Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N 3/13/2004: *ducks at the tomatoes thrown* I know, I deserve it. I spoke of a two week wait and turned it into a couple of months. I'm terribly sorry. And thank you to Lady Emmi, for reading this over. I'm sorry, I tried to contact you but couldn't wait any longer.

The Protectors

by meghna

Chapter Five: The Beginning

*~*~*~*~*

Clunk!

"Snrrr..."


Kel watched sympathetically as Neal fell asleep over his morning meal for the second time in the mercilessly young morning. Reaching over her fruit juice, she tapped him on the shoulder gently.

He only mumbled incoherently—something about "insufferable, know-it-all beings"—and turned his head on the wooden mess hall table, wide-tipped nose coming perilously close to his own spiced grape juice.


Kel briefly contemplated the pitcher to her right, filled with clear, ice-cold water, a perfect, shockingly refreshing way to begin a morning. Or at least a good laugh to begin the day for everyone else. She, however, decided against favoring her friend with a wake-up douse. It wouldn't be very nice, and I'd have to hear him complain about it for ages.

Instead, Kel tapped Neal's stubbly chin to close his mouth and pinched his nose shut. She saw a flash of emerald and tanned arms flail before she let go and let a bleary eyed Neal splutter himself awake.

"Good morning, sunshine," she greeted cheerfully. Then, gesturing to his plate of fruit pastry and cheese, "You're supposed to eat that, you know, not drool all over it."


Neal glared at her in a manner reminiscent of Peachblossom on his grumpiest days. She chuckled behind her hand, wondering whether gelding or knight would be more offended by the comparison. Finally, he just threw up his hands in disgust and remarked, "I see that it's the return of the pain-in-the-bum, vexatiously upbeat morning greetings."


"I've missed you these four years, too, Sir Meathead," she replied, using his much beloved nickname. "Now, please hurry or we'll be late meeting your father."


At this, Neal gobbled down the last of his cheese and took the pastry in a napkin. Kel rose to turn in their plates and cups to the mess while Neal waited for her at the hall entrance, munching neatly on the remainder of his meal.


Rejoining him, she saw the dark shadows of unrest that clung in half moons under his fogged eyes, signs of more than a late night. "Didn't make much of the few bells of sleep last night?" she inquired as they headed for the East Wing, where the healer's infirmary could be found.


Neal shook his head regretfully, offering succinct explanation. "Dreams."


Kel patted his arm sympathetically, able to relate. She had lay awake through two bell tolls, sorting through her own dream, trying to make sense of the prophecy but only determining that she was the knight who would come "bearing Duty and Law"—whatever that meant—to destroy the Pervert, obviously Blayce, and "free those bound." Despite her aversion to foresight and destiny, Kel wished that Irnai's prophecy had explained how she would achieve her goal and who this other protector was. All the thought had amounted to very few answers, a multitude of questions, and a very restless night. "Me too," she confided. "I even slept through glaive practice this morning."

"And yet you're cheerfully wishing people a good morning, instead of cursing the world like any sane person in your situation," Neal grumbled. "Either life is unfair or you're not human."


"Life is rarely fair," she replied, although he did have a point. Kel was still riding on the thrill of having a means to get to Blayce and fulfill the Chamber's task. She wondered briefly if she should tell Neal about her encounters with the Chamber of Ordeal, thinking of a healer who could mend and end life, but found that she had no inclination to face the odd looks and unanswerable questions should he not be the other guardian.

The conversation ended there as they arrived at the infirmary's large green doors, always open to those in need. Kel followed as Neal sauntered into the receiving room comfortably. Having spent a good portion of his childhood tagging after his father here, he was no longer bothered by the permanent, pungent herbal smell of any healing place, unlike Kel, whose delicate nose felt assailed.

