cheering raised the roof but even so Kel heard a piercing trill of approval that could only be Kitten, bouncing beside a grinning Daine and Numair, and a deep rumble from Tkaa, standing beside them; perhaps fortunately, Kawit was still sleeping off her long talk with Diamondflame. Adie, Orie, Merovec, Ortien, Conal, and Lachran were dazed but the children seemed to think all straightforwardly in order, and Kel, stood in better stead than she knew by experience of walking in the lower city, was able to smile more naturally and prompt others to their own applause of her Mama and Papa.

            The ball that followed was for Mindelans if no-one else a very odd experience, with every encounter a cue for intense congratulations mixed with a degree of adulation that flummoxed all of them but that Kel and the children coped with best—if only because after spidrens, basilisks, stormwings, gods, and dragons, there was a limit to how overwhelming mortals could manage to be.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twelve — Hardship

January–February

The aftermath of the ball was disconcerting. Although the family gained noble precedence only her parents’ styles changed—but as Thayet gleefully informed Kel at glaive practice her distaff border should now have a gold rim. Lalasa happily added one to the Mindelan sigil on her dresses and, sceptical of Kel’s skills with a needle, promised to do the kimonos if they were sent with the damaged finery; she did however supply enough gold thread for Kel to do her flag at New Hope.

            Then there were letters of congratulation. So many poured in that the interesting thing wasn’t who had sent one, but who hadn’t. Even Lord Burchard, whom no-one had seen since he’d staggered from the Chamber, sent a stiff note, as minimal as his apology, but still; Kel hardly expected one from Tirrsmont or Torhelm but did note without surprise that the conspicuous absentees among senior nobility were Genlith and Runnerspring. Among the letters were also, to Kel’s astonishment, a number requesting patronage or money. These she read carefully, but as all were from men she’d never heard of and offered neither reason nor detail she sent polite refusals. More difficult were two from complete strangers proposing marriage, apparently sincerely. They were the only romantic professions she’d ever received save Cleon’s, and deranged as they had to be she found herself contemplating them with something twisting in her heart. Several attempts at replies went into the fireplace before she found a brisk military tone to say that, as they’d never met and almost certainly had nothing in common, marriage seemed unwise, adding that if she might take the liberty of assuming the writers moved by patriotic admiration it might be better expressed by supporting the refugees she’d been fortunate enough to rescue.  Finishing, she nearly bundled all the letters into the fire but after some thought arranged them by subject and sender and filed them, thinking that if such correspondence continued she’d need a private clerk.

            In some ways more disturbing was the apology from Conal. Returning with the children from a visit to Kawit and Kitten on the day after the ball, she found her brother waiting, and when he declined to come in sent Tobe and Irnai inside. Conal was clearly uncomfortable but determined to do right by his own lights.

            “My Lord of Cavall informs me it is proven by truthspell Tirrsmont lied about what happened at New Hope. That he perjured himself and was beyond question himself the one to utter threats and obscenities. I apologise for not believing you, Keladry.”

            Kel considered him. “Thank you, Conal, but you didn’t give me a chance to say anything you didn’t believe—you assumed I was at fault.”

            “Tirrsmont swore it was true. I could hardly doubt him.”

            “I understand your logic but it depends on the person swearing having honour to swear by, and I’m sorry but Tirrsmont has none. Out of interest, did you know Sir Voelden tried to run me through during a tilt? He hit my breastplate and cracked a rib.”

            “He says it was an accident.”

            “He told me that too, but refused to swear it by gods’ oath. And this isn’t for public consumption, Conal, but thought it didn’t name Voelden the elemental of the Chamber said Joren paid at least one knight to try to kill me in the tilting lane.”

            “The Chamber said?” Conal’s voice was incredulous.

            “The King will confirm it. We spoke to the elemental together the day after the Queen’s Ball.”

            Incredulity became bewilderment. “You and the King spoke to the Chamber.”

            “Yes. I can’t tell you what about, I’m afraid, but you must know the Chamber sent me after Blayce, and there was unfinished business.”

            “I don’t understand you at all, Keladry, and talking to the Chamber seems all wrong. But I am sorry I did not have faith in my own sister.”

            “I’m sorry about that too, but glad to be on better terms. I hate being at odds with family. Do you know where you’ll be going when the fighting starts again?”

            He accepted the topic gratefully. “Mindelan, so Inness and Tilaine can get away for a bit. There’s concern about another attack, though I don’t understand why Maggur should target us especially.”

            “I’m afraid it’s my fault—I did burn down his clanhome and as my report undoubtedly made its way to Hamrkeng he knows who to blame. That’s why New Hope is so fortified.”

            “Oh. I see.” He frowned. “Well, I hope you don’t feel guilty about it—we have to hit Maggur every way we can.”

            “Yes, we do. I just wish we could do it directly and not have to kill so many other people first.”

            “But they’re Scanrans.”

            “Many are forced to fight, Conal—Maggur holds clanchiefs’ wives and families hostage. I’m not saying he doesn’t have supporters but a lot of people who’ve died didn’t want to fight us. I’m tired of it. Tell me, how many men had you killed at twenty?”

            “Twenty? None, I don’t think. My first real action was later that year, when the Immortals War began.”

            “Huh. Well, I lost count this last year. It was a round dozen before I was eighteen, from hillmen to bandits and suchlike I fought with the Own. Then I saw action against Scanrans and by now it’s scores. I dream of their faces.”

            She wasn’t sure he understood at all, and not for the first time wondered if his problem wasn’t at root simply that the Mindelan brains had skipped over him, leaving his world an often fearsome and puzzling place. But they parted on better terms than for a long time, and if they’d never be as close as she was to Anders and Inness they were no longer enemies. Her mother was pleased to hear of Conal’s apology, if as surprised as Kel that he hadn’t made the connection between her report and the wolfship threat; but both parents were less happy about her determination to return to New Hope at the first break in the weather.

            Of that there was little prospect, however. The cold lingered with increasingly dirty snow, and in the north winter was by all accounts severe. Brodhelm’s reports by spellmirror to Vanget, an abstract of which he included in a summary relay to Corus, spoke of deep snow and bitter nights, sentries relieved half-hourly, basilisks helping keep stables safely warm, and retreat to the caves. Quenuresh and her kin had come in to a side-chamber in Immortals’ Row; the centaurs hadn’t but Whitelist had requested to use the corral and extra hay. Along the border the picture was the same, deep snow extending from Frasrlund east of Northwatch and south of Bearsford, and everyone hunkered down, preferably close to a fire. Geese and owls relaying information to Daine reported the same across Scanra, except the snow was even deeper, smaller rivers and lakes frozen, though the Vassa, thankfully, was too swift and turbulent for more than icy margins.

            Kel had never had real expectation of being able to return before February, and probably March, but found herself fretting all the same—as if there were anything she could do if she were there except shiver with everyone else. It had been the same last year, waiting after her Ordeal to travel north when the roads reopened, but then she’d had the puzzle of Blayce and logistical work with Raoul to keep her occupied. This year she had no distractions, and though she threw herself into glaive work with pages, forced indoors by snow, they had a curriculum Padraig had followed Wyldon in expanding to include more applied military history, tactics, and strategy. With Alanna Kel prosecuted her case for slingwork, demonstrating how effective they could be, and had the satisfaction of seeing the First Company of the Own make a start on basic skills and how slingmen might be deployed behind archers.

            The long wait gave time to do other things. Most importantly Daine agreed to boost Alder’s capacity. It took a long morning, with the tension of wild magic filling the air; Tobe found the process fascinating and to Numair’s surprise was able to perceive patterns in the magic that swirled into Alder. Irnai was less interested but absorbed by Kawit’s stories of life before her long nap—before the rise of the Thanic Empire, from the collapse of which Tortall, Barzun, Galla, Maren, Tusaine, Tyra, and the Bazhir tribes had emerged.

            Daine explained to Alder about barding, and once he’d had a few days to settle—“Just imagine, Kel, what it would be like to have one of the gods suddenly inflate your brain to work more like their own”—she saddled him, wrapped his legs against ice-cuts, and led him down Palace Way to Master Randall’s. As promised Wyldon came as well as Tobe, concerned with all things horse, and Irnai loved the bustle of the city. They mostly spoke of ordinary matters, Wyldon soliciting the children’s opinions of Corus, but when both lagged to watch a mule-train of kitchen supplies Kel thanked him for setting Conal straight.

            “He came to me, Keladry. He seems to have swallowed all Tirrsmont said and couldn’t make head or tail of whatever Runnerspring said happened. I can’t blame Sir Conal for that, I suppose—Mithros knows what he cooked up to avoid saying he’d been shown up as a fool.”

            “Maybe, but I’m afraid Conal’s not the sharpest knife in the box.”

            “He didn’t distinguish himself as a page.” Wyldon hesitated. “He seemed very ready to disbelieve you. Or disbelieve in you.”

            “He got into terrible trouble as a boy for bullying me and he’s never forgiven me.”

            “Ah, yes, that can happen. The tower episode?”

            “You know about that? I didn’t think I ever told you.”

            “You didn’t—your mother did, after you rescued Miss Isran, because she was amazed you’d been able to descend the outer stair of the Needle. But I’d guessed there had to be something behind your fear of heights. You were afraid of nothing else.”

            “I was, though—I just controlled it. But with heights I couldn’t, until you made me climb that tree every day.”

            “Mmm, yes. You might not have realised it but I greatly admired your determination. Heights don’t seem to trouble you now.”

            “The Needle burned it out. I’ve never been so scared.”

            “But you went on—it’s all that matters.”

            Tobe and Irnai caught them up at the gates of the lower city, the guards all salutes. Seeing the way people nodded and stood aside, smiling, Wyldon looked at her with some irony.

            “Is it always like this for you now?”

            Kel sighed. “Seems to be. It’s embarrassing, but sweet I suppose.”

            “Sweet?” He shook his head. “You have the oddest ideas.”

            “Do I? It’s nicer being liked by people I’ve never met for things I have done than hated for things I haven’t.”

            He gave her an old-fashioned look but took Alder and the children to the stables while Kel ducked in to find Master Randall. He greeted her enthusiastically, offering congratulations and asking she relay them to her parents, before summoning an assistant to fetch barding to the stable. He greeted Tobe and Irnai easily but bowed to Wyldon.

            “My Lord of Cavall. Is Alder one of yours? I thought he might be.”

            “Good day to you, Master Randall. Yes, Alder’s from my stud. Lady Keladry’s horse was badly injured and I didn’t want her without a good horse.” The assistant came with shaffron and crinet, leaning them against the wall before heading back for the rest, and Wyldon went across to lift the shaffron, turning it.

            “It is light.” He rapped the armour. “Hmm. Have you done tests to see what it does and doesn’t stop, Master Randall?”

            “I have, my Lord. If you’d care to step through …”

            Of necessity all armourers had a small range, here set between main buildings and stables; snow had been shovelled aside. As well as the usual targets there was a pocked sheet of Carthaki metal, and they stood back as Master Randall took a longbow and selected a broadhead.

            “This is just twenty-five yards, and with a full draw, aiming as square-on as I can …” The arrow zinged into the metal, stuck for a moment and fell to the ground. “Some stick and enough point goes through that the horse would feel it, though it shouldn’t be a serious injury. You have to be at under twenty yards or using a needlepoint to do better, and if the angle’s off even slightly …” He moved to one side, aiming a needlepoint at the other side of the metal sheet, and the arrow screeched off to land in the snow pile. “…they don’t stick at all. And I ask you, my Lord, how often d’you get a square shot in battle?”

            “Once is enough, though, on the receiving end. What about bolts?”

            “Same thing, allowing for range.” Master Randall swapped longbow for crossbow. “Straight on a bolt will punch through at up to about thirty yards, though it loses a lot of force—but a good bolt’ll go through plate the same way. And at an angle …” He aimed across the target as before, and the bolt clanged off into snow. “You see? If you’ll excuse me while I retrieve arrows and bolt …”

            He went to do so and Kel looked at Wyldon, eyebrows raised.

            “Mmm. I’m half-persuaded—deflections are useful, certainly. Let’s see how the barding fits. Alder may not like the shaffron at all—I didn’t train him with one and they often dislike anything on their heads.”

            “Oh it should be alright—Daine’s told him about the barding and Tobe’s here to interpret.”

            Wyldon blinked. “She told him? And he understood?”

            “So she said. She’s taught him all the voice commands I used with Peachblossom so I’ve no need to spur him, ever. And she made him, well, smarter, so he can understand what Peachblossom can tell him about how I fight with the glaive.” Kel peered at him. “You did know she magicked Peachblossom when I first had him? He’d been so badly treated his mouth was ruined and he has the rowel scars still.”

            Master Randall returned and they followed him back to the stable, where the complete barding waited, Alder eyeing it.

            “I didn’t but I should have guessed. I confess I wondered how you managed him. But you can’t have known Daine then, surely.”

            “Neal introduced us. He had a terrible crush on her.”

            “Huh. Queenscove.”

            His tone spoke volumes and Kel grinned, but as she’d predicted there wasn’t a problem. Alder understood the barding was to protect him and was eager to co-operate. There was a tailored blanket to protect against chafing of which he approved, and the lined shaffron fitted perfectly over head and muzzle. The crinet round his neck was no problem either, but when the peytral was added he snorted.

            “He says it hangs too low,” Tobe reported. “If you stand back, Master Randall, he’ll show you.”

            The armourer looked startled but did as asked, and Alder promptly reared, striking out with one hoof and making the peytral jump, scales ringing, then dropped and reared again, striking with the other. The peytral jumped and rang again.

            “It’s blocking his kicks. He can’t aim as high as he’d like and says he’d be lucky to get a tall man in the chest. The head would be out of reach and he thinks that’s the best shot against someone in armour.”

            “Ah.” Master Randall was evidently bemused but nodded. “May I approach him again, Tobeis?”

            “Yes of course. He was only showing you.”

            The armourer cautiously studied the bottom of the peytral and the ruffled hair on Alder’s forelegs. “Mmm, I see. I need to take off one row of scales? Or two? Does Alder, ah, have an opinion?”

            Tobe looked at Alder, holding up his hands with a slight gap and then widening them. “More like two, I think, Master Randall.”

            “Right.” He scratched his head plaintively. “Can we try flanchards?”

            The side-pieces were unproblematical, fitting perfectly around the saddle, but the crupper nestling round hips and croup had the same problem as the peytral. With due warning from Tobe, Alder again demonstrated, kicking out and the crupper jumped and rang.

            “About the same to come off then—two rows. I’m sorry, my Lady, I hadn’t allowed sufficiently for kicking out. Do you, ah, find you need to do that often? I only fought on foot.”

            Kel considered. “Not that frequently, Master Randall, but quite often in some kinds of combat. It’s not just on the battlefield, when sword- or axemen try to get in behind to hamstring, but if you encounter foot soldiers on a narrow trail.”

            Wyldon harrumphed. “Not that you should be leading patrols any more. It can happen on any journey but you shouldn’t be on point.”

            She gave him an old-fashioned look of her own. “I don’t, my Lord, but we’ve only four knights at New Hope—three until Seaver returns—and I can’t not be available if knights are needed. It’s not just being antsy behind a desk.”

            “I suppose not.” He frowned. “Do you need more knights? Vanget, Goldenlake, and I are still arguing what to do with this year’s crop.”

            Kel thought. “One might be useful—Prosper, maybe, as he has some Gift. But without knowing the force mix against us it’s hard to argue I’ll need more. This year it was light stuff, except for the tauroses—the same old hit-and-run. But with the losses we handed them with slings and arrows I don’t think they’ll keep on with that. If they’re serious about New Hope they’ll need to put a real army in the field and then the knights are only useful to cover the initial retreat. The problem with the defences being so strong is we can’t sally.”

            Wyldon nodded. “Yes, alright—good analysis. Knights will be more use with a relieving force but I’ll put it to the others about Tameran.” He smiled. “I don’t imagine Goldenlake will oppose you and you’ve already twisted an entire company out of Vanget.”

            “Will I keep them once I’m back, though?”

            “Unless there’s good reason they’re needed elsewhere.”

            “Mmm. War’s full of good reasons.”

            They became aware of Master Randall’s interested audience and he hastily held up a hand.

            “I’ll not say a word, my Lord, my Lady. But forgive my fascination—having served in the Tusaine and Immortals Wars I’ve some idea of the problems you face. I’ll say also, my Lady, that I knew about your mission of course, and it was plain you must be a leader to follow, but I’d not realised you were the kind of commander you’ve just shown yourself.”

            To Kel’s surprise Wyldon smiled. “Your discretion would be appreciated, Master Randall. And never underestimate the Lady Knight. I did for years but learned in the end, and now she keeps us all on our toes, from His Majesty down.”

            Kel glared but Master Randall smiled. “I bet she does, my Lord. Now, young Tobeis, is the total weight alright for Alder, or does it need to be reduced? There’s not much I can do but there are a few places scaling could be stretched and some removed.”

            Tobe consulted. “He says it’s alright, Ma, but his top speed will be down and his daily range limited.”

            “It’s not for travelling, Tobe—only combat near New Hope. But lighter is always better, Master Randall, so if there is anywhere scales could be thinned without leaving real vulnerability I’d prefer that.”

            “Right you are, my Lady. It’ll be ready day after tomorrow.”

            She gave him a letter instructing her goldsmith-banker to pay his bill and they headed back, stopping for Irnai to buy ribbons and a book about pre-Thanic history that raised Wyldon’s eyebrows.

            “Kawit’s been telling me about it,” Irnai explained, “but she was mostly in Carthak and didn’t see much of the north. She didn’t pay a lot of attention to mortals either, so I wanted to fill in some gaps.”

            “Ah. I see.” They returned to the street, where Tobe was holding Alder. “Or rather I don’t. That dragon remembers pre-Thanic history?”

            Kel nodded solemnly. “Kitten woke her from a two-thousand year nap, Wyldon. When she, um, nodded off, the Thanic empire hadn’t even started. You got into it discussing the timeway, didn’t you, Irnai?”

            “Yes. Kawit didn’t see it create any of the present but did watch it quite closely then because the Carthaki empire was becoming inevitable. I know what Diamondflame said but weaving’s the image that works for me—all threads pulled together, but what you get depends what’s on the shuttle.”

            “That makes sense, except for the threads moving about and the loom thinking for itself. Is Tkaa going to ask her to help teach pages?”

            “We didn’t talk about that. We’re coming to that pastry shop.”

            “So we are.” Kel ruffled Irnai’s hair, and they stopped at the shop with a sign that said Maranie’s Pastries & Rebekah’s Preserves and underneath Protector’s Maids. Kel purchased an assortment of gooey delights and forced an apple tart on Wyldon, having everything packed in boxes so she could fit them in panniers and save Maranie’s boy a slog to the Palace. As they went on Wyldon was thoughtful.

            “Does Protector’s Maids refer to you?”

            She explained and he studied her with a look she couldn’t fathom.

            “Astonishing. I’ve been thinking about what you do, Keladry, and it’s not radical innovation—you put together what we have in new ways. You did it with the Chamber, in building New Hope, this metal for barding, getting Daine to explain to Alder, and with these women.”

            Tobe had been listening. “And griffin-bands and slings, my Lord. Ma’s got a good head on her shoulders.” His tone was sagacious and Kel laughed despite her embarrassment.

            “Have I, you little ruffian? Alder’s down to you as much as Daine.”

            “He’s right, Keladry. Your thinking is fresh. I believe it’s what’s made you effective against Maggur—he’s an innovator too, however horribly, and old ways won’t do against him. It explains something about how challenging—and rewarding—people like myself and Vanget have—”

            Kel felt a sliding blow on her back and staggered as Wyldon broke off, whirling.

            “Stop that man! In the blue jacket—stop him now!”

            His voice cracked command and heads snapped round. The man trying to dodge sideways into an alleyway found his way blocked by a burly fellow and turned but slipped. By the time he’d scrambled up Wyldon had a dagger at his throat and people converged, the burly man and another seizing his arms.

            “Keladry, are you alright?”

            “I think so.” Kel felt her back and found a long slice in her jerkin, feeling scored metal within. Automatically her eyes searched for the children, wide-eyed but sheltered by Alder. “Yes—the jerkin turned his blade. I’m fine, Tobe. Stay there for now.”

            “You tried to kill the Protector?” The burly man’s face was red and Kel saw anger on many faces. “You piece of scummer.” A large fist drew back and Kel’s own voice cracked.

            “Hold! We need information, not revenge. I want Guards here now.” She pointed. “Fetch the Lord Provost, please. And you, ask the gate sergeant to send five men with a shackle. Go.”

            They went, and Kel walked forward to see the man who’d tried to kill her. He was dark-haired and swarthy, with a look of the south-east, and Kel’s heart sank. Before she could say anything he spat at her feet and people at the front of the growing crowd shouted rage.

            “Hold!” Her mind churned. “He failed and we have him—his manners don’t hurt me. Does anyone know him? Hold him up so everyone can see.”

            Cursing, the man found himself roughly lifted and turned back and forth, but no-one claimed knowledge of him.

            “Take a good look, please—details as well—and start asking around. Who is he? Where’s he been living? What’s his story? If anyone learns anything, tell a Dog or send to the Lord Provost.”

            Some people obeyed and those that remained quieted, though their eyes were unforgiving. While she was speaking Wyldon had examined the slice in her jerkin and his face was dark with anger.

            “He’s got a blade somewhere. Hold him tight, you two, and someone hold his legs.” Two men came forward and Wyldon searched carefully, removing two thin daggers from concealed belt-sheaths and another from a boot. “Thank you. You can let his feet go.” He looked at the weapons. “The boot-knife is Pearlmouth work—Gull Armoury. The others are assassin’s weapons without marking.” He glanced up. “It’s a good thing you were wearing that jerkin, Keladry. Were you expecting this?”

            “No—I just believe in being prepared.” Resting a hand on his arm she lowered her voice. “Not here, Wyldon—there are obvious possibilities and only one is Maggur.”

            He looked sick. “Yes, I see.”

            Men from the guard came jogging up, one carrying a shackle, and by the time the man was chained, hands behind back, the Lord Provost arrived with an escort, looking alarmed. Gorwin of Coas Wood had held the post some years, but Kel had only met him properly at the Queen’s Ball; Wyldon tersely explained, showing the slice on Kel’s jerkin and giving him the daggers.

            “An assassin. Huh. Who wants you dead, Lady Keladry?”

            The crowd had stood back from the guards but Kel kept her voice low. “Maggur, if we’re lucky. If not, Tirrsmont, Torhelm, Runnerspring, Marti’s Hill. Genlith, maybe. That’s why I sent for guards as well as you, my Lord. You’ll need Sir Myles also.”

            He stared. “You really think …”

            “I know who’s threatened me with death and worse, my Lord.”

            “I’m afraid she’s right, Coas Wood. We should adjourn somewhere private, and that man belongs in the King’s dungeons, not your kennels.”

            “I need to take the children home, Wyldon. Can you—”

            “You should have an escort.”

            “I’ll come with you myself. The guards can bring him to the Palace.”

            They assembled themselves, Kel taking a moment to thank the crowd and ask them again to share the man’s description and find where he’d been staying. She gave the children hugs, assuring them she was alright and letting them look at the jerkin.

            “It makes the precautions worthwhile, doesn’t it?”

            “Why, Ma?” Tobe’s voice was wavery. “Do you know that man?”

            “No. He’s probably hired. It could be Maggur, or someone I’ve offended here, like Tirrsmont.”

            “But he’s in prison, isn’t he?”

            “He has a son and friends. We’ll find out. Now, let’s get back—we’ve those pastries, remember.”

            The food was a good bribe but they stuck close, looking anxiously around even after they’d left the crowds behind, and Kel silently cursed whoever had hired the assassin.

* * * * *

The flood of letters didn’t stop and Kel decided she really was going to need a private clerk. Whether people would send such letters to New Hope she wasn’t sure, but even there she’d be receiving more reports from Lalasa and her new maids, and fitting in private paperwork between training and command staffwork wasn’t her idea of what to do with her little free time. Whoever she chose had to be discreet as well as efficient and willing to come north, and after racking her brains she consulted her father. He rolled his eyes in sympathy, indicating piles of correspondence on his own desk and clerks scratching away in the room beyond, and did know someone who might suit—a young woman at Mindelan whose parents had died in a shipwreck, and who’d been raised as a baron’s ward. She was clerking for Anders, more as something to do than because there was real need. Kel accepted gratefully, but refused his offer to pay her wage—ducal promotion didn’t translate to any immediate increase in revenues and did bring extra expenses.

            “It’s alright, Papa. My purses would cover it easily, and Lalasa tithes far more than I use. The new shops seem to be doing well too—that might slow down, when the fuss dies, but it’s fine.”

            That he didn’t press the point told her she was right about drained finances, and she had a quiet word with her mother about accessing her funds at need. Ilane was distracted by the attack, furious and fretting, but as she took in what Kel was saying she frowned. “Kel, sweeting, that’s all the wrong way round. We’re supposed to support you.”

            “You do, Mama, and have for ages. I’m happy to pay something back, and I’ve plenty. I’ve not used up the money paid after Joren’s trial.”

            “But it’s yours, sweeting. It shouldn’t be for setting up Mindelan as a duchy. With Alanna and Raoul giving you armour and horses you’ve cost us nothing next to your sisters. It wouldn’t be right to take your money.”

            Kel knew her sisters’ and Avinar’s educations at the City of the Gods had been expensive, and the need to provide three dowries in rapid succession very difficult indeed, but she didn’t want to go there.

            “Actually, Mama, I think it’s Lalasa’s but I’ve argued till I’m blue and she won’t budge, so it might as well do something useful. Treat it as a free loan—the goldsmith has instructions to let you draw whatever you ask and tithes will build up. Have you seen how busy they are?”

            The conversation was steered away from difficult territory, and Kel left with the double satisfaction of having procured a clerk and done unexpected good. Her meeting with the King and Lord Provost two days after the attack was less satisfactory.

            “The assassin was a Pearlmouth man, Keladry, hired in Torhelm by someone who sounds like Lord Angors’s steward, two days after his return. Who the orders came from we don’t know yet but Guisant has to be doing the talking—ha!—and the fool seems to have put out a story that you attacked his father. The fief is very tense, apparently. I’ve sent Lord Imrah with five squads of the Own to arrest the steward and both Torhelms. He’ll make an announcement backed by gods’ oath of what happened to Torhelm.” He scowled. “Odds are it’ll mean another noble trial and you’ll be back at New Hope long before that can happen, so you’ll need to leave statements with my Lord Provost. Meantime, I’m thankful you wore that jerkin. Did you expect an attack ?”

            “I wondered if Maggur might think an assassin cheaper than assault so I got jerkins. Numair warded my rooms and gave us bracelets to detect poison, but there’s been nothing like that.”

            The scowl became ferocious. “I should hope not. But I can’t fault your caution when it’s proven so wise. You’re far-sighted, Keladry, and devising your own answers again without fussing—it’s commendable.”

            The Lord Provost nodded. “Indeed. I’ll send a man to take statements, my Lady. We’ve already taken one from Cavall.”

            “Of course, my Lord. May I ask if you’ve learned anything about where he’d been staying?”

            “Yes, thanks to your request of the crowd—good thinking, that. News went through the lower city like wildfire and the sun hadn’t set before an innkeep in Cherry Street came forward to say he had a guest matching the description, and another staying with him. By the time we got there the friend had fled—he used South Gate, heading west.” The roads to Torhelm and Runnerspring lay that way. “We searched the rooms but there wasn’t much beyond spare clothes. The assassin did have the gold he’d been paid on him, though.”

            Kel wondered what her life was worth. “How much?”

            “Ten gold nobles, and two for expenses.” The Lord Provost winced at her expression. “I know, my Lady, but it’s a lot to a man like that.”

            “Yes. Still, a man like that … um, I realise this might be awkward, my Lord, but have you asked the Rogue if he knows anything? I’ve been given to understand he supports the women’s self-defence classes so he might take an interest in this.”

            “Hmm, yes. I heard about that, too. Interesting. Enquiries are being made. The Whisper Man deals with that side of things, though.”

            Kel nodded, wondering again if Sir Myles’s anonymous deputy really was Alanna’s husband, as Neal intimated. “Good. Is there anything else you wish me to do, sire?”

            “Keep being careful, Keladry. And head back to New Hope as soon as there’s a break in the weather. It’s absurd that you’ll probably be safer in a warzone than here, but at least there the threat’s open. And if we do end up trying one or both Torhelms as well as this steward and the assassin on what will be capital charges there’s going to be high feeling. Against the lot of them, mostly, but it’s going to be messy all the same. Who’ll be travelling with you and the children?”

            “I hadn’t got that far, sire. No-one else is scheduled to return to New Hope except Seaver, when Tasride can spare him, and some soldiers I gave leave for family business, but they’re all at their homes away east and as I didn’t know what the weather would be doing they won’t be overdue until April.”

            “Well that won’t do. I’ll put a Rider Group on standby.”

            “Thank you, sire—that’s a boon. I’ll have hired packhorses so we’ll not be moving fast and support will be helpful.”

            “Packhorses? What for?”

            “The barding I’ve bought Alder, mostly, but the children have new clothes and things as well.”

            “Oh, yes. Lord Wyldon mentioned that barding—sounds useful. Well, take what you need from the Palace pool and ask Stefan Groomsman to detail an ostler. He can come back with the Riders. And get these statements done as soon as you can.”

            “I can send a man today.”

            So Kel and the children spent the afternoon telling an efficient Provost’s Dog what each had seen, and showing the mended jerkin, followed by anxious days confining themselves to the Palace enclosure before Imrah returned with only two squads. He had Torhelm in custody but the steward and Sir Guisant hadn’t been found, and he’d put the fief into royal administration pending resolution—not easy as Torhelm couldn’t speak. Imrah came to see Kel after the King and sat brooding by her fire, pocked face set in a scowl.

            “Torhelm’s a mess, my Lady—Angors doesn’t seem to have any proper administration and Guisant or that steward deputised for him with a rod of iron. When I announced there were warrants out for both there was dead silence, then wild cheering, and when I told ’em what actually happened to Angors half of ’em went straight to the nearest temple to give thanks. I arrested him as much to get him out of there and keep him safe as anything. It’s a bad business.”

            “Do you think the fief’s been maladministered, my Lord?”

            “Undoubtedly. But two enquiries of noble competence would be very awkward, and if Angors or Guisant did order the assassination, which I don’t doubt, treason has precedence. Even Carolan can’t dispute that.”

            “Will he try, my Lord?”

            “Just Imrah, if you will. You’ll be on the Council shortly and all those vocatives take too much time. And yes, he probably will. He didn’t use to be this stupid but he’s always hated Thayet and Yamani alliance, and his idiot son being banished has backed him into a corner. But he won’t get anywhere—the logjam on the council’s well broken, thanks to you, Vanget, and Cavall, and with the gods fresh in everyone’s mind there’ll be no mercy if charges are proven.”

            Kel found the prospect disturbing. “It’s Kel, then, Imrah. And gods know, I didn’t want any of this. Did the King tell you what the elemental said about Joren’s death?”

            “Yes. It’s the same, isn’t it? Paying others to attack you. Filthy business. Do you think Burchard’s involved?”

            “I doubt it—he’s trying to be civil, despite his obsessive grief—but I get the impression he’s … withdrawn. But I don’t know about Genlith—especially if he did order the attack that freed Vinson. That’s treason already, and so’s sheltering him, if he’s back home.”

            “Mithros, yes—I’d forgotten that. Anyone else?”

            “Voelden, maybe. Both Grotens and Heathercove loathe me. And Marti’s Hill, perhaps. I’ve never met the lord—saw him a few times as a page—but Quinden knows I was responsible for the report that got him dismissed. Vanget says he swore vengeance.”

            “Does he? Hmm. The Grotens and Heathercove are stupid enough for anything. Marti’s Hill’s no fool, but he is narrow, and Quinden’s his only son. There’s bad blood between him and Ferghal haMinch, so he’ll take Vanget dismissing his son as more of that though he must know the boy’s a lazy fool.”

            “Vanget never mentioned that.”

            “Why should he? It wasn’t his quarrel and he takes people as he finds ’em. Always has. It’s Quinden who’ll have seen it as victimisation.”

            That fitted what Kel knew of her incompetent yearmate, and she sighed. “Yes, he will. He never thought anything was his fault. And the elemental said he has a streak of treachery but scraped by as a fighter because with a war on we need knights.”

            “I didn’t know that. Treachery?”

            “Mmm. If Wyldon ever put him under my command during exercises I had to put him somewhere harmless. He’d let the opposition sneak up without raising the alarm—that sort of thing. Only against me—he was a crony of Joren’s and Vinson’s and used to say a woman’s place was on her back. He despises commoners too—even the refugees were hiding money, according to him, and ought to have it shaken out of them.”

            “Gods, what a picture. Alright, Kel—noted. And don’t look so glum—it’s not your fault though I bet it seems like it. Half this stuff goes back to Duke Roger—everyone you’ve mentioned backed him and didn’t like Alanna killing him one bit. Either time.” He grinned. “They also backed that mad Rittevon princess as Jonathan’s bride, a proper—what’s that word? Luarin, I think—someone fair-skinned, anyway, of what they call the ‘right stock’, so they’ve always been against Thayet as a foreigner, and Shinkokami. You’ve just become the focus for everything.”

            “I know. Even the gods, apparently. It’s … irritating, actually.”

            He laughed. “I bet. But I’m glad it’s you. Gives me hope. We depended on Alanna twenty-five years ago and it’s done us a power of good. Seems right we should depend on you now, but it has to be hard as old oak for you. So don’t worry about what happens here—we’ll sort it one way or another. And if there’s anything I can do, shout. Is there?”

            As taken aback as embarrassed, Kel forced her mind to work. “Thank you, Imrah. Um. Maybe. I’m trying to get New Hope trade, so we can be less of a burden, and there’s a merchant who’ll be sending a man to see our stuff—Master Orman?”

            “I know him. Good man. What kind of stuff?”

            “Fine basilisk stoneware, to start. And maybe old webbing.” She laughed at his expression and explained. “Sea routes make sense for stoneware, and if we shipped Mindelan to Legann …”

            “With breaks on duty at both ends—I can do that. Makes for profit too, in the long run—set you up and if trade flourishes we’ll do well anyway. Gods—spidren web to Carthak. Whatever next?” He chuckled. “Tell Orman to contact my port factor—he knows him—and we’ll better anyone else’s deal on goods from New Hope.”

            “I’ll do that. Thank you.” His generosity made her think. “May I ask something? Why did the Council think I wasn’t trying to claim New Hope for myself? Duke Gareth seemed to find it very odd.”

            “Gary would—he’s a cynic at heart. But I understood your argument. I’m not sure you’d do the same if you were twenty years older, mind, and I’m inclined to agree with Alanna and Cavall you’re the outstanding candidate and would help secure that border once we’re rid of Maggur. But you’re young yet and very good-hearted, and you don’t want to think about fighting for gain. Why d’you ask?”

            “Because I think of it as my command but I realise I’m treating it like a town and a fief, not a refugee camp. It’s … confusing.”

            “Mmm. It’s what good commanders do, same as a fighting squad becomes family. But other people have put you on top of a political moment. Your actions, too—you’ve struck the most telling blow of the war so far, and by answering Tirrsmont so decisively, never mind Angors, you’ve shown yourself far more than a commander, invaluable as those are. And then there’s your, what, touch? Whatever it is that’s had the New Hopers writing those depositions, and immortals trusting you, and enabled you to set up all these shops. You’re just doing what you do, I know, but it’s all working and echoing, so it builds. If you survive you’ll be ennobled in your own right—face that squarely—and New Hope’ll be the obvious fief for twenty excellent reasons. So what it adds up to is your reluctance does you credit and the King ignoring it’ll do him credit.”

            Kel blinked. “That makes my head hurt. I’m right to resist and he’s right to overrule me?”

            “Yes. Welcome to the places where honour and politics meet. Make yourself comfortable—you’ll be here as long as you live. Now, can I see this barding? I’ve had three good horses killed under me, and anything that saves me a fourth has my vote.”

            Kel blinked again, appreciating Imrah’s candour and priorities, and took him to Alder’s stable.

* * * * *

The cold lingered through January, so Kel and the children spent Imbolc with Daine, Numair, Kitten, and Kawit, dragging parents and sisters to the heated stable to see the opal dragon light scores of candles with a waved paw, and hear her start the traditional tale-telling of Imbolcs past with a memory no-one was going to match by tens of centuries. But when the weather did finally break, mid-February, it broke dramatically, a great wave of warm air thick with desert dust and grit billowing over Corus and far north, leaving everything a dull ochrous yellow. Rising as usual before dawn and hearing drips, Kel dressed swiftly and went to the Riders’ quarters and stables before returning to pack and gentle the children awake. Before most people were up they were on their way with the riders of Group Askew, no less than four pack horses, load well distributed so they wouldn’t slow the party, and two ostlers Stefan said needed the exercise.

            The journey was without incident but strange and in differing ways difficult. As far as Queensgrace they were under the dust storm, and came to hate the slushy, abrasive mess it made of the thaw. At the first Royal wayhouse Kel requisitioned a bolt of rough cloth, and they wrapped the horses’ fetlocks and cannons. Thereafter they spent time each night drying wraps while Tobe did his best to ease the chafing sodden cloth caused even as it protected. He didn’t have Zerhalm’s skill, let alone Daine’s, but had developed enough healing talent to do a world of good and worked conscientiously. Irnai had no such outlet, but made herself useful helping rub down horses and care for tack.

            Though Rider Groups often joined the Own and Kel was half-familiar with many this was the first time she’d ridden with a single group, or in a military party evenly divided between men and women. Amid the misery of the dust she found herself fascinated by the easy mutual joshing of the Riders, sometimes blue and often funny. It made her think about the pages she’d been teaching, especially the present first year, with three girls out of seven. There would be no comparison between their experiences and her eight years as the only female page or squire, and while she wouldn’t go back for the world she did feel wistful at the difference even one female companion would have made.

            In Queensgrace Kel considered avoiding Alvik’s inn but there wasn’t much choice and Tobe reluctantly agreed to put a brave face on it. The fat innkeep’s face grew sour when he saw who it was, but he’d heard enough stories about the Protector that when Kel, consciously in command mode, required stabling, food, and lodging for twenty on the King’s business he jumped. As they were removing cloth wraps and rubbing down the leader of Group Askew, Miri Fisher, sidled up to her.

            “I take it you don’t care for Alvik, Lady Kel. Any particular reason? He’s been odd this year but I’ve never seen the old goat jump like that.”

            Brushing Alder more vigorously than was needed Kel told Miri how she’d come by Tobe, and (carefully not naming Neal) what an offended mage who’d seen his brutality had done to him. Miri stared.

            “Like the Chamber did to that Vinson fellow?”

            “That’s where the idea came from, I think.”

            “Ouch. I knew the man was an old lecher but I didn’t know he was like that. D’you want me to pass word?”

            Kel shook her head. “Not unless he tries anything with Tobe. And if he does he’s mine, and mincemeat. Tobe doesn’t want to make anything of it—just to forget, I think—but I’ll not stand any nonsense.”

            “Got it, Lady Kel.”

            Either bully’s cowardice ran true or Alvik simply knew which side his bread was buttered, and was as obsequious in manner as his eyes were spitting dislike the while. He also had the sense not to try anything with Tobe, fawning or bullying, and kept himself out of sight as much as possible. Even so Kel and Tobe were glad to be away at dawn, but thereafter the cold and unmelted snow increased remorselessly, and by the time they reached Bearsford March was only a day away and the problem no longer dust but slogging through snowdrifts in the teeth of a constant, lazy wind. After they’d settled themselves in the Drunken Carter with much needed stew, Kel called everyone together and asked Ranarl, the former bowyer who ran the inn, to attend too.

            “Tomorrow’s going to be brutal, people. It’s thirty-some miles from here to New Hope, so we’ll probably camp out tomorrow night. And I’m guessing that while the Great North Road won’t be too bad the Greenwoods trail will have deep snow.”

            Ranarl nodded. “We’ve seen folk from Mastiff, Lady Kel, but none from New Hope since the snows.”

            “Thank you. So we’ll be breaking trail. Alder can do a lot but are there horses we can hire? Big ones? The Riders will bring them back.”

            “I’ve a couple of plough horses and some heavy horseblankets. No tents though, and it’ll be bad cold in the Greenwoods.”

            “Thank you, Ranarl—that’ll help. There’ll be plenty of deadwood but we’ll need kindling and oil, and we’ll have to pack food with something to heat it in. Milk and water too, and grain. Everyone dress double, even treble tomorrow—I’ll be wearing everything warm I have, even if it makes me waddle—and we’ll aim to be gone an hour before dawn. Ranarl, can you do big breakfasts for half-an-hour before that?”

            “No problem, Lady Kel.”

            There were groans from the Riders and Miri stood. “You heard Lady Kel, boys and girls—sound advice all. We’re in a warzone, in case you’d forgotten, so deal with weapons now. Make sure bowstrings are good, blades clean and dry. Then get some sleep—and no canoodling. Save it for peacetime because you’ll need the energy.”

            Remembering what Raoul had told her about problems when men and women in the same Rider Group became lovers, Kel was surprised  and quietly asked Miri if it was an issue.

            “Not really, Lady Kel—it used to be, before the men were used to women who fight and don’t have families watching them like hawks, and it can be with new recruits who’ve never been in mixed groups. But they’ve learned to keep bed and battle separate. I only mentioned it because Marna and Forlan are at that will-we–won’t-we stage, and getting close to we-will—but not tonight.”

            Kel supposed she and Cleon had been at that stage for a while before it had become we-won’t. “My understanding was out-of-date. Raoul warned me when I was a squire that a woman getting involved with a man they had to command tended to work badly.”

            “He’s right, but that’s command. And it’s changed fast—I’ve been a Rider thirteen years now, and everyone was jumpier when I started. More so for you, I imagine, as a knight.”

            “You could say that. As a page, if a boy was in my room the door had to be open, and vice versa, on pain of dismissal. And though Raoul was nicer it wasn’t that different in the Own, but I was the only woman.”

            “Gods. Wouldn’t have suited me, Lady Kel.” Miri flashed a grin. “But that was before Evin and I got together.”

            Kel went to bed envious of Miri’s ease. She knew Riders didn’t train in the same way because they didn’t wear full armour or joust, and the older woman was smaller and curvier, but it wasn’t only her own body-shape that was the problem, or even the malevolent desire she seemed to rouse in men like Torhelm; there was her awkward self-consciousness about her difference from what the men she’d been attracted to had wanted. Yuki’s peppery plumpness had sent signals to Neal her muscular stoicism never had, and Dom was all for slim ankles and well-filled gowns. Drifting off, she wondered how he was and realised she’d not seen Duke Baird since the King’s Ball; perhaps he’d gone to Masbolle.

            She woke to breakfast smells and they were on their way within the hour, finding the Great North Road better than hoped. A mule train had been somewhere recently—Mastiff, she presumed—and the snow in the centre of the roadway was packed down. In the pre-dawn dark it was slippery with ice, but as the sun rose the going became easier and they made excellent time through the morning. The halt for lunch was brief but even so it was mid-afternoon when they came to the southern end of the Greenwoods valley. The sun had disappeared and the wind was picking up; they were in for a bad night—worse if a blizzard got going. The snow in the valley lay deep and undisturbed, only the lie of the land telling her they were in the right place. Without the river, swift even this close to its source, following the trail would have been guesswork.

            They reorganised themselves, Alder taking point, the two plough horses behind to widen the trail he blazed. Nowhere was the snow less than three feet deep, with drifts twice that, coming well up his chest. Even this late in winter it was powdery and the horses were able to thrust it aside, but progress was slow. Each half-hour Kel rotated them, letting the plough horses take point in turn, but as the light began to fail the distant bulk of the fin told her they were still five miles from New Hope. The wind was gusting unpleasantly, and it was clear they’d have to push on in the dark, guided by the noise of the river—but the horses needed rest and food did no good until it was in their bellies. Alder had broken through a deep drift into an area of shallower snow, and woodeaves were close, so with the ostlers and Tobe she got the horses and ponies standing together for mutual shelter and fed them oats while Miri took ten Riders to collect deadwood.

            This far from New Hope there was plenty and they made smaller cooking fires and a large one for warmth. Group Askew had a mage, Anya, to start them, but without dry kindling and oil she’d have had a hard time of it; sheltered from the wind by people and horses, Irnai emptied tubs of stew into one cauldron and melted snow in the other before adding soup balls and vegetables, courtesy of the innkeep. Hot food cheered everyone. They’d packed loaves that careful turning by the fires warmed into pliability, and ragged slices mopped bowls nicely.

            “I know we’re tired, people—horses too—but I think we have to push on. I don’t like this wind and if it’s going to blizzard we need to be as close as possible before it gets bad. Anya, can you cast light?”

            “Some, Lady Kel, but not much nor long. Emergencies or obstacles, yes; continuously as we ride, no.”

            “Fair enough. Let’s take brands then, and light those lamps. Miri, can you see to that? Tobe, tell the horses there’s shelter in five miles. Everyone else, get packed and sorted.”

            It didn’t take long with the wind to encourage them and after kicking snow over the embers they set off again. The area of shallower snow wasn’t bad, and the next two drifts wide but not too deep, Alder forcing through without difficulty, but the third, a mile and some on, was higher than his head and only lessened perilously close to the river. With Miri holding an almost exhausted brand and Anya casting light Kel led Alder carefully off the trail until the drift was low enough for him to see over the top. He peered, gave her a long-suffering look and set to. Kel made the others wait, stamping feet and swinging arms, and when he’d made it half way through she backed him out, taking one of the ploughhorses in to break the rest of the way.

            Eventually they were able to regain the trail, and for a long stretch going was better though the wind gusted with unpleasant strength. As she clomped along Kel realised the snowscape must be an effect of the fin, channelling wind from the long fetch up the valley to heap what fell beyond into drifts and troughs. There were still two miles to go and she feared there would be at least one more drift, bigger still—a foreboding confirmed as a great white slope reared ahead, spicules streaming from its top. It was tall and steep enough to make going over impossible but did create a sizeable lee. When they were all within it, huddling, Kel and Miri made sure everyone could still feel toes and fingers, while Tobe and the shivering ostlers gave the horses the last oats.

            “If we stop at all we stop here—there’s no better shelter. But if we tunnel through this one we should be within a mile or so of the bridge.”

            Tired as they were no-one wanted to stop, so Kel used Alder to break a trail into the drift until it reached head height, and then with the Riders’ trenching shovels they took turns scooping and chopping. It was exhausting in thick clothing and they rotated every five minutes, those not at the front helping pack down snow shovelled back. As the tunnel lengthened and the lantern became a necessity, Anya used tiny bursts of power to ice walls and roof, inhibiting collapse. Near the centre of the drift the overburden made for harder, compacted snow, safer but more tiring to dig. Miri was taking a turn when she called for silence. Everyone stopped, but faint noise continued.

            “Lady Kel, I think someone’s digging through from the other side.”

            Kel’s mind kicked into gear. “I’ve no idea who or what but no-one at New Hope could see us on this side of the fin, so assume hostiles. Back out everyone. Blades loose, bows strung. Miri, stay until you think they’re close so we have warning.”

            Horses and children went to one side, and Riders arrayed themselves to cover the tunnel, Kel crouching with the lantern to give Miri light. Tension rose but it was only minutes before she came back.

            “They’re close enough I could hear voices, but I couldn’t make out the language.”

            Kel left the lamp where it would show whatever came out. “Miri, have five Riders turn their backs. If we’re watching that lantern we’ll be blind to anything that comes any other way.”

            “Right.” She gave orders, and Kel set herself in the middle of the semi-circle. She didn’t have her bow but Griffin was loose in its sheath and her glaive in hand. It seemed a long time before they heard snow fall and a voice exclaim in a language Kel didn’t know but recognised.

            “Who is there?”

            “Protector? Is that you?”

            This time the call was in Common and Kel relaxed slightly as Whitelist came into view, a bow in his hands with an arrow nocked but pointing down. He wore a heavy jacket over his human parts.

            “Yes, with the children and a Rider Group. Bows down, everyone.”

            “We are sheltering herds in your corral and saw fires up the valley.” He came to the mouth of the tunnel and scanned them before calling. “All’s well—it’s the Protector with a small party. Clear the tunnel.”

            “We owe you a debt, Whitelist—it’s been harder going than I expected with these drifts.”

            “It is a small return for food and shelter that has kept our herds alive. As we did not know who was coming we preferred to find out. Come, the way is clear.”

            The horses weren’t keen on the tunnel but with Alder leading and Tobe to persuade they passed through. The centaurs’ tunnel was more impressive than their own—higher and wider, snow packed hard and flat at the sides—and as Kel emerged she saw why. The centaurs on the far side had boards strapped to jacketed arms, and could tackle snow with horse legs and bulk and human dexterity. The end of the fin loomed to their right, and white water gleamed in the rapids; the wind was fierce.

            “We will return to our mates, Protector. The way is clear to the stone bridge, and while there is drifting on the way to the moatbridge it is not bad—the wind is too strong there for much to accumulate. Your people have kept the way to the gate clear, when the wind does not do it for them, so you should not have trouble.”

            “Thank you, Whitelist. You’re doing alright yourself?”

            “We are. The cold does not bother us though snow is a nuisance.”

            “Alright. Thank you again. If you come up in the next day or two I have news about possible trade you might like.”

            “I will do so. Farewell, Protector.”

            They cantered downtrail, scoured almost clear of snow, evidently heading for the stone bridge themselves. Wearily everyone remounted, the ostlers tying the plough horses on the string with the pack animals, and they set off, Kel and Miri leading with the children behind them. Wind aside, it was the easiest part of the journey since they’d left the Great North Road and once they crossed the Greenwoods and were close to New Hope’s glacis they moved out of the gusts funnelling past the fin. Kel was glad to see that despite conditions sentries were alert, and as they crossed the moat mage light flared above the gate.

            “Who goes there?” Mikal’s voice was a stentorian bellow and Kel grinned, raising her own to the pitch that cut across a battlefield.

            “Lady Kel and Group Askew, Mikal, back from sunny Corus.”

            He was waiting in the gateway, sword drawn until he could see them clearly and be sure there was no illusion. Then he ordered the gates opened properly, light spilling out.

            “You must be frozen, my Lady. We weren’t expecting you for a month at least.”

            “Long story, Mikal, that can wait. But get food for twenty cooking, please and have someone sort barracks for the Riders.”

            He gave crisp orders and soldiers went running. Seeing the Honesty Gate Kel fought a quick battle and took the only proper option, halting under the lintel to state her name and benevolence to New Hope. As the children followed her cue curiosity outweighed any resentment and Group Askew passed through quickly enough with the ostlers, all looking around with astonishment at the vista before them. Snow lay thickly and was heaped on the green, but paths and shelf had been shovelled clear and crystal magelights glowed softly along the inner wall and wherever main paths met. In the innermost corner an odd light gleamed against the cliff, and though Kel knew it was from a hidden magelight outside the cave entrance it looked beautiful but eerie. Miri came up beside her.

            “This is an amazing place, Lady Kel.”

            “It’s home.”

            Kel spoke without thinking, but saying it she knew it to be true.

Chapter Text

Part IV – Ostara

March – June 462 HE

Chapter Thirteen — Assessment

March–April

The Riders were welcome company for people who’d seen no strangers for three months, and stayed a day to look around and recuperate. Giving them the tour Kel was astonished by how much had been achieved. The crystal lights were courtesy of a Company Fourteen mage, Varik, who had a strong light spell, basilisks, who’d petrified ice, and Quenuresh, who’d taught Varik to set his light into crystal; but if they were the most obvious change they were not the only one.

            Retreat to the caves had focused energies on how best to use them and there were a host of improvements, besides babies that had been born. Magelights hung everywhere on webbing, floors had been levelled, passageways widened, and food storage areas had rock shelves and curtains; another hung across the main entry. The prison-cell had been excavated on the side towards the fin and equipped with a massive iron-banded door; if Kel sincerely hoped she’d never have to use it she was comforted to know there was somewhere secure at need. The enlarged loom chamber remained the centre of gossip, repainted in cheerful colours, floored in wood, and provided with a small fireplace and range for making tea and snacks; without a chimney only the driest wood could be used, but the stack in the first chamber had seasoned well.

            Progress on the lookout post exceeded Kel’s best hopes. The spiral was complete, opening into the crack that led to the cliff-face, but they had waited to do more until Kel could decide what exactly she wanted. Kuriaju and Petrin, leader of the miners, showed her, receiving warm congratulations with embarrassment on Petrin’s part; whether Kuriaju’s deepened blue was an ogre blush Kel wasn’t sure.

            “The question, Lady Kel, is how we shape the opening.” Squatting, he pointed. “It’s wide but not high, and its upper edge is a natural arch. The roof there is also arched, and I do not think it good to change it.”

            “Me either, Lady Kel.” Petrin cupped his hand, palm down, showing her. “As it is it’s strong and good, but if we mess with it we’ll need a lot of shoring and bracing and it’ll never be as safe.”

            Kel considered. “What about the floor? Can you lower that so there’s a … parapet, I suppose?”

            Ogre and miner exchanged glances, and Kuriaju nodded. “I don’t see that would be a problem. The projecting shelf that hides the opening from below is formed by denser rock, and we would only be cutting into that. How big should the chamber be?”

            “For up to four people, with blocks for heating.”

            “That’s alright.” Petrin scratched his chin. “So we’re creating the chamber by dropping the floor, what, four foot. Mmm. Do you want a little guardroom as well? Back from that arch roof there’s no difficulty.”

            “Um, alright. But only to make tea or heat a snack, not big enough for a bed—there’s no point providing temptation.”

            Petrin grinned. “Right you are, Lady Kel.”

            “Make it so we can hang a curtain across the access. We don’t want cold wind blowing right into the caves.”

            “Of course.”

            “And keep the access wide enough for only one person at a time—one being, rather. Gods know I’m not expecting anyone to have to defend themselves here but there’s no point needlessly forgoing any advantage.”

            “That makes it easier.” Kuriaju smiled. “We are glad you’re pleased. It was interesting to cut the spiral and it is good to have a lookout.”

            So it was—but the other excavation was altogether more uncertain. The immortals had been enlarging quarters at the back of the first chamber, towards the fin, as a space for Quenuresh and her kin but in the process come to the fin itself and made a discovery. Its hard rock had been a natural barrier, and except for the gallery they hadn’t cut into it at all, but here, deep underground, they found a crack running through it, as if a great wedge had broken away, settling deeper while the rest stayed in place. The smallest adult spidren had squeezed in and explored, reporting that she thought it ran clean through the fin but a large chamber in the middle blocked the way; she could see the crack continuing on the far side.

            “I think it is from water that found some weakness there and has hollowed it over centuries.”

            Kel and Brodhelm were standing with Kuriaju and Petrin in Quenuresh’s chamber and peering at the crack.

            “Could it be bridged?”

            “I see no reason why not.”

            “And on the far side we’d come out inside the corral?”

            “I do not know how high the ground is on that side. You would have to measure and survey.”

            “Mmm.”

            In one sense it was gold, for if they could make a passage to the corral it would be possible to sally. In another it could be terrible weakness, for a way out was a way in, and all New Hope’s defences would do no good if there were an open back door. Thanking spidrens and others Kel and Brodhelm retired to her office.

            “I’m in two minds about this, Brodhelm.”

            “I’m in three, my Lady.”

            Kel raised an eyebrow. “Sallying, a back door, and what’s the third?”

            “Safety—that central chamber sounds a hazard. And the effort it’ll take. That fin is hard—the gallery has taken months and this would be massively larger. Is it the best use of our miners?”

            “I don’t know. What else would you want them doing?”

            “Well, the lookout post. And if we need one secure cell we might need more.”

            “True. But the lookout won’t take much longer, and it’s the priority until it is. And that central chamber might be an opportunity as much as a problem. I’m sure bridging it would be hard but a bridge can have mageblasts, and if there were a defensive position on this side of it …”

            “No-one would be coming in. I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

            “It’s only an idea. But I don’t think we can afford to ignore a chance to create a sally port. It’s bothered me most—even before we use the roadway pits we’re locked into defence, and once we do we’re trapped.”

            “What did you do at Haven?”

            “We had a hidden sally port like the ones at Mastiff and Steadfast. Daine insisted so horses could get out, and Numair concealed them so only a black robe could find them. There was one at Giantkiller too.”

            “I only knew about Mastiff’s. Could Master Numair help us here?”

            “Maybe, if he comes this way. Daine’s pregnant, so he may not be travelling. He did want to see the skullroad, though.”

            There was silence as they mulled it.

            “You want to do it then, my Lady?”

            “I think I do. One horse high and wide, with every defence we can think of—bridge, barred iron gates, and defence points where anyone with a crossbow can shoot from good cover. We’ll have to do something about the corral too—better walls with alures and a moat, for starters. And a proper gatehouse.”

            “There’s no spring there to feed the moat. Stagnant water will freeze in winter and won’t be good in summer.”

            “Mmm, but that ground slopes a bit. We’ll dig a sough connecting with the Greenwoods at each end, to fill and drain. If we get it right it’ll look after itself, the way the main moat does.”

            He looked at her admiringly. “You’ve answers for everything. Shall I organise a survey once the weather’s broken? We can’t start here until Quenuresh goes.”

            “Please—but we’ll want somewhere else spidrens can use at need, so we can start on that. And if Whitelist comes up, as I asked him, we can assure him he’ll have winter use. I was surprised by the help he gave us coming in and I’d like to cultivate that goodwill.”

            So plans were drawn up, and if Kuriaju and Petrin muttered about finrock Kel thought they were pleased to have another large project. She was pleased herself but decided not to say anything to Vanget before it was clear whether it would work and how long it might take.

            There were simpler pleasures of reunion. Jump and the sparrows were overjoyed to see her and Tobe, and both woke each morning with company; Kel found herself accompanied everywhere by Nari, eager to bear messages. Peachblossom and Hoshi were equally pleased and let her know with horsehair and slobber. The gelding’s leg was less painful as bone knitted, and he had continued night rounds; but both horses were bored and eager for spring. They welcomed Alder with startled looks as his new intelligence registered, and Kel left them to gossip.

            Yuki, visibly pregnant, was more restrained, as befitted a Yamani noblewoman, but very happy to see Kel and said so several times. Her health was good, her pregnancy progressing well, and she was happy with Neal, but she’d felt very isolated in Kel’s absence. The refugee women were friendly and, Kel knew from Fanche, liked Yuki, appreciating her hard work and skills and her reserved manners, but Yuki didn’t have the touch Kel did. Given her Yamani rank her contact with anyone outside noble circles except servants had been limited, and with Tortallan commoners she was not only unsure how to unbend but deeply uncertain whether as the wife of a ducal heir she ought to do so, torn between Kel’s example and awareness that not everyone approved; she also had her standing with Shinko as Crown Princess to consider. Kel sympathised, privately thinking she was worrying too much but knowing well what it meant to have a friend of the same sex to whom you could talk; she was also very aware Yuki didn’t need to be at New Hope, and had come as much for Kel as to be with Neal. In consequence, after passing on Shinko’s greetings and love, Kel learned more about pregnancy and its irritations, inconveniences, and joys than she wanted, but thought it a small price for Yuki’s company.

            Neal and Merric were also delighted and peppered her with questions about everyone they could think of. Some she answered promptly, assuring them Owen and Prosper had passed their Ordeals with the other squires, and soberly relaying to Neal the letter from Dom, Duke Baird’s concerns, and the possibility the Carthaki metal would make a light enough brace. Other news she wanted to deal with only once and kept back until she took advantage of Quenuresh’s presence to call a second meeting of the Council. Kel started with Tirrsmont having been caught lying and facing an enquiry of noble competence, but got no further for several minutes while the mortals, military and civilian alike, exclaimed satisfaction. Eventually she put on a half-stern face.

            “There’s a good deal more, and I’d like to be done before next week so hold discussion until afterwards, please. Now, that news I’ll announce this evening—the former Tirrsmonters need to know. The rest is also public but whether you share it is up to you. I shan’t be saying anything.”

            As barely as she could she told them about Torhelm and what had happened, adding in a flat voice what only Neal, Brodhelm, Uinse, and Quenuresh knew but she’d declared to everyone at the Queen’s Ball; her parents’ new status as the first ducal house of the Book of Copper; and the knife attack with its fallout at Torhelm and that fief’s placement in royal administration. Before their eyes could stop widening or their hair subside she went on to the expected arrival of Master Orman’s man, trade opportunities, and the fact that they’d be enjoying reduced port duties at Mindelan and Legann. Finally she added with a welcome sense of mischief that she’d offered a treaty to the stormwings who’d tracked her from Rathhausak, and they might receive visits from eighteen- and eighty-five-foot dragons to whom she’d extended invitations. The profound silence when she stopped was broken by Neal gently banging his head with a hand, and more seriously by Quenuresh.

            “Protector, life has not been this interesting in a long time. Which stormwings, please?”

            “The Stone Tree Nation.”

            “You spoke with Barzha Razorwing?”

            “I did.”

            “May I ask the terms of the treaty you offered?”

            “They roost here safely, we give them assistance with, um, egg-laying and care of their littles as needed, and they slay nothing nor play with any dead thing in this valley without my let. Oh, and Barzha can join this Council if she washes before meetings.”

            Quenuresh hissed laughter. “Priceless.” Her expression stilled. “And a very interesting move. You seek to constrain the timeway.”

            Kel shrugged. “I don’t think I can, but I’m playing the odds, yes. Shakith’s given no sign of disapproval to me or to Irnai.”

            “Nor will she, I think. Which dragons?”

            “Kawit Pearlscales and Lord Diamondflame.”

            Quenuresh showed real surprise. “Ah. Kawit is the opal dragon who came here four years back from Carthak?”

            “Yes. A very nice being.”

            “Opal dragons usually are. Diamondflame is another matter. May I ask how in three realms you managed to encounter him?”

            “He came to Corus to visit Skysong. He’s her grandsire.”

            “Ah. And what does he want with New Hope?”

            “The skullroad. He told me about the original, and the dragons he called Flamebreath and Golden Eggs.”

            Quenuresh hissed more loudly, making Nari peep. “Astonishing. But you say he may come?”

            “He said he was going to see what Rainbow Windheart thought.”

            The spidren shook her head admiringly. “Protector, you do not do things by halves. For those here who do not know we are talking of the two oldest and most powerful dragons alive. Rainbow Windheart has a hundred centuries under his wings and governs the Dragonmeet. And Barzha Razorwing is as old as I. So we have gods, mortals, People, basilisks, spidrens, ogres, griffins, and centaurs, and may gain stormwings and dragons, or at least their blessing. I begin to understand why the timeway rests so heavily on this place.”

            No-one else did except, dimly, Kel herself, and neither she nor Quenuresh were saying more. Instead, after telling Quenuresh that her parents sent formal thanks and would like to forge a treaty with spidrens at Mindelan, she turned the babble back to Master Orman.

            “I had an idea about that. Fanche, I’d like to commission the finest dinner service our wood turners can make—the thinnest wood, most beautiful grain, plates in different sizes, jugs, the lot—and another only slightly less fine. And Var’istaan, I’d like to commission the basilisks to petrify them as superbly as you can. The best one will be a late wedding present from New Hope for Prince Roald and Princess Shinkokami, the other a gift for Lord Imrah, who’s doing us a considerable favour. Both will naturally display their gifts and it should set up demand for our wares. Oh, and Quenuresh, I don’t know if you like Carthaki cheese but Master Orman thought there might be a trade for webbing to seal against dust as well as winter trade in Yaman, northern Tortall, and Galla. I didn’t think you’d mind getting money for old rope.”

            “Indeed not.” 

            “Good. And I don’t know what if anything the centaurs might want to trade for or offer, and I want as many arrows as they make, but that bit of news I’ll be passing to Whitelist too.” She stood. “I’ll leave you all to digest. I have a doll to deliver.”

            She was half way to the door before Merric found his voice. “Kel, you can’t just leave it at that.”

            “Watch me.”

            “But ... you said you …”

            “Yes, I did. See you all at dinner.”

            She closed the door, blew a long breath—discussing one’s own death was absurd as well as embarrassing and she’d done it enough for two lifetimes. Virtuously she went to find Meech, whose incredulous delight at his new doll’s fiery hair was balm to her heart.

* * * * *

Only discipline had Group Askew, with ostlers, packhorses, and plough horses, on their way south again after only a day’s rest, but it was good they went when they did for by nightfall there were snow flurries and by dawn a full blizzard. The wind was still north-east, whistling up valley and, with the channelling effects of the fin, glacis and palisades spared New Hope the worst of it, though eddies and gusts could always catch one unprepared and nothing stopped snow accumulating steadily on the main level. Weary from her journey, Kel watched with satisfaction as routines Brodhelm had worked out swung smoothly into play.

            The caves remained warm and everyone bunked there, spreading palliases by night throughout the first, loom-, and what was starting to be called the look-out chamber, and stacking them by day. A tented latrine area was established near the entrance, and buckets emptied into soil carts parked on the level ground outside to await proper disposal; the dogs and cat were conscientious about going outside. Mining work accelerated, with more hands to haul cut stone or willing to set to with pickaxes, if only to avoid boredom; looms clacked busily from dawn to dusk, and practice drills were held in the first chamber. The stables and tented animal pens had to be kept heated, using basilisk blocks, and food was taken in the messhall where Weiryn’s godlight took the edge off the cold; paths could not be kept clear but a squad with boards strapped to their boots tramped down snow.

            The established Haven practice of older caring for younger kept children safe and entertained, though Tobe and Irnai could have managed it themselves with stories of events in Corus—less about gods than dragons, stormwings, and royal balls, with the great snowfight and Kitten’s triumph. The bustle of the city also figured, and listening one afternoon Kel was surprised—pleased—to discover both children had understood how the Protector’s Maids scheme worked and were regaling a fascinated audience, including adults, Amiir’aan, and spidrens, with a catalogue of shops. What anyone made of Irnai’s stories of pre-Thanic history was moot, but Kel had a conversation with Neal that left them in stitches imagining the effects of some informed comment, tradesman to scholar, about events barely in the oldest books.

            On the military side double shifts based themselves in the gatehouse and rotated duty on the alures half-hourly. There were also, Kel found on a shivery inspection, heated blocks along the alures, supplementing braziers; in mid-shift St’aara or Var’istaan, unbothered by cold, made a circuit to reheat them. Sentries also had curiously oversize helmets, with thick linings and the oddest fronts—a fine meshed structure that kept snow out of their eyes, instantly melted flakes, and somehow allowed vision while deflecting wind. It was, Brodhelm informed her in a carefully neutral voice, petrified webbing Quenuresh and Var’istaan had devised, and ensured each sentry could see as well as possible. Deeply thoughtful, Kel sought out the immortals to thank them and ask how it was done.

            “It is not difficult, Protector. Our webbing naturally resists wind and water, and you have had basilisks petrify so many things it seemed sensible to try. The mesh is finicky, easier for smaller spidrens, but straightforward in itself and good exercise for the young.”

            Var’istaan nodded. “The rock spell must be precisely used to retain the webbing’s virtue and more power is needed for anything imbued with immortal qualities than for wood, but any adult basilisk could do it.”

            “Mmm. There could be considerable demand, military and civilian—anyone in a snowstorm would want one—and I’m wondering if you’re happy with that and if so how to handle it. Mortal practices of manufacture and trade have a lot of custom and experience, but there aren’t any models for immortal trade, let alone joint ventures. And if there is high demand and low supply we need to be careful about price.”

            There was a pause while the immortals looked at one another. Eventually Quenuresh gave a spidren shrug.

            “For all our centuries, Protector, you have the advantage. Neither in the Divine nor mortal realm have I ever engaged in trade of this kind, but it is part of living in peace with mortals, and I welcome it.”

            “I too.” Var’istaan’s whisper was definite. “This is an interesting place with much to do. In the aftermath of the Immortals War we have found it difficult to find ways of interacting peacefully with mortals and New Hope has been a very good experience. I cannot speak for her but I believe St’aara wishes to stay with Amiir’aan—if you will also remain. Is this only while this war lasts or are you thinking beyond that?”

            “Beyond. Tell me, do you think more of your own kinds will come?”

            “I believe so. There are not many basilisks in the mortal realms but Tkaa has spread news of this place, and those within Tortall and its immediate neighbours are interested in what is happening here.”

            “The griffins have carried word, and I have had enquiries from other spidrens, but—forgive me—most have been preying on mortal livestock and are concerned about their safety from your laws.”

            Kel thought hard. “That I can deal with, Quenuresh. The king gave me power to make decisions about immortal treaties, so I can say if any immortal coming here is willing to sign and faithfully abide by a treaty, we won’t ask where they’ve been or what they’ve been up to. A clean slate for the past, not a license for the future. Their governance I leave to you, so long as nothing contravenes our existing agreements.”

            “Very well. I will let that be known, but the wood will not support many more spidrens and we cannot live on cheese alone.”

            “We can work out where else we should designate—the valley to the east is within the military zone, unclaimed by any fief, and uninhabited except for itinerant trappers. You’d need to co-exist with them. As for the rest, we ought to get Kuriaju in on this, but it’s been made clear to me that with peace New Hope will become a fief, and if I’m alive to claim it, granted me. I’m not easy about it—I wasn’t thinking in those terms—but whatever happens it makes no sense to set up anything that’ll have to be changed. So we need a way to protect everyone’s interests—yours as craftsbeings—and New Hope’s as a community.” Kel sat back and counted on her fingers.  “You need to be able to control how much work you accept, so the burden doesn’t fall too heavily on any being and younglings are protected. We need to be clear about what we can and can’t offer, what any given thing will or won’t do—if any magical element is permanent, say, or will need renewing, and how fragile anything is. And we all need to be clear about how money or barter works—how much goes to the maker, or seller if someone else handles that, how much is tithed to New Hope to support things the realm is presently paying for. I think we should apply to the King to charter a Craftsbeing’s Guild. Will you consult your kindreds and Kuriaju, and speak to Idrius? He’s the only person here who’s a guild-member, the Furtraders’, and he can explain better than I how one works. Then we can decide what we want, and send papers south when roads open.”

            She left them in what was for immortals animated discussion, pleased with the many possible benefits and the thought of Turomot’s face when those papers made it to his office. Kuriaju was at work on the look-out post but Kel found Idrius talking to weavers and seamstresses, and warned him what was coming, leaving him enthusiastically jotting down ideas. The savage beating Stenmun had given him had left nothing of the overbearing merchant Kel had once had to have stocked, and his knowledge was a resource she’d no intention of wasting.

            The storm lasted five days, dumping feet of snow, but proved the last fury of winter. Almost as soon as the north-easterly wind died away it was replaced by a mild south-westerly blowing down valley; the sky cleared and air and sunshine between them had enough warmth to start a thaw. Improved drainage showed its worth as drifts melted away, and over the next week the Greenwoods rose in roaring spate: the rapids all but disappeared beneath the flow and the ford vanished under torrents churning wildly over the rock shelf to foam through the  arches of the stone bridge. Colour returned to the valley fitfully, then in a rush as snow slid to expose grass and scrub. It was an exhilarating week, and as soon as fields started to emerge Adner had parties out to gather root-crops, with the soldiery happy to get back to guarding and patrolling.

            The thaw brought other visitors—a supply train from Mastiff to add welcome variety to their diet, trappers wanting to exchange or sell furs, and Whitelist, fulfilling Kel’s request and reporting the centaurs would move their herds out as soon as the river went down. Kel gave him some of the new food and explained the trade she was trying to cultivate. His initial wariness had ebbed, and he proved interested, going off to talk to the other immortals. On the best morning yet, the sun giving real warmth and slopes dotted with early flowers, Kel was contemplating paperwork and stroking Nari’s head when Jacut stuck a pale face around her office door, eyes wide.

            “Lady Kel, there’s a bunch of stormwings circling in the valley and one shouted they want to talk to you.”

            “Good—I’ve been hoping they’d show up.”

            “You’ve been hoping …”

            Kel grinned. “Yes. It should mean they’ve agreed to a treaty and will leave our casualties alone. Send someone for Sir Neal, please, and for Brodhelm, Quenuresh, and Var’istaan. Gatehouse roof.”

            Shaking his head he went, and Kel collected unguent from her rooms, dabbing her nose and offering it to Neal when he caught up with her as she climbed the path to the shelf.

            “What’s up, Kel?”

            “Barzha Razorwing, I hope. How’s your stormwing pregnancy care?”

            “Mithros! I’ve no idea.”

            “Well, Daine says the problem is large steel eggs and no hands, so basic stuff should make a big difference. I’ll ask Barzha to explain whatever she can, and you’ll need to make arrangements to provide, um, eggwifery as needed.”

            He was still spluttering as they emerged onto the roof, Quenuresh and Var’istaan close behind; Brodhelm was already there, and Kel passed him the unguent. In command mode she shouted for all sentries to hold fire, then went to the parapet and beckoned the immortals turning lazy circles or riding updrafts by the fin. There were at least twenty-five but only a half-dozen responded, gliding to perch on merlons—Barzha, Hebakh, the Yamani female, looking fatter, and the three who’d been with their queen at the palace. The mindless terror massed stormwings could induce flickered in Kel’s heart, but she controlled it and, thinking of Barzha’s response when they last met, gave her a short bow.

            “Greetings to you, Queen Barzha, and to you Lord Hebakh, and all of the Stone Tree Nation. Be welcome to New Hope.”

            The queen’s voice was ironic. “Greetings to you also, Protector of the Small. Being welcomed by mortals so politely is a new experience.”

            “I’m sure you’ll get used to it, Your Majesty. This is Sir Nealan of Queenscove, our chief healer, and my second, Captain Brodhelm of Frasrlund. I don’t know if you know Quenuresh and Var’istaan.”

            “Sir Nealan. You are important to us. Captain Brodhelm. Quenuresh, Var’istaan—it has been a long time.”

            Mortals, spidren, and basilisk murmured responses. Kel wondered how many immortals knew one another, but supposed if you’d spent millennia in the Divine Realms together the answer was probably most.

            “Have you decided to accept the treaty offer? I have the King’s authority to implement it.”

            “Still so direct, Protector. It is most un-mortal. Yes, we accept your offer, but only while this war lasts. What will come after none know.”

            “Excellent. I’ll have documents drawn up. If you return in three days we can make the necessary mutual oaths. Meantime, roost where you will in the valley, and I’ll give orders none molest you—pass that word, Brodhelm, with some sting. Please don’t annoy the griffins, and be aware the centaurs are using the corral but are usually at the southern end of the valley. Is there anything you need?”

            Barzha shifted, steel talons grating on the stone. “We have one with egg. Your promise of care is in part what has decided us.”

            “Right. Neal?”

            “Um … Your Majesty, I have delivered human children but never, ah, attended a stormwing. And I do not know whether my healing Gift or mortal medicines will, um, work.”

            “It should, Sir Nealan.” Quenuresh came forward. “As the healing Gift with the People, like Zerhalm’s, can be effective for spidrens, so the healing Gift for mortals should be effective for the human parts of a stormwing, or centaur. Herbs are variable—many will work but doses will need to be larger.”

            “Ah … good. What about the spiral the Green Lady gave us? Will its virtue extend to stormwings if they are, um, in labour here?”

            “That I cannot tell.”

            “You have a gift of the Green Lady?” Barzha’s surprise was evident.

            “Yes. It has virtue of the Great Goddess in it as well.”

            “She and the Goddess may aid us in this, if in nothing else.”

            “Ah, right … Then I will need to see the one who is, ah, with egg.”

            Kel decided briskness was in order. “Your Majesty, we will pray to the Green Lady for blessing. Can you arrange for the mother to talk to Sir Neal? She will need to be frank about the birth process.”

            The Yamani female cackled, breasts shaking. “I am the mother, Protector, and I have no problem being frank.” As she was, like all stormwings, naked, Kel took the point and realised what she’d thought fatness was pregnancy, though not shaped as a mortal’s would be.

            “How about clean? There’s lots of nice meltwater around.”

            Neal shot her a look of gratitude and the Yamani cackled again. “As you are being so un-mortal I will be un-stormwing and … wash!”

            All the stormwings except Barzha laughed, even Hebakh, and Neal took a deep breath, choking slightly. “When are you due, um …?”

            “Cloestra is my name. In about a month. The egg will incubate for several more before hatching.”

            “A month? How long have you, um …?”

            “I conceived immediately after Rathhausak—the best meal you have given us, Protector. I had lots of energy, as Mander found out.” She winked lewdly. “Our mating and gestation are similar to mortals’.”

            “Except you’ve no hands and it’s a steel egg.” Neal’s mutter was audible only to Kel. “Then come tomorrow afternoon, Cloestra, as clean as possible, please, I’ll see what I can do. The infirmary is the sixth building on that side.” He pointed. “I will pray to the Green Lady this evening about the spiral.”

            Barzha shifted again, scraping. “As you are honourable without oath, Protector, I offer a token also. There is a party of what appear to be Scanran refugees approaching from the north. They crossed the Vassa where you did last summer, and we observed them take care to avoid Fort Giantkiller.”

            Kel’s mind spun. “Thank you, Your Majesty. They took care to avoid Giantkiller?”

            “They hid from two patrols that we saw.”

            “Mmm. Soldiers can be frightening. Still. May I ask how many?”

            “Twelve. Three younglings. Anything more you must ask yourself, Protector.”

            “Of course. Thank you.” Kel thought it wise not to be outdone. “Before you go, Your Majesty, let me tell you Lord Diamondflame was as intrigued as you by the skullroad, and told me more of the original. He may come to see it himself, and agrees with you about the timeway.”

            Irony again ran through Barzha’s voice. “Ah. We felt him come and go. And somehow, Protector, I am unsurprised he spoke to you of a matter neither dragons nor anyone else will usually mention at all. This is an interesting time. Farewell.”

            All the stormwings dropped off the merlons, Cloestra flipping her tail rudely, and Neal let out a long-suffering groan as Quenuresh and Var’istaan hissed laughter.

            “That was well handled, Protector. You continue to surprise. The timeway must judder with the pressure you apply.”

            “Never mind that.” Neal was plaintive. “How am I supposed to deliver an egg?”

            “The same way you deliver a baby, Neal, but with no arms or legs to get jammed.” Kel had other things on her mind. “The real question is these Scanrans. Brodhelm, send someone for Zerhalm. I don’t like the sound of them avoiding Giantkiller. If they know we’ll take Scanran refugees why not make contact as soon as they could? Especially if they’ve littles. Maximum caution—two extra squads at the Gatehouse, bows and polearms. And all mages. Griffin bands, but we’ll use the Honesty Gate with purpose. Get word to squad leaders in the fields—bring them up the roadway very carefully, however pitiful they seem.”

            “At once, my Lady.”

            The Scanrans were escorted in at spear’s length by Ersen’s squad in mid-afternoon—an older man leading three men and five women, three carrying toddlers. As they started up the roadway Kel stepped out from under the lintel and back several times: there were no illusions she could detect and the group was indeed pitiable, faces pinched as she had seen at Rathhausak and obviously exhausted children being carried by—presumably—their mothers. But something in Kel remained uneasy; she didn’t know if it was a divine warning but she wasn’t going to ignore it, and by the time they reached the top of the roadway she and Zerhalm were at the other end of the barbican with spearmen and archers arrayed along its sides. Brodhelm stood behind her, Jump at her side. She had asked Zerhalm to speak first.

            “Come in under the gate lintel, please.” Kel gave no sign she understood Scanran. “It is an Honesty Gate, containing griffin magic. You must state your names and declare you mean no harm to any at New Hope, and come of your own free will, owing no allegiance to King Maggur and under no orders from him nor any lord, Scanran or Tortallan.”

            Kel was watching faces as Zerhalm spoke and saw compressed lips flicker dismay in the older man and one woman carrying a child, so she was unsurprised when the requirements beyond naming proved beyond those two. Mouths opened but the lie would not come, and she saw archers’ hands tauten.

            “Hold!”

            “Please, help us.” It was the woman who held the youngest child—no more than a year—speaking accented Common, taking a step and another. “They name you Protector of the Small. Will you protect our children?”

            “Hold fire.” Kel switched to Common. “You come intending harm, or under orders. There can be no refuge for you at New Hope.”

            The woman took another step, and Jump growled. “Yes, Maggur sent us to spy on you. He holds our families hostage.” There was no hesitation in her voice, so that was true, but she was getting closer. “But the babes are innocent. I beg you, shelter them.”

            “Stop where you are, lady. Come no closer.”

            She ignored Kel and took another few paces, holding out the baby. “Take him, please. Turn us away if you must, but take him. Save him.”

            Another step brought her within five paces of Kel and she held the child up, making him whimper. Jump’s growl deepened.

            “Take him, Protector, I beg you.”

            Four paces, three, and Kel’s instincts were screaming at her both to save the child and to back away when the woman thrust herself and the child forward, hands reaching. Kel’s arms lifted to receive him and green light flared at her wrist. Before she could remember what it meant her legs propelled her backwards, away from the hand that suddenly held a dagger, and Sergeant Olleric’s bow twanged. Whether anyone shouted Kel wasn’t sure, though she heard Jump bark: her gaze was locked on the woman as she stared dully at the shaft in her chest. The dagger dropped from a nerveless hand, clattering as blood spilled from her mouth and the child wailed; for a dreadful moment Kel thought he would fall, but the woman sank to her knees before the arm holding him relaxed and he tumbled to the ground, crying in earnest. The woman fell on her face, snapping the shaft of the arrow.

            “Gods, my Lady … she … I …”

            “It’s alright, Olleric. She offered harm and you did right. Don’t touch that dagger, Jump.”

            Not to scoop up the crying child was perhaps the hardest thing Kel had ever done; instead she extended her arm cautiously towards him, waving it back and forth. Nothing. Ignoring the child with a convulsive swallow she waved her arm over the woman’s body. Nothing. Shifting a few paces on trembling legs she held her hand over the fallen dagger and green light flared again as the stone in Numair‘s bracelet lit. Stooping, Kel peered closely , seeing the way the metal dulled at the tip.

            “The blade is poisoned. Forist, gather it using cloth and wrap it. Be very careful. That may be mage-made poison on the tip. Sir Neal or Quenuresh might tell us.” To her own ears Kel’s voice was weirdly calm and she busied herself picking up the child and trying to shush him on her hip. Then she looked at the Scanrans. The older man’s face was resigned, the others’ horrified, and she addressed him in Scanran.

            “There is no further purpose in lying. Maggur sent you to kill me?”

            He shrugged. “To spy, to do what harm we could, to kill you or any who fought at Rathhausak if we might. Freja was niece to Stenmun Kinslayer, whom you slew. She hated you with much passion.”

            Kel’s heart was frozen, her voice only cool. “Is the child hers?”

            “Yes.”

            “And the father?”

            “None knows. She was … close to her uncle, and no questions were asked when he forbade them.”

            Kel refused to think about the implications of that; no child was responsible for its parentage. “She said your families are held hostage.”

            “They are. My wife. These couples’ parents. Freja’s elder son.”

            “Will you take the child?”

            He stared at her. “Take him where?”

            “Back to Hamrkeng or wherever Maggur is.”

            “You will let us go?”

            “There is no place for you here. But we will keep the child—all the children, if you wish. They are innocents, whatever your dishonour.”

            “Dishonour?” His laugh was harsh. “There is no honour in Scanra.”

            “I know it. Zerhalm of Rathhausak knows it. That is why we will take the children. Her name was Freja Haraldsdottir, as she said?”

            “Yes.”

            “We will bury her in Haven, despoiled by the Kinslayer, and mark her stone.”

            One of the women fell to her knees. “Protector of the Small, if you will take my nephew, do so. His parents are dead. He will have a better chance here than in Maggur’s land.”

            “Give him to the nearest soldier, very carefully.” She looked at the other woman with a child. “And you?”

            “My son does not leave me.”

            “As you will. We will give you food and escort you back to the Vassa crossing. Brodhelm, detail four squads to ride out as soon as maybe,  please, and make up trail rations for ten for five days.”

            “My lady, you—”

            “Do it. Go.”

            He went.

            “You can bear a message to King Maggur. There is no entry here for his spies and assassins, no matter how many hostages he holds. All gods despise him for necromancy and the Black God gives special comfort to the children Blayce murdered. His judges await Maggur eagerly and if he is wise he will abandon his evil and do penance on his knees.”

            The Scanran’s laugh was harsh. “You think Maggur Reidarsson will listen to your fantasies of the gods?”

            The hand not holding the still whimpering child rose to Kel’s chest, tracing the gods’ circle. “I, Keladry of Mindelan, do swear I speak truth of the Black God, heard from his own lips and those of the Goddess.” Hounds belled and wind soughed, echoing in the barbican, and the Scanrans flinched. Kel saw with interest that her soldiers did not. “He will listen if he is wise or his death will be beyond imagining. Now go, grateful there is honour yet in Tortall. Sergeant Connac’s men will take you to the foot of the roadway to await escort.”

            It took a while for the escort to assemble and Kel managed to quiet the child on her hip before hardening her heart, and looking at Zerhalm.

            “Will you take them, Zerhalm, or should I ask Fanche to place them with Tortallan mothers?”

            Zerhalm’s face was wondering. “We will take them, Lady Kel, and grant them comfort of their own tongue. You are generous.”

            “They are children.”

            “I meant to the adults.”

            “More of Maggur’s victims. And their return alive, discovered before they could enter, is a better message than their deaths.”

            He bowed to her and took the little boy. Settling him on his hip, he gestured with his free arm to the soldier who held the other child. “Come, Lendor. They need food and warmth.” They left together, trying to still the children’s whimpering as their worlds spun, and Kel forced her brain to work.

            “One of you, go for Sir Neal, please. The body must be searched and wrapped for burial. Get her into the guardroom, please, Brodhelm. And beware more poisoned weapons.”

            It was an ugly task, and they found nothing save weapons—another dagger in a boot, a thin, nasty-looking knife strapped to her inner thigh, a hair-clasp and brooch with pins razor-sharp and long enough to kill, and a stoppered vial. Quenuresh, sniffing carefully, said it had no magical ingredient but was deadly.

            “I guess it is a concentrate of wolfsbane and dwale. Even a touch on the skin might kill a mortal. It should burn in the hottest smithy fire.”

            The woman’s funeral was depressing, despite sunshine. There was muttering about burying an enemy at Haven but Kel was unmoving, and the woman laid to rest beside the tauros victims. Only she spoke, naming the woman, regretting the forces of war that brought her to die at New Hope, and promising care of her son in a better future. She ended by praying the woman find the Black God’s peace all must crave beyond their deaths, and chimes sounded; soldiers who’d complained had the grace to look ashamed. A headstone Kel commissioned was put up a week later: Freja Haraldsdottir—Died March 462—A Victim of Maggur.

            There was better news regarding Cloestra. Even Neal admitted the stormwing had been remarkably clean if not scent-free when she’d come and professional interest overcame distaste. The Green Lady had responded to prayers with a vivid dream of how to check a stormwing’s egg was the right way round, and rotate it if it weren’t, and that had proven what was needed.

            “It’s like a breech birth but an egg seems more prone to rotate and they’ve no way of manipulating it except magic, which she said doesn’t work well. But any being with hands can. I almost feel sorry—half their problems could be fixed if anyone helped. You’d think someone would.”

