Читать книгу: «The Protector of the Small Quartet», страница 3

‘Very well, Gildes of Veldine. Let’s inspect you first and put you out of your misery,’ the decisive voice said.

Now that they were no longer talking about her, Kel emerged from between the horses. Gildes must be the drooping fellow who led his mounts to a blond, barrel-chested man. The others were double-checking their things.

‘Did you eat?’ someone asked Kel. A young man about four inches taller than she approached her. He gave Kel a warm turnover. ‘Just rolled out of bed and came charging on down, I bet. You’ll learn. Eat.’

Kel bit and discovered sausage and cheese inside the turnover. ‘It’s good!’ she mumbled, her mouth full.

The stranger grinned cheerfully at her. In his early twenties, he was broad-shouldered, big-handed, and very handsome. He wore his dark hair cut just below his ears. His mouth was long and made for smiling. He wore the uniform of the Own: loose dark trousers, chain mail shirt, blue tunic with silver trim, and a white burnoose. The crimson band around his biceps showed a dark circle with a black dot at its centre: a sergeant’s badge.

‘I see you’ve still got your overgrown horse,’ he remarked with a nod towards Peachblossom. ‘I was new to the King’s Own that day we saw you tilting. Everybody but me bet you’d come straight off his back when he reared. I won a meal at The Jugged Hare because I bet you’d stay on.’ He bowed to Kel as she wiped her fingers on the handkerchief she kept tucked in her boot top. ‘Domitan of Masbolle at your service, Squire Keladry. Your page-sponsor was a certain mad cousin of mine.’

She squinted to get a better look at him. His eyes – impossible to tell their colour at the moment – were framed by wide, arched brows and set over a long nose slightly wide at the tip. It was Neal’s nose, on someone else’s face. Kel smiled. ‘You’re related to Neal?’

‘Sadly, yes. I call him Meathead. Have you ever met anyone so stubborn?’ Domitan tucked his big hands into his breeches pockets with a grin.

‘He can be difficult, um … Sergeant?’

He shook his head. ‘Technically you’re not in the Own. Besides, he’s written me so much about you I feel like I know you. Call me Dom.’ He offered his hand.

‘Kel,’ she said, taking it. He gave her a firm squeeze, reassuring, not trying her strength as so many young men did, and let go. She felt breathless and tingly.

‘You sure grew into this bruiser,’ Dom remarked. When he offered a hand for Peachblossom to sniff, Kel yanked him back just as the gelding struck. ‘Oh, I see,’ Dom remarked, unruffled. ‘A testy pony.’

Kel giggled, then saw that Lord Raoul, Captain Flyndan, and two men, farmers by their clothes, had emerged from the palace. Stablehands brought horses and remounts forward.

‘We’re ready to do business,’ Dom remarked. ‘Welcome to the Own, Kel.’ He swung himself onto his saddled mount, a dappled grey gelding.

Lord Raoul rode over. ‘All set to give Hoshi a try?’ he asked. Kel nodded. ‘Mount up. Normally our remounts go in a string at the rear – the servingmen lead them with the supply train. We’ll make an exception for Peachblossom. You ride a neck length back on my left, and keep him with you. Behave,’ he told Peachblossom, speaking directly to the horse. ‘Or I’ll muzzle you like a dog.’

Peachblossom shook his head vigorously. Kel hoped that was restlessness, not disagreement. With no time for another word with him, she gave a silent prayer to any listening gods for his good behaviour and swung into the saddle. Hoshi stood patiently as she settled in.

Kel twisted to look into the carrier behind her saddle. ‘You have to move,’ she told the drowsy sparrows huddled there. ‘Otherwise Jump will squash you.’

The birds hopped out. Once the carrier was empty, Kel nodded to Jump: he sprang neatly into the leather box. Hoshi flicked two ears back, then swung them forward again. Not even Jump could shake the mare’s calm.

‘Well, I’m impressed,’ drawled Raoul, who had watched. ‘Come along, Squire Keladry. Time to get your feet wet.’