The receiving room, bedecked with artfully placed plants and peaceful landscape paintings, had large cushioned chairs and a healer's desk to welcome visitors. Instead of a healer's greens to greet them, however, a slender, older lady dressed in a cerulean morning gown sat, quill brushing against high cheekbones as she bent over an infirmary report to the Crown, long-fingered, unadorned hands writing in a clerk's neat, purposeful script. Her warm blue eyes squinted over her next line, arched brows raising as she ran a hand to sweep her greying chestnut locks away from her widow's peak, a gesture so reminiscent of her son that realization finally dawned upon Kel.


"Mother?" Apparently, Neal, too, was surprised to find the Duchess of Queenscove in the infirmary.


Lady Sidonie barely glanced up from her work. "Oh, hello, dear. Give me a moment to finish this tedious little thing, and I'll be right with you. I need to speak with you about something. Tea?" She was referring to the now cool pot placed on the desk next to the ink bottle and behind a vase of flowers.


Neal and Kel sat down in the surprisingly comfortable plum chairs. "I thought you were meeting with Lady Cythara this morning to train the new Queen's ladies."


The Duchess finished her line then set the paper to dry before answering Neal. "With all the bad weather, Cythara took ill, the poor dear—Oh, hello, Kel. Neal, why didn't you tell me you brought her?"


Neal opened his mouth to reply, but Kel cut him off, preventing the verbal tilt before it occurred. "Hello, your Grace. How have things been going with you?"


Lady Sidonie smiled. "As fine as possible, dear. Congratulations on your knighting. You're a credit to us ladies."



"Thank you," Kel mumbled, keeping her blush down with some effort.


"How are Ilane and Piers these days?"


Kel looked up at the mention of her parents, taken aback. "Mama and Papa are doing well. They're actually leaving for the Yamani Islands again in a few days."


"On another diplomatic visit? Well, I bet Ilane loves it there. Please do tell them I sent my love." At the fondness in Sidonie's tone, Kel wondered how her and Neal's parents knew each other, what story they shared years ago. Well, there's one way to find out.

"Actually, your Grace, I have a better idea. Papa's holding a farewell dinner in five days, and we'd be honored if you, Neal, and Duke Baird could join us."


"Oh, we wouldn't want to intrude upon a family gathering—"

"But your cook's meals are just too good to resist," Neal interjected the polite refusal with a grin. "We'll be there."


Kel smiled. "Mama will be thrilled."


"Neal..." His mother began, warning in her tone.


"Don't worry, Mother, she'll be happy to see you, too," he reassured her, making Kel chortle behind her hand. "Now, where's Father? He asked to meet me this morning."


"Yes, he wished to speak with you about your work for the King." Sidonie confirmed their hunch discreetly, straightening her desk as she spoke, not making an issue. She rose and took a seat near them for more privacy. "A squad from the Own came back early. They were caught unawares by bandits on a Northern patrol. Decimated, the few left raced back to Corus to deliver the message. My lord is tending the infected wounds of one right now."


Her words tugged at Kel's memory, pulling at a story like a book on a shelf that she just couldn't reach. Neal, on the other hand, was preoccupied with other matters. Green fire starting to shimmer about his fingertips, he shifted uncomfortably with the itch to heal. "Does Father need any help?"


"No, Neal," Sidonie said, smiling slightly at her son so much like his father, "the man will live. We are more worried about the message that he brings."


"This isn't the first time," Kel picked up, recalling what Raoul had told her a few days ago. "A group from the Riders were ambushed on a Northern sweep too. Does the Council suspect a connection?" she asked, knowing Baird kept Sidonie privy to the doings of the Council.


Neal snorted. "Two bandit attacks in the deep of winter? That's no coincidence. Especially with all the snow we've been getting, the weather must be horrid up north."


Ink-stained hands straightening her blue satin skirt primly, Sidonie shook her head. "Not exactly..."


Kel stiffened at the uneasiness in the older, composed lady's voice, as Neal placed a hand over his eyes, "Mother, please tell me they're buried chin deep up north and freezing their arses off."


Sidonie made no comment about her son's uncharacteristic foul language. "Well, it is cold, but incredibly dry, until you hit about fifteen miles south of the Scanran border."