            Kel was reminded of something Daine had hesitantly said about tauroses having constant urges, few brains, and no mates. What did one expect? And couldn’t gods arrange it better? Even Kel hadn’t been able to disagree, and listening to Neal felt her dislike of stormwings fade.

* * * * *

Vanget was less than happy with Kel’s report, scowling ferociously into the spellmirror as he listened.

            “A poisoned dagger? Assassins’ weapons? Gods. And you let ’em go?”

            “I had them escorted back to the Vassa and seen over it. I thought it might do us more good than executing people who were coerced.”

            “Maybe.” Kel had balked at the thought of executing young couples and suspected Vanget knew it. “Sir Myles might have something to say—he always wants answers. And more information would have been useful if we’re going to have to watch for fake refugees.”

            “I suppose so—but I wasn’t about to authorise torture, Vanget. Fake refugees will aim for New Hope anyway, and that the woman was Stenmun’s niece suggests personal attack, not strategy.”

            “Huh. Do you think the boy’s really his son?”

            “He’s as blond as Stenmun but so are most Scanrans. In any case, he’s an innocent.”

            “You don’t believe in apples falling close to apple trees, then?”

            “Not really. I think it’s more like the servant revealing the master. I see children here changing all the time because they’re being treated differently—they’ve more responsibilities but they’re getting a better education than most would in their villages or at Tirrsmont, and they don’t go hungry or get beaten. It’s like Kitten—Daine’s dragonet. Her grandsire says she’s more advanced than other dragonets, because living in the mortal realms she’s had to do much more much younger, and she’s met more beings. It rubs off.”

            Vanget shook his head. “Dragons. Oh well. I’ll pass word to beware trickery. We could do with an Honesty Gate like yours.”

            “I’ll ask Quenuresh to ask the griffins if they can come and do one.”

            His eyebrows rose. “Just like that?”

            “How else? They can only say no.”

            “Huh. What would they want in return?”

            “I’ve no idea, Vanget. Fish, maybe. I’ll ask. Just make sure no-one shoots at them if they do turn up—they’re a bit haughty and abrupt at the best of times.”

            He laughed. “Right you are. Now, what’s this about helmets?”

            Wyldon was equally unamused. He detoured to New Hope on his way back to Mastiff, bringing Prosper, assigned to Kel’s command, and Seaver, as well as the soldiers who’d been on leave and had fallen in with him. Owen and two new knights were assigned to Northwatch—“The lad needs experience of other commands”—but the other two, Erik of Brightleigh and Willem of Trucha, assigned to Mastiff and Steadfast, were also with the former training master. Kel gave yet another tour, in brisk mode, and didn’t recognise the heroine-worship behind their surprised looks until she left the knights with Brodhelm and Uinse to discuss how patrols were managed, and Wyldon dryly pointed it out.

            “You’re joking!”

            “Not at all, Keladry. They already envied Sir Prosper his assignment and you’ve doubled that. Quite a change from a year ago—the refugee camp being the plum.”

            She had to appreciate the irony, but the dryness left his voice when she told him about Freja Haraldsdottir.

            “Mithros! So you’ve survived two assassination attempts in as many months—one from a Tortallan and one from a Scanran. It’s a bad habit.”

            “Surviving them?”

            He gave her a severe look. “I’m glad you can be so resilient about it. I doubt you feel like that.”

            “No, it’s … wearing. And it eats at Tobe. At least the child is too young to understand, and can be comforted by simple kindness.”

            “Mmm. Still. There’s been no news of Sir Guisant or that steward, by the way—they seem to have vanished altogether.”

            “Or they’re holed up somewhere like Runnerspring or Genlith.”

            “So we think, but with Torhelm in administration a search of Runnerspring or any noble land would be, ah, ill-advised.”

            “And probably fruitless. I know. What about Tirrsmont?”

            “The enquiry began last week, and Turomot has taken your depositions into evidence with Tirrsmont’s perjury. It’s clear he falsified records to save tax on his silver, so there’s not much doubt the enquiry will find him guilty of fraud and gross maladministration, and rule refusal to shelter so many liegers in wartime constitutes breach of his liege-oath. Turomot’s minded that way on the evidence so far.”

            “Will Voelden inherit?”

            “That’s trickier, but I suspect not. He’d given a sworn statement supporting his father’s perjury, and as that’s what triggered the enquiry it doesn’t make sense to force his succession. But there’s no other lineal heir and the next is very distant so the fief will probably be dissolved. No-one’s happy about that, but there’s precedent and not much choice.”

            “So what happens to the people?”

            “I don’t know, Keladry. It’s probable the rest of the commoners will end up here—Tirrsmont’s troops are hired, not sworn, and if he can’t pay them they’ll not linger. And even without politics we won’t want to man it as well as Giantkiller. I’ve earmarked extra food for you in case.”

            “Alright, I’ll prepare for what, two hundred more people?”

            “About that, yes.”

            “We might not need much extra food, though. The winter crop’s been excellent—you’ll be surprised by my inventory next calend. The Goddess’s blessing, I believe, but whatever the reason I had thought we’d need less food from elsewhere than we have done.”

            “Well, that’s good news. Food’s the biggest cost after pay.”

            “I know. There are other good things, too.”

            She showed him helmets and told him about plans for a Guild and its egalitarian terms. He shook his head, smiling.

            “More innovations. The helmet’s fascinating, and you’re right the army will want them, and the Own, but you’ll have the guildmasters up in arms, you know. And that’s a far lower tithe than most overlords take.”

            “I’ll have them queuing for immortal business, if I get it right. And I’m no overlord but I will make New Hope less of a burden on the realm.”

            “You’ve repaid every investment in this place a dozen times over.”

            Kel noted with relief such statements didn’t make her blush any more. “Have I? Good—but that’s no reason for us not to do all we can. And there’s two things I didn’t include in the tour but you should see.”

            She took him up to the lookout post, not quite complete but with room to stand once Kuriaju and Petrin withdrew. In the sunlight the view was spectacular, rockfall traps standing out above the sparkling foam of the river’s spate, and with her spyglass a stretch of trail a good seven or eight miles down the valley was clearly visible.

            “It won’t save us from every raid, but if any large group heads our way we should have enough time to get everyone safely in. We’re still blind the other way, though. I’d like to cut steps right up the fin and get a post up there—that would really be a view!—but it’ll have to wait.”

            “I imagine.” The dryness was back in Wyldon’s voice. “This is remarkable enough. You’ve cut the tunnel up to here in one winter?”

            “Kuriaju and Petrin have.”

            “My sincere congratulations—that’s very fast work.”

            Petrin nodded awkwardly, self-conscious in the presence of a senior noble as he wasn’t with familiar Lady Kel, but Kuriaju smiled.

            “We had basilisk help, Lord Wyldon. In this limestone Var’istaan can turn a rockface the size of the tunnel into cut blocks in minutes. We have only to haul them away. The fin is harder—he can do it but more slowly and it takes much more magical power so he tires more quickly.”

            “Even so, Master Kuriaju. In Corus they’d have a dozen times the workforce and take three times as long.”

            “Perhaps they lack our incentive.”

            She took Wyldon down to where Var’istaan and others were working on the passage through the fin. Quenuresh and her kin had headed back to their wood days before and the first feet of the new tunnel had been cut. She explained what they’d found about the crack and how she planned to use the central chamber with the other possible defences.

            “Ah, good. You had me worried but that does make a difference.”

            “I thought so, though Brodhelm wasn’t happy, and that’s partly why I’m being careful about telling people—there’s no point shouting we’ve a back door. But with the bridged chamber as a lock to close the way if necessary I couldn’t pass up a chance to create a sally port—having no offensive capacity was a real limitation. We’ll need to improve the corral though, so I was wondering if Geraint and the building team might be available. We’ve plans and labour, but not expertise.”

            “I don’t see why not. Giantkiller’s finished and there’s no major project this year, though they’re doing a dozen picket stations and waypoints along the Vassa Road. We’re hoping for better intelligence on where Scanrans are crossing. But once that’s done I’ll send them along.”

            “Thank you.”

            He stayed to eat amid the glowing pillars, and she introduced Prosper to everyone as well as welcoming Seaver back and naming the new knights. Afterwards, to her surprise, Erik rather stiffly asked her permission to pray at the shrines.

            “Of course, Sir Erik.” She remembered how conscious she’d been of her title in the months after her Ordeal and saw amusement in Wyldon’s eyes at her careful use of Erik’s. “You don’t need to ask permission for that—just be careful what you pray for! The gods seem to listen rather closely here.”

            He was taken aback. “So I believe, Lady Knight. I confess that’s my hope—my father is ill. Is there a reason I shouldn’t pray for his health?”

            “Of course not. I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have been flippant. It’s something both Wildmage and Lioness have said to me, though, and I’ve learned its truth the hard way this last year. When the gods grant what you ask it’s not an easy experience. ”

            “Nor should it be, Lady Knight. I considered Mithran priesthood before training as a knight, and sound doctrine stresses the seriousness he demands and the power of his presence, at which none can laugh.”

            She could see piety in his eyes and decided not to tell him about Kitten’s scolding of the foremost Great God, but his manner grated. “I expect it does, and though I’ve never met him the power’s sure enough. I don’t know I’d say seriousness, exactly, though. The Black God and Goddess value sincerity over earnestness. And Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady laugh a lot, while the Hag has a vile sense of humour. But any person’s prayer is their own. You know your way?”

            He did, and left glancing back over his shoulder with the look of a man whose head was spinning. Neal grinned and Yuki raised an eyebrow.

            “That was wicked of you, Kel.”

            “Was it? I’m sorry about his father but he is rather earnest, and I’ve honestly seen little sign the gods value that much. They prefer wit to intensity, I think. And what would Lord Sakuyo say?”

            Wyldon’s eyes were amused but there was something else there as well that puzzled Kel. “He just needs seasoning, Lady Yukimi, as all new knights do. And I confess I was struck myself by the laughter of Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady. I’d never really thought about gods other than the tricksters having much sense of humour, but I suspect Lady Keladry is correct it is sincerity rather than earnestness that matters—Lord Mithros is a soldier, after all, and must well understand that levity need not mean disrespect.”

            As they were leaving the messhall Kel laid a hand on Wyldon’s arm. “Look—above the animal pens.”

            The magelights around the inner wall showed Peachblossom on his rounds, accompanied by Jump and looking up as a sentry called down to him that he was awake and alert and all was well.

            “He has them reporting to him? Oh, that’s good.” A chuckle escaped, drawing a startled look from Sir Willem. “Goldenlake will be amused—I had the pleasure of startling him with the tale of your newest sergeant.”

            Kel hadn’t seen Raoul since June and found herself missing him and his good humour. She said as much and Wyldon nodded.

            “I understand that. We often don’t see eye to eye but he’s a fine knight. It’ll depend how things are, but we mooted a commanders’ conference in July, at Mastiff probably, so you’ll see him then.”

            That was something to look forward to, though Kel made a note to ask Numair, if he came, about spellmirrors. She knew there was a limit to their distance, and hers linked only to Northwatch and Mastiff, but Northwatch was linked to Mastiff, as great a distance as New Hope to Steadfast. She had no time to brood on it, for no sooner had she and Brodhelm got Prosper settled in and evening training running than there were Ostara celebrations, with another fine day and mild air to put all in a mood to enjoy themselves.

            Kel made an offering of the last old crop, thanking the Green Lady for her blessing and all gods for their care. After the chimes she also took stock, praising everyone for how much had been achieved but reminding them fighting season began with spring, Maggur’s attention was on them as much as the gods’, and there might be a further influx from Tirrsmont. To the former Tirrsmonters this was welcome, but the adults knew as well as she that with every barracks full and two hundred more mouths to feed growth would be hard and there would be frictions. For the evening feast the cooks made an effort, drawing on fresh supplies and Yuki’s skill with condiments, Quenuresh came with her kin, and the crowded messhall rang with chatter and children’s laughter.

            Seated opposite her Prosper was as wide-eyed as he’d been when he arrived. Kel thought he’d coped admirably with Quenuresh but as he tried to express his astonishment at almost everything about New Hope she wondered if it was just that he had no more capacity to react.

            “I can’t get over it, Lady Kel.” Even as a page he’d been as respectful to her as to any senior, and though she’d invited him to use her bare name maintained the New Hope honorific. “I saw this valley as a boy, when we went to the City of the Gods, and there was nothing here. And though I’d heard talk of this fortress I was thinking of it as a refugee camp—but it’s like a fief, a strong one. And the immortals, and the chimes—I’ve never heard them so loud.”

            Kel smiled at him reassuringly. “I know, Prosper—it’s disconcerting, isn’t it? But you’ll get used to hearing them round here.”

            “So I gather. It’s—forgive me, it’s just so odd. You’re the last person I’d have expected to become so … well, intimate with the gods. It’s as if they’re friends, but you were always the very opposite of god-touched. That was the Lioness with her mercurial temper—you were completely practical and always calm, down-to-earth, and everyone knew she was forbidden to see you to make sure it stayed that way.”

            “Everyone except me, Prosper. No-one bothered to tell me that until Neal spilled it in my second year.” Even after all this time it still rankled—Alanna could have taught her a great deal she needed, and none of it would have had anything to do with gods or magic.

            “Oh. I didn’t know that, but I suppose one’s always the last to know about something concerning oneself. It seems that way.”

            “Yes, it does. But don’t envy me the gods’ attention, Prosper. I’m beginning to realise they see us much as most people see animals, and being noticed by them is a bit like being a mule selected for a bad winter journey over high passes. We speak of them loving us as parents but it’s more the way a drover loves his stock, and both involve beatings.”

            He gave her a strange look. “What do I know, Lady Kel? But I almost wonder if they’ve chosen you because you’re so practical. A good drover respects his mules, too—else he gets kicked.”

            Kel laughed. “Well that’s comforting. It’s good to have you here, Prosper, and not just as a good fighter with the Gift, useful as that is.”

            “Thank you. It’s good to be here—I’ve hoped to serve with you ever since you showed me what command is that day with the hillmen. If Faleron and Owen were here we’d all be together again.”

            The simple statement stayed in Kel’s mind. At the time she’d been so absorbed in her reaction to having killed men and the need not to disparage Neal or Faleron as older pages who’d frozen that she’d never noticed the effects on Owen and Prosper. She’d come to terms with command what seemed long ago—no choice—but commanding friends was odd, and if she could handle those under her command becoming friends the other way round was more difficult. When Tobe asked her one night as he was brushing Jump what she was brooding about she tried to explain what she felt, and how peculiar it was, but he shrugged.

            “The first time I ever saw you, Ma, you came down on old Alvik like a smith’s hammer. He’s older and bigger and no friend to anyone but that made no odds. People obey you, whoever they are. Even that Council and the King, sort of. Why should friends be different?”

            She protested, to no avail—to him as much as Prosper her command was how things were, infinitely preferable to how they had been. But she spent time next day at the shrines, wondering what she meant to ask for and in the end simply praying that she be able to keep doing whatever it was she was doing right. There was no response but a sense of amusement from Lord Sakuyo and she left more cross than comforted.

            She couldn’t keep it up for long, though, with the trickster’s day at the beginning of April. Left to her own devices Kel might not have introduced that particular festival to New Hope, but Yuki had told the children about famous pranks, and they were enthusiastic. So too were many adults who had heard Sakuyo and thought it wise to propitiate any god with such a laugh, so Kel had to go along, starting the day with the proper phrases and poems in his praise. Thereafter there was a deal of silliness, mostly among children but with several good jokes among adults. Uinse and Jacut between them managed to convince Merric one of his eyes had changed colour, sending him worriedly to Neal, and Mikal revealed a deadpan streak by ordering his duty squads to wear a bright yellow ribbon all day in the god’s honour before exploding with laughter at the looks on their faces. The prize, though, went by popular acclaim to Amiir’aan, who during the afternoon managed to craft in the surface of the main level a set of dragon tracks—large dragon tracks—that showed the beast landing and entering the messhall before going to the privies and taking off again. Only when the adults crowding excitedly round them realised he was as convulsed with laughter as anyone had ever seen a basilisk did they realise they’d been had, and Kel was asked by so many people to let the tracks stay that she agreed despite the puddles they’d create when it rained.

            And it seemed Lord Sakuyo must approve, for two days later visitors arrived. Master Orman’s man, a Port Caynn trader called Barin, was not a surprise, though his promptness was pleasing, but the company he was keeping was another matter. Kel had been astonished to see a squad of samurai warriors and another of the Own escorting a Yamani noble and horse-drawn cart towards the moatbridge, but Yuki took one look and left at a run, shouting over her shoulder it was the second kamunushi of Lord Sakuyo. Kel didn’t have time to change herself but managed to get an honour guard in place to greet Lord Kiyomori. His first request was to give thanks for preservation on his journey, and while he didn’t add ‘among barbarians’ Kel heard it plainly.

            As they passed the infirmary, the samurai in tow and an increasing number of surprised people watching, Yuki emerged in fullest fig to offer a deep bow and bring proper Yamani protocol to proceedings. Kiyomori was no more than ordinarily polite, but after he’d seen the shrines, praying and cautiously making the same spell as Takemahou-sensei, with similar results, he became quite deferential, to Kel’s mild annoyance and Yuki’s considerable amusement. His mission was to deliver hundreds of small brooches, deep green jade set in gold, that marked Sakuyo’s Blessed, and he solemnly presented them amid much bowing at a lengthy ceremony before supper that left everyone eager for food. Kel, by this stage in kimonos, kept her remarks short but impressed on people the honour they were being done and how seriously the Yamanis took it; more discreetly she had Brodhelm, Uinse, Fanche, and Zerhalm make it clear to their respective commands that pawning the brooches or otherwise parting with them would Be Unwise, adding a promise that if anyone reached such a point of need she’d make them a loan herself.

            It was the contents of the cart and the accompanying message that really astonished, though—one hundred glaives, not as fine as her own but of serious quality, with a message from the Emperor in his own exquisite calligraphy begging their acceptance as a token of his deep respect for the citadel of Sakuyo’s Blessed and his prayers for their safety in war. Keiichi had suggested this might happen but Kel hadn’t believed him, and faced with the evidence still had trouble crediting it: the glaives were worth a fortune but it was the personal message that floored her, for in Yaman only the highest of high nobles would ever receive such a scroll and it would be a treasure of their house. Yuki was less surprised, reminding Kel Shinko had been present when Sakuyo laughed and would have informed her uncle in detail of what had happened; a samurai Kel managed to get to open up a little confided that news of the god’s laughter had not only caused much amazement but been understood by all—even the fiercest doubters—as unequivocally blessing the controversial Tortallan alliance. That at least was a politics Kel could understand, but she was hard-pressed to know how to reply, and after several efforts became exasperated with herself, composing simple thanks for imperial notice and benevolence and feeling inspired to add a haiku:

The emperor’s glaives
in the morning at New Hope—
petals of Blessing.

Yuki gave delighted approval, twitting Kel and Neal over her emergence as a poet, and as Kel’s calligraphy was at best indifferent wrote the scroll for her on the best parchment she could find.

            Master Barin was a different kettle of fish. However impressed by New Hope and Kel herself he was politely noncommittal about trade and seemed dubious of their ability to produce anything of quality. His attitude changed as he saw how they’d used spidren webbing, and when Kel took him to meet Quenuresh; the helmets also intrigued him but the real shift came when he saw basilisks at work. The dinner services Kel had commissioned had been made—just—but not petrified, and Barin was able to watch St’aara do so, not with the great rumbling shriek of the rock spell but a sound like handfuls of pebbles rattling down an infinite slope that finessed thin, polished wood into translucent stone while preserving grains and whorls. When Kel explained who the services were for and why Lord Imrah was receiving one, blandly adding a request that he arrange transport and present them on New Hope’s behalf, his delight in their beauty was joined by respect, compounded when she sat him down with Idrius and Kuriaju to discuss terms and the fact that the deal would—assuming a royal charter—be with the Craftsbeings’ Guild.

            With her promise of escort to Mindelan and a letter to get him priority service there he stayed several days longer than Lord Kiyomori, impressing Kel by his willingness to speak to Quenuresh again. He also spent time with Idrius, emerging with a rueful look after making concessions he hadn’t intended, and by the time he left with Connac’s squad, a train of packhorses, and the services packed carefully in crates alongside bundled webbing and a helmet he had become quite proprietary about the success of the whole thing. He also took her smoke-ruined finery, promising to see it safely delivered.

            When Connac returned two weeks later he bore letters from Anders, Vorinna, Inness, and Tilaine that didn’t know what to say about news they’d had of Kel but expressed affection, and escorted her new private clerk. Heliana was all her father had promised, and as army mails, resuming with spring, had brought a vast bundle of letters forwarded from the Palace and her parents’ townhouse she welcomed the young woman with open arms. It meant an embarrassing discussion about requests and yet another proposal, but after a few days refining Heliana’s grasp of what Kel was interested to see, and what she wanted answering with no more trouble than a signature, they got on well.

            As spring warmed and ploughing gathered momentum Kel felt considerable satisfaction. The lookout post was finished, the tunnel making progress, glaive training under way, and her paperwork under better control than ever, the personal burden infinitely reduced and even official material crossing her desk better organised and more swiftly filed or despatched. Troubles enough would come, but New Hope was ever readier to deal with them.

Chapter Text

Chapter Fourteen — Impairment

April–May

In mid-April Kel was notified by Duke Turomot that Sir Arnolf, Lord of Tirrsmont, had been found to have committed perjury, oathbreach, and theft from the Crown, amounting to capital treason; that Sir Voelden was denied right of succession on grounds of perjury and complicity in treasonable theft; and that, absent any clear claim, Fief Tirrsmont was dissolved. A letter from her parents described evidence that had piled up, an avalanche of complaints from people who’d left Tirrsmont before the war and merchants with unpaid bills and records of purchases in silver bars revealing the scale of fraud perpetrated on the Crown. She shouldn’t worry, they concluded, about her part in events, even the stickiest conservatives and those most unhappy about striking a fief from the Book of Silver being unwilling to defend Sir Arnolf. Torhelm, however, refused written communication, his son and steward were at large, and his fief continued in royal administration with neighbouring lords casting covetous eyes.

            Kel read the notice at dinner and did nothing to check celebrations by those who’d suffered most from their sometime lord’s selfish incompetence; but if she had no sympathy for Arnolf or Voelden she was deeply uneasy all the same. Her parents hadn’t mentioned Lords Burchard or Carolan, and while she had to accept their judgement that there’d be no widespread trouble she knew Genlith and friends would blame her for ‘starting’ the problem, and in Runnerspring’s case at least seek to do her whatever harm he could compass. Nor was her worry helped by a third document, a grand scroll from the King, appointing Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan, Protector of the Small, Commander of New Hope, to his Council. This she also had to read out, and whether the cheers or the astonishment on the faces of her friends was the more disconcerting she couldn’t have said.

            She tried to slip away after the meal but Neal and Yuki trailed her to her rooms and she had little choice but to let them in and serve Yamani tea. As she settled, having made sure Yuki was comfortable, Neal considered her with bafflement.

            “Kel, why aren’t you happier? I know you wouldn’t triumph in anyone’s fall except Maggur’s but you must be pleased to be rid of that appalling man and his son. And a second Mindelan seat on the Council—gods! The haMinches only have two because Lord Padraig’s Training Master. You must be the youngest member by decades.”

            “Lady Maura of Dunlath’s only two years older than me.”           

            “Does she have a seat?”

            “She was given it when she came of age because of the treaty at Dunlath. That’s what mine’s about too—Quenuresh more than anything.”

            “And killing Stenmun and Blayce and rescuing everyone and creating New Hope and what you did with the Chamber and returning from the dead and smiting Torhelm and from what my father says though you somehow omitted to mention it taking a glaive to the political logjam that’s held everything up for two decades pretty much the same way you took one to Blayce and Stenmun.”

            “Did he breathe during that, Yuki?”

            “I don’t think so. He often forgets. But I am puzzled also, Kel. You have done marvellously well. It is right to be proud, and no-one would think ill of you for it.”

            Kel let blandness slip. “Oh wouldn’t they? The children and I spent our whole time in Corus when we weren’t in a spelled room wearing jerkins and bracelets to detect poison, both of which have proven necessary or I’d be properly dead. I can’t think of anything that would enrage people like Runnerspring more than this, and I wish the King had waited.” She waved a hand impatiently. “But it’s not even that, really, though I resent the threat to the children more than I can say.”

            “But who has threatened them, Kel?” Yuki was honestly puzzled.

            “Remember what happened to Lalasa, Yuki. Joren thought it beautifully logical to hurt someone else in order to hurt me, and I’ve no doubt Freja would have killed Tobe or Irnai if she’d had the chance.”

            “She has a point, Yuki. Joren was no better than Maggur. But if it’s not that, Kel, what is it?”

            “Nothing. Everything.”

            “Which?”

            “Both. I don’t mind killing a nightmare and his dog, though I’m sick of killing anyone, but I have very mixed feelings about killing a fief, which is what a lot of people will say and more will think, as they say I killed Joren and struck down Torhelm—even you, just now. And however necessary executing Tirrsmont might be, dissolving a fief is dangerous. There’ll be a deal of disquiet.” She took a breath. “And it’s not really that either. At bottom, Neal, it’s because it makes me all too aware I’m fighting on two fronts. Do you remember, as a page, being on the same team as Quinden in a fight? Having to double-think everything because he couldn’t be trusted? Well, scale it up. Way, way up, and climbing all the time. And then there’s this wretched timeway nonsense no mortal can understand—I have no idea how something like this affects it, and nor does the King, so unless a god or a dragon chooses to say something I have to ignore it and do whatever seems right, or nothing, though it might prove ruinous. It makes my head hurt. And my heart.”

            There was a long silence, broken by Yuki.

            “Keladry-chan, I could not begin to do what you do, and I can see it is hard, but I have been here six months now and I do know why people trust and follow you. Yes, you are a natural leader—you draw the best from people for their own safety, and they know it—and you work astonishingly hard, but it is more. They think you do the right thing even when there is none, and you are surprised. Most of all with the rescue—a madness, going alone into Scanra, that drew others after and changed everything—but also in creating New Hope, agreeing with Quenuresh and all the immortals, and in what happened in Corus. Some think it is the gods acting through you, some that they only bless what you do, but all trust your instincts, not just your decisions. And clearly the King and the Emperor do also. You do so yourself—you just don’t like it.”

            Neal looked at his wife admiringly and back at Kel. “Seconded. When those hillmen jumped us, Kel, you had no more warning than any of us but you knew what we had to do. You still do.”

            “That was just tactics, Neal—there wasn’t any cover except the cliff. This is strategy in fog.”

            “Even so, Keladry-chan. In fog we still must go one way or another, and we trust your choice.”

            Kel looked at her friend, bafflement warring with pride and pain. “I know, Yuki-chan, but it scares me and things like this make me feel I’m just blundering along. Tirrsmont came huffing and puffing and my instincts said not to let him get away with anything, so I refused him entry—and Tortall is shaken in ways I never even imagined.”

            “But that is the point, Keladry-chan. You did as you thought right when most would bow to a blustering noble, and it was right—unforeseen events spiralled from it that are good. A justice none expected. Crimes that were not known exposed and punished. For one who is unhappy, a hundred are pleased. As is the King, who rewards you and makes clear his trust. You need only go on doing what seems right. None can do more and you must not do less.”

            “Seconded again, Kel. Double-guessing yourself never helps. Gods know I don’t envy you command—being in charge of patients is bad enough—but I’m glad it’s you.” Neal was uncharacteristically grave. “I still think of the ten-year-old page who taught us all what’s still the best lesson on the heart of chivalry I’ve ever learned, and for everything that’s happened since I don’t think that’s changed at all.”

            She threw up her hands. “Fine. I’ll lead us all off a cliff together. Thank you both—I’m not ungrateful, I just feel like I’m up Balor’s Needle again. Let’s hope it’s the tree from my Ordeal instead.”

            “What tree? Are you allowed to talk about your Ordeal?”

            “We all are, Neal. It’s not a rule, just custom based on shame at our own fears. The elemental said it didn’t care what anyone said about what it did, and the tree it made me climb was one I had to let go of.” She explained the opposition in her mind between grimly hanging on to Lalasa and Jump as she brought them down the Needle and grimly letting go of the violently swaying tree high above the elemental’s plain.

            “My Ordeal wasn’t like that—just enduring what it threw at me.”

            “Oh it did that as well, as it did every time I touched the door. I expect it wanted to try something new.”

            “It is interesting, though. Neal gets more frustrated than you—sometimes he needs to hang on. And it seems right you should sometimes have to let go. Let this go now, Keladry-chan.”

            “Easier said than done, Yuki, but I’ll try.”

            She wasn’t sleeping badly, though her dreams were often anxious and visited by men she’d killed, but nagging worry wouldn’t leave her. She wasn’t sure if it was Tortallan treachery or Scanran assault she feared most, or the politics that clutched her ever tighter, but either way the answer was work. There wasn’t a great deal more she could do, especially with her paperwork already in order, but when demands of the fields left tunnellers short-handed she helped haul stone, marvelling at the way Var’istaan cut it. Steadily the tunnel deepened, and Brodhelm’s surveying suggested they had perhaps six hundred feet to go, so they might hope to finish sometime next winter. She also threw herself into glaive classes, insisting on proper pattern dances and seeing the women’s frustrations ebb as they began to realise the benefits. At month’s end she did her inventory, with satisfaction at the figures for food, and that afternoon found herself summoned to the lookout. One glance through her spyglass at the sorry column plodding up valley was enough.

            “It’s the Tirrsmonters. We’d best get moving.”

            The barracks had been prepared but cooks groaned as they started peeling and chopping again and the reality was worse than anyone expected. The shambling, limping people escorted by tight-faced Ownsmen were thin and afraid, the vulnerable among them too often ill. There was resentment in faces, directed at everything but especially Kel, that intensified when they had to pass the Honesty Gate and make their statements, and some hysteria from both children and adults when they saw Amiir’aan and some ogres. From the wails of frightened children Kel began to grasp what they believed might happen—what they must have been told happened at New Hope—and had to lock her Yamani mask on while she reassured them.

            Five squads of the Own’s First Company were commanded by Ettenor of Aili, a nephew of Harailt who’d succeeded Glaisdan, and to Kel’s surprise he assumed her seniority, reporting with a crisp salute.

            “The King sent us to Tirrsmont to proclaim the fief dissolved, my Lady. Sir Voelden accompanied us with that so-called captain, but when we arrived most of the hired troops had vanished, days back according to the steward. It took them a while to realise we really weren’t going to stay and if they wanted defending they’d have to come here, and the steward and his cronies were adamant they’d have nothing to do with you until we actually pulled out yesterday morning. He’s that balding fellow—Lasner’s his name. Sir Voelden stayed—holed up in his apartments—and a couple of men with him. Otherwise Tirrsmont is now deserted.”

            “Did you strip it? You seem to have a lot of carts and horses.”

            “We’ve seized any valuables we could find, including the former lord’s horses—His Grace of Wellam’s judgement included a huge fine for fraud—and any weapons we saw. Those are yours if you want them, my Lady, though it’s a sorry trove—rusty mail and blunt swords.”

            “We can always melt them down. What about livestock?”

            He frowned. “We left it, my Lady. No orders to do otherwise and it would have meant at least one more night on the road.”

            “And horses you didn’t take?”

            “Turned ’em loose in the pastures, my Lady.”

            “The animals must be retrieved.” She gave crisp orders and sent word to Adner to detail herdsman for an immediate trip to Tirrsmont. When she turned back Ettenor was frowning.

            “I see I erred, my Lady. Is livestock that short, then?”

            “It’s in demand, Captain, but there are other considerations. It would feed or mount Scanrans as well, and you can be sure they’ll investigate Tirrsmont soon enough. There’s also the Wildmage to think of—she’s as hard-hearted about farm animals as anyone but doesn’t like needless suffering, and we rather depend on her up here. For some of these people stock represented a large part of their wealth, and we’re going to need them in as good heart as possible.” She hesitated. “Your command and orders are your own, Captain, but I will say that if you were worried about being on the road at night you could have contacted me—I’d have sent squads and herders to assist, and as a large party you’d be unlucky to be attacked this early in the year.”

            He was chastened. “It’s the first time I’ve come north since I was given the First, my Lady, and I hadn’t realised how substantial a command this is. Asking you for assistance never occurred to me.”

            “There’s Giantkiller, too. But no matter—we’ll retrieve the animals and check for anything we can use. Meantime, Sir Merric will see your men sorted for the night, and give them a run-down of standing orders. I expect you’ll be able to persuade him to give you a tour.”

            She could feel temper bubbling, as much with the King for giving inadequate orders as anything, and wanted to let the arrivals know their livestock would follow. Some responded to the announcement but she could still sense bitterness, and fear that puzzled her; she put it down to being displaced and not understanding the strength of New Hope until her straightforward statement of standing orders about rosters and training was greeted with jeers from a group of young men standing near Lasner. A ringleader stepped forward.

            “An’ what if we don’t wanna do all that, eh? You gonna kill us?”

            “Kill you? Of course not. Why ever would you think such a thing? Capital punishment is reserved for capital charges, here as everywhere in Tortall, and if you’ve been told otherwise you were misled. But neither my standing orders nor work rosters and training sessions are choices, I’m afraid, for you or anyone. Even children train here—and the rules are for your safety, as you’d realise if you bothered to think. Refusing’s not an option you have any more.”

            “Or what?”

            She frowned. “Or scouring armour, latrine duty, a day in the stocks, confinement on bread and water, and in the end, if you really demand to freeload on everyone else, you’ll find yourself outside the gates.”

            “Kick us out and keep the monsters? You can’t do that.”

            “Yes I can, and there are no monsters here. This is a military camp, and though you’re subject to the laws of the realm, not the army code, unless we’re under attack, you are under discipline. Which as I’m the commander means my orders. But why are we having this conversation? You’ve been here less than two hours and you’re refusing to participate in basic routines? What is your problem?”

            Lasner came up beside the youth. “You slander our Lord to death and have us thrown out of our lawful fief and you dare ask us what our problem is? You may call yourself a commander but you’re—”

            Kel wasn’t doing this again. “Watch your mouth, Master Lasner. Your thoughts are your own but you’ll observe courtesy here. Now, you accuse me of slandering Sir Arnolf, who is no longer your lord nor anyone’s—is that what Sir Voelden told you? And you believed him?”

            “He does not lie.”

            “Really? Will you take a gods’ oath you’ve never known Sir Voelden utter untruth? No? Well, I will tell you what I know and back it with a gods’ oath that I speak truth.”

            She did, scrupulously distinguishing what she had witnessed from report and naming sources, from the gates of New Hope to the Council chamber and official notification. When she made the circle and chimes sounded the steward’s face paled, as did others’.

            “So now you know. You may have loved your lord, or feared him. It doesn’t matter. He perjured himself to court and Council, even after the King warned him it wouldn’t be tolerated. He defrauded the realm and he failed you—all of you, or you wouldn’t be here and your neighbours and friends wouldn’t have been here most of a year already. I know it’s hard and you’re all tired and upset but ask them before you decide. You’ll find them two and three barracks up from you—see how they’re faring before you reckon up the lies you’ve been told.”

            She left them abashed with some looking thoughtful, and hoped she’d nipped the problem in the bud. At dinner, now taken in shifts, Petrin sought her out and told her that from what he could make out they’d been told all manner of nonsense.

            “There was slanders of you, Lady Kel, like that fool Tirrsmont said when he was here, but also nightmare stuff—that our immortals ate people and did unspeakable things, gods know what. Anyone with any sense knew it had to be rubbish, but it got hammered in, I’m afraid, and Steward Lasner and his gang said it all over again twice as loud if anyone disagreed. They’re realising, but it’ll take time.”

            “I thought it must be something like that. Thank you, Petrin. And Lasner’s no steward now, though I’ll grant him ‘master’ in courtesy. I’d be glad if you and other former Tirrsmonters who’ve been here a while can do all you can to set them straight. The young man who challenged me was … a sort I’ve known make real trouble for others, and he called our immortals monsters.”

            “Yes, there’s a lot of fear about that. I can’t blame them, exactly, Lady Kel—Kuriaju’s as nice a being as you could meet, and after working with him these months I’m proud to call him friend. But the first time I saw a ten-foot ogre looking down at me my stomach churned, I don’t mind admitting. I’ve still to take a breath if I’ve to speak to Quenuresh, for all I know she’s no threat while I respect her and her kin.”

            “I know, Petrin. Try it with half-a-dozen stormwings or an eighty-five-foot dragon sometime.”

            He swallowed. “I’d as soon not, Lady Kel, if it’s all the same to you.”

            “Alright.” Her smile faded. “But while I’ll give them time to adjust, I’ll not stand hostility to our immortals. Every one of them has worked to build New Hope, and anyone moving in has to accept that. I cannot jeopardise the treaties, and won’t. I did tell them, but young men aren’t good at listening, so please do what you can to make sure they know it.”

            “I have and I will, Lady Kel, but I think you’re right to fear trouble of that kind. Difference brings out the worst in folk.”

            He and all the old-hand former Tirrsmonters did their best, and Kel made sure they were free to act as mentors as integration began. She circulated, with Jump and Nari, trying to make herself approachable with more success among children than adults. Neal, Morri, and Temon, Company Fourteen’s healer, made visible inroads into suspicion and mistrust by working to help ill children and elders, and beginning a programme of examination and treatment that as with the convict soldiers had Neal fuming. Tirrsmont’s care of those loyal to him had not included much in the way of mage services, and Neal swore there were adults who’d barely seen a healer in their lives yet suffered from one or another minor condition that could easily have been treated but, untreated, had become anything from uncomfortable to life-threatening.

            “Healers cost money, Neal, and Tirrsmont’s luxury came first.”

            “Gods! He should be … well, he has been, I suppose. Or will be. But he should be all over again.”

            “Oddly, I know what you mean.”

            “I wish I could feed him to Cloestra, Kel. She needs the meal and he deserves to be it.” Surprised at the real rancour in his voice Kel quirked an eyebrow. “There’re people who were scared of me, Kel—of any healer. Gods know what lies they’d been fed but anyone who does such a thing deserves hanging. It’s tyrannous, malicious, and plain dim.”

            Kel let him vent, not disagreeing but feeling beyond new fury at revelations of what lords like Tirrsmont did, and wondering what healer services for commoners were like at Stone Mountain, Genlith, or Runnerspring. It wasn’t only attracting and paying for healers that mattered but a fief’s attitude to hedgewitches among its population, and the cult of the Gentle Mother had been against women training in any form of the Gift—oddly to Kel’s mind, as it meant they shouldn’t become midwives, but then that whole cult was odd.

            The arrival of the livestock and restoration to its owners, so people got credit for what went to the cooks and the labour of horses, helped, but Kel knew there were two problems. One was general fear induced by falsehoods, and that was decreasing as people saw mortals and immortals talking, working and eating together. The other was malice towards her, and by extension New Hope, harboured by the former steward and younger men associated with him. That had less to do with lies, though they had played a part in creating it, than with loss of status, habituation to having authority, and need for someone to blame—and on the third evening it blew wide open.

            Kel was leading glaive practice when a sound she’d never heard brought her whipping round to see Amiir’aan stagger backwards from a barrack doorway, paws to head. Even before the stone clattered to the ground she was snapping orders.

            “You, get Sir Neal, you, Zerhalm, you, St’aara and Var’istaan. Run. The rest of you, get everyone out of that barracks now, at glaive point if necessary, in a group out here.” She was half-way to Amiir’aan, voice rising to battle mode. “Move, people.”

            Her arms went round the basilisk as they would round any injured youngling, lifting him as the armed women headed for the doorway, faces tight with anger. Nari landed on her shoulder, peeping anxiously.

            “Amiir’aan, are you alright? Let me see. Gently, now. You’re safe. Let me look.”

            He took his paws away and she could see oozing silver blood and a dark swelling spreading from the wound across his pebbled skin. She reached for a clean handkerchief, gently staunching blood.

            “It hurts, Lady Kel, but I think I am alright. I almost caught the stone but I was taken by surprise.”

            She saw one paw was bruised too, though not bleeding. Rage filled her as people began to be herded out of the barracks. “Of course you were, sweeting. Anyone would be. Did you see who threw the stone?”

            “A boy, I think, but I did not see clearly. I am sorry.”

            “Don’t you be sorry for anything, Amiir’aan. We’ll find out who it was and what happened.”

            Neal arrived at a run and took over cleaning the wound as she held Amiir’aan, who hissed pain but made no complaint. St’aara arrived, with Zerhalm and Var’istaan not far behind, and Kel explained what she’d seen. St’aara’s whispering voice held anger and sadness.

            “May I see, Sir Nealan? Ah, that is not too bad. He will be alright.”

            “My Gift’s no use to a basilisk, St’aara, but I can stitch the wound. Zerhalm, can you do anything?”

            “I do not know. May I try, St’aara?”

            Permission granted, Zerhalm rested hands on Amiir’aan’s head and closed his eyes. “I cannot knit flesh, as for one of the People, but I can sense no deeper injury and some magic has been absorbed.”

            “The swelling’s down, Zerhalm.” Neal was watching closely. “And the bleeding’s stopped. I think a bandage might be enough, but I don’t know anything about basilisk healing.”

            “We are strong, Sir Nealan, and our bones do not break easily. It would heal faster in the Divine Realms but it will be only a few days even here. I thank you all for your care of my son.”

            “It’s the least we could do, St’aara, and we’re going to find out who threw that stone and why. Amiir’aan, sweeting, what did you need here?”

            “I wanted to make friends and show them we are not dangerous, as they seem to think.”

            “Oh sweeting, I know. They’ve been told all sorts of silly lies. Here, you go to your ma. Nari, stay with him?” St’aara stooped to steady him, Nari fluttering to his shoulder, and Kel stood, finding Brodhelm, Merric, Mikal, and Uinse had been drawn by her shout; Fanche and Saefas stood a few feet away. “And the lies are no excuse for this. Someone’s going to pay. With me, all of you.”

            She strode to the group forcibly evacuated from the barracks, unsurprised to see Lasner as well as the young troublemaker and his friends among them. The armed women and the growing crowd ringing them fell silent, openly hostile.

            “Who threw that stone?” Feet shuffled but no-one came forward. “Alright, we’ll do it the hard way. Each of you will stand under the Honesty Gate and whoever cannot deny it will be known. Get them moving.”

            “It was Chervey.” A woman stepped forward, pushing at her neighbour’s hand on her arm. “Why should we all suffer for his stupidity, Ana? It was Chervey.” She pointed to a gangly boy of twelve or thirteen, fright etched on his face.

            “You, Chervey, come here. Come here.” Though her mind was clear Kel was as angry as she had ever been and her voice cracked command; it would have taken a stronger will than Chervey’s to disobey and he took a halting step. Impatient, she closed the distance in two long strides. “There’s no point lying. Did you throw that stone at Amiir’aan? Did you?”

            Mutely he nodded, terror on his face. She kept her voice level.

            “Why?”

            “It’s a monster.”

            “Amiir’aan is not a monster. He’s a basilisk and a child. Look at him with his mother—he’s young, and he was doing you no harm. Why did you throw a stone at him now?”

            He hung his head but she saw his eyes dart sideways, and the smirk on the young troublemaker’s face.

            I am a lake a lake a lake. “Chervey, look at me.” She turned his head with strong fingers. “Did someone tell you to throw it? Or encourage you? Do I have to take you to the Honesty Gate?”

            The force of her gaze squeezed the answer out of him. “Gothas.”

            She swung to the young man. “You’re Gothas?” He said nothing and she looked at Lasner. “Is he?”

            “Yes, that’s Gothas.” He swallowed. “My lady.”

            “And where are Chervey’s parents?”

            “Dead, my Lady. Killed last year.”

            “Who looks after him?’

            “No-one, really, my Lady. He’s been scrounging where he can.”

            “Gods, what is wrong with you people? Did you encourage Gothas in this, Lasner? I will know if you lie.”

            He drew himself up. “I did not. I dislike what has happened and make no secret of it, but I did not tell Gothas to attack anyone.”

            She believed him and gazed at the smirking youth. “So, Gothas, you decided on your own to tell a boy to stone a child. Why?”

            “I didn’t.”

            “Swear that by gods’ oath and I’ll believe you.”

            He sneered. “I’m not answering you. You’ve no power over me.”

            “Wrong, Gothas. If you dare not deny it by gods’ oath I’ll hold you guilty of instigating this attack. Last chance.”

            “You do what you like, monster’s bitch. Those things have no place among men.”

            “Wrong again, Gothas, formerly of Tirrsmont.” Her anger was ice and her voice deadly calm. Gothas tried to step back but people behind closed ranks. “For your actions you will spend a week in the secure cell on bread and water. At the end of that week you will apologise on your knees to Amiir’aan and St’aara and spend three months on latrine duty. Or remain confined until peace comes, as a danger to this community and to far more than you understand. Brodhelm, Uinse, take him to the cell.”

            Those behind pushed Gothas forward, and he was frog-marched off, shouts fading as he disappeared from view. The silence was painful.

            “Now, we need some lessons here. Chervey, listen very carefully. How old are you?”

            His face crumpled. “Fifteen.”

            He looked younger and Kel had an appalling vision of a life as stunted as his growth. “Do you understand what you risked, because a bully told you to do something vile? Attacking any immortal that isn’t attacking you is as stupid as it gets. Let me show you.”

            She took from her pocket one of the apples she kept for Peachblossom and held it for him to see, then above her head.

            “An ordinary apple, see?” She took a bite and swallowed, then held out her hand with the apple balanced on it. “Var’istaan, would you be kind enough to petrify it, please?”

            “It would be safer if I held it, Protector.”

            “I trust you, Var’istaan—I’ve seen your craftwork.”

            His look was unfathomable. “Very well.” He stooped, angling his snout until it was precisely aligned with the apple from below. The thin shrieking amid clattering pebbles of the rock spell hurt her ears but she didn’t flinch as grey flooded away the apple’s colour and its weight rose abruptly; she felt the coolness of stone.

            “Thank you, Var’istaan. Feel this, Chervey.” She tossed it and he caught it by reflex, gaping. “Solid stone, my bite-mark preserved. Let others see and feel—pass it round. If you attack a basilisk, Chervey, it’s going to defend itself. Only Amiir’aan’s self-control means you’re not stone right now. And while Var’istaan’s shown how precise a basilisk can be, any being defending itself against sudden attack isn’t going to be worrying about precision. If Amiir’aan had rock-spelled you, as he had every right once you attacked him, he could have caught other people too. You didn’t just risk yourself, Chervey. You risked everyone by you.”

            She spoke to him directly but pitched her voice to carry.

            “Second thing. If you’re fifteen, you’re responsible for what you do. You could have killed Amiir’aan, and if you had you’d hang. Gothas too. Have you seen anyone hanged?”

            “Bandits.” His voice was a whisper. “Scanrans the Lord captured.”

            “Then you know what you risked. And for what? Because an idiot told you to hurt a child and you had no wit or courage to refuse. So now we have a problem.” She looked round. “St’aara, what justice do you require of Chervey?”

            Her look was as unfathomable as Var’istaan’s. “I am content to leave it to you, Protector. You care for us all.”

            “Are you sure?”

            “Yes.”

            “Very well. Thank you. Amiir’aan, is there justice you require?”

            “I wish to understand why he attacked me. I wanted only to say hello to people and to see if there was anything I could do to help them.”

            “Alright. Then here it is, Chervey. You’re going to do three things. First, apologise to Amiir’aan, right now, so everyone can hear. Clear? Good. Second, go with him and St’aara and Sir Neal to the infirmary, and see what you did, explain to him why you did it, and think about the fact the only reason you’re not dead right now is because he didn’t attack you, even when you attacked him. Anything he asks, you answer. Clear?” He nodded, beginning to look shamefaced rather than terrified. It was a start. “Third, if Var’istaan, Kuriaju, and Petrin are willing, for the rest of the week you’re going to work with them on the tunnel. You ask them questions, and they ask you questions back. Var’istaan?”

            “I am willing, Protector, and I am sure others will be. This is a good solving, and I thank you for your wisdom.”

            She marvelled at the basilisks’ calm. If the positions were reversed she doubted many mortals could do as well. “No thanks are needed, Var’istaan, and many apologies due. We start with Chervey’s.”

            It wasn’t much of an apology but the boy stammered something and Amiir’aan’s natural grace and friendliness spared him further blushes.

            “I accept, Chervey, but I want to understand why you felt I threatened you. Come with us, as the Protector commands, and tell me.”

            “Neal, escort him? Thank you.”

            Neal gripped Chervey’s shoulder and steered him with St’aara and Amiir’aan towards the infirmary, Zerhalm behind them. Kel turned back to the group from the barracks.

            “And you, all of you, the lesson’s not just for Chervey or Gothas. You were all there. Some of you must have known what was planned—an attack on a child. And did nothing.” Her gaze found Gothas’s friends. “I’m betting every one of you fools knew. Will you deny it?” Silence and foot shuffling. “You’re all on latrine duty for three days. Merric, take them when I’m done. And Master Lasner, report to me tomorrow after breakfast. My office. We have things to discuss.” Merric nodded promptly, Lasner reluctantly, and Kel drew breath. “Right now you stand, every one of you, on mud Amiir’aan petrified. You sleep in barracks with a stone roof to protect against fire-arrows. Guess who petrified that so you sleep safely. And your reply is a stone thrown at a child who has already done more for us than all of you put together could manage in a year. I don’t care what lies your former lord or his son told you, that is close to unforgivable and if there’s any repetition, anything, from any of you, you’ll find out exactly why they call me Protector of the Small. I didn’t kill Stenmun Kinslayer and Blayce the Necromancer so Tortallans could take up murdering children where they left off. Digest your shame and mend your ways.”

            Merric and half-a-dozen soldiers took Gothas’s friends to join the squad on latrine duty, and the rest returned to their barracks, eyes cast down. Kel looked around.

            “Alright, people, show’s over. And so’s practice time—what a waste!”

            The line got the laugh she’d angled for, and the crowd began to disperse, many bowing or curtseying. Var’istaan and Kuriaju, whom she hadn’t seen arrive, also bowed, and she gazed at their retreating backs with amazement. Yuki laid a hand on her arm.

            “Come, Keladry-chan, and have some tea before we go to dinner.”

* * * * *

Kel’s meeting with Lasner was tense but in the end productive, though she could only hope she hadn’t struck a bad bargain by agreeing that if Lasner applied himself to help settle his people she would implicitly recognise his standing among them. When she’d explained about the Council he wanted a seat but she was adamant.

            “No chance, Master Lasner. Mortal civilians are represented by Fanche Miller and Saefas Ploughman, and Zerhalm, who all earned their authority at Rathhausak. Quenuresh, Var’istaan, Kuriaju, and Barzha Razorwing represent their kinds. My captains and knights have seats because they control defence, patrolling, and healing. You don’t walk on because you held steward’s rank in a dissolved fief. When peace comes, or if numbers grow, there might be a case for another civilian seat, and if so you can compete for it. It’ll depend on how well you do, and how useful to survival and victory you’ve become.”

            This he accepted with a calculating look, leaving her to conclude he was one of those who blew with the wind, whatever it was, and if she were it he’d probably do his best for her. He could be trusted—relied on, at least—to be self-interested, and much as she despised trimming it was better than false submission or outright hostility. After their discussion she called in Brodhelm, Uinse, Mikal, Neal, Fanche and Saefas, and Adner, and they spent the morning going through the former Tirrsmonters’ situation in detail. There were gaping weaknesses—not least the situation of orphans like Chervey, for whom no care had been arranged, and untreated endemic illness—but also strengths New Hope needed to exploit. She explained her standing orders and the need, pure and simple, for everyone to be trained with bow, sling, and whatever they could master. Her priorities bewildered Lasner, and the egalitarian aspects disturbed his sense of order, but once he grasped the overriding need of defence he began to see the method in what he had thought madness, and a certain enthusiasm for the efficiency of her arrangements kindled in his eyes.

            After the door closed behind him Neal blew out a breath. “I need to wash. He couldn’t care less for anyone except himself.”

            “True, but we want him pissing out, not in. Be scrupulous about calling him Master Lasner, please—it’s the sort of thing that matters to him—but hold him to the mark. Dissolving Tirrsmont and sending these people here like this has given us a serious problem, and you can be sure I’ll let that be known.” She was already contemplating how to word her first letter to the King as one of his Councillors. “Meantime we have to deal with it. Uinse, please get Jacut and some others—the kind people listen to—to talk to Gothas when they feed him. Make it clear we’re not messing—if he doesn’t do what he has to, in good heart, he will stay confined. I think Chervey will be alright with proper care and experience of working with Var’istaan and Kuriaju. For the rest, we’ll have to see. How are people taking what happened? Brodhelm?”

            “The bows and curtseys said it, Lady Kel. Strong disapproval of Gothas and his friends, very strong approval of your judgements.”

            “Surprise, too.” Uinse spread hands at her look of enquiry. “I don’t think anyone’s seen you angry like that before, Lady Kel—you were smoking and they thought heads would roll. But they liked what you did and agree Chervey’s a tool and Gothas is poison.”

            “Same among civilians.” Fanche grinned at Kel. “If it wasn’t for Amiir’aan’s injury it would have been fun to watch. Smoking’s right—like a log on the fire just before it ignites. Tobe tells me you looked like that when you called the gods down on Torhelm.”

            Kel blinked. “I did?”

            “So he says, and Irnai agrees. Is there a secret to it, Lady Kel? How to be that angry and still channel it how you want instead of exploding all over? It works a treat.”

            “Grow up in Yaman, face lifelong hostility for being who you are, show up almost everyone as fools, and get sent back by the Black God.” Neal voice was dry. “That ought to do it.” Fanche grinned as Kel thought of lakes. “But I don’t think there were any gods about last night. Were there, Kel?”

            “What? Oh, gods. No, I don’t think so. I did feel … what? icy, I suppose, and I remember being like that with Torhelm, but nothing was edged in silver. No battlecry or hounds or soughing wind either, so no, no gods.” She woke to the stares everyone was giving her. “What?”

            “Edged in silver, Kel?”

            “Well, yes, sort of. But that was when three gods were about to act and time slowed down, like it does sometimes on a battlefield.”

            “Strangely, that does make sense.” She glared, to no avail whatever. “So that was just you last night. In which case I can add one more time, maybe—I didn’t see it but I heard the Stump describing what you looked like after Joren’s trial when you slammed the King about the law on noble interference with servants, and it sounded similar. Smoking ice and dead level voice going right through people. He said the only thing he’d seen like it was Lord Raoul in a killing rage, but by that stage he’d have gone physical and you were wholly focused through your voice.”

            “Gah!”

            Kel left them crossly to a lively discussion of rages they had known and went to help Chervey haul stone. She came in on a discussion of basilisks’ liking for travel and diplomacy, as well as stonework, and ogres’ preferences for mining, farming, or fighting, and let it run before telling Chervey about arrangements for his schooling and assignment to carers who’d be responsible for making sure he was clothed, fed, and trained. His astonishment was revealing, and as she talked about what training sessions and work rosters appealed she knew he wasn’t a bad lad, just a lonely one without much character who’d wanted company and approval. If it were provided officially he’d be loyal enough.

            The ripples of what had happened spread. Whether it was shame, the efforts of Lasner, or the absence of Gothas Kel wasn’t sure but the Tirrsmonters did seem to undergo a change of heart and try to fit in. Certainly they obeyed standing orders and were punctual in showing up for work and training, though their incompetence with all weapons—having been forbidden them at Tirrsmont—made it slow going, and Kel knew they’d be a burden, not an asset, for months. At the same time Amiir’aan and the young ogres acquired a wariness around newcomers Kel hated to see, but adult immortals were pleased with events in a strange way, as St’aara explained when Kel asked her why she wasn’t more upset.

            “We knew that day would come, Protector. The confidence you have given mortals in dealing with us astonishes—we are used to attitudes like Chervey’s and Gothas’s, and knew sooner or later they would manifest. The question was how you would respond and that pleases us.”

            Kel stared at her. “But what else could I have done? To attack Amiir’aan when he was doing nothing amiss …”

            “Just so, Protector—you did not see your own kind and another. You saw a victim and found the guilty one.” Her whispery voice took on an odd tone. “Quenuresh wins our bets—she said you would be without prejudice, even in anger. We were doubtful. We should not have been.”

            “Oh.” Kel didn’t know what to say. “Well, thank you, but I couldn’t condone such malevolence. And I hate to see Amiir’aan so wary now.”

            “It will do him no harm to learn caution. And he has become quite friendly with Chervey, trying to explain things. He was surprised by what Chervey believed but I reminded him how young that mortal is.”

            It was true that boy and basilisk were often now seen together, Amiir’aan petrifying small things for a fascinated Chervey, and endlessly explaining about what kinds of immortal were dangerous in what ways—lessons that drew in other children among the newcomers. That helped children integrate and sight of the pair had its own effects on adults. Gothas’s friends were another matter, though, remaining hostile to all in a tight-knit group; nor had Gothas taken anything to heart except pride and loathing, and his adamant refusal to apologise to any monster meant Kel had no choice but to keep him confined. She fretted, and two days after what should have been his week on bread and water put in a spellmirror call to Vanget and Wyldon. Vanget grunted.

            “There was bound to be someone stupid, Kel, and it sounds as if you handled it well. The treaties are far more important than a hothead.”

            Wyldon agreed. “It’s not as if this Gothas has a case. He’s suffered no injustice at anyone’s hands but Tirrsmont’s—Sir Arnolf’s, I mean—and instigated an unprovoked attack. Young Amiir’aan’s alright?”

            “He seems to be though he was shaken, of course. So I just keep Gothas confined on bread and water?”

            “Well, you’re not equipped to hold prisoners long term, are you?” Vanget was thoughtful. “Tell you what, pick out a couple of squads that need exercise and send him and his friends to Northwatch. I’ll enlist ’em. Army service’ll beat that nonsense out and they’ll find badmouthing you or New Hope here will land them in a world of hurt.”

            “It will?”

            “Oh yes. Most of my lads passed through Tirrsmont at least once and they hate Arnolf with a passion, if only for the food he served ’em while he stuffed himself. When I read ’em Turomot’s proclamation they cheered—insubordinate lot.” His tone was warm, affection plain. “And you’re still not allowing sufficiently for being their heroine, Kel. Your appointment to the Council’s very popular, so you send young Gothas and his friends along and we’ll teach ’em the error of their ways.”

            Kel was uncertain about the justice of this but accepted gratefully; having a treacherous equivalent of Quinden at New Hope was a headache she didn’t need. She turned to another thing on her mind.

            “I’m sorry to say it, but Ettenor of Aili didn’t do a very good job at Tirrsmont—he left livestock and delivered people more distressed than necessary. But to be fair, he doesn’t have much experience and his orders from, I assume, the King seem to have been … inadequate.”

            “They probably were.” Wyldon rubbed his forehead. “I did talk to His Majesty about Tirrsmont before I left but he was preoccupied with a Tyran ambassador wanting to negotiate for Lianne’s hand.”

            “Well, he needs to know he caused a problem. There’s an issue regarding further spidrens who might turn up, as well, so I’ve written him a letter. I wondered if you’d tell me if it’s alright.”

            She read them her draft and there was a brief silence before Vanget exploded with laughter, slapping his knee as Alanna had done outside the temples.

            “Oh that’s priceless. Polite as you like and a comprehensive dressing-down just the same. You send it right along.”

            Wyldon’s mouth had also twitched once or twice, but he was more cautious. “He was at fault, Keladry, but does have many concerns. Still, none should be more pressing than war, and what you say is entirely correct. I would tone down that last paragraph—uninformed for ignorant, perhaps, and avoidable for needless. I’m not sure I like the amnesty for any spidrens that turn up, but I see the logic and the more we can get under treaty the better. You handle the business of Ettenor’s inexperience very well, and all of it needs saying.”

            So Kel made the changes and sent the letter. She wrote it herself, and asked Heliana to make the copy for files, cautioning her that it was strictly private correspondence. Eyes alight with amusement Heliana solemnly promised she’d tell no-one, and showed Kel two more proposals of marriage that had come in. She read them, wondering how people so obviously deranged made it to adulthood.

            “The usual reply. That’s what? Five, now? Are they all mad?”

            “Just ambitious, I think, Lady Kel.”

            “Ambitious? Huh. Well, bother the lot of them. Would you accept a stranger’s proposal by letter? It seems more insulting than flattering.”

            “You are exceptionally eligible, though, Lady Kel—in your own right, but especially with Mindelan’s elevation to a duchy.”

            “Are you serious, Heliana? I was called the whore of Tortall before I’d started monthlies and it’s been made clear often enough no man in his right mind wants a woman who can outfight him, never mind one who talks to gods. And”—she hesitated, but there was no-one else she could ask such a thing, even Yuki—“I know word spread.” Her voice went flat. “I was raped. It’s not usually a recommendation.”

            Heliana’s face was austere, her voice gentle. “Yes, we heard, Lady Kel, but it wasn’t said like that and that’s not what people thought. Not at Mindelan, and certainly not here. You protected your people, killing another mage and six tauroses. Then you were killed yourself but the Black God and Lord Mithros sent you back because we need you.”

            Kel squirmed. “That last bit’s not accurate.” She told Heliana about the tauroses being Chaos-touched. “It broke a rule the gods have about Uusoae. If it wasn’t for that the Black God wouldn’t have returned me.”

            “Maybe so, Lady Kel, but we do need you. That’s what people know and what makes sense to them.” She hesitated. “Forgive me, but have you … known a man?”

            Kel met her eyes. “No. I was a virgin when I was raped.”

            “Then you still are in every way that matters. It’s a strange thing, knowing a man, but it can be very good.” Heliana saw Kel’s surprise and blushed. “I don’t have parents or elder brothers to run off every boy who shows an interest, so it was my decision. I waited a long time, if not so long as you, and I don’t regret it, any of it.”

            “Is he waiting for you?”

            “No. nothing like that. He was a soldier on leave, as lonely and hurting as I was. We’re friends, no more. But it was right for us, and it’ll be so for you when you meet the right man.” Her eyes became mischievous. “I do understand why you’re not impressed with these proposals, though. They could at least make them in person, eh?”

            That night Kel lay awake a long time, thinking about what Heliana had said with considerable bafflement before deciding it was still just that the men she wanted weren’t men who wanted her, and relieving her frustrations in the only way she knew. It was all very unsatisfactory but there was nothing to be done, and Heliana’s confidence came to seem bitterly hollow a few days later when, as she led evening glaive practice, she was interrupted by one of Uinse’s soldiers saying someone had arrived to see her. The squads who’d taken Gothas and friends to Northwatch had returned and no-one was expected, so leaving Yuki in charge she made her way to the gate, glaive in hand, and nearly dropped it when she saw Dom standing beside a tired-looking horse. She went towards him, a wide smile on her face, but was brought up short when he drew himself awkwardly up and bowed.

            “Lady Knight Commander. You said this was an astonishing fort and I see you weren’t exaggerating. Might we talk, please, in private?”

            “Of course we can, Dom. Neal didn’t say you were coming.”

            “He doesn’t know. I’d like to speak to you first, if I may.”

            “Of course.” She wasn’t hurt, exactly, but his stiffness worried her. “Let me show you where you can stable your horse. Tobe’ll unsaddle him and rub him down.” Before he could object she sent Uinse’s man for Tobe. “It’s this way.”

            As he followed she saw his limp was severe and noticed the lines of a leg brace running from knee to ankle.

            “Neatly done, Kel, but I can rub down my own horse, thank you.”

            She took the offensive. “Why should you after a day’s ride when there’s someone happy to do it for you? Your injury has nothing to do with courtesy and common sense. I’m glad you found a brace that works, though. Is it in that new Carthaki metal?”

            “Yes.” His teeth gritted. “Uncle Baird said that was your idea. Thank you.”

            “You’re welcome. Master Randall showed it me—he makes armoured jerkins with it, and I bought barding for Alder from him.”

            “Alder?”

            “My warhorse, now. Peachblossom had to retire.”

            “He did? What happened?”

            “His right hind was smashed by the tauros that killed me.” He dropped his eyes, saying nothing, so he’d heard; at least she didn’t have to explain. “Zerhalm, Quenuresh, and Daine saved his life but he can’t bear me in armour or gallop.”

            They reached the stables in uncomfortable silence, but when Tobe burst in he simply threw arms around Dom in a hard hug. Almost in reflex, but nevertheless, Dom’s arms closed round the boy.

            “Oof! Steady, Tobe. How are you?”

            “I’m alright, Sergeant Dom. How are you? Ma and Sir Neal said you was injured, like poor old Peachblossom. Is it healed now?”

            “Yes, Tobe, as much as it ever will be. And I’m not a sergeant any more—I had to stop all that.”

            “Oh. Peachblossom did too, but he does night rounds and keeps the sentries alert. Is that what you’re going to do?”

            “Something like that, I hope.” He shot an appealing glance at Kel. “I need to talk to … your Ma about it first, though.”

            “Will you see to Dom’s horse, please, Tobe? Then ask the cooks if they’ll bring dinner for two to my office, and ask Sir Neal and Lady Yuki to find me there after they’ve eaten. Don’t tell them Dom’s here. He wants it to be a surprise.”

            “Sure. It’s good to see you, Sergeant Dom. We worried about you.”

            “I said, I’m not a sergeant any more, Tobe.”

            Tobe looked baffled. “But soldiers keep their ranks when they retire, don’t they? Or are you something else, now?”

            “Sergeant’s fine, Tobe.” Kel’s voice held a note of warning. “I think Dom just finds it odd, still.”

            “Oh. I’ll see to the horse. What’s his name?”

            “Butter. As in butting. You’ll see why.”

            “He won’t give any trouble, will you, Butter?”

            With the gelding already slobbering affection Kel led Dom to her office. Stairs were awkward for him, and though he didn’t use his hands to lift his braced leg wasn’t far off it, swinging it widely at each step.

            “It’s getting stronger. Slowly.” His voice was strained.

            “Muscle wounds are slow to heal.”

            “Tell me.”

            In her office he sat, leg stuck out, and buried his face in his hands.

            “I’m making a complete hash of this, aren’t I? Curse it.”

            “I don’t know what this is, Dom, but you seem to believe I’ll think less of you because you were injured or coping is making you cranky.” Gentleness wasn’t the way. “Which gods know I understand, but is silly just the same.” His head jerked. “Do you think less of me for being raped and killed? Or believe me crippled inside any less than you?”

            “Gods … I … of course not.”

            “Well, then. Why don’t you start over? The last news I had of you was a five-line letter that said you were fine.”

            He looked up, face twisting. “I’m sure it had more than five lines.”

            “I counted. And you’re clearly not fine. Why are you here. Dom, and how can I help?”

            “I’m hoping you can find me something useful to do. I’m no good to my brother—he doesn’t need a bad clerk and riding the estate every day kills my leg—and no good to myself, either. And all the good wishes from here … I’m sorry I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. But I thought I could help you as an armourer or something. Be of some use to someone.”

            His humility was painful. “Alright. I know how good you are with weapons and command. Tell me plain what you can’t do.”

            He swallowed. “Move fast, climb, stay standing in a fight or for more than an hour, fight on horseback.”

            “Mmm. I bet Daine could fix Butter so he allows for the lighter pressure of your injured leg. She’s magicked Alder to be smart, and he might understand what’s needed if you show and Tobe tells him. What?”

            “You’re so practical, and it’s balm, it’s what I want, and it hurts.”

            “Facing loss does, Dom. But it hurts anyway, so there’s no point tip-toeing about it.” He didn’t need to know how much being practical might be hurting her. “Now, I’ve three companies—two regular with staffs, Mastiff Eighth, under Brodhelm of Frasrlund, with Merric attached and Northwatch Fourteenth, under Mikal of Holtwood, with Seaver attached; then New Hope First, under Uinse and Jacut, with a partial staff because we don’t have mages for them but Sir Prosper—Tameran—attached for his magecraft. You’re welcome to any post you can work out with any of them, if that’s what you want, but the problem with climbing makes regular duty on the walls awkward—access is all by stairways. And I can think of two other posts, for which I’m making up titles right now but not the need. One’s Training Master—we’ve just taken in the rest of the Tirrsmonters and they were forbidden weapons. They’re way behind everyone else and integrating them into regular training—which includes glaive and sling—is a real headache. The other’s, um, Captain of the Corral, on the other side of the fin. Right now it’s got a wall that’s just the screepile heaped up and bonded, an iron gate, and one small stable put up for Peachblossom when he was injured, but it’s getting more as fast as possible—proper internal structures, crenellations and alure, rocks suspended under merlons, a spiked moat, abatis, and anything else we think of. The western building team is due in a few weeks.”

            “A fortified corral?”

            “Yes. We’ve found a way through the fin we’re tunnelling now, one horse wide and high. I don’t want a Captain of the Sally Port, because we’re not advertising we’re going to have one, but that’s the job.”

            “A way through the fin? Mithros! That’s … I’d do that happily, Kel, but that has to be an army appointment and I’m not fit for one.”

            “I’ll grant official dispensation.”

            He looked shocked. “You can’t do that. Can you?”

            “Commander’s Regulations, Section B, Wartime, 46. A commander may at need induct or conscript into the army any person save nobles, regardless of normal procedures and exemption. Proper rank may be granted for the duration, and wages are payable. Appeal against such conscription is only through the chain of command. My chain of command is Wyldon, Vanget, and the King. They won’t argue.” She didn’t want to add the alternative but owed him the choice. “Or I can make a private appointment—same rank and wage, though a Council seat might be trickier.” She thought of what Lasner would say.

            “Gods. You are a commander, aren’t you. And this place … I thought those sketches had to be exaggerated. But … I don’t know. Can you afford to do it privately?”

            “Easily. Lalasa tithes more than you’d believe, still. I can’t stop her. And there’ll be more from the other shops—you know about them?”

            “Oh yes, that word reached Masbolle. Uncle Baird told me. Huh. Captain of the Corral.” He tried to smile. “It has a ring.”

            “It does. But why don’t you want the dispensation, Dom? It’s not even a hard argument—you’ve more command experience than anyone here except Brodhelm, and the only impediment is a battlefield wound.”

            “It … I don’t know, Kel. You can’t bend regs for friendship.”

            “I’m not. I need someone in charge of the sally port—it’s going to be a small command most of the time and critical when the crunch comes. I thought it’d have to be Merric but I wasn’t happy. You’re a godsend.”

            For a horrible second she wondered if that were true but he didn’t notice, remaining reluctant, and she could see he thought it favouritism; only doing the job would cure that and she really didn’t want him as her employee. “Dom, I’d say ask my Lord, but you’d think he was tipping the scales too. But you’re not friends with Wyldon or Vanget. Will you take the dispensation if they’re alright with it?”

            “Yes, alright. I’m sorry—it must seem very ungrateful. I’ve just not been thinking anything like that was possible.” He brightened. “And meantime I can do whatever I can with training, if there’s a couple of competent soldiers who can help correct people?”

            “Done. Did you ever read Orchan of Eridui? Hang on a minute.” She went to her rooms, returning with a clean codex. “Wyldon put me onto him, saying he wasn’t original but was clear and had an idea or two about mageblasts worth knowing. I got a copy bound in Corus. I’ve adapted him a bit but he underlies the design of New Hope’s defences. Have a look at that corral and think about what you want.”

            “I will. Kel, I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

            “We’re the ones gaining, Dom, in every way.” And even if you hurt my heart it helps to see your eyes alight again. “Think about yourself, too. Look at what we’ve done with the glacis and in the caves. The basilisks can shape stone pretty much as they will, so there’s no reason there can’t be a ramp up to the alure on the corral wall. We don’t know where the tunnel will come out but we’ll need a ramp there for horses. Internal design apart from the wall will have to wait until we do know but bits can be ready to be slotted in—stables, barracks, secondary headquarters, a farrier’s shop and weapon smithy. Oh, and centaurs use the stabling in winter, if snow’s bad. Herdmaster’s Whitelist—started prickly but settled down and we get on fine, so you’ll need to liaise.”

            “Centaurs. Alright. I’ve known decent centaurs. Are they trading?”

            “Yes—griffin and stormwing fletched arrows for basilisk stoneware. But we’re about to go into trade via Mindelan and Legann, so who knows?”

            “You’re what?”

            She laughed, her pain beginning to be cocooned. “Do you want to wait here for the food and Neal and Yuki? Or shall we collect Tobe and go to the messhall—it’s worth seeing—and I’ll tell you on the way? Then I can introduce you—volunteer veteran Sergeant of the Own, dealing with corral fortification, acting rank of captain. All the Havenites will be delighted. Be prepared for children, though, Dom—there’ll be questions about your leg and you’ll have to do better than you did with Tobe. You don’t have to say anything you don’t want, but you will have to answer.”

            “Yes. I’ll apologise to Tobe.” He hauled himself upright, wincing, and took a breath. “I can do this.”

* * * * *

Those who knew Dom were delighted, none more than Neal, though his concern was evident and he dragged his cousin off to do whatever he might to ease discomfort. Brodhelm and other captains were pleased to have another experienced man, however incapacitated, and relieved by the organisation Dom soon brought to training sessions, running a separate stream for raw Tirrsmonters. Adner was less happy with the need to release them during mornings, but did no more than grumble.

            As he recovered from the strain of more than a fortnight’s hard riding Dom’s mobility improved. When he was fresh his limp was less pronounced and ability to negotiate steps much greater. By afternoon, after leading the training, he needed to sit, and that time was devoted to work with the horses. Alder readily understood what was needed to restore Dom’s control, and managed to get something through to Butter, who Tobe said was more cunning than smart but wanted to help. It gave Kel a chance to attend to a matter she knew she’d been neglecting, and she got Dom, with Tobe’s help, to fit Alder with his barding and work with both horses; as she had during her page years, Alder needed to work with increased weight to build wind and stamina.

            Kel took to riding Hoshi wearing half-armour for the same reason, and four days after Dom’s arrival, having made a scheduled visit to Quenuresh and learned the griffins had agreed to spell the gate at Northwatch next time they were over that way, she met Dom at the corral. He was working with Butter and she was experimentally adding her weight to Alder’s barding when the alarm sounded and she whirled in the saddle to see a dozen Scanran archers spurring out of the gulley that led to the Mastiff trail.

            Their target was a group shoring up a section of the nearer bank eroded by spring floods, and what they didn’t seem to realise was that as well as the half-squad of longbowmen on guard all twenty civilians had slings and plenty of good ammunition piled around them. By the time the first arrows from the Scanran’s short bows landed wide two flights of needleheads were in the air, and the Scanrans who stayed alive and in the saddle ran into well-aimed barrages of stones at fifty yards from the far bank, and again at twenty. One New Hoper was down with an arrow in his thigh and Kel could see blood on another’s forehead but the skirmish was effectively over long before Kel could get even half-way there and her mind was screaming at her that it had been far too easy.

            “Everyone to the corral, and all livestock, now! Captain Domitan’s in charge. Sergeant Olleric, when everyone’s in take two squads over the river to deal with that mess. Move, people. There’ll be a second attack.”

            Pulling out her horn she sounded the continuing alert and heard it repeated beyond the fin. People were moving as fast as they could in wet earth and most livestock seemed to want to cooperate, but though Jump and other dogs kept animals moving it was slow business. She saw Dom take Butter into the corral, leading Hoshi, and a moment after they’d vanished he reappeared by the gate, counting people in. Blessing discipline, she started Alder towards the end of the fin and heard the second alarm she’d known must come, from beyond Haven. Mounted squads were heading north, the air full of horncalls, and she urged Alder to the best speed he could sustain. It was fortunate he wasn’t tired but in the barding he was slower than either of them liked, and the squads who’d been north of the fin stayed ahead. After a thundering, seemingly endless three miles she could see her people engaging mounted Scanrans who must have come through broken ground to the east, beyond the cliff. She couldn’t see how many but clearly more than in the first attack, and other squads were converging from further north. Men were down, riderless horses scattering.

            Arrows flew in her direction, one clattering off a cuisse and another off some part of Alder’s barding. She couldn’t see the archers but her glaive was in her hand and she drove into a knot of Scanrans retreating from Connac’s squad on their far side. Tortallan destriers were bigger than Scanran horses and the barding’s weight became an advantage as Alder sent horses slamming and stumbling into one another, unseating riders, while she used the glaive with deadly, economic chops and stabs. None of her opponents wore plate, only chain-mail at best, and iron links couldn’t stop Yamani steel. A fourth man fell as she severed his arm and Alder’s swerve brought her attention to two axemen in time to gut one and dodge the other’s flailing stroke as Alder dipped his shoulder to slam into his mount, knocking it down. A slashing hoof completed the job as Kel took another man from the side and just held her blow as Connac came up beside her.

            “They’re breaking, Lady Kel, but they’ll reform. There must’ve been a hundred of ’em and we’re still outnumbered.”

            She could see he was right—Scanrans were disengaging—and her voice cut through the noise. “New Hope, form up on me. Slingmen, get working. If we’ve archers down, get their bows and quivers and fire as you can. Longbows range them.”

            The retreating Scanrans halted short of the treeline but at least half their number were down on the field, and by the time they’d regrouped another half-dozen had fallen to slings and arrows.

            “Three flights and remount. Form line on me.”

            More Scanrans fell and a horse staggered sideways, collapsing; as other mounted men took evasive action they dissolved into disorder again. Kel could hear a voice shouting in Scanran but the Tortallan line had formed, a score of riders on either side of her, and she pumped her glaive, starting Alder into a walk. Before he’d advanced fifty yards Scanrans were spurring into the woods, and by the time she went from canter to charge those that remained were outnumbered. She killed the commander with a Yamani move he never saw coming, and then all were down, but so were half-a-dozen  of her men, and she cursed surveying the carnage around her and across the fields.

            When the all-clear was sounded and healers arrived the tally was grim. Eleven soldiers were dead, and four civilians, including to Kel’s piercing sorrow Peliwin Archer, neck torn open by an arrow. Temon told her the civilian hit south of the fin had also died, the great vein of his leg cut through, and two soldiers and a civilian would be permanently disabled, with another score who would heal. It was everyone’s most serious fight for a year, and she knew they hadn’t been as sharp as they should have been, but there was never any real substitute for combat experience.

            The carts that came for the wounded carried back Alder’s barding, and Dom, guessing what state he’d be in, sent one of Olleric’s men with Hoshi. Remounted, she watched him lead the exhausted gelding back towards New Hope, and as the field was cleared to leave only the Scanran dead saw avid-eyed stormwings perched all around in the trees, Barzha among them with Cloestra beside her, belly distended. Staring blankly Kel reckoned obligations and what Neal had said of Cloestra’s needs, then rode over, pulling off her bascinet with its aventail and feeling air stir her sweat-soaked hair.

            “Your Majesty.”

            “Protector.”

            Kel looked at Cloestra. “Was this meal enough, or do you need more with your labour imminent?”

            On a nearby branch Hebakh bated surprise but the females were still until Cloestra shrugged, breasts lifting over her belly.

            “I cannot say more is necessary, Protector, but it would be nice.”

            The thought of a pregnant stormwing playing with glaived corpses juddered in Kel’s mind. Her hands were busy detaching aventail from bascinet and looping it over her saddlehorn.

            “Alright. Carry away what you need, to anywhere outside the valley. Do as you must. I ask only that you pile for burning what you do not take, and when you are done add the rest to that pile. We’ll burn it tomorrow evening, after our funerals.” A thought twisted in Kel’s mind. “If you would attend, they’ll be at Haven at the first afternoon bell.”

            Barzha’s eyes narrowed and for the first time she gave Kel what had to be called a bow. “Yet another surprise, Protector. Before our confinement to the Divine Realms we would attend funerals as well as battlefields, distinguishing victims from aggressors. I give no commands in this, but Cloestra, Hebakh, and I will be there. For the rest, I agree, commending your wisdom and generosity.”

            Kel found herself too exhausted to reply and nodded wordlessly, raising a hand in farewell and replacing her bascinet before riding back to her waiting escort, Uinse’s squad, who’d come off duty at noon.

            “Trouble, Lady Kel?”

            She made an effort. “No, Uinse. They’ll take the Scanrans elsewhere to play and pile them for burning afterwards. Some will come to the funerals.”

            “They … you …” He sensibly cut his losses. “Very good, my lady.”

            Wondering murmurs continued among his men but Kel was too tired to care, and though there was apprehension next day as more than a score of stormwings circled high above the funeral wagons as they processed to Haven, she found herself distracted. With sixteen coffined bodies in four carts and everyone except duty watches they made a formidable column, soldiers armed against possible attack and riding flank, but they were hardly needed for the solitary, unarmoured horseman who saw them coming and pulled up, waiting until Kel, riding in the van, reached him. She had taken in his sober merchant appearance and decent but unspectacular horse, but as she came close enough to see his face her eyebrows rose and he spoke swiftly in a voice that could only have come from Corus and reassured all who heard it.

            “Ah, I’m sorry, my Lady—I see I’ve come at a bad time. My condolences. My name’s Arrohel, representing merchants in Corus who’ve heard the northern trade’s restarting.”

            So. “No blame to you, Master Arrohel. We didn’t know ourselves we’d be doing this until yesterday. I’ll be glad to see you after if you care to wait, or you’re welcome to join our ritual.”

            “I’m honoured to do so, my Lady.”

            He waited respectfully as laden carts creaked past him, falling in behind as they wound up the road to Haven. Stormwings glided in to land on the edge of the knoll, watching but saying nothing, and the ceremony followed the pattern established with the tauros victims, friends and comrades speaking of memories and loss. She spoke herself last, of Peliwin Archer, recalling her early misstep at Haven and suffering at the hands of one of Stenmun’s men as well as her courage in rebuilding a life. When she was done she looked at Barzha.

            “Is there aught you would say, Your Majesty, before I commend them to the Black God?”

            “Only that we are sorry for their loss, Protector. They did not seek the war that came to them, and we acknowledge their innocence. Their killers we have punished as we may.”

            What anyone would make of that Kel didn’t know but nodded before opening arms wide, naming the dead, and speaking words she’d used before. “They died in our service and I pray they shall find their deaths their grace, and the Black God’s mercy infinite.”

            “So mote it be.”

            There was anticipation in the response and chimes sounded directly with a wind that wasn’t blowing soughing through trees that weren’t there. The new Tirrsmonters started, as did Master Arrohel, but those standing near hushed questions and Kel kept to her tradition of leading back down from the knoll in silence. Many people were in working clothes and headed back to the fields, squads accompanying, but with the children and many adults going back to New Hope accompanied by the off-duty soldiers Kel had no chance to speak to the merchant privately before she could usher him into her office and close the door.

            He looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Does the Black God respond to every funeral here, Lady Keladry? Or Lady Kel, is it?”

            “Every one so far, my Lord. May I ask what you’re doing here?”

            Baron George Cooper smiled slightly. “It’s not wise for me to travel alone under my own name. And I learn more this way.” The smile faded. “As to what I’m doing, well, it was about time I saw this marvel you’ve created, but I’m afraid I’ve a personal reason. Do you know my daughter Alianne? Aly?”

            “I’m afraid I’ve never met her. She’s, what, seventeen?”

            “She will be this year, but she’s missing.”

            “Missing? Gods, I’m sorry to hear it. What happened?”

            “She was sailing down to Legann early last month but never arrived. It could be pirates, or shipwreck, but I can’t be sure. You’ve heard nothing of a girl on her own arriving anywhere north?”

            “I’m afraid not. You think she might have … run away?”

            “I don’t know what to think. She was at odds with both of us, a little, because she wanted to become a spy and we weren’t so keen.”

            Kel could imagine, but as Baron Cooper was clearly the Whisper Man, as Neal averred, she supposed his daughter’s ambition made sense. “Does Alanna know?”

            He shook his head gloomily. “No. I’ve kept it from the lass so far—she’d only make herself sick worrying. But she’ll find out soon enough.” What happened then would be a Lioness explosion of epic proportions and Kel winced. He nodded. “Exactly. She’ll not be happy with me, but there it is. I can’t spread word too widely—if someone’s holding Aly they might not realise who she is, and I don’t want to inform them—but I’d be glad if you’d keep eyes and ears open. Lord Wyldon will be doing so too.”

            “Of course.”

            “Thank you. The problem’s partly that without Daine information from the north is limited, so I thought I’d better check myself. And Aly could have headed for the war. She wanted to do something.”

            “I see.” And while the thought of heading for a war without a clear destination boggled her, Kel did, in a way: being the daughter of the Lioness and not wanting to be a knight could not have made for an easy transition to adulthood. But there was nothing she could say. “May I ask, my Lord, do you know how Daine is?”

            “Large, unless she’s had the babe by now, but well, last I heard. She has problems with the baby changing inside her, I believe.”

            “She does, but I’m glad to know she’s well. I’ve had no news of her since I left Corus in February, though I did feel reassurance when I prayed to the Green Lady.” A thought struck her. “Forgive me, my Lord, but have you prayed to ask where Aly is?”

            He nodded wearily. “I have, to my own patron god and Alanna’s Goddess, but they don’t seem to be listening. The King and Numair have scried, but it’s as if she’s vanished into thin air.”

            “Oh. May I ask which god is your patron?”

            “The Crooked God, as befits a former thief and serving spymaster. But he’s as crooked as his name and we’ve not had dealings in a while.”

            Kel blinked. The Crooked God was the chief trickster. “I don’t know him at all, I’m afraid, and we’ve no shrine to him, but there is one to Lord Sakuyo, and to the Goddess, who’ve been listening pretty closely to us. It might be worth trying.”

            “Huh, it’s an idea, thank you. But I ought to maintain my cover—could you show me what you’re trading here and take the shrines in?”

            “Of course. You know we’re trading through Master Orman? And setting up a Craftsbeings’ Guild?” Kel had sent papers to Turomot a month before.

            “Oh yes. I get word from Orman and some of his men, including Barin. I saw the stoneware you sent the Prince and Princess. Beautiful. And those papers you lodged have caused much fluttering.” He grinned. “You’ll have fun trying to join the League of Guilds, I fancy, but they had no grounds to object and the King was admiring. You’ll get approval soon.”

            “Well, that’ll be welcome. What sort of goods are you, um, supposed to be interested in?”

            “I think I’m just scouting, but you might get some real scouts, you know. That deal you’ve struck with Orman and Imrah has men who used to run the northern trade gnashing.”

            “Has it? I’ve no sympathy—they dropped it the second war started. And the point’s not to make money for merchants but to make New Hope self-supporting. Master Orman appreciated that.”

            The Baron’s look was keen. “I can believe that. He’s a good sort and knows when to profit and when to be generous.”

            She took him to the smithy and woodshops, and showed him the way they used webbing as well as the helmet mesh. His cover story was note-perfect, and audible comments about tight-fisted merchants and the fuss over the proposed Guild gave amused satisfaction. Then it was reasonable to detour to the shrines on the way to see cut limestone blocks piled up by the last barracks, but as they passed the playground Irnai stood from a group surrounding Amiir’aan and walked over, face serious. Silently she pulled Kel’s sleeve and Kel squatted, resting a hand on her shoulder as the Baron quirked eyebrows.

            Irnai’s voice was a murmur. “Lady Kel, is that the Whisper Man?”

            Kel’s own eyebrows jerked up—she hadn’t known Irnai even knew that name and to identify him was ridiculous unless …. She nodded to Irnai and gestured the Baron to squat with them.

            “If I’m not mistaken, my Lord, Irnai has something for the Whisper Man from Shakith.”