Following him to the front of the mounted force, Kel took note of the dogs. Thin, fine-boned greyhounds sat on the ground beside three riders. Four other men rode with terriers in carriers like Jump’s. Six wolfhounds stood beside Captain Flyndan, tails wagging. There was no sign of Third Company’s hunting birds – probably they were in carriers, asleep.

Lord Raoul faced his men. ‘Doubtless you know as much as I do,’ he said, his calm, steady voice carrying over the fidgets of horses and the creak of leather. The men fell silent the moment he began to speak. ‘Haresfield in the Royal Forest was attacked by a band of centaurs and humans. We’ve got reports of twenty-three dead. Balim’s squad is there now. Chances are the raiders cleared the district, but they could be stupid enough to stay around. Keep your eyes open.’

He wheeled to face the gates, raised a kid-gloved hand, and brought it down, nudging his big bay mare into a trot. A brunette young man with a snub nose rode on his right, carrying the flag that announced they were Third Company of the King’s Own. Captain Flyndan rode on the standard-bearer’s right. Obeying her instructions, Kel followed Lord Raoul on his left. Behind her she heard the thunder of hooves as the riders took places in a long double column.

Kel felt a thrill of pride. I could be a general, leading an army to war, she thought, and smiled. She had no particular interest in armies, but it was fun to imagine herself a hero from a ballad at the head of a mighty legion.

Except that ballads never mentioned horses like Peachblossom, or one-eared, ugly dogs like the one who sat behind her. Nor did they mention sparrows perched in a neat row on a horse’s mane. Used to these passengers, Peachblossom ignored them. Crown had claimed her place on Kel’s shoulder.

Once they rode through the Least Gate and across a bridge into the greater world, Kel looked back. The company made an impressive display; two columns of fifty men, each in the white, blue, and silver of full members of the Own, followed by ten men in blue and white. These were the servingmen, who led the remounts and supply train. In the predawn light she could see that five of the Own rode with hunting birds on their shoulders.

‘You mind those hawks,’ she told Crown. ‘You’re safe while they’re hooded or caged, but keep out of their sight when they’re hunting. At least we’ll eat well enough.’

‘We do try to eat,’ Raoul called back to her. ‘I go all faint if I don’t get fed regularly. Only think of the disgrace to the King’s Own if I fell from the saddle.’

‘But there was that time in Fanwood,’ a voice behind them said.

‘That wedding in Tameran,’ added the blond Sergeant Osbern, riding a horse-length behind Kel.

‘Don’t forget when what’s-his-name, with the army, retired,’ yelled a third.

‘Silence, insubordinate curs!’ cried Raoul. ‘Do not sully my new squire’s ears with your profane tales!’

‘Even if they’re true?’ That was Dom. It seemed Neal wasn’t the only family member versed in irony.

Suddenly Kel’s view of the next four years changed. She had expected hard work mixed with dread for the Ordeal of Knighthood at the end of it. Never had she guessed that other Tortallan warriors might not be as stiff and formal as Lord Wyldon. Never had she thought that she might have fun.

Thank you, Goddess, she thought. Thank you, Mithros. I’m going to learn, and enjoy myself while I do!

They followed the Conté Road southwest into the forest as the sun rose. About the time Kel used to eat breakfast, Raoul held up his arm. Everyone slowed to a walk, Kel a beat behind the others. She had to learn the hand signals. Maybe Qasim would teach her.

Third Company halted beside a river to rest and water the horses – Haresfield lay farther still inside the forest. Kel dismounted, Hoshi’s and Peachblossom’s reins in her hands. When Raoul climbed down from the saddle, Kel whisked his mare Amberfire’s reins from his grip and led the animals to the river. Caring for a knight-master’s horses was a normal part of a squire’s duties. She glanced back: Raoul grinned and raised his hands in surrender.

Once all three horses had drunk, Kel turned them. Her path to Raoul was blocked by the snub-nosed standard-bearer. He was an inch taller than Kel, a broad-shouldered eighteen-year-old with level brown eyes and a firm chin. He wore his blond-brown hair cropped short at the sides; his fringe flopped over his forehead.

