Author's Note: Thank God, the battle ends in this chapter! Now I can let the fun stuff begin: the Yamani court, character development, romance, squire-hood, etc. Some stuff will be similar to Tammy's--for example, I won't describe Progressives and Conservatives as "traditionalist" and "non-traditionalist," as I did in Chapter One (before I read Squire). Keep reviewing and I'll have the motivation to keep writing; you guys have been wonderfully supportive, and I'm really grateful.
As always, the characters and inhabitants of Tortall belong to Tamora Pierce and are used with her indirect permission.
// - denotes thoughts
The Squire Years
Chapter Nine: Integrity (or lack-thereof)
Kel trotted up the stairs, running her left hand along the wall to keep her balance. In her right hand she carried her practice glaive, ready to weild. At the top of the staircase she paused, peering through the dimness in hopes of spotting Joren.
There were only three torches lit along the walkway and a sentry was looking over the wall. Kel had been undetected.
She crept over, trying to figure out who he was. He was much too large to be one of her fellow squires. His shoulders were broader than Sir Nualt, so she guessed it was Sir Jerel.
She pressed her chalk-covered glaive to his back. "Drop the bow," she hissed. "You're dead, Sir Jerel."
He gave a wry grin as he looked at her over his shoulder. "Well done, Squire Keladry. I see that Lord Wyldon as not exaggerated about your skills."
"Thank you," Kel said, unsure of what else to say. She saluted quickly and headed along the walkway.
The next sentry post was empty. In their last Strategy and Tactics lecture, Lord Wyldon had stressed that defense lines in castles or forts, or even camps at the tops of hills, didn't need an excessive amount of archers, as long as they had a clear view and good range. //So Joren's still a fairly good student,// Kell thought, //even if he doesn't care for the Code of Chivalry.//
At the next post she saw Joren. He was sitting on a merlon, book in hand. His bow was on the floor--clearly he had not been expecting an attack. His piercing blue eyes flicked up from his book as Kel stepped out of the shadows.
"I deserve some explanations," Kel said forcefully, weilding her glaive.
"YOU deserve?" Joren asked incredulously. "What, Keladry, do you deserve other than punishment for defying the Gods and acting like something you're not?" He set his book aside and unsheathed his sword.
Kel fought to keep her face Yamani-smooth. "Is that why you tried to kill me with that arrow? Because I've defied the Gods?" She took a step closer to him. "Then why did it not strike me dead, if that's what the Gods wish?"
"Don't try to play logic games with me," Joren snapped. "You've been spending too much time with that idiot scholar."
Kel bristled at the unfair description of Neal. "And you've been spending too much time with rigid, conservative knights who are so wrapped up in tradition that they refuse to acknowledge that women are capable of protecting the realm!"
Joren smiled with mock sweetness. "Did I strike a nerve? I can't recall you ever having yelled before." He brought his sword up quickly in a crescent-shaped arc. Kel was lucky to block it with her glaive. Joren scowled fiercely. "You're going to die, bitch."
Kel pushed back with all her strength, knocking Joren too the floor. She stood over him, glaive blade resting on his chest. His tunic was now marked with chalk, but Kel could hardly believe it. //How could he give in so easily?//
Before she could throw a final insult his way, he knocked her legs out from under her. Kel found herself on the ground, and Joren scrambled to his knees, crouching above her. Her glaive had been knocked aside and the cold blade of Joren's sword was flat against her neck.
"Dishonorable wench," he growled, leaning low over her. His eyes flashed angrily as he pressed his sword and his body against her. She could feel blood trickling down the side of her neck.
Kel's eyes grew wide with fear. There was no telling what her was capable of doing. His breath was hot against on her cheeks but his eyes were cold and icy. "You're as worthless as a whore. You're a liability in battle because all the men will want to bed you rather than fight. They'll protect you instead of the realm because they'll fall under your spell, the same way those Progressive knights have with the Champion."
Kel pushed futily against him, but her strength was no match for Joren's quiet rage. "Get off of me, Joren," she hissed. "You don't know what you're talking about!"
Joren let out a low hiss. "Don't I?" With a disgusted sneer, he lowered his mouth to hers in a forceful kiss. Kel continued to press against him to no avail. Finally she bit down on his lower lip as hard as she could. Joren yanked back away from her, holding his hand to his bleeding mouth. "You bitch!"