            “She does?” He hunkered down. “And what would that be?”

            Irnai regarded him gravely. “She came to me just now and said I should tell the Whisper Man with Lady Kel not to pray to the Goddess here about his daughter, and to remember the Kyprish Prophecy.”

            The Baron’s face went still. “The Kyprish Prophecy … Curse him, I’ll have his ears.”

            Kel blinked. “Whose ears?”

            “Kyprioth’s, if he’s mixed up in this. That’s the raka name for the Crooked God. He was the great god of the Copper Isles before the Rittevon conquest. The Kyprish Prophecy says he will be again when the raka queens are restored. Which isn’t unlikely the way Oron carries on.”

            Planning to take a god’s ears seemed unwise to Kel but she didn’t understand any of this. “What have the Copper Isles to do with it?”

            “Who knows? But I think Aly’s there. Gods, yes. If she was picked up at sea—and there was a raid about then, down the coast—they’d have her in Rajmuat in a few days. It would explain why I’ve heard nothing.” He looked at Irnai. “Why the Goddess mustn’t know I can’t imagine but I’ll not argue, though my lass might. Will you thank Shakith for me?”

            “She has gone now but I will tell her when she next speaks to me.”

            “Thank you, Irnai. Please don’t tell anyone about this.” Gravely he offered a hand and she took it, smiling shyly.

            “I only did as the god said and I don’t talk about her unless I am supposed to. I must go back to Amiir’aan—he is telling of animal gods.”

            She skipped away, carefree, and the adults straightened.

            “Interesting children you have here, Lady Kel. I know from the King about Irnai’s prophecy and being guided by Shakith in Scanra, but not that she still received private messages.”

            There was a questioning note in his voice, and Kel nodded firmly. “She does seem to, my Lord. And to think of Shakith as, well, a friend, I suppose. Just one who’s a god.”

            He shook his head, smiling. “Convenient. And I’m grateful. I’d have started looking overseas next but that’s a lot of places to look. Rajmuat. Huh. I wonder what’s going on there. Still, show me the shrines, and this cut stone and your caves. I’ll stay tonight—it’d look odd, otherwise—but I’ll be gone before dawn. I’ve a daughter to find.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Fifteen — Bereavement

May–June

As May wore on Kel considered the report due at the calend and thought the picture mixed. The deaths had shaken everyone and with the soldiers killed by tauroses Brodhelm was down a full squad; they also made everyone put more effort into training, especially Tirrsmonters, and with Dom’s extra sessions most were now able to send arrows or stones in something like the intended direction. Reconditioned arms from Tirrsmont had found good homes and on paper boosted their defense, but if any significant number of civilians were engaged in close combat she’d already have failed, strategically and in her duty. Progress with the tunnel was steady and plans for the corral taking shape, but larger numbers of people in more fields meant strengthening guard squads and reducing patrols. Merric wasn’t happy and neither was Kel, especially with information received from Vanget and Wyldon sharply down in Daine’s absence despite new pickets along the Vassa.

            There were other matters to include. Cloestra had successfully laid her egg, in a tent beside the infirmary—a process that had the stormwing screeching obscenities some of which made even the admiring soldiers who listened blench, and required healing from Neal, leaving him as much as the new mother a sweat-soaked but triumphant mess. There was also a scatter of moulted steel feathers that Kel had boiled clean and sent to the fletchers. Barzha said it was a good laying and her remark that now they’d have to see if the egg would hatch led to a surprising discussion. The problem, apparently, was that a steel eggshell made for problems with heatloss, whatever it rested on; fully a third of eggs did not hatch. Kel’s answer was a wooden block with a shallow depression for Cloestra to sit in and a deeper, egg-shaped bowl carved out of its middle; once installed at the junction of terrace and eastern shelf, under an overhang, and petrified, basilisks could heat the stone. Amiir’aan had happily taken the duty of rewarming it whenever Cloestra thought necessary as well as guarding the egg when she flew for exercise, and as the stormwing was reasonably clean others among the children, increasingly curious rather than frightened, had begun to talk to her. Adults were less thrilled, and unhappier still when members of the Stone Tree Nation came to visit, but all resident immortals were deeply amused, and Barzha’s and Cloestra’s slightly stunned gratitude at Kel’s solution to a problem they’d faced for millennia was very satisfying.

            A letter from Master Orman arrived with the crates of jam she’d ordered, saying he was impressed with the stoneware, as were all who’d seen it, and as soon as the Craftsbeings’ Guild was chartered he’d take as much as they could produce. He would also buy helmet-mesh, webbing, and cut stone, commended Kel’s arrangement with Mindelan and Legann, and offered a combination of cash and barter that was more generous than she’d expected and had Idrius beaming. The trade would enable New Hope to buy almost all the extra food it needed, and bring in a few luxuries; it would also gain the immortals and those working with them ready money, from wood-turners and –carvers to older children who helped haul cartloads of webbing from Spidren Wood, and Kel had been fascinated one warm evening to find Idrius giving an impromptu tutorial on wealth to St’aara, Var’istaan, and Kuriaju.

            The courier also brought letters of thanks from Imrah and Shinko, the latter’s including news that Daine had given birth to a baby girl—or cub, foal, kit, and many other things, randomly from moment to moment so far as Shinko could tell. Neither Daine nor Numair had been able to persuade young Sarralyn to stay in one form and, if delighted, were exhausted to the point of stupidity; nursing, Shinko added delicately, was also made difficult by such varying mouths, giving Kel alarming visions. The child was to have a naming ceremony at Midsummer, at Trebond so Alanna, standing as godsmother, could attend, and Kel, Tobe, and Irnai were invited; it was hoped Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady would cross over for the day. Kel sent a letter of warm congratulations telling Daine and Numair about Cloestra’s egg, inventive cursing, and incubation, with accounts of Peachblossom and Alder’s help training Butter. She doubted she’d make it to Trebond for Midsummer; writing reminded her she would turn twenty a few days after, and she contemplated the fact with surprise. Her last two birthdays had passed unmarked amid combat, and she wondered what might happen this year.

            To Wyldon she sent news of Alder’s barding. The arrow she’d heard during the fight had skidded off his crupper, scoring one of the scales, so utility was proven but he’d been as chagrined as a horse could be at how much it had slowed and tired him, and was training hard. With help from the ostlers Tobe fitted him each morning with barding, and while Kel did paperwork he went down the roadway, cantered from moatbridge to limestone bridge and back, and reascended, over and over. Guards were timing him and his speed was increasing steadily; so was endurance.

            Two days before the calend two developments occurred, one warmly welcome, the other anything but. Late in the morning a mixed group of immortals came hesitantly up valley from the Vassa Road—four adult basilisks with a youngling, a score of ogres, and as many spidrens. After study from the lookout post Kel sent for Var’istaan and Kuriaju, and readied an escort. The early warning meant she was able to collect Quenuresh and they met the newcomers a mile north of Spidren Wood.

            There was considerable wariness but with the resident immortals to offer reassurances in both directions all proved well. The basilisks were two males, Laar’aan and Spiir’aan, and a mated pair, Mnaa and Histu’aan, with their daughter Bel’iira; the ogres were a family of farmers led by Samiaju; the spidrens a mixed group led by an older, larger male, Aldoven, nothing like Quenuresh’s size, who treated her with extreme respect. All had come west from lands around the City of the Gods, where fighting had intensified in April before settling back into the siege that had been going on for two full years.

            As Kel spoke with them she became increasingly elated. The basilisks had heard of stonework being done at New Hope and wanted to participate—which besides strengthening trade meant an extra shift on the tunnel, presently limited by Var’istaan’s and St’aara’s magical endurance, and if Kel had her way a start on steps up the fin. The ogres were equally welcome, wanting a protective community and to practice terrace farming on slopes too steep to plough; Kel’s only worry was vulnerability to attack from the treeline, especially with guard squads stretched to cover them, but Samiaju was untroubled.

            “We know the war continues, Protector, and New Hope is a target, but to have guards and a stronghold to sleep in are great improvements. And when we have a slope to terrace Aldoven has offered to block access from the treeline with webbing in return for crops.”

            Aldoven nodded. “An armed mortal could cut through, but it will impede and give warning.”

            Kel looked at Quenuresh. “Could that be done elsewhere?”

            The spidren mage hissed. “The whole valley, Protector? No. There is too much and we are talking of heavy webbing rising five feet or more that will need renewing every year.”

            “Just treelines closest to fields we’re working, then?”

            “Maybe.” She laughed. “You will have sore spinnerets, Aldoven. And you are going to owe me a great deal of cheese, Protector.”

            “We’ll trade for more if we have to. Or add meat, if you like. But I can’t ignore anything that might give people a chance to get to safety.”

            “I understand. Aldoven and I must talk of what is and is not allowed here, but if all is well shall I show them to the eastern valley?”

            “Please, though it will have to be confirmed by the King. And be aware, Aldoven, trappers use that valley, and it’s possible Scanrans will come through.”

            “Trappers we can live with, Protector, even trade with—we trap ourselves and do not wear fur. And if Scanrans pass the markers we set around the designated land they will wish they had not.”

            Any line of defence blocking routes raiders could use was music to Kel’s ears, and after asking Aldoven to come for a treaty swearing next day she watched Quenuresh leading him and his party off with a sense of amazement. Who would have dreamed it a year before? The afternoon was spent introducing basilisks and ogres, settling them into Immortals’ Row, where more chambers were begun, and debating with Samiaju and Adner which slopes might be terraced and which reserved for hay. As it happened Adner had experience of terrace farming and the technical discussion was interesting, but in late afternoon Kel was called to the gate by Brodhelm to find she had indeed heard right and the people asking admission were Sir Voelden, the thin-faced captain, Rogal, and one remaining member of his command, a burly man called Emerint who seemed simple.

            “Are you serious, Sir Voelden? You ask admission as refugees?”

            “What choice do I have, Lady Knight?” The title was ground out and Kel noted the absence of any ‘commander’. “Tirrsmont is gone. We have no food and nowhere else to go.”

            He had lost weight, and all their faces were lean. Kel had to admit he had a case of sorts but was viscerally reluctant to have him at New Hope and her rationalisations didn’t have to be forced.

            “But why come here, of all places? Go south—find work there.”

            “I am not welcome in Corus.”

            “You must realise you will be unwelcome to your former liegefolk here, and I can offer you no accommodation but refugee barracks.”

            “Barracks?”

            “Yes. Or the caves. With three companies and four knights all else is taken, and I’m not turfing anyone out on your behalves.”

            “So be it. And we will serve to fight Scanrans.”

            “Everyone fights Scanrans here, even children. I doubt you’re proposing to enlist.”

            “Call it what you will, Lady Knight. We will fight. Isn’t that enough?”

            “That depends who you’re fighting and how. People here are soldiers or work as needed and fight in drilled and organised ways—we can’t afford to do otherwise when the alarm sounds. And you have not yet acknowledged that I command here.”

            “I used your title.”

            “But not her rank, Sir Voelden.” Brodhelm’s face was impassive. “Lady Keladry is the third-ranking officer of this district, after my Lords of Cavall and Goldenlake. The term Protector is used by immortals and recognised by His Majesty.”

            Voelden grimaced; Rogal looked as if he’d eaten something rotten.

            “Very well. Commander. Are you going to protect us as we ask?”

            Kel felt trapped. “We’ll see. The first test is for you to stand under the Honesty Gate, state your names, and declare you mean no harm of any kind to any being at New Hope.”

            Emerint passed easily, Rogal with clipped words. Voelden looked at her.

            “I cannot say I wish you no harm, Commander. I’d gladly see you dead and you know it. But I have no intention of harming you myself, and mean no harm to any man here.”

            “There are women, children, basilisks, ogres, and spidrens also.”

            “I mean no harm to any living thing here, then.”

            “Very well. I also require your oaths that you will obey standing orders and any given you by a knight, officer, or member of the Council, and that you will conduct yourself soberly with respect for all. By giving them you place yourselves under army jurisdiction, and the only appeal from my judgement is to my Lord of Cavall and General Vanget. And let me be frank. Under that jurisdiction your attempt to run me through tilting, Sir Voelden, would be punishable by death. And your conduct the last time you were here, like that of Rogal, would attract punishment—confinement on bread and water, probably. Your habitual ways of referring to women and those you despise would earn extended latrine duty. I am sworn not to abuse my authority, but neither will I hesitate to use it if necessary, and you are supplicants here.”

            Emerint was again untroubled, though he had to be prompted with the necessary words, while Rogal and Voelden looked sour but did swear. Kel had Brodhelm, Mikal, Uinse, and Merric as witnesses, and after delegating to Uinse the task of finding places in a barracks or the cave and giving basic orientation, she asked the others to make formal depositions as witnesses. Merric raised his eyebrows.

            “You expect trouble from them, Kel?”

            “I don’t know, Merric. Emerint might be alright—he’ll do well enough by anyone who looks after him. But I don’t trust Voelden or Rogal as far as I can throw them, and yes, I expect trouble with one or both.” She tried to think it through. “Suppose I do wind up with Voelden on a charge—what’s the standing of a knight who was a noble until six weeks ago? And can he extend noble protection to Rogal? The whole thing’s ambiguous but oaths, witnessed by all of you, make clear my authority to judge them for any infraction of direct or standing orders.”

            He whistled. “I see. Still, you couldn’t turn them away.”

            “I wanted to.”

            “It’ll be alright, Kel—we’ll watch them like hawks.”

            And everyone did, for a few days. The Tirrsmonters were especially unhappy, though Kel was half-amused to see Lasner’s ostentatious coldness to his former master’s son, and no-one wanted the three in their barracks so they wound up in small cave-spaces between loom- and look-out chambers. As she’d suspected Emerint proved tractable and took a liking to Uinse, so she attached him to Company One as a volunteer. Sir Voelden was a misfit in every sense but had fighting skills and was of use to Companies Eight and Fourteen as a sparring partner; he was willing to patrol and at Merric’s urging Kel let him. Rogal proved the problem, unable to adjust to not being in authority and openly scornful of her refusal to grant him any. He was a decent archer, however, and a combination of leading practice and being given duty on the eastern alure seemed to mollify him. When Wyldon received her report he was onto the spellmirror in a hurry, incredulous that Sir Voelden had claimed refuge and she’d granted it. He listened as she ran through her thinking, rubbing his forehead tiredly.

            “Mithros, what a mess. I agree you couldn’t turn them away but it’s absurd for Sir Voelden to say he’s not welcome in Corus—he means not welcome at the Palace.”

            “I thought he was probably avoiding unpaid bills. Is he liable for his father’s debts?”

            He frowned. “Probably not—he inherits nothing but may have debts of his own, of course. Do you know when he came north?”

            “With Ettenor. He stayed at Tirrsmont when the civilians left. I’m sorry, I thought you knew.”

            “No, but there’s no reason I should. I thought he’d have stayed with his father until …”

            “Has it happened?”

            “Yes. Last week. Does he know?”

            “Perhaps not. I don’t know where he’d get news. That means I ought to tell him.” Kel couldn’t imagine a less welcome duty and turned the subject. “But he shouldn’t distract us from good news, Wyldon. I have spidrens guarding the eastern approach, the tunnel’s advancing at double rate, and I’ve started Spiir’aan and Histu’aan on steps up the fin. Plus there’s an additional field ready for planting—those ogres work hard—and we should be able to pay for all the extra food we need.”

            “Yes, immortals coming in is good news, and your progress sounds excellent, as do the finances—the King will be pleased. I don’t believe there’s ever been a self-supporting refugee camp, Keladry—it’s a tremendous achievement. I’m concerned about more land going to spidrens, though, even if presently unclaimed. It’ll be hard to undo such a grant after the war, if we needed to.”

            Kel shrugged. “Why should we? That valley’s uninhabited except for itinerant trappers and Aldoven promised to respect them. If spidrens are coming in they have to go somewhere. And the King gave me full powers to deal with immortals. I’ve sent him notification directly.”

            “He did? I didn’t know that.”

            “I wasn’t going to shout it but yes, after we met the elemental.”

            “Ah. May I ask on what terms?”

            “In respect of immortals under treaty at New Hope, or others who come there. If there is no time to ask but you need my authority, you have it, without fear of traducement. I will not forget. I had to make a decision, but I’ve made it clear it’s subject to His Majesty’s approval, and sought it.”

            “Then that’s fine. And you’re right they have to go somewhere.” He rubbed his forehead again. “I’m getting too old for this, Keladry.”

            “Nonsense. You coped with me—what’s a spidren or twenty?”

            The look he gave her made her laugh aloud.

* * * * *

Forthrightness was the only option. “Sir Voelden, I am sorry to refer to this, and for any pain it causes, but it is my duty to make sure you are aware the sentence on your father has been carried out.” She hesitated, but even if she hadn’t the least idea how she felt about this bizarre situation she could speak truth. “It would seem hypocritical to tell you I’m sorry, but I would wish such news on no-one. Is there anything you need? The Black God’s shrine is available to all and I have communication with Mastiff and Northwatch. They could mage-relay a message south.”

            His blank face twisted. “No. Thank you.” His voice grated. “You have done your duty.” He half-turned but swung back, hesitating. “That didn’t sound as I meant it. I … I cannot like you, but I cannot deny I see you doing duty to the realm. Doing it well.” He turned again.

            “Please wait. That is … interesting.” It might not be wise but she had to know. “Will you tell me, between us alone and on my word without penalty—was that lance strike an accident?”

            The blankness and twist repeated. “No. I apologise for it. I would kill you in a fair fight without compunction, but I am ashamed I did that on the field of honour. I am not … I was not without it. Once.”

            “Nor are you now, or I wouldn’t have accepted your oath. Honour isn’t like innocence, lost with knowledge. Nor like nobility or any rank. It’s just how you behave every day and can be counted on to behave. And I accept your apology. If you know, will you tell me why I made you forget your honour in that moment? I was fifteen.”

            He met her gaze. “At the time I’d have said I recovered honour from your smirching of it. The truth is I had debts.”

            “And Joren paid them.”

            He swallowed. “You know about that?”

            “The elemental of the Chamber said he paid at least one knight to try to kill me.”

            “The elemental … It wasn’t … I did not understand it as that at the time.” His voice dropped. “I am not denying my responsibility but Joren was … he made it seem …”

            “I know. He was smooth. Last question. Did Stone Mountain know what Joren was doing? I’m guessing we’re talking about sizeable sums, but perhaps he had that much himself as a squire.”

            “Why do you care?”

            “Stone Mountain apologised to me when I asked the elemental on his behalf why it killed Joren. I have difficulty knowing if he was sincere and, frankly, if he is wholly rational in his grief. We both now sit on the King’s Council. And I have survived two assassination attempts this year, one seemingly commissioned by Sir Guisant and one by King Maggur. If Stone Mountain knowingly paid for attempts on my life in the past …”

            He had been in Corus for one and had to have heard about the other, and nodded slowly. “I agree Lord Burchard has not been himself since Joren’s death, but if he apologised to you, he meant it. And Joren … if he needed more money than he had he would have asked Genlith, not his father. Whether he did so I cannot say.”

            “Thank you. Let me say also that while there are many reasons I cannot yet grant you more authority than patrol second, I recognise your skills and knowledge. If you have any suggestion for defence or organisation, anything to strengthen us, I will listen. I believe we will face a major attack before the war ends, and if we are agreed New Hope must not fall, that nothing is more important, we should be fine.”           

            “I have no love for Scanrans.”

            “I don’t care who it is, I just don’t like people attacking my people. And I will do anything to defend them.”

            “I realise that. I doubt your defences can be improved.” He gave her a strange look. “That was one thing that made me think about what you have done here.”

            “What else?” Kel was curious.

            “My father.” He waved a hand. “A thousand people who swear by you. Other things. Lasner’s a weathercock but that spidren and those basilisks and ogres aren’t, and I know what holding the respect of soldiers requires, besides money to pay them. I find I cannot … begrudge you command. Nor honestly blame you for what happened. I did not know my father had dipped so deep.”

            That was to Kel less in Voelden’s favour than he seemed to suppose but they parted on better terms and she had no time to worry further about him or Rogal for in the first week of June the building team arrived with laden wagons. She showed a cheerful Geraint developments, and while the presence of Cloestra and size of Immortals Row shocked him he was appreciative of work in the caves, especially the lookout post. The rapidly deepening tunnel through the fin was also an amazement, and Kel explained about the central chamber, which she hoped to reach in time for the building team to help bridging it. Then she convened a meeting and invited Dom to present his plans for the corral.

            After reading Orchan and discussing how she’d structured the main defences, he’d worked hard to have things ready. With the practice sessions it had restored his sense of purpose and Kel had mutely rejoiced, though his sense of diminution at being unable to take the field remained evident and he was as bitterly private about his injury as she had been about the Hag’s healing. Other than Neal as a healer he’d allowed no-one to see his leg, bluntly refusing offers of help until they dried up, and it twisted her heart to watch him ineffectively try to adjust or scratch under his brace through cloth. His physical presence had returned him vividly to her fantasies, but lack of knowledge and consequent imaginations of his injury, to which she might somehow minister, hands soothing his flesh, were as dominant as more familiar conjurations of what his hands might do to her own. Shaking away an image as indecent as it was arousing she concentrated on his words.

            “Starting from the outside, the first thing is a moat, ten feet deep and fifteen wide, with petrified spoil piled as vertically as possible on the outer side, providing a drop and glacis. I haven’t seen what’s under the water in the main moat but I gather serious spikes are in order, and there should be an abatis angled down from the base of the wall, with upper surfaces as sharp and slippery-smooth as possible.”

            Geraint glanced up. “Oh, very nasty. I like it, captain.”

            Kel saw Dom blink at the rank, but she hadn’t been joking about the captaincy of the corral. It wasn’t going to be a sergeant’s command.

            “Ah, thank you, Master Geraint. Now, to fill and drain the moat we’ll need soughs connecting to the Greenwoods. We’ve surveyed, and for the inflow there are natural slopes we can exploit, here and here.” He pointed on the map Kel had brought from her office. “The outflow’s trickier and the sough will have to deepen to overcome the rise here. We may need to bridge it for the trail round the fin. But we can do something good with the gateway. We must balance defence and ability to sally, and the best answer I can think of is to extend the moat to the fin and have a drawbridge. I’m no hand with a pen but I’ve done a plan.”

            He passed it to Geraint. Kel had seen it but others stood to cluster round and peer over Geraint’s shoulders. Mikal’s finger traced the plan.

            “So if you sallied you’d come across the bridge to fan left, and attackers would have no clear shots at the gate because the raised drawbridge would shield it?”

            “That’s right. The sill of the gate might have to be ramped up a bit, but that’s no problem”

            “Mmm.” Geraint looked thoughtful. “How do you want to raise the drawbridge? Gaffs and rainures?”

            “I’d rather use angle chains and counterweights.”

            “You’ll need a big counterweight. What is there we could use?”

            “How about a portcullis? Or cut rock from the fin.”

            “Portcullis as counterweight? Oh that’s a fine thought, though we’d need some rock too, I think.”

            “Once it’s in position it could be petrified for maximum weight.”

            “Of course it could. It’ll mean a more massive gatehouse structure than you’ve allowed, and your smiths will have to make chains—we’ve nothing the right size though we have iron to use. Not enough, though.”

            Kel sat forward. “We have rusty mail that can be melted down.”

            “Right. What’s this structure inside the gate? A killing field?”

            “Yes. An extension of the barbican. An L-shaped wall with an alure, accessible from the main wall, and a single gateway as a choke-point in case anyone does get in—pursuing after a sally, say.”

            “It’ll be an interesting job but ought to be possible.”

            “Good.” They reseated themselves. “Now the wall itself is nice and high—about twenty-five feet, with a few dips—but not as steep as I’d like on the outside. From what I understand making it sheer probably isn’t possible without Master Numair or other high-level mages, but it needs to be faced with petrified mud so it’s smooth, and the stone we move to shape the alure could create a vertical rise at the top below a crenellated parapet. Even an overhang. And I’d like a wide alure—without the height of New Hope range will depend on draw, or sling length and speed, and both will be better if people can take a good stance.”

            “Right you are, captain.” Geraint was pleased. “The number of people who don’t see that is astonishing. I’ve spent time arguing for wider alures but they take more material. With a stone wall already present that’s not a problem. What sort of access d’you want? The same staircases as the main alures?”

            Dom flushed. “Um, not really. My leg makes stairs hard and Lady Kel was kind enough to suggest ramps. But if that’s a problem …”

            To Kel’s relief Geraint was briskly practical. “Not at all. Easier, actually, if you mean traverse ramps.”

            “Yes. I did a sketch.”

            He passed it over and Geraint’s eyes lit up. “Perrons! Splendid. I haven’t done any of those for a while.”

            Kel could see others as puzzled as she. “Perrons?”

            “Oh, sorry. Balcony landings, usually with a single-flight staircase on either side, but here with ramps.” He held up Dom’s sketch, showing four pairs of ramps rising to meet at the alure and form triangles with the ground. “Properly the perron is just the landing, here projecting from the alure, but the whole structure’s also called a perron.”

            “And it’s no problem?” Dom’s voice was flat but Kel could hear how much it meant to him.

            “No, provided the basilisks can unstick and restick bonded scree as they did before.”

            Kel nodded. “They can, and we’ve six adults now, not two. St’aara’s running the schoolhouse, and I want shifts on the tunnel to continue so we can reach that chamber, but the stairway up the fin can wait so you can have three adults. And Amiir’aan and Bel’iira can help with facing.”

            “What about internal structures?”

            “Dom?”

            “It depends where the tunnel comes out, and I’ve been thinking about that. If that crack in the fin runs as straight beyond the central chamber as it does this side—which the spidrens say it seems to—then when the tunnellers hit limestone again they’ll be deep in the cliff and need to go sideways. It won’t be Master Geraint’s job but there’s no reason that extra bit of tunnel need be straight—it’ll be in limestone, so from what Var’istaan and Petrin tell me it should be easy to put in corners and defensive positions. Go in a square, say, and when they hit the fin again go straight, which means the tunnel will come out right in the angle of fin and cliffs.”

            Brodhelm nodded vigorously. “Good thinking, Dom—the more defences there are in the tunnel the happier I’ll be. Your walls and moat are good, and the drawbridge excellent, but I can’t help thinking of the tunnel as a back door. No offence.”

            “None taken—I feel that way myself. But the thing is it means we can be sure where the tunnel will come out. The other consideration is keeping space for the horses, including centaurs’ herds in winter, so I thought buildings should be along cliffs and fin.” He produced another plan. “A large stableblock along the limestone, stepped to hug it, and the farrier’s shop, barracks, and secondary headquarters along the fin.”

             “That’s straightforward and the stable will be interesting.”

            Seaver frowned. “Why one big one, Dom? Won’t it make a bottleneck for getting horses out? When you want to sally, I mean.”

            “It could, but a double door would take care of that. The main reason is heat in winter—harder to get a big space warm but easier to keep it warm. I’ve talked to people about this last winter, especially keeping the stables warm when everyone retreated to the caves, and I think it’d be best to minimise the problem. That’s why I’ve marked the stable for double walls, stone and timber, and I thought if the spidrens can set webbing below the roof that we fill with a layer of hay the horses’ bodyheat should be retained.”

            “Oh that’s excellent, Dom.” Merric bounced in his seat. “That would help in the stables here. We should have thought of it when we were dreaming up those helmets, Brodhelm—Quenuresh was right here and for hay you’d only need wide mesh. What is it, Kel?”

            “Just thinking of the cheese bill. But you’re right—it is good thinking. All these plans are—thank you, Dom.” Absurdly and endearingly he flushed and her heart hammered. “Geraint, can you—we—do all that?”

            “We can, Lady Kel, but we’ll need workforce. My lads will be best used on internal structures, and with basilisk help on wall and gatehouse. Digging the moat is brute labour.”

            “I anticipated that. We have more than four hundred adult refugees now, as well as the mining ogres and any off-duty soldiers who are willing to put in time. Adner’s never happy losing anyone from fieldwork but ploughing and planting are pretty much complete, and I want this done as rapidly as possible, so you’ll have three hundred plus pairs of hands—enough to start multiple sections at once.”

            He whistled. “That’ll do it.”

            “I hope so. Now there’s also safety, and we have to have guards out for people north of the fin, but it’s easier with so many in one place and you’ll have a duty company as protection. We have a number of horn calls worked out, depending on where a threat comes from, and I want your people drilled in those. If one does sound, everyone except the duty company gets into the corral fast.”

            “Of course. It’s too late to start today, but maybe you could do the drill this evening? Then we can get stuck in first thing tomorrow.”

            Dinner was enlivened by demonstrated horncalls and the reaction of the building team to the glowing warmth of the pillars and rich carvings. The refugees were glad to see New Hope’s builders and there was merriment, but work started shortly after dawn, with nine teams of thirty and most of the mining ogres so progress was swift.

            Geraint and Kel co-ordinated who was doing what. The older children began the inlet sough, a foot square, along a route surveyors pegged, and Amiir’aan and Bel’iira—the latter delighted to be called on—alternated between petrifying completed sections, which prevented collapse while giving the children a clear sense of achievement, and mud smoothed onto the wall. The basilisks worked with Geraint’s men and every mage able to hold loose stone in place to transform the allering from a rough mound to a very different profile, with the overhang Dom wanted blending into eight feet of crenellated parapet and a ten-foot alure. When a quarter was done, nearest the limestone, the first ramps and perron were sculpted on the inner face and Geraint grew thoughtful.

            “I think people can climb those faster than the switchback staircases on the New Hope alures. You can take them at a run without having to slow or reverse. I know you were thinking of Captain Domitan’s leg, Lady Kel, but I think ramps should become a standard design.”

            “I like them, too, Geraint. And please tell Dom—he thought I was wrongly … catering to his injury.”

            “I will. You don’t mind people coming to see them? If I submit the report I’m thinking of there are people who’ll want to.”

            “Recommend away. We’ve been visited by the Crown Prince and Princess and two gods. I’m hoping for an eighty-five foot dragon, too, so people wanting to see ramps is no problem.” She grinned at his expression. “In return, perhaps you could emphasise the co-operation of all our immortals? We couldn’t do half of this without them.”

            “I’ll happily do that.” He looked at her. “Have you had problems?”

            “Some. The Tirrsmonters had been told absurd lies, and one of them induced a boy to throw a stone at Amiir’aan. It cut his head—and might have been worse.”

            “Amiir’aan? But he’s sweet.”

            “According to this man he’s a monster with no place among mortals.”

            “Gods, what a fool. What happened to him?”

            “He and his friends are at Northwatch. General Vanget thought some army service with his lads could be … educational.”

            “Heh. I bet. And I’ll gladly spread that word, Lady Kel—the basilisks are changing what’s possible architecturally. Fortifications aside, when this war’s done I’d like to partner with one, and a mage, to build houses—you could do something really spectacular.”

            Kel laughed. “So you could. Tell Idrius. We’re establishing a Craftsbeings’ Guild to trade in petrified ware and webbing. We could add architectural services.”

            “I will—and if you’re serious, that’s a deal, Lady Kel.”

            She offered him a hand, and they went back to work. Some of the building team had been preparing foundations, and as the inlet sough was completed, releasing children to continue facing alure, parapet, ramps, and inner wall with mud from the moat spoil, corner posts and then floors and walls started to appear. Camaraderie was high—the newcome Tirrsmonters had felt Kel’s tongue-lashing and their incompetence with weapons keenly, but they could dig as well as anyone. It was heavy, brutal work, but as soon as Kel realised the deepest two feet were taking as much time as the first eight, thanks to a layer of claggy soil, she told them to stop as soon as they hit it.

            “Pile spoil on the inner side as well and we’ll get nine feet of water. No-one will be wading across.”

            The decision cheered the diggers and progress accelerated, with spikes going into the completed sections which the basilisks took turns to petrify into razor-edged obsidian. The abatis began to go in, and after petrifying each spike the basilisks changed spell and honed upper edges until they would slice a hand rested on them, as several people discovered. Neal was hovering around Yuki, due any time, but after the third severe cut marched down to the corral and delivered a blistering lecture that won an admiring audience and ended the problem.

            A little more than a week in, with the moat substantially complete and the deeper outlet sough underway, Kel and Geraint were at the smithy watching links being added to the massive drawbridge chains and discussing the portcullis and drums needed to articulate the drawbridge when she was summoned.

            “General Vanget wants a word, Lady Kel, soon as you can.”

            Excusing herself Kel went to do so. Vanget was at his desk, but looked up as the spellmirror chimed and rose to approach it.

            “That was quick, Kel. Is the mage there?”

            She held up her Midwinter gift. “Master Numair managed to rig it so I can activate the mirror myself.”

            “Really? He never said that was possible.”

            “Well, he has been distracted, Vanget—more than usual, I mean. If you had a daughter who kept turning into a bear or owl I daresay you’d be distracted too.”

            He laughed. “Mithros, yes. But with the shortage of mages it matters that the un-Gifted can operate a mirror—even if it does take … what is that? A black opal?”

            “Yes.”

            “Expensive—but the Crown has plenty, thanks to Dunlath, so it makes smaller mirrors for patrols and the like practicable. I must tell Wyldon to ask him about it.” He made a note. “Incidentally, your griffins turned up a couple of days ago and scared everyone witless. I went rushing down, bowed, pointed to the gate, and they nodded, roared something that hurt my ears, and took off again.”

            Kel grinned. “They’re hardly my griffins, Vanget. And I bet no-one can tell lies under that gate any more.”

            “No they can’t. The lads have had fun trying. I’d have liked to give their featherheads something in return though.”

            Kel grinned again. “Good one. I doubt they want anything—proud creatures. But I’ll ask Quenuresh to pass on thanks.”

            “Please. Now, this commanders’ conference at the start of July?”

            “Wyldon mentioned it. At Mastiff.”

            “Not any longer. The attack on New Hope was the worst there’s been anywhere, and as of two days ago the Scanrans have withdrawn from Frasrlund.” Kel whistled. “Indeed. I’ve no idea what they’re up to but something’s going on. It's still stalemate at the City of the Gods, and some incursions east, but the western front is quiet. Trouble in Hamrkeng, I think. Maggur’s not left it, anyway. So the Lioness is going to Trebond for Midsummer, come what may, and Goldenlake too—says he needs to stretch after being cooped up all winter, and I can’t say I blame him. I also discover you and Wyldon are invited—are you going?”

            “I’d like to, but the building team’s here, for one thing, and I’m loath to go away for ten days or more with the new Tirrsmonters and immortals here. Not to mention Sir Voelden and Rogal.”

            “Mmm, I heard about that. Bizarre. Rogal is that captain of his?”

            “Yes. I trust him far less than Voelden, and while I don’t think for a minute he’d get anywhere I do think he might try something in my absence. I didn’t know Wyldon was invited to Trebond.”

            “He is, and minded to go if all stays quiet.” Vanget’s face went suspiciously bland. “Apparently the Wildmage’s father said Wyldon had very sensible opinions about breeding dogs and she took it as a hint.”

            Kel laughed. “That’s splendid. They did talk about dogs. We’ll have the Wild Hunt breeding with Cavall’s wardogs if we’re not careful.”

            Vanget slapped his thigh. “Mithros, wouldn’t that be something? They’d be no escaping one of those, eh? Anyway, I’m relieved you’re not going—we can’t have every commander between here and Frasrlund taking off at the same time. Greendale will hold the fort at Mastiff, Whiteford at Steadfast, but you’ll be senior in the District and I’ve told them to refer to you in the first place. Call me if necessary.”

            Kel was speechless for a moment. “Are you sure, Vanget? They’re much older than me, and Flyndan was captain of the Second before I was even a squire.”

            “True. They’re good soldiers, but Greendale’s only been Wyldon’s second since last summer, and though Whiteford’s a fine captain you’ve already more experience as a commander. Between ourselves, I doubt he’ll go higher. He knows he hasn’t the temperament or vision to succeed Goldenlake, which you might well.”

            “Oh. And he doesn’t mind being under me?”

            “No—he was relieved, I think. In any case, as a commander you rank them and I wouldn’t go against the book without reason.”

            “You realise I’m nineteen?”

            He laughed. “I didn’t, actually, and I appreciate what you must be feeling, but it makes no odds. You’re a natural, Kel, Goldenlake trained you specifically as a commander, and since Wyldon thrust you into Haven we’ve all been scrambling to keep up. Oh yes we have—don’t doubt it. Now, with the Lioness, Goldenlake, and Wyldon coming back together from Trebond it makes no sense for you and me to slog over to Mastiff, so I’ve moved the conference to New Hope. The Lioness won’t get there until Midsummer Eve, and wants to stay a day or three, so look for us in the first days of July.”

            Kel swallowed. “Escorts and staff?”

            “Two squads each, and I’ll bring half-a-dozen staff. Problem? You must be pretty full by now.”

            “We are, especially with the building team here, but we can manage. There are guest rooms, but soldiers and staff will have to use the barracks of the night-duty watch or the caves, as we did in winter.”

            “That’s fine. How’s the corral coming? And that tunnel?”

            She gave him a report, stressing the assistance of immortals and mentioning Geraint’s belief about ramps, bringing a frown of interest.

            “That’s worth pondering. If you didn’t have stone and basilisks would it take more timber than stairs, I wonder. Ask him to calculate that in his report, would you? I’ll look forward to reading it.”

            He bid a cheerful farewell, leaving her to contemplate achieving temporary district command—four major forts, counting New Hope, and twenty regular companies—before turning twenty. It was ridiculous. There was so much she was conscious of not knowing, and another indecent image of learning some of it squirmed into her head. That would not do, and there was a great deal to find out. Sighing, she activated the spellmirror to call Wyldon and with any luck have a chat with Sir Rannac or someone on his staff who could give her a detailed report on everything she’d soon be responsible for.

* * * * *

On the day after the ides district command passed to Kel, anti-climactically, and the tunnellers reached the central chamber. The crack was a little under two feet high and the tunnel was cut entirely into the rock below, leaving the crack’s sloping upper surface as its roof; for someone of Kel’s height it felt very odd to be passing through solid rock yet have a dark void stretching away on both sides. Small magelights had been installed at intervals but only made spaces darker and Kel found herself flicking glances as if some unimaginable thing might emerge from the blackness. Geraint and Brodhelm were shorter and didn’t seem to notice, but Geraint ran a hand along the wall, marvelling at basilisk cutting. The chamber, though, left them speechless as Kel crouched cautiously at the lip of the cut rock, her old fear of heights stirring.

            The ceiling was eroded and magelight illuminated an irregular dome stretching to the top of the crack where it continued on the far side. At her feet rock dropped precipitously in curving walls soon lost to sight; there were bumps and hollows but the surface looked smooth and glittered where light struck it, reminding Kel of what Kitten had said about fin rock containing crystals. Amid the darkness were streaks of white and Kel realised an irregular layer sloping through the fin had been exposed.

            “Water did this?” Her voice echoed.

            “Yes.” Geraint was positive. “Nothing else could produce such smooth circular walls. All your caves were made by water and when they flooded it must have come through the crack, found weakness here, and cut the rock like a pothole in a river bed.”

            “It must have taken centuries.” Brodhelm’s deep voice boomed.

            “Yes, but in bursts, when the system flooded. Snowmelt, probably. Just like with rivers—no erosion you can see most of the year, but come the spring floods and yards of ground can rip away.”

            “Huh.” It struck Kel society could change in the same way, seeming static for decades until some equivalent of a flood—like war—ripped away customs and limits, people and places. “Can you bridge it?”

            Geraint blew out a breath. “In theory. In practice I’m not sure how to start. Even for a simple beam we need the passage on the other side to work from, but we can’t get there without the bridge. Can I get past you to have a better look, Lady Kel?”

            “Of course.”

            Kel stood and turned sideways as Geraint shuffled forward. For a second they were pressed together, not as tightly as she imagined lovers must be, but she sensed his embarrassment as he was unable to avoid brushing her breasts. Once past her he crouched, staring across the void to the further crack.

            “It must be forty feet. That’s not a problem—I’ve done longer—but I’ve always had two sides to work with. I suppose we have to build something out from just this side, but I’m not at all happy about a cantilever like that. I’ll have to think about it.”

            Kel looked up. “Could you suspend planks from bolts driven into the ceiling? It’s only a few feet higher than the top of the crack.”

            Geraint glanced up. “That’s a thought. It’ll be dangerous work.”

            “Mmm. What we need is spidrens.”

            “Spidrens?”

            “One could get across easily. Let’s talk to Var’istaan and Petrin.”

            They walked back and emerged into what had been the spidrens’ winter chamber, where basilisk and miner waited. Var’istaan had anticipated the problem and his whisper was amused.

            “You are wondering how to create enough tunnel on the other side to build a bridge, but it can be done. Master Geraint, what are the longest planks you have?”

            “Um, about thirty feet.”

            “Not enough. You must fell one of the pine trees and cut strong planks of fifty feet or more—enough to reach right across with at least ten feet still on this side that we can bolt and weight with stone blocks.”

            “Master Var’istaan, cantilevered planks that long won’t be strong enough to bear a being’s weight.”

            “They will after I have petrified them.”

            “Oh.”

            Kel had to stop herself laughing at Geraint’s expression. “Even so, Var’istaan, you’ll have to cross this plank to cut the far wall?”

            “That is so, Protector.”

            “And forgive me, but a basilisk must weigh a fair bit.”

            “Stone is strong.”

            “Yes, but I don’t want to lose any of you down that hole. I think we should have ceiling supports for those planks—rope or spidren webbing.”

            “As you wish, Protector. I admit St’aara will be happier.”

            And that was how it was done, with the help of two of Quenuresh’s daughters and three tremendous planks that the farming ogres carried down valley from the tree the building team’s sawyers had sliced with a huge two-man saw over a hastily dug pit. It took several days, and they had to widen the tunnel at the edge of the void to give room to work, but once Var’istaan and others were able to reach the far side and begin cutting things speeded up. Geraint had spent the wait experimenting with models, to the fascination of children, and after much fiddling came up with a design Kel instantly adored. It was, he said, a cross between beam and modified cantilever—a single petrified-timber span, as light as basilisks could manage, that extended across the void to a step cut in the far side but had a substantial length on this side cantilevered with denser stone, and could be withdrawn. Instead of installing mageblasts a trough with a thick overhang was cut in the floor, smooth with magic and elbow grease, and a cunning mechanism of pulleys, ropes, and counterweights arranged so a last soldier retreating over the bridge—or a guard on its near side—could simply knock out a pin: counterweights would drop, pulling the span back. To re-extend it the counterweights would have to be raised by hand, after which it could be pushed out again. The final refinement, insisted on by Tobe, was a cloth cover over petrified-wood hoops to block the void for horses; mortal safety and comfort would be helped as well.

            It was a superb concept, solving the basic problem and avoiding the difficulty caused if they’d ever had to use the mageblasts. Kel had considered that but dismissed it as an unavoidable consequence of defensive function, and was delighted to be proven wrong. She sent Geraint pink with praise, despite his insistence it was only possible because of petrification and basilisks’ ability to vary stone they created, keeping it lighter than one would think such a structure must be.

            “You’re right, Geraint, and I shall heap praise on the basilisks and spidrens too. But it’s also only possible because you’ve thought about how to work with what they can do. Every time we come up with a new application for our immortals, alone or in combination, people look at me as if I’ve grown a second head, but I’m left wondering why we weren’t thinking about it before. Tkaa’s been in Corus for a decade, and while I’m sure he’s a wonderful diplomat how you can spend that long with a being capable of working stone like butter and petrifying anything you ask it to, and not think of using that capacity is beyond me. While St’aara and Var’istaan have been wandering round Tortall, not finding anywhere to settle safely or ways of integrating.”

            He scratched his head. “I suppose so, Lady Kel. I’ve never thought of it like that. But you’re right we’ve been set in our ways, and after the Immortals War everyone was wary. This war’s shaken a lot of things up.”

            “Even so, Geraint. The Immortals War was against Ozorne and some immortal allies he’d made. Plenty of immortals fought for us as well. Still, what matters is that it’s changing. And I must go—the patrol reports from Steadfast and Mastiff are due.”

            Other things were changing too. Early on Midsummer Eve Yuki went into labour, and whether it was natural or the Green Lady’s spiral her travail was shorter than Neal had expected and without complications. Kel was there for delivery, having her hands crushed and wondering if she’d ever return the favour. The child was a girl, as pale-skinned as Neal and with his green eyes but something of Yuki’s slant to them and Yamani-black hair; her lungs and willingness to use them seemed more her father’s but her squalling was stopped by her mother’s breast. Neal had gone from the mixed anxiety and efficiency of the last twelve hours to bemused wonder, sitting with one arm round Yuki and the other reaching a tentative finger to stroke the baby’s head. Kel left them to it but closing the door found Irnai solemnly looking up at her.

            “Were you watching, Irnai? Wasn’t it amazing?”

            “All births are. The god told me all would be well.”

            “Good. Did she say anything else?”

            “She is being offered more wintersweet. The priestess must have told many people.”

            They emerged into the evening light. “I expect she did. We should put some on her shrine here. I don’t think I’ve seen any growing in the valley, though. You could ask Adner if he knows of any.”

            “I will do that.”

            “Have you eaten? Nor me. Let’s go get food and tell everyone New Hope has a new resident.”

            The news was well received and when Neal and Yuki came with the babe to the Midsummer ceremony next morning there was interested affection. Everyone knew Yuki could have gone to Corus for her pregnancy—had been expected to go—and appreciated her staying. With so much to be done Kel kept the ceremony brief, though her prayers to Mithros and the Goddess were heartfelt, and she added thanks for the births of Daine’s and Yuki’s babies. She left Neal to relay word to his father by spellmirror and went to supervise the corral while Geraint was dealing with the bridge.

            Later that day a courier with impeccable timing delivered a mailbag that included, with a bundle of letters for Kel, missives from the King. One, in his own hand, thanked her for her letter about the Tirrsmont refugees, observing it had given Thayet a deal of amusement and promising to do better in future. The other, over his signature, was the charter of the Craftsbeings’ Guild, which Kel read out at dinner.

            “It’s an important day, people. The war’s still on, and you know my gut as well as my head tell me we’re going to face a real fight here before it’s done. But this is looking to the future, to New Hope not as a refugee camp or fort, but as a town. Many of you have homes you’d like to get back to. Some don’t. And if you think you’d like to stay, with the craftsbeings who’ve indicated that’s what they want, it’s time to say so. The clerks will keep a list. If you’ve questions about the guild and how it’s going to work, talk to Master Valestone.”

            Idrius stood. “You all know where to find me. But I’ve a question, if I may, Lady Kel.” She nodded and he cleared his throat as silence deepened. “We’ll become a fief. It’s Tortall’s way. I know whose fief it ought to be and I’ve heard it might be. Can you tell us anything.”

            Kel felt herself flush. “I cannot say for certain, Master Valestone, but the vote of the King’s Council was that no decision will be made until the war is over, and that when it is considered, if I make a claim, it will be considered first.”

            “And will you make a claim, my Lady?”

            There was no avoiding it and her stomach churned. “I may not be alive to do so, Master Valestone—this war’s already killed me once, remember—but if I am and it’s truly what people want—I will.”

            Any reply Idrius made was drowned and Kel sat with her flush deepening. She was relieved her friends seemed as pleased as everyone but wondered at it, trying to imagine how she’d feel under Merric’s or Neal’s command if they were in line for such elevation. The notion of herself as a baroness seemed ludicrous though she knew she was a military commander in a way none of them were save Dom, and that he couldn’t have done what she had with New Hope. She endured their satisfaction, but did manage for once to slip away to claim an early night and read a letter from her parents with news that Demadria had a son and all was well with her new nephew.

            She was up before dawn and after glaive practice and breakfasting went to the corral with squads from the building team. With the moat completed most labour had been returned to Adner, but about a hundred people came to help dig the outlet sough and plaster mud onto the last part of the wall and completed sections of alure and ramps, or provide muscle for teams working on buildings. The availability of cut stone had allowed walls to rise astonishingly rapidly; the stable built for Peachblossom had been reused. The masons had set dark fin blocks as lowest and highest courses, framing doors, windows, and each step of the stable wall, and it looked fine.

            In mid-morning she reluctantly headed to her office and endless paperwork, swollen by district reports sent by Sir Rannac but including the bundle of Corus correspondence. One thick roll turned out to be accounts from the Protector’s Maids, and Kel sat stunned as she took in the figures. All were doing well, some spectacularly; Lalasa had advanced money to a further five women and sent agreements for signature. A letter had news of the self-defence classes, swollen by female servants from the Palace, and announced she’d accepted Tomas, asking whether Kel would be coming to Corus for Midwinter; if so they’d hold the ceremony then, if not, they’d wait. Kel was delighted and said as much in an immediate reply but hesitated over the commitment: Neal, Merric, Brodhelm, and Mikal all had claims for leave, as did Uinse, and she’d have to get them some before winter set in, but she knew she’d be expected at the King’s Council and if Diamondflame did return to see Kitten there were questions she wanted to ask, so she added that she would be in Corus and planning should start. A postscript reminded Lalasa to invite Thayet and Shinko. Her mood was soured by the discovery of three more proposals from strangers among her other letters, one sufficiently indecent to deserve no response, and she took herself off to see how chains and portcullis were coming.

            Her introspection wasn’t helped by the greater weight of command, though all was quiet, or her imminent birthday. She hadn’t really celebrated it since her days in Yaman, but Neal had usually remembered in her page and squire years. In the wake of Rathhausak she’d barely remembered herself, but felt that twenty, if shy of majority, ought to be marked. She was quiet at dinner, her mind cast back along the path that had brought her to New Hope, and found sleep hard to come by, but dreamless when it claimed her. Rising before dawn and considering her scars in her mirror she decided it was just another day, but was pre-empted by finding Tobe in her outer room, hair tousled but dressed, scratching Jump.

            “Happy birthday, Ma.”

            She hugged him with swirling emotions, and scratched Jump herself. “Thank you, Tobe. How did you know?”

            “Captain Dom told me.”

            “Did he? That was nice of him. Do other people know?”

            “I didn’t think you’d want that.”

            “You’re right.” The thought struck like an arrow. “You’ve never told me when your birthday is.”

            “I dunno—spring sometime, but auld Eula didn’t remember.”

            “Then you must choose a day. When would you like?”

            He scrunched up his face. “What day was it you found me?”

            “Um … March seventeenth.” The day of Freja’s funeral.

            “Then that day.”

            Moved, she hugged him again. “Deal. I’m sorry I missed it this year. I owe you a present.”

            “You don’t owe me nothing.” He frowned. “And ain’t that you all over, Ma? It’s your birthday and we’re talking about mine. I owe you a present and a lot more, but I couldn’t think what to give until Captain Dom helped. And St’aara. It’s down at the corral.”           

            “Alright. We’ll need an escort. Standing orders are for me, too.”

            They saddled Alder and Hoshi, and with Peachblossom tagging along, mane heavy with sparrows, collected half-a-dozen of the duty squad at the gatehouse. Dawn gave enough light for the tauros skulls not to leer out of gloom, the sky was clear, earth and young crops fragrant with dew. At the corral she asked the soldiers to wait, and followed Tobe through the piled blocks of the rising gatehouse. He pointed to the stables, and she came to a stunned halt.

            In the centre of the first and longest step of the wall a black Mindelan owl looked out at her with golden eyes from a blue field above crossed cream glaives, all within her creamy grey distaff and golden ducal borders. She had to go right up to it before she realised it was petrified wood basilisk-bonded to the stone, and the colours were not paint; in sunlight it would look even more spectacular. Tobe came up beside her.

            “Is it alright, Ma? Captain Dom said about the flag he and poor Corporal Fulcher made for you, but there isn’t a flagpole here.”

            A noise had her head swinging round but it was only Peachblossom negotiating the gatehouse, followed by Alder and Hoshi. Nari flew to her shoulder, peeping, others circling excitedly.

            “It’s wonderful, Tobe. You made it?”

            “We all did. I cut out the owl and its eyes and the glaives, but Turner Farrel did the circles for me. I commissioned him, so I need to get a coin out of that purse from the King. He knows why I couldn’t ask you before, but he said he’d keep it to himself. And St’aara petrified it, of course, and put it up.”

            “You all did wonderful jobs. Thank you.”

            Peachblossom snorted satisfaction and Tobe grinned. “He approves. So do Hoshi and Alder. He carried it down for me. What is it?”

            Her eyes were wet. “It’s just emotion leaking, Tobe. Lots of emotions, not hurt. Since we met my life’s changed as much as yours. I’m just twenty, the future’s so uncertain, and part of me thinks I shouldn’t be alive. Gods know I’m glad to be, but what happened wasn’t right.”

            His old man came to his eyes. “You’re worried about that timeway.”

            “That as well. And Maggur in Hamrkeng, and where Sir Guisant’s hiding, but … remember when we met you couldn’t quite believe it for a while? I think that’s how I feel about everything this morning. The only cure’s a hug.”

            She was back in control by the time she found St’aara and Dom to thank them, but dismayed by his reserve when she dared touch his arm.

            “It seemed right, Kel. You’re already the Lady of New Hope.”

            She didn’t deny it but commanding Dom was odder than commanding yearmates, and the idea of him as a cool liegeman twisted her heart. In a way her fantasies hadn’t encompassed, his injury put a greater barrier between them than her own, but his restored kindness to Tobe and care to remember the day renewed desire, though she knew it unreturned. It was a relief when Duke Baird arrived in early afternoon, outpacing his escort up the roadway in haste to see his granddaughter. At dinner his besotted praise touched and amused everyone, but when a full-blown healer’s discussion of Cloestra’s egg-laying threatened Kel left them to it and went to greet the stormwing before going to the shrines to offer prayers to the Black God and Goddess for her life. On impulse she made a bow to Lord Sakuyo, and after a second stuck out her tongue. To her surprise she felt a gust of amusement and that calm that had come to her at the wedding, and slowly headed back to Cloestra.

            “Do you know anything about the trickster gods?”

            Steel glinted in moonlight. “Enough to steer clear. Which ones?”

            “Lord Sakuyo.” She thought of George. “And the Crooked God.”

            “My dam said Sakuyo was alright but I’ve never met him. Kyprioth’s trouble. Sometimes the fun kind, sometimes not. He’s a nasty temper and from what Barzha says he’s been quiet lately, so he’s probably up to something. But I doubt it’s here. Things are moving in the Copper Isles and if he’s not stirring I’ll be surprised. Why do you ask, Protector?”

            “It occurred to me my life is one enormous practical joke. It’s my birthday, you see. I bowed to Lord Sakuyo then stuck out my tongue and I think he laughed, but I also felt calmer.”

            Cloestra bated, steel scritching. “You grow in wisdom as well as years. How old are you?”

            “Twenty.”

            “Now that’s a joke.” She grinned. “I am in my twenty-third century, and cannot remember the beginning of my first.” The grin changed. “And it might be Sakuyo’s kind of joke. He likes younglings, by all accounts. Kyprioth and the Hag, too. She picked the Godborn younger than you to set those dinosaurs dancing in Ozorne’s palace.”

            “Were you there?”

            “Oh yes. Shall I tell you the story?”

            It was, Kel decided, her second present of the day—a very different account than any she’d heard from Daine or Numair, filled with interesting detail. It left her feeling mellower about the Hag’s sense of humour; she’d always liked Bonedancer, but hyenas now seemed more reasonable, and the warnings given Ozorne—galloping statue and cake of rats—as well as a dinosaur riot put what had happened to her in new perspective. Thanking Cloestra she made her way to bed, stroking Jump when she tucked Tobe in, and fell into the vivid dream of running with Yuki and the blossoms, breathlessly happy but filled with an erotic sense of a man she could never see watching her, and beneath both sensations that welling calm. Her memories faded as she woke, but she did find herself oddly certain that whatever joke Sakuyo might be playing it wasn’t on her; through her, perhaps—she might even be the joke, or one of its bearers—but she should be the one laughing, as the god did. It was better than fretting.

            Baird intended to stay for the conference and work with Neal on some delicate problems—weak hearts and lungs that needed two Gifts working together to heal—so he was there two days later when the look-outs blew alarm for a large body of Scanrans coming south. Kel and Brodhelm were in the fields below the glacis, Alder in barding, and with that much warning it was possible to get people back into New Hope safely, including those working beyond the fin. By the time the first Scanrans came into view from the ground only herders and animals had yet to cross the moatbridge, and to get to them the Scanrans would have to come through seven mounted squads, arrayed in double line with five squads of archers behind them, the best Kel had, all with six-foot self bows and three griffin-fletched needleheads as well as full quivers.

            The Scanrans paused as they saw the waiting cavalry but either there was an officer among them or they were only waiting for their fellows, for as numbers swelled they came forward, walking then trotting. They had a mile or more to come, and before the leaders had covered half that the flow of new riders at the back thinned and stopped. There were about two hundred all told, Kel reckoned, and made her decision. She counted down the distance aloud; at three hundred yards her cavalry moved aside, and at two-hundred-and-fifty yards the first flights of ordinary arrows were in the air, more following as fast as the archers could nock and draw. The front of the charge faltered at its sides as horses fell, and the riders behind had to check and weave. Losing momentum they became more bunched, forced together by falling horses on the flanks, and at one hundred yards the pattern of fire changed, each archer taking targets directly in front of him and using griffin-fletched needleheads. For all the drills some Scanrans were hit twice but it didn’t matter: the effect was devastating. Leather and chainmail could not stop an accurate needlehead at this range, and with griffin fletching it was no longer horses falling but men being punched clean from the saddle, by the dozen and score. Riderless horses broke right and left, passing through the gaps Kel left as her cavalry spurred forward to smash from both sides into the rearmost riders, blind until the last moment to the slaughter that had happened in front of them and the pincer attack they faced.

            It was brutal, ugly, and fast. They took injuries, some serious, but no deaths, and to Kel’s complete surprise the last score of Scanrans surrendered, throwing down weapons and dismounting, hands wide. She was more used to Scanran injured asking for the mercy stroke than prisoners, and what to do with them was an instant headache. Sir Myles would want information, and the cell would not hold half their number. When she found herself wondering if a section of corral moat might serve as a prison she shook her head, asked Brodhelm to summon healers to the field, and called out in Scanran, asking who would speak for them. After some glances a thickset man with a forked beard took a cautious step forward.

            “I am not an officer but I was once a sergeant.”

            “And you are?”

            “Stanar Petarsson, Clan Somalkt.”

            She remembered news of Maggur’s assault on Somalkt, which had resisted his rule. “I am Keladry of Mindelan, commanding here. Why are you no longer a sergeant?”

            “Because that was in another army.”

            “Fair enough. And what do you expect, surrendering?”

            He shrugged. “To live? We are forced to fight. Our chiefs command it because Maggur holds their children. We were not rearmost for nothing, and we have heard you killed the Kinslayer and the nicor mage and burned Rathhausak. You took in Freja Haraldsdottir’s son after you killed her when she tried to kill you, and let others go, warning of the Black God’s wrath. Perhaps we are cowards. Or perhaps we are sensible.”

            “You’re a problem. We’re a refugee camp not a prison, and there haven’t been a lot of prisoners taken in this war.”

            “No.” He shrugged again. “But we have heard you do new things.”

            “I do.” Deep breath. “Will you—all of you—swear gods’ oaths you will neither try to escape, nor bear any weapon against Tortall, nor harm any at New Hope while you are here? If you will, you can stay in a barn, eat with us, and have freedom to exercise, until I find out what my superiors want to do with you. If you won’t, I’ll have to confine or shackle you as best we can. You’ll have food and healers but no liberty.”

            There were murmurs but Stanar shrugged again. “I cannot fight against my chief but I can swear all of that. It is better than being dead and you rescue children, not hold them hostage.” 

            A thinner man spoke. “You will trust us?”

            “Not yet—that’s why I said a gods’ oath. If you break it you’ll die. Now, if you would swear, cast down all weapons and do so.”

            A scatter of daggers joined the axes, swords, and spears on the earth, and after Kel gave Stanar the wording she required they swore one by one to the chimes. It seemed to take forever, and she could hear healers arriving and setting to work, but it was done at last.

            “Right. Help round up all your horses.” She looked round. “They can go in the corral for now, Brodhelm.”

            “Very good, my Lady. Sir Nealan needs to speak to you.”

            His stiff manner set off alarms in Kel’s mind that doubled as she saw Neal’s pale face and tears. She swung herself down from Alder’s back and went to him, hands reaching for his.

            “Neal, what is it?”

            His voice was flat. “Merric’s dead.”

            Her brain became ice as her gut clenched in denial. “How?”

            “Rogal pushed him and he fell from the alure. His neck was broken. There was nothing father or I could do.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Sixteen — Judgement

29–30 June

Kel knew Merric’s parents would probably want his body returned to Hollyrose but it would take days to contact them, it was high summer, and New Hope did not have sufficient salt or spirits, so with Vanget’s sad acquiescence she ordered burial at Haven. The coffin was petrified; on Baird’s advice herbs and insect banes were added, and he and Neal infused what magic they could. Kel had Merric’s armour removed but left him sword on breast, skin washed clean of sweat and dust and hair brushed. In death his face was stark and his red hair dull, but freckles stood out across his cheeks and nose. There was no rage or terror in his expression, only a sense of puzzlement she distantly thought was her own, the one emotion escaping the lock on her rage, grief, and guilt.

            The second funeral in six weeks was unlike the first, not only in the contrast of sixteen coffins and one. Deaths in action were in some sense fair, even when civilians died; they shocked and hurt, but didn’t surprise. This was a death within, in but not of war, and the man responsible not a dead or departed enemy but prisoner in New Hope; beneath sorrow everyone felt an ugly fury Kel knew she had to address. With the building team and every soldier attending save yesterday’s seriously injured and a skeleton watch, more than a thousand people accompanied Merric to premature rest. The ranks of immortals attending were also swollen, spidrens coming to join the procession at the foot of the Haven roadway and the Stone Tree Nation circling overhead. Once they understood what was happening the prisoners asked to attend in respect, and Kel agreed, allowing no objections; they walked in a group, heads bared and eyes veiled save to cast wondering glances at stormwings or spidrens. Kel walked in front of the cart carrying the coffin, drawn by Alder and Hoshi; Peachblossom walked beside her with Merric’s warhorse and an honour guard.

            Remembrances took more than two hours. Neal, Seaver, and Prosper described the page who’d helped fight Joren’s bullies and hill bandits, his injury in that skirmish and fierce defence of Kel against Lord Wyldon’s mistaken criticism; the squire who’d been a good friend on the road to adulthood. Baird recalled a boy he’d treated and spoke of the family he knew, Merric’s parents’ and siblings’ pride in him, the wonder they’d feel at the way he was being honoured. But most speakers came from the Haven rescuees, whom Merric had led back to Tortall, and men of Brodhelm’s Eighth with whom he’d worked closely. They recalled courage and determination, good humour and bad jokes, a word of help given or received, unruly hair, temper when roused and ready kindness; a young knight of achievement and promise, stern and careful on patrol, relaxed and approachable within New Hope. Brodhelm spoke bluntly of admiration for a man thrust too soon into war who made a mistake in good faith, and faced it painfully, determined to learn better; willing to serve when he might have hoped to command. Mikal remembered slingwork and helmet mesh. Uinse and Jacut told the story of their Sakuyo’s Day jest and Merric’s laughing chagrin when he realised he’d been fooled. Jump, sitting at the foot of the coffin, raised himself once to howl, long and loud, and as the sound faded lay again, tail still; Merric had always had time to tug an ear, and strips of jerky. The sparrows were silent throughout, as were horses, clustered immortals, and stormwings perched around the knoll. When all were done a drained Kel felt she’d been left nothing to say and looked at Barzha, but the stormwing shook her head.

            “When Merric came with us into Scanra he was so badly injured he had to be strapped to his horse for the first days. He never complained. I shall miss him so badly.” She tried to frame thoughts chasing in her mind. “It’s strange. I can’t honestly say he’s the first of our year of knights to die, because of that stupid way I died myself. But it’s true anyway and we won’t ever be the same again. And his death seems to have been needless, a moment of rage or stupidity not his own. Tomorrow we will find out exactly what happened and decide what has to be done. Today we lay him to rest, with love and sorrow.”

            The stone coffin was too heavy for mortal hands and the ogres who had carried it from cart to graveside lowered it into the plot, twenty-eighth in the row stretching away from the mass grave.

            “Thank you all.” She opened her arms wide to the blue sky. “He died in our service and I pray he shall find his death his grace, and the Black God’s mercy infinite. So mote it be.”

            The chimes were immediate, the soughing wind louder than ever and winter cold; in its wake Kel felt a sense of benediction that soothed guilt and rage, if not loss. Looking round she saw others felt something too and raised her voice briefly to give thanks to the god for his care of their hearts as well as Merric’s soul. Then it was the long, silent return, groups peeling away to their work until the children and a diminished train of adults surrounding the prisoners followed the empty cart up the roadway. Kel went directly to the shrines accompanied only by Jump, to kneel before the Black God’s, not praying but trying again to encompass her return from death and Merric’s one-way trip; then before the next shrine, Lord Mithros’s, where she did pray, for the strength to deal with Rogal fairly in way of justice, not revenge. The stern face was impassive and Kel felt nothing, but whether that meant Merric’s death bore on the timeway sufficiently to forbid divine interference or was unimportant in the gods’ scheme she couldn’t guess. Giving up she rose stiffly, and found Baird waiting for her, sitting on the steps to the terrace.

            “Your Grace?”

            “Just Baird, please, Keladry. I don’t feel I have any grace today—that’s yours and the Black God’s.” She sat beside him and Jump lay against her feet, panting slightly in the late afternoon heat. “I wanted to say how astonishing and moving that ceremony was. This will sound odd but I’ve been to a lot of funerals and that was very fine. Sooner or later it will be my task, I fear, to try to convey something of it to his parents.” His face was drawn. “Losing a grown child is bitterly hard.”

            “So I have seen. It consumes Lord Burchard.”

            “That is because Joren died so badly, I think. An honourable death is comfort, sometimes, but a dishonourable one a torment always.”

            “And which was this?” Baird blinked.

            “Not dishonourable, certainly, but … ambiguous. Not at enemy hands and drawing punishment in its wake.” He took a breath. “What will you do with Rogal, Keladry? Lord Wyldon told me Sir Voelden and he had claimed protection and I was surprised, but I had not thought through the complications. There are legal difficulties here.”

            “Rogal swore an oath when he entered New Hope to obey all standing and direct orders, and on the alure he was under Merric’s command. The oath was witnessed.” Her voice was unyielding. “Quenuresh is asking the griffins to come tomorrow. None can lie in their presence and we will have the truth, from all who witnessed it and Rogal’s own lips. What I do will depend on what I learn.”

            “And if he did push Merric deliberately?”

            “He was under army jurisdiction and knew it. He was in action, under orders. If there is evidence he slew his superior, in malice or by accident proceeding from wilful disobedience, I will commit him to court martial on capital charges. In a military area in time of war army rules apply, not statute law or noble custom, but as it is possible to do so without endangering my command I will delay that court martial until the commanders arrive and there are officers available for the panel who come to it fresh. Vanget endorsed this course last night.”

            Baird looked relieved. “Very good, Keladry. I should not have doubted you but I was concerned by the anger at Rogal. I still am—you face an ugly job.” He sighed. “We ask so much of our children, so young, with our wars. At your age I could not have done what you are doing. I doubt I could do it now.”

            She gave him a faint smile. “I turned twenty six days ago.”

            “Twenty! Mithros. You did not seem nineteen at Midwinter.”

            “I don’t expect I did. I no longer know how many men I’ve killed, and I’m on my second life. I’d say remind me what young means, but Cloestra already did—she has a century and more for each of my years.”

             He shook his head. “Immortals must see the world very differently. And your second life, yes.” He hesitated but went on. “Alanna told me a little when I asked. Forgive me—I had a vulgar curiosity you must loathe, but she left me feeling humble. I still do. To meet the Black God so, and be sent back …”

            Kel’s eyes were unfocused. “I saw his face when he forgave me the deaths I cause. It’s a quandary. If Rogal is sentenced to death here I’ll have to execute him myself—we have no headsman and I’ll order no man to do what I won’t—but if I send his soul to the Black God his death will become his grace. I don’t think I can bear it.”

            Tears were leaking silently from her and Baird, startled almost witless by what she’d said, had the grace of his title, holding her until the fit passed. He noticed people looking away after one glance, granting them what privacy they could. After a few moments Kel pushed herself upright, for once using a handkerchief for herself.

            “I’m sorry.”

            “Please don’t be, Keladry. I suspect you need to do that more often, and I’m glad I was here. But I don’t think I can advise you in your quandary.” He grasped at the simplest part. “Is there really no-one else who could do it, if it has to be done?”

            “No—even Vanget doesn’t have a headsman on staff.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll get over it. It’s just another of the gods’ jokes. They’re full of them, these days.”

            His eyebrows rose but he let it pass, half-afraid of what she might know, and broached the other topic on his mind. “I wanted to thank you on my nephew’s behalf, for your idea of using that Carthaki metal, and taking him in. Lightweight braces will help many and I’ve made sure army healers know of them—we should have thought of it ourselves. But being here has given Domitan back self-respect. His brother’s a good man, but not … imaginative. Domitan didn’t fit at Masbolle any more.”

            “I only gave him work he could do. All else he won back for himself.”

            “That’s not what he says. Nor Nealan and Yukimi.” Kel made no reply, not trusting herself, and he looked at her sidelong. “Well, you’ve always been modest but your kindness is greatly appreciated, though I suspect he hasn’t brought himself to tell you so.”

            Her heart hurt. “Kindness? No, it wasn’t that, Baird. Never that.” She eased Jump from her feet. “Would you observe proceedings tomorrow, please, and speak at will? You’re the senior noble and the only person here not under my authority.”

            “Of course.”

            “Thank you. I must write to Merric’s parents, if you’ll excuse me.”

            He looked after her with a curious expression but she didn’t look back, walking purposefully with Jump at her side until she entered the headquarters building. What had she meant about kindness? When she’d come to Corus as a page she’d been an enigma—stoic to an extraordinary degree, unassuming, a catalyst of rapid change in ways of which she didn’t seem remotely aware. Over time he thought he’d understood her better, learning of her childhood in Yaman and seeing her parents in her. He’d admired her resilience in the face of unrelenting hostility from so many bigots, and heard startling accounts of her demeanour to the King after the farce of Joren’s trial—accounts he’d remembered after her spellbinding displays of controlled rage when those fools Torhelm and Tirrsmont had uttered their obscenities. And he knew he’d never forget the sight and sound of her asking three gods to strike Torhelm down for the foulest insults he’d ever heard; even Alanna had been shaken by that, and trying to explain how she thought Kel felt about gods, and what the insistent sexuality of Torhelm’s language would have meant to her, she’d given him a healer-to-healer account of what the girl had been through, leaving him appalled and wondering. Now he felt again he had no understanding of her at all—so quick to unstinting kindness, so reluctant to acknowledge it or any of her virtues, so strong and formidable yet so bereft and alone. So enraged she barely knew it, and so controlled even when she couldn’t stop tears. And so young, less than a third his age, yet there were moments talking to her when he felt less wise and experienced than he knew himself, less knowledgeable of anything that mattered outside the realm of healing. But what could you expect of one who had seen the Black God’s face? That had not been in any account he’d heard, and he wondered if the King knew, or ought to know, she had been forgiven the deaths she caused. Probably not, but he might talk to Alanna. He rose sighing, and walked to the shrines, offering a prayer for Keladry’s survival and happiness he suspected was superfluous, and went to find his beautiful granddaughter.

* * * * *

Kel had withdrawn to her rooms after a subdued dinner to comfort a grieving Tobe and let him comfort her, and was talking him through what she expected to happen on the morrow when she heard a newly familiar halting step outside her door. Tobe let Dom in and she made green tea, enjoying the calming ritual and her beautiful Yamani ware but wondering what he wanted. He took the tea gratefully.

            “Thank you. I didn’t use to like this stuff but Yuki’s converted me as well as Neal.” He didn’t use the nickname Meathead any more; Kel suspected he had reserved it to himself, punishment for suffering injury. “And the ceremony for making it is very … I don’t know, civilised. Polite. It calms things down.” He half-smiled. “Even Neal.”

            “His daughter might manage that, if she doesn’t have the opposite effect. Have they decided on a name?”

            “No—they want one that’s Tortallan and Yamani but can’t find one they both like.”

            “Like Nealimi or Yukeal, you mean?”

            “That sort of thing. He’s not thinking about it now though.”

            “No. How is he, Dom?” Neal and Merric had been close and she knew his grief would be keener than her own, and without the guilt.

            “Not so good, but he’ll be alright. It’s shock. I’ve seen it before when someone’s killed in an accident—it’s different from a battledeath.”

            “Yes. Is he angry yet?”

            “Beginning to be.”

            “With me?”

            “Mithros, no. Why should he be, Kel?”

            “I let Rogal in and trusted his oath. I should have known better. I did, if I’m honest.”

            Tobe was stirred to protest. “But you had to let him in, Ma—you said it at the time.”

            “I knew he was trouble and he’s cost Merric his life.”

            “It’s not your fault, Kel.”

            “Isn’t it?”

            “No, it isn’t. Was the Master of the Lists who admitted Sir Voelden responsible for him trying to run you through?”

            “I don’t think it’s the same, Dom. But it doesn’t matter. There’s nothing anyone can do now.”

            “It does matter, Kel. You mustn’t blame yourself.”

            “Easier said than done, Dom, as I imagine you’ve found.”

            He flushed. “Yes. But I was careless. I don’t think you were.”

            “And you cost yourself a wound. I cost another his life. But that’s a price of command, Dom, isn’t it? When I make mistakes, others pay. All I can do is make sure I pay too, and try not to repeat them.” Her curiosity stirred. “Did you come to argue guilt?”

            He surprised her. “Maybe. Uncle Baird said you told him if Rogal is sentenced to death you believe you have to do it yourself.”

            “Commander’s Regulations. Section B, Wartime, 119. If any official post shall be vacant when incumbency is required, a commander shall appoint themselves or whoever better fitted they may select. All such appointments shall terminate with their command. If Rogal’s found guilty here it’s our job to execute him, and we have no headsman.”

            “But it doesn’t have to be you, Kel.”

            “Should I ask for volunteers? Think that through, Dom, bearing in mind how people feel—especially some Tirrsmonters.”

            “One of the soldiers, then.”

            “So I order someone else to do what I’m reluctant to do myself? What would my Lord have to say about that?”

            “He didn’t mean that about a situation like this.”

            “Didn’t he? Well, I’ll have the chance to ask him if I’m faced with the decision. But as far as I can see it’s me or sending for a crown headsman—Frasrlund, the haMinchi seat, or Corus are nearest—and that’d take weeks, with Rogal in a condemned cell the while. I don’t want that. Morale aside, I’d have to pull a squad for guard duty, which we can’t afford. If it’s going to happen it’ll need to happen fast.”

            “What about the immortals, Ma? You could ask Var’istaan to turn Rogal into stone and put him on the roadway, like those skulls.”

            She almost snorted laughter but her son was serious, eyes wide and troubled. She rested a hand on his shoulder. “That’s a thought, Tobe, but I don’t want our basilisks killing anyone. People are scared of them too easily already. Same for ogres and spidrens. It’s a mortal problem, and mortals have to face it.”

            “And he’d be a really ugly statue, Tobe.”

            “I suppose.” He gave Dom a weak grin. “It’s just so unfair on Ma.”

            “Not really, Tobe.” She shifted her arm to hug him. “It’s command. And if I can’t take a joke, I shouldn’t have joined.” Even if the joke was one only gods could have devised and pierced to the core of punishment and forgiveness both for her and Rogal. The more she considered it the louder she heard Sakuyo laugh. “Don’t worry about it—we’ll cope. And it’s bedtime—tomorrow’ll be a long day.”

            He didn’t protest but made goodnights, leaning in to kiss her cheek and Dom’s, and collecting Jump. As she closed the door behind him Dom let his grin show, warming her heart.

            “Petrify Rogal and stick him on the roadway? That’s a good one. I dread to think what his nickname would be.” He shook his head wonderingly. “Tobe’s a good lad, Kel. You did a fine thing adopting him—it’s given him pride in himself.”

            “Yes, he’s a great comfort to me. I think the gods put him in my path but we’ve found something together. War’s hardest on children, I believe. Your uncle seemed to think so.”

            “He said.” His look was very strange. “And he reminded me … not that I should need it … I haven’t thanked you for giving me back some pride. No, let me finish. Everyone else saw my wound and stopped. I did myself. I can’t do that anymore, so I can’t do anything. You saw me whole and what I could still do. And you were so practical—the brace and ramps. I didn’t think I could ever do real work again, or be content. So thank you, Kel. You’re an astonishing person, and I’m very grateful.”

            She didn’t trust herself to speak for a moment. “You’re welcome, Dom, but you don’t need to thank me. Your work does that every day. Having you at the corral lifts a burden from me. And it’s a boon to see you in better spirits, so I’m doubly repaid for common sense.”

            “Very uncommon sense, actually.”

            Slowly the silence matured from mutual embarrassment to a greater ease; almost their old camaraderie, but the diminishment of wounds lay between them, and Kel’s suppression of spiking desire left her with a singing, hollow feeling. She wanted to be comforted as much as anything more intimate, to be held by him as his uncle had held her, demanding nothing. She saw he was frowning.

            “Uncle Baird also muttered something I didn’t understand, about a divine joke. Can you explain?”

            “I could, Dom, but I’m not sure I want to.”

            “Oh. Of course. I’m so—”

            “No, don’t be. There’s no need. It’s just rather private. And I think of lots of things as divine jokes these days, you know. Once you meet a god … well, none of them have been remotely what I expected. In a funny way I’ve come to think they’re like soldiers in the field—the worse things are the louder they laugh. Or maybe it’s just how they pass time.”

            He surprised her again. “I asked Cloestra about this timeway thing and spiralling. Maybe it’s that—if time’s echoing itself somehow it could seem like a joke.” He held his hands inches apart. “Like a pun—things sounding alike that aren’t.”

            “Huh. There’s a thought. So the joke’s on everyone, even gods? Mmm. It takes malice out. I like that. Who told you about the timeway?”

            “Neal. I was trying to catch up with everything that’s happened here, and to you. He said not to blab and I haven’t.”

            “It’s not exactly secret, Dom—immortals talk about it, as you’ve discovered—but it’s hard to explain and if you do it’s just another worry people can’t do anything about. So quiet seems best. But it’s a big part of what has caught the gods’ attention, and some immortals’—Quenuresh, certainly, and Diamondflame—so I have to try to think about it.”

            He shook his head. “I can’t grasp it, Kel, and don’t know how you do. That business with the Chamber was weird enough. This is beyond me.”

            “Tell me, Dom. Prosper said it—I was always the least god-touched person. That was Alanna’s role, and why they kept her away from me all those years. It’s the thing I find hardest to forgive Wyldon, you know, and the King. But now I’m thick with gods, struggling with a prophecy and some divine crisis that goes back to the Godwars. It’s another of those jokes, you know. All I’m trying to do is guess the punchline.”

            “But that’s what I mean, Kel. No mortal can see it. Cloestra said being two thousand years old didn’t help—only the oldest immortals and gods understand. But you know that and take it on anyway and cope with it—doing the best you can. Cloestra was very admiring of your treaty with Barzha, not just for itself and healers’ aid—I still can’t quite believe that—but as strategy. I hadn’t understood that at all.”

            “She told you about the prophecy?”

            “Yes. Quite a lot of people know, Kel, but they understand why you don’t talk about it so they don’t either. But they see, as I did, that you’re fighting for them in every way, not just physical defence. It’s why you let Sir Voelden and Rogal in, isn’t it? You didn’t know what part they might have to play and tried to do what you do with everyone—recruit them so their strength is added to winning and surviving.”

            No-one else had seen it so clearly. “Yes, partly. I wasn’t really thinking about Rogal. It was just to have Voelden, of all people, supplicating my protection … with that much irony it seemed significant, and if I’d sent him away who knows what he’d be doing? Rogal came attached, and Emerint.”

            “Well, you have recruited Emerint—he’s very angry with Rogal, by the way. Says this is a good billet and Rogal shouldn’t have done anything to mess it up. You might reassure him you don’t hold him to blame.”

            “Thanks, Dom. I’ll do that.”

            “And I think you’ve recruited Sir Voelden as well. He’s not the man I saw at Tirrsmont or on Progress. Quieter, more careful when he does speak. Works hard, too. Merric didn’t have any complaints about him.”

            “We came to an understanding. He hates my guts but he … no, that’s not mine to say. We dealt with what happened. He agrees defending New Hope trumps all, and recognises me as commander. He’s been humbled, and I don’t think he’s much of a person, but he’s not honourless and he’s trying. I don’t want whatever happens with Rogal to set him back—they’ve had very little contact since they’ve been here that I’ve seen.”

            “They didn’t eat together, and I think one reason he was keen to patrol was to get away from Rogal.”

            “Mmm. It also spares him saying much, and he’s happy with silence just now. That may change. The patrol sergeants say he’s competent to lead a patrol. We’ll see.” He nodded and she made a decision. “One thing, Dom—you should shift out of that guestroom and take Merric’s rooms—they can’t stand empty, you’re the obvious person, and with the commanders’ conference we’ll need the guestroom.”

            He didn’t like it but nodded. “Will you change command structure?”

            “No. We’ll miss Merric cruelly but on paper he was supernumerary, though I used the same pattern for Seaver and Prosper with the other companies. I’m not putting Voelden in Merric’s shoes, and I don’t want to move others. By rights Verrec should have been patrol captain as Brodhelm’s second and he’s been sharing it with Merric for a year. He takes over solo, and Merric’s seat on the Council.”

            “Fair enough. Patrolling’s reduced anyway.”

            “Yes, but if there are weeks when we can reduce field labour before harvesting starts I’ll restrict people inside and beef up patrols. There are too many places we haven’t looked in too long, Dom, and with Daine’s network so limited … I must ask stormwings and griffins if they’ll fly sweeps.” Her fist clenched. “It doesn’t make sense. Maggur’s missing a trick being idle just now. If he was hitting us hard we’d be in trouble.”

            “He’s got troubles of his own, from what I hear.”

            “Maybe. Thank Mithros, whatever it is. But we’re blind, all the same. So, patrols. And with luck some information from Stanar Petarsson and his friends as well. How are people feeling about them?”

            “Better than you’d think. They’re quite sympathetic. Zerhalm and Irnai explained how the hostages thing works with clanchiefs. Some are soldiers by trade, like Stanar, but most are conscripted farmers and craftsmen, so they’re victims too. And Rogal’s taking the fury about Merric. There’s your stunning victory too, Kel. It hasn’t gone unnoticed though no-one’s saying anything. I think they’re shocked—I was.”

            “It was a slaughter, Dom. And if we ever face a siege that’s what we’ll have to do tenfold or more. I dread it. And a besieging force won’t be so obligingly foolhardy. What was their commander thinking?”

            “That you were in full retreat and had less than half his number of cavalry with some ground troops who wouldn’t be better archers than most and might be worse. You suckered him and the drills paid off the way they’re supposed to. You also expended a hundred-and-fifty griffin arrows at less than a hundred yards and every one found a mark. We’ve got more than eighty of them back, by the way.”

            “That’s quick. Gods, what a job. Who did it?”

            “Stormwings. They piled the Scanran dead at sunset and all the unbroken arrows and fletched ends were bundled to one side.” His smile was crooked. “One use for razor-edged wings, I suppose. Uinse sent a squad to get them and fire the corpses.”

            “I must thank Barzha. Huh. I wonder if they get what they need just from stacking corpses. Building blocks rather than dolls.”

            “Gods, what a thought.” His smile returned, almost unwillingly. “Uinse’s lads’ll like it. He did ask Barzha if she needed to see you before they burned the corpses, and she said no. He reckoned they’d … ‘got off’ was his phrase, on the battle itself. Did you see them during it?”

            “I didn’t see them at all.”

            “I dragged myself to the gatehouse roof. It was like looking at a model except it was happening—your cavalry and archers, the Scanrans charging, and stormwings gliding in a circle three hundred feet up. When you sprang the trap they came lower. I swear they were savouring it.”

            “They probably were, Dom. Their food’s emotion. Think of the wave of realisation in those riders as the ones before them went down. And our triumph in slaughter. It must have been quite the feast.”

            “Gods. Again. I’d forgotten you could be so deadpan.”

            She found herself grinning. “There’s not many people I can be like this with here, Dom. And I’ve been thinking about stormwings a lot. Peace is a kind of starvation for them, and from what Cloestra said about getting herself pregnant after Rathhausak births must drop when they’re starving and increase in wartime. So the more mortals fight, the more stormwings there are likely to be, but numbers decline in peace—it’s like the animal systems Master Lindhall used to describe. Lots of grass, more rabbits. More rabbits, more owls and eagles. Too many rabbits, not enough grass, and rabbits start starving. So do owls and eagles. It’s a balance but gives stormwings a vested interest in war. So a question—what can they feed on in peacetime?”

            He frowned. “No idea, Kel. Nothing’s like battle and dying.”

            “Training’s supposed to be like battle.”

            “Not emotionally. A very poor meal, I’d think.”

            “Yes. We need something with lots of emotion.” A thought came. “Something children do—like a swing over a waterhole. All shrieking excitement. That must be why they like children so much—I’ve seen Cloestra staring at the playground. Drinking, maybe. Something that gave children a real thrill … moments when your heart’s in your mouth with the fun of it.”

            “I remember. There was a waterhole and swing near Masbolle, but the rapids were better. About a mile downriver, little ones with a route through them, sitting on a log, but the first time—it was a test.”

            “Yes. I wonder how stormwings would get on with the Chamber? Would they get drunk?” She grinned at his horrified look. “I must talk to Barzha. The treaty’s only good while war lasts, but isn’t it better having stormwings as auxiliaries than defilers?”

            He blinked. “You want to reform stormwings so they don’t play with corpses any more?”

            “Of course. It’s a bad habit. Mothers don’t approve.” To laugh at herself without bitterness was balm. “It’s good to talk, Dom. I missed your company, not just your skills.” What else she missed didn’t matter. “It’s wonderful having Yuki but she doesn’t approve of soldiers’ humour and Neal does carry on so when I shock him. But I must get my head down. Tomorrow might be alright or a nightmare. I can’t be asleep on my feet.” At the door she couldn’t stop herself putting a hand to his cheek for a second, as once to Quenuresh’s, but turned it to a grasp of his shoulder when she saw his surprise. “Thanks, Dom. It helps a lot.”

            He was still there when she gently closed the door but after a moment limped away. Her bed called, but she needed to read her legal notes and the regulations for a commander’s enquiry into acts potentially warranting a capital charge. Sighing, she went to her worktable.

* * * * *

They had been assembled only a few minutes next morning before the griffins circled in, gleaming sunlight, and swooped to land beside Kel on the terrace. She sat before the shrines, three clerks at a table to one side, sworn to record truly all they observed. To their right Rogal sat, guarded. Baird had a chair on the other side, and below them New Hope was assembled, even prisoners; even the duty watch was in earshot. The spidrens had come, and Whitelist and his mates. Cloestra watched from her roost, and the rest of the Stone Tree Nation were perched on rooftops; sniffing gently, Kel thought they were probably here for the emotional feast, but all had washed. Most people seated themselves, knowing it would be a long, hot morning and probably afternoon, but all rose with Kel as the griffins came in. When they had settled Kel bowed and received imperious nods from the adults.

