Reporting

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.