"Get off of her, you miserable cur!" Kel heard Neal shout from the direction of the stairs. Had he followed her? She was alarmed to know that she hadn't noticed his footsteps behind her.
Neal launched himself across the walkway, attacking Joren with a wide swing of his sword. Joren moved quickly to defend, slicing Kel's skin further. He took no notice of Kel's bleeding neck, his fierce eyes locked on Neal as they dueled.
Kel felt someone lift her into an upright position and place her a piece of cloth along her neck.
"If you sit up and hold this handkerchief tight you should be okay." Conal's voice was reassuring and calming. Kel was a little grateful that it was Conal helping her, rather than one of the more intimidating knights.
Kel said nothing, holding her brother's handkerchief against the wound as she watched Neal and Joren fight. Joren was good--he'd always been one of the better fighters--but Neal had a few years of experience. He was fast. Kel feared, however, that Joren's fury would be great enough to give him the duel.
"Help him," she urged Conal, who had not loosened his protective hold on her shoulders.
He shook his head sternly. "It will be over soon. We sent Sacherell to locate Wyldon. He's about somewhere, overseeing the rest of the battle. I volunteered to look after you, Kelly."
Kel winced at the childhood nickname. "What will happen now?"
Conal shrugged noncomitally. "You know what mother says. 'Ichigo ichie.'"
Kel nodded. 'Live in the moment'--the Yamani phrase usually associated with the art of tea. But it meant so much more than the translation allowed--it meant to enjoy the fullness of life without the worries of what the next moment would bring.
Kel heard Lord Wyldon's familiar stomp along the walkway just as Neal knocked Joren's sword out of his hand. "Give up," Neal said darkly.
Joren looked at Neal, his eyes full of rage. "What a waste of talent you are, fighting to defend everything she is." He spat at Neal before pushing past him.
"Stop right there, Joren of Stone Mountain." Wyldon's voice was lower and colder than Kel had ever heard it before. He appeared out of the darkness with Sirs Sacherell and Paxton. Kel found a bit of happiness at the site of Jump trailing behind the Training Master; she had missed him during the scenario. "You're coming back to my office quarters."
The training master glanced at the chalk smeared across Joren's chest and then looked at Kel, nodding slightly. "Well done, Mindelan. And for the love of Mithros--Queenscove! Start healing!" With a sharp turn he walked backed toward the staircase. Paxton followed, one hand tightly gripping Joren's arm.
Neal scurried over, removing Kel's hand from the wound. "The wound isn't too bad, but the bleeding hasn't stopped. I can at least take some of the pain away before you go to the healer's to have it cleaned and mended, though."
Kel felt the coolness of Neal's Gift entering her body. It was soothing and it made her drowsy. Her eyes drooped and her mind slipped into silly, lucid dreams about Neal.
"Someone should take her to my father," she vaguely heard him say. There was a shuffle of sounds and Kel felt herself being lifted into someone's arms. There was a slight brush against her forehead--a kiss? "Be careful," she heard Neal say. "She's pretty weak from the healing."
In her dreamy state Kel wondered if the kiss had been from Neal. She sighed happily, feeling silly and girlish--but content.
*****
When Kel woke up the next morning, she was in the infirmary. Healers shuffled about, helping the few patients sharing her ward: a page who had broken his wrist in hand-to-hand combat, a sentry guard with a cough, a Mithran priest with a headache. One of the healers came over to Kel to talk to her about her injury.
"You have guests," Duke Baird greeted her ten minutes later, guiding a row of squired to her cot. "They've been waiting for you to wake up."
Kel sat up slowly, still feeling light-headed from the healing. In addition to stitching her neck, the healers had also fixed up all of her other bumps and scratches from her training. Merric, Neal, Cleon, and Roald approached her, expressions of relief on their faces.
"You're not in class?" Kel asked, confused.
Cleon shook his head. "We're just supposed to draw up detailed reports of the events so we can study them in Tactics and Strategy class. Lord Wyldon says he'll address the scenario in tomorrow's lessons."
"He's waiting for you to get better," Roald chimed in. "Well, that and Joren finishing off his punishment work."
Merric snorted. "Hard labor in the armory--all day," he answered Kel's unspoken question. "It was Sir Paxton's decision, and he's as much said that Joren isn't going to get off easy for breaking the rules."