            “Thank you for coming, my Lord and Lady.” Her voice was pitched to carry. “Quenuresh, please ask them to sit before me on either side. Junior can sit where he likes so long as he keeps still.”

            Before she’d finished the griffins were moving, reseating themselves in the tucked posture of patient cats. Junior trotted over to boot at her knee before gliding from the terrace to land by Amiir’aan and Bel’iira. Kel shifted to speak to everyone.

            “You all know the power of the Honesty Gate. That is griffin magic and in their presence no mortal can knowingly lie. I cannot, nor any who will give evidence, nor Rogal when he speaks. In courtesy, I order all who come to speak to bow to them first, as I have done. Please sit.”

            She stayed standing.

            “Hear me clearly. This is not a court martial, nor a vote. It is a commander’s enquiry into the death of Sir Merric of Hollyrose two days ago, and into evidence reported to me that he was pushed to his death by Rogal, formerly a captain of arms in the employ of the then Lord of Tirrsmont and at the time of Sir Merric’s death under his command. It is held in public because you are concerned to understand what happened, but it is a military proceeding and you are spectators only. If the evidence reported is sustained, Rogal will be committed to court martial when the commanders arrive. If it is not sustained I shall do as truth demands.” She took a deep breath. “There is a difficulty. Rogal has stated he believes he can get no fair hearing here, and rejects my authority. But that I assert. I granted him refuge at New Hope only with provision that he come under military jurisdiction and swear to obey all standing and direct orders given him by those in authority. His oath was witnessed by my captains, including Sir Merric, who made formal depositions of witness. Still, Rogal’s claim he cannot be heard fairly here has some merit—Sir Merric was my friend as well as my officer, and we mourn him bitterly, while Rogal is yet a stranger and has made no friends. And I will not have it said we act with injustice.”

            Some would say it anyway but she would give them no ammunition and herself no avoidable nightmares.

            “Nevertheless, I judge Rogal’s claim to have insufficient merit. All I am enquiring into is what caused Sir Merric to fall. If it was murder, I need to know, and to commit Rogal to court martial as regulations and justice require. The griffins ensure truth will be spoken. His Grace of Queenscove is independent of my authority and shall speak as he will. And all who give evidence will be available to any court martial. It is enough when we are at war and a knight of the realm is needlessly dead.”

            She sat.

            “Mikal of Holtwood was senior within the walls when Sir Merric fell, and Sergeant Connac Sir Merric’s second on the alure. I will first hear them, then the soldiers posted nearest to Rogal and his crenel partner. Sir Neal will speak as the healer called after Sir Merric fell. Rogal may speak for himself. Does anyone else believe they have evidence those I have named will not know?” She waited. “Very well. Rogal, is there anyone you would have speak I have not listed?”

            His voice was hoarse and his manner surly. “Sir Voelden.”

            “Alright.” She knew exactly where the knight was sitting and caught his eye. “Sir Voelden, please be prepared to speak after Rogal.” He nodded reluctantly. “Mikal of Holtwood, captain of Northwatch Company Fourteen, please come forward.”

            Mikal had been in the gatehouse, arriving after Merric had fallen, and ordered Rogal’s arrest because everyone he questioned had said that Rogal pushed Merric from the alure; names were entered in the record. He could add that Merric had spoken several times, including that day, of difficulties with Rogal as insubordinate and refractory, constantly making clear his high opinion of his own command ability and scorn for Kel’s and Merric’s. Connac specified the problem as it had taken shape when the Scanrans began closing—Rogal’s conviction that with griffin-fletched arrows any archer with a good self bow could hit the Scanrans from the alures as they charged, and that it was a fatal misjudgement to order anything else. All specially fletched arrows were a bone of contention for him, Connac added—he had wanted since arriving to be issued them and was bitterly resentful not to have access at will, as a master archer if not as captain. The soldiers who’d been at crenels on either side filled in the narrative—backchat and rude gestures from Rogal, Merric’s wearing temper as tension rose, Rogal taking a griffin-fletched arrow when Merric had unlocked the cases, giving clear instructions no special arrows were to be touched without direct orders and recognising the shimmering fletching when Rogal nocked the arrow, again without orders. Rogal’s crenel partner described the moment—Rogal beginning to draw, intent on firing, Merric’s deft removal of the nocked arrow and the whirling, angry push that took him off balance, to stagger hard against the railing in his top-heavy half-armour and pivot over as his feet went from under him. Neal had found the broken arrowshaft gripped in his hand.

            Kel halted for an hour to allow everyone to eat. The griffins refused food but drank from the spring, and sat quietly with Junior, presumably talking; Kel took the opportunity to relay via Quenuresh Vanget’s thanks for the Honesty Gate at Northwatch. When people settled again Kel called Rogal. After jerky bows to the griffins, his speech, punctuated by straining silences and shifting word choice amounted to angry observation that only a fool interfered with a master archer drawing and he’d been aiming at a Scanran, as he was supposed to do. His reaction had been natural and unavoidable; implicitly Merric’s fall was an accident for which he bore no responsibility, but he didn’t actually say it and Kel suspected he couldn’t because he knew it wasn’t true. Her Yamani mask was so tightly in place she was conscious of her skin’s stiffness.

            “Can you deny you took a griffin-fletched arrow from its case?”

            He tried briefly, and gave up. “No.”

            “Can you deny that in doing so you disobeyed a direct order of which you were fully aware?”

            He tried harder with the same result. The male griffin turned its head, eyeing him. “No.”

            “Can you deny you nocked and began to draw, intending to fire, without orders to do so?”

            “No.”

            “Can you deny that you pushed Sir Merric, with both hands on the breastplate, and that in consequence he hit the railing and pivoted over it, falling to his death?”

            The answer was a long time coming though his mouth muscles were trying to work, and both griffins shifted. “No.”

            She considered the nature of lies and men who lied. “When you pushed Sir Merric did you intend him to fall to his death?”

            “No.”

            His voice grated and Kel frowned. How could he only just not have intended it? Then she knew.

            “When you saw what was happening after you pushed Sir Merric did you hope he would fall to his death?”

            He flushed but said nothing, mouth working again, and both griffins rose, lashing their tails. Quenuresh’s voice came from below.

            “The griffins say he seeks to lie, straining as to pass a stool.”

            Kel shifted question. “Rogal, what is the lie you wish to tell?”

            “NO.” The word burst from him as it became truth and he sagged.

            She swallowed disgust. “So the truth is yes, you hoped Merric would fall. That he would die. You did not intend his death, but when you saw what you had done you hoped for it. Can you deny it?”

            He looked away. “No.”

            “Can you tell me why?”

            His mouth twisted as he looked at her, hate in his eyes. “Empty shoes to fill. How else would I get command back from your favourites?”

            I am a lake. “So. Do you still wish Sir Voelden to speak? He was on patrol at the time and can offer no direct evidence.”

            “He can tell you I’m none of yours. You have no right to judge me.”

            “You swore, Rogal, in full knowledge, so I have that right, and duty. But Sir Voelden may clarify your status in law, if he will. Sir Voelden?”

            He clomped to the terrace, bowing sharply to the griffins and standing squarely between them as he spoke clearly.

            “Rogal was employed by my late father, then Lord of Tirrsmont, as captain of a mercenary troop. He was paid. I do not know if he swore a liege-oath to my father. He swore none to me. His men left when the money stopped. I do not know why he stayed. I told him to go.”

            “Do you know of any reason he should not be subject to this enquiry or to a court martial?”

            “No.” Rogal groaned and Voelden shot him a look of hatred. “From the moment he chose to swear the oath you demanded, Commander, he has been under military jurisdiction, as Emerint and I are.”

            Rogal stood, angrily. “You’re not half the man your father was.”

            “And look where it got him. May I be excused, Commander?”

            “Two questions, Sir Voelden. Please speak as freely as truth allows, without fear or favour.”

            He nodded. “Ask them.”

            “Are you content this enquiry has been fair, and found the truth?”

            “Yes.” There was no hesitation. “You have been scrupulous. It’s awkward only because if I had inherited I could claim noble privilege on Rogal’s behalf, were I minded to. But I did not inherit, I have no privilege to claim, and if I had I would not extend it to him.”

            Rogal spat and Kel had his guards sit him in his chair. They weren’t gentle but under her eye weren’t needlessly rough either.

            “Rogal, if you spit again you will be gagged. My apologies, Sir Voelden. My other question was whether there is anything else you can tell me of Rogal? He claims no fief and has refused to give information about his life before coming to Tirrsmont.”

            “He’s been at Tirrsmont for two years—he came just after war started, when my father hired troops for defence, and has never to my knowledge called himself aught but Captain Rogal.”

            “You know nothing of how he made contact with your father?”

            “I do not. I was rarely at Tirrsmont before the war, and often in my cups.” His voice was unflinching. “My father and I spoke little and he was a close-mouthed man. Master Lasner might know more.”

            “Indeed. Thank you.”

            Voelden returned to his place and at Kel’s summons Lasner reluctantly came forward.

            “I don’t know anything much, Lady Kel. I can only say what I think.”

            “Very well. What do you think, Master Lasner?”

            “His Lordship—His late Lordship—brought Captain Rogal and his men from Corus, the summer war started. He was in charge of the hired men but all they did was man gate and walls—they never went out after Scanrans but once, when there was a bunch running from defeat by the army. I think he’s a southerner—he sent letters to Corus and a woman in Pearlmouth. And couriers brought sealed letters for him sometimes, but I don’t know anything about them. I didn’t have anything to do with the military—just the castle house.”

            “Very well. Thank you.” Watching him down the steps Kel thought about delaying but there was no point. “Rogal, you say I should have ordered mass fire from the alures. What would that have achieved?”

            He stared. “It’d kill Scanrans, of course. Are you stupid?”

            “The range was extreme.”

            “But griffin arrows fly true.”

            “Not beyond the limit of the bow.”

            “They were in range for a good archer. If you’d had the brains we could have killed a lot of them.” He was startled by the sour laugh from listening people. “Why are they laughing? It’s true.”

            “The prisoners over there are the only survivors. We massacred them. And without taking any deaths, which would not have been the case with arrows flying at extreme range at a milling cavalry fight.”

            He gaped. “I don’t believe you.”

            “Ask a griffin if I lie. I’ve heard enough. Stand him up.” She stood herself. “My judgement on Rogal in this commander’s enquiry is twofold. He is fined the cost of one griffin-fletched arrow, to be set against any wages owed and if necessary possessions, as set out in regulations. He is also committed for court martial on charges of acting against orders and striking his superior, and on capital charges of wilfully disobeying orders in action and causing the death of a knight of the realm, his superior officer. He will be held in solitary confinement on bread and water.” She eyed Rogal’s guards. “He will not be taunted, abused, or harmed in any way, on your peril. Take him to the cell.”

            The crowd watched in silence as he was led away but as he vanished down the slope to the cave they stirred and Kel raised her voice. “Stay, please. There is more.” Surprised, they settled. “What happened was caused by stupidity and malice, but was in some measure an accident. There are lessons to learn and precautions to take. Those who have stations on the alures—how many are as tall or taller than Merric?”

            Slowly hands went up among the soldiers. Merric had been strong but not especially tall.

            “If he fell like that in half-armour so could you in breastplates and bascinets. His boots were worn smooth. How are yours? Sergeants, make sure boots are checked and repaired if necessary. And everybody be careful up there—rails help but they’re not the safeguard I’d hoped.” She closed her eyes, marshalling thoughts. “So we’ll fix that. Master Geraint, I’d like spars ten foot below the alures, please—fifteen-foot spars every ten yards or so. Quenuresh and Aldoven, I’m sorry for your spinnerets but webs, please, to string from those spars. It can be a wide mesh—just strong enough that if anyone falls they’ve something to catch them short of the ground.”

            She waited a moment, absorbing pain.

            “The last thing is for officers of all ranks. Sir Merric made a mistake. It’s true we were facing the enemy, but one archer less on the eastern alure would have made no odds. They didn’t have to fire anyway and Merric knew they probably wouldn’t, so Rogal should have had one chance—anyone can be nervy with the enemy in sight, or make a suggestion—but when he was openly insubordinate he should have been dismissed from the alure, under escort if necessary. Allowed to remain, he festered and burst. The fault was his alone. The mistakes were not. The sorrow is everyone’s. Now—”

            Her homily was cut short by a sentry on the north tower roof. “Scanran horsemen to the north. Twenty plus. Two miles.”

            “Hold! Everyone stay where you are, until I know what this is.”

            The crowd below her was densely packed and she ran along the terrace to the shelf, then the alure. The horsemen were immediately visible on the eastern side of the valley, and must have come through the trees; the spidrens’ absence had cleared the way, and Kel realised the Scanrans must be puzzled by the lack of anyone in the fields in mid-afternoon. As she studied the group she became increasingly puzzled—it lookedlike two officers with an escort, or an officer and a mage, but if so, where was the command? They were disputing among themselves, presumably about the absence of people, until the man she took to be the officer shrugged and spurred forward; the hooded man who might be a mage rode after, and recognition stirred. She couldn’t see his face but something was familiar. The escort surged after them and her mind whirled as she turned to the sea of faces staring up at her.

            “Alright, people, I don’t think this is a big problem but it’s odd and there may be more Scanrans than we can see, so the alarm is for a mid-size attack. Soldiers, get armed and armoured. Civilians with duty stations, to them.” Her eye picked out Tobe heading for headquarters and she raised her voice. “Tobe! Weiryn’s bow, please, as well as half-armour.” He raised a hand, never slowing, and she blessed him. “Immortals, as you will so long as you’re not in anyone’s way. Neal, Duke Baird, please come up here.”

            To her surprise neither griffins nor stormwings took off but other immortals did gather on the terrace with the griffins and Cloestra. Their business. Waiting for Neal and Baird she returned to studying the Scanrans, now about a mile from the glacis and coming on at a canter. The officer’s face bobbing in her spyglass was clean shaven and he was well-dressed, but she could make out no insignia and beside him the hooded man plucked memory. The troops looked a better trained lot than the last—hard-faced, bearded men in good mail keeping efficient formation. As Neal and Baird arrived she handed over the spyglass.

            “The hooded man in the van, beside the clean-shaven fellow. Something’s ringing a bell. Would you look please?”

            While Baird looked she fished her griffin-band from her pouch and put in on, but it revealed no illusions and she found she didn’t think the hooded man was a mage after all, though she wasn’t sure why.

            “I can’t see his face, Keladry, and nothing seems familiar.” Baird passed the spyglass, frowning. “What do you suppose they’re doing?”

            “I’ve no idea. Approaching like this makes no sense—it’s a scouting party taking advantage of deserted fields but why bother? Neal?”

            “I don’t know, Kel—I can’t see his face but … I hear a bell too. It’s the riding style—tilted forward. Someone we know rides like that.”

            “He doesn’t look as if he’s held prisoner.”

            “No. And the only Scanrans I know are here already.”

            Kel stood close to the parapet to let half-a-dozen men pass to the crenels beyond. “They’re slowing.”

            The horsemen pulled up perhaps four hundred yards out, and Kel could hear the leader calling something. She couldn’t make out words but it was plain he was telling the officer not to go closer. He dismounted and Kel saw him raise something to his eye in a familiar motion.

            “They’re surveying. I’m not having that if I can help it.” She spun, knowing Mikal would be on the gatehouse roof, and waved an arm but he was watching. Her voice lifted into battle mode. “Mikal, five squads to sally.” She spread fingers wide. “Five. Quick as you can.” He waved and vanished but it would take a while for men and horses to be readied.

            Tobe, in his jerkin, came carefully up the nearest stairway, breastplate in one hand and the great bow in the other with her archer’s glove; her bascinet was on his head, over his own, and she plucked it off, grinning as she took the breastplate and knelt to let him buckle it.

            “Neal, Baird, stay if you want but breastplates and helmets, please.”

            “I’ve spares, father—I’ll get them with mine.”

            Neal left and Baird looked at the bow where Tobe had propped it.

            “That’s the bow Lord Weiryn gave you, Keladry?”

            “It is, and it shoots long and very true. And this is when special arrows are worth chancing—exactly as Merric imagined. All done, Tobe?”

            “Yes, Ma. Can I stay?”

            “So long as they’re not firing.”

            Connac was duty sergeant for the alure, as he had been two days before, and was waiting. “Orders, Lady Kel?”

            “Not yet, Sergeant. The sally will drive them off but won’t pursue. We’re here in case covering fire is needed—ordinary arrows at maximum elevation. But if those two come any closer I might have a try with the godbow, and I’ll have a special arrow for that.”

            “Right you are, Lady Kel.”

            Merric’s keys were in her office but Connac had a set and unlocked the nearest box. Baird followed her, peering with interest.

            “These are what Rogal took?”

            “Yes. Most are griffin-fletched but these”—she took a couple of the ones she wanted, turning them to make sure they were true—“are griffin-and-stormwing. Magekillers. I don’t think that hooded fellow is a mage but just in case …”

            He glanced through the crenel. “You can hit them from here?”

            “No. But if either comes fifty yards closer I might have a shot.”

            “The hooded fellow is coming closer.”

            “He is?” She made her choice, restored the other to the case, and went to look. The hooded man was riding forward, ignoring shouts from the escort. His face remained invisible but the dark oval of his hood turned as he scanned the wall, and as she lodged the bow against her foot and strung it he came to her. She held the bow down so he wouldn’t see it and gazed back, willing him to come just a little closer; his horse was still moving forward though his head was no longer turning.

            Neal returned in breastplate and helmet, carrying others, and began to buckle his father’s. Lendor came up the stairway behind him and approached, saluting. “The sally squads are almost ready, Lady Kel. Captain Mikal asks if you’ve any special orders.”

            “Yes—drive them off but don’t pursue.” She drew on her glove. “We don’t know what else is out there. I’m going to try the godbow—don’t sally before I shoot. And if I get lucky try to secure anyone injured—or dead, come to that. We might learn something.”

            “Sally after you shoot, don’t pursue, secure any dead or injured. Right, Lady Kel.”

            He’d glanced out as she spoke and she could see he didn’t think there was any hope of a hit, but who knew? Nor did disbelief stop his crisp recap and prompt departure, and her attention swung back to the hooded man, coming to another halt, still staring at her. He was at least sixty yards in front of the clean shaven man, maybe seventy, and that put him only a little further away than she’d managed with the bow in practice. Without looking away she spoke a prayer to Lord Weiryn, thanking him for the grace of his gift and asking her strength and skill be enough; she added a prayer to the Black God that Merric be allowed to witness her shot. She heard Neal, Baird, Tobe, and the nearest soldiers join her ‘So mote it be’, but voices were distant as she concentrated, absorbing distance.

            “Neal, I’m going to stand in the crenel. Hand on my belt please.”

            Carefully she levered herself up, bow at her side with the arrow in her ungloved hand. She straightened, moving into as broad a stance as the merlons allowed, and didn’t allow herself to think of the thirty-foot drop to the spikes of the killing field. Neal grasped her belt but her attention was narrowed to the dark oval staring back at her. Thoughts of the Black God drifted in her mind as the man raised a hand, finger extended in the old insult, and began to turn away. The bow was rising, arrow nocked, brindled steel of the cock fletching properly placed, and before the range could extend she swung up, let it drop fractionally into the aim as she reached maximum draw, and the bow sang a golden note as she let fly with a feeling of absolute rightness. The flight seemed endless but the trajectory perfect and the hooded man’s back squarely to her as he slammed forward, feet slipping from stirrups as his horse bolted. She heard Baird’s exclamation and cheers along the alure as she watched his body fall; distant gates creaked open for the sally but she was more conscious of the drop.

            “Neal, pull me back, please, slowly.” Her voice was husky but she felt him begin to pull, keeping her eyes on the fallen man and moving her front leg back until she felt the edge of the parapet. She held the bow high while she brought her other leg back too and stooped to brace and jump down with relief.

            “Thanks.”

            “The height?”

            “Just a touch.”

            “But only after it didn’t matter.” He laid an arm over her shoulders. “That was some shot, Kel. A thousand feet?”

            “About that. This bow makes it easy and I think Lord Weiryn helped. Did you hear it sing?”

            “I should think everyone heard it. You’d have to be deaf not to.” His head turned. “They’re running.”

            Refocusing, she saw the clean-shaven man was spurring back to his escort, who let him through and fell in behind. The hooded man lay face down, unmoving, his horse running flat out after its fellows.

            “Can you stop that horse, Tobe?”

            His face scrunched up and he shook his head. “Sorry, Ma—it’s too far when he’s that frightened.”

            “Not to fret. I wouldn’t have minded seeing in his saddlebags.”

            She heard hooves ring on the moatbridge and a few seconds later Mikal and his men came into view, checking as they saw the retreating enemy. Shouts from men on the north tower directed them and they cantered towards the fallen man. Kel turned away.

            “Sergeant Connac!”

            “My Lady?”

            “I think that’s it for today but keep the men at their stations until Mikal’s men are back.”

            “Of course, my Lady.”

            She quirked an eyebrow. “Where did Lady Kel go, Connac? Did I do something wrong?”

            He eyed her cautiously. “No, Lady Kel—quite the opposite. You just shot a man at impossible range, so I was feeling respectful.”

            “It’s the bow. Don’t get too respectful—it’ll only go to my head.”

            “Oh aye? We’ll watch for that then, my Lady, next blue moon.”

            She grinned at him. “Do that. Carry on.”

            “Where’ll you be, Lady Kel, if need arises?”

            “With the immortals.” She jerked a thumb at the terrace. “Then at the gatehouse as soon as Mikal brings that body in.”

            He saluted and went along the alure, speaking briefly to archers as he passed each pair. Automatically she set the bow to unstring it and Neal laid a hand on her arm.

            “Will you let father try, Kel? I told him how hard we found it.”

            “Surely.” She passed the bow to Baird and saw his struggle, though easy movement showed he knew what he was about.

            “I can’t begin to bend this thing, Keladry.”

            She set and easily bent it, slipping string from nock. “It must be godwork. It’s no problem to me. Come and make nice with immortals?”

            “If I must.”

            “I can deal with them.”

            “No, no—it’s just that having passed sixty I’m not used to feeling young and gawky any more.”

            She smiled. “That many centuries is intimidating, isn’t it? But you could try Junior—he’s younger than I am.”

            “Keladry, just now almost everyone’s younger than you are. Lead on.”

            Faintly indignant she did. Her main concern was to thank the griffins again and apologise for the disruption, but after listening to the adults Quenuresh turned with a light in her eyes.

            “They say you need not thank them, Lady Kel—they regard it as part of their job. Much as you rediscovered the stormwing custom of attending funerals of the righteous, you rediscover a griffin custom—sitting in courts. And they approve of that reversed question to Rogal. It was efficient, he says, and they are happy to return for such an enquiry.” Her voice became dry. “They are also happy it has been a good experience for … Junior. He has learned what proximity to a mortal struggling to lie feels like. And they ask if they may hunt now.”

            “Of course. But we have fish and they’ve given up most of the day.”

            “No. He thanks you but says they know a good pool on the river. I think flight and the hunt are relaxing after lie-detecting.”

            Kel bowed deeply to the adults before squatting to scratch Junior’s head. He didn’t even try to bite, and after a moment all three launched themselves from the terrace, the downdraft redolent with flint and spices Kel couldn’t identify. She found Quenuresh looking at her.

            “You hit your mark, Protector? I heard the godbow sing.”

            “I did.”

            “At what range?”

            “Three-hundred-and-some yards. Call it a thousand feet.”

            Quenuresh pursed her lips and other immortals were interested, Whitelist asking to see the bow before passing it to an ogre. Kel meanwhile was talking to Aldoven about Scanrans.

            “They fled east and may bivouac in your territory. Be careful? If they’re there, shout. I’ll send reinforcements.”

            “Help from mortals against mortals? Wonders never cease with you, Protector.”

            “We have a treaty. I won’t stint on it. You came today when you needn’t have. And yesterday. Your credit’s good.”

            “Both days have been informative, Protector, and impressive. I have never heard of anyone favoured both by the Black God and griffins. But if the fields are clear we will go. We have webs to spin besides those for your alures.”

            “Thank you.”

            Quenuresh and kin opted to go too and Kel watched them down the roadway, seeing Mikal’s men saluting as they passed. Baird and Neal joined her, with Yuki holding her daughter.

            “Waiting on a corpse, Kel? There was something about the man …”

            “I think you were right about riding style but I can’t pin it.”

            “You pinned him alright.”

            She punched his arm and they waited together as Mikal came up to them, the hooded body slung awkwardly across his horse.

            Conscious of Neal following Kel walked to where the hooded head hung, the broken shaft of her arrow projecting from the neck, and grasping it lifted, snapping her wrist to flip the hood back. She heard Neal’s indrawn breath and the world contracted to a pinpoint filled with the familiar, nightmare features of Vinson of Genlith.

Chapter Text

Part V – Lughnasad

July – September 462 HE

Chapter Seventeen — Business

1–6 July

Kel’s stint as District Commander had been quiet everywhere save New Hope. She was relieved all the same when the party from Trebond were at last spotted coming down valley, a day later than looked for, but it wasn’t eagerness for relief that drove her to meet them south of the fin. Behind the point squad Wyldon, Alanna, and Raoul rode side-by-side, and trailing them Numair and Daine, a baby slung on her chest.

            “Kel!” Alanna’s smile faded as she took in Kel’s grimness. “Uh-oh—what’s up?”

            “Several things, I’m afraid, and one that matters now. I’m sorry to greet you with a problem but there’s reason.” She explained what had happened to Merric and saw faces darken. Wyldon’s lips compressed and Alanna gave some choice curses. “Yes, all of that. Vanget’s not here because he waited on Commander Svein from Eastwatch and two of his company seconds. He’s also bringing one of his own captains—all three having no relation to Tirrsmont. We can’t find people who don’t know about what happened to him—everyone’s supposed to know—but we can try to be impartial. Vanget mentioned a company second in charge of your escort and a senior sergeant who qualify?”

            Wyldon nodded heavily. “Arres of Rosemark and Sergeant Viller. He has more than ten years’ seniority so he’s in the court martial pool. And I can’t recall that either has any relevant ties of blood or marriage.”

            “Then that’s our five. The problem is they shouldn’t talk to any of my people before they hear witnesses—people know what outcome they want. I’ve had beds made up in a barn. Could one of you tell them, please, with my apologies for indignity and discomfort, but we’re very full.”

            “I will.” Raoul frowned. “When do you propose to hold the court martial, Kel?”

            “Properly that’s Wyldon’s decision but I want it as soon as Vanget and his party get here, as does he. They should arrive tonight, so tomorrow, in parallel with the conference, unless you feel you should attend.”

            “Not sure, Kel, but there’s time to think about that. I’ll tell Arres and Sergeant Viller, then you can show me this marvel fort of yours.”

            “Alright.” Raoul turned his horse and Kel looked at Alanna. “Let me say hello to Daine and Numair, and young Sarralyn. Is she still shapeshifting all the time?”

            “No, gods be thanked. Literally. The Green Lady put a stop to it by grandmotherly command.”

            Kel blinked. “They came, then?”

            “Oh yes—antlers and all. It was impressive.”

            “It was extraordinary. He told me of his hounds.” Wyldon shook his head. “Sarralyn’s shapeshifting was bizarre but as a human she seems a sweet child, though her eyes are not an infant’s.”

            Kel found she agreed. Sarralyn’s deep brown eyes had a knowing look that made her think of Irnai and Tobe’s old-man expression, though her smiles were adorable. She was desperately sorry the shadow of Merric’s death should attend her first meeting with the babe but Daine’s and Numair’s mingled pride and relief, shot through with joy, was a tonic despite their sorrow for Merric. She rode with them, letting the commanders ponder whether they should observe the court martial, and heard a funny account of the naming ceremony and the happiness of Daine’s parents in their grandchild. A startling thought intruded.

            “Um, do you know if she’s inherited your Gift as well as Daine’s wild magic, Numair?”

            “She has, Kel. Strongly.”

            “Oh. Right. And, um, what can a blackrobe shapeshifter do?”

            “No idea, except shift a lot. There’s never been one we know of.”

            “Oh.” Kel contemplated a riverhorse that could turn you into a tree and wished she hadn’t. “That’s going to be … an adventure.”

            “So we anticipate.” Daine’s eyes twinkled. “I’m hoping we can make it very large animals rather than ones that are really absent-minded.”

            “Magelet!”

            Kel welcomed the humour—there’d been little enough of late—but was reminded. “I’m afraid I got you into trouble with Vanget, Numair, when he saw my opal. His immediate thought was it made little mirrors for patrols possible, using the Crown’s Dunlath stock.”

            Numair grinned. “Don’t fret, Kel—he’s already caught up with me about that. I knew he would but I needed time to make the mirrorspell easier, which I have, and refine the opal spell. Harailt now does them, and mages at the City of the Gods should be able to learn. Vanget’ll get his mirrors and opals, though not as many as he’d like. I’ll do you some too, and that Steadfast link.” His smile was wry. “All I have to do now is double the range so everywhere can link with Corus.”

            “Ask Diamondflame next Midwinter. Or via Quenuresh—she speaks across three realms.” Numair blinked. “Where’s Kit, by the way?”

            “Back in Corus pestering Kawit, almost certainly.” Daine sounded resigned. “Among the dragonspells Diamondflame taught her when he visited was the basic flame spell, but he did have the sense to make her promise she wouldn’t practice without Kawit’s supervision.”

            “Oh glory. Has she set fire to anything she shouldn’t?”

            “Only a rug.” Daine was a little too offhand.

            “Um, was anyone standing on it at the time?”

            The grin was urchin. “Duke Gary, being pompous even for him. Kit thought the rug was really ugly and I can’t fault her for that.”

            “Nor for her sense of timing, eh?”

            “Exactly. I told you she’d understand, Numair.”

            “It was a rather valuable old rug, Magelet.”

            “It had wyverns on it, in nasty colours. I gave him a new one.”

            “You gave him a sixteen-foot bearskin he doesn’t dare walk on that makes him sneeze.”

            “That’s only because it keeps itself clean, Numair. If his office wasn’t so dusty to begin with he wouldn’t have a problem.”

            “A sixteen-foot bearskin … um, I thought you didn’t approve of animal-skin rugs?”

            Daine nodded. “I don’t as a rule, but Da has a running competition with the bear god, pelt against antlers. Whoever loses gets reborn immediately, and Da’s won the last two times and had no use for another pelt so he gave it to me.”

            Kel stared. Gods killed one another for fun? “You’re joking.”

            “Not at all. Seems to keep them both happy. And it’s a much more valuable rug than that horrid wyverny thing so Gary can’t complain.”

            “Oh can’t he?” Numair’s voice was a pained mutter. “He just doesn’t dare complain to you, Magelet.”

            They came up to the others, who’d stopped on the limestone bridge while Raoul and the point squad stared at New Hope.

            “Kel, that’s astonishing. Magnificent. Descriptions don’t do justice.”

            Kel smiled, pleased to impress but still thinking about a bearskin rug of that size and the bear it had come from. “It keeps Scanrans out, so far. But none of you have seen what we’ve done with the corral, and there’s someone you should meet, Raoul. We’ll detour.”

            Their escort went on to New Hope with Daine and Numair and the packhorses, Arres and Sergeant Viller promising to report to Brodhelm alone, and Kel’s guards took over as she led them round the fin. The moat wasn’t filled, so the vicious spikes were visible, drawing Alanna’s and Raoul’s whistles, and though the drawbridge wasn’t articulated it was in place, allowing them to ride through the almost completed gatehouse to the killing field. Kel quietly asked one of the building team to warn Dom, working in the stableblock, and turned to Raoul.

            “It’s going to be our sally port, in effect, so I need someone I can trust in charge here, and I’ve appointed a captain of the corral, using commander’s authority to override a fitness issue. Vanget agreed, so it’s all proper, and I think you’ll remember him. This way.”

            She led them through to the main space, sending Raoul on to the stables because she thought Dom would prefer to be alone for this. Wyldon and Alanna were staring at the Mindelan owl and her crossed glaives, gleaming in the afternoon light, and raised eyebrows in unison.

            “It looks as if you came to a decision, Keladry.”

            Kel flushed but didn’t deny it. “It was made for me, Wyldon—Tobe and St’aara created that for my birthday and the first I saw it was already up there. But yes, if I live through this I’ll apply for the fief—it really does seem to be what everyone wants.”

            “Good for you, Kel.” Alanna clapped her on the shoulder. “Of course it’s what people want—they’re not stupid. Now, who’s this captain of the corral of yours that Raoul knows?”

            “Domitan of Masbolle. You know he was invalided out of the Third last year? He was fretting at home in bad spirits, so he turned up here looking for something to do. He’s halt so field combat’s an issue, but for this he’s perfect. The only adjustment is ramps rather than stairs to the alure, and Geraint thinks they’re faster anyway. And I’ve been meaning to say, Wyldon, we should be more flexible about wounded veterans. There are plenty who could do more than we have them doing.”

            “That’s a thought. And I can see why you wanted a veteran for this job—a cool head and experienced eye. Is that really a drawbridge?”

            “Yes, with a petrified portcullis as counterweight. Dom’s idea. We only have to finish the chains and we can articulate, probably before you go. And just wait till you see the bridge in the tunnel.”

            That was the last stop on the tour she gave Raoul as the sun westered, Wyldon and Alanna tagging along to see improvements and seeming to get on better than Kel had ever known. Raoul had been delighted to see Dom, and relieved, thanking her quietly but intensely as they walked the eastern alure.

            “I was worried about him, Kel, but the healers shipped him south and all I got was a note saying he was sorry to let me down. Idiot.”

            “Huh. I got five lines assuring me he was fine, which didn’t. But he pulled himself together. And gods know I’m glad to have him—I thought I’d have to appoint poor Merric, but he wasn’t right for it.”

            “No. Five lines, eh? You were honoured.”

            “Hardly. I’d sent a hundred. Come and meet Cloestra. Her egg should hatch next month. Ever seen a baby stormwing?”

            “Gods, no. What a thought.”

            “I’ll let you know—I confess I’m intrigued. Numair says he can set up a New Hope–Steadfast spellmirror, if you don’t mind—it’d be nice to be able to talk.”

            Cloestra was in good form, slyly impressing by adding a scouting report from her morning’s flying exercise as well as showing off her egg, which had acquired an odd lustre as it incubated. The lookout post was also impressive, revealing Vanget’s party just coming into view a good nine miles north, and Kel swiftly led on to the tunnel. The completed bridge, which Geraint demonstrated as they stood in the wide aperture on the further side, had all the effect she’d hoped for.

            “The arrowloops are for guards with crossbows, so I think our back door’s got a decent lock.”

            “Goddess, yes. No-one’s getting over this hole in a hurry even if they’re not under fire.”

            “I agree, Keladry—this is first-rate in every way. And that’s an excellent design indeed, Master Geraint.” Hauling counterweights with help from two soldiers he nodded. “Could it be used elsewhere?”

            The bridge was pushed back and seated, allowing them to recross.

            “Thank you, my Lord. I don’t see why not, if there’s a sufficient drop for counterweights. You need basilisk help—or a metal span, maybe. Did you have somewhere in mind?”

            “A ravine west of Mastiff—I’ve not had it bridged because it’s a natural defence, but it’d be useful to be able to do so at will. It’s about fifty feet across.”

            “I’ll have a word with Var’istaan and take a look when we come back west, my Lord.”

            “Thank you.”

            Once they were back on the main level in fading light Kel showed them to guest rooms, left copies of the enquiry record, and rode out to meet Vanget. Svein of Hannalof, commanding at Eastwatch where the borders bent round low hills separating tributaries of the Vassa and Drell, was an older cousin of Ortien and Uline with the same tumbling black hair, but having missed Orie’s wedding Kel had never met him and they greeted one another with mutual caution and interest. The officers he and Vanget had brought for the court martial kept their distance, as did Vanget’s staffers, but none could stop themselves gaping at the glacis and skulls. On the way up the roadway Vanget came alongside her.

            “You didn’t tell the others about Vinson or the prisoners?”

            “You asked me not to.”

            “Good. The prisoners will be a nice surprise but Vinson is another story. I’m thinking about what you said, but keep quiet for now, please, Kel. I really don’t like the implications. Nor will the Lioness and she’ll likely rant a while—she’s distracted anyway—but I want to deal with the military picture before we go there.”

            “Of course. Is Alanna distracted because …?”

            “Yes, she found out. The King let it slip. She wasn’t happy and there’s still no news, though George says he has a lead. Didn’t say what.”

            If the Baron hadn’t Kel wouldn’t either. Once they’d passed the gate she welcomed all to New Hope. Brodhelm took charge of officers, Mikal of staffers and escort, and Kel showed Vanget and Svein to guest rooms. She ate with all her ranking guests, and after a dinner in which the goddess’s blessings seemed to be holding up, though Kel couldn’t help thinking of Rogal’s fare and the officers excluded from the lively chatter of the messhall, she invited them to her quarters, dragging Raoul away from smiling examination of godlit panels, and Alanna from Neal’s and Yuki’s still nameless daughter. Daine and Numair opted for an early night as Sarralyn wouldn’t let them sleep through it, and Tobe helped her serve tea before withdrawing.

            Once she was settled Wyldon cleared his throat. “I’ve had a chance to read the record of Keladry’s enquiry, Vanget, and you’re not going to like this but I feel you and I at least should observe the court martial.” He was apologetic but Kel could tell his mind was made up. “I agree Rogal’s under army jurisdiction, but we’d both have to confirm a capital sentence and while we couldn’t be expected to attend if we weren’t already here, it’d look odd not to observe as we are.”

            Vanget grunted. “Odd to whom?”

            “Anyone who asks—and if it comes to it, which I think it will, a New Hope execution of a former Tirrsmont mercenary for killing a knight is going to be scrutinised. All else aside, on your past form I’m the one who’ll have to give an account to the Council.” He turned to Kel. “My congratulations on how you handled it, Keladry—it’s unorthodox with the griffins, and that they think it customary to attend trials and enquiries needs serious thought. But this record is scrupulous and leaves no doubt what happened. Sir Voelden’s statement is helpful too, though Master Lasner’s raises questions.”

            “Rogal’s correspondence, you mean?”

            “Yes, and where Sir Arnolf got him. I wonder if he’ll say anything this time round. But whatever he says I should hear myself.”

            Vanget was reluctant but couldn’t argue. “Alright Wyldon—I bet myself you’d feel like that. But we do it with all speed—there are things we need to be discussing. And we can start now with something Kel’s managed in your collective absence that deserves warm congratulations, poor Sir Merric notwithstanding, then hard thinking. Tell them about your victory and prisoners, Kel.”

            Put on the spot Kel had no choice and though she tried to run through the battle flatly it was hopeless. Raoul, Alanna, and Wyldon all had probing questions, and if Svein was quiet at first that didn’t last as the action unfolded. When events had been pulled apart in every direction Alanna gave her a long look.

            “So what were the final casualty numbers, Kel?”

            “There were one-hundred-and-eighty-six of them. I’ve got three seriously injured, who’ll recover in time, and nine back on duty, plus twenty-three uninjured Scanrans prisoners, who’ve given oaths. The rest were killed outright, most by griffin arrows.”

            “One-hundred-and-sixty-three dead?” Svein’s voice was shocked.

            “Stormwings piled them, recovering arrows, and we burned them.”

            As she’d hoped stormwings distracted them but Raoul wasn’t fooled.

            “Allowing for Rathhausak that’s your first real victory in open combat, Kel, and your casualty ratio is again astonishing. Unbelievable, in fact, except it happened. That battle should have a name.”

            “Should it?” She didn’t think she liked the idea but with the efficacy of the arrows and Merric’s death it probably would need to be referred to. “Who decides things like that?”

            Wyldon smiled austerely. “The victors, Keladry. And Goldenlake’s right—combined forces of three hundred men might be only a skirmish but you made it a battle and won superbly. Tactics and discipline. Slaughter’s always ugly, but as a field commander it’s what you have to want, and scheme for, however rarely you get it. Your archers must be tough and your drills exemplary if they can stand their ground and maintain that accuracy against charging cavalry.”

            “Griffin arrows don’t miss at under a hundred yards, Wyldon, not with people coming straight at you, and they all saw their first shots go home. It was like scything wheat.”

            “Heh. There’s your name, Kel—the Battle of Scything Wheat.” Alanna grinned, then shrugged. “Unless you want to commemorate Merric. I’m more interested in the prisoners—Scanrans surrendering in numbers is new. Have you interrogated them?”

            “Zerhalm and Irnai talked to them and we’ve got their stories. Their leader was Maggur’s man, a hard one, they say, for all he was an idiot tactically, but they’re all either conscripts at spear-point or under orders from clanchiefs Maggur’s coercing with hostages.”

            “And they’ve kept their oaths?”

            “So far.” Kel hesitated. “I’m minded to say I’ll keep them, if you’re happy with that, and let them work off some of the damage their fellows have done, but I’m doubtful about having them loose during an attack and nowhere to secure that many. That’s why I took oaths.”

            “And because you’re you, Kel. Dogs, children, Scanrans …” She stuck our her tongue and Raoul laughed. “You want to recruit them, don’t you?”

            “Not exactly. They won’t fight against their own clanchiefs, and the civilians have been conscripted too often already. But I did think we might let them be un-conscripted. Stanar, their unofficial spokesman, fought against Maggur at Somalkt, and said they’d heard about Rathhausak and Freja Haraldsdottir and her son, so I think they might accept non-military work. And where would we put them otherwise?”

            Vanget nodded. “I’ll go with that, Kel, unless the King objects, and as you’ll hear tomorrow—no, day after—Svein has other news to consider. But they need to be questioned. Who knows what they know? I’ve a staffer whose Scanran is fluent.”

            “Make sure he tries courtesy first? Threats or bluster won’t get him anywhere—these men aren’t cowards, they were just in an impossible situation—but they know we have to ask questions and if he lets them tell their stories …”

            “Yes, alright. Would Zerhalm sit in?”

            “If we ask. He’s been worried about what will happen.”

            “Then we’ll do that. But the important thing is the object lesson in what griffin arrows can do if you keep your nerve and your archers are properly drilled.”

            “Yes indeed.” Svein nodded sharply. “I’ve never heard of such arrows used in volley fire—only as individual longshots. It’s a startling innovation, and deadly.”

            “Exactly. Kel, will you rewrite your report on, what was it? Scything Wheat as a purely tactical account. Include a plan, and notes on how you’ve made or traded for these arrows, and how you’ve trained archers. I agree any sensible field commander wouldn’t have charged straight in without scouting much more carefully to see what you had, but he did, and you did, and that was that.” Vanget shook his head. “Astonishing. It’s one for the history books and I want you all to see what you can do to get griffin feathers and how your training measures up to Kel’s. Think about the way those irregular Scanran units feint to harass us when we’re in line against ’em—we’ve always ignored ’em unless they come closer than fifty yards, but wouldn’t you like to answer ’em?” He smiled wryly at Kel. “I told you we were all scrambling to keep up, didn’t I? Now it’s offence as well as defence and immortals’ treaties!”

            “Oh pish, Vanget.” Kel didn’t feel the embarrassment she expected and saw others glance surprise, though whether she was inured to it or just less susceptible to Vanget than Wyldon, Raoul, or Alanna she wasn’t sure. “I had a bounty of griffin feathers to play with and centaur fletchers. But there’s no reason we can’t ask griffins for moults, gods know there’s enough centaurs who fletch, and after that it’s just drill.”

            “And the guts to stand, Kel.” Raoul was serious. “Those men must trust you completely, and that doesn’t come easy.”

            “Pish to you too, Raoul—where d’you suppose I learned that? I think the interesting thing’s the stormwings, and besides the consideration that stormwing-fletched arrows are useful too I have ideas about that. How would you feel about stormwing auxiliaries?”

            Stormwings were proving extremely useful, Kel thought, when she pushed them off to their rooms considerably later, and she’d meant what she said about being intrigued by Cloestra’s egg. How did mothers keep hatchlings clean? And if they didn’t, what would happen if someone did? In a strange way, despite Neal’s and Yuki’s baby and Sarralyn and all her nieces and nephews, Cloestra’s maternity had made her want a child of her own more acutely. Not while war lasted, but nevertheless. Undressing for bed and staring at herself in the mirror, she put a hand on her stomach, trying to imagine, and the other on her restored breast, feeling it move as she snorted remembering Daine’s expression when she’d asked about nursing problems. How would Tobe feel if she became pregnant? And how much would it matter to him if she wasn’t married?

            The thought startled and stayed in her mind as she lay in bed. When had she started to entertain it? Her memory drifted to the King mentioning heirs and assigns, and traced her slow acceptance of the idea of remaining at New Hope so long as she and it survived; making it her home as well as trying to make it everyone else’s. Bringing up Tobe and Irnai here, with basilisk, ogre, and spidren playmates as well as mortal ones. She pulled herself back from imagining a cross-species university to take over where St’aara’s schoolhouse left off with the thought that if she were to embrace a natural son she’d first have to embrace a man and that was as improbable as ever, however Dom made her heart beat and thoughts of his hands filled her with a melting sensation. Sighing she turned on her side and willed herself to sleep.

* * * * *

Next morning Kel saw the court martial established on the terrace before the shrines, Alanna, Raoul, and Svein reluctantly joining Wyldon and Vanget as mute observers. Gydo and other children were charged with refreshments and carrying messages, and Kel left them to it with a clear conscience. In brisk mode she set Numair consulting with Var’istaan, Kuriaju, and Petrin about the steps up the fin; persuaded a laughing Daine that St’aara’s classes with young immortals would hold Sarralyn for an hour; and dragged the Wildmage to see Butter. Conscientiously ruthless, she overrode Dom’s embarrassment, bluntly explaining the problem, inviting Peachblossom’s and Alder’s accounts, and boosting him onto Butter’s back to demonstrate. Daine nodded.

            “Can do.” She looked at Dom. “Do you want him smarter generally, like Alder, or just to understand your injury in terms of leg pressure and movement commands?”

            Dom swallowed. “I have enough trouble keeping up anyway, Godborn. But if he could understand commands despite lopsided pressure …”

            “Alright.”

            Daine drew Butter’s head down until her forehead rested on his muzzle. After a moment she had Dom demonstrate grip with his bad leg, and commands he wanted to use; after long minutes she straightened, patting Butter’s jaw.

            “It’ll need practice, Dom, but he has the idea, and I’m here for some days so I can talk to him again if necessary.”

            He flushed. “Thank you, Godborn. I can’t …”

            “Don’t worry about it. I remember you in the Own, I know how much you helped Kel, and I’ll do most anything for her. Just remember Butter’s pushed beyond what should be his limits.”

            “I know that feeling, Godborn. I’ll remember.”

            “It’s just Daine. Kel, can we get Sarralyn and go see Quenuresh now? And Barzha? I want her to get used to all kinds of immortals.”

            The morning and lunchtime that followed were educational, not only for Sarralyn. Both Quenuresh and a surprisingly clean Barzha clearly had soft spots for the babe, and Sarralyn was equally entranced, gurgling and waving chubby hands as she was inspected lying on a blanket; if Kel even now felt it odd to see steel teeth in smiling mouths clucking over a six-week infant, it didn’t stop her taking the chance to broach with Barzha the topic of stormwing feeding. As she had suspected, children’s simpler emotions were very attractive though not nutritious—more an aroma than a meal; fear, apprehension, and the violent experiences of combat were richest, and circling above the Battle of Scything Wheat—a name that amused both immortals—had indeed been a feeding pattern, but any activity generating real fears might serve. Kel mentioned possibilities, asked a surprised Barzha to consider longer-term residence at New Hope, and brought up stormwings’ attendance at funerals, requesting Daine to relay Barzha’s account of the custom to the King. She asked if there were other lapsed immortal customs.

            “Not for spidrens.” Quenuresh sounded rueful. “But then we have never had much friendly interaction with mortals at all.”

            “Nor stormwings.” Barzha looked thoughtful. “But you know of our effect on mortals when we mass. If you think that might serve at some juncture, ask. I make no promises.”

            “Mmm. Thank you. I’ll think about that.” Wilfully terrorising people wasn’t an ambition unless they were the enemy, but no resource could be ignored so Kel continued talking to Barzha while Daine fed Sarralyn—much to the fascination of little spidrens who’d been peeking from the wood eaves and came forward at Quenuresh’s resigned invitation. After Sarralyn’s nap she and Daine headed back up valley in search of centaurs, but Kel had to leave Daine to it when a guard came to tell her the court martial requested her presence.

            She arrived to see Rogal with a satisfied look and everyone tense. Her heart sank. Hiram of Blue Harbour, captain of Northwatch Third Company, was senior officer of the panel and greeted her.

            “Lady Knight Commander, we have heard all witnesses, tested by truthspell, and have unanimously convicted Rogal, formerly of Tirrsmont, on all charges. The only possible sentence for wilful disobedience in the face of the enemy, and causing Sir Merric to fall, is death, and that we imposed—but after we did so Rogal declared himself a liegeman of Lord Carolan of Runnerspring, and his claim is confirmed by truthspell. I am advised by my Lord of Cavall, under whose authority we sit, that our proper action is to retain him in custody and remit to you our verdict and sentence, with his claim made after sentence was passed.”

            I am a lake. “You are telling me Rogal was oathsworn to the Lord of Runnerspring as well as to obedience here when he culpably pushed Sir Merric to his death?”

            “Exactly so.”

            “Does Rogal claim assault on Sir Merric as duty to Runnerspring?”

            “He does not. We asked him specifically on that point—he claims only that he is another’s liegeman, and as such contends he is subject neither to your authority nor this court’s. We disagree and consider our verdict and sentence lawful, but append his claim as you were unaware of it during the Commander’s enquiry that brought charges.”

            “I see. Thank you, Captain Hiram.” She saw Wyldon about to speak and held up a hand. “Perhaps you would excuse me a moment, my Lord.”

            The shrines offered no privacy today, and Cloestra occupied the other end of the terrace, so Kel went to where the spring bubbled into the cistern, letting the sound clear her mind. Rogal’s claim was last ditch, plainly, but true. What that truth meant was another matter, though—having failed to make any claim of extended noble privilege despite having been asked repeatedly weighed against him, but more importantly he had made the claim only after being convicted—and the rules were clear about that. If he’d made it straight away she could still have preferred capital charges but the case would have gone straight to the King; as he hadn’t, even Runnerspring in person could only ask her to pardon Rogal, not assert privilege. In effect the whole decision was thrown back on her: both Rogal’s execution and, if Runnerspring extended privilege, his release would be lawful outcomes. Merric’s ghost rose in her mind’s eye, with the effects of either decision on New Hope; there was also the intriguing, legally irrelevant question of why a liegeman of Runnerspring’s had been under arms at Tirrsmont; most critically, there was the principle embodied in the oath Rogal had sworn to secure admission to New Hope and the need for it to be enforceable. She hardened her heart and went back to the court martial.

            “Captain Hiram, may I ask Rogal a question?”

            “Of course.”

            “Rogal of Runnerspring, will you explain why you, a liegeman of a lord whose domain is a month’s ride from here, were present at Tirrsmont, and why you did not claim this allegiance before?”

            “It’s my Lord’s business, not yours.”

            “On the contrary. By delaying your claim until after the court martial’s verdict you set aside any issue of noble privilege. Understand clearly—I can enforce the capital sentence of this court, or release you. And I will hear your claim for release only if it includes a full statement of what you were doing at Tirrsmont and why you came here.”

            He stared. “You’re mad—I’m my Lord’s man. You can’t touch me.”

            “Wrong again. Last chance.”

            “Don’t be stupid, woman—I’m privileged from this army nonsense.”

            “No, you aren’t. You swore to harm none at New Hope, you broke your oath, killing a far better man than yourself in malice and stupidity, and to me that’s all that matters. Captain Hiram, I decline to grant Rogal any remission of sentence on the basis of his oath to Runnerspring. If Lord Carolan were to ask me to respect noble privilege on Rogal’s behalf I should refuse, as would be my right, and the court found him guilty as lawfully charged and passed capital sentence. I see no purpose in delay.”

            He nodded slowly. “Very well, Lady Knight Commander.”

            The rest of the proceedings were grim, and Rogal had to be gagged before Hiram could confirm verdict and sentence, and remit the prisoner to New Hope’s custody pending execution. Once Rogal had been frogmarched away, Vanget and Wyldon came up to Kel.

            “You’re sure?” Vanget was blunt. “It’s an unholy complication.”

            “Do you have any doubt I’m acting legally, Vanget?”

            “None. Even if he’d claimed privilege at your enquiry the oath he swore to you would hold up. And not claiming privilege until after the verdict was stupid in the extreme, if he could have done so to begin with. But Runnerspring will be furious, and protest execution violently.”

            “So? He hates me already. I’ll make sure he’s sent a copy of the full record—my Lord and Lady of Hollyrose too. I promised to let them know the result of the court martial. Let Runnerspring explain why his man’s actions should have been forgiven. I’m not going to explain why they were when they needn’t have been.”

            “You’re clear in your mind, Keladry? There will be a fuss.”

            “I am, Wyldon. Bluntly, my judgement is that unless I uphold the validity of the oath Rogal swore when he sought admission here I’d cause a far bigger problem than Runnerspring, not only for myself. If I pardon Rogal what’s to stop anyone who was once a liegeman and has sworn the army oath claiming exemption from the consequences of breaking it?”

            Vanget grunted. “I asked myself that. Give way once and we’d have to check every time with lords all over the country. Wyldon?”

            “Yes. I don’t like any of it—what was Runnerspring’s man doing at Tirrsmont? It makes no sense—but Keladry’s right. Rogal was under authority, wilfully killed Sir Merric, has been fairly tried and sentenced, and ought to pay. The proceedings have been clear, consistent, and open, the claim of privilege is irrelevant, and when that death sentence comes to me I shall endorse it and pass it to you.”

            “And I’m not commuting it, so there we are. Gods, what a mess. The King has to be informed but I doubt he’ll interfere. Do you have a headsman, Kel?”

            “No, but I shall appoint one under Wartime Regulation 119.”

            Both men’s eyes lost focus, and they grunted simultaneously.

            “Yes, that’s proper, Keladry.” Wyldon sighed. “Do you know who?”

            “Me. Shall appoint themselves or whoever better fitted they may select, it says, and there’s no-one better fitted. Don’t protest, please. I’m not going to order anyone to do what I won’t myself, I’ve prayed to the Black God about it, and my mind’s made up.” Wyldon looked thunderous and Kel considered him with distant affection. “Don’t worry, Wyldon—it’s proper, and my conscience can bear it.”

            They did protest, as did Raoul and Alanna. To Kel’s surprise Svein strongly approved, commending her courage, and to the others she was adamant, despite her clenching stomach at the thought of what she was letting herself in for. For all the executions she’d seen, in Yaman and with the Own, she’d never found one less than hateful, but did believe some crimes warranted death, including Rogal’s, and the rest followed inexorably. She supposed when New Hope became a fief it would need a Provost and Dogs, and with them would come a headsman, but until then responsibility was hers alone. Raoul knew how she felt about executions and was especially concerned, advancing arguments even he knew held no water, but in the end subsided, still muttering. Alanna, interestingly, gave up arguing sooner, and seemed resigned.

            Given the previous night’s conversation Kel had rearranged the practice schedule, and was able to restore a more cheerful feel to things by taking them to observe. She and Brodhelm had pushed hard on accuracy at middle distance, and when people were at their weapon’s limit allowed practice shots with a griffin arrow so they knew how much it improved their aim. They had also assiduously practiced firing by ranks as well as alternating fire from the crenels, and the squads who’d been at Scything Wheat, ordered in a treble rank, were able, in less than fifteen seconds, to put one hundred griffin arrows into a score of bulls stretched across the barracks nearly one-hundred-and-fifty yards away. She’d had the targets thickened with old straw and only a few arrows were damaged.

            “I wouldn’t vouch for accuracy if cavalry were traversing at that range—but if they’re coming head on it’s just elevation.”

            Svein was thoughtful. “It’s practice with griffin arrows that impresses me, Keladry—I’ve never had more than few available, but I can see how much it matters.”

            “It does. I’m already buying all our centaurs can make, and we’re manufacturing our own with moulted feathers the griffins bring. You can get two arrows from each feather if you’re careful, and I can let each of you have a dozen as a start if you’ve a fletcher who knows what to do. We have some stormwing retrices too, but those are tricky.”

            “What cuts them, Kel?” Alanna was genuinely curious.

            “Basilisk obsidian, but I can’t manage it on my own yet—you need someone to hold the feather down against its natural spring. And carefully—the barbs will slice anything.”

            “You fletch?”

            “I learned as a child in Yaman and took it up again when I got that sack of feathers for looking after Junior.”

            “I’d forgotten that.” Raoul scratched his head. “I’ve a good fletcher at Steadfast but no griffins. A dozen feathers is a generous offer and I’ll take it, but we’re talking about hundreds. Any ideas?”

            “Daine and the King. If the griffins near Corus are invited to attend courts there … well, Daine says they don’t care about moulted feathers, any more than horses about hair they shed, so a deal should be possible. Enough for a few hundred arrows for each major fort—and if the custom gets established more each season.”

            The demonstration and hope made everyone brighter despite the shadow of the day, and the meal was easier than Kel had feared. She invited Hiram and officers who’d sat with him, now moved to proper barracks accommodation, to dine with the commanders, and afterwards made the announcement everyone was expecting. The fact of execution, and a date the following week, were received with grim approval, as she’d known they would be; the reaction to her self-appointment as headsman worried her more, but in the event surprised her. It was Uinse who stood to ask, obviously thinking it might be his duty to find one, and when she told him what she proposed his face went still before he bowed, profoundly—at which every adult had risen to do the same. When she sat Wyldon considered her with that odd look.

            “You do know your people, don’t you, Keladry? And they know you.”

            She wasn’t sure what he meant but he wouldn’t elaborate, and refused her general invitation to come back to her quarters, pleading paperwork, as did Vanget. Alanna went to see Neal and Yuki—or the baby—and Raoul wanted a chat with Daine, so Kel wound up giving Svein the tour she’d not been able to give him when he’d arrived. It was the first time she’d done it by night, moonlight silvering spikes in the killing field and etching shadows across the main level. The view from the lookout post was breathtaking, and though rockfalls were now covered in a fast-growing weed Adner had recommended with distaste they stood out from this angle and distance.

            “It’s a remarkable place, Keladry. I’ll be frank—I was as pleased as anyone by news of Rathhausak but thought it a fluke. But what I see, and Scything Wheat, tells another story.” He gave a crooked smile that made his face charming. “Uline told me you were good people and so far as she could tell a real commander, but Ortien was more worried about nobles who oppose you until last Midwinter, when he changed his tune.”

            “You’re close to them?”

            “More to Uline. I’m a decade older but spent summers as a boy looking after them, and in Corus I’ve stayed with Ortien and Orie once or twice since they married. It seems a good match.”

            “Ortien was certainly pleased by my parents’ elevation.” Kel’s voice was dry. “Once he got over the shock. But he doesn’t at all know what to make of his peculiar sister-in-law.”

            “I shouldn’t think he does. Forgive me, you must be used to that.”

            “I don’t know I am. Merovec copes better though he thinks too politically for my liking. I’ve barely met Gavin haMinch, and seen very little of Vorinna or Tilaine in a decade. I grant their letters tend to the bemused but they’re affectionate. Toshuro I haven’t seen for ages but as a Yamani he had no problem with my warrior training.” She shrugged. “I just wish Ortien was … I don’t know … franker. He always seems to be waiting to see which way I’ll jump before he’ll say anything.”

            “Mmm. He’s like that with anyone he respects. His father’s, um, very definite in his opinions. But he’s a decent man, Keladry. And it’s hard to imagine what you’ve done here without seeing it.”

            Kel smiled faintly. “You think I should invite him and Orie?”

            “After the war, yes—get as many people as possible to visit. They’ll leave very thoughtful—as I will.”

            The conversation unsettled her and she was glad when Svein excused himself to visit the shrines. Time with Tobe was welcome, as was heartening news of Dom’s rapid progress and elation as fighting control of Butter began to return. Once she’d tucked her son into bed there was the distilled report Vanget wanted, and the labour of crafting clean, concise descriptions lulled her into working late.

            Next morning the conference began, and the day was taken up with painstaking presentations by Vanget’s staffers of events along the whole front from Frasrlund to Eastwatch since the thaw. The picture that emerged was curiously sparse, a lot of minor incursions by small groups more intent on raiding barns and livestock than fighting, but nothing larger than the force Kel had beaten at Scything Wheat. It was suggestive and the first confirmation of what was happening came in late afternoon from Svein.

            “My chief concern’s a Scanran fort ten miles inside their border—a natural strong point.” He indicated on a map. “This little triangle of Scanran territory west of the Grimholds is isolated and unimportant—Gallan and Tusaine trade runs further north to avoid the mountains—but the fort’s had a small company resident since the war began. They’re army men, not irregulars, and while they don’t attack anything much they cross the Vassa often enough that I have to do everything in reasonable force. But just after Samradh their captain showed up carrying a truce flag, and offered local peace if I could supply grain and vegetables. He said he thought he and his men had been forgotten and despite urgent letters hadn’t had any food supplies at all this year, so they needed to hunt full time. I thought he had a nerve but was sincere and being reasonable by his lights, so after consulting General Vanget I agreed. We’ll see what happens, but he swore he’d notify me if he felt he had to go to an active posture again.”

            Vanget nodded. “The same thing happened with another isolated Scanran fort in the eastern Grimholds, and I’m guessing one reason the army at Frasrlund withdrew was difficulty feeding it. Maggur holds his main army, Hamrkeng, and his hostages, but his logistics are slipping.”

            “Only at the edges.” Raoul was scowling. “I suppose it’s good news but I don’t like the implications. We’re spread out to cope with dispersed attacks and occasional heavier punches, not deal with one big army. It’s better in that if we could beat that army solidly we’d be done, but being in the right place to fight it when it comes ...”

            “Exactly. And though I’m inclined to think Scything Wheat’s a sign Maggur wants New Hope for more than strategic reasons, which would fit with that wretched prophecy, I can’t justify concentrating forces without much more solid knowledge.”

            Numair shifted unhappily. “Daine came north mostly to do what she can to improve information again, and she’s determined to fly over Scanra, but I’m sorry, she won’t be able to stay.”

            “I know, Numair.” Vanget was gloomy. “But anything’s welcome.”

            Kel sat forward. “Could she ask her owls and hawks—birds that can cover distances—to watch for large troop movements? And report to the nearest fort with spellmirrors? It should give us warning of any concentration big enough that we need to respond.”

            “Maybe.” Numair frowned. “How many troops? And report how? Those birds can’t give a scouting report to anyone but Daine.”

            “Can they recognise ‘five hundred plus’? And ring a bell? One of those hanging ones, with a little chain on the clapper. Any forge can make one, there’d only be one in each place, no ordinary bird’ll ring it by accident, and any sentry would recognise the sign.”

            He brightened. “That sounds possible. I can ask her.”

            Others nodded, Vanget among them. “Excellent, Kel. Please do that, Numair—any warning of that army on the march could be invaluable. Now the other thing is when Maggur might be able to move it out of Hamrkeng, and frankly I don’t know. I was sure after last year’s lull he’d come in the spring, but he hasn’t, and thanks to Sir Myles we have some idea why—trouble at home. He seems to have survived, again, and still has an iron grip on real power, but whether he can get himself in the field this year—or wants to—is anyone’s guess. Weren has what little we know about what’s been happening.”

            The staffer’s account was detailed, and as Kel listened, watching the long northern twilight begin, she could guess how it had been put together from piecemeal low-level observation. The source of Maggur’s trouble had been two northern clanchiefs whose men he’d been heavily conscripting, and the troops he’d had to send from Hamrkeng accounted in part for withdrawal from Frasrlund. There was a closing nugget about his rage when the fake refugees he’d sent to New Hope returned with Kel’s message, and a rumour he’d sworn even more vengeance on her than when he’d first seen her report. She frowned.

            “When did you say those Scanrans got back to Hamrkeng, Weren?”

            “Ah … our report suggested the first week of June, my Lady. It only came in ten days ago.”

            “Then they took their own sweet time. We escorted them over the Vassa on … March twentieth, so they took more than two months to cover, what? four hundred miles? It doesn’t make sense unless they were dragging their feet, but what does is Maggur swearing vengeance in the first week of June and Scything Wheat in the last. Say three or four days to decide and pull those men together, two weeks or so to get here, depending on where and how they crossed the Vassa. Stanar and the other prisoners might be able to fill in some of that.”

            “Mmm. And if it was a hotheaded reaction with a loyal hothead put in charge because his experienced commanders had been sent north …” Vanget’s fingers drummed. “It does seem to fit, and might explain their poor tactics. The armies we fought last year and the year before had better sense. Still, we should have something from those Scanrans tonight, and I’ll have that pulled together for tomorrow. I also want to turn to a different set of questions about Maggur—political ones—but let’s call it a day. I can hear weapons practice starting and I’d like to observe again—regular routine rather than that impressive show last night, Kel, if you don’t mind.”

            “Not at all. Glaives and slings tonight, so I should take glaive class myself. Yuki‘s filling in for me, but finds it tiring still.” She grinned at Wyldon. “Let’s see if you remember what I taught you at Midwinter.”

            He did and had clearly been practicing, though Kel took pleasure in finding him quite well matched with the best of the women she’d been training. If Wyldon had had his sword there’d have been no contest, but any Scanran inexperienced against a glaive who faced one of those women stood a good chance of dying. Kel was also working on fighting in groups—if the worst came a glaive squad might cover retreat to the caves; it would also enable them to act as guard squads. Slingwork was improving, and the thwap of stones against targets from fifty yards induced military thoughtfulness. Alanna was as impressed as anyone but asked how Kel was keeping up her own swordwork and cajoled her into a bout.

            Kel was guiltily aware she had been skimping but found she could give Alanna a run for her money. Her size and reach gave her an advantage but Alanna was lightning fast with a very wide repertoire and no bad habits. Encouraged by Neal’s shouts of ‘Youth and skill!’ vying against Raoul’s ‘Age and treachery!’, as well as Alanna’s taunts of having been lazy with her blade while pursuing use of pig-stickers, Kel moved onto the offensive and managed to press Alanna before she over-extended and the Lioness slipped past to swat her across the behind with the flat of her sword. They squared up again but a gate guard came.

            “Sorry to interrupt, Lady Kel, but there’s a basilisk heading for the roadway. Amiir’aan says it’s the one called Tkaa.”

            “Tkaa? What’s he doing here?”

            Daine, who’d been watching, looked concerned. “I’ve no idea—he was heading to Corus with Kit.”

            By the time they reached the gatehouse Tkaa was declaring name and amity under the lintel, and seeing Daine’s frown shook his head.

            “All is well with Skysong, Daine. I was met by a King’s Messenger south of Trebond, and he took over escorting her. I bear messages, one for Alanna and one for you all.”

            “For me? From George?”

            Tkaa nodded, and took Alanna aside, whisper dropping to a pitch no-one else could hear. Kel saw Alanna grip his paws, face intent, and turn away with the set face that meant she didn’t want to talk to anyone. Tkaa looked after her for a moment and came over.

            “Please tell me that was good news, Tkaa.” Raoul kept his voice low. “She’s been jumpy all summer.”

            “I sorrow to hear it.” How could a whisper be so bland? “My other news should be given to the commanders here in private.”

            “Come to my rooms.” Kel led the way, following Alanna to the headquarters building but not trying to catch her. Walking beside Tkaa she glanced up at him and spoke in a murmur. “Rajmuat?”

            “Yes. George has already taken ship.”

            “Good.”

            Tkaa’s bulk filled the stairway, and with him as well as six people in her sitting room it seemed small, and the basilisk very close.

            “The core of the news is simple. Scanran ambassadors have arrived in Corus with offers of peace.” Tkaa’s manner was not joyful.

            “On what terms?” Vanget asked the question on all minds.

            “Unacceptable ones. The marriage of Princess Lianne to King Maggur, surrender of Lady Keladry, joint rule of the City of the Gods.”

            “What?” Raoul had gone red. “They can’t be serious.”

            “The King agrees, but believes these demands an aggressive opening position, though he said they seemed strangely nervous for ambassadors making demands. What is truly on offer, if anything, he does not know. Nor does he understand what Maggur intends.” Tkaa looked at Kel. “He asked me to tell you directly that he will never agree to surrender any Tortallan, and that if you offer to sacrifice yourself he will be cross.”

            Kel let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “Well, that’s good to know.” Perhaps oddly she hadn’t doubted the King in this, but thought his logic would have been more political than moral. “How did these Scanrans get to Corus? By sea, or through Galla and Tusaine?”

            “Galla and Tusaine.”

            “So they went further south than they needed. Did they by any chance come with a Genlith trade convoy from Cría?”

            Tkaa’s look was sharp, as was Vanget’s. “They did, Keladry. The Lord of Genlith escorted them to Corus. How did you guess?”

            “It’s a long story and it was scheduled for tomorrow. Vanget?”

            “I think it still is—I want the Lioness here and everyone fresh to think about that. Can you stay, Tkaa?”

            “I can, though I should report to the King if Numair could oblige?”

            “Of course, but do that tomorrow, when we’ve a fuller picture. There’s a court martial sentence to report too.”

            There was no meeting after dinner, from which Alanna was conspicuously absent. Returning to her rooms Kel listened at the guest room door, but a snore told her the Lioness was asleep and she went to continue her report on Scything Wheat.

* * * * *

After breakfast next morning the conference reassembled, Tkaa and Daine joining them; Sarralyn was again left in St’aara’s care. Tkaa repeated the news for Alanna’s benefit, and after some discussion enlivened by her descriptions of Maggur’s ancestry and personal habits Vanget asked Numair magically to seal the room and nodded to Kel.

            “Mostly I have old questions that bother me and no clear answers, but something happened to stir them up. Forgive me if this seems an odd place to start. Numair, you had to examine several killing devices. Could you say how you believe they were made—in as much detail as possible?”

            He frowned. “Alright, Kel. Let’s see. The basic structure was made of giants’ bones—shins, thighs, pelvis, spine, and arm bones—coated in metal. I’m not sure how that was done, but the bones must have been boiled clean and metal applied magically or in molten form. They were inscribed with runes that helped hold them together, and strung with heavy wire that ran where the marrow would have been and worked round little cogs and pulleys, configuration depending on joint. The knives at knees, elbows, and limb ends swivelled on little bars within a case, and each had two thinner wires to pull it one way or another. A metal box in the chest was the most complicated part—full of gears and lever systems that controlled the arms and legs. Those in turn were magically controlled through a conduit from the head—which was metal, hollow behind the jaw structure, with a necromantic spell fixed by runes that contained and controlled the murdered children’s spirits.”

            “How much iron wire and how many cogs and pulleys per device?”

            “I’m not sure. Counting the chest box several dozen cogs and pulleys, and … I don’t know, a hundred feet of wire at least. More, probably—and in three or more widths. There were multiple strands running the length of each limb, with shorter sections controlling each set of knives, and the connections to the chest box and the head.”

            “Thank you. So to make one device Blayce needed, as well as a child to murder, to get a set of bones, coat them, string them together, and make and fit wires, knives, cogs and pulleys, chest box, and head. My question is how he did all that?” She counted on her fingers. “Giants’ bones, yes—we know there are more giants the further north you go, and though I hope for their sake Maggur found a giants’ graveyard of some kind rather than killing fresh there’s no basic problem with that supply.” She didn’t add her thought that for giants bones all had been on the small side, more like children’s than adults’. “And coating them with metal, yes—there was a room at Rathhausak off Blayce’s workshop that had uncoated and coated bones, with a large tank, some smaller ones, and a pile of iron ingots, so I assume that’s where that bit happened, and that room burned with the keep.”

            A second finger went up. “Nor is there a problem with the knives, though the ones I saw were of better quality than most Scanran swords, and many of their best weapons are stolen from Yaman. But let’s say the killing devices were a priority.”

            Finger number three. “What’s much more problematical is the other metalwork. There were seven completed devices with open headdomes at Rathhausak and a few cases of wire and parts, which we left to melt, but nothing like enough for the devices he’d have made with our children. There was a farrier’s smithy but neither finework nor forging could have been done there—no wire-drawing plates or bored gemstones and only a small stock of ingots. So where was it done? The Scanrans aren’t fools but they don’t have anything like our metalworking capacity, and we’re talking about a lot of very high quality work. Collating reports, there were at least two-hundred-and-fifty devices put into the field against us, so at Numair’s low estimate that’s more than five miles of wire as well as thousands of cogs assembled into complex units. And another two hundred planned. I don’t believe Scanra has the capacity to manufacture any of that, certainly not at the rate suggested by the dates when children round Rathhausak were taken and killing devices reported in the field. So where did the metalwork come from?”

            She looked around their faces. “Yaman has the capacity but no love for Scanra, and it couldn’t be done without the emperor’s permission—metalworking is controlled and gemstones for pulling high quality wire very much so. Carthak’s similar, as best I understand, and a lot further away. In either case we’d be considering calculated treachery breaching treaties sealed by marriage, and I see no reason to suspect that. The Copper Isles is another story. The Rittevons have no love for us and a recent history of Scanran alliance, but that was with Ozorne marshalling them and they’re not called the Copper Isles for nothing—they import their iron from Carthak. It’s not impossible but not likely. And unless we’re supposing Maggur got what he needed far afield—Maren or beyond Sarain—that leaves Galla, Tusaine, and Tyra. They might have the capacity and be willing, and I can’t rule them out, but while they do make metals for themselves it’s ordinary stuff and they don’t seem to produce much wire or fine metalwork, let alone export it in quantity. I’ve asked merchants, traders, armourers, smiths, and immortals as well as every resource I could in Corus, and all said the same—high quality wire and complicated metalwork in large quantities? Yamani, Carthaki, or Tortallan business. And our trade is centred on Stone Mountain. Besides the quarrying that gave it its name, it’s iron ore and processed ingots that have made that fief rich, and Genlith is the factor in that trade.”

            She held up a hand as mouths opened. “Bear with me. You can all guess why I’d be very careful about making accusations, and I’m not. I can’t prove any of it, and I have personal reason to dislike the lords of those fiefs, but I still have a nagging question to which I can’t see another logical answer. And two other points occur, circumstantial but suggestive. Blayce Younger was a Gallan, and what records of him Sir Myles found indicate his family was in trade on the Tusaine–Tortall route. General goods, but also metalwork. And both lords in question became extremely unhappy not just with me but with the King and Tortallan law following Joren’s trial in 457, his death at Midwinter 458, and Vinson’s failure in the same season. In Stone Mountain’s case, deranged by grief. There’s also the consideration that after his trial for rape early in 459 Vinson was sentenced to the mines, but vanished when the wagon train taking him north was attacked. No-one knows who was responsible, and Vinson hadn’t been seen since, but Thayet told me she and the King were convinced Genlith or Stone Mountain hired it done—and if either or both did they crossed the boundary into wilful treason at least six months before the first killing device was reported.”

            Kel looked around, seeing troubled looks on every face, even Vanget’s, who had known what was coming, and Tkaa’s, though no-one unfamiliar with basilisks would have known it. “Does anyone have any factual objection or more plausible answer to the question of where fine metalwork and wiring for the killing devices came from?”

            Tkaa half-raised a paw. “I have no factual objection, Keladry, but there are possible sources in the Divine Realms. Given the gods’ attitudes to necromancy I cannot believe it likely, but it is not beyond imagining. Nor is immortal work—centaurs are fine smiths.”

            Numair shook his head. “Everything I saw was mortal work. I’d have recognised god- or centaur-work—their smiths use magic as well as hammers, and there was no trace of any magic save Blayce’s.”

            Raoul stirred. “Kel, did I hear you say Vinson hadn’t been seen?”

            Kel smiled mirthlessly. “Oh yes. The reason the enquiry record ends suddenly with my unfinished remarks is that we had a very odd visit. A clean-shaven Scanran with a spyglass, accompanied by a hooded man and a hard-bitten escort, twenty strong. Because everyone was at the enquiry fields were deserted, and they came within four hundred yards of the glacis for spyglass man to quarter our defences. I wasn’t having that, and while a sally squad were getting ready the hooded man came closer, so I took a shot from the alure.” She looked at Daine. “I used the bow your da gave me, with a griffin-and-stormwing fletched arrow in case he was a mage, and hit him squarely in the back of the neck.”

            “What range?” Daine sounded genuinely curious.

            “Just over a thousand feet.”

            There were whistles and Daine grinned. “Da makes good bows.”

            “He surely does, and I’ve given him thanks for it. But the point is the others took off, Mikal fetched the body in, and wherever Vinson might have been since 458 he’s now in a sealed coffin in the coldest part of the cave system.”

            Alanna looked at Kel, eyes hard. “No possible doubt?”

            “None. He was freshly dead, face unmarked, and Seaver, Neal, and I all saw him. Vinson had a birthmark on his stomach they knew about, and that was there. It didn’t change under the Honesty Gate, and Quenuresh said categorically the body wasn’t magicked or what she called a simulacrum, which I gather is a magical copy.” Numair, Daine, and Alanna all nodded. “His horse bolted and he had no papers, but he was wearing this.” She took from her pocket a small box and passed it round. “His heir’s ring—and that’s interesting because if he was wearing it when convicted and usual rules applied, it would have been confiscated with personal items and clothing. Uinse tells me it’s inconceivable he could have had it in the wagon train of convicts. But if he wasn’t wearing it he must have had contact with his family since escaping. His cloak and hood were rough and in Zerhalm’s opinion of Scanran make, but his inner clothing was very fine quality.” Kel shrugged. “I still can’t prove a thing about treason, but I can prove there’s been contact between the heir of Genlith, a convicted felon, and Maggur’s army. Add that to the question about metalwork and I don’t like the answers.”

            Nor did anyone, and Kel met Vanget’s eyes as Alanna, Raoul, and Wyldon reacted as he’d predicted—vocal outrage, less vocal fuming, and largely silent pain. Daine and Numair said nothing, but after a few moments Tkaa spoke.

            “The King must be informed.”

            Vanget nodded. “He will be, Tkaa, as soon as we’re done. Go on, Kel.”

            “There’s more?” Raoul’s face was tight.

            “Several things, I’m afraid. One’s logical, the other a side question that may intersect. Logic first. Assume Genlith is treasonous, wants to bring down the House of Conté, and sees Maggur as an opportunity. At some point, perhaps through Blayce’s connections, he gets involved in supplying wire and finework to Maggur. Maybe he knew what it was for, maybe he didn’t. Either way, he must have known when the killing devices were reported, and didn’t stop, so he’s serious. Then came Rathhausak and the Scanran advantage was eliminated. So what might he and Maggur be doing to create another? Or put another way, does Maggur have access to Tortallan metalwork and whatever information Genlith can gather, on his own account or through Stone Mountain’s access to Council papers?” Everyone looked extremely unhappy. “As a secondary question, does this help to explain why Scanran ambassadors, travelling via Genlith, are demanding me and access to the City of the Gods, which is full of mages? Did those ambassadors give reasons, Tkaa?”

            “Not that the King mentioned, Keladry. I had assumed it was because of your destruction of Rathhausak.”

            “It probably is. But it might be worth pushing. And what about the City of the Gods? I doubt Maggur wants a lot of Mithran priests. It also strikes me nervous ambassadors may know they’re out on a limb, and making unacceptable demands is a stalling tactic. But if they’re buying time—and gods know they might be given how little’s been happening on the border—what are they buying it for?”

            After a silence Raoul shrugged. “It’s a good question, Kel, but who can tell? We can’t interrogate ambassadors.”

            “Of course not. But I did wonder, Tkaa, if those ambassadors might at some point be offered a tour of the sights—such as our Chamber of the Ordeal. The King could have a word with the elemental beforehand.”

            Alanna whooped. “Kel, that is superbly sneaky. They could hardly refuse and wouldn’t even know their minds had been read.”

            Vanget was smiling for the first time that morning. “Yes, it is good, and you’ve thought it up fast. Congratulations, Kel. We’ve all had the information for the same time and that’s a lot better than anything I’ve come up with. But add the last thing, and your wish list.”

            She shrugged. “This one may be a separate issue, and it may be nothing or it may not. Svein, you know what happened to me last year, and that I met the Black God?”

            He looked acutely uncomfortable. “I heard, yes.”

            “Well, one of the things he said was, I quote, the tauroses that assailed you had been touched by Uusoae when she conspired with Ozorne, and with others of their kind were in service to King Maggur. Does that mean other tauroses? Chaos-touched tauroses? Or other Chaos-touched immortals? I’ve prayed but had no answer, despite the general responsiveness of the gods when I ask things, so perhaps we’re supposed to be guessing. But there’s one more fact, which is that in Quenuresh’s opinion the mage shielding the tauroses with illusion spells didn’t have the juice to control them for longer than a few weeks, so there must have been another mage involved.”

            Numair scowled blackly. “I can confirm the tauroses were Chaos-touched—I had a look at the skulls and can still sense it, faintly. I saw chaos vents in the Divine Realms and the feel is very distinctive. Any other magic had been cleared by boiling, and we don’t know of any strong mage siding with Maggur. But when this first came up with Kel’s report last summer I did point out to the King that several of Ozorne’s mages remain unaccounted for, including at least three red robes and five yellows. The inner circle all died at the Palace that night, and Kaddar’s accounted for a dozen more in the years since, but not all. And for what it’s worth, one of the missing is Gissa of Rachne, a red robe who was involved at Dunlath, not so far from Scanra, and certainly knew spells for controlling immortals.”

            Kel shrugged. “Daine told me about her and her mechanical hand. But the point is there has to be at least one serious mage available to Maggur, as well as, if I’m right, our smithying capacity. It may be too late, but I want Sir Myles to try to find out what trade might be going into Scanra north of you, Svein, on the Drell or the summer route north of the Grimholds. The severe winter meant it was closed longer than usual, and that may be a factor in this delay. And I’ve asked immortals, including the griffins, to do anything they can to find out if immortals are likely to attack us, Chaos-touched or otherwise. They don’t know of any except giants and maybe a herd of flesh-eating centaurs Whitelist knows were in Scanra a few years back. But they wouldn’t necessarily know about immortals they don’t associate with—hurroks especially.”

            “So there we have it.” Vanget drummed fingers. “One ugly fact—Vinson—and several ugly questions needing investigation. Is Genlith a traitor? Are supplies going to Maggur from Tortall, and if so how do we stop them? I wonder about food—if he’s running short he may be buying, so is more than usual going up the Drell or north from Cría? Is this delay more deliberate than we’ve been thinking, and why? Are the ambassadors part of it? Are they building something, and what? Does Maggur have some force he’s waiting to use?” He threw up his hands. “Too many questions and no prospect of answers, but we can thrash it over and come up with a list of things to do.”

            It took most of the day and Kel was happier at the end of it, but not much. Scrying and spies, with the mercantile network, might provide answers about trade happening now, in particular whether Tortallan grain was going north and if there was unusual Gallan traffic with Scanra. Messages would be sent to Yaman and Carthak to request checks there, in case someone disliked their emperors sufficiently to become involved in forbidden trade with Scanra. The elemental of the Chamber might glean information from the ambassadors, if it was willing and depending on what they knew. The killing device displayed in Corus could be re-examined by senior smithcraft mages to see if there was any way of identifying where wires and cogs had been made. And Daine would ask birds to look for unusual construction but didn’t hold out much hope—the abstract thinking needed to recognise the unusual and the potential threat of components was beyond them, and while a specific site, once found, could be investigated closely, scouting from the air was good for finding troops but not what was happening inside a building. None of her animals had been able to find Blayce, and this was vaguer.

            Vanget called a halt in late afternoon, but only so they could retire to Kel’s sitting room and use the hearth to contact the King, whose initially pleased expression went from annoyed to thunderous to cold remoteness as he listened. Scything Wheat was well received, and the Scanrans could remain at New Hope if Kel was happy for them to do so. In the matter of Rogal he checked legal points carefully, wanting the exact wording of the oath Rogal had sworn and to be read portions of the records, but after several moments’ hard thought declined to interfere, as Vanget had predicted, though he would enquire of Lord Carolan what in Tortall he thought he’d been doing placing a liegeman-at-arms silently in another fief. News of Vinson’s death was abstractly satisfying but its nature, place, and the company he’d been keeping, with the Genlith ring on his finger, were concrete problems he liked no more than anyone, and the possibility of treason on the scale that might be involved was bleak. Body and ring were to be sent under guard to Corus, and the only thing that brought a smile to the King’s face was Kel’s suggestion about showing the Scanran ambassadors the Chamber.

             “Now that I will do with pleasure, Keladry. I should have thought of it myself. The elemental was very helpful when I spoke to it after the Midwinter ordeals, but I don’t think about it as practically as you.” He shook his head. “I’ll speak to it tonight. It’ll take a while to set up, though—several days. And I agree the ambassadors are stalling so they ought to know something. We’ll see. As for the rest … I’ll speak to Sir Myles tonight, and get smith mages looking at that metalwork. The notes to Yaman and Carthak. And I’ll scry, of course, but it’s a thankless task.”

            Alanna nodded. “Isn’t it? It didn’t help us at all with … that other thing. How are the negotiations, Jon? They can’t have expected you to agree to any of those demands.”

            “They’ve dropped the demand for Lianne’s hand, and watered down the City of the Gods to requiring we make mages available to help them become more self-sufficient generally and less in need of Tortallan wealth and territory. It’s not a stupid idea, or it wouldn’t be if it wasn’t Maggur on the Bloody Throne, but while he’s there I’m not doing anything to strengthen them. And they’re still demanding your head, Keladry, for Rathhausak. No, don’t make me cross—I’ve told them every time they mention it that it’s out of the question and that I demand Maggur’s head as a minimum reparation.”

            “I wasn’t going to be self-sacrificing, sire—only to ask if they’ve mentioned anything other than Rathhausak.”

            “What sort of thing?”

            “Freja Haraldsdottir or her son? The message I sent Maggur with those other Scanrans? Or Runnerspring’s line about unnatural women?”

            “No, none of those. Runnerspring’s not here—he stomped back to his fief in high dudgeon when I wouldn’t rescind his son’s banishment from court. And from what you’ve said about timing I’d think the message must have arrived after these ambassadors had left.”

            “Scything Wheat must have been after they’d arrived in Corus.”

            His image straightened. “Gods, that’s true. What day was it?”

            “The twenty-eighth.”

            “Then yes, they arrived the day before Samradh, so that attack was a breach of good faith.”

            “Or just a unilateral grab for one of his demands.”

            “Either way it gives me a lever. Congratulations again on that victory. And the shot to kill Vinson. I look forward to your reports and expect I’ll eventually feel more grateful about the rest of your thinking, but I’m afraid right now it’s too much like bad news.”

            Kel didn’t drop her eyes. “I’m sorry that’s so, sire, but we need to face this. And it adds some weight, maybe, to the interpretation of that prophecy that thinks the next battle here has to be decisive. So all we have to do is win it—and not get stabbed in the back.”

            He nodded. “I did the right thing when I made you a Councillor. And now I must talk to Sir Myles. General Vanget, contact me again, please, before you leave for Northwatch.”

            The image vanished and the flames died, leaving ashes and embers, and unanswered questions.