‘My lord only took you because he felt sorry for you,’ he informed Kel icily. ‘I did his chores before you came. I was good at it.’

Kel returned his look with Yamani calm, her emotions hidden. This young man’s words stung a little. She knew that Raoul wanted her Yamani experience on the Great Progress. She also knew many would see it as the standard-bearer did. ‘I’m sorry you feel that way,’ she replied. ‘If you’ll excuse me?’ She took a firmer grip on Peachblossom’s reins. The gelding watched the young man with too much interest for her comfort.

The standard-bearer gripped her arm. ‘Watch your step, squire,’ he informed her. ‘Just because Wyldon didn’t have the brass to get rid of you doesn’t mean we won’t.’

Kel flexed her bicep. He stared at her as muscle swelled under his fingers, forcing them open. With a quick jerk Kel freed herself. ‘Excuse me,’ she repeated, and walked off with her charges, keeping Peachblossom away from the standard-bearer.

Of course he’s resentful, she thought as she joined the column. I’ve taken his place with my lord – or what he sees as his place. There’s nothing I can do about that.

‘You spoke to Lerant of Eldorne.’ Qasim appeared at her side to offer Kel a piece of cheese.

‘No, thank you,’ she said politely, turning down the food. She added, ‘He talked, actually. I listened.’

‘He is a good fighter, and devoted to my lord,’ Qasim explained, eating the cheese. ‘He took an arrow for Lord Raoul last year, when we fought bandits in the Tusaine hills. He was unhappy to learn my lord took a squire.’ He offered some cheese to Jump, who gobbled it.

‘It’s all right,’ Kel said.

‘There is more to it,’ the Bazhir told her softly. ‘He applied for a warrior’s post in the army, the navy, even as a man-at-arms, though his birth entitles him to better. No one would take a son of House Eldorne after his aunt’s high treason. They feared the king’s displeasure. My lord Raoul heard of it, and brought Lerant into the Own.’

Kel felt a twinge of sympathy. She knew what it was like to be unwanted. Lerant’s jealousy was understandable, even if it wasn’t likeable. ‘Thank you,’ she told Qasim. ‘I’ll keep it in mind.’

‘He will come around,’ Qasim assured her as the Own mounted up. ‘His is a good heart, though temper makes him sharp. He regrets it later. You will see.’

Kel led Amberfire to Lord Raoul, steadying his mare as he swung into the saddle. ‘Thanks, Kel,’ he said as he accepted the reins.

Kel remounted Hoshi. Of course she understood Lerant’s feelings. There was no treason in her family, but hadn’t Lord Raoul rescued her, all the same?

CHAPTER 3
CENTAURS

Smoke rose over the wooden stockade that surrounded the town of Haresfield. The wind carried scents of burned, wet wood and cooked meat. Kel knew those odours; she had smelled them often in raided Yamani and Tortallan villages.

They picketed their horses with those of the squad sent to the town earlier, in a field within view of the walls. The servingmen remained to guard them. Raoul explained to Kel that he didn’t want the Own’s tracks to blot out those left by the bandits. Anyone who entered or left the town had to skirt the broad space of trampled mud and grass before the gate, leaving the ground untouched until the raiders’ signs could be properly read. Third Company entered Haresfield on either side of the gate. Once inside, the men formed their squads. Assigned areas by Captain Flyndan, they dispersed to survey the damage.

The headman, a priestess of the Goddess, the blacksmith, and Sergeant Balim, whose squad had arrived before dawn, met Raoul in the square. They led Raoul and Flyndan through the town, showing the damage. Kel followed silently.

Inside its untouched, fifteen-foot stockade wall a third of Haresfield had burned to the ground. Other buildings stood, but fire damage made them unsafe. The blazes had weakened support beams: roofs sagged, upper floors drooped into lower ones. Smoke drifted everywhere, burning Kel’s eyes and filling her nose with the reek of ash and burned flesh. Her stomach had already tried to reject her breakfast twice.