Neal sat on the end of the bed, inspecting Kel professionally. "You're feeling better, though, aren't you?"
Kel nodded, smiling. "I was told that a young mage was pestering these healers all night, making sure I was all right."
Neal ducked his head as the others laughed.
Roald pulled out a glossy white stone attached to a chain around his neck. "This charm shows me magic if I want to see it. Will I see a dark green aura around our Kel to show that you've been stuffing her full of your Gift?" he asked Neal.
"Go ahead and see," Neal sniffed indignantly. "Your token will show you nothing, because my father's Gift is nearly identical."
Duke Baird, who happened to be helping a patient in the next bed, grinned wryly at the group of squires. "Rest assured, your Highness, that Keladry has been given as much of Neal's magic as my own."
"Alas," Neal sighed dramatically. "A knife in the back from the man who gave me life, I'm stricken to the core."
"But where did you get this token?" Duke Baird inquired, changing the subject. "I've only seen one of its kind before."
Road's eyes grew wide and his face became flushed. "It was a present," he murmured.
Cleon, sensing his friend's embarrassment and discomfort, changed the topic of conversation. "So, Kel-darling, tell us what happened atop the wall last night. The way Queenscove tells it, he saved you from a long, suffering death at the hands of Joren, an ogre, and sixty Scanran bandits."
Kel arched one eyebrow at Neal.
"I only said that I came to your aid, and possibly saved you form a fate worse than death," Neal defended himself.
//A fate worse than death, indeed,// Kel thought, remembering Joren's sneer and his kiss. She swallowed thickly, looking at the overprotective circle of squires around her bed. "No," she said in a low voice. "He wouldn't have done anything that awful. //Why are you defending him?// the reasonable part of her mind questioned. //Why do you still insist that there has to be a shred of decency in him when he's proven otherwise so many times?//
Neal's expression seemed to mirror her thoughts.
"But it was terrifying, and I still have to thank you," she said softly, taking Neal's hand and squeezing it. "So, thank you, Squire Nealan, for your first heroic deed."
She won a smile from him, finally, and laughter from the other squires.
Neal moved closer to her. "Forgive me, everyone," he said to the other three, "but I'm about to treat Kel like a girl." Turning back to her, he leaned in and kissed her forehead. "Mithros, was I glad that I got there in time."
Kel flushed, hoping Neal couldn't feel her racing pulse. Her eyes shifted to the other squires and she saw Cleon staring oddly at her.
"Kel!" Owen burst into the infirmary, relieving Kel of her concerns about Cleon and Neal. He flung his arms around her, kneeling next to the bed. "I heard what happened and came down as soon as I could! Are you okay? Is Joren in trouble? Did you still take the palace? Did you win the whole thing?"
Kel laughed and answered his questions, making room for him and the others to sit on the bed with her.
*****
The following morning Kel felt fully rested and refreshed, which could not be said for Joren, who was cross from his hours in the armory and the tongue-lashings from every direction. The knights who joined them on the practice courts did not speak to him, only to his knight-master. The squires were back in the social groups again, telling stories about their own campaigns. Kel noticed that Joren, who had disassociated from his old group of cronies, was left alone. For a fleeting moment she felt sorry for him. She had been happy to see Seaver, Esmond, Neal, and Cleon back at her breakfast table. She wondered if Joren even regretted the actions that had ostracized him.
The knights and squires grew quiet as Lord Wyldon approached with the three advisors.
"I'd like to commend you on a job well done," he said stiffly. "Your advisors told me they were highly impressed not only with your understanding and intelligence concerning strategy, but also with your adaptability. We were pleased with the cooperation among groups, and the way most of you," his eyes rested sternly on Joren, "held to the Honor Code, and removed yourself from the battle once you had been wounded.
"Without your knowledge," he continued, "you were awarded points for your battle plans, camp behavior, and combat sportsmanship. Surviving members, successful tactics, and utilization of spies also affected your scores." He paused, looking over the class of squires. "In the third place, after totalling the points, we have the infiltrating group under Cleon of Kennan. Incomplete and ill-thought plans ruined the chances for this group to lay siege to the palace. However, their training routines were solid, behavior was impeccable, and they fought as well as they could, given the situation."
Kel glanced at Cleon, who looked mortified to have led his group to a third-place finish. Kel felt a little guilty herself, since the "ill-thought plans" were partially hers.