Chapter Text

Chapter Eighteen — Forgiveness

7 July – 15 August

With the front quiet and spellmirror links to Northwatch and Mastiff the commanders stayed days longer than Kel expected, and though they joked about the excellent food and continued to observe training closely she knew they were waiting on Rogal’s execution. She had seen him to tell him his sentence had been confirmed by Wyldon and Vanget, and that the King declined to intervene, offering him access to the shrines, but received only curses. She would have liked to get on with it but the week-long delay was traditional and she was left to steady her mind as best she could, at the Black God’s shrine and elsewhere.

            Fortunately there were more distractions than mounting standards taken at Scything Wheat and despatching Vinson to Corus with Jacut, who appreciated a redeemed felon escorting an escaped one. The corral drawbridge was articulated; even after petrification of the portcullis into a dense greeny-black rock additional counterweights were needed, but once balance was found bridge and barrier rose and descended easily; with the outlet sough completed and moat filled Kel contemplated the gatehouse with intense satisfaction. Geraint basked in gruff praise from Wyldon and Vanget, and went pink when Alanna threw him a salute and a grinning thumbs-up. Only the gatehouse roof, part of the inner wall of the killing field, and internal work on the buildings remained, and squads were reassigned to haul stone from the tunnel and work on its internal defensive positions.

            Questioning the prisoners elicited confirmation of the hothead theory; the core of the attack had been a mounted company led by a Maggur loyalist long stationed in Hamrkeng, to which whoever could be rounded up had been suddenly attached. More importantly to Kel, the prisoners, after heated debate, agreed to extend their oaths and work in fields and woodshops as long as they weren’t expected to fight against countrymen or undertake military tasks; when alarms sounded they would restrict themselves to barracks. It was a new arrangement for everyone; Kel held the final negotiation before the shrines so everyone knew what was agreed, and there were fewer objections than she’d anticipated. These Scanrans hadn’t killed anyone at New Hope, most were craftsmen and farmers, their conscription or coercion was understood, they’d respectfully attended Merric’s funeral, and extra hands were welcome. For their own part they were bemused by New Hope, fascinated by immortals, and though worried about kin believed strongly that staying put offered them the best chance of surviving the war; Kel’s destruction of Rathhausak had given her a Scanran reputation she was trying to absorb that was for Stanar and others whose clans Maggur had smashed a potent attraction. Vanget tended to shake his head when he saw them going off to the fields chatting with New Hopers or walking the main level unguarded, but more in wonder than disapproval; Svein was the same, but after a few days Kel realised Alanna’s and Raoul’s bland expressions concealed amused admiration.

            “You’re a marvel.” Raoul ruffled Kel’s hair affectionately, making her feel absurdly young again. “It’s humane, and it’s made allies of a kind out of enemies without draining resources—boosting them, in fact. I’d puff out my chest and say I taught you well but it’s purely you.”

            “Second that.” Alanna completed a complex series of sword exercises. “I had an interesting chat with Neal and Yuki about what you did when that idiot Tirrsmonter attacked Amiir’aan. And you’d do the same if someone attacked one of the prisoners, wouldn’t you?”

            Kel stopped herself shuffling. “Maybe not so much—they’re adults and were enemies until pretty recently—but yes, if it was just bigotry.”

            “I haven’t heard this one.” Raoul quirked eyebrows at Alanna. “What did our Kel do?”

            Scowling, she left them to hash over the story and went to see the steps now advancing rapidly up the fin. Numair hadn’t been able to speed the cutting spell but after watching what the basilisks, Kuriaju, and Petrin were doing, and going round to the roadway to look at angles, had come up with a different idea. The steps began from the gallery extending the inner alure, continuing it as a tunnel, with windows every few yards for light, that had to be pitched quite steeply to climb well clear of the mined overhang. Traverse progress had been slow, but once Numair confirmed they were past the moat he suggested moving to an open groove, with pillars every ten steps to support the roof, and simply shifting cut rock straight out to fall to the base of the fin. Besides the time and effort it took a basilisk to cuts each next step, most labour was spent cutting that slab into small blocks and hauling them down; with the new system, the moment cuts were done ogre strength or Numair’s magic could shift the mass of stone ten foot to the right and watch it disappear. The only limiting factor until they moved above the overhang was the basilisks’ endurance, and with all the adults except St’aara working shifts, and Numair amusing himself flicking slabs sideways, apparently effortlessly, the regular thud of landings in soft ground from ever increasing heights became a welcome punctuation of the days, and hourly progress was visible to all.

            Numair also spent time making spellmirrors and opal keys, but in Daine’s absences he was restless and found rock-shifting a release. She was flying far north into Scanra to spread word among hawks and owls, leaving Sarralyn to St’aara’s and Yuki’s care, but made time for a second session with Butter, a boost to Peachblossom’s leg, and a long evening sitting with New Hope’s knowing dogs, cat, and birds, renewing her magical expansion of minds and getting their versions of events.

            “They’re all content, Kel, though they’d like to see more of you. And the marmalade cat had an interesting view of the first half of your fight with Stenmun Kinslayer.”

            “I should think she did. I’m surprised she remembers it after the blow she took. I thought we’d lost her.”

            “Zerhalm did a good job, and she realises you took what you thought was only her body with you. She’s grateful in a cat sort of way.”

            “I saved her so I ought to stroke her?”

            Daine laughed. “Pretty much. You should meet Queenclaw—the cat goddess. She’s often in Ma’s kitchen, and when she isn’t wheedling tidbits or stalking pudding she just gives impatient orders—you’re not doing anything useful so stroke me. It’s hard to refuse her.”

            “I bet.” Kel sighed. “My image of your parents’ house is very strange, between Lord Gainel, that peculiar animal god, and Queenclaw.”

            “Broadfoot? They like Ma’s cooking, mostly. And they tend to be hunters, like Da, not grazers. Gainel’s an old friend, so far as I know. It’s a peaceful place, and the views are beautiful.”

            “Huh. I’d have thought all of the Divine Realms were beautiful until I heard about that dragon skullroad. And that reminds me—I’ve been meaning to ask what sunbirds are.”

            “Sunbirds? Where did you—oh, those arrows Da gave you. Have you tried one?”

            “I haven’t dared.”

            “It did sound spectacular. The mark these arrows find will burn, be it metal or stone.”

            “Are sunbirds made of fire, then?”

            “Not as far as I know, but they sometimes look it. Big things, between an eagle and a griffin, that spiral up looking dark when you can make them out at all—they can be oddly transparent. But at a certain height they face the sun and spread their wings in a special way and glory! then they look as if they’re made of light. A flock displaying is beyond anything. Gods watch Chaos in their light, as mages scry in fire.”

            “Huh.” Kel thought about this. “So maybe the arrow’s flight is like the spiral up and when it hits it does what the sunbirds do.”

            “Could be. I’ll ask Da when I have a chance, though I can’t promise he’ll answer.” Daine grinned. “Did I tell you Tobe came to check you weren’t pulling his leg about that bearskin I gave Gary?”

            “I promised I wasn’t but I can’t blame him—a sixteen-foot bear is hard to believe.”

            “If Da wins himself another pelt I’ll bring it to you.”

            “Go on with you. Do other gods kill one another?”

            “Animal ones do. Broadfoot eats frog gods who promptly reappear, so I imagine the fox god eats the chicken god and the lion god eats grazer gods. I’ve never met them, though.”

            “It’s very peculiar.” It certainly had been to experience death and be immediately returned, and Kel’s sense of wrongness in being alive twisted in her stomach.

            “Gods are, Kel—haven’t you noticed? But the animal gods and Da are just doing what they do. The great gods are different.”

            “I suppose. But that’s a perspective I lack, Daine—the elemental, your Ma and Da, the Black God, the Hag, the Goddess, to me they’re all so much greater that telling them apart’s like an ant guessing the height of different mountains. It might be a lot but it’s no odds to the ant.”

            Daine laughed again. “I understand the feeling but you don’t do yourself justice. You’d not ask a god to mindread Scanran ambassadors, and I doubt you’d have asked the Black God to dinner.” Her look became shrewd. “Is he what this is about, really? With that cursed Rogal?”

            “Yes, but he won’t be cursed. He’ll be redeemed.” Soft-voiced, Kel explained what the Black God had said to her. “I’ve prayed for guidance but had no reply. Nothing.”

            “Then carry on, Kel. His words, his problem. Is it any different from killing someone in battle after they’d killed one of your soldiers?”

            Kel stared. “Well, that’s refreshing. But maybe it is—because I’ve time to think about it, and have to do it in cold blood. I’ve killed scores of men, Daine, starting when I was twelve, but always in the heat. The nearest I’ve come to this was those Scanran groups we met going to Rathhausak, when I gave orders to take no prisoners and heal no wounded, and I felt sick about that but it was still hot battle, just making sure blows killed. And at Scything Wheat, though I felt sick as the arrows were cutting those poor Scanrans down, I was pumped up to fight the rest of them.” She grimaced. “I’ve been bracing myself for months now against the need to use these defences—the rockfalls and killing fields, and even those sunbird arrows. If I work the mageblasts myself, as I ought, I’ll probably have killed thousands before we’re done. And I’ll live with that. Any soldier has to, any commander. But this with Rogal tomorrow … I don’t think I’ve ever dreaded anything more.” Her voice sank. “I’m dreaming of the tauros for the first time since the goddess healed me, but it has Rogal’s face.”

            “Oh Kel.” Daine grasped her hands, her eyes sharp. “Dreaming, not remembering?”

            “I suppose. Yes. The memory vision always repeated exactly, but these ones don’t. Sometimes Merric’s body is there, or Vinson’s. I’m waiting for the tauros to have his face.”

            “Well, if they’re dreams, pray to Gainel. He’s close to the Black God. It’s forgiveness they share, I think—no-one’s refused in death and anything can happen in dreams. It’s Gainel who escorts my Grandda to see Ma when the Black God lets him visit. And I think the Black God’s more limited in what he says to mortals, even though Gainel can only speak to us in dreams. Whether that’s some rule or just habit I don’t know, but Gainel’s a better bet. Pray to him tonight, and I’ll throw one in too. What is it you want to know?”

            Kel didn’t have to think. “Does New Hope stand a better chance of surviving this roil in the timeway with Rogal dead at my hand, at someone else’s hand, or set free?”

            “I’ll meet you at Gainel’s shrine after dinner, when Sarralyn’s down.”

            In the event Daine’s daughter accompanied them, wide awake with infinite curiosity in her big eyes. Kel had been in a solemn mood over the churn in her guts but found herself welcoming the baby’s presence. There wasn’t any answer, of course but without needing to address the heartbreaking sadness in the Black God’s face she found it easier to marshal thoughts, her worry about effects on the timeway and the fear she hadn’t confided even to Daine, that Merric’s spirit would resent her for the grace she extended to Rogal even in making him pay for the death he’d caused. She wasn’t sure if it was really a prayer or just a plea for comfort but that didn’t seem to matter, and after they’d introduced a bouncing Sarralyn to Peachblossom and Jump, who came to investigate on their evening round, she went to bed comforted and believing that despite everything she would sleep.

            In her dream everything that would happen next morning unfolded emotionlessly in her mind, as if she stood apart from herself. She heard herself say to Rogal words she’d been playing over and over in her mind, and gave the blow. The consequences were affectless, and as she lifted her gaze from what had rolled to her feet her breath caught even in dream at the sight of Merric and the tall, hooded figure behind him. Her friend’s features were clear, red hair bright in sunshine, without its awful dullness on his corpse, and he gave her his familiar, disreputable grin below warm eyes. They turned greyer as he looked at Rogal, and Kel saw a bewildered and frightened spirit rising from dead flesh, staring at Merric and the god. Shaking his head Merric came forward to take Rogal’s hand, and though he said nothing Kel could hear his exasperated ‘Idiot!’ as he led his killer to the god and bowed, pulling Rogal down with him. Then all three faded into glare as the sun crested the fin and Kel heard the familiar sough of wind; when she’d blinked dazzle from her eyes there was nothing to be seen and she almost cried out, not wanting to lose Merric again so quickly, desiring to see once more the Black God’s face and the sadness in his eyes. Her foot took an involuntary step forward and something clanked at her feet; glancing down she saw a pail rolling away, and understood the benediction as the dream faded into her usual pre-dawn wakefulness. Her mind and will were clear.

            Civilian executions could happen at any time but the army did things by first light and she rose, dressing in her best Mindelan tunic. Tobe was waiting, dressed the same way, and hugged her, head pressed to her breast. He had grown, she realised as she hugged him back.

            “You don’t have to watch this, Tobe.”

            “Yes I do. Sir Merric was my friend and you’re my Ma.”

            She squeezed tight and let him go. “Come on, then.”

            She took her glaive from its stand and followed him. Many people were already waiting on paths and green, talking softly, but all stood silently aside as she and Tobe made their way to the shrines. She knelt first to Lord Gainel’s, with a simple prayer of thanks, and bowed to each shrine, pausing for a moment at Lord Mithros’s as the god of justice; at the Black God’s she knelt again. She couldn’t have verbalised what she was feeling and didn’t try, but blended gratitude and compassion blazed in her mind—the surrender of a burden with appalled relief and piercing sorrow for the one who took it from her. Rising, her gaze strayed to the one shrine yet unvisited, Lord Sakuyo’s, and she bowed, sticking out her tongue in her imagination and hearing his laugh in the same way. Noting Cloestra’s absence from her roost she gestured Tobe to stay to that side, and retraced her steps to stand before Lord Mithros’s shrine and look out over the main level, face calm, her glaive resting in her hand.

            Almost everyone, mortal and immortal, seemed to be assembled in the false dawn, and it was only a few minutes before Uinse’s squad, in gleaming armour, appeared bringing Rogal. His hands were bound but he wasn’t gagged, and she gave him no chance to speak; the time for that was past.

            “Rogal, once of Runnerspring and Tirrsmont, and at the last of New Hope, you broke your solemn oath in rage and pride, and killed a man you were sworn to defend and obey. Your life is rightly forfeit and none with the authority to pardon you will do so—not I, nor my Lord of Cavall, nor General Vanget, nor His Majesty. You die this morning in payment of the life you wrongfully took and in penance of oathbreach. It is just, yet you are first to be executed here and I will not stain this ground with your blood. Captain Uinse, escort condemned Rogal to the skullroad.”

            Uinse had known her order was coming and bowed. “My Lady.”

            Others had not known and there was a swirl of movement as people made for the north tower and outer alures. Kel gestured to Tobe to join her as she looked at the assembled commanders.

            “Please follow me.”

            Tobe slipped a hand into hers as they followed Uinse towards the gatehouse. Climbing to the shelf she saw Irnai waiting at the top, and silently let Tobe’s hand go for a moment, shifting her glaive to allow her to stroke Irnai’s hair as the girl fell in beside her. Shifting the glaive back to take Tobe’s hand again she heard indrawn breaths. Waiting in the gloom of the barbican for the gates to be thrust open she couldn’t see the faces of Uinse’s squad, but heard distant exclamations from people reaching the outer alure and gatehouse roof, and knew all was as she’d arranged. As the leaves of the gate showed a crack of dawnlight a pale bar lit Rogal ten paces in front; her gaze drifted sideways to objects she knew would be there, the heavy mop and pail half-full of water used to keep the barbican clean, and asked Tobe to fetch the pail. His glance was puzzled as he obeyed but Irnai squeezed her arm and she smiled woodenly at the child seer before taking the pail and following a suddenly nervous squad forward.

            The Stone Tree Nation lined the roadway on both sides; the outer edge was solid with overlapping steel, and a stormwing perched on each tauros head. Dimwit, Flatnose, and Pizzle were occupied by Cloestra, Hebakh, and Queen Barzha, and below them the ugly male and two others, razor wings extended, closed the way. The wash of fear was palpable and Rogal cried out, beginning to thrash in his captors’ arms, but her voice stilled him as an adult’s might a baby’s cry.

            “Go forward, Rogal of New Hope, who betrayed us. The Stone Tree Nation harms none today, even you condemned.”

            Her own stride forward seemed to impel everyone else and she came into the light raying over their heads, carefully descending the steep slope and turn before halting to bow, once but deeply, to Barzha; Tobe echoed her and Irnai curtseyed. Every stormwing ritually raised wings to meet over their heads, feathers gleaming. Mutely she gestured the children back, sensing Raoul and Alanna gather them in.

            “Leave him bound but let him go, Captain Uinse.”

            She’d warned him of what she intended but his eyes were wide as he obeyed; the stormwings were still as stone but Rogal spun, staring, and again she gave him no chance to prate, walking forward to stand a few feet before him, glaive angled out, and set the pail at her side.

            “Rogal of New Hope, will you hear my private words, spoken to you as one who has seen the Black God’s face?”

            The deathly silence encompassed him as everyone, and she took a step to face him intimately, restricting her voice to him alone though she’d bet the stormwings could hear.

            “Here’s truth, Rogal. I have died, even as you will this hour, and  heard the Black God speak these words. Fear not for those you send to my judges, nor for yourself in sending them to me. When you shall come yourself before me none shall cry witness against you. And who dies in your service shall find their death their grace, and my mercy infinite. I, Keladry of Mindelan, do swear this to be true.” Her free hand traced the gods’ circle and chimes rang, making Rogal flinch; she heard murmuring on the alures. “Forsworn man, against whom all have cried out, would you die in my service and earn the Black God’s mercy and Sir Merric’s forgiveness in the Peaceful Realms?” She read his eyes but that was not enough. “Speak your answer, Rogal of New Hope.” She saw his half-desires to refuse boil away leaving only fear and guilt and knowledge of her truth.

            “I would.” It was a sigh of defeated breath but it had been spoken.

            “Then kneel and offer me your neck. I will be swift and true, and the Black God with Sir Merric shall meet you in their grace.”

            As he sank, head forward, she took a step back, arms curling into movements long familiar from pattern dances. Lift, extend, poise, sweep. Her mind was empty of everything but movement and her blow exact. As its impetus spun his head free she saw blood arc, rising higher and further than she’d ever imagined to splash squarely across Pizzle and Queen Barzha’s feet. Head and body fell, and resting the glaive’s butt on the ground she sank to her knees, hearing again the distant susurration of mortal voices; her awareness was on the pail, and Sakuyo laughed and laughed as she heaved up everything she’d been able to choke down in the last day in three violent retches that left her emptied of everything. Half-straightening she had a glimpse of Merric, one hand on Rogal’s shoulder with rueful, loving admiration in his eyes, and a glint under the Black God’s hood and then they were gone and there was pure silence that felt as if it reached for miles.

            Despite the smell she had the sense to let herself catch her breath  before finding her legs just willing. She caught her son’s eyes where he stood with Alanna’s hand on his shoulder.

            “Tobe, would you be kind enough to empty and replace the pail?”

            He didn’t hesitate but as he neared her stretched out his hands and she overrode her trembling muscles to stoop to his embrace, free arm tightening before she straightened again and he lifted the pail and walked back up the roadway.

            “Captain Uinse, place Rogal’s remains in a plain coffin and bury him at Haven, without a headstone.” With an effort she raised her voice, hoarse from acid burn. “There will be no remembrances for an unmarked grave. But I who have killed Rogal of New Hope in the name of justice say he died in our service, repenting his deed, and I know he finds his death his grace and the Black God’s mercy infinite.” She swallowed, clearing bile. “That in shared death Sir Merric exasperatedly calls him an idiot and forgives him, of his grace leading him to judgement in the Peaceful Realms. These things are true, but I ask you all to join with me in agreeing they should be so.”

            “So mote it be.”

            She could hardly hear her own voice among the throng, and blinked away tears. “Carry on, please, Uinse.”

            He bowed, face white. “My Lady, of your grace.”

            She inclined her head to Barzha and Hebakh, who managed nods despite glazed eyes, and left Uinse’s squad to their task, walking slowly up the roadway and managing not to use her glaive as a stick. It didn’t deserve that. Vanget and Wyldon parted to let her through, and fell in behind. Re-entering New Hope she paused to speak to Brodhelm, staring out over the main level to the terrace and the shrines.

            “Please carry on as usual, Captain. I’ll be in my rooms for a while.”

            “My Lady.”

            Respecting her reserve no-one spoke as she made her way back, closing her door and mechanically stripping off her good tunic before cleaning her glaive and restoring it to its stand. She looked at the stained rag in her hand, put it carefully on the hearth, and went to the privy to rinse her mouth before sitting on her bed to remove her boots. Face down, she let tears flow into the pillow that muffled noise, not knowing whether she wept for Merric or Rogal or the god, or only herself.

            Alanna woke her from a drained doze a couple of hours later, sitting on her bed as she rolled over and sat up, wincing and rotating the crick out of her neck.

            “How are you feeling, Kel?”

            “Alright, I suppose. Empty.”

            “Cried out?”

            “For now, anyway.”

            “Good.”

            “Is everything alright.”

            “Oh yes. Everyone’s working hard and feeling brushed by grace. I take it you saw Merric forgive Rogal and the Black God receive him?”

            Kel met Alanna’s purple eyes. “You saw them too?”

            “The Goddess lent me her vision. Daine saw, and Irnai, but no-one else. I haven’t seen a dead man since I killed Roger the second time, and as often as I’ve prayed to him I’d never seen the Black God.” Alanna hesitated. “Did you tell Rogal about the god’s grace?”

            Kel nodded. “I asked him if he would choose to die in my service.”

            “Ah.” Alanna was silent for a moment. “To me the god was hooded. Did you see his face?”

            “Not this time. Just a glint of eyes at the last. I thought I heard Sakuyo laugh when I was vomiting, but that might have been me.”

            Alanna had a strange expression. “Might it? I think you’re probably the bravest person I’ve ever met.” Kel blinked. There was something wrong with that statement. “Don’t worry about it.” Alanna smiled crookedly. “It’s for me to think about, not you, though I must tell Jon all that happened today. And I think you should tell Hollyrose and his lady the full story, when you can, grace and all. They’ll appreciate it more than you may think. Now, you won’t feel like eating until you smell the food but you need breakfast. One of the cooks stayed to do you some fresh. Come on.”

            Slowly Kel rose, pulled on her everyday tunic, and followed Alanna, bemused by the sunlit ordinariness of the day and feeling as unhungry as she still felt hollow. Walking to the messhall she doubted she’d be able to choke anything down, wondering how to apologise to the cook, but to her surprise Alanna proved quite right.

* * * * *

Routine resumed. Kel couldn’t say people were wary of her—there was no fear in them—but there was a different quality in the way they spoke to her she couldn’t pin down. She’d seen a form of it in Svein and Vanget before they left, and even Raoul, though he’d clapped her on the shoulder and promised to use his new spellmirror and opal.

            “I might try and send Dom’s old lads along sometime, Kel. They’ll be relieved to have news of him and want to see him.”

            “They’re always welcome, Raoul—people ask after them often and they’re honorary New Hopers. Who took the squad?”

            “Wolset, kicking and screaming.”

            “Huh. Give him my best? And all of them.”

            “Surely.”

            He’d looked back and waved as he crossed the moatbridge, and she’d wondered what it was she’d seen in his eyes. Alanna and Wyldon went with him, and for all its crowdedness New Hope seemed smaller without them, as if the buildings had shrunk or moved closer together. Daine and Numair stayed—she was still flying daily over Scanra, and he’d become absorbed in the crystal magelights Varik and Quenuresh had made from petrified ice, entering an abstracted theoretical and experimental mode from which only Sarralyn and Daine’s returns could move him. Kel hoped whatever it was would prove useful and got on with her duties, but Neal was curious and invited him, with Daine and Kel, to the Yamani meal Yuki cooked once a month. The array of pungent tsukemono provided most of the conversation, with restorative laughter, but as they picked at karumetou Neal asked what he was trying to do.

            “Eh? Oh, with the petrified ice? I’m not sure, Neal. Quenuresh’s spell is different from the Carthaki one we use for magelights. There’s some odd synergy with Varik’s Gift and her magic and the rock spell and I wondered if …”

            His voice tailed away and Daine rolled her eyes at Sarralyn on her lap, making the baby gurgle laughter. “You wondered what, dear heart?”

            “Oh, sorry. I think the icelights are boosting the light Varik set by absorbing sunshine during the day and releasing it at night. I’m trying to craft a spell to duplicate that. You’d still need a basilisk but far less power to start, and we’ve Tkaa. No maintenance or running costs. I was thinking about lighting the Palace grounds and lower city at night.”

            Kel clapped softly. “Now that’s a worthy project. I was down there after dark at Midwinter, seeing Lalasa, and remember thinking half the problem for women would be solved if the streets could be lit. And here I’d like lights on the roadway and the bridges.”

            “You’re assuming I’ll succeed, Kel. There’s no guarantee. I did have a notion, though—do you mind if I go to talk to Quenuresh tomorrow?”

            “Of course not, but get a guard squad from Uinse.”

            “Thank you. I have my jerkin too.”

            Kel smiled. “Good. It’s no use in the closet. Not that there’s any sign of trouble, but you never know.”

            “True enough, and I am grateful for it, Kel. I just don’t like wearing armour, or the way people look at me when I do. The gods-it’s-that-mage look is bad enough, but an armoured mage …” He shook his head ruefully. “I will be very glad when this war’s over.”

            The opening was too inviting, and Kel tentatively tried to describe what was troubling her in people’s attitudes since Rogal’s execution. They listened, and Neal shook his head.

            “Kel, Kel, who else would be puzzled? What you’re seeing is respect. Not that they didn’t respect you before, but not like this. If you really want to know, it was the pail as much as anything.”

            Kel felt bewildered. “The pail?”

            Yuki nodded. “Yes, Keladry-chan, the pail. Everyone knew what you could do, and had done, but your Yamani stillness confused them. Now they know how much it costs you, and that you do it anyway.”

            “They mostly knew it a bit, Yuki.” Neal cupped his hands. “But now they know it differently.”

            Kel swallowed. “You don’t look at me that way, Neal. Nor Yuki.”

            “I knew it already, Kel, and so did Yuki. For me it’s your lesson about chivalry all over again, and the bruises you took teaching it, but up a level. Or ten. And the pail’s a perfect symbol.”

            “It is?” Kel was baffled and both Yuki and Daine smiled.

            “Of course it is, Keladry-chan. I am sure Lord Sakuyo laughed.”

            Keel stared. “I thought I heard him, but Alanna and Irnai didn’t.” She looked at Daine. “Did you? Alanna said you saw the Black God.”

            “No, but I don’t know him at all, so there’s no reason I should.”

            “Hang on—the Black God was there?” Neal’s eyes were wide. “You saw him again, Kel?”

            “Yes. And Merric.” She told the story, finding it easier than expected though her eyes were damp as she tried to explain knowing Merric forgave her for forgiving Rogal. Drying her eyes she saw Yuki doing the same and gave a crooked smile. “Alanna thought I should tell Merric’s parents the story. I don’t think I can by letter, and Mithros knows when I’ll ever meet them. But do you agree I should?”

            “Oh yes. And Keladry-chan, you must tell a poet—a good Yamani poet. I will ask Cricket.”

            “A poet? Yuki, why?”

            “It is a great ballad and holy tale—do you not see? At court there would be a thousand haiku made of this.”

            “Yuki, that’s insane. And even if it isn’t it wouldn’t help Merric’s parents.”

            “I don’t know, Kel—it might.” Neal’s eyes were bright. “For once I agree with my Yamani rose about poetry, and I certainly think you should tell Lord Belian and Lady Marra.”

            To her shock Daine and Numair also thought she should tell Merric’s parents, assuring her truth was best, however unlikely it might sound. She half-wanted to ask all of them if they’d feel the same way if it had been their child who’d died, but with Sarralyn and—named at last! if to her embarrassment—Ryokel present she stifled the impulse. Ryoko meant ‘bright child’ in Yamani, and Neal and Yuki said the –kel suffix was entirely appropriate as they wanted her as a godsmother, and couldn’t find a way of using –eal or –imi that either of them liked. The naming ceremony was to be at Mabon, with Baird coming and perhaps Duchess Wilina, if the lull continued.

            “If you all say so.”

            “Don’t be so doubtful, Kel.” One of Neal’s long-fingered hands reached to stroke Ryokel in Yuki’s arms. “It’s Merric who’ll matter to them, not Rogal. To know a dead child blessed in the Black God’s arms … that’s as much healing as can be for their grief.”

            She knew he was thinking of his lost brothers and parents’ grief, but decided all the same to ask her own parents. She owed them a first-hand account anyway, as well as the King, and with her report on Scything Wheat despatched to Vanget she spent two long evenings writing letters. To her parents she could be direct about feelings, trusting them to understand her visionary dream and the way she suspected Lord Gainel was shielding her from nightmares, but the King’s letter cost her sweat and ended up a blunter document, bare wording contrasting oddly with substance. Letters arrived too, including one from Lalasa filled with wedding plans and news of the shops, and with them her old finery, remarkably restored, and her green kimonos with ducal border added. She had no call to dress up before Ryokel’s naming, but restoration of her wardrobe was a comfort she hadn’t anticipated.

            Two days later Kel made her weekly report by spellmirror, with little to say except that the tunnellers had at last hit limestone and the buildings within the corral were complete, but progress on the steps had slowed as they moved above the mined overhang and cut stone once more had to be broken up and packed down before it could be dropped over the edge. Wyldon nodded, asking when she thought the building team would leave, then steepled his fingers and sat back.

            “There’s news from Corus. Vanget and I had a long conversation with the King yesterday, and there are things you should know. Top of the list is that the Scanran ambassadors have been sent packing. The Chamber was willing to read their minds, as you suggested, and while they knew disappointingly little about Maggur’s plans they did have instructions to stall and no expectation of reaching an agreement. The impossible demands and incremental concessions were all planned, and they were supposed to string everything out for as long as they could. So His Majesty reasoned that if Maggur wanted them occupying his time he shouldn’t comply, and used Scything Wheat as an excuse to bend their ears about negotiating in bad faith before presenting a list of his own demands, starting with Maggur’s abdication, and is having them escorted to the northern border at Frasrlund.”

            Kel whistled softly. “Did Genlith have anything to say about that?”

            Wyldon grimaced. “He did, with bilious indignation, apparently. His Majesty thought his disappointment genuine.”

            “Disappointment in what, though? Does he know about Vinson?”

            “No. What to make public about that is still being debated. Meanwhile the Gallan trade he controls as Stone Mountain’s factor is being watched, and it looks as if you were right about food. There’s no sign of metalwork, but there are additional orders for grain and rice Sir Myles’s agents believe are intended to be shipped on from Cría to Hamrkeng. If so they’ll be stopped, and the Crown will purchase them.”

            Kel frowned. “How much food?”

            “Sir Myles has identified orders for about twelve hundred tons, and there may be more.”

            “Enough to leave a lot of people hungry come February and March.”

            “Certainly. If Maggur’s conscripted so many his harvests are that short the last thing we should be doing is making up the lack.”

            “It’s hard on the people. But I was wondering, as he’s definitely buying time, if famine might force his hand on whatever he’s planning. We should be prepared for trouble the moment it thaws.”

            “Mmm. Or plans could be disrupted. Hungry soldiers are trouble.”

            “He’ll feed his soldiers and starve civilians if it comes to it, Wyldon. But without knowing his plans we don’t know how they’ll be affected. All I’m saying is that a cornered wolf is more dangerous.”

            “We did discuss it but the problem’s the same—forces stretched across seven hundred miles in half-a-dozen major forts that we can’t concentrate until we know where Maggur’s army is. Anyway, the other thing is that Runnerspring did pitch a fit, as expected.”

            Kel shrugged. “Did he explain Rogal’s presence at Tirrsmont?”

            “A friendly loan in troubled times.”

            “Of course. And his coming here?”

            “Proper loyalty to Sir Voelden.”

            “That doesn’t wash. Voelden had no right to maintain troops.”

            “And wasn’t, as records show and His Majesty pointed out. But Runnerspring’s registered a complaint, demanding your recall to face questioning. That was flatly refused but the complaint will be heard at Midwinter. It might be an idea to send enquiry and court martial records to the other Councillors ahead of time.”

            “The clerks have finished a dozen copies, Wyldon, and the rest will be done this week. Alanna took one for Lord Ennor, Svein’s delivering to Lord Ferghal, and I’ll draft a covering letter for the others.”

            “Good anticipation. I can’t see what Runnerspring hopes for but he’s always complained about wartime subordination of noble privilege to army rules so he may just want to do so again.”

            “That goes back to Jasson—isn’t it traditional enough yet?”

            “You’d think so, I agree, but although the lords of Runnerspring have always been knights they’ve never been fighters and certainly not army men. I’m still trying to understand what he was doing with a liegeman like Rogal in the first place. I think he genuinely doesn’t understand why King Jasson forced that rule through or why it’s necessary. You don’t look convinced.”

            “I think you’re generous. Though I suppose Tirrsmont’s an argument in your favour—he didn’t understand even with war on his doorstep, and I don’t think war’s touched Runnerspring in generations. I remember Garvey being clueless about the Immortals War when most pages knew exactly what it had involved, and before that you’d have to go back to the Barzun campaign to have active forces anywhere near the inland south-west.” She hesitated. “Do you mind a what-if question?”

            “Try me.”

            “If Genlith is committing treason, does Runnerspring know?”

            He winced. “I’d like to say he wouldn’t do such a thing, but I don’t know any more, Keladry. I’d not have believed Torhelm would do what we now have compelling reason to believe he did. And Runnerspring is close to Genlith, by blood and marriage. Closer than Genlith to Stone Mountain, oddly, but Stone Mountain’s the older and richer fief and its lords have never liked marrying into what they think of as client fiefs. I notice you don’t ask about Lord Burchard.”

            “No.” Kel frowned. “I don’t think he’d countenance open treason with an enemy. Too proud, maybe. And pious, by his lights. Besides, revenge on me aside, I can’t see what Maggur could offer him that could tempt him except the Conté throne, and that doesn’t play.”

            “Your reasoning?”

            “Maggur might offer it but he’d be lying. He wants it himself, and Stone Mountain couldn’t hold it without more support than he’d get, as he must know. And I can’t see grief driving him to prefer vassalage to Maggur—he’s deranged but not stupid. But Genlith now … humiliated by Vinson’s exposure, perhaps already guilty of capital treason, and with Stone Mountain distracted—that’s a potent combination. And Maggur would have had no problem making Genlith an offer he’d jump at.”

            “Of what?”

            “Stone Mountain, for starters.” Wyldon’s eyebrows shot up. “Think about it. I do all the work and Stone Mountain takes the money with disdain. That’s normal. But now he’s so stupid with his son’s death that he won’t help mine condemned to the mines. So Genlith hires it done, using Gallan mercenaries, maybe, and either Maggur hears or is already looking at Genlith because he’s got Blayce and a plan and needs metalwork he can’t do. And if he did conquer Tortall he’d have to kill a lot of people to secure it, but he’d need noble stooges—people to work the administration until he could get his own up to speed. I’m sorry to say it, Wyldon, but I think Genlith would see an opportunity for revenge, advancement, and frankly, to do to Tortall what his son did to women. I know Torhelm would. But I’m not sure about Runnerspring. Given things I’ve heard him say, and the kind of man he raised his son to be, I wouldn’t put it past him. I realise my own bias, but if you wouldn’t put it past him either it needs bearing in mind, Hag take it.”

            She found her fists clenched and relaxed them, giving Wyldon a rueful look. “Sorry. I hate this doublethink. But I’ve done everything I can to strengthen my walls and reinforce the barbican, so I’m down to the commonest way enemies capture fortifications. It makes me cranky.”

            “Understandably. I hadn’t put it together like that, and I see your point. It makes sense of something Sir Myles said, too, so I think he’s probably considering it but I’ll pass it to Vanget and the King. Otherwise we don’t have much choice but to play a waiting game.”

            Kel knew he was right, but didn’t like it. The only option was to go after Maggur directly, and besides the perennial problem of logistics for any invading army even stripping the frontier would barely produce a sufficient force; and if Maggur got any sizeable body of troops past it Tortall would be wide open. If stalemate continued something might have to be done, but it wasn’t going to happen soon; in any case tactical and strategic analysis both said that what was needed was to induce Maggur to commit himself—to stick his neck out, as Rogal had, with the same result.

            More productively, on Lughnasad eve Cloestra’s egg hatched. For reasons Kel didn’t understand but felt were right she had taken to performing her pre-dawn pattern dances on the terrace, before Lord Sakuyo’s shrine, and letting her thoughts drift to memories of Yaman. Baron George and Crooked Kyprioth were in her mind as well, especially after the news that King Oron had died some weeks ago and been succeeded by King Hazarin, who’d promptly died himself, leaving Princess Ijane as regent for a child king, Dunevon—and Mithros knew the trouble that always spelled, even with sane rulers in a stable country. The Baron was headed into a simmering mess, and she remembered Cloestra’s comment that someone was stirring in the Isles; ending the pattern dance she turned towards the immortal, wondering if she knew of the tumbling Rittevon kings, and realised Cloestra was perched on the side of the roost, bending to croon softly and tap her egg with a wingtip. Kel set her glaive by Lord Sakuyo’s shrine and went across.

            “It’s hatching?”

            Cloestra glanced up, steel teeth on show. “Yes.”

            “Do you need anything?”

            “No. It will cut its way out. Won’t you, youngling? Then you can tell us your name.”

            “You hatch knowing your names?”

            “Always. Listen.” She tapped the shell and Kel heard the answering tap within. “It won’t be long. We usually hatch just after dawn.”

            “Do you mind if I send for Daine and Numair?”

            “Send for the world, Protector, for all I care, so long as they stand well clear. My Queen and flock will be here soon.”

            Turning, Kel saw Tobe and his cohort of children, warming up on the green as they waited for her to lead morning practice, and caught his eye. Not wanting to shout she used two fingers to mime a stork’s long-legged stride, pointed to the guest room Daine and Numair were using, and gestured to the crooning stormwing. She saw understanding hit and he gave his spear to Gydo, loping off.

            “Forgive my ignorance, Cloestra, but will the hatchling nurse? Or need … other sustenance?’

            “Only my love, Protector.” Steel teeth flashed. “The playground will be a resource. Queen Barzha told me you are the first person since our return to the mortal realms to realise we feed on all emotions. More than the Stone Tree Nation wait to see how this hatchling fares on the diet of New Hope.”

            Kel’s mind clicked. “Begin as we mean to go on?”

            Cloestra smiled again, with a faint cackle. “By all means, Protector. Yet the newly hatched are clumsy and their wings are not blunt.”

            “Tell the children yourself?” Was that respect in Cloestra’s eyes?

            “I will.”

            Kel trotted over to the children, and by the time they’d stacked cut-down spears by the flagpole, and she’d ushered them to the terrace, Barzha and Hebakh had arrived with a score of others, all notably clean, clustering awkwardly around the roost where the egg was beginning to rock. Seeing Kel approaching Cloestra gestured and the stormwing circle opened, making room; even massed the immortals were not inducing the fear they usually did, but creating a wash of warm tenderness. A moment later Tobe returned with Daine and Numair, wearing belted robes and, Kel suspected, nothing more. The stormwings were beginning to croon, stepping from foot to foot, but Cloestra’s voice rose over them as she welcomed and warned.

            “Younglings of New Hope, listen well. I have control of my wings, as Amiir’aan has control of his rock spell. The hatchling will not, yet its wings will be sharper than mine. It could kill or injure without meaning to do so. Do you beware, and keep your distance these first days until it knows itself free of the egg.” She glanced at Daine. “Even you, Godborn. A newhatched wing will cut godflesh and dragonscale.”

            Numair looked as if he wanted to make notes but children’s eyes were wide and they took a pace back. The egg rocked more violently, scraping, and Cloestra exchanged a look with Barzha.

            “The hatchling has a gift for you, Protector, in payment of its life. Come closer and look.”

            As Kel stepped forward, conscious of Tobe behind her, Cloestra tapped the egg with her wingtip again, scratching at a point just off the top. The answering blow dimpled the shell outward.

            “Next time. Once more.” Cloestra’s croon was urgent, and at the next blow the dimple glowed in its centre. “Next time. Once more.” The dimple burst as a blade a few inches long poked through, slicing down the steel of the shell, and poked again, making a second cut that angled out from the first. Cloestra didn’t look up. “Once more. The blades are on the wing-joint, Protector, to do this job alone—like a bird’s egg-tooth. They are much prized, and the tool you need to cut moulted feathers, for they will cut anything. Once more, once more.”

            A large piece of eggshell fell away. The stormwings’ croon rose and Cloestra leaned forward, intent. Her voice rang strangely pure and brought hissing cries from her queen and kin.

            “Her name is Amourta.”

            A second piece of shell dropped, a third, and two blades poked through, pressing down until cloven steel fell away in halves and with a squawk of triumph Amourta stood free. The wings she extended were covered in steel down, tiny curling feathers whose edges glinted as the light strengthened, though the blades on the joints were jet black. Her human parts were more like a toddler than a newborn: she stood on clawed feet, raising radiant eyes to Cloestra. Cloestra’s head dipped.

            “Amourta.”

            All the stormwings crooned the name with her, triumph in the sound, and Amourta’s gaze swung as each spoke its name, then came to the mortals with curiosity starting in her eyes. Kel spoke her own name, followed by Tobe, Daine, Numair, and all the children. Even more than Sarralyn’s Amourta’s gaze was disconcerting in apparent understanding, but Kel could see tiredness after the struggle of hatching, and with introductions complete shepherded the children back to practice, leaving stormwings to their crooning welcome. Daine and Numair also backed away, and Kel saw their eyes glistening as her own must be.

            At breakfast she announced Amourta’s hatching and Cloestra’s warning, declaring that end of the terrace off-limits unless invited by the stormwing but also asking people to introduce themselves from the main level when they could. Cloestra had become sufficiently familiar and enough information about stormwing difficulties had percolated that most people were genuinely pleased for mother and child, and did go by. Hatching so close to Lughnasad was felt to be auspicious, and at the ceremony next morning Kel gave thanks for Amourta’s life and safety to the Goddess and Green Lady as well as the usual prayers for land and harvest and the other business of the festival.

            That included three handfastings—a Goatstrack lad and Anak’s Eyrie girl, both orphaned, who’d been making eyes for months; a Tirrsmont widow with a Rathhausak widower, who shared a love of plants and cooking and thought they’d suit; and to Kel’s real pleasure Fanche and Saefas. He’d been courting her when Kel met them at Giantkiller more than a year before, and they’d lived openly as a couple since return from Scanra but now wanted to set things on what Fanche called a proper footing. The prospect pleased everyone, but Kel was flummoxed by the request of all three couples that she handfast them: in the absence of a priest it was proper for the most senior official available to celebrate a match, as she did funerals; what bothered her was that everyone involved regarded her as preferable to any priest and a better qualified interlocutor with the divine—so much so they wanted her to marry them when the time came. She’d protested she wasn’t remotely capable as a celebrant but Fanche just laughed.

            “Lady Kel, we saw Archpriest Holloran, remember? The highest divine in the realm, and when Lord Weiryn and his Green Lady appeared he went straight to his knees. Very proper. You invited them to dinner. And only you know how many gods you’ve met but every one I’ve seen you call on answered. What can any priest do that you can’t?”

            Neither the years of study Mithran divines underwent nor Kel’s complete lack of experience in handfasting seemed to bother anyone, and when Kel appealed to Neal he offered no support.

            “I grant there’s university training, Kel, but it’s not like an Ordeal making a knight. And I’d say you’ve learned on the job.” He grinned infuriatingly. “I doubt you’ll find anyone who thinks you aren’t supremely qualified to hatch, match, and despatch.”

            “Except everyone who actually is qualified as a priest!”

            Neal ignored Kel’s exasperated mutter—and appalled her by adding that he and Yuki had been meaning to ask her to conduct Ryokel’s naming at Mabon anyway. She resorted to the spellmirror, asking Wyldon to arrange a firespell connection with Archpriest Holloran. Straight-faced and, she knew, deeply amused he agreed, but even Holloran let her down, listening respectfully and declaring her in a category of her own but certainly an honourable celebrant. With Wyldon and Harailt having difficulty stifling laughter he responded to her continuing unease by blessing her as the celebrant of New Hope and promising to have it noted in the temple’s records and send her registers the courts accepted as proofs of birth, naming, handfasting, marriage, and death. Before he could offer orange robes she managed to thank him and Harailt broke the connection, giving in to chuckles. Wyldon grinned.

            “There’s nothing for it, Keladry, but to agree graciously.”

            She glared. “It’s an army failing, Wyldon. Soldiers can’t marry. Civilians can. So when you put a soldier in charge of a refugee camp you ought to provide for religious necessities.”

            “But they’re not necessities. You have a point, though. I could try indenting for a priest. Mithros alone knows who you’d get.”

            Harailt laughed more than ever and Kel crossly blanked her mirror. After a while the absurdity of it restored her temper, and when the morning of Lughnasad came the business was simple; chimes rang for each couple as she asked the gods to witness promises made, so she ended content and had pleasure relaying the story to her parents.

            There was also the fascination of Amourta’s wing-knives to distract her. They’d dropped off within a day, and with Numair’s help been gingerly gathered, set in petrified hilts, and provided with oversize, locking sheaths. They certainly made fletching easier, trimming steel as if it were ordinary feather, and if there was anything they wouldn’t cut Kel had yet to discover it; even stone yielded with no more pressure than was needed for a metal knife through leather. Numair decided that despite their blackness they were a special form of the silver of immortals’ claws—denser and stronger—and would never blunt. One became part of Kel’s fletching kit; the other, after thought, she had secured at the infirmary for medical use.           

            Hatching and ceremonies cheered everyone, dispersing lingering solemnity after Rogal’s execution. If she was honest Kel had to admit they cheered her too, and so far as deputising for officials went handfasting was preferable to beheading. Even so, lying awake in the warm dark, sheet thrown back, Kel knew what bothered her most in both roles was the way such status set her apart, adding barriers to the loneliness of authority. As she was the one to kill and bury, not the one to die, so she would become the one to marry others, not to be married. She considered the irony of being ignorant of all save her own hands and a tauros yet blessing others’ sexuality and legitimating their children, and knew Lord Sakuyo was laughing as hard as ever.

* * * * *

Kel gave Brodhelm a month’s leave to visit Frasrlund, a journey he’d wanted to make since news of the end of the siege. When he returned at the beginning of September Mikal would leave for Holtwood; meanwhile, before harvesting required massed field guards, he beefed up patrols and Kel agreed to let Sir Voelden lead one.

            Uinse declined leave, saying he’d no family he cared to visit and regarded New Hope as home, but she gave him ten days off duty, and with Jacut not yet back from Corus Prosper became acting captain of New Hope First, with responsibility for the watch. Knowing he had backup made him less nervous and Kel watched the way he handled himself with approval—he’d learned a great deal from Uinse and was well liked by the men. One or two sought to take advantage of inexperience but he set them right smartly and with humour, and she made it clear she’d noticed as well as prompting renewed effort with the logistics and paperwork even of acting captaincy. He didn’t have much tactical flair and she didn’t think she’d want him in independent field command, but he’d make a good company captain; catching herself in the judgement she realised it seemed normal and proper to do so, though he was only a year below her, and knew another degree of separation.

            When it came to Seaver that sense was painful, more so as while he was conscientious and unflagging in his duties she didn’t think she’d ever want him as a captain; like his light magic his skills beyond combat were limited, and while he wasn’t disliked he wasn’t liked either, in the way Merric had been and Prosper was. It was partly temperament in handling men, but also a certain laziness in not pushing himself; his rudimentary Scanran hadn’t improved, as Prosper’s had, and despite having overcome his fear of spidrens he seemed to accept the various immortals and their interactions without curiosity, which Kel didn’t understand. He had no intention of staying in army service after the war, and she unhappily observed in her annual report on officers that he wasn’t suitable for greater responsibility. She was only grateful Neal as a healer didn’t have to be thought about in that way, and when it came to Dom’s report she spared herself and blandly observed that he was doing an excellent job, referring anyone who wanted more to the reports of the Own.

            Daine completed her flights into Scanra, but Numair remained caught up in experimentation with icelights. Daine in turn was happy to spend time with Sarralyn, who approved, and greatly enlivened a school day by showing children and a fascinated array of adults an astonishing variety of animals, from the fabled icebear to the riverhorse and hyena. That evening after dinner, sitting with her, Sarralyn, and Numair on the green, Kel confessed her dubiety about hyenas from her sight of the Hag’s companion, and heard a passionate defence of their marvellously keen sense of smell with Daine’s version of Ozorne’s deposition. They wound up going to the terrace, where Barzha and Hebakh were visiting Amourta, and Kel happily listened to a long, rambling conversation full of odd reminiscences—Numair speaking of what it felt like to watch one’s own simulacrum executed and what Daine had done in rage, believing him dead; Daine of what she still thought the shameful treatment of the Banjiku by their god, and of marmosets; and the stormwings of the treachery of Jokhun Foulreek and the damage wrought on the Stone Tree Nation. When Rikash Moonsword was recalled Daine surprised both stormwings by saying she and Numair had decided to call a son, when they should have one, Rikash, and Kel went to bed realising she’d call these stormwings friends and wondering what pressure that exerted on the timeway.

            She spent next morning finalising what would be done with the last limestone section of tunnel, mediating functionality, time, and everyone’s understandable desires to make it as defensible as ingenuity could conjure. The square Dom had suggested had been cut tightly, so the end of the tunnel was deeper within the limestone than expected, but they settled on a couple of extra zigs and zags, defensive positions covering the angles, and a mageblast trap like those in the roadway. The gatehouse was only a day short of completion, Amiir’aan and Bel’iira had petrified rooves, the building team would leave within the week for Mastiff and the ravine Wyldon wanted bridging, and Spiir’aan would go to help if the proposed bridge proved feasible. That was all very satisfactory but her afternoon paperwork was interrupted by the spellmirror’s chime, and Wyldon’s face was grave.

            “Keladry, I’m sorry but there’s bad news.”

            Her stomach muscles tightened. “Tell me.”

            “A wolfship attack on Mindelan—eight of them. The Navy ships did well, but two made it ashore. They were stopped in the end but there were casualties, including Sir Conal.”

            She’d been braced to hear Anders or Inness were dead, or her parents, and didn’t know what she felt. “Conal’s dead?”

            “Yes. I’m sorry.”

            “Who else?”

            “None of your family, though Sir Inness was wounded, but thirty-one troops and civilians, as well as sailors. Those numbers aren’t clear.”

            “Thirty-two.”

            “Yes.” He looked his concern. “I’m sorry for your loss. I know you had troubles with Sir Conal but I imagine that makes it harder.”

            She blew out a breath. “Yes, it does. I thought it might be Anders or Inness or my parents, and I despise the relief I feel. Poor Conal. Do you know what happened?”

            “I’m afraid I don’t—Sir Anders got his mage to firespeak with Alanna, who contacted me and the King. And you shouldn’t worry about what you feel, Keladry—that kind of guilty relief is normal. Do you want leave to go to Mindelan?”

            The funeral would have taken place and Brodhelm was away. “No, I don’t think so, Wyldon. Unless Anders is asking for me.”

            “Not that I know.”

            “Then I’ll go that way to Corus by sea at Midwinter. There’s not much point going now, and others are on leave already.”

            “As you will.” He hesitated. “The timing’s interesting.”

            Grief, if that’s what she felt, didn’t seem to have slowed her brain. “An order given when Maggur learned of the ambassadors’ expulsion?”

            “It seems plausible.”

            “Poor Mindelan.”

            “You’re not responsible, Keladry.”

            “I know. Maggur is, and men who obey him. Yet this would not have happened were I unborn. Or if I hadn’t burned Rathhausak.”

            Wyldon shifted, looking uncomfortable. “You don’t know that.”

            She managed a half-smile. “It seems plausible. Don’t fret—it’s no different from ordering men to their deaths. It just hits harder when it’s home. I must tell Heliana. You don’t have a casualty list?”

            “No. I’ll try to get one. Heliana’s your private clerk?”

            “Yes. A ward of father’s. Names will mean more to her than me.”

            That proved true, though fortunately those Heliana knew were only casual acquaintances—farmers and labourers mostly, a circumstance explained by the letter from Anders that reached Kel a few days after the list Wyldon had had Harailt procure by firespell.

Mindelan
9 August 462

My dearest Keladry,

            You will know by now of the attack by wolfships we suffered two days past, and that Conal has been taken from us. I spoke with him dying, and am charged to offer you and Tobeis his apologies and convey the pride he had come to feel in your achievements.

            He died well, saving many. The wolfships that evaded the Navy drove ashore south of the harbour, and the Scanrans caught people still in the fields. Conal and Inness rode to help, outpacing others. I lagged behind with my cursed leg, and by the time I got there it was all but done—Inness has cuts to his arm and side, but Conal was unhorsed, and though he got himself upright took a body wound he could not survive. When Inness and I were by him he was far gone, but clearly asked your forgiveness. Inness believes he was thinking of his mistaken sympathy for the former lord of Tirrsmont. I am unsure, but wonder if he might not have been remembering the way he bullied you when you were young, in the way they say your life passes before your eyes. Perhaps you know better than I. Whatever he meant he next said he was sorry not to have apologised to Tobeis—I do not know for what—and his last words were “Tell her I have tried to be worthy of her”.

            We buried him in the little graveyard beyond the orchard, where Grandpa Mindelan and his wives lie. The others who died that day are buried there too, so it is now almost full. When the Black God’s priest ended with the blessing divine chimes sounded, as they do for the dedication of a shrine or the swearing of a gods’ oath, and there was a strange sound—a wind amid silence, such as I have never heard. The priest said he believed it to be the god’s own voice. Sir Alanna suggested we ask you about it, and if you can tell us more, Keladry, please do—it has caused much wondering.

            Conal was never happy, and I often wished he had found the right woman and married. But it was not to be. I hope and pray the chimes and that sound mean he has found solace in the Peaceful Realms.

            When shall we see you and Tobeis? I know you bear great responsibilities, little sister, and everyone speaks of the marvel of New Hope, but please come when you can. We miss you, and are eager to meet Tobeis. Vorinna and Tilaine—and Inness of course—and the children join me in sending you our love, and what comfort we can in shared grief.

Written with sorrow by your brother,

Anders

Tobe and Dom, coming from a session with the horses, found her silent at her desk with the letter before her, cheeks wet. Tobe knew of Conal’s death but Dom didn’t—she’d seen no reason to make any announcement. Mutely she passed the letter to Tobe, and distantly admired even as she hated the restraint Dom showed in not looking over his shoulder as he frowningly made his way through Anders’s spidery hand. He passed the letter to Dom, not asking permission, and before she could object came round the desk to grasp her in a hug, resting his head on her shoulder.

            “Will you help me tell the Black God I accept his apology and he should rest peaceful, Ma?”

            “Of course I will, sweeting.” Her arms were around him, tears still leaking, blurring Dom’s face as he read. “Of course I will.”

            Finishing, Dom half reached a hand but let it fall back to his side. “I’m sorry, Kel. How long have you known?”

            “A few days. The letter came today.”

            “You didn’t say. I thought you’d been quiet.”

            “There wasn’t any point. No-one else here will mourn him.”

            She saw him bite off a retort and wondered what it would have been. “That’s not the point, Kel.” His voice became sergeant-brisk. “What was it in Sir Anders’s letter that’s made you cry?”

            “Worthy of me.” Leaking gathered into sobs and this time he did come to her, resting a hand awkwardly on her free shoulder as Tobe’s arms tightened hard. Shame she couldn’t have described swirling in her, she forced tears down, feeling the headache start. “Who am I my brother should die being worthy of me? It’s alright, Dom—I just don’t much like what the gods have done to me, and right now it seems very wrong that I’m alive to know Conal isn’t. I’m sure whatever happens next will drive it out of my mind.”

            Startled he fixed blue eyes on her. “You sound like an old campaigner, Kel.”

            “I feel like one. Last year counts as several lifetimes. Literally.”

            He gave a bleak smile. “And figuratively. But that’s not the point. When old campaigners say that, they’re coping. It’s not true. And from what Sir Anders says, if Sir Conal knew what you were feeling he’d be shocked out of what wits he had.”

            The headache lessened with her involuntary smile. “He probably would. Poor Conal. His spirit must be as confused as he always was, but he never lacked heart. And I know the Black God has him safe. It’s just … I don’t know.”

            Tobe lifted his head to look at her. “You think the timeway thing means you’re affecting everything? Because Mindelan was attacked in revenge for burning Rathhausak and killing that Nothing Man?”

            “Not really, Tobe. It just feels like it today.” She looked at Dom through eyes that were still blurry. “It’s your joke theory of the timeway spiral again, Dom. Up at the sharp end. Sakuyo’s laughter— / very many hot needles / and infinite grace.” Did the god draw breath?

            Dom frowned. “Is that Yamani poetry?”

            “Of a sort. Ask Neal—he’s the poetry man, whatever Yuki says.”

            “Point. But jokes and poetry aren’t so far apart, Kel.”

            “In Wolset’s case, certainly.”

            The laugh burst from him but it was her heart that felt eased, and she gently disengaged Tobe, fishing out a handkerchief to dry her eyes.

            “It’s good to hear you laugh, Dom. And you should prepare yourself—my Lord says he’ll send Wolset and the lads over some time to see you. Tobe, let’s go see if the Black God’s willing to pass on a message.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Nineteen — Loneliness

16 August – 15 September

Harvesting began and Adner was not the only one jubilant at the goddess’s bounty. Yields were high, quality good, work uninterrupted by alarms, and the only problem again a shortage of sacks and jars, remedied by woodturners and weavers. The reserves that began to pile up as grains were threshed, berries picked, and roots dug were a tangible self-sufficiency, enhanced for Kel by the shortages Maggur would face, but in her military heart she was better pleased with the completion of tunnel and corral work: it harmonised better with grief.

            The journey from cave to corral was eerie, and Kel knew the first time she made it she’d come here when she couldn’t sleep. The long straight through the fin, darkness stretching away on either side, made her conscious of unknown tons of rock above and depths below. Beyond the straight, lighter limestone was a relief, and the defences would gladden any commander. At each corner of the tunnel defensive positions with arrowloops were cut on either side and petrified grids could be locked into place. The tunnel mouth had first emerged twelve feet above ground level, and the descending slope into which the last section had been transformed concealed a mageblast trap over a spiked pit. If it ever had to be blown attackers would face an opening higher than any man’s reach, barred and approachable only through a forest of obsidian enfiladed by more arrowloops from a short, parallel tunnel cut on the outer side.

            Kel’s biggest problem was organisational. As things stood Mastiff Eighth had responsibility for patrolling, Northwatch Fourteenth for field guard, and New Hope First for walls; Connac’s squad were supernumeraries, rotating wherever was short-handed. On paper, ignoring Dom’s irregular command, manning corral and tunnel defences was Uinse’s responsibility, but with three shifts to cover he’d be badly stretched and Kel wanted New Hope Second formed under Dom’s command. She’d started negotiations with Vanget and Wyldon during the commanders’ conference, asking for priority on new convict squads. There weren’t as many volunteers this year, but should be five squads, and she didn’t mind an understrength company if she could properly constitute it as a New Hope company. Vanget had hummed and hawed, but gave in. The convicts wouldn’t arrive for several weeks, and Kel detached Connac’s squad and another to keep a skeleton watch at the corral. Numair set up a magelink to New Hope’s gatehouse; a farrier began setting up; and despite the extra distance to walk Dom moved to the secondary headquarters in the corral.

            Horses needed accustoming to the tunnel. Tobe and Zerhalm once more worked wonders, Peachblossom and Alder taking point and guard to walk strings through and back again. Daine eased the way by collectively assuring horses and ponies that, however strange the stone road, it was safe. At the same time Kel had strings led by the roadway to the corral’s main entrance, while others returned that way: she didn’t know if they were under observation, by Scanrans or anyone else, but if they were had no intention of making it obvious an interior passage to the corral had been opened.

            By the same lights, when she gave building team and tunnellers a feast before Geraint departed, she asked those leaving to be close-mouthed about what they’d done. She had unexpected rewards to offer—black-opal matrix she’d solicited with royal permission from Lady Maura, received with bliss by Amiir’aan and Bel’iira; and for Geraint, on behalf of his team, a model of New Hope she’d helped Tobe carve with Amourta’s wing-blade from river sand Var’istaan had lightly bonded. After they’d painstakingly detailed walls and buildings, the basilisk treated the sand again, hardening and properly colouring; the whole was striking and she could see Geraint was touched. He made a good speech saying New Hope was an education, mentioned his desire in peace to undertake civil architecture with basilisk and ogre partners, and sketched appealing imaginations of spaces that were enjoyable and beautiful rather than defensive. Replying briefly, and thinking that in this, as in other things, she’d start as she meant to go on, Kel made it clear to all in the team that they’d always be welcome at New Hope, to visit or settle, and suggested how much building would be needed when a fief was established. New Hope had great strengths but, in the nature of the refugees and convict soldiers who constituted the majority of the founding population, farming, mining, general labouring, trapping, and woodworking were common and urban trades, from building to healing and Dogging, severely underrepresented. She had notions to remedy the deficiency, including the Craftsbeings’ Guild and the university of mortal and immortal cooperation, but ducal elevation of Mindelan with the work that would demand cut off one source she might have tried, recruiting directly from other fiefs would not be popular, and people like these builders and craftsmen-artisans could make a big difference.

            The partying went on long after she’d retired. Laughter drifting up from the green kept her awake a while and followed her into uneasy dreams filled with drifts of blossom under leaden winter skies. After pre-dawn glaive practice and the children’s weapons class she felt virtuous watching heavy-eyed builders drag themselves to the messhall, but waved farewell an hour later with a sharp sense of loss. Geraint had become a friend, and though she couldn’t broach command issues with him, nor relax into the acerbic humour she shared with Dom, his conversation had been a boon, filled with unusual buildings and not dominated by war or pointless but unavoidable worry about the timeway.

            With impeccable timing Jacut and his men returned the same day to be happily startled by progress in their absence. All seemed to walk taller than they had; most who’d gone with Jacut were Corus people who hadn’t expected to see family again for a long time, if ever. She’d told Jacut to take a few days before starting back but in the event he’d been spared that decision, as he explained drinking tea in her office.

            “After we delivered the coffin and ring, Lady Kel, we was given rooms in the Own’s barracks and told to wait on ’Is Majesty’s pleasure. I asked if the lads could see family an’ they said yes but them as saw the battle or what ’appened to poor Sir Merric should stay available. Well, that was all of us, so I made sure I knew where they was going to be an’ ’ad ’em all check twice a day at the … at an inn what everyone uses.”

            Kel quirked an eyebrow. “Would that be the Dancing Dove?”

            He grinned. “Yus, it would. Shoulda known you’d know, Lady Kel. I ’ad a quiet word with its owner, if you knows who I mean, an’ while I didn’t say nothin’ I shouldn’t I did say ’ow all us former felons was doin’ here. ’E was very glad to ’ear it, ’avin’ hacquaintance among us as you might say, and asked me to send you ’is thanks and respects.”

            Kel abruptly had a variety of thoughts culminating in the notion that she ought perhaps to pay the owner of the Dancing Dove a visit herself. There was that business of his stand against men who hurt women, and the Protector’s Maids, as well as other things that might be explored. Her attention came back to Jacut.

            “It was four days before we was summoned but then we found ourselves talkin’ not just to ’Is but ’Er Majesty too, an’ the Prince and Princess. You coulda knocked me down with a feather, Lady Kel—I ’aven’t been so surprised since that Dog’s ’and landed on me shoulder. But they was all friendly, an’ at first just wanted to ’ear about the battle an’ what we seen of Sir Merric an’ Rogal.” He paused. “’Is Majesty said you did give ’im the chop yourself, Lady Kel?” She nodded and Jacut pursed his lips. “So we told ’em what we seen, an’ ’Er Majesty asked about that shot at Vinson an’ the bow, with the Prince and Princess chippin’ in about ’ow they’d seen it when Lord Weiryn give it you. An’ they wanted to know what we thought about immortals, an’ ’ow everything was ’ere at New Hope, so we told ’em—Sir Neal treatin’ us all an’ the immortals an’ everything. ’Is Majesty seemed to know a lot already, mind, and ’e ’ad the layout clear as a bell.”

            Kel thought explanation best kept simple. “He had me make him a plan.” She made a mental apology to the elemental, amused at herself.

            “Musta been a goodun, Lady Kel. Anyway, it was more than an ’our before they let us go, thankin’ us”—he seemed more incredulous at that than anything—“an’ tellin’ us not to say a word to anyone about Vinson before ’is death’s announced. Which we ’aven’t.” An accusing note entered his voice. “You didn’t warn me we’d be up for a grillin’ by them.”

            Kel offered laughing apology. “I’m sorry—it didn’t occur to me, though I suppose it should have. I expect Their Majesties wanted a different view from the one they usually get. We have been surprising people, rather.”

            Mikal grinned. “We have, Lady Kel, but I imagine there might have been other reasons too. Still, I’m glad to know His Majesty doesn’t think it beneath him to do something like that.”

            “Mmm.” Curious, Kel risked a dangerous question. “What did your lads make of it all?”

            He blinked. “I don’t rightly know, Lady Kel, though we talked about it enough ridin’ back. We did agree ’Er Majesty really was Peerless, an’ the Prince and Princess seem good people—they said they remembered us from their visit.”

            “They probably do, Jacut. They practice remembering names and faces. Besides, who could forget you?”

            He grinned. “Ah. We thought they was bein’ polite like, but I’ll tell the lads we shouldn’t ’ave doubted ’em. But ’Is Majesty … I dunno, to be honest. ’E’s a ’andsome cove with them blue eyes, and ’e was nice as pie, but I reckon you gotta be pretty twisty if you’re wearin’ shoes that big. I don’t think I’d like to be one as got on ’is bad side.” Uinse laughed and Jacut grinned. “Personal like, I mean. There’s no ’elpin the other now.”

            “Oh but there is, Jacut.” Kel’s soft voice brooked no contradiction. “You and Uinse bear no convict marks, do you? The army might not seem like it but you walk free. Rathhausak cancelled all debts. And Their Majesties don’t entertain felons, do they? Think of the fuss there’d be. But they take time to talk to soldiers on a confidential mission.”

            Leaving them to ponder it she turned conversation to the imminent formation of New Hope Second, and whether they should transfer one or two squads from the First, replacing them with new men, to give the fledgling Second backbone. Uinse was reluctant—no commander liked to see familiar faces transferred out—but promised to discuss it with Dom. There was also staffing the lookout post that would soon crown the fin. The steps were within fifty feet of the crest, and had switched back to aim for a hump of rock that rose an extra fifteen feet; besides the question of what the post itself should best look like there was its addition to the First’s duties and whether, given its greater range and field of view, enabling communication with patrols in valleys to the west, it should also be on Mastiff Eighth’s roster. Final decisions couldn’t be made until the lines of sight were established, but she was glad to get them thinking and let them go, reminding Uinse to make sure Jacut and all who’d travelled introduced themselves to Amourta.

            The stormwing was growing fast and had already begun to moult her down—carefully collected, though Kel couldn’t decide what use it might have—and grow flight feathers. When not experimenting with icelights a baffled Numair was trying to understand how Amourta was able to manufacture steel in such quantities out of nothing, but Kel just filed it under ‘immortal magic’; what interested her was diet and she’d watched the way Cloestra was introducing her chick to mortal emotions, and the special attractions of the playground. Cloestra seemed to be teaching her Tortallan, Common, Scanran, and Yamani all at once; her grasp of them was already formidable, and Kel had several times found Yuki taking advantage, chatting with both stormwings in Yamani with Ryokel bouncing on her knees and absorbing her mother’s tongue. Yuki also insisted on speaking Yamani at home one day a week, but remarked to Kel, dimpling, that Neal’s pronunciation, grammar, and modality were not examples she wished Ryokel to follow and Cloestra knew all modes perfectly as well as having a good accent. Having spent so much time looking after her in the egg Amiir’aan also had a proprietary interest, and could often be found talking to Amourta in any of the tongues she was learning; Chervey might also be there, apparently intent. What he might learn was moot but he was already a very different young man than the one Gothas had found easy to persuade.

            Seeing the lad with the strange companions he’d made reminded Kel and she went to find the older Rathhausak couple who’d taken in Freja Haraldsdottir’s son and the other Scanran orphan. A long discussion left her feeling pretty much everything that could be done was being done—the children were thriving, edging into chattering toddlerdom, and the resources allocated for their care were being used. There were no other Scanran children except Irnai, but in a way that was for the good as the boys' natural playmates were Tortallan and the words they were beginning to learn as much Tortallan as Scanran, with Common thrown in. They’d also lost any fear of Amiir’aan, Bel’iira, and ogre children, and Freja's son seemed to have no ill memory of Kel from the gatehouse, extending a chubby hand to pull her hair. How they’d fare in the longer term Kel had no way of knowing but decided her consciousness of their isolation was exaggerated. Yes, they were Scanrans among enemies, and anomalous among New Hope’s Scanrans, but they were unaware of that and by the time they learned should have established identities as New Hopers. She had a kind of envy—not for their misfortunes, but the possibility of overcoming them. It was an ugly echo of her consciousness of the price command exacted on friendship, community, and integration, and she left as unsettled as she’d arrived.

            A couple of days later Geraint appeared in the spellmirror to say the ravine by Mastiff was bridgeable and request Spiir’aan. Kel sent the basilisk off with an escort despite his protests.

            “We look after our own and that’s you. I’d be grateful if you could help Lord Wyldon with any petrification that might aid his defences—the abatis, obviously, but also fireproofing. He’s an excellent district commander but not always, um, imaginative about innovations.”

            Basilisks’ eyes didn’t really twinkle. “Of course, Protector.”

            Watched the party go she wondered what widening exposure to New Hope’s collaborative model might do. An answer of sorts came when her report to Wyldon was dominated by his bemused account of the popularity Spiir’aan had earned by petrifying the abatis—“You could shave with the edges he’s put on those spikes, Keladry”—and noticing a problem with a spring where seepage was making for much boot-cleaning.

            “He politely requested some men, had a sough dug, and petrified its base and sides as well as an area round the spring so the footing’s always good. The men are, well, ecstatic wouldn’t be too strong. They’re asking me what they can do by way of thanks, and I don’t have the first idea.”

            Feeling revenged for his amusement about handfastings, Kel blandly recommended black-opal matrix and went about her day with a smile she didn’t realise people noted with pleasure and relief.

* * * * *

Punctilious as ever, Brodhelm returned on the last day of August and Mikal left in turn. Kel granted leave to those wounded in May and at Scything Wheat whose homes were close enough, and half-a-dozen went with Mikal. She saw them off with Brodhelm and walked the alure with him, Nari on her shoulder, while he told her about Frasrlund.

            “It was odd, Lady Kel. I’m not sure what I expected, but worse damage certainly. The land’s in bad shape—where Scanrans camped it’s horribly poached and soiled, and foraging’s done a lot of harm. Every tree for a couple of miles bar fruit orchards was taken for firewood and even some of those were cut last winter. It looks as if they lost a lot of men to illness too, and didn’t or couldn’t burn them so there are shallow graves all over we’ll have to do something about—a filthy business that’ll be. But the city’s hardly touched. Lord Ennor and Sir Alanna did a fine job, and since you stopped the killing devices there haven’t been many casualties on our side, even in combat. Everyone looks pinched but they’re not so badly off and know it.”

            “So morale’s good?”

            “Yes. Not like here, though. It made me realise what I’d got used to. Our people are proud to be here and often you don’t even have to ask them once. They’ve a snap missing at Frasrlund.”

            “Well, a siege must be different. At least we get out and about between raids. How was your family?”

            “Oh, well enough. It was nice to see them, of course, and my sister’s had another bairn since I was there last—a son. He seems bonny, but she’s become as much a matchmaker as my ma and kept introducing me to her unwed friends.” He laughed self-consciously. “It was a change but I got tired of everyone looking astonished every time I said anything. That’s something else I’ve come to take for granted—the way we mix in, nobles, knights and commoners, mortals and immortals, children and adults. But I’d only to mention an immortal or Rathhausakers or pretty much anything and you’d think I announced the sky was yellow and the sun blue. I’d expected that about big events—Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady visiting, and the Prince and Princess. That’s only natural. And Quenuresh. But I’d forgotten how scared most are of any immortal. Made me think of Gothas and Chervey.”

            “I suppose. But they had less excuse—they could see basilisks and ogres not harming anyone, and still chose to attack a child. If you’ve not seen it, though, it must seem a tall tale.”

            “Yes, that’s it—they seemed to think New Hope a fabled place, like wherever it was Sir Alanna won the Dominion Jewel.”

            “Chitral Pass.” Kel recalled Alanna’s account of a dire snowstorm and great rock ape. “But that’s thousands of miles away and no Tortallan except the Lioness has been there. We’re right here.”

            “I said that too, but it made no odds. They wanted to hear about it, mind, but like I was a minstrel telling of a magic castle.” He glanced at her sidelong. “And a warrior queen.”

            “Eh?”

            He stopped by a crenel equidistant from sentries, looking out, and she leant against the merlon, gathering seed from her pocket for Nari.

            “You, Lady Kel. They knew about you as a page, of course, and your success jousting—that made rounds everywhere, I think. So did your report, of course. But they seem to have had plenty of other news and mashed it all together so it makes no sense at all. I told them you weren’t really ten feet tall and still put yourself on all the work rosters but I don’t think they believed me.”

            Kel shook her head, as much annoyed as embarrassed. “What other news? The tauros thing?”

            “Well, that was in there, but I’m not sure they quite understood. It was more what happened in Corus, with Torhelm and that assassin.”

            “Ah. Did I order gods to strike Torhelm or do it myself?”

            “A bit of both, and they had you impervious to knives and dissolving Tirrsmont single-handed. There was also a wild story about a snowfight with dragons.”

            “Oops.”

            He stared at her. “You did have a snowfight with dragons?”

            “Yes—only Kawit and Kitten. Lord Diamondflame watched. It was Midwinter Day.”

            “Oh. Well of course—what else does anyone do on Midwinter Day?”

            “Pish. We were keeping the children amused.” She told him the story. “I was going to blame Alanna for telling tales at Frasrlund but she wasn’t around for that. I suppose a lot of people saw—there was a crowd by the end, sheltering under Diamondflame’s wing and cheering children on. I’m surprised you didn’t hear of it from Tobe or Irnai—they told the tale when we were snowed in.”

            “I shall consult them.” He smiled gravely. “And perhaps I should have given folk more credit but I got annoyed about it. They didn’t seem to see you as a person any more.”

            Kel looked out over the valley, watching one of the griffins return to their cave, and didn’t look at him. “Neal and Yuki say I took care of that here with that pail. Did you tell them that story?”

            “I was asked, yes, but they already knew it. And not from the Lioness, Lady Kel—her escort, I think. It had grown in telling, though, so I gave a true version. I think they preferred the exaggerated one.”

            “How was it—no, I don’t want to know.” She reached to stroke Nari’s head. “As a child I dreamed of being a knight like the Lioness, because she helped people and kept them safe. Then I became The Girl, with half Tortall thinking they knew me and had the right to say anything that crossed their minds. I loved it in the Own because I could fool myself I was just one of them, and get on with whatever the job was, like everyone else. Now I do help people and keep them safe, and I wonder how Alanna survived it. Her temper doesn’t surprise me at all.” She saw he didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

            “You didn’t, Lady Kel. I was just surprised—you don’t usually say things like that and you’re always so calm.”

            “Except when I’m not. But it doesn’t matter.”

            “Yes it does.” He hesitated. “Forgive me, but how old are you?”

            “Twenty, just after Midsummer.”

            “Twenty.” She saw him blink. “You were eighteen at Rathhausak?”

            “Yes. Not long nineteen when I died.”

            “I don’t suppose age makes any odds to that, but for the rest … when I was twenty I’d just made corporal and thought I was doing very well. I couldn’t have begun to do what you’re doing here. But Sir Neal’s right—that pail made me think differently about what it costs you. I don’t suppose there’s much I can do, but if ever there is, you shout.”

            Moved, she rested a hand on his arm. “Thank you, Brodhelm, I will. Just keep remembering I’m only a person, eh? It’ll be easier, I hope, when peace comes and we don’t have to have such tight security and discipline all the time. As it is I have to stand apart anyway—that’s command. And people will get used to living with immortals—for better or worse they’re here and it’s a lot nicer if we get on.” A thought struck her. “When they’ve a chance you should invite your family to see the reality themselves. It even works with Quenuresh, after a while. But the gods are another story. Even my friends stand further away these days, except Neal and Yuki—and Owen, I suppose, not that I’ve seen him for a while. And that’s hard.” She’d never felt so lonely, in truth, but to say so would be a step too far. “Ah well. Moaning does no good. You should see Amourta—she’s growing feathers faster than you’d think possible.”

            He accepted the change of subject and they headed for the terrace, then the tunnel, which he hadn’t seen complete. From a comment Neal made Kel knew Brodhelm must have spoken to him about her mood, and Yuki made a point of inviting her to eat more often, affording her company where she didn’t have to guard her tongue so fiercely and could forget the space that seemed to surround her with everyone else but Tobe. Dom often ate with Neal and Yuki too, and seemed more at ease, able to mention the aching benefit to his leg of walking back and forth from the corral. All three were busy with plans for Ryokel’s nameday, especially when a grandmaternal letter confirmed Duchess Wilina would indeed be coming. So would Alanna, like Kel standing as godsmother; but who to ask as godsfather was an urgent puzzle. Neal had intended to ask Merric, and considered asking Baron George, only to discover he was away and Alanna wouldn’t say when he’d be back. Kel thought she’d better not say anything about Rajmuat, though she wondered whether he’d found Aly yet, if she was still alive. Keiichi would have been a solution but wasn’t available, and with less than three weeks to go an answer came to Kel.

            “Yuki, did you not want to ask Cricket?”

            “Of course, Keladry-chan, but we already have two godsmothers. She is sorry but understands.”

            “Well, as you want me to officiate I could step back.” Yuki looked thunderous and Kel hurried on, wisely skipping her case that she didn’t entirely believe she’d be alive to do Ryokel any good and wasn’t sure she’d wish herself on anybody to begin with. “But I was thinking you should ask Roald. You’ve always got on with him, Neal, and he’s a good man—if there’s a bit of transfer from Shinko he’d understand. He’s at Northwatch so he could get here, and if you got Numair to firespeak to Corus Cricket could come with your mother, couldn’t she?”

            Neal smote his forehead. “I’m an idiot. That’s perfect, Kel. And Mother will be delighted to bring Shinko.”

            Yuki liked it also. “It will be good to see Cricket—a year exactly. It will be like a reunion from the dedications.”

            The thought struck them all except Dom simultaneously, and he looked surprise at their mutual expression. “What is it?”

            “We had other visitors then, Dom.” Feeling the irreverence that increasingly possessed her as a balance for the reverence that pressed on her Kel made her hands into antlers, raising them to her head, and Yuki’s hand flashed up to cover her face. “Daine’s here, and we owe her Ma and Da big thanks—so will they pay a return visit too?”

            “Oh. Ah.” Dom might have become used to much that passed as normal at New Hope, but not having been here for the most spectacular manifestation of the divine he didn’t have the same apprehension of gods dropping in for dinner as a serious possibility. When Kel consulted Daine, though, she grinned and shook her head.

            “I’ll pass on the invitation but I doubt it, Kel. There are rules about manifesting, and both Ma and Da have already been given a lot of leeway.” A sadness showed in her face. “I do get to talk to them quite often now, and I’m allowed to visit occasionally, but there are limits. And we’re likely to ask another indulgence before too long—we want to try for another child and Ma won’t want to miss a nameday of our own.”

            Kel hugged her. “Of course—luck with that.” She said nothing of intelligence gathering but felt considerable alarm at the prospect of continued blindness. “I wouldn’t want them to think we were ungrateful, and I’m not sure how best to express our —my—thanks for their gifts.”

            “I’m sure they know, Kel, but I’ll tell them. And the care you give all children will make Ma fair content. Da’s harder to please and I don’t know him as well, besides him having been a god forever. But he’ll have liked that bowshot, so why not give him an arrow you’ve fletched? He’ll appreciate the thought.”

            “Huh. Alright.” She had Amourta’s down and the blade that would trim it, though what the virtues of such fletching might be she had no idea. “Thanks. So long as we’re giving no offence, Daine. And I’m glad you and Numair will be here again.”

            “Us too, Kel, but we’ll have to go straight afterwards. Kitten’s been without us too long. We should have gone already but Numair’s caught up with icelights and watching Amourta’s moult has been wonderful.”

            Kel was surprised they’d stayed so long, and nodded. She’d miss Daine badly, not just as the only person with whom she didn’t have to be so careful about gods—or not careful in the same way—but Kitten shouldn’t be deprived and Kel would be travelling south for Midwinter. Any doubt they’d be going evaporated a few days later, when an excited Numair summoned Kel from her desk, talking too fast to be understood.

            “I think I’ve cracked it, Kel. I had it all back to front. Brodhelm, Varik, and Quenuresh used ice that froze naturally—perfectly sensible, of course, but it meant it had frozen unevenly, at different rates, and there are flaws, inclusions—all sorts of things. I thought those were what was having the effects I was sensing and the problem was I couldn’t see how to duplicate them magically but you don’t have to.”

            He beamed at her and Kel smiled cautiously back. “You don’t?”

            “No, they’ve nothing to do with it. They were actually making the lights less efficient, which is what I would have expected. The property we want is an interference between that mode of rock spell, which keeps petrified ice translucent, and the spell Quenuresh used to let Varik’s Gift enter the lattice. And she taught me that spell, which isn’t special spidren magic, like their webbing, just a spidren way of doing things, so all we need is more petrified ice.”

            “Oh. Well, good. It won’t be cold enough for a while, though.”

            He laughed. “We don’t need to wait for winter, Kel. Come and see.” They headed for the spring, collecting Var’istaan from the woodshops where he was making stoneware. “I can teach Varik, Forist, and Anner the freezing spell, and Quenuresh of course. I bet basilisks can do it anyway—it’s only reverse heating. You’ll need moulds but I can’t wait for those so I’ll shape the water magically.”

            “You will?”

            He grinned at her. “Yes, I will. Watch.”

            Standing by the cistern black fire sparked at his fingertips, and he drew a thick ribbon of water into the air, accumulating into a quivering mass hanging in the air in front of him. Kel stepped hastily back but not a drop spilled as Numair contemplated it, frowning, before shaping it into a hollow circle.

            “I think that torus shape will be efficient. Now …”

            Abruptly the water-circle was engulfed in black fire and Numair spoke a word in what Kel thought must be Old Thak. She felt a ripple of heat pass her followed by a wash of cold like a breath of winter in the mild air, and when she’d blinked sudden tears from her eyes at its bite the black fire had cleared and the water had the sheen of ice.

            “There. Var’istaan, can you petrify that, please, keeping the rock clear as you did with the natural ice.”

            The basilisk moved forward, positioning himself so only the ice circle was between him and the cliff. The familiar shrieking avalanche of the rock spell sounded, with rumbling modulations Kel recognised from rendering spikes into obsidian; as the echo died Numair summoned the petrified circle to his hand and set it on the ground. The sun was high enough to shine over the fin, and the newmade rock gleamed.

            “All we should need to do now is set Quenuresh’s facilitating spell into the rock-ice, without any light … this is such an odd way of using magic but it must have made sense to a spidren once … and there we go.” Kel could see no difference. “It needs to fill, but a few minutes should be enough for a start. Then we’ll see if it’s holding what falls on it.”

            They wound up waiting longer, because Numair fell into discussion with Var’istaan about modulations of the rock spell. Kel couldn’t follow at all but when she coughed he looked up.

            “Sorry, Kel. It’s fascinating. Now, let’s have some shadow here.”

            He scattered black fire into a sheet that blocked the sunlight and below it they could all see the rock circle glimmering light.

            “Excellent—it’s nice to be right about something. And it’s really not complicated, if you’ve a handy basilisk.” He grinned at Var’istaan. “So what shapes was it you were wanting, Kel? Pillars for the roadway?”

            “Yes—three or four for the roadway and some for the moatbridge, the road to the stonebridge, the stonebridge itself, and the corral. Long thin strips for the edges of things and the cave system would be good too. And maybe some small ones for the shrines.”

            “Right.” He paused. “They won’t charge with light in the caves, Kel—they have to be outside. I can make you magelights.”

            “If we’ve a stock of icelights we can rotate them. Put them on brackets and swap in one that’s been outside at the start of a shift.”

            “Oh, right. That’s a good idea. But let me do those pillars while we’re all here. Ready, Var’istaan?”

            Before Kel could say anything more water was rising from the cistern and forming a long column a foot square with flat ends. She stood back as the rock spell sounded again, explaining to interested observers what they were doing. After an hour there were a score of full-size pillars, half-a-dozen smaller ones three feet long and only six inches square, and a pile of smaller rods that Numair had been able to shape, and Var’istaan to petrify, five at a time. Wiping his brow Numair set Quenuresh’s spell in all, and straightened, coming towards her where she stood with people she’d sent for while he and Var’istaan worked—Daine, carrying Sarralyn, Brodhelm, Varik, Kuriaju, and Idrius Valestone.

            “There you go, Kel. I can do more if you need and Var’istaan’s willing, but that should be enough to start with. Hi Mageletlet.” He bent to kiss Sarralyn, who beamed.

            “They’re wonderful, Numair.” Kel laid a hand on his arm. “But we need to talk about this. Under the terms of the Guild charter all basilisk work goes through it, and there’s going to be a big demand for these. So I think you’ve just become a member.”

            “Oh I wasn’t thinking about that sort of thing, Kel.”

            “You’re going to think about it now. I won’t have the Guild fail to give due credit and mageletlets cost money, you know.” Daine grinned and Kel reached a finger for Sarralyn to grasp. “Oh yes you do. And if you don’t want to spend it now, Numair, save it for her dowry.”

            Giving orders for pillars to be set up on the roadway and others taken to the corral she shepherded everyone to the conference room. Besides making sure everyone got a fair share, including a pleased Varik and the absent Quenuresh, she had other concerns: the army could use icelights and shouldn’t be impeded by cost any more than the lower city in Corus, but if the King wanted his Palace grounds lighting or rich nobles their seats there was no reason they shouldn’t pay well. No-one had a problem with that but it was nice to see Numair looking bemused as Idrius discussed ways of making sure appropriate prices were charged. Then Brodhelm pointed out Merric had been involved in the original idea.

            “I was wanting lights but he was the one who dragged Varik to see Quenuresh, Lady Kel. It wouldn’t have happened without him.”

            She pondered. “We’ll include Merric’s estate as a beneficiary on equal footing. I’ll see what his parents want to do with the money.”

            Quenuresh’s consent would be needed but eventually Idrius went off with a pile of notes. Daine had left when Sarralyn grew bored with adults not paying attention; Kel and Numair found them with Cloestra and Amiir’aan before the shrines, watching Amourta glide awkwardly from terrace to main level, squeaking excitement, and being carried back up by Amiir’aan, wings tightly furled for safety, so she could do it again. Cloestra looked very pleased with herself and the world.

            “She will be flying properly in a week, once muscles strengthen.”

            “So soon? I thought you’d said it would be three months.”

            “I had not considered the advantages of being among other kinds and having steps. A hatchling in an eyrie cannot practice gliding like this unless there is no danger on the ground and there are two adults to return her to the eyrie in a sling. Neither our teeth nor claws are good for grasping without harming.”

            Kel winced. “Ah. Well, I’m glad she’s making such good progress. You should tell Kitten, Daine—it’s more accelerated immortal development. How does anyone think the shrines should be lit?”