People laboured in the ruins. Bodies were set along the streets, pieces of cloth over their faces. Kel could only glance at those who’d burned; the sight of their swollen black flesh was too much. Worse, in a way, were those who looked as if they only slept: they had suffocated. Some charred animal bodies, mostly dogs and cats, lay with their masters. Every animal of monetary value – horses, cows, goats, poultry – had been stolen.

Raoul crouched beside a dead man who clutched a long-handled war axe. He hadn’t died in a fire: five arrows peppered his corpse. Turning him slightly, Raoul showed that the arrows had gone clean through him.

‘That’s a longbow,’ Flyndan judged, fleshy face set. ‘One of those six-foot-long monsters the king wants archers to train on. Just as bad as crossbows for punching through armour.’

Raoul checked the arrows’ fletching. ‘Centaur work,’ he said. ‘They like feathers from griffins and other winged immortals. They say the arrow flies truer. Kel, feel this, so you’ll know griffin fletching the next time you see it.’

As Kel obeyed, touching a feather like ridged silk, Flyndan commented, ‘Not that they can’t do plenty of damage with human-made weapons. I’ve never seen a centaur miss what he shot at. Or she,’ he added. ‘Festering things are born archers.’

‘This isn’t centaur,’ Raoul said, rising to yank a crossbow quarrel from a shutter. He showed it to the locals, Flyndan, and Kel. ‘A human shot this. Centaurs are snobs – they hate crossbows.’

‘I don’t understand,’ the headman complained. He was an innkeeper, a short man with a barrel chest and straggly beard. ‘We’re on good terms with Greystreak and his herd – they wouldn’t attack us.’

‘They had help,’ said the priestess.

‘You don’t know for certain,’ the blacksmith snapped.

‘I know the evidence of my eyes,’ retorted the priestess, crossing her arms over her chest. ‘Your nephew Macorm and his friend Gavan had gate duty last night. There’s no trace of them, and the gate wasn’t forced. It was wide open.’

‘Macorm’s a good boy,’ argued the blacksmith. ‘Wild, a bit—’

The priestess interrupted. ‘You always defend him!’

‘I know he’s family,’ said the headman, ‘but it looks bad—’

Raoul cleared his throat. The villagers looked at him. ‘Arguing without facts is pointless,’ he said, kind but firm. ‘Flyn, have Volorin’s squad bring this Greystreak in. If it wasn’t his herd, he may know whose it is. Send a squad to the palace for aid: healers, clothes, food, and so on. And I want someone to go to the Riders.’

Flyndan opened his mouth.

‘No jealousies, Flyn,’ Raoul told him. ‘We can use one – no, two, Rider Groups here. Get the rest of the boys to help these people recover what they can.’

‘Two squads to start digging?’ Flyndan enquired.

Raoul looked down the main village street. Bodies lined it on either side, more than the twenty-three reported earlier. ‘Two’s fine,’ Raoul said, his face bleak.

As Flyndan, Balim, the smith, and the priestess went about their business, Raoul continued to view the damage with Kel. The headman left to oversee the inn’s kitchen so those who worked in the ruins might be fed.

When Raoul and Kel had seen the entire village, they returned to the gate. ‘Well, squire?’ Raoul asked. ‘What do you make of this?’ He indicated the ground at the stockade gate.

Kel looked at the churned mud. ‘I’d guess twenty-five, maybe thirty centaurs,’ she replied, not sure if she had read the signs correctly. Lindhall Reed, one of her teachers in immortal studies, had shown the pages centaur hoofmarks in plaster so the pages would recognize their tracks. ‘Twenty or so humans. The humans left their horses outside the gates – there’s marks of horseshoes and picket stakes beside the wall. Centaurs aren’t shod.’

‘Very good,’ Raoul said. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d seen that. Go on.’