"In second place," Lord Wyldon announced, "we have the defensive group under Joren of Stone Mountain. Despite the poor sportsmanship of their leader, these soldiers and their spy practiced good sportsmanship, clean fighting, and overall excellent skill."
Kel felt Neal clap her on the back. She couldn't believe that her group of knights and squires had earned the most points!
"Renegade group," Lord Wyldon called over the murmurs and whispers. "You displayed positive reaction to adversity, coolness under fire, productive use of group members, and superior use of spies. While your strategies were not always excellent, you managed to keep a majority of your group in tact--and even added to your numbers by gaining the loyalty of your allies. You succeeded in the face of great odds, and for that you earned the most points."
The squires cheered, and Kel noticed Sir Raoul whistling, two fingers in his mouth. Sir Sacherell sent her a King's Own signal that he'd taught her--the sign that meant "everything is all right."
"You have earned the privilege of a Market Day this week," Lord Wyldon announced to Kel's group. "However, given that you were blessed with the misfortunes of others for all the good you did yourself, I would suggest that maybe you spend your time studying strategy."
Neal snorted. "Leave it to the Stump to take away any joy you might have gained from this," he muttered.
"Queenscove!" Wyldon barked.
"Yes, sir?" Neal responded lazily.
"You are making me regret that I am allowing you and Esmond to take off half a day of studies as well, for your participation in the final battle."
Neal's jaw dropped. Kel was as shocked as her lanky friend. Even during their final years as pages, when Joren was no longer about and starting fights, Neal had been granted less free time than anyone else, due to his sharp tongue and argumentative ways. He'd rarely had a Market Day.
Kel grinned and clasped his shoulder. They were going to have a better time in the city with Neal joining them.
Lord Wyldon moved aside and the king stepped up to the semicircle of squires and knights.
"You have worked hard and have given me hope. Not since my years as a squire have we had such a promising groups of young fighters. And this week you have proven to me--to all of us--that you are capable of utilizing the concepts that you learn off of the practice courts as well. I look forward to what this year will bring, and how much more you will learn from your knight-masters."
Kel felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. She still had no knight-master, and she wasn't sure how long her wait would be. //Why were the Knights being so slow?// she wondered. //Will they be more likely to choose me, now that I've proven myself in a simulation battle? Will Sir Sacherell or Sir Geoffrey stand up for me, at least?//
She had no time for more pondering. Practice was beginning.
to be continued...
As always, the characters and inhabitants of Tortall belong to Tamora Pierce and are used with her indirect permission.
// - denotes thoughts
The Squire Years
Chapter Nine: Integrity (or lack-thereof)
Kel trotted up the stairs, running her left hand along the wall to keep her balance. In her right hand she carried her practice glaive, ready to weild. At the top of the staircase she paused, peering through the dimness in hopes of spotting Joren.
There were only three torches lit along the walkway and a sentry was looking over the wall. Kel had been undetected.
She crept over, trying to figure out who he was. He was much too large to be one of her fellow squires. His shoulders were broader than Sir Nualt, so she guessed it was Sir Jerel.
She pressed her chalk-covered glaive to his back. "Drop the bow," she hissed. "You're dead, Sir Jerel."
He gave a wry grin as he looked at her over his shoulder. "Well done, Squire Keladry. I see that Lord Wyldon as not exaggerated about your skills."
"Thank you," Kel said, unsure of what else to say. She saluted quickly and headed along the walkway.
The next sentry post was empty. In their last Strategy and Tactics lecture, Lord Wyldon had stressed that defense lines in castles or forts, or even camps at the tops of hills, didn't need an excessive amount of archers, as long as they had a clear view and good range. //So Joren's still a fairly good student,// Kell thought, //even if he doesn't care for the Code of Chivalry.//
At the next post she saw Joren. He was sitting on a merlon, book in hand. His bow was on the floor--clearly he had not been expecting an attack. His piercing blue eyes flicked up from his book as Kel stepped out of the shadows.
"I deserve some explanations," Kel said forcefully, weilding her glaive.
"YOU deserve?" Joren asked incredulously. "What, Keladry, do you deserve other than punishment for defying the Gods and acting like something you're not?" He set his book aside and unsheathed his sword.
Kel fought to keep her face Yamani-smooth. "Is that why you tried to kill me with that arrow? Because I've defied the Gods?" She took a step closer to him. "Then why did it not strike me dead, if that's what the Gods wish?"