            They tried small pillars and rods in various places but in the end Kel decided to wait until she could see what they were like shining at night, and moved them to the alure to catch as much sunlight as possible. The bigger pillars were heavy enough to need magepower or teamwork to lift, and by dusk only three had been set up on the roadway, outside the gates, at the turn, and a little below Pizzle—but even those made an astonishing difference, and the waiting piles became a glowing heap as darkness drew down, attracting enquiries from returning harvesters. Kel explained them at dinner, with the Guild’s involvement and the prospects of another unique trade item, and when she left the messhall, heading for bed, she indulged herself by collecting one glowing rod to take to her room. Halfway back across the green she heard her name called and saw Dom limping towards her from the caves.

            “Kel, do you have strong feelings about how the corral should be lit? I’m not sure how bright these pillars will be but I was wondering about sentries’ night vision.”

            “That’s a thought.” The smaller icelights around the wall weren’t directly visible to sentries because they were under the alure, but that wouldn’t be the case in the corral, and if the whole of that space were lit there might well be loss as well as gain involved. “Do you want me to have a look?”

            “If you would—it’s not something I’ve ever had to decide.”

            “And you think I have?” She set down the rod to collect on her return and fell in beside him, automatically slowing her stride. “Half the things I decide I’m guessing, you know.”

            “You guess well then.”

            “Pfui. We don’t know that yet.” He looked a question and she grimaced. “Day-to-day stuff seems alright, but the test will be whatever’s due to happen. And then it’ll be too late.”

            He carefully negotiated the slope to the cavemouth, leading with his good leg. “I’m not sure I understand that, Kel. The prophecy doesn’t say anything except that when the stormwings play here again the war will end, and I thought I saw the logic. But watching Amourta today I thought, well, isn’t that stormwings playing?”

            The tunnel was just wide enough for them to be side by side. “Mmm. You might think so but I doubt Shakith did. And you’ve seen how careful Barzha is about corpses.” She shrugged. “I agree there are holes and I try to think about them, but the sense I have is that the prophecy means something big. Shakith didn’t tell Irnai and have her repeat it, which is what usually happens—she spoke directly through her. Knocked her out doing it—she’d have fallen if I hadn’t caught her.”

            “Really? Neal said something about that, then clammed up and said he wasn’t sure what he was allowed to say.”

            She considered. They reached the bridge and she greeted the soldier from Connac’s squad on duty, not commenting on the book he’d hastily stashed as he rose from a seat in the little curving guardroom that provided arrowloops: it was dull, isolated duty, what mattered was wakeful presence rather than surveillance, and she could see the book was a battered copy of Emry of Haryse’s military memoirs that had been making rounds after she’d recommended it to Uinse—proper soldierly reading. As they went on she remarked the issue, suggesting when rosters were established a pair of soldiers might do better.

            “As to the prophecy, Dom, I don’t see why you shouldn’t know the whole story. I’d probably have told you last year at Mastiff if I’d seen you before you went. Or at Neal’s wedding, if you hadn’t been called away. The point of secrecy was the prophecy itself—the rest was only confidential.” She told him about strange interruptions by the elemental, and Shakith’s ringing hawk’s voice with its effect on Irnai. They reached the limestone and began to negotiate the defensive turns. “It’s partly having heard that voice, I suppose—it went right through you. Your uncle said he’d heard it once when a Pearlmouth seer prophesied, and you don’t forget. But there’s another consideration. With this roil in the timeway, whatever it is, seers say the future’s all shards and fragments, which I thought it was anyway but even more so, apparently. Yet this one got through loud and clear, from Shakith herself and in the King’s presence. And Barzha said directly she didn’t believe it was any skirmish.”

            “Huh. Alright, that makes sense. Can I ask what the King thought?”

            “You can but I can’t tell you much. He doesn’t like prophecies at all, any more than Numair—says they’re always too vague to act on—but it did underlie the decision to give New Hope proper resources.” On the slope to the corral moon as well as icelight glimmered ahead of them and her sense of mischief stirred. “I can’t tell you more because I passed out about then. Grabbing Irnai re-opened my shoulder wound and after a bit I got woozy. Your uncle wound up stripping me to my breastband in front of my entire chain of command. I still haven’t forgiven him.”

            He stopped, staring, and lost his struggle not to laugh. “I must tell Uncle Baird you’re holding a grudge.”

            “You dare!”

            He shook his head. “And you were always so carefully modest, Kel, even with Cleon. Sir Cleon, I should say. Perhaps it was that Lord Sakuyo of yours having another of his jokes.” They emerged into the corral, the stable endwall oddly lit by a glowing pillar propped against it. “I had the lads leave it there because I didn’t know where to tell them to put it.”

            “Mmm.” She stopped, impulsively laying a hand on his arm but withdrawing it as she realised what she’d done. “‘Even with Cleon’, Dom? I wasn’t trying to be carefully modest. What does that mean?”

            “Eh? Oh, well, it’s …” He took a breath. “There was talk when you became my Lord’s squire, but the lads soon saw you weren’t like that, that you just wanted to learn about fighting and were already better than most of them. And you made it so we almost forgot you were a woman anyway. No, that’s not right—we knew you were, but … I don’t know … you never said anything that was, well, female, I suppose, and you weren’t a woman the way we sometimes talked about women.”

            Kel was already regretting her question. “You mean I wasn’t the kind of woman anyone thought about meeting off duty.”

            “I suppose. Then word went round about you and Cleon being … sweethearts, but he wasn’t around except on Progress sometimes, so we wondered where you were seeing him but never did find out. That’s all I meant. I’m sorry—it’s disrespectful, but it was just soldiers’ talk.”

            “I imagine it was.” She could see how it had been. “You didn’t find out where I was seeing Cleon because I wasn’t. As for being modest … well, let’s just say as a page it had been made very clear that if I was ever found with a boy in a room with the door closed I’d be dismissed, even if we were both in armour twenty feet apart. I expect caution carried over, especially with the conservatives claiming I was bedding Raoul.” And that was enough of that before her heart gave out on her. “Now, what were you thinking about the icelights?”

            He didn’t look happy but respected her curtailment of the subject, and they talked about possible placements to maximise illumination while protecting night vision. Experimentation was called for, and though the pillars were heavy it wasn’t as if they couldn’t be moved. Sharply aware of the look of his skin in the strange, mingled light of pillars and a gibbous waxing moon she abruptly agreed on a couple of plans to try and pleaded tiredness before she could embarrass herself any further. Returning through the tunnel she stopped to talk to Connac’s man, asking him how he was finding Emry, and enjoying a brief exchange about the peppery old general. The rod was where she’d left it and she took it to her rooms, turning it in her hand and wondering with one part of her mind how Numair had worked it all out while another thought about how flesh might look by its glow. That question at least could be answered, and blowing out the candles she stripped by its soft light, finding the air warm enough to dispense with a nightshirt and looking down at herself as she tucked legs under the sheet. It was more like sunlight than moonlight, which made sense, but had a shimmering quality that softened the scars splotching her body. The one drawback, she realised a little later, was that the light couldn’t be turned off, and even in her lassitude made a mental note that covers ought to be available. Ruefully rising again she took it to her sitting room, and returned to bed in the dark, wondering again how to light the shrines before sleep claimed her.

* * * * *

Roald was delighted to stand as Ryokel’s godsfather, and Duchess Wilina to have Shinko accompany her despite the additional protocol. It made for a considerable increase in the number of guests expected, and Kel asked Brodhelm’s patrollers if they’d relocate for the duration to the corral, clearing a barrack for escorts and, with an added partition, maids. The tunnel could hardly be kept secret but having visiting soldiers and servants constantly traversing it would inevitably lead to more Corus gossip than she wanted; they saw the point and agreed with only ritual grumbling. With Roald and Shinko, Alanna, Baird and Wilina, and—she learned—Wyldon as well as Haryse, Wilina’s cousin, coming, and Daine and Numair present, New Hope would for the first time be short of guest rooms, and Kel set basilisks, ogres, and miners not working on the last stretch of steps to creating sets of rooms near the loom chamber. Furnished with wardrobe and bed niches cut from the rock as well as magelights that could be turned off, they were good enough that she could put Wyldon and Haryse here, and who knew when spare capacity might come in handy?

            What had once seemed plentiful space was also reduced by the arrival of six convict squads and the formation of New Hope Second. Dom, Uinse, and Jacut had between them decided they didn’t want to transfer squads from New Hope First, and had worked out a system of pairings whereby men from the First would work in rotation with new arrivals, showing them the ropes and becoming familiar with the rotas Dom was establishing. Kel left them to it but did give her welcome speech: it wasn’t that different from the year before but there were more immortals to introduce, including Cloestra and Amourta, and enough other things that she organised orientation classes covering New Hope’s history and probable future, the Guild, areas occupied by spidrens, and signals used by animals—a topic now including what to do if an owl or hawk appeared and rang the bell on the gatehouse roof. Neal began thorough checks, with his usual savage complaints about the treatable going untreated; at least Duke Baird would again assist with serious problems, including a desperately thin man Neal said had bleeding sores in his guts.

            “You see them in rich men who eat badly and are tense all the time.” He was lounging in her sitting room after a litany of curses addressed to those who superintended penal mines had finally run down. “Father thinks it’s tension that causes them, not diet, and this fellow’s grist to his mill. Reben Carpenter he’s called, and he’s not a villain—he was a clerk who became desperate when a child was ill and stole from his employer. The child died while he was on trial. He begged me to find out how his wife and surviving children are. They lived in Blythdin but got sent packing when he was arrested, and went to her sister near Fenrigh.”

            “He’s a soldier now, Neal. He can use the couriers for personal letters like everyone else. Or are you saying he wants them to join him?”

            “He hasn’t got that far yet, Kel, but as he regains his health and sees how things work here it’ll occur to him, I expect.”

            “That’s tricky. Soldiers can’t marry in wartime, but if they’re already married there’s nothing to stop wives following them if they want, and some do, even living on the front. But it’s off-duty business—the army doesn’t provide married quarters, and while they can negotiate permission for some things duty rosters can’t be bent for that sort of reason. As far as I’m concerned former convicts are no different, and I hope most people feel the same now. There’s enough liaisons between Uinse’s lads and refugee women, gods know.”

            “I wasn’t sure you knew about that.”

            “Of course I do, Neal. Men and sex is a fair chunk of the unwritten rules in the Commander’s Manual, and once there’s peace I expect there’ll be a bunch of handfastings. From the lack of children so far I take it you’ve doled out a goodly number of pregnancy charms.”

            “With a stern lecture about using them. But I don’t see the problem if Carpenter’s wife wants to follow him here.”

            “She’s no right unless I give permission, Neal, and if she’s not a refugee from Scanrans that’s a problem. We all eat at the charge of the Crown—you can’t just decide to move in, not while we’re an army base and refugee fort. Ask yourself also how many former convicts might be married—do I say any wives and families who wish can come? Or is Reben a special case?”

            “He might be, Kel. I think he’s here because the other convicts took pity on him in the mines. The rest mostly are villains—thieves or bandits—but they could see he wasn’t surviving.”

            “They like him then? Feel sorry for him?”

            “Yes to both, I’d say. But I do see making exceptions is a problem, at least while war lasts. There’s one thing though—he was a stores clerk and I suspect a good one. He can do sums in his head faster than me, and he’s a neat hand. I don’t know if he can fight as well, but he’d be wasted doing nothing but standing watch and sleeping.”

            “Mmm. With all the food we’ve grown the last inventory I did took all day, and paperwork expands with everything we add—you wouldn’t believe what a fortified corral turns out to need writing down about it—so clerks are stretched. He has to learn to fight, and he’ll owe the army service for whatever his sentence was so he can’t bank on staying, but there’s no reason he can’t be an army stores clerk.”

            The appointment was duly made after meeting the man herself, and taking stock of all the arrivals with Dom in their corral barrack Kel found herself pleased with it, and by and large with the men. They were villains, but seemed cheerful with it, as Varlan was, and while a few were taking any opportunity to escape a nightmare most had volunteered because word had filtered back about service at New Hope. Kel knew Uinse and Jacut had something to do with that, and as officers whose magemarks had been cancelled after their heroics represented potent proof that the King’s offer of army service as a form of redemption was honest. All the new arrivals were suffering from what Kel dubbed Immortals’ Intoxication—a stunned, glassy-eyed amazement at what was entirely normal at New Hope—and judging Neal had also been right about Reben Carpenter’s popularity, and their anxiety on his behalf, she thought opportunity offered. Fenrigh wasn’t far from Eastwatch, on the upper Berint east of the Drell, and she asked Vanget to relay a message to Svein requesting the status of Carpenter’s family and conveying news of his whereabouts and improved health. Vanget quirked an eyebrow.

            “Don’t open any floodgates please, Kel.”

            She grinned. “I won’t, I promise. I’ve already had occasion to point a few things out. But this man’s well liked and he’s been genuinely ill with worry about his folk, so a little bit of the army looking after its own won’t go amiss, I fancy.”

            Shaking his head with a smile he agreed, and when Kel was able to tell Reben a few days later that his wife and children were well, settled with her sister, and would be writing to him via regular army couriers, she though he was going to burst into tears. She made clear General Vanget and Commander Svein had co-operated in getting news, and watched with satisfaction as the tale went round like wildfire; with Neal’s treatments, the indescribable improvement in diet, and the bustling friendliness of New Hope, it began to transform bandits into loyalists with purpose and new dignity. She wished she could do as much for the prisoners, whose families must have given up hope of them, but if messages to Scanra might have been possible via the smugglers she didn’t want word leaking to Maggur. She did talk to Stanar and the other prisoners, and they unhappily agreed the risk of Maggur targeting their families was one they were willing to avoid. They’d settled into routine well but had their own version of Immortals’ Intoxication, compounded by how hand-to-mouth their lives had been as Maggur’s grip tightened and especially once he’d launched his Tortallan War with promises of conquest and loot behind invincible killing devices. Kel had noted with surprise that Adner had assigned several to work with ogres on terraced fields, but it turned out those folk simply had experience of such farming and were of more benefit there than anywhere else.

            “Truth to tell, Lady Kel, from a strictly farming point of view we’ve enough people we could afford to plough half-a-dozen more fields either side of the fin, and vary crops. With webbing blocking the treeline and ogres shifting rocks to terrace we could exploit more slopes as well. They’re good wall builders, and Samiaju has an excellent eye for the lie of the land and what’ll work. I know we can’t yet because of the need for guards, but there’s ground I can’t wait to break when peace allows. This is good land, and with the goddess’s blessing it’s bounteous.”

            “I’ll happily look at plans, Adner, but you’re right about guards. We were hit hard when we were stretched this year, and though we’ve New Hope Second we’ve lost men and gained new alures.”

            “I know, Lady Kel. But I’ll be glad to go over my thoughts with you. This could be a rich fief in its land, you know, as well as in the Guild.”

            That was a thought to ponder, and the force of what Adner was saying was driven home spectacularly when the steps up the fin were at last completed and Kel accompanied Var’istaan, Petrin, and Kuriaju to the top. The tunnelled section rising from the gallery extending the alure was no problem, but when she emerged into the open-slot section she took care to keep on the inner side and even as she climbed observed dryly to Var’istaan that a nice, sturdy railing was needed. Heights didn’t usually trouble her these days but the sheer drop growing on her outer side was more compelling than most. The point at which the steps switched-back was considerably higher than the limestone lookout, and the northern valley hung before her like a vision. The stretch of road visible from the lookout was hidden by the valley’s curve and the knoll of Haven, but the perspective was generally more complete and gave a kind of view she’d had only from maps and plans. As she continued up New Hope itself claimed her attention, and she steeled herself to climb more centrally so she could see her domain as griffins and stormwings must.

            The steps reached the top fifty yards west of the gatehouse, and dived into the bulge of rock on the crest, spiralling through a steeply ramped three-quarter turn to emerge in an octagonal room that was the hollowed-out peak of the bulge, with great windows cut in each side. Basilisk, ogre, and miner gave her a few moments to catch her breath and take in the astounding vistas. The view north wasn’t that different from the one at the switchback, but in every other direction the world was made anew. Tracking west Kel could see over the hills and crags of the valleyside and even with the naked eye a stretch of the trail to Mastiff was clear, cresting a ridge two valleys and at least six miles away. The end of the trail where it wound through trees towards the Greenwoods was also visible, and that would have given warning of the first Scanran attack in May minutes before it had become visible from the ground, and saved a life. For the first time the southern valley was visible, and through her spyglass the Great North Road, fully ten miles away. The land Adner had eyes on was obvious, and measuring it against what was already ploughed Kel could see what he meant: with extra fields in the northern valley as well total production could be multiplied several times, which with growing trade meant New Hope could sustain a much larger population and might be able to sell food. The thought crossed her mind that when she’d been returning in February fires would have been visible, as would a bright enough signal from the road, and a party could have made inroads into the larger drifts to ease their way.

            Taking a deep breath and tightening her stomach muscles she angled the spyglass down at the corral. Its gatehouse was hidden by the fin, but the wall curving to the limestone was plain; a sentry leaped into focus, and she knew that whatever magelinks Numair might install the backups of mirror signals, or at night a light signal, would also be viable.

            The south-east window was the only one of no use, showing the crest of the fin falling away before rising to tower over its intersection with limestone. From the east window, though, another new vista appeared, stretching over the cliffs and lower ridges beyond to the Brown River Valley. Steadying her elbows on the sill she decided a distant smudge really was Riversedge—losing herself in thought as she considered what line-of-sight warning might mean. The angle would have to be worked out exactly and a code devised, but much was possible. She needed to report to Vanget and Wyldon. A sound made her whirl, heart thumping, but it was only Cloestra perching in the north window while Var’istaan emerged from the spiral entryway, Kuriaju and Petrin behind him. Seeing her alarm Cloestra cackled.

            “Here’s a pretty eyrie for you, Protector. It’ll be brisk for mortals in winter, mind, but comfy for stormwings.”

            Kel gave a sharp smile. “Are you offering to stand winter watches?”

            The stormwing cackled again, and Var’istaan hissed laughter.

            “You’ll have to ask Her Majesty, but we might.”

            “We can place heating blocks, Protector. And we envisaged frames with petrified webbing to place on whichever side the wind is blowing.”

            “That’s a good thought.” Even on this warm September day, with only light air at ground level, there was a stiffer breeze here and in winter Kel had no doubt there’d be a young gale most of the time. “And you’ve worked marvels, all of you. Well, not Cloestra, save with Amourta, but all of the diggers. I’ve had this problem before, but …” She reached to touch Var’istaan’s muzzle gently for a moment, then Kuriaju’s face. Petrin she gave a quick buss, leaving him pink, and when Cloestra gave another cackle she shot her a rude gesture that made the stormwing laugh harder. “Thank you all. Warnings from here will save lives, and that’s beyond price. Do you have a name you’d like to call this place?”

            “You should call it Lady Kel’s Eyrie.” Cloestra cackled at her own joke and Kel saw an odd expression cross Kuriaju’s features.

            “That is actually a good name, Lady Kel.” He spoke softly. “But just now I think you should duck.”

            “Whaaaat?” Kel’s instincts dropped her into a crouch as she spoke and the unmistakable form of Junior shot through the window she’d been looking out of, wings tucked as he swooped inches over her head, straight across the chamber and out the opposite window. Her shocked irritation was mollified by the admiring grin on Petrin’s face and the discomfiture of Cloestra, whose instinctive movement had unbalanced her sufficiently that she had to bate to regain it, but even so Kel found herself rising to utter a peremptory bellow in Junior’s direction. Rather to her surprise he circled and came in to perch on a widow sill, clawed feet grasping stone in a very catlike way. She stared into his hot, coppery eyes and would swear she saw griffin laughter.

            “I suppose I should tell you that was pretty nice flying.” He preened, agreeing, and she shot out a hand to grasp his beak, leaning forward. “Even so, if you ever injure anyone pulling that stunt, I will personally pull out your flight feathers and keep you grounded until you’ve learned some manners and common sense. Understand?”

            When she let him go, pulling her hand back fast enough to avoid his snap, he bridled then ducked his head and leaned for a scratch. Amused despite herself she obliged him, and when her fingers found the hinge of his jaw he purred loudly and pressed against her.

            “Little monster. But it was impressive flying. Go on with you now, and tell your ma and da what a menace you are, as if they didn’t know.” With a squawk that might have been laughter or indignation he turned awkwardly and dropped to soar up in a glide that took him out of sight. The immortals were amused, and Petrin gaping. “When they reclaimed him his parents said being in mortal care had given him bad habits.” She gave Cloestra an old-fashioned look. “And you should get him to help with Amourta’s flying lessons. Then you can all put on flying displays on summer evenings.”

            She headed down, ignoring immortal laughter behind her, but at the switchback paused, staring at New Hope until the others caught her up.

            “Birds with stones. Var’istaan, please make the railings of icelight—three strands, nice and sturdy so it’ll hold if anyone falls against it, and high enough not to swivel over. Light and safety.”

            The efficiency appealed to all. Reaching the gatehouse she sent Uinse, Jacut, and Brodhelm up to see for themselves, directing them to begin familiarising everyone with the stiff climb as well as the view, and went to find Numair to discuss illuminated banisters. They began to be installed that day, and by evening sections of triple-barred light marched pleasingly across the fin. Set amid each was an oversize icelight rune Numair said had virtues of protection and safety.

            With the pillars extending to moatbridge and stonebridge the tracery on the fin proved a splendid advertisement for icelights when Master Orman’s first wagon train arrived in charge of a cheerful Barin and a hired half-company of Lord Imrah’s port guards. This brought a tide of variety, much of it foodstuffs including a further large jam order Kel had placed when the children collectively implored her, winter jumpers from another Protector’s Maid’s shop, and a host of small items Kel couldn’t easily or legitimately requisition: extra spyglasses, ointments and herbs Neal wanted, others destined for Yuki’s pickles with items from Yaman, specialty foods including an array of cheeses, a few cases of wine, little kegs of spices and blocks of salt, better quality candles and lamp-oil, yarn for the looms and the disassembled pieces of another, larger loom, hides and bolts of higher quality fabric than they could weave themselves that were earmarked for finery, paper and ink, carefully packed glassware the padded wrappings of which would themselves find good New Hope uses, hanks of rope and balls of string, bundles of cushions, an assortment of textbooks, military manuals, and histories, with some romances for Neal, ingots and barrels of special nails for smiths and farriers—a happy cornucopia for everyone, compounded by a mass of mail resulting from Master Orman’s offer to carry freely any letters to New Hope.

            There was also a quantity of superior wood, fine-grained whorls visible even on rough blocks, apparently of Carthaki origin and accompanied by a commission, from a Carthaki nobleman whose name meant nothing to Kel, for a stoneware service like Lord Imrah’s. He had been visiting Legann, seen it, and wanted one; the price Master Orman had charged was so ridiculous Kel had to stop herself gaping, and Idrius was seen to punch the air with the widest grin anyone could remember.

            It meant that when the wagons left, laden with crates of webbing, stoneware, a quantity of petrified mesh, rather more obsidian, a variety of icelights, and furs purchased from trappers, a delighted Barin also carried another, bigger order for varied foodstuffs and luxury goods of more kinds than you could count. The material fruits of trade washed over everyone like cool, moist air on a hot day, and to a far greater extent than Kel had anticipated were redolent of a peaceful, comfortable future—a reverse of war, and a promise of relative wealth for all. Stanar and the prisoners looked on enviously, and Kel made sure some largesse flowed their way, but also caught people up the evening after Barin’s departure, reminding them gently that if peace were close enough to begin to breathe in, it wasn’t yet in their grasp. Thinking of conversations with Dom Kel went further than usual into why she believed—knew—in heart and gut that at least one real battle lay ahead. Variety and treats were welcome, but weapons training and permanent readiness for the worst continued without letup or leeway.

            “I believe—maybe even hope—it’ll be next year, and if we win through maybe we can at last relax and turn properly to fruits of peace. But not yet, people, not for a minute. I realise it can seem crazy with good warm days continuing, and weeks going by with no sight of raiders, but we’ve been hit out of the blue before, and the bottom line is we will not lose anyone because we let ourselves get sloppy.”

            The cheering baffled her, and in a way she hadn’t expected her words were borne out a few days later when she found herself summoned for the first time to what had immediately become known as Lady Kel’s Eyrie. Duchess Wilina’s party had been spotted turning into the valley, days sooner than they’d been expected, and there was something the lookouts thought she ought to see. Even at a considerable distance the spyglass made it clear why they thought that, and while Kel wasn’t surprised to see Kitten she couldn’t say she’d anticipated the dragonet’s means of transport.

            “It’s alright.” She grinned. “It’s Kawit. She’s an opal dragon, very well mannered—about eighteen feet—nothing to worry about. She’s the one Tobe, Irnai, and I had that snowfight with last Midwinter.”

            Knowing the story they grinned back despite raised eyebrows, but there had been more mortals in the party than Kel expected and she looked again through the spyglass until she could make out faces. Wilina and Shinko were easy, as were Haryse and, however unexpected, her parents, but two others with that group were harder to place, though she knew she knew the faces, until a glimpse of red hair made memory click and shock hit her like cold water. Lord Belian of Hollyrose rode beside Haryse, and Lady Marra beside her mother.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty — Witness

16 – 30 September

There was no time to prepare the reception Kel had intended but she had soldiers, civilians, and young immortals waiting to guide and help with baggage. Once she’d formally welcomed everyone on the roadway, explaining the Honesty Gate, and the noble guests with the astonishing pair of Kawit and a chortling Kitten had passed through, she could concentrate on them and leave escort, servants, and maids slowly clearing the gate to the care of Brodhelm, Uinse, and Fanche. Saefas was in the fields with Adner and she’d made the decision not to interrupt work; if large parties would arrive early they must take pot luck. She felt she had to make an immediate public statement of shared loss to the Hollyroses, but sight of Lady Marra’s strained face as she reached the top of the roadway made her think a lower key was better advised, and she saw the woman look tensely round, brittle gaze lingering on the alure and shelf beneath.

            “Your Highness.” She made the proper bow to satisfy protocol and stepped forward to embrace Cricket, her head on the side away from Merric’s parents. “Is Lady Marra going to break?”

            “Probably.” Shinko’s whisper was apologetic. “They caught us up at Queensgrace. I’m sorry we couldn’t warn you, Keladry-chan.”

            “No matter, but follow my lead, please. Brisk and ordinary.” She turned to an uncertainly smiling Wilina and a sober Haryse clearly reigning in exclamations, and bowed. “Your Grace, my Lord. You must be anxious to meet your granddaughter. Perhaps you’ll allow Irnai to escort you and the Princess. Neal and Yuki are waiting to receive you.”

            Yuki hadn’t been happy about not being there to greet her mother-in-law but with Cricket’s co-operation it meant the two were bustled off, and flicking her gaze across her parents’ with the briefest smile Kel bowed and braced herself to meet Lord Belian’s and Lady Marra’s eyes.

            “My Lord and Lady. This must be very painful for you, but I’m glad you’ve come. Merric was happy here, and wanted you to see it. If you’ll excuse me while I deal with a few courtesies I will be at your disposal.”

            To her surprise Lord Belian bowed back and Lady Marra curtsied, before he nodded tightly, hand on her arm. “Of course, Lady Keladry.”

            “Thank you.” Wondering at their attitudes Kel took a step back, tilting her head. “Hello, Kawit. It’s good to see you.”

            And you, Protector. I hope you do not mind my coming.

            “Not in the least. And hello to you too, Skysong. Your Ma and Da are up valley at Spidren Wood but I sent Nari so they’ll be back soon.”

            Good. I have much to show them. And tell them.

            A thought crossed Kel’s mind. “You haven’t set fire to another rug?”

            Certainly not. Kitten’s mindvoice was indignant, Kawit’s amused.

            All is well, Protector. I was as restless as Skysong, and we are both interested to meet Amourta. New-hatched stormwings are uncommon.

            “Of course. Is there anything you need? Then perhaps I may ask you to be guided by young Amiir’aan a while. He can show you around and find you space in Immortals’ Row.”

            Indeed. Thank you for your care, Protector.

            Then she could embrace her parents. “Are you both alright? I’m so sorry about Conal, but we have to wait, don’t we? Are you in on this?”

            “We’re surviving, sweeting, however sadly, and we’re in unless you’d rather we weren’t.” Her mother’s whisper was as apologetic as Cricket’s had been and Kel gave her a squeeze.

            “Do we go to Merric’s grave? The shrines? Or somewhere private?”

            Her father’s voice was equally quiet. “The shrines first, if you can clear a little space. Marra’s a godly woman holding hard to faith.”

            “Shrines it is.” She eased back but kept her voice low. “I’m afraid I’ve had to move you from the room I’d intended. Tobe will show you where you’ll be.” Which was one of the extra guest rooms in the cave. “Then come to the terrace.” She turned back to the tense Hollyroses.

            “My Lord and Lady. Let me show you to your rooms to freshen up, and we can talk.” Gently but unarguably she escorted them to a guest room in headquarters where their surprisingly little baggage and a maid Kel recognised as one of Cricket’s were waiting. While they were closeted she gave swift instructions but there was barely time for people to obey before they were back, Lord Belian determined to speak.

            “Lady Keladry, we must apologise for arriving without warning or invitation.” She murmured negation but he shook his head. “No, we know it is unfair but … it has been hard. Your letters were so courteous, and Sir Nealan’s, and the records you sent so clear about what happened. But when we heard of Captain Rogal’s execution … and your letter about these icelights, asking what we wished to do …”

            Lady Marra’s voice was breathy. “It was so unexpected, so kind.” Her eyes were bright with tears. “Merric was our firstborn and we knew Her Grace and Her Highness were coming with a large party. Forgive us. We had to see you.”

            “I understand.” And if Kel couldn’t know their pain she could imagine it intimately. “Please, there’s nothing to forgive. Come, let’s go to the shrines. I prefer to speak of the gods openly, in their hearing.”

            Kel hadn’t known she was going to say that but it was true, at least in this, and she led them to the terrace steps, seeing chairs had been hastily brought and Tobe—bless him—was setting out her Yamani tea service, with Bel’iira standing by to heat water. Her parents were coming back up from the cave, and in moments all were seated before the shrines of the Black God and Lord Mithros, outside the line of the trough carrying the cistern overflow. Cloestra and Amourta were in their usual place, talking with Kawit and Kitten, but the rest of the terrace was clear, and off-duty soldiers would make sure it stayed that way. She busied herself with tea, drawing in the calm of the ceremony, as if it were normal for the water to be boiled by a basilisk, and projecting it again as she’d been taught; she saw approval on her parents’ faces, and felt tension leech from the Hollyroses. Her father had been right: open air was better than any room could have been. She thanked Bel’iira, who bowed and withdrew, and with her own cup comforting her hand in its warmth and requirement that she not tremble met anxious gazes calmly.

            “Lord Belian, Lady Marra, where would you have me begin?”

            Lady Marra swallowed hard. “Lady Keladry, our son was very happy, very relieved, that you wanted him here. He blamed himself harshly for a mistake he said he made at Haven. Your … forgiveness, he called it, meant a lot to him. Could you begin with that? I was never sure what the mistake was, and he was wounded so badly himself …”

            Kel thought the request had taken all Lady Marra’s strength to make, but she could only offer truth; nothing else would do here.

            “As you will, my Lady. Merric and I spoke of that several times. I cannot tell you he didn’t make a mistake, failing to heed the sparrows’  warning, but it made no real difference—the force he and his men faced that day was beyond them, and the real mistakes were mine and my Lord of Cavall’s.”

            The tea gave her calmness to start the tale evenly without summoning her Yamani mask, and she spoke barely but clearly of her belief about Merric’s reasons for coming to Rathhausak, her trust in him and reasons for wanting him at New Hope, his strength and cheer and many contributions. That brought her to icelights, visible around the shrines in the simple arrangement she’d eventually decided on; her letter had explained the Guild contract but while she deduced from their expressions that her parents had had some of the story from Lady Marra much of it was new to them and she could see them thinking as they listened. Then there was nothing for it but to turn to the day of Scything Wheat, except that everyone here knew that tale already and what mattered was what had come after, which meant returning to what had happened to her the year before. And if the Hollyroses’ sorrow was one thing her parents’ was another, and still riding the calmness of her own voice she apologised to them for what she would have to say next. At least none of it would come as a surprise. The effect on Lord Belian and Lady Marra could not be helped but Kel found it harder and harder to retain her calm as she skimmed rape but reported the relevant part of the Black Gods’ words and turned to her decisions following her Enquiry. She wasn’t sure how she made it through her unanswered and answered prayers, and the dream Lord Gainel had sent. With its enactment in reality she knew her face was wet though her voice carried on as she rose to kneel before them.

            “I believed then and believe now that my choice was one I had to make, and the Black God has by his grace taken the burden of my guilt, but I am so sorry I had to extend forgiveness to Captain Rogal without your knowledge or consent. I can say only Merric too forgave him, as he forgave me, and helped guide his spirit to the Black God’s arms. It must sound absurd but I swear it is true.”

            She’d meant to wait but her hand traced the god’s circle on her chest and the wind soughed into the silence that was always behind it. Lady Marra’s face was still, tears flowing freely in that brimming overflow she knew, and silence held while Lord Belian held his wife tightly and she him, until she registered that Kel was yet kneeling and cried out, pulling her husband up with her.

            “No, no, you mustn’t kneel to us. It is we who should kneel to you.”

            Lady Marra’s grip was fierce and she was surprisingly strong, all but hauling Kel up; against all protocol Kel obeyed instinct and hugged her, feeling Lady Marra’s body abruptly relax and the weight of her head on her shoulder. Kel was long past embarrassment; looking over the woman in her arms she saw Cloestra and Amourta very discreetly drawing in the emotions that must be beating on them as fiercely as southern sun, both dragons observing with interest, and found she didn’t care in the least. After an age Lord Belian awkwardly reclaimed his wife, as braced as Kel to support her if she slumped, but she stood tall, eyes speaking as her husband put it into words.

            “Marra is right, my Lady—gods know you owe us no apology and we owe you much. More than we can say. But we must thank the god too.”

            “Yes.” Lady Marra’s voice was hoarse. “We must do that now.”

            Kel looked at her parents, damp-eyed themselves. “Did Anders tell you what happened at Conal’s funeral?”

            “Oh yes. And Tobe has spoken to us also” Her Papa’s voice was sad and strong. “We’ll give thanks together.”

            They knelt side by side, silent save for one intense prayer from Lady Marra, and though there was no more divine noise there was a palpable calmness that told Kel their devotion was accepted, and her own prayers looped as so often now to beg of Father Universe and Mother Flame that the Black God know the peace he bestowed. After a while she felt everyone content, the burn of grief as salved as might be, and stood. Lady Marra’s face was slack, and gesturing her parents to wait Kel escorted the Hollyroses to their rooms, promising that in the morning she’d take them to see Merric’s grave at Haven. Lord Belian’s grip on her arm grew fierce for a second, and his mouth worked.

            “Bless you, my Lady.”

            The door closed behind them and she turned, ready to sag herself but conscious of the need to return to her parents, and found Tobe waiting silently at the head of the stairs to slip a hand into hers, squeezing every bit as fiercely as Lord Belian; her heart eased and strength came back to her legs.

            “Thank you, Tobe. You’ve been a marvel today. How ever did you find time to tell Papa and Mama about Conal’s apology as well as getting the tea things?”

            “I only told them we knew Sir Conal was safe with the Black God. I didn’t know if they knew all Sir Anders told you. Irnai fetched the tea things—she knew where they were and I didn’t think you’d mind.”

            She reached her free hand to ruffle his hair as they reached the open air. “Not in the least, Tobe. Quick thinking. Anders will have told them all he told me but we’ll make sure.”

            Dusk was drawing in but the air was still balmy, and she saw  Neal and Yuki sitting with their guests in the space Yuki had created outside the separate door to their rooms; Ryokel was in her grandmother’s arms and Kel wasn’t sure if the lump Wilina’s expression brought to her throat was a bubble of laughter or tears, though Haryse’s long-suffering look definitely brought laughter and gods knew it was welcome. She and Tobe waved but didn’t stop. Her parents had fresh cups of tea but before she could pour herself one her father put his down and rose to embrace her, eyes wondering.

            “That was well done, my dear. A palpable grace.”

            “It was the god’s, Papa.”

            “Not entirely, I think. Your mother agrees. But tell us what you know of poor Conal.”

            They’d had the tale from Anders and all she and Tobe could add was the chimed acceptance of his prayer that Conal know his apology accepted, and the dream of his peaceful face she and Tobe had had that night. Her parents nodded, drying eyes, and her Mama hugged Tobe before settling back, face hollowed but calm.

            “Poor Conal. Will you go to Mindelan, sweeting? Anders and Inness would welcome this news first-hand.”

            “Yes, I mean to go at Midwinter, then by sea to Port Caynn.”

            “November, then. We’re going on from here but have to be in Corus for Midwinter, so I expect we’ll wait on you there. You’ll come, Tobe?”

            Her son looked at her. “If I may, Ma?”

            “Of course you may.  Do you think Irnai wants to travel again?”

            “I dunno.” He frowned. “She liked the city.”

            “I’ll ask her. Oh, look up there.” It had darkened enough for the glowing railings on the steps to her Eyrie to become visible. “We should go up there before the light fades completely.” Kel hauled both parents to their feet and set off, extending her hand to Tobe. “It’s all new. I haven’t seen the lights on the roadway and bridges by night yet myself. And after we’ve gone over the fin we get to go under it and see Geraint’s marvel of a bridge.” She glanced towards the infirmary. “If you look right you’ll also see Her Grace of Queenscove looking as possessive of Ryokel as a cat that’s nabbed the only cushion. Did you look like that when you first held Lachran, Mama?”

            Laughing, Ilane took her arm. “Probably, sweeting. Your Papa did.”

            Her father’s indignation didn’t stop Kel from noticing the relief and pleasure on people’s faces as they made way. Word about the Hollyroses had evidently gone round. She’d have to escort Lord Belian and Lady Marra to dinner, but there was time to show her parents the wonders basilisks and ogres with mortal sweat and magic had wrought.

            The fierce emotions of the afternoon cleared much of the tension the Hollyroses brought, if not the sorrow. Kel had to endure one more intense episode when she took them to Haven, but they liked the simple stone—Merric of Hollyrose / 442 – 462 HE / A Knight of Tortall and Defender of New Hope—and the knoll. Grass had grown over bare earth, and in the late summer warmth butterflies fluttered among flowers and grasshoppers could be heard; a twining weed with tiny yellow flowers had draped itself around the burned infirmary timbers marking the mass grave, including men Merric had commanded that day, and Lady Marra knelt there for a long while as well as walking slowly down the line of headstones. She seemed to know who was there, and asked to be shown Rogal’s unmarked grave, in a far corner. Both knelt there too, Lady Marra longer than her husband, who after walking round and stopping by Merric’s grave again hesitantly approached Kel.

            “Lady Keladry. Thank you for bringing us. Haven was always so busy in Merric’s letters, then sombre, I hadn’t imagined it so peaceful.”

            “It has the Black God’s blessing.” She spoke simply. “He welcomes to his mercy all buried here and his grace is as infinite as his sadness.”

            “Yes. Yes, it is.”

            They stood in silence, breeze and sunshine dispelling awkwardness, until Lady Marra rose, and summoned her husband. After a moment they came to Kel together. “We would like Merric to stay here, please. It is a blessed place, as Belian says, and I could not bear to move him.”

            “It is our honour, my Lady.”

            “No, ours. And please, Marra—it is wrong for us to accept your deference.”

            Belian concurred and if doubtful of their reasoning Kel was always happy to win through protocol to friendship, as well as vastly relieved the coffin would not have to be dug up. Sadly, but with an inner calm neither had had before, they made farewells, Lady Marra promising Merric she would return as she could. Kel had anticipated that and told them of a woman among the refugees with a good hand who might provide them with a drawing to keep the place before their eyes, but as she walked slowly with them down the roadway they surprised her considerably.

            “You said in your letter you couldn’t guess how much money might be due Merric from these icelights, but I’d think it will be substantial—they’re remarkable things.” Hollyrose was a wealthy fief and Belian by all accounts a shrewd trader. “We shall be wanting some ourselves for courtyard and village, and if the city authorities in Corus don’t want one for every street I’ll be astonished. Word will spread.”

            Kel nodded. “I’m hoping so. If New Hope does become a fief, as seems likely, there’ll be a great deal to be done.”

            “Indeed.” Marra looked at her husband and went on slowly. “We’d like Merric’s part of that money to go towards it, Keladry—to help with education and healers for the refugees, and those Scanrans who helped you and had to leave everything. Merric was very struck by them when he found out what happened while he was helping the kidnapped Tortallans back. He wrote us a long letter after he talked to the seer-child Irnai and he wouldn’t want us to take money away from you here.”

            “You’re sure? He loved Hollyrose too—he often spoke of it.”

            “We’re sure.” Belian gestured around the valley. “He admired you greatly and what you’d done here, and I see why. We have established a fund in his name to help anyone from Hollyrose accepted for knight training whose family cannot afford it. And we’ll be glad to know his name is honoured here.” He hesitated. “Forgive me, but given your age I was disapproving of your elevation to His Majesty’s Council. But seeing New Hope I realise Merric knew better. He wrote several times that you were building the future here, and he was right.”

            Kel didn’t know what to say but the topic recurred with Haryse who buttonholed her at lunch to request a proper tour, explaining cheerfully that he’d be more interested in Ryokel when she could talk and while his cousin was so broody he’d rather be doing. Kel had things awaiting her attention but he was a fellow Councillor and as she’d suspected partly wanted to assure her he had no truck with Runnerspring’s complaint.

            “The records you sent were clear, Keladry. You snipped protocol a bit with fair reason and it made no odds. Carolan’ll vent and get nowhere.” He shook his head. “He didn’t use to be this foolish, and I can’t help wondering why he had a man loaned to Tirrsmont in the first place. But no matter. What’s far more important is this place. The King’s mentioned it often since the Chamber showed it him. I felt it was time I saw it myself, so Wilina coming for this nameday was an opportunity.”

            “It’s no problem, Terres. And being here for the ceremonies you’ll see more than you might have—the spidrens’ll come, and maybe the griffins and Whitelist—the herdmaster. The Stone Tree Nation’s around a lot because of Amourta, but Queen Barzha and Lord Hebakh will be here.” She paused by a crenel, noting how much harvesting remained and checking the alertness of guards in view; Haryse saw what she was doing with a grunt of approval. “I said to Macayhill and others at Midwinter that you had to see Quenuresh to understand what living with her means, and it’s the same with ogres and stormwings. Frankly I wish the entire Council could come—it’d save me ever so many explanations.”

            He laughed. “I bet. Well, I’m a start, and I take the point. This isn’t just amazement—it’s a way the future could be. But I’ll also say I’m delighted by your defences. Have you read Orchan by any chance?”

            Kel grinned and their conversation ranged pleasantly among military historians while she took him to the corral. A demonstration of Geraint’s bridge had him hopping enthusiasm and requesting the design, which led to the need for a basilisk, the Guild, and without Kel intending it her hopes for attracting the kind of people New Hope didn’t have. He was, she realised, good at getting people to talk and approved what he was hearing. The corral and its defences, including the drawbridge, restored them to military history, and a crisp interrogation of Dom and the new Second Company men he was drilling left him thoughtful and when they were returning through the tunnel complimentary.

            “You handle people well, Keladry. Cavall was right. Military service is a better answer than mines and you’re making loyalists of those men. I can see all your people have it. Uncle Emry would approve.”

            Fortunately the bridge guards’ reading hadn’t changed and she was able to point out the battered copy of his uncle’s book. The soldiers were struck to meet a kinsman of the old general, whose rudeness about anything he considered foolish appealed as Kel had thought it might, and there was a lively discussion that left Haryse laughingly impressed, as he remarked when they were again on their way.

            “Surprised to find such literate soldiers. Last real command I held, during the Immortals’ War, half my lads could barely sign their names.”

            “Everyone here can read and write, Terres. If they can’t when they arrive we teach them. Tortallan and Common, at least, and many have Scanran.” She kept her voice even. “Yamani’s another matter but Yuki lives in hope. She has more luck with the children, though.”

            He laughed. “You’re pulling my leg.”

            “Not at all. Her line is anyone who’s heard Lord Sakuyo laugh should be able to thank him in Yamani and she’s explained what their tokens as Sakuyo’s Blessed will mean if they ever visit the Islands—which quite a few have every intention of doing. I must get Shinko to send His Imperial Majesty warning,  so he realises that in a few years he really is going to have Tortallan saints pitching up with expectant looks.”

            That vision of the future carried them to her Eyrie where she was able to leave him peering happily in all directions though a spyglass and deal with some of her other guests as well as the voluminous contents of the mailsack their escort had delivered.

* * * * *

One early arrival attracted others and Duke Baird and Prince Roald came in search of their wives. Kel had hoped Roald might bring Owen, but he’d had the chance to serve for a month as second at an outpost and felt the opportunity too good to pass up. With all the escorts there were so many extra soldiers at loose ends that after polite consultations with officers Kel drafted them all as field guards and set most of Mikal’s men to helping finish the harvest. Besides greater speed and safety it brought visiting soldiers into contact with ogres, terracing farmers or miners helping out loading wagons, and New Hope hummed with tangible results. The icelights enabled work to continue later, with last wagons rumbling up the roadway well into dusk, and the hard-earned hunger everyone brought to dinner made for meals that were silent while people shovelled and then cheerfully relaxed. Kel didn’t let anyone stint on training, and visiting soldiers were sufficiently startled by the variety of weapons and general skill of both soldiers and civilians that they bucked up themselves. There were hard-fought competitions and Kel was amused to see officers taking notes on training routines every bit as intently as Vanget and the commanders had. She could see Haryse was again approving but was better pleased by the pride of her own people as a fair number of them managed to hold their own against regulars.

            If Haryse was an ally Duchess Wilina was more of a puzzle. She was never less than polite but seemed disapproving in some way, and was one of the few who didn’t express astonishment at New Hope’s reality; Kel suspected resentment that Yuki and Ryokel were here, rather than under a mother-in-law’s grandmaternal eye, with fear compounding continuing mourning for her elder sons. There was nothing to object to but Kel was left uneasy by the woman’s brooding looks and happy to leave her to her kin as far as possible. Duke Baird’s arrival seemed to improve her mood, and Kel was aware, not for the first time, of how much he continued to give Tortall’s soldiers as well as commoners affected by war; he couldn’t have been at Queenscove for more than a month or two in as many years.

            Time with her parents and Cricket was a delight, despite lingering grief for Conal, and Yuki not being one to miss any opportunity there was a memorable Yamani evening for all and, after adjourning to the terrace, Cloestra, Amourta, St’aara, Var’istaan, and Amiir’aan as well. The liquid cadences of the language attracted children serious about learning it and put Neal and Roald, whose accents remained at best peculiar, on their mettle.

            Kitten was spending most of her time with Daine and Numair, and the rest with young immortals, but Kawit was less predictable. She’d wandered down valley to spend a day talking to Quenuresh and up for another visiting the centaurs, but might also be found with Cloestra and Amourta, and once shock had worn off and she’d proven herself unfailingly courteous when approached, a growing number of refugees talked to her. The Scanrans, Rathhausakers and prisoners alike, were fascinated, and seeing Stanar shaking his head in bemusement one evening as he watched the opal dragon telling assembled mortal and immortal children some tale, Kel asked him what he was thinking.

            “She is a dragon.” He laughed softly at her puzzlement. “Even with the return of other immortals and all the world disturbed since, dragons are … something else. Do you not know our tales? Dragons play an important role but not as storytellers.” He dropped into Scanran. “Eald uhtsceatha, nihtes fleogeth fyre befangen. That we expect—not this!”           

            Kel fumbled to work it out. “An old dark … no, harmer out of the dark, threatening fire? Is that poetry?”

            “Yes. One of our sagas. The old scathers who come at night with ribbons of fire. If a dragon ate the children we would be unsurprised. To see one teaching them … well, this is a place of marvels, but this is the greatest yet.” He shook his head again. “Even if she is wyrm, not draca, we will have such tales to tell if we ever go home. No-one will believe a word we say.”

            “Wyrm not draca?”

            “Yes—she has no wings, so she is wyrm.”

            “Huh. Kawit’s an opal dragon, but can cast fire. The flying kind, like Kitten and her grandsire, certainly can, but from their paws, magically, not their mouths. I’ve seen it on a very small scale, but you should ask Daine—she saw Kit’s mother fight, and I think Lord Diamondflame too, during the Immortals War.”

            He gave her a sideways look. “You saw dragonfire?”

            “Melting snow so Kitten could get through. Kit’s just learning.” She told the story of Duke Gareth’s old and new rugs, to his laughter and amazement, and by the time she was done she had as many adult Scanrans clustered around her as Kawit had children. “They’re astonishing beings, I know, but really not, what was it? eald uhtsceatha, unless you give them good reason. Ask Irnai—she met Diamondflame. And from what I understand they keep themselves to themselves in the Dragonlands. We only have contact because Daine is Kitten’s guardian, and Kitten met—well, found—Kawit when she was visiting Carthak.”

            From the lively discussion in Scanran that broke out Kel gathered that Maggur was three times a fool to have gone to war with a nation that had dragon allies, but was pleased next evening to see Stanar and other Scanrans, including Zerhalm, cautiously led to Kawit and Kitten by Irnai to talk to dragons themselves. What they’d do if Diamondflame ever came to New Hope she couldn’t imagine, but for now another set of misconceptions was being corrected.

            Even more satisfactorily the harvest and planting of winter crops was completed on Mabon eve, and by the time Wyldon arrived with Alanna, Spiir’aan, and yet another combined escort in late afternoon the fields were largely clear and the atmosphere beginning to ramp up for festivities. The children had put up ropes and ribbons, and persuaded Numair icelight beads were a necessity, so with dusk lines of tiny glows appeared, outlining and connecting buildings. Spiir’aan was pleased to be back and keen to talk to the other basilisks, but Alanna’s mood was strange, a mixture of relief and brooding concern, and Kel wondered what news she might have had of Aly. With so many high-ranking guests assembled high table was crowded and cheerful, but with feasting due dinner was simple; afterwards many people chose to sit in the balmy dark, and when Kel took Wyldon up to the Eyrie the glitter of New Hope below them and illuminated bridges made a breathtaking sight. Alanna had said she’d have a look when her legs were less weary, but Wyldon welcomed the offer and took opportunity to bring her up to date, relaying Vanget’s concerns about the potentially late winter and troop movement. After initial exclamations at the view and her assurance that in daylight Riversedge was visible he seemed abstracted as he stared out of one window after another, and Kel asked if anything were wrong.

            “No, not really, Keladry. I’m just tired.” Mindful of the sentries he dropped his voice. “And feeling low, I suppose you’d say. Pirate’s Swoop hasn’t been easy company—she has something on her mind but won’t say what—and I’ve been preoccupied myself. News from Corus, mostly. With Gallan co-operation they have stopped those food shipments, and from records seized it’s clear we’ve been feeding Scanra for at least a year. Genlith’s exclaiming horror and saying he had no idea, but if the King can’t prove otherwise he’s not inclined to believe him, and neither am I. At best it’s greed, stupidity, and carelessness, and gods know how many lives it’s cost.” He glanced at her, eyes troubled. “And there’ll be Torhelm to deal with once he can speak, and in all probability a trial. It’s like the bad days of Duke Roger and Eldorne’s treason.”

            She understood. “I’m sorry. These are people you’ve known all your life and don’t like to think ill of. It must be hard. It’s easier for me because I don’t know them well and have little reason to respect them.”

            “I don’t think anything’s easier for you, Keladry. Differently hard, perhaps. But it’s not the individuals, wretched as that is. Or even the treason, if that’s what it is. Having Spiir’aan around has been an education that’s left me wondering why we’ve done so little to forge real bonds with immortals in the last decade. Then I look at New Hope and what you’ve managed in a year, and I feel very old.”

            “Ah.” Kel rested a hand on his arm. “Oddly, Wyldon, I share that feeling. But I can’t help with the other—I’ve wondered myself why no-one ever asked Tkaa to petrify anything or talked to ogres properly. Dunlath should have been a model. But we’re putting it right, and if you feel low talk to children—besides making for clarity about what matters I find them reassuring. If we survive whatever’s coming, the future will have some good people in it.”

            His look was keen. “You sound as if you don’t think you’ll see it.”

            She shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. I doubt even the gods know, but since Conal’s death I’ve been having days when it doesn’t seem right I’m alive. It’s not as bad as after the tauros attack but it’s one reason I feel old. How many birthdays should a deathday count as, do you suppose?”

            He surprised her. “Yours or Rogal’s?”

            “Huh. I meant mine, but his added some years too. With the Black God’s and Lord Gainel’s grace I don’t dream of him, though. Perhaps it should haunt me, but he’s at peace and Merric will bear no witness against me for that. But the tauros … that memory is always there. Distant since the Goddess’s healing, but there.” She didn’t think the conversation was doing any good, and it was heading for things she didn’t discuss with anyone. “Mind you, another reason I feel old is I have to play priest tomorrow. You realise I thought of sending you Spiir’aan as repayment for being so unhelpful with Holloran before Lughnasad?”

            His indignation and rueful laugh were an improvement, and after they’d descended she managed to steer him to a group of children listening to Kawit before seeking out her parents. Then she made her evening round, but melancholy pulled at her and once all was quiet she went to the shrines to pray to the Goddess for strength and Lord Sakuyo for laughter. Whether it was his influence she wasn’t sure but she felt better afterwards, and her dreams were comfortingly of blossom under blue skies, and very indecently of Dom.

            The ceremonies weren’t until sunset, and despite sounds that told her Quenuresh and her kin had arrived, and later that stormwings were gathering, Kel spent her day attacking the backlog of paperwork so many guests had occasioned. With apologies to Heliana for her holiday she dictated a variety of letters Shinko’s escort could deliver. Besides the Protector’s Maids and Lalasa’s wedding there was business arising from Guild trade but at last all was done and she went to change. Although there’d been namedays for babies born the previous winter, held as usual among commoners soon after their births, those parents had asked if their children might be re-presented to the gods at this festival; Yuki and Ryokel therefore weren’t the only ones involved but Kel’s beautiful green kimonos seemed right for the occasion. Heliana came to help her dress, and if Yuki and Cricket would tell her she ought to be wearing paint Kel thought she looked as fine as she ever had. Her face had changed in the last year: in the mirror it seemed thinner and, though the word surprised her as it occurred, wiser; but then kimonos could make anyone look good. Heliana seemed to agree, humming appreciation as she offered a compliment, and Kel swept out feeling cheerful.

            The main level was packed and the sense of repetition from the dedication a year ago was strong, though the beads strung all around the buildings were distractingly pretty. The immortals on the terrace were more numerous, and enlarged by Kawit’s presence, and besides noting Kitten perched atop the opal dragon Kel saw with pleasure that all three griffins were there as well as Whitelist with two of his mates, and what looked like all the spidrens; a clean Stone Tree Nation perched on roofs everywhere. On the nearest part of the east shelf Peachblossom had Alder as well as Hoshi beside him, sparrows in his mane and Jump at his feet, with other dogs and the marmalade cat. Four companies were drawn up, making a brave display though the incompleteness of New Hope Second was painfully obvious; and if the courtiers were missing and some faces different, the guests gathered opposite the immortals were much as they had been. Yuki and Neal, holding Ryokel, were front and centre, with Baird, Wilina, and Terres to one side and Roald, Shinko, and Alanna to the other; Wyldon stood behind with her parents and Tobe, the Hollyroses, Daine and Numair. As Kel followed the path to the terrace steps the crowd fell silent and the captains brought soldiers and knights to attention; everyone seemed to stand straighter and Kel’s heart swirled with the complexities of their isolating respect, pride in all they’d achieved, and surprise at her calmness. A year ago her stomach had been churning but today she felt purposeful, sufficiently relaxed to notice how happy Tobe looked and how handsome Dom was. His armour gleamed and the outline of his brace beneath his trousers spoke of heroism and endurance, not weakness. The mood didn’t stop her observing Sir Voelden standing with Brodhelm’s Eighth, where a year ago Merric had stood, but he was a knight and had proven a good patrol leader, so she couldn’t begrudge him the place though grief for Merric twined into her confusions and calmness.

            One advantage of playing the priest as well as being commander was that she could within reason suit herself about protocol, and after making a curtsey to Roald and Shinko that had them suppressing smiles she made more—one each to the mortal and immortal groups as a whole, and then, deeply, to New Hope’s population. Surprise held them rigid and she didn’t give them a chance to return the courtesy before speaking.

            “Today we celebrate new lives. Tessa Farmer, Jorvik Stockman, Fanche Stonecutter, and Lady Ryokel of Queenscove join us in search of a better future, and it is right we present them to the gods as well as ourselves assembled; but there is more. Last Mabon we dedicated these shrines, and received the gods’ blessings with unhoped for gifts from Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady. The ease of our childbeds, foison on our tables—and its taste!—are benison beyond reckoning, and it is right we give heartfelt thanks to the High Ones.” That they agreed with, though Kel wasn’t surprised to see Wilina frown, as she had at the news Ryokel wasn’t the only baby being presented. “And still there is more. My curtsies—and you won’t see me make those often, I warn you—acknowledged Their Highnesses and our many noble guests as is proper, but I also formally acknowledge the immortals who dwell among us in trust, and thank them for all they have done, as I acknowledge and thank you all. New Hope has in a year become the most self-supporting refugee camp in Tortallan history, and if we have enjoyed the gods’ blessings it is you who have made that a reality.”

            She curtsied to them again, and once more gave them no chance to start the insistent reflection of credit to which they were given.

            “Who brings a child here that we and the gods may know our own?”

            The commoner parents, with godsparents, were in a group by the steps, and the first couple came proudly forward, trailed by their chosen. All were young—the Farmers were former Tirrsmonters from the first group, the Stockmans from Anak’s Eyrie, and the Stonecutters from Goatstrack, explaining their feelings about honouring Fanche—and all the babes firstborn; as Kel received each she spoke of their parents’ histories and new identities before settling to more usual ceremonies. The infants were formally named, and the godsparents swore oaths of care; no chimes sounded and for the first time Kel saw worried looks but serenely carried on, and when she held up Tessa Farmer before each shrine in turn, naming her as a child of New Hope and asking the gods’ blessing on her life and death—may it be long distant and peaceful—chimes sounded. Returning Tessa to her beaming mother and father Kel could see Wilina’s face was a picture, and Terres no less taken aback, though what her parents or Wyldon might be thinking she couldn’t tell. Babies Jorvik and Fanche were equally received and witnessed, and before turning to Yuki and Neal Kel spoke briefly to the crowd again.

            “I can’t tell you what this means to me. Sir Nealan is my oldest Tortallan friend, Lady Yukimi my oldest Yamani friend, and to name their firstborn, here in New Hope, is beyond my dreams. And in so far as she is named for me, and is of New Hope as well as Queenscove, I pray I can be worthy of her and her parents.”

            There was no protocol for a priest conducting a naming ceremony and standing as godsmother so Kel went on making it up, witnessing Roald’s and Alanna’s oaths with a growing sense of unreality before making her own and ignoring the usual wording because to witness herself was absurd. She could see Wilina frowning at the irregularity of it all, but by the time the chimes sounded for a gurgling and arm-waving Ryokel the Duchess’s hand was entwined with her husband’s, face transfigured. Yuki made a point of handing Ryokel to her as she returned to the group, and Kel saw in Shinko’s eyes an altogether Yamani merriment about mothers-in-law and the happy fortunes of brides in managing them when the gods lent a hand. Returning to the centre Kel faced the crowd again and raised her arms.

            “What thanks can we give the gods save mortal words? Their needs and purposes are beyond us, but I stand here in the place of a proper priest because they have made it so. I tell you frankly I believe Lord Sakuyo, whose laughter most of us heard, had more influence in that than Lord Mithros, but trickster as he may be he stands among the High Ones and I cannot argue.” She let them think about it for a moment, not least to give Tobe time he needed. “A year ago Mabon saw other witness too—the purses His Highness presented on His Majesty’s behalf to Fanche and Saefas, to Zerhalm, and to Tobeis, who that day became of Mindelan. And in the year between I have died and been returned to myself and to him, for which grace I owe the gods thanks every moment. Tobe feels the same, and knowing utterly how useless it is to offer the gods riches we have made our own offerings to accompany grains and fruits of our foison and work.”

            Tobe was at her side with the little bag and the arrow, and as he displayed them she told everyone what they were—the arrow fletched with Amourta’s down for Lord Weiryn and two more of those strange, curly steel feathers twisted with Numair’s help into a spiral for the Green Lady; small locks of Merrick’s and Rogal’s hair woven together for Lord Mithros; Tobe’s carving of Yuki holding Ryokel, petrified by St’aara into flecked jade for the Goddess; a scroll with her haiku about his laughter as grace and hot needles for Lord Sakuyo, in the best calligraphy she could manage; a hawk’s retrix, supplied by Daine and petrified by Var’istaan into blindingly white obsidian, for Shakith; her own poor but heartfelt drawing of blossoming orchards in a Yamani springtime for Lord Gainel, and though she wasn’t prepared to say much she did explain that blossom softened her dreams; and for the Black God, another ihai carved with her name, this time in rockice.

            “You can see that in the dark my name stands out, and if it seems strange to you to give the Black God a glowing gift it seems right to me for my name to be among his darkness, as my every breath is borrowed of his grace, and right gladly to offer him light in his sadness. And with these gifts come the fruits of your sweat and toil, with our sorrow for our dead and rejoicing in our own lives, and the lives that join us.”

            Two bearers of the little bowls of grains and jugs of wine had cost Kel thought. Irnai for Shakith was easy, as were Shinko for Sakuyo, Wyldon for Mithros, Numair and Daine (despite her protests) for Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady, and Alanna for the Goddess, but it had taken careful discussion of the symbolism she hoped it might embody to secure St’aara’s agreement for Amiir’aan to participate for Lord Gainel, and a much longer, harder conversation to persuade Sir Voelden to make the offering to the Black God. In the end she thought it had been shame at her care for Rogal’s spirit that persuaded him, not her attempt to explain she was asking him to surrender to the Black God whatever still lay between them; but however he reasoned he eventually agreed, and as he came forward, collecting the bag of grain from a tray Adner held, she felt something move in the crowd, a gust of understanding.

            Mindful of the timeway and its mysteries Kel hadn’t let herself expect, but wasn’t surprised when each offering was accepted with chimes and voices—clashing battlecry, belling hounds, distant hawks, and soughing wind. Lord Sakuyo laughed promptly, not repeating a joke but having another, and Kel’s eyes met Shinko’s and Yuki’s in complete understanding that several hundred more people had just become Sakuyo’s Blessed and second kamunushi Lord Kiyomori would be less than amused to find himself heading back to New Hope. Lord Gainel left Quenuresh alone this time, but Kel—and from their expressions Daine and Numair as well as the spidren and Alanna—felt a tug of power before the air all but glowed with the scent of blossom, just as in Kel’s dreams. It lingered as Kel and Tobe with Daine and Numair placed the offerings on the central double shrine, and despite Daine’s warning that as minor gods her ma and da did not have disembodied voices in the mortal realms Kel by this stage half-expected something. What she got was a blazing ball of silver before the shrine that drove all back and cleared to reveal a large, dazzlingly pelted badger. Kel curtsied, and a crisp voice sounded in her mind; despite its clarity she somehow knew it was for her, Tobe, Daine, and Numair alone, though she suspected the dragons and some other immortals might also be able to hear.

            Ha hmm. Protector. Weiryn and Sarra accept your offerings and ask me to collect them so don’t worry when they disappear. Weiryn suggested I say as much to everyone but a god of the People giving a speech to two-leggers is ridiculous and I told him so. Still, I need a word with his kit so just carry on with whatever it is you’re doing. If you will.

            Speechless, Kel heard Sakuyo’s laughter again at how entirely taken aback everyone was, and watched as it—he—ambled over to Daine, who crouched to bury hands in the thick pelt, listening. Finding herself amused at the indignation in the Badger’s mindvoice at the notion of public speaking Kel turned, seeing smiles on Alanna’s face and, oddly, Wyldon’s, and the shock on everyone else’s; half were kneeling, half didn’t know what to do, and the stormwings’ looked drunk on whatever blasts of emotions all this divinity was generating.

            “Lord Badger tells me Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady accept our offerings and he will take them to the Divine Realms.” She glanced sideways. “He and the Godborn are old friends, as you see, so don’t mind them while they catch up.” She heard immortals’ laughter and smiled. “And however strangely, our formal celebrations are complete, so you should begin your own.”

            No-one mortal seemed much inclined to move, preferring to gape, but a lusty squall from Jorvik Stockman, convinced it was dinnertime, generated activity. Immortals began to stir: Kitten bounced from Kawit’s back to scamper to the Badger and Daine, and the adult griffins took off though Junior stayed, looking about with bright eyes before trotting over to Shinko and booting her knee. Kel shook her head, asked Tobe to get dinner going, and warned Shinko to watch her fingers before walking to the group round the Badger herself.

            “Um … I’m sorry to interrupt Daine, but food’s going to be served. Can I get you or our guest anything?”

            Daine looked up, eyes amused but smoky. “I doubt it, Kel. I think we’re about done.”

            The Badger also looked up. Your offer is kind, Protector, but needless. I will leave shortly.

            “Alright. Thank you for coming, my Lord.” He snorted, amused at the title, and she hesitated but asked anyway. “Can you tell me, if you will, whose power opened the way for Lord Gainel?”

            Sakuyo. He sounded interested. It was unexpected but you must ask him. I don’t understand tricksters. The People have more sense.

            “Thank you.” Her eyes met Numair’s, but he just grinned, shrugging, and she considered Lord Sakuyo’s shrine ironically before giving the slight bow her kimonos permitted and setting about social duties—or trying to, for the evening became a long blur of strange conversations with women. Daine was first, joining the high table late with apologies, and telling Kel quietly when she had a chance that her parents were pleased with the offerings and the Badger had been conveying a message that might be good news but she’d rather not say more until it was confirmed. When they’d adjourned to the green where musicians were playing and couples dancing Kel found herself towed away from a conversation with Shinko by Duchess Wilina to the nearest quiet corner. Half-expecting a scolding Kel found herself instead recipient of a breathless apology.

            “Lady Keladry, I’m sorry I’ve been such a grump, I didn’t mean to be, but I hate this war and having Nealan and Yukimi in danger here, as well as dear Ryokel, I found it hard not to resent you for their loyalty even though Baird told me I was being silly, and I knew I was really but I don’t think I could bear it if … well, no matter. I was wrong.” The torrent of words slowed. “Belian’s and Marra’s pain has had me on edge anyway—too much of a reminder, as if I needed one—and I didn’t like having all these immortals about but I’d have to be a complete fool not to realise several things after today. Nealan said you’d been distressed by my moods, and you don’t need that.”

            “Your Grace, please don’t worry about it. I can’t imagine the loss you’ve suffered, and I worry about Yuki and Ryokel myself though I can’t deny I’m selfishly glad they’re here.”

            “Well, they’re in the best possible hands, yours and the gods’.”

            With apology given and accepted there wasn’t much else for them to talk about but Kel asked how Ryokel had coped with the day and endured enthusiastic answers until she could thank Wilina and return her to a ruefully smiling Baird. Looking around for her parents and Tobe she was distracted by sight of Alanna on the alure, gazing into the darkness, and lifting her kimonos Kel climbed the stairway to join her. Alanna said nothing and Kel thought she’d just ask anyway.

            “Are you alright? Did you get news from your husband?”

            “Yes.” Alanna sighed. “He said he’d had to tell you Aly was missing, even though he hadn’t told me.”

            “I’m sorry, Alanna. His reasons seemed sound. Did he find her?”

            “I’m not so sure about sound but yes, he’s found her.”

            “In Rajmuat?”

            “No, on Lombyn. Bur she’s not coming home, not yet anyway.” Kel looked surprise and Alanna shrugged. “It sounds a long story and I don’t know it all yet, but she’s got herself mixed up in something that sounds way over her head. And the Isles are a mess however you look at them.”

            “Oh. Is the Crooked God involved?”

            Purple eyes flared. “Not that I know. Should I expect him to be?”

            “I’m not sure. Do you know about Irnai’s message from Shakith?”

            “Shakith? No, only that George said he’d been given reason to believe Aly was in the Copper Isles. What has Shakith to do with it?”

            Kel told her, adding Cloestra’s observations about Kyprioth and stirring. “I’ve no idea what it’s about, Alanna, but I am beginning to think the trickster gods are at least as deep in all this as any of them. Did you feel that power before the smell of blossoms?”

            “I did—do you know what it was? Gainel can’t do things like that.”

            “The Badger said it was Lord Sakuyo, who seems to have adopted us. Having him laugh here again is dazzling, and then this extra display. But maybe they’re meant to be dazzling, and distracting—he’s way off his territory, and after that business with the Hag, and the Crooked God at work too—well, I’ve stopped believing in coincidence. And all these tricksters turning up makes me wonder.”

            “About?”

            “There’s only one timeway, right? So if it’s heading for a crisis or whatever this roil in it is, shouldn’t that affect everywhere? Or more places than here, at any rate? And though this makes my head hurt, it must affect any prophecies that haven’t been fulfilled, mustn’t it?”

            Alanna frowned. “I suppose.”

            “Well, that includes the Kyprish Prophecy Shakith mentioned, which Numair says is about restoring raka queens and the Crooked God to the status he had before the Rittevon conquest. So I wondered if he was trying to take advantage of the timeway problem, to bring about the fulfilment of that prophecy, and had recruited other tricksters.”

            “Huh. That’s a thought. Have you mentioned it to Jon?”

            “No—I try to avoid gods with him if I possibly can.”

            Alanna smiled tiredly. “Understandable. He’s not impious—he just doesn’t like people more powerful than he is. And if the tricksters are up to something there’s not much we can do. I’m just worrying about Aly, and have a nasty suspicion George is going to tell me she’s grown up and made her decisions. But I’ll tell him your thought.”

            “Gods know I understand your worry, Alanna, but it might not be all bad, you know. If we win through here I assume Maggur will be gone from the Bloody Throne, and if the Rittevons are gone too …”

            “We can hope. But despite today’s marvels—and it was a good ceremony, Kel, with a fine celebrant—I can’t help remembering Princess Josiane and wondering if payment is falling due. Ah, don’t worry about it. I’m just feeling blood on my hands today. I need to heal somebody.”

            Kel could offer the practical advice that Baird and Neal still had one or two tricky cases to deal with among the men of New Hope Second. Reben’s bleeding guts had been fixed, but there was a man with a weak heart and another who’d been a very heavy drinker before being caught, and Alanna perked up at the thought, though she’d be leaving in the morning—but the underlying problems could only be waited on and the whole conversation was nigglingly unsatisfactory, leaving Kel restless. Her mood wasn’t helped by encountering the Hollyroses, and there was little she could do to satisfy their curiosity about the Badger except refer them to Daine. Lady Marra’s desire to talk of Merric was understandable and her grief had to be respected, but Kel didn’t want to dwell on the dead and at the first opportunity excused herself.

            The last female conversation was with her mother and more peaceful, though Kel found her mention of her own death had left her mother unusually sentimental and that she’d been talking to Tobe.

            “He says everything’s as good as it can be until the war’s done—and won’t that be a welcome day—but that you work much too hard and do precious little else.”

            “Oh I don’t know, Mama. Commanding anywhere’s a full-time job, but I’ve been fletching and spending time with Yuki and Neal, and Daine.”

            “Which means Ryokel and Sarralyn as much as your friends. And fletching’s not exactly not work, sweeting.”

            “Maybe. It’s relaxing, though. You need a clear mind and steady hand. It lets the small stuff of the day float away.”

            “And the big stuff?”

            “There’s nothing I can do about that, Mama.”

            “Except all you do do. You look older every time I see you, sweeting, and … lonely, I suppose. I do understand what command means, but I think it’s much harder on you than people realise. And harder than it would be for a man. I just wish I could help.”

            “You do, Mama. And if I’m lonely sometimes, well, there’s always a price for rank and privilege. I’m not complaining.”

            “As if you would.”

            Uncomfortable despite herself Kel turned the talk to Mindelan and siblings, but her mother’s eyes stayed bright and she felt like a girl again, solemnly giving assurances her desire to be a knight wasn’t a reaction to anything her sisters said about her prospects. It hadn’t been, though she now understood why her mother had been concerned; but it was water under the bridge and she let family gossip soothe her until Wyldon stopped by to say goodnight and she was guiltily recalled to her duties as hostess. Despite his protests she walked with him as far as the cavemouth, and was pleased to find his mood improved.

            “It’s hard to stay low surrounded by marvels, Keladry.” He shook his head. “The Badger hasn’t changed—appearing at the most unlikely moments—but to hear the gods’ voices again …” His eyes lit with his smile. “And you made a fine priest, however irregular the ceremony.”

            “Don’t you start. How anyone is supposed to witness their own oath I still have no idea.”

            “But you did it very nicely. And without turning us to business I do like what I’ve been hearing from the escort commanders. And Sir Voelden. I doubt I’ve ever made a better decision than to put you at Haven. Now, go enjoy yourself while I write to my wife.”

            As often his praise embarrassed her but there was warmth in that, and she couldn’t deny she’d been pleased to make a good professional impression on the escorts, and with Voelden’s participation. Enjoyment would have to wait, though, and she managed over the next hour to catch up with people she’d been neglecting, from assorted immortals, Roald, and Haryse to the commoner parents and Stanar. The prisoners had managed to get themselves drunk on what she suspected was very green beer, without melancholy or rowdiness, and were listening with Kawit and Kitten to Stanar telling a long story Kel realised from rhythm and alliteration must be one of the sagas he’d mentioned. The hero was a prince who had a problem with a dragon of the eald uhtsceatha kind eating people and lying about on a great heap of stolen gold between meals; it sounded unlikely and from the amusement in Kawit’s eyes and indignation in Kitten’s Kel thought there’d be a lively critique before the evening was out.

            Looking round she saw Roald escorting Shinko towards their rooms, arms around one another, and realised a lot of people had retired, including almost all couples of whatever age. The senior guests to whom she felt an obligation were gone, and even her parents had disappeared; the spidrens and Junior had departed, and stormwings that remained were roosting, heads pulled within hunched wings. Feeling tiredness in her legs she nevertheless made her evening round, talking to sentries and feeling pleased with their alert cheer; as Dom was off-duty, and she knew his new second, Garran, was nervous about his responsibilities, she included the corral despite the extra walk, and was pleased again to find everything in order under Peachblossom’s beady eye. She took the chance to explain about the gelding and his independent role, resting her hand on his comforting bulk and enjoying the soldiers’ spooked looks when he swivelled his head to glare up at a sentry whose eyes and ears weren’t where they should be. Satisfied, she trudged back through the tunnel, conscious of the weight of her kimonos, and was about to turn off for bed when the sound of pain had her walking on to investigate. Dom was sitting on the path from the gatehouse, hands gripping his leg, and looked up as he heard her steps.

            “Are you alright?”

            “Yes, fine.” He grimaced, hands tightening. “It’s just cramp and some bruising. I was going to check on Garran but as I knocked my leg yesterday it decided it’d done enough walking for today.”

            “Garran’s fine—I’ve just done my round and Peachblossom’s keeping him company. Tunnel sentries are good.” He nodded, face tight with pain. “I bet you didn’t get the bruise treated.”

            “Neal was busy.”

            “I’ve got some of that good bruisebalm Alanna makes. Come on.”

            She offered him a hand and hauled him up. The pain was clearly sharp and she didn’t give him the chance to object but slipped an arm around him and supported him to the door of headquarters. Once inside he could use the wall, and on the stairs the railing she’d had the smiths install mostly because Tobe had a habit of racing up and down. Seeing him to a chair in her sitting room she fetched the bruisebalm—a new pot of the stuff Alanna had made for her as a page, that she’d begged at Midwinter—and excused herself for a moment, to let him use it and shed her kimonos at last. The underdress went too but she kept the fine knee-length shift that was the lowest layer and donned a simple dress that just covered it, wriggling shoulders in relief; kimonos were wonderful but a kind of Yamani mask themselves, reflecting the stillness that was in so many Island matters an ideal. Going to the sitting room she found Dom still clutching his leg, bruisebalm unopened. He looked up, trying to grin and managing only to look anguished.

            “Sorry, Kel. Not ready to walk yet.”

            “I meant you to use it here, Dom. But you look as if you need help.”

            He looked away, voice low. “It’s ugly, Kel.”

            “It’s a wound, Dom. They happen. May I help?”

            He said nothing and she knelt, easing his boot off. The trousers had a cuffstring to stop them riding up, which solved a minor mystery, and the brace had an unexpected elegance to its lines as she unbuckled it and set it aside, but the wound was every bit as bad as she’d imagined, a raw red scallop of thin-skinned flesh stretching from a little below his knee to an inch above his ankle. At its centre the lines of his bones showed, and the bruise across its upper half piled discolouration on deformity; her heart was beating painfully but she let nothing show and set the opened bruisebalm at her side.

            “Applying this is going to hurt no matter what, but it works fast.”

            He nodded, looking away, dull shame reddening cheek and neck. She dabbed bruisebalm gently on irregular blotching, wondering what he’d hurt himself on, before daring to smooth it in, and marvelled at the heat of damaged flesh. He couldn’t stifle relief and at last looked at her.

            “Gods, that’s good stuff, Kel.”

            “Isn’t it? Alanna’s a marvel. I don’t know what I’d have done without it as a page, and it’s come in handy with Tobe—how he manages to bang himself up so often I have no idea.”

            “It’s a boy’s gift, Kel. I always had bumps and scrapes at his age.”

            “I bet. And now you’ve got cramp as well, haven’t you?”

            He nodded, wearily. “Often. It’s the muscle left above that horror, all at a loose end Uncle Baird says.”

            She snorted softly. “Healers! You know the first press is going to hurt, but I don’t know how much pressure’s good and what’s just hurting your wound, so you’ll have to tell me.”

            She dug fingertips into the knotted muscle-ends left to him and heard his hiss of pain followed by a better sound as her strength eased the tightness. Sharply aware of his foot resting in her lap, heel pressing against her belly, and of her body beneath thin layers of shift and dress, she also found the rhythm of massage lulling, and awareness of his relaxation as pain left him a purer satisfaction than all the high ceremonies. When he was sagging with a slight smile and eyes closed she set his foot gently down and sat on the chair opposite.

            “Better?”

            “Miraculously.” He opened his eyes, blueness dark in the mingled light of rockice and candles. “I can’t dig my own fingers in like that.”

            “Anytime, Dom.”

            He flushed. “Kel, I can’t—”

            “Yes, you can. Or if I’m on duty Yuki gives a mean massage.”

            “I can’t—”

            “Yes, you can.” She held up a hand. “Did Neal tell you about the elemental of the Chamber and Ordeals?”

            He blinked. “Did Neal tell me what?”

            “You know about knights not being allowed to discuss ordeals?”

            “Yes, of course. It’s forbidden.”

            “No it isn’t—that’s the point.” She settled back, holding his eyes. “I asked the elemental, and it said it didn’t care two hoots what anyone said about what it did. The silence is because of what it does—make people live out their deepest fears and feel ashamed. I watched everyone I love being killed, horribly—my parents and siblings, Yuki and Shinko, Lalasa, you and Neal—and I couldn’t do anything. I was frozen, or crippled, just standing there. You go a little crazy and that’s what it judges you on—like a smith heating metal until it can be shaped with flaws hammered out. The reason no one talks about isn’t because they can’t—they don’t want to because they’re ashamed. So they suffer in silence when all they need do is share—talk it out. Neal thinks it’s the same as having to drain a wound.”

            He was silent for a while before blowing out a breath. “Point taken, Kel. I’m being an idiot again, aren’t I?”

            “No, just a mortal, like most of us. I was as silent as anyone until all the business with Blayce meant I had to talk to the elemental. It was only then I started wondering.”

            He stared at her. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

            “See what?”

            “Kel, knights have been silent for generations about their Ordeals. My da called it the great duty of silence, and the phrase wasn’t his. You were silent all of a year before busting the whole thing wide open.” He shook his head. “Forgive me but I can’t work you out at all. You spend the whole day storming through paperwork, appear at dusk like a goddess, and now—”

            “Like what? Dom, what do you mean, like a goddess?”

            He gestured helplessly. “That’s what I thought when I saw you walking up to the shrines. I know you’ve never done anything like that before, but you were so serene and you held up those babies and eight gods answered you.” His laugh was strained. “And an enormous badger appeared out of nowhere and you didn’t bat an eyelid, just made a joke. What am I supposed to think?”

            “Not that. Anything but that.” Tears were threatening but she wouldn’t shed them before him. “I’m mortal, Dom. You’ve seen me sweat and bleed. I’ve seen me die and I know it’s wrong I’m still here, but please don’t close me out like that.”

            Unthinkingly she’d drawn up her legs, arms round her knees, and when he flushed fiery red realised she’d been immodest and slammed her feet back to the floor, flushing herself.

            His voice was tight. “I should go.”

            “No, please don’t. I’m sorry I was so careless. I don’t … I don’t think of myself like that.”

            “You’re sorry? You don’t …” His voice trailed away and he took a breath. “Kel, the fault was mine. I’m sorry, I … I haven’t …” His voice went flat. “Women don’t much care for crippled men. But that’s no excuse for thinking of you like that.”

            Understanding unrolled in her head, of a man who’d always been able to find female company when he wanted it, or needed it as soldiers did after combat, finding himself spurned and spurning himself when need was greatest. A man as inhibited as she was herself, who had this night exposed to her gaze and pity the wound that crippled him. The goddess beckoned her, smiling.

            “Like what, Dom? A woman you might desire?” She took a breath. “And suppose I wanted you to think of me like that?”

            Silence stretched before he met her gaze and she prayed she was right about what she thought she recognised in his eyes.

            “Cleon never did anything more than kiss me, you know. The only … I was a virgin when the tauros raped me.” She knew her voice had flattened and tried to make it rounder, though to her ears she only sounded older. “I have desired you for a long time, Dom. Wanted you. I didn’t suppose you thought of me that way. I didn’t think anyone could.” Her vision was blurring and she furiously blinked away the tears. “I don’t know anything about it. But I want to.” The silence was interminable and she still couldn’t see him clearly.

            “Kel, are you asking me to …”

            “Yes. If you will.”

            “If I will? Gods.” She heard awkward movement and felt her hands gently taken. “Kel, if that’s what you want … it would be my honour.”

            “No, no honour, Dom. No honour, or pity or kindness.”

            She was crying in earnest now, and felt his finger brush tears away.

            “My pleasure, then. Our pleasure, if we will. Look at me, Kel.”

            She did, and slowly, hesitantly, bent her head to meet his.

§

Tobe was the only one who saw them next morning, investigating the absence of a weapons teacher. It wasn't immodesty that stopped him as he opened the door after a cautious knock to see the sheet thrown off his ma and Captain Dom's hand draped from behind across her breasts, but the peaceful smile on her face and his apprehension of what sleep deep enough to survive his intrusion was worth. For once doors closed behind him as quietly as he could hope, and he tiptoed downstairs, thinking how surprised she'd be to see him cautious instead of helter-skelter. Back in the yard he faced the children, quirking an eyebrow at Gydo and Meech, who was yawning as he held his sister's hand.

            “We’re on our own this morning. Ma’s sleeping in for once and I ain’t waking her. So let’s show ourselves what we can do, eh?”

* * * * *

Kel woke alone, and took a moment to realise there might be something wrong with that. The bed was still warm from Dom’s body and memory swirled but she was tucked in as she normally never would be on waking, sheet neatly round her, and not altogether consciously she accepted his departure as thoughtful discretion. It was still early if unusually behindhand for her, a little after dawn, and after a moment she guiltily identified the sounds outside as children stacking spears after class.

            She should be doing, but after throwing back the sheet and rising she found herself looking at the image in her mirror with amazement in her heart. The pregnancy charm between her breasts looked no different for having finally been called on, but she had a vivid image of it swinging beneath her, and if there had been no pain she was conscious of a satisfied tenderness as well as bubbling energy, and her lips were puffy. Dressed in her work clothes she sat for a minute, intensely aware of her body but trying to collect her thoughts: she had not one regret and a churning sense of release, but her new relationship created an awkward situation—one that would be against army regulations if they acknowledged the existence of female commanders, and while she didn’t think there’d be a problem at New Hope that didn’t mean others elsewhere wouldn’t try to create one; if they knew. Dom’s discretion had given her an opportunity and reason said she should take it, but besides the part of her wanting to proclaim from the rooftops a lust more aroused than sated she wasn’t sure she could conceal the new knowledge that seemed to shine in her; the grace of it, the wonder and joy. Surely people would have only to look at her and they would know what she had done,  that she had entered a new fellowship?

            Those who greeted her seemed to see nothing odd as she went to the shrines to offer silent, happy thanks to all but especially the Black God and the Goddess. At breakfast she had genuine hunger to assuage, forestalling conversation, and people were blearily uncommunicative anyway. Afterwards the gathering bustle of departures was welcome cover, and she didn’t think Alanna was up to noticing much as she ignored protocol to hug her and whisper hopes for good news from Lombyn; nor was it an intuition she’d expect of Wyldon, though his gaze rested on her curiously before he followed Alanna through the gate. Roald too, having arrived early, thought he’d better get back to Northwatch even though he’d be leaving again for Corus in a month, and Baird went with him, having business with Vanget and Ferghal haMinch. Wilina and Terres were staying another day, so Shinko and her parents were too, and by lunchtime Kel wouldn’t have bet a glass of water that Cricket, Yuki, and her mother hadn’t a fair idea of what had happened; but they said nothing and she wasn’t going to start that conversation.

            With fieldwork limited there were plenty of hands for cleanup, and the work of cooking, bottling, bagging, labelling, and stacking foison. Kel was amused to see Yuki had killed several birds with one stone by asking Wilina to look after Ryokel while she worked in the kitchens, and when the Duchess wandered past the schoolhouse with her charge St’aara recruited her to expound mortal childcare to the children coming of age for that responsibility. As autumn schedules kicked in, with firewood gathering to begin in earnest and decisions about slaughtering or wintering livestock, Kel had plenty to do, and a discussion with Adner about what animals could be kept in the corral, necessitating a trip to see Whitelist and find out how many horses he expected to stable there, kept her focused. But she was continuously conscious of herself, vivid images of the night flickering in her mind, and even such a simple, ordinary business as riding Alder up valley proved a severe distraction from the task in hand. After she’d returned and finalised numbers with Adner there was a meeting with Brodhelm, Verrec, and Sir Voelden, and she agreed to expanded patrolling now fieldwork was reduced. Struck by inspiration she dragged them to see Cloestra and Amourta, now making small flights, and eventually left them working out co-ordinated aerial and ground inspections—Cloestra not minding especially where her exercise flights took her, and Kel wanting to be sure no unwelcome surprises were lurking anywhere near.

            Having dealt with everything on the main level and in the caves it didn’t seem unreasonable to head for the corral. As the day had passed without sight of Dom anxiety had joined joy, with attempts to imagine what they’d say to one another, and it was probably fortunate she met him in one of the zigzags through the limestone, with no-one else in sight and enough corners between them and the guards on the corral entrance and bridge that sound would be indistinct. His eyes lit up when he saw her, wondering and without regret, and anxiety vanished.