Kel, finally catching on to the mage and mother's trains of thought, pictured all the supply lines cut off, the crops ruined, the training sessions held inside, while the Border towns and villages were picked apart by bandits. Pay one group, watch their success, and others would soon follow. "Tampering," she whispered. "Scanra's enjoying a mild winter to prepare while we're hammered down by their fierce storms. Does the Council know?"


"They will tomorrow," the Duchess of Queenscove promised, and Kel was grateful that behind the influential Duke Baird stood an intelligent and competent woman.


Looking relieved, Neal asked his mother, "Is that what you wished to speak with me about?"


Sidonie's face blanked for a split-second, then cleared. "No, I wanted to tell you that Saradelmi's coming to visit."


The name was vaguely familiar to Kel; Neal had mentioned his close-as-a-sister cousin to her a few times before, but nothing that hinted at his reaction now. He stiffened in his chair, brows raising and eyes flashing like when he defended a mistreated servant. "What? Why would she come to Court now?"


"She's accepted the betrothal, and your Aunt Mel is tired of seeing her haunt the halls moping. She'll arrive in about three weeks."


"Is it really wise—"


A door slammed from somewhere within the infirmary, then another screamed open to their sitting room, its hinges protesting at being thrown open, and Duke Baird of Queenscove, sleeves still rolled up and face harried, strode out heavily. Eyes that had seen countless crises and too many wars searched briefly and found his wife. He reached for her support, asked for her assistance. "Something's come up. I need to speak with the others."


Sidonie nodded, kissing her son on the cheek before rising. She paused next to her husband on her way out, brushing the faded copper hair out of his eyes. "How are you feeling?"


The lines in Baird's face eased as his eyes softened upon her. "I'm fine. Thank you, Sid."


She smiled, young again, and then left, leaving Duke Baird with Neal and Kel waiting expectantly. "Hello, Neal, Kel. I'm sorry about having to cancel. I assume you're both accepting the mission?"


They both nodded in reply.

"Good, I'll tell Jonathan right now. Ask Lord Wyldon if you have any questions, and again I'm terribly sorry, but I have to speak with Numair and the King."

"The weather-tampering?" Neal inquired.

"Yes, how did you know?"


"We just worked that out," he answered dryly. "Do you need me to take care of anything, Father?"


Baird considered that for a moment before replying, "Yes, please. Could you look after the infirmary until my second, Kyel, comes? There's only two patients housed, and they shouldn't give you any trouble."


"Don't worry, I'll take care of it," he assured his father, straightening proudly with responsibility. "Now, hurry, don't want to keep the Council waiting!"


"I'll speak with you later," the Duke promised. "Always a pleasure, Kel" And then he was out the door, in a flurry of green and a flash of red.


Kel rose from her seat, straightening her wooly burgundy tunic uncomfortably. "I should leave you to your work."


Neal's strong, calloused hand reached out to her arm, stopping her. This morning he had donned his normal white shirt, brown breeches attire and combed his brown hair, in need of a trim, back from a prominent widow's peak. "Stay for a minute, please?"


"Sure, what do you need?" she replied immediately, plopping back down on the giant embroidered cushions.


"I wanted to speak with you about Saradelmi," Neal started tentatively, which worried Kel. Neal was rarely shy. "When she comes, could you look after her, be her lady-friend in the new city?"


"You do know who you're talking to, don't you?" she asked, her tone like sandpaper as she traced a gryphon scar on her hand.


"I'm not asking you take her gown-shopping and introduce her to Court circles, that's the opposite of what she needs right now. Just be a friendly face in a new environment. Please?"



Unable to refuse those worried eyes or a friend in need, Kel threw her hands up, "Of course, but no guarantees she'll like me if she was raised from finishing school."


Neal grinned. "Oh Sara's definitely not your average lady. Or at least I hope she still isn't."