‘I agree with the priestess. The gate was opened.’ She motioned to the gate. ‘It’s whole, the hinges are solid, there’s no blood or anyone dead. Even if the guards were fooled into opening up, there’d be signs of a fight. And they’d have shouted. We were told everyone was abed when the raiders got into the houses.’ Something in the mud caught her eye: a doll, half-buried in muck. She picked it up and began to clean it with a handkerchief. ‘Setting fires after they stole, that’s mischief, or settling old scores,’ she remarked. Her hands trembled with rage. The waste and cowardice – robbing their own people in the middle of the night! – had to be punished. ‘They took every animal they could sell. People are saying they cleaned out the valuables before they set their fires. And if folk here recognized the humans with the centaurs, they’re keeping quiet.’

‘They’d have to, wouldn’t they?’ Raoul asked. ‘Villages like this, cut off from most of the world, everyone’s related. A raider could be an uncle, a cousin, a brother.’

Kel nodded, cleaning the doll as people reported to Raoul and the squad bound for the palace left. This was the lowest kind of betrayal, for kinsmen to steal what little people had. She could not understand those who liked romantic songs of highwaymen and pirates. Anyone who took poor people’s life savings was not worth a song.

The centaurs were just as bad. They’d been given homes after they had sworn to heed the realm’s laws. Now they were robbing those who had taken them in.

She waited until Raoul had finished talking with his squad leaders before she asked, ‘My lord?’

Raoul looked at her and raised his eyebrows.

‘They won’t stay local, will they?’ she asked. The doll was as clean as she could get it. Kel thrust it into her belt. ‘They took all they could move. They’re on the run, looking for a place to hole up or another village to rob.’

‘Absolutely,’ her knight-master replied. ‘We’ve got serious work ahead. Don’t worry, though. With help, we’ll bring these muck suckers to bay.’

The local centaurs arrived. Kel watched the introductions, happy not to deal with these creatures, particularly the centaur chief, Greystreak. His black-and-grey hair was twined and oiled into ringlets, a style she disliked. Greystreak wore a dirty wrap-around shirt with a tangle of ribbons, beads, and chains around his neck, wrists, and pasterns, and braided in his tail. Only the belt at his waist was unornamented by anything but weapons. His human parts were those of a fair-skinned man in his fifties; his horse parts were blue roan.

Suddenly the chief broke off greeting Lord Raoul to approach Kel. He walked around her as if she were a filly for his inspection, ignoring Jump’s low growl. On his second circuit the centaur was smiling. ‘A female. A strong one, not a pitiful two-legger stick girl,’ he commented. ‘You will breed easily, perhaps even bear sons of my kind.’ His voice slid over Kel like oil.

She swallowed hard. Keeping her face Yamani-blank, she imagined Greystreak put to dray horse work in the northern mines.

The sparrows leaped from their perch in a nearby tree to dart shrieking at the centaur. Greystreak backed up, trying to shield his face. Jump advanced on him, hackles up, snarling.

‘Jump, enough,’ ordered Raoul, coming over.

The dog shook his head.

‘I need to talk to him. You aren’t helping,’ the knight told the dog.

Jump sighed. He walked away, frequently glancing over his shoulder as if to say, ‘I have to let him go?’

‘This is unnatural,’ Greystreak snapped, still warding off sparrows. No matter how quickly he swatted, he never touched them. ‘Take these things away!’

‘It’s rude to single out the squire and ignore the knight,’ Raoul said politely. ‘I didn’t give you permission to address her. Kel, call off the birds.’

Without a word from Kel the birds flew to her. Crown and Freckle perched on her shoulders. The rest lined up on a branch.

Greystreak looked at Raoul. ‘I will give three slaves for her,’ he announced. ‘Two more if she breeds successfully within a year.’

Kel stiffened. Slaves? There were no slaves in Tortall!

Raoul thrust his hands into his pockets, still the picture of goodwill. ‘You forget our customs, Chief Greystreak. Offer all the horses you like, human females are not for sale. And you can’t have heard – I said she is a squire. A knight-in-training. She’s busy. Now, explain to me how you are not at fault for this.’ He jerked his head towards the ruins of the village.