            “Kel. I—”

            She stopped him with a kiss, and just held him tightly, head on his shoulder and mouth by his ear. “I’ve been wanting you all day. Practice makes perfect. Come to my room later?”

            “Gladly.” He eased back to see her eyes. “But discreetly, yes?”

            “I want to shout from the rooftops, but yes. I don’t care about anyone here, unless it makes for a military problem, but given how people talk about me …” Anxiety returned. “You don’t—”

            “No. Hush.”

            “If—when—people find out, you might be a target of malice too.”

            “We’ll deal if it happens.”

            “Alright. How’s your leg?”

            His eyes glinted. “Tired, in a way I didn’t expect at all, and much better, thank you. The bruise has almost gone.”

            “More balm tonight.”

            “Oh yes. But we’d better be moving. I was coming to find you with an excuse about checking on these livestock arrangements.”

            By the time they emerged into the corral discussion of how best to reconcile stables and byre had become genuine, and one of the soldiers from the Second with experience as a cowhand—if only, Kel gathered, because it had been advisable to be absent from Corus at various times, and his brother kept a farm—was drawn in. Heading back to the main level Kel passed Yuki helping store apples and roots and managed what she hoped was a reasonable conversation centred on her friend’s gratification at Ryokel’s naming and new status as one of Sakuyo’s Blessed; a condition which Kel pointed out also applied to her mother-in-law. The need for further communication with His Imperial Majesty was real, and Kel headed on to find Shinko and her parents. Their conversation was as absurd as earnest, and had them all wondering if it wouldn’t be easier in the long run to ask the Emperor to assign a Sakuyan divine to New Hope, equipped with a supply of gold-and-jade tokens. Shinko was laughing behind her shukusen, but her eyes were serious.

            “Keladry-chan, I know I cannot say it is no laughing matter but for my honoured uncle it really isn’t.” Shinko’s eyes twinkled. “I know. But really.”

            “I don’t think His Imperial Majesty need worry, Cricket. Listen a moment. What any of you pass on to him, or anyone, is up to you, but I’d rather you kept as quiet as possible otherwise, and didn’t say anything to the King.” Her father raised eyebrows. “I have talked to Alanna about it, Papa, but I try not to wind up discussing gods with His Majesty if I can avoid it—it just makes him fret about things out of his control.” Her mother snorted and others grinned, Shinko again hiding behind her fan. “But I’ve been wondering about Lord Sakuyo and his fellow tricksters.”

            Shinko knew from Roald about Aly and her parents had found out somehow, so Kel was spared explaining that, but the Kyprish Prophecy was new to all, as were Shakith’s confidence to George and Cloestra’s thought about who would be stirring in the Isles; nor had they connected the Hag’s presence during Kel’s death, or felt the power that preceded the overpowering—very Yamani—scent of blossoms, and everyone’s frowns deepened.

            “It depends on this timeway which Diamondflame said mortals can’t understand even if explained, but it doesn’t seem to be like the threat from Uusoae that could have ended everything. Aside from the skullroad thing it seems more a crisis in mortal affairs, big enough for the gods to be concerned but not so big as to unite them. And one thing I’ve learned in the last year is that even when they have the same purpose their right hands don’t always know what their left hands are doing. If Lord Sakuyo’s watching here so closely—laughing twice where he’s hardly known and doing something for Lord Gainel Lord Badger said was unexpected—and especially if he’s in alliance with the Hag and the Crooked God, he’s not going to be stirring anything in Yaman, or wanting anyone else to. Things have been quiet, haven’t they, Shinko?”

            “So far as I know, Keladry-chan. In so far as they ever are.” She looked apologetically at them all. “There have been Jindazhen raids, but the wolfships have been too busy here to raid elsewhere.”

            “That’s what I thought. And there’s nothing odd or different?”

            “Not that I’ve heard.”

            “And you’ve heard nothing, Papa, Mama?”

            “Nothing of real concern, my dear.”

            “And Carthak’s the same—those Council papers said all seemed quiet there and Kaddar’s rule increasingly secure. But there’s whatever is happening here, with Maggur and this war, and instability in the Copper Isles with a child-king and what Sir Myles says already sounds like a very violent regency. Two thrones at stake, and a strong prophecy in each case, however different. Alanna thought there might be a connection through her too—from killing Princess Josiane.” Kel hesitated. “And perhaps another factor—problems that have been ignored for too long. From what I can gather the raka have been all but enslaved since the Rittevon conquest—ground down, pushed aside, and treated very badly, so the Crooked God has reason to be angry on their behalf. And here … it’s not the same—and I suspect Maggur’s impiety in using death magic has done more than anything to interest the gods in Tortallan victory—but Scanra’s still a problem we’ve neglected. King Jasson stopped short, and King Roald ignored the north completely. Raiding and a bigger effort every few decades to gain better farming territory have been accepted without anyone asking what drives it, so you could say we’ve been storing up a Maggur for ourselves.”

            “Ouch.” Her father winced. “I’m afraid that’s all too true, my dear. One question that’s been exercising me since those diplomats pitched up is what a peace treaty should look like and I can’t see helpful answers.”

            “Mmm, tell me. But the point is none of that’s true for the Islands, so while I wouldn’t say your uncle can relax, Shinko, I don’t think he needs to worry.” She turned to her parents. “And given the way he trusts you both I wondered if you might write letters to include with Shinko’s. I am very conscious of how kind he’s been, with the glaives and tokens and sending Takemahou-sensei and Lord Kiyomori, and I can just imagine how news of yesterday might go down. But I really do think that if Lord Sakuyo’s here it’s because his business is here—the gods know why. Or maybe they don’t. But either way, here not Yaman.”

            “We can do that, my dear.” Her father’s gaze was appreciative. “That’s an interesting analysis, and the connection through Alanna is one I hadn’t made. It’s odd. I don’t know if you know, but last year Lord Wyldon thought there was a pattern, or echo, between you and Alanna as female knights killing necromancers.”

            “Huh. He’s never mentioned that.” Kel turned the idea and found herself remembering music from the evening before. “Who knows? But Barzha talked about the timeway completing a long spiral, and things like the skullroad coming round again—like echoes. Maybe it’s like melody and harmony in music—a tune and repetitions of bits of it.”

            She didn’t add the joke aspect she and Dom had speculated about, because that kind of irreverence was more soldierly than diplomatic or royal, but there was plenty to chew on. The discussion went on for a while but when it moved to detail of how to tell His Imperial Majesty she made excuses, only to find her mother following her out and tucking an arm through her own.

            “Do you really have work, sweeting, or were you just ducking out?”

            “A bit of both, Mama. I’ve said all I can that’s of any use, and there’s always things to be doing.”

            “Nothing urgent though?”

            “Nothing that can’t wait.”

            “Then walk with me a little. With all the guests I haven’t seen as much of you as I’d hoped. You seem happier today.”

            “Do I?” Kel didn’t dare look at her mother as they climbed to the shelf and started round. “I’m just relieved it went alright yesterday, Mama. Honestly, if I’d wanted to be a priest I could just have gone to the convent and saved everyone ever so much trouble.”

            Her mother laughed. “Hardly, sweeting, though you made a lovely priest, I must say.”

            “Well, it’s not like I’m wondering if anyone’s listening. Wondering which god’s appearance I’m going to have to dodge isn’t quite the same.”

            “Keladry!”

            “It’s true, Mama. Between antlers and badgers and blossom it’s an obstacle course. I suppose it offsets New Hope, because if there’s anything more I can do about the defences I don’t know what it is.”

            “You’re babbling, sweeting. Well, not really—that made sense, I suppose—but you might as well be.”

            Kel took a breath. “Yes, I am. Mama, I—”

            “Shh, sweeting. I’m not prying. I’m just happy for you. When you want to tell us who’s made you happy you will. Just tell me if Tobe knows—I wouldn’t want to say something wrong with him.”

            I don’t know. I have a suspicion … but he will know before you see him again at Mindelan.” They turned the corner by the north tower and Kel leant down carefully. “Dom.”

            “Ah.” Ilane smiled as Kel nodded to Deren and Harrel, heading for the gatehouse. “What a nice man he is.”

            “Yes, he is. But Mama, I’ve no idea what will happen. What’s possible. What duty will demand. And I’m sorry to mention lies with truth, but you know what people have said about me.” Her arm tightened around her mother’s. “I would spare him that, and I can imagine all too well what malice would invent even without the truth that I signed his fitness exemption to appoint him as captain of the corral. Just run that through Runnerspring’s or Torhelm’s minds.”

            Ilane sighed, and kept her voice low. “Gods, yes. You have grown old and wise, haven’t you, sweeting? I think it would be more unpleasant than effective, but you’re not wrong.”

            “Now run it through Lord Sakuyo’s mind, in so far as any of us can.” Kel necessarily stopped as her mother did, between one step and the next, but pulled her back into motion. “And isn’t he most sincere when he’s pulling his greatest jests? I dreamed that haiku I wrote out for him. Grace and hot needles amid blossoms under leaden skies.”

            They descended to the terrace, smiling at Cloestra and Amourta on their way to the shrines. Sakuyo seemed to grin at them and Kel offered him a slight, ironic bow. After a moment her mother followed suit but immediately pulled away, continuing along the terrace.

            “You think you’re a joke he’s playing, sweeting?”

            “The thought crossed my mind. It makes horribly good sense. But it’s a very practical joke. And I don’t think it’s a joke on me, except incidentally. Either way, it’s been a very useful joke so far, whether you’re Tortallan or Yamani. And suppose we didn’t say ‘good joke’, but … I don’t know, ‘brave hand’? Something worth remembering, whatever happens. And staying with gambling, which Lord Sakuyo likes by all accounts, what kind of pot might be at stake? Has Papa noticed that the two nations involved here are Tortall’s remaining enemies? Or wondered what the world might look like if we had peace with Scanra and the Copper Isles as well as Yaman and Carthak?”

            “Huh.” Ilane was silent as they descended to the main level and headed to the green. “I don’t think so, any more than I had. But we will. That’s quite a perspective you have.” They sat on the bench round the flagpole, where Kel’s standard flew high above them, occasionally cracking in the breeze. “It’s hard to know your child has surpassed you, sweeting. You hope for it, but it’s humbling. And I’m betting you don’t see it like that and find it bewildering and embarrassing even though you seem to sail through it all. Don’t ever doubt you make your Papa and me very proud, Keladry. If it wasn’t entirely rude we’d be bursting with it.”

            Kel found herself beyond blinking. “Just don’t ever step back, Mama. Last night Dom tried to say I looked like a goddess yesterday and I told him never to say that. I’m only me, whatever happens.”

            Her mother’s hand tightened on her own. “Alright, sweeting. I can understand that. Though I’ll say there’s no harm being a man’s goddess sometimes, especially in bed. It’s fair useful, as Daine would say.”

            “Mama!”

            “I couldn’t make a goddess blush, now could I?”

            The silence matured into quietness as they watched the bustle of New Hope around them and Amourta’s flapping progress from terrace to infirmary roof and back, eventually producing an irritated Neal who glared, scowled at Amourta’s beaming smile from the rooftree, and retreated. At last Kel pulled herself upright.

            “I really should be about it, Mama. There’s the mailbag to pull together for Shinko’s escort. I’ve done my letters, but there’ll be stuff from the men. Which reminds me, is money alright?”

            “Yes, sweeting. Thank you. The King came through with a handsome purse, and so did His Imperial Majesty when he heard about the Duchy, so we haven’t needed to touch your money.”

            “Of which there is an absurd amount. Remember it does no good with the goldsmith. There are widows and orphans at Mindelan too.”

            “I’ll remember, sweeting, but we’re fine. Go deal with your mailbag.”

            Dinner felt very strange, especially when Kel met Dom’s eyes, but she blessed her mother’s equanimity. Happily Wilina and Terres were talkative, thanking her and urging Neal and Yuki to come to Queenscove at Midwinter, or at least Corus. Kel didn’t know they’d been thinking of staying again, but gathered Yuki had reasons for wanting to stay, including, she’d bet, a clear sense that if she left she’d find it hard to return while war continued. Kel spoke mostly to her father, who while seeming to ramble drew a picture of awareness of New Hope and its products spreading on trade routes and in diplomatic correspondence.

            With an early start planned  and Wilina keen to make the most of her last hours with Ryokel no-one lingered, but with easing fieldwork there were quite a few people sitting out and talking when Kel made her evening round. Aware that on any other night she’d have been delighted at their ease but wishing them all fast asleep she broke through swirling impatience to amusement, and found she didn’t care if or when they found out that she’d … what? Taken a lover? Lived up for the first time to a reputation she’d been saddled with on becoming a page? Discretion was sensible but secrecy needless, and she headed back to her room to see Tobe, Jump, and Nari, and possess herself in patience; Goddess knew she had enough to think about.

            For all she should have been bone-tired next morning she actually felt astonishingly relaxed while full of fizzing energy her body seemed to be releasing like a spring, and her pre-dawn pattern dance flowed with a smoothness that had her mother and Shinko applauding. The laughter in her mother’s eyes and the whisper of “Goddess” in her ear as they embraced was a different balm, and she saw people off with mixed emotions. The loss of Daine and Numair (and Sarralyn) was a blow, and almost everyone was sorry to see Kawit and Kitten go, but she was relieved to have so many important visitors off her hands, and she’d be seeing them all again soon in any case.

            Rather than taking the potentially dangerous Frasrlund road and turning south along the coast her parents were heading south with Wilina as far as the River Oak, forty miles south of Bearsford, and striking west. That far south there should be no Scanran threat but there were other dangers and despite protests Kel provided an escort of Brodhelm’s patrollers who would see them to Mindelan and return via Frasrlund, Steadfast, and Mastiff.

            Clear of guests for the first time in days, routines asserted themselves, with new ones among them. Her concerned caution about Dom’s leg and the limitations she gradually realised it placed on more than his soldiering meant as many nights alone as not, but space and time were necessary to absorb and digest the infinitely many things he was teaching her she had never known about the possibilities of her body; and his. After a few days she gave in to the sparking curiosity in Yuki’s eyes, and found herself shocked by the detail her friend expected.

            “Ah, Keladry-chan, you have spent too much time with boys and not enough with girls. We will have to remedy this.”

            “Will we? It seems very rude.” It might be entertaining, though. “Just don’t tell Neal. I don’t think Dom or I could cope with dramatics right now.”

            Yuki laughed. “Alright. He is exhausted from dealing with his mother, anyway.”

            “Is Wilina a terrible mother-in-law, then?”

            “Oh no. By Yamani standards she is amazingly nice. But to be the only surviving son, well, she is very focused on him and thinks Ryokel should have a brother.” She giggled. “I almost told her one night when she didn’t want us to withdraw that we needed privacy to set about it.”

            Kel couldn’t stop her grin, though the image was one she didn’t want to pursue, and Yuki’s knowledge proved a comfort as well as, once or twice, a resource. Dom, though wondering at her mother’s attitude, was fascinatingly amused by Yuki’s; what he had to say about women was more surprising to Kel than what he had to say about men, and the new world unfolding about and within her became ever more intriguing.

            She was doing inventory with Reben Carpenter and congratulating herself on appointing him when Jacut came to tell her Mikal had been sighted with the other soldiers who’d been on leave. For a few weeks New Hope would be at full compliment, save the squad with her parents, and there were things she and Brodhelm had been thinking about doing with that opportunity. Signing the inventory she asked Reben to notify all knights and captains of a meeting, and dug out her own file of plans and suggestions with a smile she didn’t even notice.

Chapter Text

Part VI – Samhain

October 462 – January 463 HE

Chapter Twenty-One — Identity

October – November

The warm spell continued and Adner, with others reckoning themselves weatherwise, spoke of a mild, wet winter. Kel found herself in a long exchange with Vanget, Wyldon, Alanna, and Raoul about the implications. Even if the borderlands stayed snow-free no-one could be sure how Scanra would be affected, and for Hamrkeng to be so was by all accounts unheard of; meantime there would be no point at which anyone could relax knowing troop movement was impossible until a thaw.

            One question arising was which commanders would go where. By rights Raoul and Vanget should head south this year, but Kel was expected to address Runnerspring’s complaint and for Lalasa’s wedding, and Alanna had compelling reasons to go south—yet the possibility of winter action had to be provided for. Listening to them argue Kel decided Vanget was perfectly happy to avoid Corus and, less expectedly, Raoul too: she knew he hated the parties, but thought Buri might have liked to get away. Wyldon was ambivalent, wanting to visit Cavall but sufficiently concerned to agree to stay, and lively discussion followed about how many proxies anyone might reasonably hold, from which Kel emerged holding Raoul’s while Vanget’s and Wyldon’s would go to Alanna as the senior commander travelling. Ennor was intending to go south himself, so she wouldn’t bear his this year, and if Wyldon protested that Pirate’s Swoop holding Cavall’s proxy suggested the world turned upside down, Kel suspected he was actually quite amused; it wasn’t as if any of the social issues that most divided them were expected to come up, and in the only likely vote they were in agreement. The thought crossed her mind that he might, however improbably to some, also see extra value in having lady knights as the army’s representatives, and she made a note to ask him about the pattern he’d thought he detected

            After the other links had closed Kel stayed talking to Raoul, discovering Buri didn’t want to travel because she was—just—pregnant. Delighted, she had him call her and gave good wishes in person, quietly reminding her of the goddess’s spiral, before seeking advice about Thayet in relation to Lalasa’s wedding that had Buri grinning and regretting she’d miss it. When Raoul asked after Dom Kel hoped she’d answered naturally but saw Buri give her a look; ignoring it, she suggested one advantage of expected mildness was that Tortallans could travel too, and if it did stay snow-free Wolset and his lads would be welcome at Midwinter  Thereafter conversation meandered, Raoul asking about events at Mabon and Kel about what Rider groups had been up to.

            Closer to home, besides a review of equipment and training, the major exercise Kel and Brodhelm decided was necessary was what they called the Siege Plan—what would happen if New Hope faced a major attack with everyone inside the walls? Fieldworkers didn’t stint on training and were competent and cool-minded, but beyond self-defence their orders in the event of an attack were simply to get themselves and if possible livestock to shelter, and they’d never been tested on what would ensue if an attack were more than a raid. Over the long farming season even guards forgot about assignments and duty stations inside the walls; on top of which such training had never been properly given to newer Tirrsmonters and immortals, nor to New Hope Second, while the addition of the corral had consequences.

            As mistakes piled up Kel and Brodhelm watched with resignation. That evening Kel spoke to everyone, going through the functions involved as clearly as possible for something so complex. Defence of the walls was the imperative, and while first responsibility fell to the companies everyone bar the youngest and frailest had a station on the alures if called on. Short of that there were a score of things needed to maintain defence and should opportunity arise prepare a sally—food, water, and relief between attacks, resupply of ammunition, and evacuations to the infirmary, all without getting in the way of the reserve. Neal would need extra hands, as would the cooks, while any sally force would need horses ready; and livestock needed looking after even if the usual people were busy. Those who couldn’t fight or had charge of infants needed to stay safe in the caves, where prisoners would confine themselves, but older children had parts to play, as did immortals—and once you factored in casualties there were the joys of cross-training and secondary stations.

            Beyond the concomitants of any siege there were nightmare scenarios Kel insisted everyone practice—fighting retreats to caves-and-corral with as much livestock as possible. Assault would probably come through the gatehouse, which would require one formation, but if enemies somehow came over or through walls something else would be required; and if there were a period when the outer wall was lost but the inner still held, something different again. She took questions, giving crisp answers, and when Lasner asked whether she really thought an attack could happen, spoke openly for the first time of the prophecy.

            It was a calculated decision. After Dom’s comment Kel had made discreet enquiries and found he was right—most adults knew something, and she’d concluded that as secrecy could no longer be served accuracy was preferable. So having talked to Irnai, who’d shrugged, she told them all what the seer had cried out in that unearthly voice.

            “Queen Barzha said it, people—Shakith didn’t say that, in that way, because there was going to be a raid or skirmish. We don’t know if it will be a thousand or ten thousand Scanrans. We don’t know when, or what their plans will be except Maggur wants me dead and New Hope gone. But we do know that sooner or later they have to come and we have to survive. I hope we can win and that’s why the war will be over. But surviving comes first and we will be ready, so we’ll be drilling each bit, and then do today again. As often as necessary.”

            They grumbled about disruption but took drills seriously, with rapid effects. There were also, besides everything arising about the sally force, the defences beyond the walls, and with rockfalls an open question about their best targets—troops, mages, command groups, siege engines, or wagons. Having heard her captains argue in circles Kel convened a full meeting of the Council, and asked for ideas. Besides collecting an interesting set of viewpoints and a memorable analysis from Quenuresh that coincided with her own instincts, Kel also had questions about immortals’ self-defensive capacities that hadn’t been sufficiently explored. If one was considering such things as siege engines—trebuchets, catapults, or mangonels—it was notable that basilisks could shatter stone as well as make and meld it; and that a spidren who could pass unseen through a city might do as much to an army camp. Knowing animals could within their limits spy and take other actions, as Kel, Dom, and Uinse knew from their fights on the way to Rathhausak. And then there were the stormwings.

            The principal reason Kel hadn’t held a full Council for so long was to allow Barzha to settle and New Hope to accrue credit with the Stone Tree Nation. Now she kept her word by promise and treaty, and the meeting was held with shutters wide and a scrupulously clean Barzha perched on the sill. For the most part she kept silent, though the relative values of targets provoked tart observations, drawing her further into the collective enterprise of defence; but the question of more active contributions couldn’t be avoided and Kel sat back, turning to look at the stormwing queen directly.

            “Your Majesty, I’ve had long conversations with the Godborn and others who fought in the Immortals War, and I understand stormwings are vulnerable to arrows and magery. Within the limits of our treaty you may of course have your own priorities on the battlefield, but all of your Nation are welcome to shelter at New Hope when you wish. The only thing I ask is cleanliness—illness is a great weapon for besiegers—and I explicitly do not ask you to fight. But aerial reconnaissance—from having a look at whatever’s coming as soon as we know it’s there to surveying any camp—could be invaluable.”

            Barzha nodded, claws screeching on the stone. “I hear you, Protector, and how carefully you ask, so I will be frank. We remain undecided about this. I am willing, as are a majority of my flock, but others are cautious and I am loath to command them against their wills. We lost many in the Immortals War besides Rikash Moonsword and alliance with mortals is not easy.” Her face, regal and austere, was a testimony to grief and diminution. “And well may the Godborn remind you of our vulnerability—she may be the greatest stormwing slayer in history, not only of such as Zhaneh Bitterclaws who needed killing as much as the Kinslayer.”

            Kel saw surprise on people’s faces—for all her strangeness Daine didn’t seem one who could have such a reputation—but she knew how hard won friendship with Rikash had been. With the tale of Dunlath the story had been an inspiration for Kel. Barzha saw the surprise too.

            “Oh yes. Don’t ever stand between the Godborn and one she loves. But much has happened since, and we have seen the ease of Cloestra’s laying, with the Green Lady’s aid. As much as Amourta’s bond to this place those are things none can ignore. I watch the timeway, and have thought on centuries to come. So yes, Protector, I promise that when battle comes you will have stormwings to fly for you—myself, Hebakh, and Cloestra if no others—but I cannot promise more.”

            “Thank you, Your Majesty—that is fairly spoken. We must address how to summon you at need, and what we wish you to be alert for.”

            Slowly answers were hammered out, and over the next fortnight tested and emended. Stormwings could flash light from their wings with precision, and Barzha and Hebakh at least could also cast light, wormy and silver, so in the end that aspect was satisfactory. Moving large numbers of horses through the tunnel was less so, and Tobe instituted a by-tens rule, with space between each string to prevent congestion in the zigzag. Conflicting duty assignments were also uncovered and resolved—a matter of chagrin for Kel and Brodhelm, but inevitable with so many people and permutations involved.

            More excitingly, as a reward for the horses’ endurance of the tunnel, Kel authorised exercises in sallying. With patrols out, pickets posted, stormwing surveillance, and a centaur promise to watch the woods carefully, she could be reasonably certain the corral and upper valley were unobserved, and groups of varying sizes practiced getting over the drawbridge and round the fin at maximum speed. As numbers ramped up, drawing in soldiers from all stations, redistribution and reinforcement of those who remained with civilian squads was worked out, culminating in a full-blown sudden sally exercise with the largest force New Hope could field. More than three hundred soldiers filed rapidly from alures and jogged through the tunnel to horses saddled and waiting, while as many civilians took their places as smoothly as a regular change of shift. It wasn’t like-for-like but heavy arrow-fire and competent close defence could be maintained while a force capable of doing real damage got itself round the fin and back. By day’s end everyone was tired but pleased, and Kel lavished praise before saying cheerfully drills would continue throughout the winter.

            She also had a coldly professional session with captains, knights, and company seconds, on the gatehouse roof with clear views of the various killing fields and the large, carefully organised case of mageblast keys as a compelling prop. She began by itemising the forces they might face—irregulars, regulars, loyalist and conscripted, and special forces from troops of frothing beserkir to giants, any of which might have mage support. The point of killing fields was to kill—not repel, but trap into slaughter—and Kel went through ways in which that horror could be carried out, forcing them to make professional estimates of numbers. There was also the question of when killing ceased to be best, and creating large numbers of wounded became a more effective and demoralising hindrance.

            If enemies charged the roadway how many men would be caught between first and last pit-traps? How many would die on stakes? How many arrows would ensure any left standing were swiftly dead or beyond fighting? And how many should be allowed to pass the uppermost trap before it was blown? How long would it take to kill them all? How were arrows to be retrieved? In what order should pits be used to maximise enemy casualties on each occasion? And when would the bombs in the roadway wall do most damage? In the killing field between the walls what damage would spikes alone do? and the best uses of blazebalm, crossbow fire, and slingshot? In the barbican should basilisk-heated urine be poured through murder-holes before or after the roadway pit was blown? Long before they were done Seaver, Prosper, and Neal were green and everyone grim-faced.

            “I pray it doesn’t come to that, or anything like. But I think it will, and there is one possible benefit, because if Maggur’s serious about taking New Hope he’s going to have to send troops who can absorb heavy casualties and keep coming. Gods know Scanrans aren’t short of courage but that takes more, and we know he’s got loyalty problems. But if he does send his best, he’s sending the men who keep him on the Bloody Throne, who took him from Rathhausak to Hamrkeng, didn’t blink at necromancy, and enforce his hostage policy. And if we can force him to expend them against our killing fields—ideally, expend them all—then we won’t just win here, we’ll open the way to end the war fast and hard, and lay a foundation for peace that might last.” She let them absorb it. “One more thing—mageblasts are command business, and my hands will be on them. I’ve come to believe that may be why the Black God’s behaved to me as he has. But if I fall, or they strike while I’m away, you all need to be able to do what has to be done. Make no mistake, people—a protracted siege is unworkable, because Tortallan reinforcements would come in sufficient numbers to force a retreat or trap them. So if they come they have to assault, sooner rather than later, and when they do we have to bleed them and bleed them again. You can hope it won’t fall to you, but settle yourselves to the possibility.”

            The flat approval of Brodhelm and other regulars, as well as Uinse and Jacut, helped the knights accept it, though substitution of butchery for chivalry grated. Kel made a point of talking to them all over the next days: Neal understood—he just didn’t like it—but Yuki was more ruthless, as Kel was, and saw him through it. Seaver was more of a puzzle, and Kel uncharitably thought even his distress was tempered by his laziness. Prosper was most deeply troubled, but it was disjunction between understanding a need and facing practicalities. He hadn’t had a knight master like Raoul or Alanna, who might epitomise chivalry but also worked with the army and knew what a limited part ideals could play in war, and hadn’t yet met the kraken himself in the kind of combat that killed companies and broke armies. He knew it and there wasn’t much Kel could do, but she made an effort to fill out the larger picture: such slaughters didn’t happen often, even by immortals’ reckoning, but history taught clearly the consequences of turning defeat into annihilation and those of failing to do so if opportunity offered. And if what she would do at need diminished her in his eyes, so much the better.

            She said as much to Dom in night watches they stole together, usually in her rooms. Lying with her head on his chest, marvelling at him, or massaging his leg, strong fingers digging to loosen kinked muscle, she had begun to learn the pleasures of confidence. He had more experience of intimacy but never, as he mock-solemnly pointed out, with a woman like her, and in convalescence he had become tightly closed; he also had a harder time than she accepting divine intercessions, yet had to do so more abruptly. Speaking at first to his chest but later to his face she had told him all the Black God, Hag, and Goddess had done; with him inhibitions of shame were meaningless. He held her tightly, and after asking some questions and letting it turn in his mind kissed her gently.

            “Kel, you know I can’t get my head around gods like that, but I’ll be thanking them sincerely. The Black God, especially. And the Goddess, for very rude reasons.” He kissed her nose, making her smile. “And I’m not sure why, but I like the idea he absolved you of those you send to him because he knew there’d have to be a lot of them before this thing is done much more than the way that worked with your executing Rogal. I understand what you were doing then better, though. Was that what you’d told Uncle Baird about the day of Merric’s funeral.”

            “Yes. I couldn’t bear it just then, and he was being kind. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

            “Don’t be. I wouldn’t have told me, if that makes sense.”

            “Maybe, but quite a few people know by now. Neal and Yuki, my parents, and Belian and Marra.”

            “You told Merric’s parents?”

            “Everyone I asked said telling them about his ghost and Rogal’s was right, and it made no sense without the Black God’s gift to me.”

            “Huh. No wonder they looked poleaxed.”

            “They prayed at Rogal’s grave as well as Merric’s. Well, Marra did, but Belian went along.”

            “If Uncle Baird and Aunt Wilina had had that offer when Graeme and Willam were killed—knowing them safe in the god’s arms, and the soldiers who’d killed them dead and forgiven as well—they’d have taken it with both hands.”

            Kel hadn’t thought of it in those terms, but Dom was right. Better still was that acceptance of what she might have to do didn’t stop him holding her, kissing her, wanting her. Wanting her. In a very male way he seemed to think himself as blessed by the Goddess’s repairs as she was, and she enjoyed the results too much to argue, but kindness and accrued friendship were enriched by whatever might be growing between them, and she was moved to tears by that fact.

            In turn he told her things she didn’t think he’d spoken of to anyone, or not in the same way—seductions he’d thought a soldier’s perk and known as a soldier’s need, and the disjunction there’d always been between haunting intimacies of war and assuaging intimacies of the bedchamber; a disjunction she resolved. His uncertainties didn’t bother her; she was profoundly uncertain herself, and as nights passed conversations spread, dealing with facts but engaging with hopes. Both knew there were other possibilities than a happy future, and though after finding her invisible bracelet he resisted her morbidity about her chances he acknowledged the shadow of the timeway; they could equally assume survival, especially when it came to comforting dreams. He didn’t shy from the idea of marriage, though dubious of his suitability, but a wild flight into the noble complications if she did become a baroness was enough to have them both looking perfectly appalled until Kel declared she’d just hand the whole problem of precedence to Master Oakbridge. That called for explanation of what the fussy etiquette master was like to serve, followed by demonstration of bows and graces he demanded; as she hadn’t put any clothes on the results weren’t what she’d anticipated.

            She kept her promise to her mother and sat down with Tobe to make sure he knew. Quite what he thought about men and women she wasn’t sure, but he’d known the facts of life as early as any neglected child in a busy inn, understood what trust and loyalty meant, and already loved Dom, so all was well. To see them together was a boon that made Kel feel warmly sentimental, and the only indiscreet thing Dom did was to join her in teaching the dawn class. She saw looks from older ones when they arrived together with Tobe, and received an urchin grin from Loesia, but that worried her as little as the speculation in Connac’s gaze when his shift pattern brought the new arrangement to his notice.

            What worried her more was that she’d miss Dom horribly while she was away. To have always been without was one thing; to have a new discovery taken away quite another—but he laughed ruefully and told her a number of remarkable things soldiers—men—said about this condition, adding that it made reunions very satisfactory. That was a thought to ponder, and he added, intriguingly, that the best poem among many Neal had wished on him down the years had dealt with the problem very justly, but Neal had called him a soulless puppet of the flesh and insisted it was about something else altogether. He didn’t remember its title or author, setting a nice problem in finding it without asking Neal, who remained blissfully ignorant—to Yuki’s amusement and Kel’s relief.

            Soon after the ides the squad who’d been to Mindelan returned with mailbags. Confirming their arrival to Wyldon Kel found him unusually agitated, waving a letter, but alarm dissipated as she gathered Owen had been sufficiently emboldened by good reports on his stint as second to ask permission to court Margarry of Cavall.

            “It’s all very well you smiling, Keladry, but she’s barely eighteen and wilful with it, and he’s still a madcap hellion on his good days.”

            “He’s asking properly, Wyldon, and he’s been serious about someone for a while. I didn’t know it was Margarry but that explains how hesitant he was.” She couldn’t hold back a smile. “As to being a hellion, he needs to be. You’re very intimidating as a prospective father-in-law, you know.”

            “So I should hope!”

            “And he’s bearded you in the most traditional way.”

            “I know.” He sounded gloomy. “It makes it difficult to refuse.”

            “Perhaps you should set him three impossible tasks.”

            He scowled. “You wait until your daughters bring home hellions.”

            To Kel in her present state of mind that was a dream, and she left him scowling to write Owen a letter of encouragement and praise on his reports. This she could convey to Neal, who whooped, declared Owen brave to the point of lunacy, which they all knew, and wrote himself with advice about poetry Kel hoped Owen would have the sense to ignore. She also reported her suggestion about impossible tasks, spurring ridiculous suggestions, and the running joke leavened the aftermath of what Kel had had to say about killing fields and the continuing drills.

            It was for Kel what she slowly realised was a happy time, anxieties ameliorated if never vanquished. She was working hard and training was visibly paying off, so her drive to do her utmost was assuaged, and the wonders of her nights left her as relaxed as she could remember and too tired to fret over things she couldn’t do anything about. Yuki’s amusement at the cause of her new grace with her glaive didn’t stop her becoming very thoughtful after one especially good display and giving Kel the formal bow to a sensei of weapons, which pleased her enormously; it was not something Yuki would do lightly, and in her years at the Yamani court she’d seen the sensei who lived or performed there—people Kel had watched avidly and dreamed of emulating before Alanna focussed her on knighthood. She had an extra bounce in her step for several days, and a cheerfully proud explanation to offer anyone who noticed, but with November looming sunshine at last disappeared into grey days and rain, though the air remained mild. Considering the calendar Kel knew she should be on her way to Mindelan, felt her reluctance, and with a deep breath gave orders for an escort to prepare.

* * * * *

The journey was interesting, despite drizzle and a lulling quiet in which the party seemed the only people moving in the world. At Mastiff she managed a conversation with Wyldon, finding that during discussion of proxies he had wondered about coincidences involving lady knights and necromancers, but had nothing to add. The facts were as they were, and however odd the generational echo it wasn’t of any practical use either could see. He did remark how well she looked, and for a moment conscience tried to tell her she owed him honesty in a matter that could be construed as military business, but she decided for once discretion was the better part of valour; the less fuss the better, and she wanted to cherish her good fortune inside herself, as she might cup hands around a warm mug in winter.

            At Steadfast Buri’s assessing gaze was sharper but she said nothing though she gave Kel a warm hug and seemed pleased for her—if Kel was reading her rightly through her joy in pregnancy. Given Buri’s age Raoul worried about the chanciness of childbed; Kel made sure he was aware of the Green Lady’s gift, seeing plans for a New Hope delivery wheel in his eyes. It was the first time Kel had seen them together since their wedding, and she was amused by the Kmiri hangings and rugs transforming Raoul’s quarters. Buri’s weapons and armour were neatly stacked, as ready as Raoul’s, but as she said, laughing, when Kel complimented her, working with military austerity didn’t mean you had to come home to it, and rugs had more than one use.

            Kel sought out Wolset and his men, delivering the letter Dom owed them. The children were warmly welcomed, all of them conscious of other soldiers listening as they caught up, adding assurances of Dom’s well-being. Wolset’s account of the action that had seen Dom’s wound, others chipping in, was a fascinating counterpoint to his own, marked by incredulity that the Scanran had survived the wound that took him down, let alone managed a blow; Dom’s sense of foolish error was entirely missing. Kel repeated their standing invitation to New Hope and suggested they bend my Lord’s ear to remind him of his promise.

            It was Samhain, and after eating Kel and the children watched the festivities, enjoying the bonfire. She’d held a minimal ceremony at New Hope the year before, but she’d been withdrawn and in the wake of a memorable Mabon and the deadly attack that followed no-one wanted more. Here it seemed a more important feast, not only as a break from routine; folk had come in from some way around, taking the chance to trade but more for company. Commander’s eyes had made Kel aware of soldiers’ liaisons on such occasions but she watched with new imagination until Wolset came to drag them to hear a storyteller.

            His reasons became clear as the old man began a tale of the Wild Hunt Kel had never heard. His hands were gnarled but his voice was strong and full of drama as a man who killed his neighbour in a foolish dispute found himself pursued by red-eyed hounds who could not lose the scent of guilt, baying him for their antlered, owl-eyed master; when the sun rose his body was found on his victim’s doorstep, face filled with terror, the ground marked with the pawprints of giant hounds. Seeing Tobe and Irnai the man’s eyes lit up and he pitched the story carefully for them, so after he’d finished Kel went with them to thank him.

            “You’m welcome, lady. It’s good to see new faces. The old ones ’ave ’eard all me stories long since.”

            “No odds with such a teller.” He grinned. “I noticed you didn’t name the master of the hunt. Would I be right to think it’s Lord Weiryn?”

            “Right and wrong, lady.”

            “Oh?” She sat, drawing the children into the circle of her arms.

            “Leastwise, it is Lord Weiryn but not as you’d meet ’im in the woods, out settin’ snares or the like, nor on Beltane, like they say the Green Lady did. He’s not the same when ’e leads the ’Unt, and my Da who taught me the stories never would name ’im then, so I don’t neither.”

            “Huh.” She could sense Tobe’s desire to speak of the god he’d met and squeezed his shoulder. “Can you say how different? Is it just hunting for the pot and for justice, or is there more to it?”

            “When you meets ’im in the woods ’e’s always alone, they say, and mayhap ’e’ll answer if you speak ’im fair, but there’s no talking when ’e’s running with ’is ’ounds.”

            “And the Hunt cannot fail of its prey.”

            “That’s right.”

            “Nor mistake it? Have you ever heard tales of the Hunt being wrong? Of a justice that was uncertain?”

            “Not one, lady. There’s tales like that of King’s Justice but never the ’Unt. It’s guilt those red-eyed ’ounds smell, and if you’m not the one they’ll pass you by.” He cocked his head. “Why’m you askin’, lady?”

            “I was thinking of the shrine to Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady at New Hope.”

            “Ah. They say they graced them when they was dedicated, but they says a lot of that place. Was you there?”

            “Yes, that story’s true. He and the Green Lady appeared.”

            Kel described events as if seen from the crowd and the children caught on. The old man’s eyes were wide as he nodded at details of clothing and antlers and Tobe’s mention of the bow given ‘Lady Kel’.

            “Well, that’s somethin’ you don’t ’ear every day. May’ap if old Maggur falls off ’is throne I’ll pay them shrines a visit. I’ve told tales of Lord Weiryn all me life and I’d be glad to give ’im thanks.”

            “And mayhap we’ll push Maggur off that throne so you can.”

            They left him with a look in his eyes Kel found mirrored in Tobe’s and Irnai’s. She didn’t need to explain why she’d chosen discretion, but they were curious about why she’d been interested in the Hunt.

            “I’m not sure, but his story reminded me Daine never talks about the Hunt or that side of her da. I don’t know what she knows—I think she sees him mostly with her ma, and I don’t suppose he brings the Hunt home. Queenclaw wouldn’t like it.” They’d enjoyed stories of the cat goddess ordering people to stroke her, and had lively imaginations of the Green Lady’s kitchen. “But I was thinking we ought to thank all of him. And that those red-eyed hounds are like Provost’s Dogs, only more so.”

            Riding on for Frasrlund the children asked for other tales of the Hunt. Kel and the escorting soldiers knew a few, but lacked the old man’s skill as a teller. Kel also had eyes on the landscape, beyond Steadfast new in detail if not in kind. They were following the Vassa as the great river cleared the Grimholds and found the plain beyond that stretched to the sea. It widened but still flowed cold and fast, and the lowlands were made for farming—or should have been. On the Tortallan side were plenty of abandoned buildings and as they neared Frasrlund more that were beginning to be restored, but on the Scanran side Kel’s spyglass showed fewer structures and ploughed land run wholly to seed.

            At its meeting with the sea the Vassa split into a deep northern and shallower southern arm; Frasrlund perched on a rocky island between, joined to the rest of Tortall by a causeway that could only be crossed at low tide. They were out of luck on arrival but the children didn’t mind, staring at the grey expanse of ocean with open mouths, and Kel was shocked to realise neither had ever seen the sea. After they’d rubbed down the horses she walked with them on foreshore and beach, explaining dangers and wonders and tides; rock pools yielded starfish and crabs but the waves meant skipping stones was out and the chill damp sent them back to the inn attached to the guardhouse.

            Folk were gathering for low tide and their escort had made themselves at home in the parlour, so they found themselves greeted with a mix of solemn regard, cautious deference, and avid curiosity that would have been amusing if it wasn’t irritating. Brodhelm hadn’t been exaggerating and opportunities to speak plainly shouldn’t be passed up, so Kel made herself answer questions, stressing the contributions of immortals and acknowledging blessings, attributed firmly to divine disgust with necromancy. Tobe and Irnai told the Rathhausak story, and Kel saw familiarity from her report made it more eagerly received than denials of stranger ideas about New Hope. People were odd, she thought, but made sure to say New Hope would welcome visitors when peace allowed and reminded them their own Brodhelm knew the way well.

            At last a guard swung in to say the causeway would shortly be open, and they made farewells. The pitted roadway was lined with seaweed and barnacles, and Alder picked his way carefully; it made for slow progress but they arrived safely at the city gate to find Alanna and Lord Ennor waiting at the head of a civic reception, the streets behind crowded.

            Graciously acknowledging greetings and introducing the children Kel wanted to glare but realised neither Alanna nor Lord Ennor could have had much choice. The mixed emotions she’d seen in the inn were present at much greater pitches, fed by the density of the small city, and New Hope was fabulous to these people. In the end, glancing at Lord Ennor for permission, she raised her voice and thanked them in the name of New Hope, reminding them that for all its marvels it was less than a week’s ride away. She and the children still had to endure drinks with leading merchants but her polite refusal of wine paved the way to plead collective hunger and Lord Ennor escorted them to the keep where he lived, offering brusque apologies.

            “Couldn’t stop it, my Lady, when they learned you were coming. My congratulations on the way you handled it—well judged.”

            “I had a dry run waiting on the tide. But we’d be genuinely glad of food—lunchtime seems a long way back.”

            “I bet.” He gave the children a shrewd glance. “Freshen up and I’ll get things moving.”

            Alanna came with them, giving Kel a summary of repairs under way and helping Irnai into a dress. Her eyes were on Kel, and as the children scampered out she turned.

            “Would I be right to think you’ve finally put the Goddess’s blessing to some use?” Kel flushed. “That’s answer enough.” She clapped Kel roundly on the shoulder. “High time.”

            Kel glared. “What is it with women? You take one look and know what I’ve been doing behind very closed doors.”

            Alanna gave a dirty laugh. “Your ma and Yuki? Ha. Anyway, the first morning after didn’t you feel everyone could tell just by looking?” She laughed again at Kel’s expression. “I remember that. But it’s not true except for people you know well.” She fell in beside Kel, following the children. “Though I must say in your case it’s plain for those with eyes to see. You were wound tight as a spring, Kel, and now you’re humming. I bet your pattern dances have improved. It’s a side benefit that makes me really grateful to the Goddess.”

            Kel’s fascination overcame embarrassed indignation—milder than it would have been not long ago—but the conversation had to wait as Lord Ennor welcomed them to a laden table. He was a widower and his sons were working in the south of the fief where there’d been damage from wolfship raids the previous year, so they were alone save for a servant who brought and cleared plates. Alanna briskly led Ennor to dispense with vocatives and though Kel thought the children’s presence inhibited him he politely set about finding out for himself, as he put it without apology, what she was really made of.

            He had experience of Yamani traders and was interested in her childhood, but what concerned him were estimates of the strength of New Hope and how it affected the balance of the border. Remembering his support last Midwinter, for which she thanked him, Kel answered crisply but as strategic questions became dominant spoke of Zerhalm, Rathhausakers, and prisoners, bringing Tobe and Irnai in. She didn’t shirk questions her father had asked about the shape of a peace treaty, nor the demands the false ambassadors used as negotiating positions.

            “A fortress is all very well, and right now it’s vital, but we can’t seal the border so if we want to stop this pattern of constant raids and wars every thirty years we have to change conditions in Scanra. And bluntly, the middle classes don’t go raiding on horseback across borders. I’ve heard people say we must punish Scanra, but that won’t work half as well as making it more prosperous. So the question is how to replace Maggur’s way of ruling to mutual advantage?” Kel held Ennor’s gaze. “Take that abandoned farmland north of the Vassa, which hasn’t run to seed like that since war started. When it was working land the produce must have come through you.” He grunted acknowledgement. “And you must want it back, but that means helping, not punishing. And gods know Maggur’s punished Scanra enough. I’ll never forget what we saw in Rathhausak.”

            He grunted again. “I don’t disagree, Keladry, but the southern lords have always refused the investment needed. They’re happy to have trade coming south, but no interest in having the north develop. It’d threaten their dominance.”

            “Tell me.” Alanna’s voice was sour. “George and I have been sending money to Trebond for years and it’s never enough.”

            “But things are changing.” Kel didn’t want to be explicit in front of Tobe and Irnai, not because she feared their discretion but because hopes could be as much burden as boost. “You insisted yourself the log-jam on the Council had been broken, and that was before we knew about the questions concerning Genlith and others.” From his look of distaste she saw Ennor knew what she meant. “If they’re doing what we think those southern lords are going to take a big hit, one way or another. And for my money—and maybe a lot of people’s—the most important thing about New Hope, when it stops being the glacis and palisades, is the Craftsbeings’ Guild, because if webbing, stoneware, and icelights go south money is going to come north. Which reminds me, I brought an icelight rod for you, Ennor—I’m sorry it’s small but they weigh a bit.”

            Alanna grinned. “I warned you, Ennor. A merchant as well as a warrior and priest, eh Kel?”

            She was unabashed. “Certainly. Why should I want New Hope to be a poor fief maintained as a fort at Crown expense? Or to spend thirty years waiting to fight the poor Scanrans again? We’re shipping through Mindelan, because I could get a very good deal there, but in peacetime shipping down the Vassa would make sense, so it’s in our interest to be sure Frasrlund has nice big icelights for, oh, harbour and causeway and wherever they might do good.”

            “I’ll think on that, surely.” Ennor smiled but his look was sharp. “You’re bidding fair to be a good neighbour, then?”

            “Certainly, and it’s not just New Hope, Ennor. Var’istaan, St’aara, Amiir’aan and the other basilisks were wandering round Tortall for a decade being rejected by scared villagers or stoneworkers who feared for their livelihoods. How much could they have done if we’d recruited them? I don’t think anything would have been possible with stormwings before, but what would you give for a seawatch twenty miles out?”

            “Now there’s a thought. And I’ll say, Keladry, I like what I hear. I didn’t doubt Alanna or Vanget, nor Brodhelm, but it’s good to know oneself. You have my support with Runnerspring—what he thinks he’s doing I can’t imagine. Tell me, if you will—you’ll apply for the fief now?”

            “When the time comes, but I still think that’s in peace.”

            “Fair enough, though I’m not sure I agree. Whenever it comes, it’ll be good for us, and I find I actually look forward to trying to sort out this border. You’re bringing new things to the mix. Still, from the looks of young Tobeis and Irnai I should let you get them to bed.”

            Kel gratefully found hers too. The tides meant leaving very early or so late the next wayhouse would be out of range, so they took a day in Frasrlund. Despite constant attention she was able to look round city and harbour with the children, enjoying a conversation with Yamani merchants surprised to hear their tongue who recognised them as Sakuyo’s Blessed, and lunching on fresh seacatch. The afternoon was more businesslike, Ennor being sufficiently taken with the icelight to ask her to accompany him to discussions with his harbour and causeway masters. The possibility of lights in any shape or size had to be offset against their working far better at night than on a heavily overcast day but lack of maintenance costs weighed too. Wharfs and warehouses had to be lit, and Kel talked a little of what it would mean to have streets lit at night; Frasrlund was no Corus to warrant its own Rogue but where goods were stored they were pilfered, and some everywhere might seek advantage in darkness to improve their fortunes.

            All in all it was a pleasant, practical day she hoped had begun to put New Hope’s fantastical reputation to mutually beneficial use, and after another evening meal with useful discussion she went to bed satisfied, if missing Dom as much as she’d feared. Ennor would sail for Port Caynn at the end of the month, but Alanna, whom even the idea of a sea-journey could leave green, was heading south with them to Mindelan and would go on to Corus via Blue Harbour. On the coast road drizzle was replaced by squalls, but between them, when not pointing out sea stacks and arches or the way the water’s colours shifted with depth and light, Kel had a running conversation with Alanna. Of Aly the Lioness said only that she was safe, from the sound of it causing other people trouble, and they should wait on George’s report in Corus, but about men and what they said or believed about intimacy she was frank, funny, and alarming. Kel found herself redefining Yuki’s level of detail as quite decorous, and if she learned more than she wanted about the King she was grateful and said so. Alanna looked at her with eyes darker than usual despite the bracing air and coastal light.

            “No offence to your mother, Kel, but I think of you as another daughter. Goddess knows I love Alianne so much it hurts but I’ve never understood her and it’s clear she’s taking after George. But you I understood, and gods messing with you doesn’t change that.” She brooded while Kel absorbed this, marvelling. “I hadn’t realised what a state you’d got into, though, thanks to Cavall’s idiotic obsession with keeping us apart. I should use his proxy to vote for something radical just to serve him right, but that’s by the by. What isn’t is the Hag, and while I’d gladly beat her with her own stick for the way she did it I’m afraid she did have a point about teasing you.”

            Kel let out a sigh. “The thought crossed my mind. But what was I supposed to do? Wyldon would have dismissed me as a page for seeing boys, and Raoul wasn’t wrong to warn me about lovers and commanders.”

            “All true, but people find ways. Older people too, but the young are especially ingenious. Desire’s so fierce when it’s new.”

            “Maybe so, but most people don’t have half Tortall watching them in hope of a mistake. Are any of these girls in training now going to serve in the army? Assuming there’s peace by then the need will be less urgent, but it’s not like there won’t be things for the army to be doing. And while it’s early days I think Fiannola’s got that something. I’d like to get Raoul to take her as a squire.”

            Alanna grinned. “Sorry, he’s booked for Alan. But I agree the army will want Fiannola. The others too, probably. Why?”

            “Because regulations need rewriting. I’ve been protected in odd ways and put in command very early, but suppose I was serving as a junior officer somewhere isolated—where would my protection be ?”

            “Ouch.”

            “You should look at Yamani regulations.”

            “Eh? They don’t have women officers, do they?”

            “No, but they don’t think sex is only between men and women.”

            “Heh. I shouldn’t argue that with the army council, which is where this should go. What do the Yamanis say, then?”

            “Intimacy’s forbidden in the chain of command but not outside it and when permissible subject to relevant civil codes.”

            “Makes sense. Nice and clear, too.” Alanna grinned. “And if we did have such a regulation, Kel, would it happen you’d be in breach of it?”

            “It would, which is one reason I’d appreciate as much silence as you can manage.” Alanna stuck out her tongue and Kel laughed. “I know, but  I’ve no wish either to have to lie or to give Runnerspring any truths to hurl for a change. And on the basis of existing regulations you could argue that if my lover was a civilian at New Hope I’d be in breach of duty too, which would leave me a choice of immortals. I suppose some of the stormwings clean up quite nicely.”

            “Kel!” For once she’d managed to scandalise Alanna; there was a liberation in conversations on the road. “That’s … really not a thought I want to pursue.”

            “Fair enough, but do you remember that herdmaster Greystreak? Oily hair in ringlets, fair-skinned, blue roan, and a horrid attitude.”

            “Oh yes. What about him?”

            “First time he met me he couldn’t stop staring at my hips. Said I’d birth his kind easily and offered Raoul three horses for me.”

            “The cursed cheek! I hope Raoul taught him some manners.”

            “Peachblossom and Drum did.”

            Alanna cackled. “Oh right—I remember that story now. Mmm. If we’re going to have more contact with immortals we will have to think about that. It’ll give Turomot something to chew on when he’s stopped spluttering. Gods.” She shook her head. “I do hear what you’re saying about the road you’ve had to walk, Kel, that you’re still walking, and I’m sorry for it. But I’m gladder you’ve won through, with the Goddess’s help.” She gave a salacious grin. “Does he know how blessed he is?”

            Kel shook her head. “Sometimes you think just like a man.”

            “I know. Just ask my poor Bazhir.”

            That story carried them to the wayhouse, and an early start next day brought them inland round low hills, bypassing Seabeth-and-Seajen, to the upper Domin by late afternoon. The weather had improved and before they crossed into the fief Kel had Tobe put on a Mindelan tunic.

            “It saves people having to ask, Tobe.” He nodded and Kel ruffled his hair. “It’ll be fine.”

            She had butterflies herself, and was wearing a Mindelan tunic of her own as well as hanging her shield with her device visible. Besides her brief stay during the Progress she’d hardly been home in a decade, and didn’t much resemble her siblings; the thought of people there being like those at Frasrlund, gaping wonder, induced a hollow feeling, but it would be her first return since passing her Ordeal, once a dream beyond an all-consuming goal. Alanna gave her space but as the landscape became familiar Kel roused herself to tell the children—and avidly listening escort—about what they were seeing. The people they began to pass stared and offered bows or curtseys to which Kel returned waves with growing tension in her gut, but the gateguards were evidently pleased their most famous daughter had returned at last. The flag above the gatehouse showing her parents were in residence sported the same golden border as her own but the shield above the gates had yet to be changed, and she nudged Tobe; that was one Midwinter gift solved, even if it might have to be a promissory note on the day. When they came to the wide street leading from gatehouse to keep and the family house beside it word had spread with its usual uncanny speed, and the way was lined with curious faces. A small part of Kel was mortified but a greater part acknowledged their right, which she hadn’t felt of the crowds in Corus, and when she saw people she recognised, a chandler who sold all sorts of things that had intrigued her as a ten-year-old standing with his family in his shop doorway, she dismounted with Tobe and Irnai to introduce them and promise a proper visit. They were delighted, and the crowd amused, when Alder put his head over Tobe’s shoulder to whuffle at the scents of rope and tar; they also noticed the boy’s ease with a warhorse it wouldn’t do to argue with, and when Kel named Irnai, making sure her voice carried, there was a little gust of sound. Kel gave Irnai’s shoulder an apologetic squeeze but the seer was untroubled, smiling happily at the chandler and looking about with interest.

            Her family was waiting, doors flung wide to spill light, with beaming smiles—or in the cases of her younger nieces and nephews solemn and curious stares. Ostlers led the escort away and, with a word of warning from Kel, Alder, and she turned to face her family, gathering the children. Her father had never been one for public speaking but had to welcome Alanna as King’s Champion and added one to Tobe on his first visit, which the crowd applauded; courtesy led him to offer Irnai one, and there was more applause and shouts of ‘Blessed’. But while he might cordially dislike addressing crowds her father—the Duke, Kel thought, watching him—understood politics and knew his people, so he squared his shoulders and looked at her with what she realised was a mix of apology and pride with much more swirling beneath.

            “Keladry, my dear, what can I say? We always expected you to return as a Lady Knight but you come as so much more—Commander of New Hope, of which all speak; Protector of the Small, to mortals and immortals alike; King’s Councillor alongside me ere you are half my age, and the youngest in memory; Blessed of Lord Sakuyo, and of the Black God and Goddess beyond dreaming. You make us very proud.”

            To Kel’s shock he gave her a bow, with everyone following, before enfolding her in his familiar hug. She didn’t know if she was more horrified or thunderstricken, but thought getting herself inside out of sight as soon as possible was the best idea; behind her she could hear the crowd dip too, and forced herself to smile and wave before shepherding parents and children alike towards the door, smiling still as best she could at nephews and nieces. Inside there was a gauntlet of servants, whose welcomes could not be ignored, and by the time she made it through with Tobe and Irnai her emotions were tamped down—barely—and her headache vicious. It was fortunate Alanna was there, weather eye as sharp as her mother’s, and helped Kel gain the bedroom assigned her—not one she’d ever used—before taking the children to their own and leaving her blessedly alone. A racking burst of sobs eased her head a little, though what they mourned she couldn’t have said, and Alanna, slipping back in already dressed in soft breeches and shirt, banished the pain with a trickle of purple fire.

            “You’re going to want to wash your face, Kel, as well as changing.”

            “Oh, yes, alright. I’m so—”

            “Hush. Don’t be silly. Piers didn’t have a choice and gods know every word was true, but that would jangle anyone’s nerves.”

            She held together, buoyed by the absence of pain and simple curiosity of the younger children. Vorinna and Tilaine were unsure what to make of her, Anders and Inness glad to see her, as she to see them, and when Inness’s five-year-old tugged her sleeve and asked with some scepticism if she’d really had a snowfight with a dragon she drew him onto her lap and told him yes, she really had, with two dragons, and the smaller had won. Tobe and Irnai—objects of children’s curiosity as well as the discreet regard of adults—could vouch for it, and had ridden the larger dragon. Until the children were collectively swept away to bed by their mothers, taking Tobe and Irnai for storytelling purposes, dragons and other immortals were very much the topic, and there was prosaic calm in insisting on basilisks, ogres, even stormwings as people; Junior remained a menace but having had to duck a griffin recklessly showing off flying skills emphasised how different Amiir’aan and Amourta were. When the adults were alone Inness grinned at her.

            “You must be sick of people saying so, Kel, but it does all sound like a fairy tale.”

            She summoned energy to stick out her tongue. “I suppose it does, Inness, but it’s a fairy tale you can visit. And you wait until I can have a word with your spidrens—Quenuresh says there’s some who’ll come and listen at least—so you might find it’s even closer than you think.”

            “Gods, yes. I’m not looking forward to that.”

            “I don’t blame you. Spidrens take some getting used to.”

            “Quenuresh certainly does.” Her father shuddered gently. “Not an easy diplomatic assignment, but I’m glad the ones here will talk. We haven’t had trouble with them for months—they’re keeping themselves to the deeper woods, and I’m hoping it’s deliberate restraint.” A smile drifted onto his face. “We’ve laid in extra cheese.”

            “It’s a good start.” She hesitated. “I want to go with Tobe to Conal’s grave in the morning, but I could try the spidrens in the afternoon. Quenuresh’s given me a bit of web she says will summon the one she’s heard from, but I don’t know how long it might take.”

            “Then the day after would be better, my dear. And we’ll all keep you company in the morning—unless you’d rather we didn’t.”

            “As you will, Papa. I’ve told you all I know. I just want to pay my last respects to him, and thank the Black God again with Tobe.”

            “Of course. I’ve told the family about Tobe’s forgiveness and the dream you shared, so it doesn’t need repeating.”

            The talk went on for a while, and after Alanna and her parents had retired Kel found herself staying later than she wanted with Anders and Inness, giving them an incomplete but frank account of her dealings with the Black God. It was easier with emotions blunted from tears and Alanna’s healing, and the slightly thick head that followed; she hadn’t felt she owed an account to Adie or Orie, let alone Conal, but her elder brothers were another matter. Perhaps it was their knowledge of combat, or tolerance of her chivalric ambitions; they heard differently, appreciating as others had not, even her parents, what she tried to say about the sadness of the god’s eyes. They also reacted distinctly to her effective status as a priest, amused in a way she could appreciate and thoughtful in a way that surprised her about things she might share with Avinar and their father’s quiet piety. And there was an instinctive reaction of fraternal comfort, always missing in Conal, that soothed her as she hugged them goodnight and made her way to an unfamiliar bed.

* * * * *

Kel woke as usual before dawn, and if the household was surprised to find her and Tobe well exercised by breakfast no-one said anything. The visit to Conal’s grave was simple, peaceful, and purely mortal; the Black God had vouchsafed his promise and you didn’t need to ask twice. The act of respect mattered to Kel but she thought the visit more important to Tobe, and Anders and Inness, who had watched their brother die. The swathe of new graves was shocking but with the mild weather greenery had spread over turned earth. Other bereaved families were tending their dead, and for all the grief in the air Kel thought the Black God’s benison shared; the losses, however cruel, seemed mourned rather than resented. She was aware of responsibility for the attack but past claiming guilts she didn’t have to shoulder.

            Alanna came in courtesy but left afterward, promising to see Kel in Corus, and she spent the day wandering with the children. After the harbour and basic layout, and delivering letters from Heliana to startled friends, came time in the chandler’s, where she ordered bolts of stout canvas for New Hope and hanks of larger rope than the army had; they also acquired a spyglass Tobe coveted and from a bookseller who catered to her father’s tastes Yamani books for him and Yuki, and a book of travels taller than true that enchanted Irnai. They met Vorinna and Tilaine for lunch at an inn on the main square, and despite public scrutiny Kel thought it an hour well spent: it was her sisters-in-law’ territory and gave her a chance to answer questions they were willing to ask. They adored her brothers and their children, and as anxiety about her and Tobe eased their essential goodwill came to the fore.

            The trip next day to the forest east of the Domin was much more nerve-racking, but Kel was comforted by Irnai’s insistence on coming, despite her brothers’ protests. The male spidren who emerged only half-an-hour after she’d held aloft the fragment of webbing was smaller than Aldoven or any of Quenuresh’s kin save the babies. He was called Vorgitarl, wasn’t a mage but what Kel decided must be the spidren equivalent of a hedgewitch, and he and his kin had indeed been practising restraint, in desperation, but the woods, hunted by mortals as well as the People, could not support them for much longer.

            The trust Kel offered in leaving their escort at a distance mattered, as did her father and brothers being there, but not as much as her presence with Irnai, unarmed, and she saw amazement in Anders’s and Inness’s faces when the spidren addressed her as Protector. It was there again when she described how treaties with Quenuresh and Aldoven worked and insisted it be sworn in Mindelan, witnessed by all.

            “It’s hard, but as experience of mortal anger and pursuit governs your fears, experience of immortal predation and hostility governs ours, and mutual experience of safe speech will govern acceptance. And as we offer trust, providing food now and inviting you among us, so you must offer trust and come.” She smiled, ignoring bristles she still wished the immortals were without. “I would ask you establish trade as soon as may be. Old webbing for cheese, at least—seawinds blow cold enough that insulation will be welcome—and I don’t know if webbing can be used for fishing-nets, but that would be good. Or with keep and curtain walls to maintain there’s always a use for beings who climb them as we’d cross a floor. Come an hour after dawn to the bluffs above the Domin, nearest the city gate. I once met another spidren there, with less happy results, but I will gladly meet you and your kin there and escort you to the city.”

            Vorgitarl nodded with a sigh. “We will be there. Quenuresh is right—we must learn to live with mortals. It is new in these realms but the timeway turns and we must turn with it or fall from it.”

            She considered him gravely. “That is so. Even stormwings and dragons agree. And between us we can help it turn for the better. Will you ask your kin to stand clear of the eaves a moment that we may see them? And meet the guards who will help me tomorrow?”

            She waved the escort forward and as a score of spidrens minced clear of the treeline, anxiety on their faces, she named the sweating men who spoke to Vorgitarl and were spoken to, each kind tense but drawing on Kel’s and Irnai’s calm. When it was done and the spidrens had withdrawn Kel fixed the men with gaze and voice.

            “As with any former enemy, it’s not easy and takes time. I don’t know Vorgitarl and can’t promise he’ll keep his word. But I think he is sincere and I know other spidrens sworn to treaty have kept their words, in spirit and letter. They are old beings—the least of those we saw has lived for centuries—and do not give oath lightly. So the question is easy—do you want your children and grandchildren, if you’re lucky, to grow up wary of making a spidren meal whenever they go wooding, or a world where spidrens help defend them against whatever may come calling?” She let it sink in, thought battling with fear. “I know they repel. I don’t like the teeth and hair either—not one bit. But if you can get past that, well, every one of you has now spoken civilly to a spidren, close enough to touch, and you’re alive to tell the tale.” She glanced at Anders and Inness. “Which with my brothers’ permission is what I want you all to spend the rest of today doing. People are fearful, and some will say things born of fear or have scores they’ll say should be settled with every spidren. All I ask is you tell them the truth of what you’ve seen and done today, and ask them the same question I asked you.”

            Kin and escort alike were silent on the way back, and when they were back in the house her father embraced her, called her ‘my dear’ in a voice that melted her heart, and left her with Anders and Inness. She helped them disarm, not having bothered with armour herself beyond her jerkin, and made tea as they sat heavily in chairs around a welcome fire, Anders rubbing his leg and Inness his recently healed wounds. When she sat herself he looked up with an odd smile.

            “Little sister, that was as brave as anything I’ve ever seen.”

            She met his gaze as her blush faded. “Not really, Inness. The first time with Quenuresh, who’s three times Vorgitarl’s size, took some doing. But I wasn’t expecting trouble today, and I’ve learned to read them a little. There was no threat.”

            He blew out a breath. “If you say so. My compliments all the same.”

            “Mine too, but not quite for the same reason.” Anders glanced at Inness. “You weren’t here, but I remember the day Kel met a spidren on the Domin—it was when you decided to accept Cavall’s offer of probation, wasn’t it? After saving those kittens.”

            Kel nodded. “Except I didn’t save all the kittens. It killed two of them before my eyes. I swore I wouldn’t be letting that happen again.”

            “It was the spidren she went after with stones and bare hands, Inness. At ten. And it wasn’t any smaller than Vorgitarl, besides a whole lot meaner. But you know, Kel, I thought you’d been crazy brave, and I told you so. You heard me too, I remember. But today—that wasn’t crazy at all. You say you weren’t scared but I saw you holding it down, and what you did with the men … well, I wanted to say I begin to understand why men follow you. Why people do.”

            “Oh yes.” Inness nodded. “That was command, civil and military together.” He lifted his teacup to her. “Lady Knight.”

            Moved, Kel found she felt like talking but not about spidrens, and bearded them by turning to the fact that the elemental forbade no-one from talking about Ordeals, and telling Anders she’d be making sure Lachran knew it. Astonishing them all over again was satisfying and though she didn’t report all she knew she did mention the revived traditions beyond Ordeals, and additional forms of testing in the wake of Joren’s and Vinson’s failures. His death still wasn’t public knowledge and women’s vulnerability wasn’t a subject she wanted to dwell on, but the prospect of excluding men like the Torhelms from knighthood was welcome to all and the politics that might spin from it caught Anders’s imagination. Kel had realised that though her oldest brother had always known he would inherit a barony he was struggling with the notion of inheriting a duchy and Lachran’s changed expectations. She half-wondered if he wanted her to take his son as a squire, but discovered he’d already had discussions with Imrah, under whose command he’d been fighting when injured, and who hadn’t taken a squire since Roald.

            “I went to Legann briefly, Kel, by sea, to confirm arrangements over New Hope trade, and we caught up. I think Lord Imrah genuinely likes the look of Lachran, but he had an eye to the consequences of Pa’s elevation so it seemed worth asking and he agreed.”

            Kel nodded happily. She thought she’d like to take a squire one day, but not yet. “Good. Imrah’s a nice man, I’ve found—we had a chat when he got back from Torhelm. That’s when I did the trade deal, presuming on your goodwill.”

            “As if you needed to ask.”

            “Well, it was a liberty all the same. But in the longer run I’m hoping the duties New Hope does pay will make you quite a lot of money for the fief. I’ve been talking to Ennor of Frasrlund too.”

            The conversation rolled to trade and what Mindelan needed and hoped for as a duchy, and continued into dinner with Kel’s parents and the children vouching for basilisk-and-mage architecture. Kel’s simple—to her—contention that the Craftsbeings’ Guild owed Mindelan for the trade deal and, once peace permitted, a Guild work party should come to repay it, met with excited protest that no-one owed anything. A further observation—that if they attracted a basilisk and began to produce mesh for use at sea they would make a fortune and need to set up their own branch of the Guild, bound by the same profit-sharing approach—produced a different burst of conversation, and she grinned at her parents over the babble. They smiled back but without ceasing to look thoughtful and Kel realised even they had not altogether put together what she hoped the Guild might become.

            The lesson was spectacularly driven home next morning, when, with a manifestly unconcerned Tobe and Irnai as well as the sweating escort, she ushered the spidrens to the square. People blanched but looked, and Kel drew on the respect she’d inherited with the wondering admiration she’d earned and willed the crowd to calmness, not allowing occasional gagging or cries to affect the peace she imposed. She read the treaty aloud, strong voice carrying throughout the square and beyond, and witnessed as King’s Councillor and Protector of the Small oaths her father and Vorgitarl swore. A token round of cheese was presented and a bundle of webbing delivered, at Anders’s cunning suggestion, to a popular, notoriously drafty waterfront tavern; that caught fancies but the moment that tipped the crowd was the swift repair, further along the quayside, of a badly torn and urgently needed fishing net.

            “It will not last more than a few months, Protector.” Vorgitarl was factual rather than apologetic. “It is waterproof, but salt will eat at it. Still, if such repairs are of value we are happy to trade our help.”

            The fishermen examining the work stood and shakily bowed thanks, and Kel felt the ripple of acceptance flow through all who saw and heard. Whatever else it did Mindelan fished, and a source of emergency repair at a speed no mortal could match was of tangible value. Even so enough was enough, and with the children Kel walked the spidrens back to the gate, though she left it to the escort to see them to the Domin. It would take time but seeds had sprouted, and walking back she spoke easily to many, cheerfully admitting the strain of spidren conversation, underlining the rewards and duties of mutual good faith, and mentioning trade prospects. Reaching home to collapse by the fire, and being brought tea by an admiring Inness, she called it a good day’s work and rejoiced in general agreement. Her parents told the tale of Bonedancer and Quenuresh, not for the first time but to newly understanding ears, and her account of Lindhall Reed’s chagrin when the flying fossil had landed on the Green Lady to rub its head on her breast brought scandalised squeaks and renewed laughter.

            The rest of the visit was, thankfully, eventless. Kel got to know nieces and nephews she had only met as infants and toddlers during the Progress. Her escort were in effect on leave, and after she’d shown them the city, buying them a drink in the waterfront tavern where webbing was now packed around windows and much discussed, they were happy to go with Tobe and Irnai when they wanted to wander, leaving Kel time with her brothers and parents. She walked walls and harbour defences with Anders and Inness, suggesting things that could be done if a basilisk visited; Laar’aan would be willing, and there were places on the seawalls where obsidian spiking would be of real use, as well as a section of the keep with cracks masons struggled to repair. Her smooth grace in dawn pattern dances attracted an audience, as well as a ghostly wink from her mother, and Anders asked her to drop by the guards’ training and give what advice she could—more a matter of breaking routine with fresh challenges than anything else She left them enthusiasts for slingwork by setting up targets resembling bodies visible over a gunwale, giving one a clay head, and cracking it open at better than fifty yards. Her ability to beat experienced sergeants in staff- and swordplay brought brasher guards up short, and her unusual mix of authority and kindness worked on them as it had at Haven and New Hope. They also sought the company of her escort, who backed her with flat statements of what the empty Greenwoods valley had looked like when they first saw it and what was there now, of raids and funerals afterward, of Scything Wheat and Rogal’s execution. In consequence the guards took to calling her Lady Kel, but among the townsfolk she had to endure ‘Protector’, thanks to Vorgitarl, and in any longer conversation found herself insisting on Lady Kel, with limited success.

            Her parents commiserated with her frustration but also had a long conversation with her about status, power, and the authority of names. There wasn’t much she hadn’t begun to realise for herself, but as with reading Orchan of Eridui trained clarity helped organise in her head one mind and body with multiple identities. She was used to the phenomenon in rulers, from the differing levels of protocol the Yamani emperor required or could dispense with, and had seen it in Alanna, Daine and Numair, Cricket, even Yuki when she gained formal Queenscove rank; but while she lived it of necessity, she hadn’t been able to think it through. Nights with Dom in the world their bed became had changed something—another side benefit to thank the Goddess for, she decided, wondering whether to tell Alanna. With her innermost self engaged with another’s—her new knowledge of who she was naked, of wholeness and completion—her radiating rings of public authority became clearer: Knight, Commander, Protector, Councillor. Here in Mindelan her status as duke’s daughter was a variant of commander, and if she was ennobled in her own right to rule New Hope that would be another. Whatever their complications, gods were only another context to which every identity owed thanks and courtesy, and the immortals only other pieces on their chessboard with their own rings of identity and power to tend as they walked the timeway. The chaotic buzz of worry about the future, fears for those she loved and guarded, didn’t go away, but like massing known and unknown threats to New Hope were kept at bay by the glacis and palisades of the duties she owed herself and those over whom she stood in authority, in whatever capacity. As clarity sank in the ease of her body rose into her mind, and she slept dreamlessly though her own hands were a poor substitute for Dom’s.

            It was pleasant but only an interlude, and the weather, still unseasonably mild, was growing cooler as days shortened and sunshine thinned. A storm leaving everything harbour-bound for a week could blow up any time, and prevailing westerlies meant a lot of tacking before a ship heading south could clear the great cape sheltering Blue Harbour and run south-west for Port Caynn. After discussions with her father about Runnerspring’s complaint her restlessness grew; it was a sideshow and she wanted it done, to get through this strange, slight winter to the spring that must surely end dragging inaction. The children too, though relaxed, were eager for the bustle of Corus, and when they took ship the only one who objected was Alder, whose opinions of the sea Tobe said were much like Alanna’s, if horsier. But his intelligence worked against him and when Tobe stared, hands on hips, from the top of the gangplank, he reluctantly made his way on board, snorting.

            As the ship worked out of the harbour Kel sat with the children in her arms, explaining what was happening as sailors rushed about, hauling and trimming, stowing anchor and cable, and setting a bewildering variety of sails. She didn’t look back, but wondered how long it might be before she saw Mindelan again.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Two — Authority

1–18 December

They arrived ten days before festivities opened with the Council session and Queen’s Ball. Kel had a long agenda, some of which she suspected was needless—on the political side meetings with other Councillors already present, including Padraig and Duke Gareth; on the military, meetings Alanna arranged with members of the Army Council to float suggestions, from testing recruits for skill with the sling to the putative regulations to protect female officers; and chief among personal business, meetings with Lalasa and Tomas, in a quiet frenzy of preparation for their wedding on the third day of festivities. Kel’s notes had had the desired effect, and Thayet and Shinko had more-or-less extorted invitations. Lalasa alternated between thrilled astonishment and indignant trepidation but Kel was unrepentant. Amid it all she was mindful: she and the children always wore their jerkins, and while Tobe and Irnai might go about the Palace as they would, visiting Daine, Numair, Kawit, and other friends, if they wanted to go to her parents’, the Temple District, or lower city they went with men of her escort. She had locks of hair to track them if necessary, and Numair respelled their rooms and checked the bracelets.

            Most of her political meetings were dull, serving only to underline that no-one understood what Runnerspring wanted. There was humming and hawing about noble courtesies but no doubt about legalities or that the oddity of Rogal’s presence called for explanation. Even Macayhill, to whom she gave an account of events with Vorgitarl, was unsympathetic to Runnerspring, and if he couldn’t approve her acting as executioner agreed someone had had to. At their request she took Tobe and Irnai to her meeting with Duke Gareth, ostensibly in case they might again be summoned, a possibility he dryly denied, but really to see his bearskin. They found themselves as loath to step on it as Numair said Gareth was, and she saw him suppress a smile as they made their way round its edge, the children’s eyes wide and her own not far behind at the sheer size of the thing; the meeting was better tempered than the last and he called her Lady Keladry rather than Lady Knight, but his puzzlement about Runnerspring seemed as great as anyone’s.

            “As far as I can tell he just wants his complaint official. He knows he has no support. It’s a waste of time but he has the right to table business, however foolishly.”

            “And there’s no chance he has another surprise complainant?”

            “One would think he’d have learned better from what happened with Tirrsmont, Lady Keladry. I certainly wouldn’t care to try to surprise you. But no, not that I can discover, and he’d need to give notice to His Majesty. Much more interesting, frankly, is these icelights you’ve started making and the city business arising from that.”

            They discussed those, but with her main business done she made excuses, released the children to find Kitten, and went to a longer, more productive meeting with Turomot. Faced with her careful questions about the Guild he called a senior assistant whom she spent a cheerful hour tripping on his assumptions, to Turomot’s increasingly thoughtful approval, and when she turned to wider issues of immortals’ rights and duties under treaty a different assistant whose dry legality was very helpful even if his eyebrows were in his hair long before she was done. After that she spoke about Rogal, and Turomot tested her grasp of the laws and precedents involved before huffing satisfaction.

            “It’s an unusual case, my Lady, and if he’d identified himself as Runnerspring’s man from the outset, claiming extended noble privilege, I hate to think what kind of a mess we might be in between the demands of his putative master, the Army Council, and my Lord of Hollyrose.” He sniffed eloquently. “I was doubtful when I heard what had happened, but your reports are clear and your reasoning sound. You might be interested to know one of my clerks found references to griffin-tested evidence in courts of the Thanic Empire, and Tortallan courts before the Human Era, so even that oddity has precedent.”

            Kel was interested, and Turomot taken by her connection of the army’s need for griffin feathers and the griffins’ conviction it was right to attend courts. In an odd way she thought he’d have been outraged at the idea of talking immortals interfering with procedure, but there was something in the nobility of griffins and silent enforcement of truth-telling without regard for rank that appealed. The issue led to truthspells and the change in loyalty oaths he was still considering; whether anything she could say would make legal wheels turn faster she doubted, but pitched her arguments for whatever they might be worth. His hands were heavily spotted and he was beginning to bend with age but he remained upright in duty, and she felt the admiration for him that had come to her on the night of her Ordeal, when he stayed in the freezing Chapel to guard against interference. They would never be friends in the way she’d found with other conservatives from Wyldon to Ennor, let alone share the camaraderie of Raoul, Alanna, and men like Imrah and Terres, but they parted on warmer terms than they’d met.

            With Palace business concluded Kel gave a glaive class, pushing the best pages with new pattern dances. She spent a day with the children in the lower city, taking care of gifts and dropping by to see the bride. With her wedding dress and her groom’s fine outfit complete Lalasa was less frantic, but there was much to do—weddings seemed to proliferate detail like weeds; even the army couldn’t do better—and the arguments she and Kel might have had about who was paying for what had been settled in letters. Kel had made a point of not ordering work for herself or the children, and had her Mindelan kimonos for the wedding, but as Tobe and Irnai had grown Lalasa remeasured them against orders to be filled in the spring and sent north with Barin’s next wagon train. Kel detained her friend sufficiently to give an account of the Lord Badger’s appearance, producing exclamations, but besides the deaths of Merric and Rogal, hardly subjects to raise with an imminent bride, her year had been less eventful than the last. Lalasa had more to tell about the Protector’s Maids but no time to do so, and Kel stopped her babble of worry by promising to make a round of the shops herself.

            That took her and the children much of the next day, the last before the Council, and she ended it pleased on several accounts. All the shops were doing well, three more had opened, and several were employing women who had the necessary skills but not the ambition or more abstract talents to run a business. She placed orders where she could, for herself and New Hope, had conversations about problems there had—and in some ways more tellingly hadn’t—been, and was introduced to their children and elder kin helping out in the busy Midwinter season. These were lifelong lower-city folk, with tightknit families and lives her own had never begun to resemble; but Tobe had known as bad, Irnai worse, and all refugees at New Hope a degree of personal disaster and loss next to which Mutt Piddle Lane might count itself secure. Just as importantly Kel’s attitudes, though by now melded with exercise of authority, were infused with responsibilities of rank, not its privileges, and though she didn’t understand how it worked from their point of view they talked to her, freely so far as she could tell, and it added up to growing mutual respect that boded well.

            When she saw the goldsmith and discovered just how much the Maids’ tithes had collectively amounted to she wanted to march out with bags of golden nobles and give them back, but contented herself with directing him to return a quarter of the most recent deposits by way of a Midwinter bonus. His tut-tutting at such generosity made her ensure no extra commission was taken from returned monies, but she mollified him by discussing the Guild’s need for financial representation in Corus. He agreed to consult Master Orman as fast as any banker ever moved, and she left him with good cheer restored, intending to visit Master Randall to tell him how his barding had performed, only to be greeted on Palace Way with an enthusiastic shout by a muddy Owen, just arrived from the north. After a bearhug she offered congratulations on his hard-won permission to court, which made him beam.

             “You’re cutting it very fine, Owen.”

            “I didn’t mean to, Kel, but with no real end to the fighting season General Vanget didn’t want anyone leaving before they had to. A lot of people are staying, you know. I would myself if it weren’t for Iden’s and Warric’s Ordeals. Couldn’t miss those.”

            Kel promised she wouldn’t miss those dawns and walked up Palace Way hearing his account of an educational year.

            “I expect it’s old hat to you, Kel, but even after seeing all my Lord does as District Commander I’d no idea how much more General Vanget has to do, nor what it would be like to work so closely with a regular company. The inaction’s been horrid, though it doesn’t seem right to wish for raids when they hurt so many people, but sitting on the other side of the desk and making decisions myself, well, it’s taught me a lot.” He brightened. “My Lord agrees. The General let me use the spellmirror to speak to him as I couldn’t go via Mastiff, and he said he hoped I could be broken to bridle in a few years. It was the best compliment.”

            Kel could hear Wyldon saying it and resolved to tease him when she could—but didn’t disagree. Owen did need tempering, and responsibility for others with all its logistics and paperwork was no bad thing, but he was a fine man, not as uncomplicated as he could seem but direct and open, a wellspring of good cheer. She could see people looking at her and grinning as they heard his artless enthusiasm. By the time they reached the Palace Tobe and Irnai were astride Happy Two, and in payment took him to rub down while Owen trudged off to make himself presentable for his father. Kel had a nice talk with Stefan Groomsman, finding him interested in news of Alder’s barding and unexpectedly well-informed about events at New Hope—the result, she decided, of conversations with Daine. It might have been casual talk—they dealt together over injured horses and the ponies brought from Galla each year for the Queen’s Riders, and he asked after Peachblossom—but Kel thought it Daine’s subtle promotion of living with immortals, particularly stormwings. She spoke of Amourta and the Stone Tree Nation’s collective ability, when it chose, not to terrify and be reasonably clean.

            Walking back Kel was possessed by a feeling of absurdity, arising, she worked out, from the sheer disjunction of what had become her daily normality at New Hope and attitudes only beginning to change in Corus. The capital had always been the hub of Tortall—for all the conservatism that afflicted her page years, the biggest, most various city she’d ever seen, heart of the realm and dwelling of the King; but now seemed behind the pace of change being midwived in the northern war, suspicious of innovation in the way it scornfully ascribed to backwater provinces. Instinctively and by long training a loyalist, she’d learned to think herself a reformer but not before now a radical, let alone a revolutionary; yet that was in part how her Maids and Stefan saw her, and it struck a chord with something she’d seen in the eyes of Uinse and his lads, in Reben Carpenter and other men of New Hope Second. When she tried to explain what was preoccupying her Tobe just smiled.

            “Of course you make everyone change, Ma. You changed everything for me, and Irnai, and everyone at New Hope. Why shouldn’t you change everything here too, if that’s what’s needed?”

            She had no answer that didn’t sound like adult nonsense but after she’d helped them to bed and climbed into her own she lay awake a long time, reconciling this perspective with her new understanding of herself and her various responsibilities. Some things fitted nicely, like the Craftsbeings’ Guild and the effect it and the Protector’s Maids would have on the attitudes of men like the goldsmith—not a bad man, nor lazy, but as rigidly conservative in his own field as ever Stone Mountain had been, and without realising it nearly as contemptuous of those he thought beneath him. Changed feelings towards immortals who’d always been enemies, or reviled as stormwings were, were fine by her, and she’d always known that meant a revolution in attitudes that could only be led by very different experiences. But there were things that didn’t fit easily, or at all, and as she tried to line them up in her mind she realised they centred on the north—the poorer, colder, wilder half of Tortall where what were by Corus standards poverty and simplicity counted as a good, hard-working life, and where Scanra with its recurrent instability loomed along a thousand-mile border. Her last image, carried into dreams, was of a Scanran—like Stanar but actually Freja Haraldsdottir’s son—standing astride the Vassa, as Lord Gainel was shown standing with one foot in order and the other in chaos, holding out a sword and a stone as if she were supposed to choose between them.

* * * * *

Kel found taking her seat on the Council deeply odd. Her memory of walking in to the room to face them all was sharp, and however much sense it made not to sit beside her father but in Wyldon’s place, flanked by Padraig and Imrah, opposite Runnerspring, she felt disconcerted and nervously made sure her stack of papers hadn’t mysteriously become disorganised. Whether she’d need the records of enquiry or court martial she was unsure, but wouldn’t be found wanting. Stone Mountain, surprisingly, was absent, having been little seen at Court all year, and according to Padraig remained so deeply affected by what he’d learned from the elemental he might be called a changed man; Kel hoped so. Torhelm was gone, of course, though his shadow could be felt; Ennor was between her father and Disart; Daine was absent because Sarralyn was teething, and Numair held her proxy, Harailt beside him. Otherwise attendance and seating were the same, and Runnerspring and Macayhill the only people on their side of the square.

            Lord Carolan’s scowl and shimmering tenseness were not good signs, and Kel’s heart sank as the meeting got under way with the King’s review of Tortall’s neighbours, omitting only Scanra, and some Port Legann issues to which Imrah spoke. Runnerspring’s tension seemed to her that of nervousness concealed; it took her a while to identify because she was more used to seeing it coupled with bravado, in soldiers before combat, but once she put a name to it she became increasingly sure she was right and couldn’t work out what he could be nervous about. At last they came to the heading Complaint on the agenda.

            “Lord Carolan, you registered the complaint. Will you speak to it?”

            “Is there any point?” Runnerspring’s voice was nasal, another sign of tension. “You are aware of my concerns, sire, and seem to care nothing for noble privilege. Rogal was my man and any punishment mine to enforce, or not, as I chose.”

            Seeing Alanna draw indignant breath Kel held up a hand. “Sire, as Lord Carolan’s complaint concerns me, may I address it?”

            “Please do, Lady Keladry.”

            “Lord Carolan, let me first say I regret the entire business, but I must insist that includes Sir Merric as well as Captain Rogal. Any determination here must consider more than one set of privileges. You have lost a liegeman, my Lord and Lady of Hollyrose a son, the army a captain, and the realm a knight. And if you have had to deal with Captain Rogal’s kin, I have had to deal with Sir Merric’s.”

            Reluctantly he nodded. “I concede that.”

            “Thank you. May I ask if your complaint concerns only noble privilege? Put another way, my Lord, given the records of the enquiry that led me to prefer capital charges and the court martial that passed sentence, do you accept Captain Rogal’s execution was legal?”

            He didn’t like that either but again nodded. “Yes. It is privilege not law that is at issue.”