Seeing his expression cloud over darkly, Kel wondered if she would be intruding to ask her curiosity. Well, if she's sensitive about something, I'm going to have to know to avoid it, she rationalized. "What happened to her?"

"A bad tragedy at a player's theater. She practically grew up on her fief's streets instead of in a castle, roaming and exploring with her best friend Claude, a rich merchant son. I remember in the summers she stayed with us, all her stories somehow involved him. Anyway, sometime during our fourth page year, she met a son of a lord named Bryan. They became closer and closer; I could tell because in her letters, there was suddenly a lot less talk about Claude and a lot more about Bryan. It progressed to the point that they became secretly betrothed, ignoring Aunt Mel's wishes to marry her elsewhere. She only told Claude. It gets unclear from there, because I never received the whole story from Sara, but it somehow culminated to a jealous Bryan challenging a heartbroken Claude to a duel, underestimating him. Claude won but was jailed to life in the mines for illegal dueling and a commoner's 'murder' of a noble, even though there are witnesses that confirm Bryan challenged him. I say good riddance, for they were both idiots, but Sara didn't take it so angrily. She was left without love or friendship, the poor lass."

Kel blinked, "Quite the story." Come three weeks, she would have a best friend's heartbroken cousin to look after. I wonder if she's related to Dom, too, she mused, absent-mindedly. Despite Neal's assurances, this Saradelmi sounded like another courtier who tried to keep a foot in two boats and lost her balance, drowning both.

A duel to the death, probably fought over her handkerchief or a lock of her hair. Honestly.


*~*~*~*~*


Kel strode purposefully for the North Wing of the Palace, having made her mind to go and speak with her former training master. She had just left the infirmary, where Neal had become busy with the demands of a patient, refusing to distract him from his work. Almost there, she passed Raoul's quarters, her old room, in the same cluster as all the other Commander suites, and felt a little nostalgic, missing the fast-paced life of the Own and her companions made there.


She came to the right hazelwood door and lifted the cool, hound's head brass knocker, letting it drop with a resounding thud twice before Owen answered, a grin pushing his no-longer-chubby cheeks up. He let her in without much fuss, although there was a unsettling tension for Kel when he asked her, only in curiosity, of her business with his knight-master. Kel had made up something about assignments for spring, as Wyldon would be the Army Commander, unable to meet her friend's innocent gray eyes, wondering how many lies to how many friends she would have to deal this winter.


Owen, of course, took her reason with unwavering trust, leading her to Lord Wyldon's study, a simply decorated retreat with lightwood shelves and the noble Cavall colors of blue and black. The only painting was a landscape of a stony eastern defense castle, probably fief Cavall itself, hung over the blazing fireplace. Lord Wyldon himself sat in a straight-backed chair at an organized desk, plotting the journey of an army to the northern border in days, adding figures on a scratch sheet before transferring a finalized number to his pristine supply sheets. Kel inwardly shook her head at the thorough neatness of her mentor, remembering her own supply records for the King's Own with its margins riddled with the scratching of complicated calculations. Raoul had called it messiness; she preferred paper saving.


"My lord, Sir Keladry of Mindelan has come to see you," Owen announced formally.


Lord Wyldon looked up, his level glance only skidding over her briefly, and greeted her perfunctorily. "Please sit, Keladry. Congratulations on your knighting."


As if you had supported me all along, Kel thought, though less with her old bitterness than with curiosity. She had long ago forgiven Lord Wyldon, for he had removed the probation, had he not? Plus, it had not been the training master's decision that put her on probation; no, that final decision belonged to the King.

The aged, dignified knight turned to his squire. "Please deliver these papers to the Rider's Commander, and then pick up Ash from Daine; her hind legs should be healed now. Thank you."


Owen made a little bow. "As you wish, my lord."


Only after they heard the sound of second door closing did Wyldon finally address the lady knight sitting in his study. "He eavesdrops, the hellion," he explained uncharacteristically. "Now, what do wish to speak with me about?"