"Don't try to play logic games with me," Joren snapped. "You've been spending too much time with that idiot scholar."
Kel bristled at the unfair description of Neal. "And you've been spending too much time with rigid, conservative knights who are so wrapped up in tradition that they refuse to acknowledge that women are capable of protecting the realm!"
Joren smiled with mock sweetness. "Did I strike a nerve? I can't recall you ever having yelled before." He brought his sword up quickly in a crescent-shaped arc. Kel was lucky to block it with her glaive. Joren scowled fiercely. "You're going to die, bitch."
Kel pushed back with all her strength, knocking Joren too the floor. She stood over him, glaive blade resting on his chest. His tunic was now marked with chalk, but Kel could hardly believe it. //How could he give in so easily?//
Before she could throw a final insult his way, he knocked her legs out from under her. Kel found herself on the ground, and Joren scrambled to his knees, crouching above her. Her glaive had been knocked aside and the cold blade of Joren's sword was flat against her neck.
"Dishonorable wench," he growled, leaning low over her. His eyes flashed angrily as he pressed his sword and his body against her. She could feel blood trickling down the side of her neck.
Kel's eyes grew wide with fear. There was no telling what her was capable of doing. His breath was hot against on her cheeks but his eyes were cold and icy. "You're as worthless as a whore. You're a liability in battle because all the men will want to bed you rather than fight. They'll protect you instead of the realm because they'll fall under your spell, the same way those Progressive knights have with the Champion."
Kel pushed futily against him, but her strength was no match for Joren's quiet rage. "Get off of me, Joren," she hissed. "You don't know what you're talking about!"
Joren let out a low hiss. "Don't I?" With a disgusted sneer, he lowered his mouth to hers in a forceful kiss. Kel continued to press against him to no avail. Finally she bit down on his lower lip as hard as she could. Joren yanked back away from her, holding his hand to his bleeding mouth. "You bitch!"
"Get off of her, you miserable cur!" Kel heard Neal shout from the direction of the stairs. Had he followed her? She was alarmed to know that she hadn't noticed his footsteps behind her.
Neal launched himself across the walkway, attacking Joren with a wide swing of his sword. Joren moved quickly to defend, slicing Kel's skin further. He took no notice of Kel's bleeding neck, his fierce eyes locked on Neal as they dueled.
Kel felt someone lift her into an upright position and place her a piece of cloth along her neck.
"If you sit up and hold this handkerchief tight you should be okay." Conal's voice was reassuring and calming. Kel was a little grateful that it was Conal helping her, rather than one of the more intimidating knights.
Kel said nothing, holding her brother's handkerchief against the wound as she watched Neal and Joren fight. Joren was good--he'd always been one of the better fighters--but Neal had a few years of experience. He was fast. Kel feared, however, that Joren's fury would be great enough to give him the duel.
"Help him," she urged Conal, who had not loosened his protective hold on her shoulders.
He shook his head sternly. "It will be over soon. We sent Sacherell to locate Wyldon. He's about somewhere, overseeing the rest of the battle. I volunteered to look after you, Kelly."
Kel winced at the childhood nickname. "What will happen now?"
Conal shrugged noncomitally. "You know what mother says. 'Ichigo ichie.'"
Kel nodded. 'Live in the moment'--the Yamani phrase usually associated with the art of tea. But it meant so much more than the translation allowed--it meant to enjoy the fullness of life without the worries of what the next moment would bring.
Kel heard Lord Wyldon's familiar stomp along the walkway just as Neal knocked Joren's sword out of his hand. "Give up," Neal said darkly.
Joren looked at Neal, his eyes full of rage. "What a waste of talent you are, fighting to defend everything she is." He spat at Neal before pushing past him.
"Stop right there, Joren of Stone Mountain." Wyldon's voice was lower and colder than Kel had ever heard it before. He appeared out of the darkness with Sirs Sacherell and Paxton. Kel found a bit of happiness at the site of Jump trailing behind the Training Master; she had missed him during the scenario. "You're coming back to my office quarters."
The training master glanced at the chalk smeared across Joren's chest and then looked at Kel, nodding slightly. "Well done, Mindelan. And for the love of Mithros--Queenscove! Start healing!" With a sharp turn he walked backed toward the staircase. Paxton followed, one hand tightly gripping Joren's arm.