Greystreak spread his hands as his expression slid from greedy to innocent. ‘These young stallions give me no peace,’ he whined. ‘I cast them from the herd. Some females were silly enough to follow them. They are no longer my problem.’

‘You never thought they’d turn on us?’ demanded the headman. ‘Centaur females leave males who can’t give them gifts. If you kicked young bucks out with nothing, how were they to get presents if they didn’t steal?’

Greystreak looked shocked. ‘I assumed their two-legger friends would warn Haresfield, since they live here. Had I known this would happen, of course I would have given warning. I prize the goodwill I have built up.’ He looked at Kel again and sighed before turning to Raoul. ‘Since I know nothing more, I take myself off. I’m sure you will catch these brigands.’ He shook his head woefully. ‘There will be no trade for us here for some time. I shall have to find another market.’

The headman cursed and snapped, ‘Fair-weather friend, aren’t you, Greystreak? When we can do business, you and your people are in and out all the time. When it looks like we’ll be months restoring what we’ve lost, you’re on your way!’

The centaur raised his brows. ‘My friend, I too have females. Without gifts, they attack males.’ He offered his bare forearms for inspection: they were covered with old scars. Our females can be’ – he hesitated, looking at Kel once more – ‘overly spirited.’

She met his gaze levelly. I’ll show you how spirited human females are, you sideslipping sack of ooze, she thought.

Greystreak walked towards the gate, only to halt. Somehow Peachblossom and Raoul’s warhorse, Drum, had pulled free of their pickets. They stood between the centaur and the gate. Black Drum pawed idly at the ground, as casual as if he had stopped to graze in this bare spot. Peachblossom’s head was slightly lowered, his ears flat to his skull. He kept one eye on Greystreak.

The centaur reared to show the geldings his stallion parts, and hissed at them in his own language. Drum flicked one ear forward and the other back, all equine blandness. Peachblossom waited until Greystreak settled onto his fours, then struck, snakelike, his teeth coming together with an audible click as he missed. Greystreak scrambled to get out of range; he nearly fell.

But they’re geldings, Kel thought, flabbergasted. Geldings don’t face down stallions!

‘Get these slaves out of my way,’ snarled Greystreak.

‘That’s the interesting thing about having the Wildmage about.’ Raoul was relaxed and cheery. ‘Palace animals are changing. Soon most will work for us only if they want to. Some animals are further along, of course.’

More of the King’s Own mounts had freed themselves of the picket lines. They walked through the gate to stand behind Peachblossom and Drum, forming a barrier of horseflesh between Greystreak and escape.

‘I told my lord the other day that horses in particular are showing a smart streak,’ Flyndan added. ‘You’d best be careful, Chief Greystreak. Your own slaves might rebel.’

Greystreak glared at the humans, trembling with rage. ‘Tell them to move,’ he said, his polite mask in tatters. ‘You’ve corrupted them! No gelding defies a stallion, not in the history of horsekind!’

‘You don’t think history gets rewritten, sometimes?’ Flyndan enquired mildly.

‘I’ll ask them to step aside in a moment,’ Lord Raoul told the centaur. ‘There is one thing. I know you weren’t trying to avoid the issue – I’m sure it just slipped your mind – but under your treaty, you’re required to supply a third of your people to help capture these rogues. I know you’d have remembered in a moment. Our horses just saved you the extra steps.’

Greystreak’s fists clenched. Then he smiled, his mask back in place. ‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘I was trying to decide who to send with you, and was preoccupied.’

The wagons from the palace arrived shortly before noon. Kel got to work ladling out soup in a mess tent. Raoul stood beside her to issue bread to the diners as they filed by. Only when everyone else had been served did they eat.

‘You won’t get a traditional squire’s education with me,’ he told her between mouthfuls of soup. ‘Serving refreshments in meetings, well, you’ll do that. It’s the best way for you to hear what’s said and who says it. I’ll want your impressions afterwards, so be sharp. But waiting on me hand and foot is plain silly. So’s caring for my horses in the field. For one thing, I like to do it. For another, you’ll be too busy. Tend to your own mounts first.’