            “Thank you again. That does mean, however, that Captain Rogal’s punishment was not yours to enforce or set aside. I concede I did not observe usual courtesies. I regret it, but submit, first, that as things stood you could only request Captain Rogal’s pardon, and I knew I would refuse for the same reasons I would not pardon him, nor my Lord of Cavall, General Vanget, or His Majesty; and second, that neither time nor circumstance allowed me leisure to defer sentence for the months it would have taken to go through empty ritual. In peacetime I might have done. In wartime, with three companies to cover patrolling, field security, and fixed defences, and having just suffered the most substantial attack this year, I could not spare a squad as prison guards. Nor, frankly, did I want a condemned man pointlessly reprieved for a few months to compromise hard-won morale in a front-line refugee camp. So I abrogated a loop of courtesy and would do so again. I cannot apologise for my actions, but I am prepared to apologise for having infringed the shadow of your privilege.”

            She’d been watching his face carefully, seeing his mouth tighten at ‘the shadow of privilege’, so she was taken aback when, narrowing his eyes, he abruptly nodded a third time.

            “I accept your apology. The matter is closed.” As breaths were released he turned to the King, and through her surprise Kel realised he’d just made it very hard to ask him why Rogal had been at Tirrsmont. “And yet, sire, my larger concern remains. New Hope didn’t exist two years ago and now recurs frequently in our concerns—military and civil. The Lady Knight calls it a front-line refugee camp, which points its absurdity. You call it the best fortification between Northwatch and Frasrlund and say you saw it in the Chamber of the Ordeal. And whatever this folderol about making no decision until we have peace, it’s plain it must become a fief and will go to the Lady Knight—already a second Mindelan seat on this Council.”

            “And your point, my Lord?” The King’s voice was studiously neutral.

            “How are we supposed to make a proper decision about something so strange we’ve never seen?” He turned to Kel, voice high with the effort of speaking courteously. “Perhaps you will tell me, Lady Knight, if you do indeed intend to apply for the grant of New Hope as your fief.”

            She blew out a breath. “If I live to do so, my Lord. I would point out that eight people present have seen New Hope, as well as my Lord of Cavall, and His Majesty in the elemental’s vision.”

            “Even so, Lady Knight.” The vocative wasn’t quite a sneer. “We should not be deciding something so important blindly, nor on anyone’s mere report. Perhaps New Hope is all it’s said to be—I don’t say it isn’t, only that I cannot know. Nor can most of us. Do you not agree we should see the place for ourselves, Macayhill? Nond? Disart?” They didn’t disagree. “What about you, Frasrlund? It’s closest to you.”

            Ennor shrugged. “I’m looking forward to seeing it, Runnerspring, but don’t doubt what Vanget, Cavall, and the Lioness tell me. Don’t see why you should either.”

            “I’m not saying I do. Only that we should see.”

            Kel’s gaze met the King’s and he shrugged minutely.

            “Lord Carolan, if you wish to visit—if any member of the Council wishes to visit—you need only let me know when to expect you.”

            “So I should hope. But piecemeal’s no good—I’m saying we should inspect it properly. A potential fief’s supposed to be looked at, isn’t it, Turomot? Not just for defence, either. Where are its boundaries? And can a refugee camp really be a viable fief? There are a lot of questions.”

            Duke Gareth stirred. “You want the Council to go to New Hope?”

            “I think we should, yes.”

            “When do you propose we do this, my Lord?” The King was neutral.

            “Imbolc session’s for land grants—always has been—and the winter’s so mild we should get it done.”

            Gareth stirred. “Lady Keladry has as yet made no application.”

            “But she will—she says so, as if it was in doubt. It needs to be done. If she was willing to waive a courtesy where Rogal was concerned she can hardly be bothered waiving this, and we should get on with it while opportunity offers.”

            It was stupid but not illogical, the thrust about not waiting on her formal application shrewd, and while Kel was coldly certain Runnerspring had other reasons for wanting the Council at New Hope they would have to involve full-blown treason. And she couldn’t raise that spectre in this way, with only dark speculation to offer. But still …

            “Sire, any member of the Council is welcome, but New Hope is on the front line, and this mild winter allows Maggur as much movement as it allows us. It cannot be sensible for the whole Council to put itself at risk. I believe my Lord of Goldenlake would say so too.”

            “And Cavall and Vanget.” Alanna was trying to keep her voice level, though she looked as suspicious as Kel felt.

            Runnerspring shrugged nervously but stuck to his argument. “Yet you say the place is next to impregnable, Pirate’s Swoop. Either it is or it isn’t, and if it is, what is the problem with an inspection mandated by long tradition and common sense? What, it’s safe enough for the Crown Prince and Princess to visit twice, and you to drop in, Haryse, for nothing more than a nameday, but not for Disart or Blue Harbour or me on much more serious business?”

            “I don’t think that’s the issue, my Lord.” The King was frowning. “But the claim of precedent is right, isn’t it, Your Grace?”

            Turomot nodded, impassive. “As you know, sire, there has not been a new fief for many years, since your father’s time, but Lord Carolan is correct that when Irismere was inscribed in the Book of Copper the Imbolc session of this Council was held there. Without checking I cannot say how any inspection was conducted, nor how old the tradition might be, but it is implicit that the new fief was thereby known in person to all councillors.”

            “You see?” Runnerspring nodded to himself. “Makes good sense.”

            And if other things were equal it would—but with Maggur still in possession of an army, and in the shadow of Genlith’s probable treason, they weren’t. Padraig coughed.

            “I couldn’t go, my Lord. To be absent from my duties in the months before the final examinations for the pages would be derelict.”

            “Fair enough. But Lord haMinch could hold your proxy for once, if he can be bothered to come, and the rest of us could go, yes? Goldenlake, Cavall, and Vanget are already all but there.”

            The King frowned. “Thayet and I could hardly be away together.”

            “Why not, sire? You were for two years during the Progress.”

            “We were not then at war, my Lord.” The King’s voice was dry.

            “We were latterly, sire. When we urged your return to Corus, or Her Majesty’s at least, you said appearances mattered and the Progress went on, for all it turned south. Is this less important?”

            It was a neat skewer but the King shrugged. “Different circumstances, my Lord. If we do as you suggest, Thayet would stay. Roald and Shinko also, I think, and Duke Gareth.”

            “As you will, sire. But you will come with the rest of us?”

            The absence of the other royals and Gareth didn’t seem to bother Runnerspring any more than Padraig’s—it was the King and as many of the rest as possible he seemed to want, including all the major northern lords and commanders, and Kel’s suspicion of treason matured into grim certainty: which gave her no more evidence. She couldn’t see Sir Myles’s face but would bet he wasn’t any happier than she or Alanna, but the others seemed to be weighing only the inconvenience of a winter journey against precedent and were inclined to acquiesce. They’d expected unpleasantness over Rogal, and Runnerspring had been gracious; if he felt touchy about a tradition that ought to be observed, wartime or no, that was only right. Besides, to those who hadn’t actually been fighting, or had no military understanding, the threat seemed distant, and had done since the destruction of the killing devices—the border had been quiet since, and the biggest attack, aimed squarely at New Hope, had resulted in a slaughter.

            Kel felt them tip into acquiescence and saw the King shrug; the Imbolc session would be held at New Hope. Badly distracted, she kept her head down for the rest of the agenda though the issue of whether royal marriages should in principle be sought with any of Galla, Tusaine, and Tyra was interesting, and her father and Sir Myles made points she’d never have thought of. The issue of intercepted food supplies to Scanra came up in relation to assistance Galla had given, but without evidence the King was no more prepared to raise any question of wilful treason than Kel. Imrah, Haryse, and Alanna made scathing remarks about how careless Genlith had been and the probable cost in Tortallan lives, resulting in a discussion that eventually agreed more stringent control of exports in wartime. Kel thought cynically the agreement had more to do with the fact that most fiefs would hardly notice, not being significant exporters, and the terms targeted Genlith neatly, but Imrah, Blue Harbour, her father, and Ennor, who as lords of harbour fiefs would need additional bureaucracy, were all proponents.

            There was also a distinctly uncomfortable but mercifully brief discussion of Torhelm, who after tomorrow might be expected to be able to speak. Without looking at her the King declared Lord Angors would be questioned by Duke Turomot under truthspell, to determine if he had given or known of orders to attempt the assassination of a noble; what happened would depend on his answer but Turomot noted in a deadly dry voice that Sir Guisant, who should have answered a royal summons and been available to lead the fief of which he was heir, was fugitive; that there had been significant fraud against the crown and a slew of issues into which investigations were proceeding; and that even if Torhelm had no knowledge of the assassin he had questions to answer. Kel would have expected Runnerspring to be vociferous in defence of his friend, but with his plan adopted seemed indifferent to other business and once the agenda was done was first to leave.

            Most people stood with him, but Kel had caught some eyes, and in the chatter as councillors headed out made quick requests. A while after they’d broken up a smaller group reassembled—the royals, Baird, Alanna, Imrah, Numair, Harailt, Sir Myles, Terres, her father, and herself. Reseating himself, the King raised eyebrows.

            “There was something you wanted to say privately, Lady Keladry?”

            “Two things now, sire—one about your coming to New Hope, and a separate matter on which I wanted formal advice.”

            “What about me coming to New Hope?”

            “Sire, whatever any of us may suspect, or not, from the point of view of your security and the realm’s the only sensible assumption we can make is that there will be an attack while you are there.”

            “That would mean Lord Carolan was in collusion with Maggur.” The King’s voice was mild, and Kel matched it.

            “Yes, it would.”

            “And would have to contact him. Sir Myles is watching closely.”

            The old man sighed. “I am, sire—but as I’ve told you, while I doubt he could get a pigeon through, I can’t watch for contact by magefire made outside the Palace. If Runnerspring is so minded word of this could get to Hamrkeng within a few days, and me none the wiser.”

            Kel waved away uncertainty. “The point, sire, is that if there’s no treason, and this is just a traditionalist bee in Runnerspring’s bonnet, no harm done. But if he is colluding with Scanra, and Maggur does learn that you and a host of targets are going to be within twenty miles of the Vassa in a fort with less than four hundred soldiers, only two hundred of them regulars, against which he might throw a force of thousands …”

            “It is a very tenuous speculation, Lady Keladry.”

            Why did Thayet and Roald have nothing to say? “The results wouldn’t be tenuous, sire. And I’ll swear Runnerspring relaxed once he secured agreement. He was nervous as a cat before, but after you said yes, we’ll come to New Hope, he didn’t care what happened. He accepts my apology? I didn’t make one. We never got to ask what Rogal was doing at Tirrsmont. And not a peep about Torhelm subjected to truthspell?”

            “Yes, I noticed all that.” Alanna was troubled. “I don’t like it, Jon, and Kel’s right about what we have to assume.”

            “Then let’s assume it. Genlith, Runnerspring and maybe others do want to use Maggur to oust me. He does or will know we’ll be there. And he sends his army. Don’t we want him to stick his neck out?”

            “Only if we can cut his head off.”

            “Which if New Hope holds for two or three days—and I’m willing to bet it can hold a lot longer than that—Vanget can do.”

            Kel shook her head. “Maggur could have ten thousand men, depending on how many conscripts he can raise. Not less than seven or eight, and we need to be pessimistic. He could send a thousand men against each of Steadfast, Mastiff, Giantkiller, and Northwatch to tie them down, and another six straight at New Hope. We can make any assault very expensive, but if he’s willing to spend lives he can draw our teeth and we’d be down to not enough defenders.”

            “And your immortals, Lady Keladry. And Numair. And me, with the Dominion Jewel. And five thousand men, from haMinch lands and the eastern borders, who will be heading north and east at the right time.”

            Wheels span in Kel’s head and she stared; so did Alanna and most others, though not Sir Myles, Thayet, Roald, or Shinko.

            “You do think Runnerspring a traitor, then.”

            It wasn’t a question but he nodded. “I strongly suspect it. There are too many straws in the wind. I’m sure Genlith hired his son’s escape, and equally sure he knew where that food was going. Vinson turns up dead at New Hope, and Sir Garvey’s vanished, as well as Sir Guisant and that steward. Others too. Something’s up and I want it exposed fast—not a treason trial a year for gods know how long. And if we can take Maggur at the same time so much the better, though sending him scampering with heavy casualties would probably see him done.”

            Kel’s voice was flat. “So you’re the bait and I’m the sweetener.”

            He winced but didn’t disagree. “More or less. Or you could say your strength at New Hope has built one jaw of the trap.”

            Kel didn’t know what she thought, but though instinct cried out against this whole plan she could see others thinking hard before Numair asked two of the questions crowding her mind.

            “Jon, I’ve been in sieges and I don’t like them at all. If you did have to use the Dominion Jewel you’d have to draw on a lot of energy. It might not mean another famine but it wouldn’t be good.”

            “If I have to use the Jewel, Numair, I will, to end this war.”

            “If you can. Are you figuring the gods into this?”

            Even as he asked it Kel could see the King’s answer coming.

            “They insist something final will happen at New Hope. I’m just co-operating. This war has to end, and as we can’t go after Maggur he has to come after us. So we need to offer him a target.”

            Kel looked at Thayet and Roald, and knew it was pointless to argue: the risk had been agreed, so the King had known what Runnerspring would ask, which meant Sir Myles must know more than he was saying even if nothing could be proven. Duke Gareth too. She might have admired the boldness if it didn’t also mean she and New Hope were being left out in harm’s way again, in full expectation it would once more come calling. You could see it as a vote of confidence, she supposed. You could also see it as more of the same from a king who still didn’t know what fairness meant and thought risking himself made it acceptable to sacrifice others. From her father’s face his mind was travelling with the same distaste towards the same anger, but before he could protest she squared her shoulders and pinned the King with a gaze far colder than she realised, feeling nothing as she saw him recoil.

            “Very well, sire. You may or may not be playing a fool’s game with all our lives and the realm. We’ll see. You have certainly ignored the one request I made of you last Midwinter, when you last cast me as your goat without warning.” She saw him wince but still felt nothing. “I will of necessity be heading north as soon as I have fulfilled my obligations here and New Hope will be ready. What happens must wait upon the gods, whose priorities are not the same as yours or mine, and even they hesitate to try to nudge the timeway you propose to coerce.” Her tone had everyone looking uncomfortable. So they should. “The matter on which I wanted advice is different. You recognised me as Protector of the Small. What rights, duties, and privileges does this confer? And does the Protector have the right openly to visit the Rogue of Corus?”

            She saw surprise on everyone’s faces except Alanna’s and her father’s, and the King’s reply was very cautious.

            “Um, why should the Protector want to do that, Lady Keladry?”

            “The Protector has a dozen Maids running shops in Corus entwined with the women’s self-defence classes he supports. As a representative of the Craftsbeings’ Guild she has icelights to offer the Wardsmen of the Lower City, a matter of concern to him. At New Hope two of her four companies consist of men among whom he has wide acquaintance. And in two days’ time she’s going to be escorting Her Majesty and Her Highness to a reception in Jane Street.”

            “Ah. Yes. Those are … interesting points. Sir Myles has always had responsibility for this sort of thing. Or rather, his deputy has.”

            Sir Myles smiled cheerfully. “I have no objection to the Protector meeting the Rogue. Her concerns are valid, courtesy pays dividends, and I will be interested in what she has to report. So will my deputy.”

            “Ah.”

            Alanna grinned sourly and clapped Kel on the shoulder. “That’s the best yes you’ll get, Kel. Time for us to talk to George. And she’s got a point, Jon—if you’re going to sling titles about you should think through what they mean. I told you that a year ago and you’ve done nothing. She also has a very good point about goats and this Lioness doesn’t much care for it. Abusing the trust of someone every god there is seems to be watching is stupid, however you persuaded yourself it was a good idea, but I’ll shout at you in private. And about cutting me out of what has to have been an army decision, even if I was on the road when it was taken.” She shook her head. “You’d best bring several extra healers with you, Baird. Or several dozen. Neal can’t run a siege infirmary alone.”

* * * * *

The meeting with George provided a seething Kel with a file on the Rogue she wasn’t allowed to take away. Jerrold Tinker had been born in the depths of the lower city, orphaned young, and started work before he’d been Tobe’s age as a drayman’s boy. He’d spent time on crews that cleaned the night-market, hauled himself up as an errand-boy for the previous Rogue, and become one of the man’s rushers, which had worked well for him until it hadn’t. That tale interested Kel because it revolved around a woman, but not a lover—Tinker’s half-sister had refused the advances of a senior rusher sufficiently vigorously to leave him scarred, and the Rogue had decided punishment warranted. Tinker objected, to the Rogue’s displeasure, and what sounded like one ruthless manoeuvre later his views prevailed; he who kills the Rogue becomes the Rogue, so that was that. Quite a few people hadn’t thought him up to the job, but he consolidated authority efficiently, and was so far as the file knew presently unchallenged in Corus and Port Caynn, which (George told her) sometimes had its own Rogue but stronger Rogues of Corus tended to annex. Subsequently the file blandly narrated thieves’ business as usual, traditionally conducted, with a willingness to pass on and sometimes seek out information of interest to the realm; the sole oddity was an unusually harsh policy concerning men who attacked women, limited to overt cases until Lalasa’s classes tipped it into an open rule. At this point the file proliferated with cross-references to Lalasa’s history and mentions of Kel, though the several hands notably became dryly cautious in speculation. Half-amused over her underlying worry and anger Kel quirked eyebrows at George, provoking his rumbling laugh.

            “First time you’ve seen such a file? Won’t be the last, I warrant, and a surprisin’ number of ’em seem to have your name in these days.” He laughed at her indignation. “If you will go stirrin’ up kingdoms you must expect to get splashed.”

            Her protests that she wasn’t doing any such thing sounded thin even to her, and though she needed to understand more clearly where such files came from Kel wasn’t sorry to slide conversation back to Jerrold Tinker. George, however, said less than she’d expected.

            “He’s his own man, Kel, none of mine for all we’re friends. He’d not thank presumption and as you’re a natural diplomat when you’re not a living terror I imagine you’ll get along just fine. You stand your ground, he’ll stand his, and you can have a nice chat about things in the middle. How were you proposing to contact him?”

            “Um, I was going to go to the Dancing Dove tomorrow.”

            “Fair enough, but send a note to the barkeep today to say you’ll be dropping in. Surprises as big as you don’t go down so well at the Dove.”

            “Tell me about it.”

            “Eh? Ah yes, Jon’s little brainstorm. Don’t ask me—havin’ been away I don’t know what Myles may have turned up, or why Jon’s decided this is the way to go.”

            Alanna shook her head grumpily. “Myles doesn’t have proof, only what he calls a haystack in the wind. Jon wants to be doing, George.”

            “Does he, lass? Well, he always had an impatient streak.”

            “He calls it boldness. And to be fair being faced with the possibility of such widespread treason is making him very unhappy. Genlith, Runnerspring, and Torhelm have never liked him any more than Stone Mountain does—they all wanted Roger and Josiane, the fools—but they’ve never seemed disloyal this way and with Shinko and her uncle looking over his shoulder he’s not willing to play a waiting game any more. And the war has been dragging—I was as sure as Vanget Maggur had to come this year.” She shook her head again. “Gods only know what’ll happen. But tell Kel what you’ve been up to.”

            “Mmm. I think I’ll be leavin’ names out, Kel—no offence. But the long and short is that Aly disappeared on us because she managed to get herself sold in Rajmuat—to a noble family who are very interestin’ in all sorts of ways. And it wasn’t her fault, nor yet coincidence, because the Crooked God is in it up to his lyin’ neck, curse him. He laid her a wager.”

            Kel couldn’t help a dark laugh. “The gods are betting on us?”

            “Not on us, Kel, though I suppose they might be doin’ that too. With us. And he is the god of gamblers, as of thieves, the poxy old cheat. Aly had to use skills she’s picked up to keep some people alive this summer, which she did, so he owes her a boon, much good may it do her. But his real bet was she’d get hooked, and she has, so she’s stayin’ to help her new friends with a trick His festerin’ Godliness has planned.”

            Entertained despite herself by George’s colourful disparagement of his divine patron, which she thought probably well deserved, Kel’s mind clicked. “The Kyprish Prophecy. Time for a raka queen. The tricksters all like it but there are gods who won’t, which is why your prayers to the Goddess were blocked. And Shakith is helping keep possibilities open.”

            George looked at her admiringly. “Well now, you did that on very few clues. The lass said you’d acquired an interestin’ angle on gods. I don’t know if you’re right but I expect the Rittevons to have a very interestin’ year. Those that are left—they’ve been droppin’ like flies.”

            “A terminally interesting year?”

            “Maybe.” He waggled a hand. “If the raka are as strong as I think, and have the mages, and play it right, I think they’ve a chance. And having Aly helpin’ doesn’t hurt—she’s a good girl and listened to what Myles and I told her down the years.” Alanna snorted and George smiled easily. “It’s what she was born for, lass, as you were born to be a Lioness. We’ve just to live with it. And professionally speakin’, I have to say the Rittevons are ripe. Their security’s got holes a mile wide, and if Dunevon’s sentimentally loved Imajane isn’t at all. Rubinyan’s not hated the same but will be if he doesn’t control her, which I’m not sure he can. She’ll try harshness and more harshness before she tries anythin’ else, but I’d reckon they’re close to the end of that road and if any major luarin nobles turn against them, well, it won’t be pretty.”

            “It isn’t now. Nor Maggur’s Scanra.” Kel was thinking hard. “Alanna, do you remember—no, you weren’t there, it was Shinko and my parents. Patterns and echoes, you and me, the Copper Isles and Scanra—two unstable thrones, two recurrent problems, two prophecies, and gods hip deep in both. So. Let’s say Blayce’s necromancy annoyed the gods enough they focused on why it happened, and beyond stopping it saw this roil in the timeway as a chance to get something done. And the Crooked God and pals have cooked up a side-project to do as much for the Copper Isles. They’ve been bubbling and now they’re coming to a boil. Which means we have to be coming close to the roil, and things are going to break.” She looked at Alanna. “What odds on a February siege now?”

            “Shortening.”

            “And we both know however the gods might help they like sweat. They don’t give useless gifts either so the Black God gave me that absolution because he knows I’ll need it and that means Maggur’ll come in force.” She stared into space while Alanna and George watched, faces tight. “If you can’t persuade the King to stay away, Alanna, for the Goddess’s sake get him to bring troops with him. We need them inside, not hoping to reach us in time. Besides whatever mages and immortals Maggur has our great weakness is sheer numbers. If I put every soldier I’ve got on the outer alures I’ve only two or three per crenel. Add every civilian and once the passive defences are used we’re too thin to hold against multiple escalade. And if the gate’s mageblasted open …”

            “Jon’ll be stubborn. He’s in a frame of mind where opposition just puts his back up.”

            “Go through Thayet, then, and I’ll go through Roald and Shinko—they’ve been there and Roald knows first-hand just how long the alures are. Let His Majesty deal with an inflexibly polite Yamani demand that an esteemed father-in-law not idiotically endanger his esteemed head.” George guffawed, but it wasn’t funny. “Am I right Wyldon, Raoul, and Vanget will all be coming?”

            Alanna shrugged. “They’re supposed to.”

            “Then they come heavily escorted. A company apiece. You too. And maybe Ennor, Terres, Imrah, even Nond and Blue Harbour could be persuaded to bring escorts—every squad will help. I’m loath to ask my brothers to spare men when wolfships could show up, but it wouldn’t be unreasonable for Papa to have two squads.” She rubbed her eyes, which felt hot and gritty. “I don’t need field forces, just men who can stand their ground and shoot fast and accurately, with as many full quivers as they can possibly bring.” She began to count on her fingers. “Food we can do, just, thought companies should bring field rations.” A second finger extended. “But they’ll be sleeping rough in the caves so they need bedrolls. If they get to sleep at all.” A third finger. “And we can’t stable four hundred horses, so foot companies. Swords, short spears, and bows. Slings if they have them.” She ran out of fingers and spread both hands. “Company mages, healers, fletchers. You know what’ll be needed.”

            “Whoa, Kel.” George was half-smiling. “That’s a lot of men you’re shiftin’ about. Jon’ll have his own in motion. You don’t want to interfere.”

            She blew out a breath. “George, I’ve got four-and-a-half thousand feet of alure, and three-hundred-and-fifty soldiers. Half of them convicts with less than two years’ training and no experience of anything like this. Maggur could bring ten thousand. Do the maths.”

            Alanna nodded heavily. “She’s right, George. I’ve told Jon but he’s dazzled by Kel’s fixed defences, and can’t get his head round the idea anyone could reckon to lose two, three thousand men and keep coming. But Maggur’s got to be desperate, the men holding him on his throne have nowhere to go, and he has coerced forces to draw our teeth. If any traps were magically compromised we’d be in trouble. I’ll talk to Vanget.”

            “Privately.” Kel met Alanna’s eyes. “Two can play surprise the goat.”

            She snorted but her eyes weren’t amused. “True. Are you alright with that, Kel? It’s the oddest thing about this—he could perfectly well have told us. I don’t know if it’s habit or if he’s slapping at us somehow, but it’s stupid all the same.”

            Kel stood, banking rage. “No, I’m not alright with it, Alanna. I think it’s going to kill a lot of my people, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.” She managed a crooked smile. “But the last time I felt like this I headed for the Vassa alone, and that seems to have worked out. And everybody’s told me to keep on doing what I do. So I will. We can reckon it up afterwards, if we win. And if we don’t, we’ll be past caring.”

            “So we will.” Alanna slung an arm round Kel’s waist. “D’you want to talk to Vanget too?”

            “No, you lay it out. I’m going to see if Shakith’s listening to Irnai, then I’ve to see Shinko and Roald, and a message to deliver.”

            George shook his head. “Calm down first, Kel. You don’t want to be bendin’ ears or goin’ down the Dove in a mood like this.”

            Seamlessly, her Yamani mask slipped into place and her body posture changed as rage was contained, burning the brighter for its confinement. Relaxing, she laid hands on thighs and made a bow, exact in depth and flourish, noble to senior noble, straightening with fluid ease.

            “Better, Pirate’s Swoop-sensei? Good. Time’s wasting.”

            Alanna cackled and they left George staring, but Kel had no room for amusement and the future suddenly seemed stark. George was right it wasn’t the time to lose her temper, however it fuelled her, and as she parted from Alanna and headed for her rooms she forced herself into the breathing rhythm of a pattern dance. She couldn’t leave Corus before Longnight, and Lalasa’s wedding would be no better served by rage than her meeting with Jerrold Tinker. She thought she’d managed to enforce inner calm by the time she entered to find Tobe and Irnai talking to a bouncing Kitten but as soon as they saw her they focused on her completely with the question plain in their faces, and she pulled up a chair. Priorities rolled in her mind.

            “Irnai, has Shakith said anything to you lately?”

            “No. Kitten doesn’t know if her grandsire is coming and I tried to find out. But that might be because he’s a dragon, I suppose.”

            “It’s alright, sweeting. I didn’t expect it. But things are happening. We’ll be leaving right after Longnight. Unless you’d rather stay here for a while—Adie and Orie will be in town and you could stay with them.”

            Tobe wasn’t fooled for a moment. “Is it the battle, Ma?”

            “I think so. And I think it’ll be bad. It would be good to know you were both safe.”

            He looked mulish. “Tough, Ma. I’m not leaving you.”

            “And the god has not told me to run and hide.” That Irnai could be stubborn Kel knew all too well. “I would rather be with those I know.”

            However foolishly she wanted them there too, and hugged them both as Kitten chirped distressed enquiry.

            What is happening, Kel? Why are you upset?

            “The King’s being an idiot, Kitten. Your Da will tell you more—he’s going to be travelling north soon too, and maybe your Ma. Meantime, if Lord Diamondflame does come please tell him I’d like to talk to him.”

            Of course. He will want to talk to you about the skullroad. But I do not know if he will come. Last year he made sure I knew he would. This year he has not. I do not know why.

            The dragonet sounded wistful, and Kel withdrew her hand from Tobe to caress Kit’s head. “Well, if he does.” Thoughts collided and swallowing guilt she looked at her unlikely friend with a speculative glint. “Now, I’ve got to see Roald and Shinko. They’ll be preparing for the Queen’s Ball. If you come—and you two—you have to keep silent about what you learn, but you’ll find out what’s happening and can speak on others’ behalf—for children at New Hope, Scanrans, and immortals, because they’re going to be in as much danger as everyone else.”

            After that wild horses wouldn’t have stopped them, and the cynical part of Kel’s mind thought they worked on Roald and Shinko exactly as intended. Neither was happy and Roald repeatedly apologised for what he called the position she’d been put in, but they’d clearly been bullied into agreement and she didn’t waste time with recriminations but equally didn’t pull punches about what was being risked beyond His Majesty’s person—including Yuki, Maggur’s former liegefolk to whom protection had been promised, and the immortal experiment. Tobe and Irnai didn’t have to say anything, and Kitten managed to confine herself to emphatic observation that if basilisks died dragons would not be happy, using a mindvoice everyone heard and letting a curl of flame escape her paws; Kel was sure that was calculated and found she approved. Roald still had to deal with his father and was unhappily dithering when Kel suggested he support Shinko, and at her surprised look mentioned one of her great-aunts who had famously once bent the emperor to her will through a combination of extreme politeness and unreasonable immobility. Cricket’s eyes lit up in a Crown Princess’s face.

            Kel didn’t let success go to her head, and left the children and Kitten behind when she rode to the lower city to leave a message for the Rogue. She’d changed into a plain tunic—she wasn’t going as her father’s daughter—but was bothered if she was going to sneak; she’d told everyone with a right to know what she was doing, and secrecy wasn’t the point. The Protector needed to talk to the Rogue and if the King didn’t like it he could lump it.

            She had known of the Dancing Dove since her first page year when she’d heard Stefan mention it, and Neal had told her a fanciful story about how it was supposed to have become the Court of the Rogue two centuries back. She had assumed it a tall tale, but seeing the place wondered. It was an old, rambling inn in Nipcopper Close that looked to have been converted from houses and had certainly been repeatedly altered and redecorated. Its outside was a patchwork of cheerful if faded colour and a choice of doorways, but over one hung the sign, a well-tended image of a beautiful woman, dressed like a player with hands above head and a swirling skirt—a Rogue’s mother, in Neal’s version. Kel dismounted, and as there wasn’t anything resembling a hitching post asked Alder to wait. She spotted an urchin boy along the way, betrayed from stillness by his interest in the horse. She flipped a copper at him and saw him catch it before coming uncertainly forward.

            “Lady?”

            “Watch my horse? I’ll only be a minute and there’s another copper in it for you when I come out.”

            “I can do that, lady, but that’s a fine horse. There’ll be folk who’d like him I can’t stop.”

            “Oh, you don’t have to guard him. He’ll guard himself. But he can’t speak so you warn anyone who’d like him on his behalf, eh?” She knew other ears would hear, as they would if she was speaking to one soldier on the alure. “Then I’ll not be liable for missing fingers or broken feet.”

            Alder obliged her by clashing teeth. Smiling she left him and the boy to introduce themselves and pushed open the door, finding herself in a spacious room knocked together from smaller ones. A tall, bearded man was serving, a dozen men and half as many women at tables in small groups. From the drawing in the file she was fairly sure Jerrold Tinker was in the largest group, near a fire, and there was a pattern in the way others sat, leaving him space, but though serendipity called on his turf it was his call. She walked to the bar.

            “Good evening. I’m sorry to intrude without an introduction but there’s folk you likely know who’d vouch for me. I wondered if I might leave this for His Majesty.” She offered a sealed note.

            “Seems you’ve the wrong place, lady. You wants the Palace.”

            “Wrong majesty.” She laid a silver bit on the counter. “For your trouble. Just see it delivered please, today. I won’t say there can’t be harm in words but there’s none in these.”

            He nodded and no-one said anything so she turned and left, carefully shutting the door. A number of young men were in a circle around Alder and the boy was to his credit earnestly telling them they didn’t want to mess with this horse or its rider, but when they saw her their eyes lit up and one took a half-step forward.

            “That’s a lot of horse for a woman.”

            She considered him calmly. “No. I’m a lot of woman for one horse, but Alder does nicely. He’s used to barding and Scanran archers, so right now he’s feeling light as a feather and not very threatened. He has a nice line in high kicks, though. Show them, Alder, not hurting anyone?”

            He blinked a liquid eye that might have been amused or mildly offended and reared, lashing a forehoof that touched nothing and had her interlocutor flailing backwards, white terror on his face.

            “Told you.” She swung into the saddle and made sure the bit she flipped to the boy was silver. “Thank you for an honest job—it pays better than hankering after a warhorse who’s killed men.” She fixed the young men with a gaze that became commander cold. “And there’s authorities closer than me who don’t much care for young men who think it’s fine to try to hassle a woman on her own. If you’d asked politely to be introduced I’d have done so cheerfully—Alder likes meeting people. Instead you get a lesson in manners, so when you rise tomorrow try turning your brain on instead of just your teeth, eh?”

            She heard laughter somewhere as she asked Alder to walk on, but no-one called her back and she rode to the Palace wondering if she’d struck the right note. It would have worked with soldiers and George had said she should stand her ground; presumably, for when she returned next morning the boy was waiting with a smile and Jerrold Tinker alone at a table, a pot of tea and two cups before him. Even the barkeep was absent, and though Kel didn’t doubt there were people nearby she appreciated the trust offered.

            “Your Majesty.”

            “Protector.” He wasn’t handsome, face battered and teeth crooked in a wide mouth, but his smile was easy. “Have a cup of tea.” He poured it—not Yamani tea but a rougher brew from the wild plant—and she thanked him. “You’re welcome. It’s nice to put a face to a name. I hope Jacut passed on my respects? I hadn’t expected to be hearing from him anytime soon until I read that report of yours, and when he came by to ask if he could use the Dove as a meeting-point for his lads he had interesting things to say about you and New Hope. Loyal ones.”

            “He did, thank you. And yes, he’s a New Hope man now. They all are. Which isn’t to say old, well-behaved friends won’t be welcome when peace allows.” She smiled. “But that’s down the road. What isn’t is that tomorrow Lalasa Isran is getting married and she’s going to have some distinguished guests, Your Majesty.”

            “And they don’t call you the Protector for nothing.” He grinned charmingly. “Aren’t titles useful things?”

            “Very. Shall we dispense with them?”

            He laughed. “Yes, of course. I’m Jer to my friends.”

            “Kel.”

            “No lady?”

            She spoke carefully. “Lady Kel is what my people call me—the mortals, anyway—and you’re not one of those.”

            He cocked his head. “You call those immortals your people too?”

            “Oh yes. My name on the treaties, my duty in their care and defence. We’re all New Hopers.”

            “And what new hope will it be?”

            She shrugged. “If we lose the battle that’s coming, none. But if we win—well, that’ll be ours to bargain for, won’t it? If I’m alive I’ll be carrying on as I have been. And if Jacut’s alive he’ll be a senior officer in a new fief with a very interesting guild. But first things first, please. How many guards do I need to bring Lalasa’s guests to Jane Street?”

            “You don’t need any. An honour guard is no problem.”

            “His other Majesty may insist on more. He’s got a lot on his plate just now and he does love his wife and daughter-in-law.”

            He smiled at her way of distinguishing the King. “Fair enough, but the fewer the merrier. I’m loyal enough, as things go, and nothing touches Miss Isran in my town.”

            “Now there we’re agreed.” Kel sat back. “I appreciate your support for the classes and thank you for it. Please feel free to talk to Lalasa about extending them to Port Caynn. I’m sure there are women there who’d be excellent candidates as Protector’s Maids. And there are icelights—you know about them?”

            “I’ve heard something.”

            She took a few of the beads Numair and Amiir’aan had made for the children from her pocket. “Just samples, so the idea’s plain. They absorb daylight and shine in the dark. Lalasa and Master Orman will be promoting them on the Guild’s behalf. They come in any size and shape, and we’ll be offering a very good deal to light the lower city.” She let irony shade her voice. “I understand the Lord Provost’s keen, but you can’t have everything and I do see it as a follow-up to the classes.”

            He rolled beads. “That’s something of a balancing act for me, Kel.”

            “I imagine it is. Still, there’s no price on the damage that can be done to a woman, is there? I know that, Jer, from the Black God’s own lips, and Lalasa knows it too.” She saw his acknowledgement and the shadows of old pain. “Besides, clever business doesn’t need darkness and there’ll be lots of negotiations over where icelights go. Pillars or strips on walls? All sorts of questions. But there will be lights—they protect.”

            “Yes, they do. Or will. I can live with that. Happily, in fact.” He sat back. “You’re not what I expected, Kel. They said you get what you need and you’re not a woman to cross, but you’re more fun that that. Lalasa says you’re the sun and stars rolled together, but you’re more grounded than that.” His gaze drifted to his tea. “They also say you invite gods to dinner and call on them as you will. Well, we all do, but they answer you. They say. And you’ve named one I’m not keen to meet for a long time.”

            “They say a lot, Jer, but yes, the gods seem to be interested in me. I have no intention of discussing them, and I sincerely hope their interest fades when war is done. But I’ll say two things, though I’d rather not swear by gods’ oath. It attracts unwanted attention. One is that while I’ve never met the Crooked God I’ve reason to believe he’d not want to thwart anything I’m about. And you shouldn’t fear the Black God, whenever your time comes.”

            “And inviting two to dinner?”

            Amusement joined thoughtfulness in his eyes and she smiled where once she might have flushed. “Their daughter was my guest and I had just dedicated their first major shrines. It was only polite.”

            “I’d have offered them tea, myself.” He smiled slowly, more openly than before, and she let herself smile back; he was a charming and interesting man, however deadly and by her lights set on the wrong road. “I think we’ll get along famously, as George thought.”

            Practical issues were soon sorted. What any Majesties involved would make of sharing a reception remained to be seen but Jer looked forward to it. He saw her out, a gesture whose value she realised when he opened the door on a crowd of women gathered around Alder and the boy, who had progressed to scratching the gelding’s poll. Among them were several Kel recognised as kin of her Maids and greeted, apologising as she mounted that she couldn’t stop. She grasped Jer’s hand.

            “Thank you, Your Majesty. I’ll see you at the wedding.”

            “And thank you, Protector. All honour to you.” For the second time in a day she asked Alder to walk on, away from the Dancing Dove, but this time supplied the laughter as she heard the Rogue’s exasperated voice behind her. “Miss Isran’s wedding, loobies. What did you think?”

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Three — Charity

19–26 December

To Kel’s surprise Roald insisted on coming with Shinko and his mother. That morning was Iden’s Ordeal and Kel and the children, accompanying Owen, met the Prince and Princess in the Chapel. He expressed his desire to attend, offering reasons that didn’t add up, and Iden’s dazed emergence allowed him to take it as a done deal. Muttering, Kel despatched messengers, and while part of her was pleased for Lalasa she thought politics were at work. Sir Myles had once spoken of the ‘reversionary interest’ that developed around the heir, but what Roald was demonstrating to whom Kel couldn’t work out. She suspected it was to do with being his own man against his father’s manipulations, which was well and good but shouldn’t inconvenience Lalasa.

            In any case he was at Shinko’s side as she entered the Temple of Mithros behind Thayet, both gorgeous in creations of Lalasa’s. Kel was in her green kimonos, and escorted them to reserved seats; as Lalasa had been extremely reticent about her guests of honour there was surprise as they were identified. The congregation was unusual: Lalasa had no surviving family except Gower, still in Palace service and magnificently gloomy in a bright tunic, who was giving her away, but Tomas had an array of siblings, nephews and nieces, massed with his happy parents. They had many friends with them but even so were outnumbered by the crush of people supporting Lalasa: favoured customers, Protector’s Maids, and people involved in the self-defence classes, including a large group—or pack—of Dogs. Palace servants were represented, a beaming Salma among them, as were trades-, Guilds-, and Wardsmen with whom Lalasa’s business brought her into contact. Nor had the Dogs deterred Jerrold Tinker, who ghosted Kel a wink when she caught his eye. Lalasa’s exquisite needlework made a swathe of elegance among outfits, however varied in cut and style, and there was a catalogue of mercantile and lower-city best, some gaudier than tasteful and surprisingly unflattering to the wearers. It might all have clashed as horribly as some colours but everyone was minded to enjoy themselves and tolerantly curious about the unusual. A royal appearance by the bride’s most famous patrons was altogether satisfactory, honouring the woman everyone agreed was the best dress-maker of her time, and giving the best possible imprimatur to the occasion. Kel found it satisfactory too, for different reasons, and as they waited for bride and groom found herself reflecting on the frightened girl Gower had persuaded her to take into service, and wondering about the effects their intertwining lives had generated.

            As tactfully as sensibly Lalasa had not sought to compete with her own best efforts, and her wedding dress was a marvel of simplicity, relying on purity of line, a long train, and sumptuous white material in which rainbow colours shimmered. Emboldened by her experience as Yuki’s bridesmaid Kel had offered to do as much again but Lalasa had indignantly refused, insisting she would be a guest, not a workhorse, and seeing the concentration of the women from Lalasa’s staff who carried the train, manoeuvring it to lie as it ought, she was grateful to be so. The dazzling dress might have left Tomas invisible but complimented his tunic and breeches, in the same shimmering material piped in blue and embroidered with symbols of his craft; he wore a small sigil that marked him as a journeyman, declaring that while he might not have the same talent and acumen as Lalasa he’d no need to marry for advantage. When they claimed one another, faces radiant, the chimes sounded, which didn’t always happen at weddings and was thought a sign of true mutual devotion; bride and groom laughed startled delight, and as they exchanged necklaces and lit the fire Kel directed thanks to the stern-faced statue behind them, wondering who else might be watching and what they thought of the King’s decision to gamble with the timeway. The first shy kiss and the raucous cheer it produced brought her back to the present and a renewed appreciation of her own inactivity as she saw the train smoothly turned.

            Massed carriages in Jane Street was not possible, and neither Lalasa’s finery nor the outfits Kel and the royal women wore allowed riding or walking far, so changes were necessary. The Mithran priests had tut-tutted at Lalasa’s shy request so Kel had simply had Irnai ask for use of a room in the Temple of Shakith, ignoring the stuttered reversals of the Mithrans when they’d finally put two and two together, and she, Thayet, and Shinko found Lalasa just finishing. The second dress was similar but lacked the train and was cut to allow walking, and she was set to help her patrons change if Kel hadn’t told her not even to think of such a thing on her wedding day. Thayet’s personal maids were on hand, and one, having received stringent orders from a laughing queen, ruthlessly overrode Shinko’s protests to remove the face-paint on which she’d insisted for the wedding. Kel was deftly helped from her kimonos; they were all changing to more masculine outfits—for the royals leggings and long, colourful Kmiri tunics—so Kel had to lose her shift and was briefly reduced to breastband and loincloth.

            She heard indrawn breaths and became aware as she hadn’t been for a while of her scars. The many griffin marks on hands and forearms had long faded to thin tracery but arrows, spears, and swords had spotted and laddered arms and legs, and her narrow breastband didn’t begin to hide the welted spiderweb from Stenmun’s axe-point that spread across her left shoulder. When she’d first been naked before Dom the trembling world and the terrible wound on his leg had made her disfigurements unimportant, and on other nights his fingers and lips had traced them, as hers had traced his, with soft questions of provenance. Now self-consciousness possessed her understanding of how they set her apart not only from Thayet and Shinko, with their lovely skins, but from almost all noblewomen, yet she didn’t shrink from examination as she once would, drawing on breeches, vest, and her best Mindelan tunic without looking at the others. Buttoning up she coolly met eyes.

            “They come with the territory, I’m afraid. I count myself fortunate I’ve never broken my nose, and often wonder how I’ve managed it.” Few knights who jousted much had failed to do so, but Thayet wasn’t fooled.

            “I’m sorry, Keladry. I was thinking of the price you have paid on all our behalves. That shoulder wound was from Rathhausak?”

            She nodded. “Axe-point. Careless of me, but it could be worse.”

            “I don’t think that’s quite the point.” To Kel’s surprise Thayet gave her a quick embrace. “I know how much Jon and I owe you, and I’m sorry we must hope to owe you more. I was very upset about that decision.”

            “It doesn’t matter, Thayet, especially today.”

            Kel didn’t want Scanra or the timeway to invade a day blessedly free of them, and Thayet nodded but drew Kel’s arm through her own as they followed Lalasa out. Numair had been on notice to provide a rainshield but the day was sunny and many guests walked. Some had gone ahead but Lalasa and Tomas led a principal group with bridesmaids and Tomas’s best man and supporter—his brother and closest friend—followed by Kel with the children and Thayet, and Roald with Shinko. The royals’ guard flanked them, uniforms gleaming and eyes alert but trying hard not to march, and Kel’s escort, more relaxed, flanked the column trailing behind. They were inevitably moving slowly and Kel’s eyes, probing the crowd, identified Rogue’s men among them but her attention was on Thayet’s conversation as she smiled and waved at good-humoured crowds on Temple Way and Gold Street. It wouldn’t have struck Kel as the place to have a talk but she realised it was ideal; they could barely hear one another, and no-one could hope to eavesdrop.

            “It does matter, Keladry, and I suspect I shan’t have another chance to talk to you before you leave. The way you froze Jon after the Council was less than he deserved, and if it’s any consolation it left him very uncomfortable. It was impressive.” Thayet broke off to greet a woman Kel gathered was a Palace servitor, and effortlessly left her standing taller. “I don’t understand why he’s so unable to treat you well. Well, maybe I do, but let’s say he knows he’s been on the wrong foot with you from the beginning, and didn’t take your, um, apprehensions about him after Rathhausak well. Didn’t like the view in the mirror. Nor having to trail you to deal with the elemental.”

            “Numair said something about Kalasin’s decision not to—”

            “Jon’s decision, you mean. Yes, that’s in there, but it’s not only that. There are shadows of Alanna, and he wonders if you’ll be Roald’s Champion as she is his. But what matters is how he’s using you, or trying to, because he’s got himself in an impatient muddle about you and what the gods are doing, and is trying to regain his footing with himself.”

            Kel wasn’t sure she understood, though squinting she could see she might have posed a greater challenge to the King than she’d understood, and for longer. Even when she’d learned that he and Alanna had been lovers, illuminating a tempestuous relationship, she hadn’t imagined the King’s view of her through a personal rather than political window. She couldn’t believe those cool blue eyes had ever harboured desire for her—it was absurd, as every glance at Thayet confirmed—but dimly intuited that the politics crackling around her had, even while she was innocent of them, for the King been shot through with strange echoes coloured by Alanna’s refusal and critical provision of the Dominion Jewel and her Championship. But Thayet hadn’t finished.

            “Anyway, despite everything, I have to ask you to keep him safe. Detail three soldiers to sit on him if you must, but don’t let him get himself killed in some attempt at heroics. And if what you fear does happen get him out if you can. Roald’s coming on well and Shinko’s a treasure, but they’re too young, especially with all the treason issues looming, and Roald can’t yet use the Dominion Jewel as Jon can.”

            “Of course I’ll protect him, Thayet, but I can’t have people sit on him. He’s in charge.”

            “He won’t be if there is a battle. And at New Hope you will be, even if Vanget’s giving military orders. You look at him as you did the other day, tell him to do whatever sensible thing you’re ordering, and he will. He’s a fair strategist but no field commander, and knows it. It’s another thing he struggles with. I call it Jasson’s Shadow but not to him because I get a cross lecture about why his all-conquering grandpa has nothing to do with anything.”

            She spoke to an elderly Kmir and his wife, in leggings and tunics like Thayet’s own. The chopping syllables of Kmiri always seemed to Kel to lack the grace of Yamani, and she was surprised to hear Shinko speak in the same tongue. Then again, proper ways of controlling mothers-in-law was a subject of extensive Yamani discussion and there were earnest treatises of advice to brides; Kel could just imagine a tart observation that the misfortune of having a gaijin mother-in-law to deal with did provide an obvious first step in garnering approval.

            “Were they with you when you came to Tortall?”

            “No, only Buri. But Kmiris came over the following decade, when it was clear I’d landed on my feet and Sarain was still a nightmare. There’s a community in Whitethorn, because of their horsefair, and that man’s an ostler for the Lord Provost. But we’ll be there soon.” Thayet’s apparent attention to the crowd never wavered but her arm, still through Kel’s, tightened. “I’m afraid, Kel, because I agree with you Jon’s taking a bigger risk than he realises, but I have to believe it’ll work. And if it does, as we hope—especially if Maggur is killed—there will be a moment when the world is in your hands. It’s not for me or anyone to tell you what to do with the power you’ll hold, but there’ll be a point where you want something different than he does, and that will matter enough. Unless something’s horribly wrong, if you put yourself on the line, demanding part of what you’re owed, he’ll fold. Remember it.”

            Kel wasn’t sure if it was luck or good timing by Thayet that had her concluding this dream-coloured analysis as the turn from Dog’s Way into Jane Street forced them to disengage. Doing so the Queen dropped back, leaving Kel to follow bride and groom down a single file between soldiers comically drawing arms in to allow their charges room. The crowd was deafening, and a rhythmic thumping was eventually revealed as Dogs clashing batons, waiting for their own among the trailing guests. One of Jerrold’s men she recognised from the Dancing Dove was watching with a look she was tempted to call a bemused sneer, but when she caught his eye grinned and adopted an earnest expression that brought a smile to her lips.

            The Weavers’ Guildhall was less ostentatious than most, its members closer to the poverty fluctuating prices and thin margins could bring, but it was grand by Jane Street standards. Its stonework was clean, and engaged columns echoed by intervening pilasters, harking back to the Thanic style of Tortall’s oldest buildings, gave it the look of a temple or court. Before visiting to consider security for Thayet and Shinko Kel had never been inside a Corus guildhall, and hadn’t known what to expect, but the Guildmaster’s office proved neat and bustling and the Great Hall splendid, lined with tapestries and equipped with fine tables the Guildmaster said came from a useful deal with the Joiners. Sunlight streamed through high windows but a hundred candles were lit; glassware gleamed, silver glinted and enticing aromas gusted.

            As many people were being packed in as it could hold, and there was the usual polite manoeuvring as everyone found places. On high table seating wasn’t what one might expect, save for Lalasa and Tomas together, with Gower and Tomas’s parents flanking them: Kel, with the children, Thayet, Shinko, and a squeezed-in Roald were opposite, but to Kel’s amusement Jerrold Tinker drifted to the seat beyond Roald, and beyond him was a young Dog she recognised as one of the self-defence instructors. The two seemed to get on famously, however they were opponents in law, and though mischief tugged at Kel she controlled it and murmured to Thayet that Shinko might tell Roald he was next to the Rogue. Thayet’s blink was its own satisfaction—the things she’d said swirled distractingly in Kel’s mind—and a moment later she saw Roald stiffen, then turn affably to Jerrold. The seat beyond the children was taken by her sister Adie’s maid Tian, whom she’d known was doing a lot of organising but hadn’t seen to speak to. Tian had never been as fearful as Lalasa, but there had been a time when she could no more have smiled so easily taking a seat in this company than Kel could when fear of heights had frozen her; to see her now as confident as the young Dog Kel could hear sizing up Roald was a warmth she knew to be pride. It wasn’t in herself—people had to grow themselves—but she knew she’d played a part in these women’s success, and wasn’t embarrassed by Thayet’s murmur as she followed Kel’s look and thought.

            “You’ve done more in two years than I’ve managed in twenty, Keladry. If I wasn’t so grateful I’d be jealous.”

            “I didn’t have a husband who doesn’t know what to make of women to manage. And Lalasa took power for herself, not by direction. Try it.”

            Thayet’s rich laugh turned heads and she squeezed Kel’s shoulder before turning to Shinko as food began to be served. A few days before, Kel had used a little carving of the Green Lady Tobe had made to fashion a tiny shrine—there were none in Corus nor anywhere nearer than New Hope—and sent up a prayer filled with an ironic appreciation that some requests were absurd but couldn’t in love and friendship not be made. The kitchen aromas had already made her wonder, and when the white soup starter exploded almonds and parsley on her tongue she sent up a blaze of thanks mixed with apologies for having no intention of making them public, and imagined she heard a mellow laugh among the dancing flavours. There were exclamations all round and Kel’s sudden, guilty thought about the disappointments the cooks would find trying to duplicate their success was soothed away with what she would have sworn was another laugh.

            How the Green Lady enhanced the wine Kel wasn’t sure, sticking to juice with the children, but those around her were talking with great good cheer. Shinko had a fit of giggles at something, holding her shukusen before her face and almost getting hiccoughs as she tried to control mirth, and Thayet’s gorgeous laugh was frequent. Even Gower essayed a chuckle, and after Kel and Lalasa met one another’s astonished eyes they dissolved into laughter they were hard put to it to explain without offending his lugubrious dignity. But he was bursting with pride in his niece, gratitude to Kel, and an attitude to the royals she couldn’t quite work out but blended humility, triumph, astonishment, and approval with a unifying satisfaction of wild hope. It occurred to Kel how much she owed him, and when he mentioned her in a speech of impeccable dignity she found herself possessed by a powerful sense of how odd it was that those who’d helped her most so often believed she’d helped them. Fortunately she didn’t have to speak herself, but was mentioned again by Tian when she spoke of Lalasa’s path to the altar. By some unspoken agreement both omitted the usual toasts and the slack was taken up by Thayet, rising to propose the couple’s health, prosperity, and fertility to the benefit of themselves, their community, and the realm, and unleashing a storm of cheers, catcalls, whistles, and all-round approval that palpably lashed the whole high table. Kel saw a glazed look flicker in Irnai’s eyes and wondered if somewhere a hawk was calling, finding in the moment one future rather than another; on her other side Thayet also had a strange look as she sat, and Kel realised that for all the publicity of her life she’d probably never commanded such a mixed audience, more like soldiers than courtiers in their humour. Or not in Tortall—the tale of escorting orphans through the horrors of Sarain’s civil war reminded her how little she knew about her Queen’s life before Alanna entered it. And that could be rectified, with overdue discussion of Buri, her pregnancy, and the virtues of the Green Lady’s spiral.

            There was music and dancing but many people never made it out of the Great Hall, lingering over any food they could find and continuing to drink without ever becoming drunk. By common acclaim the cooks were summoned, toasted, and presented with glasses of wine. Tobe and Irnai slipped down to wander among the tables, and when they wanted to explore, glancing at Kel for permission, a flick of her head had two of her men, standing round the walls but as vocal as everyone, quietly going with them. Shinko saw the byplay.

            “Always the Protector, Keladry-chan. And so wise. It took only an hour’s polite immobility for my esteemed father-in-law to swear he would take the Own’s First in all their glory. Roald has ordered their quartermaster to take every arrow they can find. I will work on more.”

            “Thank you, Cricket. And Roald.” She gave a crooked grin. “It all helps. And pray to Lord Sakuyo. He’s dancing in our lives right now.”

            “I always do.” Uncharacteristically with Kel Shinko’s shukusen came up as she switched to Yamani. “Keladry-sensei, has the High One spoken to you? I have felt his comfort when I pray, and no longer think our meeting as children or the death of Princess Chisokami were accidents.”

            Kel had similar thoughts and Yamani was secure here. “I’ve never met him, Cricket, but I believe he’s offered me comfort too—a strange calm. I think it’s what his laughter lives on. I’m sure we’re part of his joke, as poor Aly seems to have become part of the Crooked God’s, if you know that story. But it’s a joke through us, not on us.” A thought fell into place, perfectly. “We’re both jokes on Tortall, Cricket. And on Mithros. I think the Goddess is with the tricksters in this. Ask yourself, what did male Tortall want least after Alanna and your mother-in-law? Not a Tortallan noblewoman who’d trained to arms since she was five, nor a gorgeous Yamani who could whap the best of them with a glaive before breakfast any day. And we’re childhood friends?” She dropped into a low mode filled with dialect she knew Cricket could follow because they’d once overheard an imperial gardener using it most surprisingly, and often eavesdropped on him thereafter. “The Cult of the Gentle Mother be well swived, Cricket, and laughing with pleasure after. The icemen are on us, the raka ready to rise, and women set Sungod and old men alike by the ears. Ice and Copper aren’t the only things melting in this fire.” For the last thing she knew she had to revert to proper Yamani, and chose the high mode of friend-to-imperial; she’d never used it before but it flowed from her tongue. “Everywhere and everyone is on the timeway and turns with it. Tell your uncle the best way to ride a joke is to participate vigorously. He should make great effort with the spidrens on Wangetsushima.” Her voice became dreamy. “He could offer young spidrens training as their own unit, and use them against bandits and raiders. Even thunder stills / to hear Him ease His lungs.”

            Kel blinked, and knew from the blazing look in Cricket’s eyes that her thought had been confirmed with something besides. A spidren corps? And yet … were Quenuresh’s kin to restrict themselves for ever as the price of mortal tolerance? Or stay in New Hope’s woods permanently, eating cheese and spinning webs for deer? Their skills as predators would make them formidable soldiers, just as—the thought unfurled to blind her—her dedication as a soldier made her a formidable predator, when she chose. She only knew she spoke aloud because Thayet glanced at her, eyebrows rising.

            “Surely Maggur’s on the wrong side of the gods—not just Lord Mithros and the Black God. He’s on the wrong side of the Goddess and Lord Sakuyo, too, with the joke at least two generations in the making, from before he was even born, poor stupid blasphemer.” She shook her head in piercing pity that balanced Sakuyo’s booming laughter and the Black God’s silence, and met Thayet’s eyes. “The world’s turning. I’ve no idea if I’ll survive, and I know I’m on borrowed time. A grace that wasn’t owed and could rightly be withdrawn any moment. But pray with your daughter-in-law for Sakuyo’s grace and I think you’ll be answered. You told me to seize my moment when it came. But it won’t be mine—it’ll be bigger than that, and if happens it’ll be a joke on me, too. Sakuyo’s best always catch the jokers to their advantage. Ask Shinko for stories.” She didn’t know her smile was heartbreaking. “Have you ever wondered why the Black God’s daughter is one of the tricksters?”

* * * * *

The time before Longnight passed slowly but Kel wasn’t impatient. War would find her soon enough, and if she didn’t quite think these her last days she had the clarity and calm that came before combat. Warric’s Ordeal was two nights after Iden’s, and she was there with Owen to applaud him; as with Iden, some of those waiting looked at her sidelong as if she might start chatting with the elemental and, she thought uncharitably, didn’t know if they were relieved or disappointed when nothing happened. Otherwise she was free of duties and suited herself.

            A putative horror was avoided when Turomot informed her that while Torhelm could now talk, he wouldn’t, save to curse. Without hard evidence of treason Turomot wouldn’t countenance torture and without answers the King wouldn’t countenance release, so Torhelm would languish until he changed his mind. On the whole Kel felt relief, and tried to forget him. A more pleasing errand was to deliver Lalasa’s present. Not having anticipated such a mild winter she and Tomas were not taking a honeymoon until later, and by mid-morning the day after the wedding she was back at her shop. She couldn’t stop smiling, looking so happy that Kel almost hadn’t the heart to distress her by presenting her with the deeds to the building; protests shifted to a rueful glare when Kel told her she might insist on tithing but in future must pay rent to herself. When Kel left the shop was crowded and she was applauded; doubting one of them could have explained why, she smiled politely and went to find Master Randall for sensible conversation about barding.

            There were also icelights, and the following day Kel went to see the Lord Provost, all affability, then to a meeting with excited Wardsmen and cautious merchants. She had temporarily reclaimed from Master Orman’s office the sample lights Barin had brought, and the winter sun had been bright enough for an impressive demonstration; following it with a more generous offer from the Guild than anyone expected, with the sole condition that after Palace Way the poorest areas be lit first, she left with a firm order worth more than a thousand gold nobles over five years. Discreet remarks about the need to consult the Lord Provost, Temple of the Goddess, and (however informally) Rogue had been heard by the right ears, and it was a good day for Master Orman too, as he would transport the lights from New Hope. When she came hotfoot with the news he welcomed her as a colleague in serious enterprise. He had secured multiple orders for webbing and stoneware, and had had many enquiries about petrified mesh, not least from sea captains, leading to discussion of her hope that Mindelan could find a basilisk to go with its spidrens and start a second branch of the Guild to make mesh for the seatrade. He promised to call on her father and Lord Imrah, and send Barin to consult with Anders and Inness; she warned him about increased checks on exports and left him working out how to make sure his business was compliant ahead of time.

            For the rest she and the children spent time with her family, Adie and Orie being in town, and with Daine and Numair as well as Kitten and Kawit. Daine believed herself pregnant again but didn’t want to say anything until she was sure; it meant she certainly wouldn’t be travelling north, and if part of Kel was disappointed at the lost resource she was glad one friend at least would be safe. It didn’t stop her worrying about Numair, a resource she couldn’t forgo, and Daine was concerned too but laughingly intrigued by Kel’s story about food at Lalasa’s wedding and what she thought she’d heard. Her notion that the Goddess might be favouring tricksters rather than Mithros met a more mixed reception: Daine said she found it hard to imagine but conceded the possibility, while Numair was taken by the idea, but after an abstracted half-hour shook his head and said the implications made it hurt.

            Kitten, anxious about her grandsire’s visit, went to burn energy with Kawit and the children, and Kel took the chance to ask Numair if he could identify the poem Dom had mentioned. Her description favoured Neal’s interpretation and left him scratching his head, but he did offer her a few names to try. One being a poet she remembered Neal burbling about in the days before he’d had to confront Yamani aesthetics, she started there in the Palace library and within a couple of hours found what she thought must be the right piece. Reading it carefully she found her body responding and decided Dom had been right. The male speaker was away from home and wanted to be back, walking familiar hills and dells, enjoying in reality sights and scents he dreamed about, and while he didn’t utter one improper word there was definitely an erotic charge that fitted an absent lover and enforced celibacy as the real issue. Once you thought that, landscapes and activities described suddenly became very lewd indeed, recalling things Dom had done that had made her gasp with pleasure and now made her ponder male desire with a fresh sense of its relentless vigour and frequent oddity. Frustration might be clouding her judgement but other pieces didn’t seem to imply hidden meanings of the same kind. Amused and aroused she copied the poem, thinking she might try a calligraphic version for Dom, and went to find some privacy. Who knew poetry had such uses?

            One person she didn’t see was the King, who’d looked at her warily during the Queen’s Ball and subsequently seemed to avoid her, perhaps feeling, as she did, that Imbolc was soon enough. She did find herself quietly accosted by Ettenor, deeply concerned by Roald’s orders, and gave him marks for common sense: with all the ceremonial duties they undertook the First wasn’t a fighting unit like the Second or Third; he knew it, and was determined, after his mistakes at Tirrsmont, not to err again. There wasn’t time to change fundamentals, and a limit to how much she could explain, but she talked in general terms about what she and Roald hoped to guard against. Once she’d seen the First’s training schedule she ruthlessly stripped inessentials to concentrate on archery. Mentally placing the First along a section of the eastern alure she gave specific ranges to practice and exercises in rate of fire, fire by rotation from a crenel, and endurance. Leaving him no less alarmed but better focused she sought out quartermasters and armourers, often hard-bitten veterans who needed only her flat declaration that she expected the First to see their most serious action since the death of Glaisdan to take her requests seriously. Whatever Ettenor could achieve in the time he had, the First would leave for New Hope armed to the nines and laden with every arrow they could carry besides as many packhorses’ worth as the quartermasters’ combined ingenuity could contrive.

            She also asked them to pass word that if any veteran who could stand and shoot happened to be free to visit New Hope for Imbolc—to congratulate Captain Domitan on his post, say—they’d be welcome as her guests; and of course, travel in a warzone did mean travelling armed. It was a long shot, but as she’d argued to Wyldon and others she thought there were more veterans at loose ends than the army allowed, and the men she was talking to didn’t think it unlikely people would answer her appeal. Besides, she knew of at least one very long shot that had paid off handsomely, and in manning alures every bow would count. The gravity of her request and her clear belief there’d be a real battle galvanised the staff from wintertime routine to something like campaign preparation, and that would help Ettenor sharpen up the First.

              On Longnight eve she took the children to her parents’ house. Adie and Orie were attending a Nond ball with their husbands, but Kel had politely declined and her Mama and Papa had followed suit, glad of the chance to see her more privately. Their shared fears couldn’t be wholly set aside but they all knew the dice were rolling and it was more entertaining to think beyond a winning throw than a losing one. Both the goldsmith and Master Orman had been in touch with her father, who was grateful, amused, and increasingly delighted by the way Kel envisaged the Guild working. She in turn revelled in the chance to pay something back to the Mindelan she loved, however little she’d been there since childhood, and joined with her Mama in enjoyable scheming to icelight Seabeth-and-Seajen. All northern fiefs would need time to recover from war, even if Imbolc ended it, but Kel was prepared for the north to enjoy greater discounts than anywhere except Corus. Immediate need aside, it was a mechanism that over time might serve to erode the gross imbalance of wealth enjoyed by southern fiefs for dubious as well as structural reasons; how migrating capital might pass to Scanra she had no idea, but at least it would be heading in the right direction.

            Nor would increased trade through Mindelan and Frasrlund with Yaman, Carthak, and perhaps Rajmuat hurt, and Kel did, hesitantly, tell her parents about the ideas that had come to her with that highest Yamani mode. Vorgitarl might have things to say about the possibility of recruiting more aggressive spidrens as warriors—harnessing rather than trying to neutralise their conditioning—and her father ought to be diplomatically aware of the letter Shinko would have sent her uncle. When Kel had thought about the concept of armed spidrens carefully she’d found herself juddering as she realised they would most easily use bladed weapons strapped to their legs—a vision uncomfortably close to the killing devices. At the same time her sense of Sakuyo’s laughter had no difficulty supposing he’d find the echo hilarious so long as the octoped samurai were serving his emperor and people. Neither of her parents knew what to say, and she understood the ways of thinking about the gods she was learning by force and circumstance were alien to them; it was a sadness, but they didn’t stand away or suppose her other than herself—they just couldn’t see how pieces now meshed for her.

            Skating over the divine to the practicalities of spidren employment it occurred to her to ask if they ever went to sea. They were far better equipped than mortals for climbing rigging and neither furling nor unfurling sails would be beyond their claws, though sail-ties would need to be redesigned—except that, as Tobe pointed out, webbing would do the job. Both children had been impressed sailing south by work aloft and gleefully imagined spidren sailors, leaving her parents as bemused as amused, but to Kel’s thinking showed excellent discipline, discarding as many ideas as they adopted, and refining those. She thought several points worth pitching to Vorgitarl and saw her father awake to realisation that another fairy-tale absurdity was a serious proposition.

            Walking back they saw a shooting star in the erratic constellation called the Cat and made wishes. What Tobe or Irnai thought of behind closed eyes Kel couldn’t guess; her own desire was simply that New Hope be safe, and the King with it. To ask for her own safety seemed presumptuous even in such whimsy; perhaps she could earn her second life, perhaps it would be temporary—it didn’t matter in the bigger picture, though she pictured Dom alive and well in the aftermath. The star seemed hopeful, and she passed the walk telling stories Alanna and Daine told of meeting the Cat, sitting on the Goddess’s throne and during one of the periods when he was missing from the heavens. They knew better by now than to think anything impossible, but she enjoyed their sceptical looks as she invited them to check with Daine or Kitten.

            They did, of course, and as going to find Daine and Numair on Midwinter morning seemed a tradition worth continuing it didn’t take long. Sarralyn had joined the gathering and Kel was touched to find the sight of Kitten illuminating the petrified model Palace was her favourite entertainment. It had, Kitten said smugly, also been a useful present for her, and proved it by producing a symphony of chirps and clicks that had each finial gleaming rainbow colours and Sarralyn gurgling delight. The showing-off was partly self-distraction from worry about Diamondflame, and the day’s presents helped, as did interrogation by Tobe and Irnai about the Cat, whom Kitten thoughtfully said seemed a friendly, sensible constellation and not in the least annoying. Her mindspeech was audible to all and Kel had to suppress a laugh; friendly and not annoying had not been Alanna’s choice of adjectives for the beloved, astringent feline she’d known as Faithful. The dragonet was pleased with her Ma’s pregnancy but observed wistfully that a dragon brother would have been fun, and as the morning passed it was difficult to see her struggle with fear of disappointment. Numair innocently offered a diversion by asking if she’d found the poem, and her blush led to a half-guarded, half-amused conversation while Daine helped the children stoke themselves with sweet rolls. Numair’s eyes took on a teasing glint.

            “If you’d told me the poem you wanted had two meanings, Kel, and blushed so prettily, I’d have sent you to it straight away. It’s quite famous. Accurate, too, I’d say.”

            She met his eyes defiantly. “I thought so, from the little I know of such things. I’m surprised no-one’s ever written a female version.”

            “Now there’s an enchanting thought. The landscape might get a little more improbable than hillocks, forests, and caves, mind.”

            The thought pulled a laugh from her and she found she could relax into the banter. Before he’d partnered with Daine Numair had had a reputation among court ladies, some said still to carry torches; she’d heard the gossip and paid it little heed, but the man she’d come to know was passionate in many things, and long before she’d had personal knowledge she’d seen the way he looked at Daine and understood she saw intent desire. Yuki’s frankness and Alanna’s bluntness were resources she’d come to appreciate but this kind of earthy wit with a man she liked—loved as a friend—and was at ease with was new. It depended, she realised, on their commitment to others, banishing flirtation, and perhaps wasn’t so unusual, however it had been hidden from her before Dom. Certainly the classes in which uninspiring Mithran priests had dragged pages through classics hadn’t been of much use with the mode of this poem, but her joking suggestion that if they were to teach it they’d garner more attention led to a lamenting counter, that it wasn’t the choice of works that was the problem but priests who could make anything dull and most things seem irrelevant. She didn’t disagree but enjoyed pretending indignation, reminding him she’d been sent registers and could claim priestly status; and was interested in how he would teach classics. His classes in magic for pages without the Gift had always been informative, entertaining, and chaotically disorganised, but without magical theorems or side-effects to distract him his brain seemed more focused, and some things he seemed to think obvious about certain classics weren’t ones she’d ever considered. She resolved to surprise Neal by asking to borrow some books, but conversation was curtailed by the return of the children, and a knock at the door.

            It was a pair of messengers bearing gifts from Roald, Shinko, and Thayet. Many were tokens of affection rather than items of use, but Irnai was delighted with a set of Kmiri leggings and tunic from Thayet, promptly changing, and Tobe pleased by Roald’s thoughtful gift of a knife with the Mindelan arms set in the hilt. Kel was ashamed to find herself surprised by Roald’s care, but her own breath was taken away when she opened the narrow box from Shinko to find a shukusen. It wasn’t just her gold-bordered arms on the fan that had her blinking, but its quality: the steel showed rippled damascening, the maker’s mark was of one of the Imperial Armoury’s masters, and the design maximally enabled the fan as an offensive weapon, additional razor-edges along each vane and sprung within the casing. And that casing was marked not with smaller versions of her sigil, as would be customary, but with the lines about Lord Sakuyo easing his lungs. The children were familiar with shukusen and knew how respectfully one had to be treated, but seeing them carefully snap it open she knew they’d also been learning fan-toss and resolved it should become a part of New Hope’s culture. She hung the shukusen on her belt and was wondering how to thank Cricket for such a princely—princessly?—gift when a blurring squawk and banging outer door announced Kitten’s precipitate departure.

            Without a snowstorm Numair had only to glance up to confirm a dragon heading in, and they grabbed coats; Daine carried Sarralyn, who felt the excitement and beamed. Kitten reached the ponies’ field long before them, and had to be called back by Daine from the middle of the pasture. The mild weather would have allowed the ponies to stay out but she’d made sure the field was clear, in case, and it was only a moment before Diamondflame’s easy spiral brought him in to land, vast wings flaring to blast them with air. The high visibility meant anyone outside had seen him—city folk must have been gaping upward—and a crowd was gathering, keeping distance but goggle-eyed as Kitten happily bowed and bounced and was again caught neatly in an enormous paw. Looking around Daine seemed mildly irritated but shrugged, adjusting Sarralyn to see the dragon with eyes gone very round.

            “Can’t be helped. Dragons are fair interesting. But if he’s brought them, Numair, I want to get inside quick.”

            “Alright Magelet. We’d best get talking, then.”

            Following with the children Kel wondered what the problem was, but her own questions weren’t ones she could ask in general hearing so privacy was fine by her. Light gleamed on Diamondflame’s scales.

            Greetings, Godborn, and Numair Salmalín. This is Sarralyn?

            “Yes.” Daine held the baby so she and the dragon could inspect one another.

            Welcome to you, Sarralyn Godkin. You join an interesting time. Sarralyn gurgled, waving an arm, and the huge, angular head turned. And greetings to you also, Keladry, Tobeis, and Irnai. Basilisk and stormwing words of the Protector of the Small have reached the Dragonlands.

            “Good ones, I hope, my Lord.”

            Very much so. The stormwing eyries rang with news of Amourta’s hatching. But that must wait, not only on my excitable granddaughter. Godborn, I bear your new guests.

            Daine’s face lit up. “That’s wonderful, Diamondflame, but can we make introductions in Kawit’s stable, please? I know it’s a mortal bore but secrecy matters.”

            Of course. It is in their nature.

            Kawit was waiting outside her stable block, and Diamondflame entered with that same extraordinary magical dilation. Kel and the children, waiting to follow, saw doorway and walls ripple aside to let him pass, though once he was in the building looked as it had before, if stone and timber could suffer from severe indigestion. The expressions of those watching were comical, and when Kel’s eyes met those of a gaping ostler she shrugged eloquently before letting the children tug her forward. Making their way round the coils of Diamondflame’s tail they were in time to see Daine reach his head, handing Sarralyn to Numair.

            “Alright, quickly, please. I don’t want the King to know and he’s bound to be along.”

            Kel had a sense of Diamondflame’s neck rippling before she realised droplets of black fluid—black something—were flowing to the floor where they rolled to Daine, who happily put hands down. The ball unravelled to flow up her arm, vanishing into her pocket. She stood and Kel was close enough to catch her words. “Thank you all. I promise lots of fun but for now, hush. Not a squeak until I say.” Her eyes met Kel’s fiercely. “Not a word, please. And you be careful too, Kitten.”

            I will, Mama, I promise.

            Even in her happiness at seeing her grandsire Kitten’s mindvoice was earnest, and Kel and the children nodded. The black things were clearly important, and she had every sympathy with keeping them safe from the King’s notice. She and the children found seats on haybales as Kitten launched into an account of her year with appeals to Kawit for confirmation or explanation, and though that included her visit to New Hope the perspective was concerned with young immortals and caves. She did mention the skullroad but only to say tauros skulls were smaller than expected, and by the time the royal family turned up she was on to improved control of the firespell as well as illusion spells Kawit taught her. Diamondflame looked up and the mortals came to their feet.

            That is good, Skysong, and you will soon show me how hard you have been working. Thank you for your care, Kawit. I will not forget. Greetings, Jonathan and Thayet jian Wilima of Conté, and Roald and Shinkokami, with my thanks for the hospitality of your realm.

            Kel’s mental ear had recovered sufficiently from the astounding richness and depth of Diamondflame’s mindvoice to think there was a dragon blandness in his tone, and a glance at Tobe and Irnai suggested they agreed. The royals had no such advantage, and Kel saw them rock as awareness of the being speaking battered them.

            “You are always welcome, Lord Diamondflame.” The King bowed and his family followed. “We came to pay our respects.”

            That was simply true, Kel realised, and had a moment of sympathy for a king about whose delicately balanced political chessboard an eighty-five-foot dragon could move at will. And however angry with him she might be she knew that by comparison with Maggur or Imajane Rittevon he made a good showing.

            That is kind of you.

            A smile ghosted onto the King’s—no, Jonathan of Conté’s mouth. “Actually it’s only sensible, my Lord. And while I’m sorry to interrupt your reunion with Lady Skysong there are matters I would be glad to discuss in the light of your long wisdom.”

            Are there? And yet the affairs of the mortal realm are no business of mine, nor of any dragon not dwelling here. Ask if you will, but beware.

            His face was a picture, and in the way all the royals were standing Kel could see the pressure his family had applied. But Jonathan was not a king for nothing, and squared his shoulders. “Nevertheless, my Lord. It is your understanding of the timeway I desire, of course. I recently made a decision my family doesn’t like.” He glanced at Kel with dark eyes. “Nor Lady Keladry. There is a risk I believe warranted. Can you tell me if I am wrong?”

            Protector, what say you to your king?

            Caught in dual scrutiny and all too aware of how shallowly ephemeral any mortal must seem to this dragon Kel felt anger with the King flare and die. Suddenly weary she flapped a hand. “Oh sit down, sire, everyone.” Ignoring protocol, she sat herself as he gave her an odd look and found a haybale for himself and Thayet; Roald did the same, sitting next to Shinko. “Right, wrong—it’s not as simple as that. Diamondflame, the roil in the timeway is close, yes?”

            Closer than it was, Protector.

            “The mortal realms will enter it this year?”

            Very probably, yes. In immortal terms it is imminent, certainly.

            “I bet. And would I be right to think that in the last few weeks the outcomes still possible have become more extreme? That some—most—of the middle ground has been lost?”

            The dragon’s gaze became intent. That is very good, Protector. Yes, I believe so. Usually extreme possibilities disappear, but in any roil more may survive longer and that is strongly true of this roil, greater than any for a long time.

            “Thank you.” She turned to the King and her gaze wasn’t the coldness of the Council chamber but a weariness that looked through him. “You think you’re gambling, sire. What you actually did was raise the stakes and lengthen the odds. If we win it’ll be better and if we lose worse.” She shrugged. “I could argue for or against. What makes me angry isn’t that you did it or even that you did it without asking those who’ll pay the price, win or lose. A king’s a commander, and all commanders do that. It’s that you’ve again put the least capable in the way of greatest harm and responsibility.” She drew up one leg, wrapping arms round it as she brooded. “I doubt you even thought of it. The army doesn’t see it either. I told Wyldon—one of his companies had mages to hold four killing devices, and five times as many refugees had two hedgewitches against six of them. Now Maggur has only to get his timing right and there’ll be forty regular companies bottled up in Steadfast, Mastiff, and Northwatch while an army comes after two, with only civilians who’ve lost everything and convicts who’ve survived the mines to help. Some of them did something impossible, with the gods’ help, and you said ‘Wonderful, now do it again ten times bigger.’”

            She saw listening mortals wince. Diamondflame cocked his head. You forget the immortals you have recruited, Protector.

            “They’ve helped build walls and defences, but if Maggur keeps coming and the mortals can’t hold him back, neither can they.”

            “Should I be conveniently ill, then?”

            Her gaze returned to Jonathan’s tight face and blue eyes. “I think it’s too late, sire. The Council will still be going. And unless you’re prepared to deny him outright and deal with the treason issue Runnerspring would insist Roald came in your place. Then if New Hope falls they’ll all be dead or taken and you’ll have a victorious army heading south as fast as they can move while most of your own struggle to catch up without much command left. You can call the whole thing off and go back to a waiting game or stand by the throw you’ve made. But I don’t think you can fiddle with it any more.”

            You are again right, Protector. Extreme possibilities that survive become more likely as other events that must be cleave to them, while the timeway’s force gathers as a river’s when the banks narrow. It is more dangerous but sweeps away greater obstacles.

            Jonathan’s face was drawn in concentration. Kel couldn’t tell what Thayet thought but Roald’s worry was plain, and beneath her Yamani mask Cricket was equally concerned as well as astonished—probably at Kel’s lack of protocol. The King looked up, face hawklike.

            “Keladry, I made that decision for good reasons. You know what kind of poison Genlith and others have been, and it needs draining. Whatever you believe I’ve been trying to do that for years without the chance this might be. And this stagnant war has to end—the burden of the army is crippling us, and we’ve never been so diminished in mages, which leaves us vulnerable everywhere. All gods aside, you have been our best hope, my best hope, and the one great gift of the war—and I cannot forget the gods when they endorse you as they have, nor the timeway when you’ve pulled off that stroke with the stormwings. I am sorry for how it seems but I will abide my decision, and come.” He took a breath. “Consulting you now, what can I do to shorten the odds again without diminishing the stakes?”

            Aware of Thayet’s and other gazes Kel thought carefully but there wasn’t really anything new. “Bring as many men with you as you can, sire, especially archers, and make sure they’ve maximum field rations. Most of it’s done already, so don’t interfere with what comes to your notice. New Hope will have as many extra men as we can feed. We’ll have Numair and Harailt, and we’ll have to hope their magecraft with yours is enough for whatever Maggur’s assembled.” Tobe’s hand found her shoulder and she straightened as she put arms around him and Irnai. “I suppose one thing’s a disaster plan. If the worst happens griffins or stormwings might be able to get you out, and maybe a few others. But to where? And suppose treason has been confirmed—what orders will you need to get to whom? All the mages capable of firespeaking over long distances will be in New Hope. Numair, are there enough spellmirrors to make a relay?”

            “There will be, Kel. I can firespeak Daine, but the point’s well taken, Jon. Both of them. I might be able to fly out in hawk shape but I can’t carry anyone. The Stone Tree Nation could, if they’re willing.”

            “They may have other concerns, Numair. I wouldn’t count on it.” Kel looked back at the King and some of the coldness was back in her gaze. “Praying can’t hurt but it won’t change anything. And if we win through to peace, sire, you’d best use it wisely for more than yourself, or even your house and realm. I don’t know what the gods might stand for, but those whose lives you gambled with won’t stand for less than all they win and many are not Tortallan.”

            More wisdom, Protector. So you are answered, Jonathan of Conté, and whether you are wrong remains your own concern.

            Whether the King though he was answered Kel took leave to doubt, but he had the sense not to argue and with painfully polite thanks withdrew. Thayet went with him and with looks that included anguish and embarrassment Roald and Shinko followed. Before he opened the door Kel saw the King pause, shake himself, and don a mask not Yamani but an equivalent, a cheerful, ebullient projection of mood cloaking whatever might churn beneath. It was a control she could appreciate, however dubious she felt about choices he’d made or might yet make. She heard him greeting the crowd, warm-voiced and confident, but Diamondflame’s tail shut the door and Kel found enormous eyes contemplating her.

            You are a clearsighted mortal, Keladry, and that elemental knew what it was about. To you I will add two observations—that among the improbable outcomes he has made more likely are some I believe you would yourself risk much to win; and that the risk he has chosen is a more extreme version of those you have already embraced.

            Kawit stirred, speaking for the first time. I have seen the skullroad at New Hope. The remnants of Chaos acting against tauros nature are yet potent and I have no doubt of the timeway’s doing. You should see it yourself unless Rainbow has strong reason you should not.

            He too believes I should see it and I will. Protector, am I right to understand you intend to return to New Hope as soon as you may?

            “I must.”

            And Tobeis and Irnai go with you, despite the peril?

            “Oh yes. They want to and believe they should.”

            I will bear you all there tomorrow, if you can be ready. Hush, Skysong—I will return.

            Daine was grinning so Kel had heard right. “You will bear us?”

            Yes. The mindvoice was threaded with mild amusement. You climb onto my back. I shall use the spiral spell. You will need warm clothes. I can bring you back to Corus afterwards, if you wish.

            Her mind started working again as she suppressed the idea of being astride Diamondflame when he flew. She knew Daine had done as much during the Immortals’ War and her memory of the mingled wonder and sick terror she’d felt at the thought was vivid. Before Balor’s Needle she couldn’t have hoped to endure it, and now she had no choice.

            “Right. Thank you. I won’t come back, if you can bear the children as well, but if we’re going tomorrow there are things I must do.” Dozens of them, starting with the consideration that while she and the children might be transported adragonback, Alder couldn’t be. And there were thanks she owed she was loath to leave unspoken. “If you’ll excuse us?”

            “Hold on, Kel.” Daine sat up. “Let’s deal with the other thing. Numair, seal this place, please.” Black fire skittered to spread out over doors and roof. “Thanks. Alright, you lot, come on out now.”

            As Kel watched with wide eyes the black drops—blobs—trickled out of Daine’s pockets, dropping to the floor. Kitten didn’t seem surprised but watched intently, and Kel tried to do the same. They weren’t easy to count but there were at least forty and they were alive—quivering and changing shape, extruding little stalks that swelled into heads. The last to drop rolled to a place before Daine and produced a head more quickly than others, with a mouth that produced a faint squeak.

            “Hello. I Trick.”

            Daine smiled. “Hello, Trick. You speak for all?”

            “Today.”

            “Alright. Please all listen carefully.” She pointed. “That’s Keladry of Mindelan, Protector of the Small, her son Tobeis, and Irnai of Rathhausak. Kel, children, meet darkings. They’re very useful, and these ones would like some fun.”

            “Funfunfun.” Trick squeaked agreement and was joined by others, They were no longer uniform but exhibiting little distinctions, a streak of colour, fragment of rock, feather, or material. “Dragons boring. All talk. We want doing.”

            They are impatient beings, Godborn, and perhaps foolish as well as very young, but we will not hold them against their will.

            Trick whirled to bow to Diamondflame. “Fun. Doing. Helping.”

            “I hear you. Now listen again.” Daine looked at Kel. “Where they come from doesn’t matter. What does is that they were made as spies and it’s what they do best. What one darking hears or sees, all know. And can communicate, in words and pictures. As you can hear there are limits, but they learn. When I heard this lot might want to leave the Dragonlands I was in two minds—the King knows darkings exist because they helped us during the Immortals War, and he was very disappointed they left afterwards, for the wrong reasons. A spy network that good is a nasty temptation for a king. But they decide for themselves what they do, and I thought they might help where I couldn’t any more.” An apologetic note came into her voice. “Too late for that now. By the time we could get one to Hamrkeng you’re reckoning Maggur will be gone. And I’m afraid they’ll be more critical for Aly than you, if we can get them to her. You don’t need a farflung spy network any more, and she does, as far as Numair and I understand George’s dark hints. But you can use fast communication no magecraft can stop. If you have a darking and so do lookout and corral, Quenuresh and Barzha, maybe, you’ll know what they know as soon as they know it. One might be able to get into an enemy tent and eavesdrop on an attack plan. You have to look out for them—they take risks they needn’t—but I trust you to do that.”

            Kel’s mind spun and stopped. “Um, that all sounds wonderful, Daine, but if the King’s there he’ll notice.”

            “That’s alright. Trick, when that happens, darkings must say that they heard about New Hope in the Divine Realms, volunteered to help, and went there directly. Don’t tell him how or that there are any more of you in the mortal realm.”

            Trick seemed to swell and nodded. “Good trick.” There were squeaks of agreement. “Others with Aly?”

            “Yes. I need some of you to go with Kel to New Hope. We think there’s going to be a big battle there, with mortals, basilisks, ogres, spidrens, and centaurs fighting against King Maggur, and you can help. The others will be in the Copper Isles, helping the raka to a revolution. There are”—Daine counted—“forty- … five of you, so let’s say fifths. Nine of you go with Kel, and thirty-six stay here until we can get you to the Copper Isles. You choose, Trick—just be sure the nine going with Kel understand what they have to say if they meet the King.”

            “Only darkings here. Wanted to help. Went alone.”

            “Exactly. And thank you, Trick, all. I’m sorry we’re rushed, but things seem to be happening fast.”

            “Darkings not sorry. Rush is fun. No rush in Dragonlands.”

            Trick’s head collapsed as it rolled to the others, who clustered round, seeming to meld. Kel shook her head and Daine laughed; she was aware of draconic amusement but the children looked dazed.