Neal scurried over, removing Kel's hand from the wound. "The wound isn't too bad, but the bleeding hasn't stopped. I can at least take some of the pain away before you go to the healer's to have it cleaned and mended, though."
Kel felt the coolness of Neal's Gift entering her body. It was soothing and it made her drowsy. Her eyes drooped and her mind slipped into silly, lucid dreams about Neal.
"Someone should take her to my father," she vaguely heard him say. There was a shuffle of sounds and Kel felt herself being lifted into someone's arms. There was a slight brush against her forehead--a kiss? "Be careful," she heard Neal say. "She's pretty weak from the healing."
In her dreamy state Kel wondered if the kiss had been from Neal. She sighed happily, feeling silly and girlish--but content.
*****
When Kel woke up the next morning, she was in the infirmary. Healers shuffled about, helping the few patients sharing her ward: a page who had broken his wrist in hand-to-hand combat, a sentry guard with a cough, a Mithran priest with a headache. One of the healers came over to Kel to talk to her about her injury.
"You have guests," Duke Baird greeted her ten minutes later, guiding a row of squired to her cot. "They've been waiting for you to wake up."
Kel sat up slowly, still feeling light-headed from the healing. In addition to stitching her neck, the healers had also fixed up all of her other bumps and scratches from her training. Merric, Neal, Cleon, and Roald approached her, expressions of relief on their faces.
"You're not in class?" Kel asked, confused.
Cleon shook his head. "We're just supposed to draw up detailed reports of the events so we can study them in Tactics and Strategy class. Lord Wyldon says he'll address the scenario in tomorrow's lessons."
"He's waiting for you to get better," Roald chimed in. "Well, that and Joren finishing off his punishment work."
Merric snorted. "Hard labor in the armory--all day," he answered Kel's unspoken question. "It was Sir Paxton's decision, and he's as much said that Joren isn't going to get off easy for breaking the rules."
Neal sat on the end of the bed, inspecting Kel professionally. "You're feeling better, though, aren't you?"
Kel nodded, smiling. "I was told that a young mage was pestering these healers all night, making sure I was all right."
Neal ducked his head as the others laughed.
Roald pulled out a glossy white stone attached to a chain around his neck. "This charm shows me magic if I want to see it. Will I see a dark green aura around our Kel to show that you've been stuffing her full of your Gift?" he asked Neal.
"Go ahead and see," Neal sniffed indignantly. "Your token will show you nothing, because my father's Gift is nearly identical."
Duke Baird, who happened to be helping a patient in the next bed, grinned wryly at the group of squires. "Rest assured, your Highness, that Keladry has been given as much of Neal's magic as my own."
"Alas," Neal sighed dramatically. "A knife in the back from the man who gave me life, I'm stricken to the core."
"But where did you get this token?" Duke Baird inquired, changing the subject. "I've only seen one of its kind before."
Road's eyes grew wide and his face became flushed. "It was a present," he murmured.
Cleon, sensing his friend's embarrassment and discomfort, changed the topic of conversation. "So, Kel-darling, tell us what happened atop the wall last night. The way Queenscove tells it, he saved you from a long, suffering death at the hands of Joren, an ogre, and sixty Scanran bandits."
Kel arched one eyebrow at Neal.
"I only said that I came to your aid, and possibly saved you form a fate worse than death," Neal defended himself.
//A fate worse than death, indeed,// Kel thought, remembering Joren's sneer and his kiss. She swallowed thickly, looking at the overprotective circle of squires around her bed. "No," she said in a low voice. "He wouldn't have done anything that awful. //Why are you defending him?// the reasonable part of her mind questioned. //Why do you still insist that there has to be a shred of decency in him when he's proven otherwise so many times?//
Neal's expression seemed to mirror her thoughts.
"But it was terrifying, and I still have to thank you," she said softly, taking Neal's hand and squeezing it. "So, thank you, Squire Nealan, for your first heroic deed."
She won a smile from him, finally, and laughter from the other squires.
Neal moved closer to her. "Forgive me, everyone," he said to the other three, "but I'm about to treat Kel like a girl." Turning back to her, he leaned in and kissed her forehead. "Mithros, was I glad that I got there in time."
Kel flushed, hoping Neal couldn't feel her racing pulse. Her eyes shifted to the other squires and she saw Cleon staring oddly at her.