Kel nodded. After she swallowed a mouthful, she asked, ‘Why Rider Groups, my lord? Aren’t there enough of us?’ He had led all one hundred warriors of Third Company into the forest that morning, not counting the servingmen.

‘A different tool for a different job,’ explained Raoul. Flyndan, seated across from them, made a face and nodded. ‘We’re conspicuous, in our blues with the pretty silver mail and all,’ Raoul continued. ‘Our horses are big – good for open ground, slow over broken terrain and forest. Third Company does the main sweep, talking to other villages and making noise. The Rider Groups scout on our left and right flanks – our sides. Their little ponies will cover rocky terrain, marshes, and so on. The enemy will be on the move. Once we know where they are, we’ll send half the company around to their rear, to set up a trap. Then we drive ’em into it.’

‘We’ve done it before,’ Dom told Kel. He sat with Flyndan, polishing his empty bowl with a crust of bread. The smile he directed at Kel made her heart turn over, just as Neal’s smile did. ‘We clank around, make a lot of fuss, let the bandits think they’ll always be two steps ahead. Then we close the net and haul them off to royal justice.’

‘They’ll have to sing a sweet song to get out of a hanging,’ Raoul said grimly, picking up his empty dishes.

Kel shuddered: she hated hangings. No matter what the crime was, she saw no malice in those hooded and bound silhouettes dangling against the sky. Worse, to her mind, was the thought that the condemned knew they were to die, that a day and time had been set, that strangers planned each step of their killing.

Flyndan misunderstood her shudder. ‘That’s right. It’s not glamour and glory. It’s hard, mud-slogging work. If you wanted it easy, you should have taken a desk knight.’

‘Stop it, Flyn,’ Raoul said, his voice firm. ‘See her in action before you judge.’

‘I know, she rallied those lads while we handled the spidren nest. You’d think she’d be over this warrior thing by now.’ Flyndan carried his dishes away.

‘Kel?’ Raoul asked.

Kel was buttering a roll. She knew what he wanted. ‘I’ve heard it before, my lord.’

Raoul patted her shoulder and took his dishes to the scrubbers.

‘He’s not the easiest second in command, but he’s good at it.’ Kel looked up to meet Dom’s very blue eyes. ‘You need someone a bit stiff to offset my lord. He’s too easygoing, sometimes. Flyn will let up, once he sees this isn’t a hobby for you.’

Kel shrugged. ‘I don’t need to be liked, Dom. I just need to work.’

When she rose with her dishes, he did as well. ‘And you’ve a knack for it. I heard what you did with the spidrens, your first year. And then with the hill bandits, your second summer.’

Kel glanced up at Dom, startled. ‘How did you know about that?’ She handed her bowl, plate, and cup to the dishwashers. One of them was Qasim. He smiled at Kel and Dom, and meekly bore a scolding from the village woman beside him, who said it took more than a swipe with a cloth to get a bowl clean.

‘How did I know?’ Dom asked, and chuckled. ‘My cousin the Meathead, remember? He wrote about both in great detail. I feel sorry for him these days, though.’

‘But he’s got the Lioness for knight-master!’ protested Kel.

Dom grinned down at her. ‘You think that’s fun? Maybe we’re not talking about the same Lioness. The one I know rides with us a lot – my lord’s one of her best friends. She’s the one with the temper. And if Neal’s learned to keep his opinions to himself, it’ll be more than any of us were ever able to teach him.’

Kel started to argue, and changed her mind. Dom was certainly right about Neal.

‘Trust me,’ Dom said, resting a hand on Kel’s shoulder, ‘I bet he wishes right now you had his place!’ He went to help some men carry a heavy beam down the street.

Kel resisted the temptation to rub the spot where Dom’s hand had rested. She needed to find work. Was she some kind of fickle monster, that Dom’s smile and touch could make her giddier than Neal’s had? Was she one of those females who always had to moon over a man? Did other girls’ emotions flop every which way? Lalasa had never mentioned it, if hers did, and she was quite good at explaining such things.