"Kel!" Owen burst into the infirmary, relieving Kel of her concerns about Cleon and Neal. He flung his arms around her, kneeling next to the bed. "I heard what happened and came down as soon as I could! Are you okay? Is Joren in trouble? Did you still take the palace? Did you win the whole thing?"
Kel laughed and answered his questions, making room for him and the others to sit on the bed with her.
*****
The following morning Kel felt fully rested and refreshed, which could not be said for Joren, who was cross from his hours in the armory and the tongue-lashings from every direction. The knights who joined them on the practice courts did not speak to him, only to his knight-master. The squires were back in the social groups again, telling stories about their own campaigns. Kel noticed that Joren, who had disassociated from his old group of cronies, was left alone. For a fleeting moment she felt sorry for him. She had been happy to see Seaver, Esmond, Neal, and Cleon back at her breakfast table. She wondered if Joren even regretted the actions that had ostracized him.
The knights and squires grew quiet as Lord Wyldon approached with the three advisors.
"I'd like to commend you on a job well done," he said stiffly. "Your advisors told me they were highly impressed not only with your understanding and intelligence concerning strategy, but also with your adaptability. We were pleased with the cooperation among groups, and the way most of you," his eyes rested sternly on Joren, "held to the Honor Code, and removed yourself from the battle once you had been wounded.
"Without your knowledge," he continued, "you were awarded points for your battle plans, camp behavior, and combat sportsmanship. Surviving members, successful tactics, and utilization of spies also affected your scores." He paused, looking over the class of squires. "In the third place, after totalling the points, we have the infiltrating group under Cleon of Kennan. Incomplete and ill-thought plans ruined the chances for this group to lay siege to the palace. However, their training routines were solid, behavior was impeccable, and they fought as well as they could, given the situation."
Kel glanced at Cleon, who looked mortified to have led his group to a third-place finish. Kel felt a little guilty herself, since the "ill-thought plans" were partially hers.
"In second place," Lord Wyldon announced, "we have the defensive group under Joren of Stone Mountain. Despite the poor sportsmanship of their leader, these soldiers and their spy practiced good sportsmanship, clean fighting, and overall excellent skill."
Kel felt Neal clap her on the back. She couldn't believe that her group of knights and squires had earned the most points!
"Renegade group," Lord Wyldon called over the murmurs and whispers. "You displayed positive reaction to adversity, coolness under fire, productive use of group members, and superior use of spies. While your strategies were not always excellent, you managed to keep a majority of your group in tact--and even added to your numbers by gaining the loyalty of your allies. You succeeded in the face of great odds, and for that you earned the most points."
The squires cheered, and Kel noticed Sir Raoul whistling, two fingers in his mouth. Sir Sacherell sent her a King's Own signal that he'd taught her--the sign that meant "everything is all right."
"You have earned the privilege of a Market Day this week," Lord Wyldon announced to Kel's group. "However, given that you were blessed with the misfortunes of others for all the good you did yourself, I would suggest that maybe you spend your time studying strategy."
Neal snorted. "Leave it to the Stump to take away any joy you might have gained from this," he muttered.
"Queenscove!" Wyldon barked.
"Yes, sir?" Neal responded lazily.
"You are making me regret that I am allowing you and Esmond to take off half a day of studies as well, for your participation in the final battle."
Neal's jaw dropped. Kel was as shocked as her lanky friend. Even during their final years as pages, when Joren was no longer about and starting fights, Neal had been granted less free time than anyone else, due to his sharp tongue and argumentative ways. He'd rarely had a Market Day.
Kel grinned and clasped his shoulder. They were going to have a better time in the city with Neal joining them.
Lord Wyldon moved aside and the king stepped up to the semicircle of squires and knights.
"You have worked hard and have given me hope. Not since my years as a squire have we had such a promising groups of young fighters. And this week you have proven to me--to all of us--that you are capable of utilizing the concepts that you learn off of the practice courts as well. I look forward to what this year will bring, and how much more you will learn from your knight-masters."
Kel felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. She still had no knight-master, and she wasn't sure how long her wait would be. //Why were the Knights being so slow?// she wondered. //Will they be more likely to choose me, now that I've proven myself in a simulation battle? Will Sir Sacherell or Sir Geoffrey stand up for me, at least?//
She had no time for more pondering. Practice was beginning.
to be continued...