Kel hesitated and shifted in her stiff chair, unsure to be sitting instead of standing, shy to voice all her questions. "We've accepted the mission," she stated instead, hoping to give him an opening.


She should have known that he would never commence a conversation. "Is that all that you wished to tell me, be—"


Kel then did something she had never dared since her first day as a page. "Why us, my lord?" she interrupted. "Why suggest your two least favorite trainees?"


Wyldon sighed, sitting as far back as his stern chair would allow, and Kel wondered if he would launch into a history of her credentials as King Jonathan had. Thankfully, he refrained. "Keladry, I'm not here to bolster your self-esteem. I believed you were the most qualified for the job; it was an impersonal decision. Even if it wasn't, I don't have any particular grudge against you."


"And Neal?" she inquired, crooking her brow.


"Yes, well, he was an unfortunate addition. Not my idea at all, and I will maintain that if anyone questions me," Wyldon replied, and Kel almost fell out of her chair in surprise. Did the Stump just jest? With her?


She remained dazed as Wyldon handed her a training schedule and dismissed her. Just as she was about to close the door behind her, she heard his voice, just a hint of humor in it.


"And more thing, Keladry. Please relay to Nealan that if he teaches any more of my charges to call me by nicknames, I will personally challenge him to a joust and unsaddle him to etiquette school."


*~*~*~*~*


To Nealan of Queenscove and Keladry of Mindelan:

Read this schedule, memorize it, then burn it. This will only pertain to the first two days, afterwards times and dates might change based on your teachers' availability. Training begins tomorrow.

Weapons work at dawn, instructed by myself, Sir Alanna, or Lord Raoul, in the second indoor practice court.

*~*~*~*~*

"We've been training in weapons for eight years now, even more informally. What more do we need to know?" an ill-tempered, sleep-fogged Neal asked as they entered the dimly lit indoor practice court. The old salle had become dusty with misuse after a new one had been built a quarter century ago and smelled of stale sweat and rotting leather.


They found Lord Wyldon and the Lioness waiting for them, sitting on the remains of an old bench. Immediately, Kel and Neal were sent on a warm-up of eight laps around the room. When they were finished and had started to stretch, Wyldon spoke to them.


"If the situation deteriorates in Scanra, you may find yourselves having to fight your way out, hopeless outnumbered and out-weaponed. In order to survive against a group of soldiers, you two must learn to work together, completely as one unit. You will first fight each other until you memorize each other's fighting styles, the other's favorite moves and counters. Then you will adapt to work together, and we will teach you to synchronize.


"Now, we will begin with a quick exercise to see how much you must learn. Get on your padding. Hurry, we haven't all day. Good, now Nealan, here's your practice sword. Now, begin."


Kel got into the ready position for hand-to-hand combat, not knowing what else to do, but Neal just stood, wooden sword hanging dumbly from left hand, looking perplexed.


"Queenscove," Alanna barked, "what don't you understand about begin?"


"You seem to have forgotten to provide Kel with a weapon," Neal pointed out, and Kel silently sighed, wondering how he always managed to provoke elders. "I can't attack her defenseless."


"You seem to have forgotten that she will be posing as a defenseless court lady, with no weapons on her own. This is her most likely fighting situation, and, with any luck, she'll be able to disarm you. Now, begin!"


"But..."


Kel sighed; this was going to be a long morning.


*~*~*~*~*

You will be provided a short break for a morning meal. ("What? Weapon's work before breakfast?") After a mark, you will report to the Baron Cooper's study for further lessons.

*~*~*~*~*


"What do you think he'll be teaching us?" Kel asked Neal as he hurriedly led the way from the mess hall.

"Probably the stealthy aspects of what we'll have to do. This is espionage."


The door to King's Champion's quarters was left open, and Neal strode in confidently, having spent a good amount of the last four years housed here, past the sumptuous sitting room and into the large study, riddled with the maps and code books of the Royal Spymaster's second in command.


"Now, in all likelihood and luck, you'll never need what you learn with us, but we always like to be prepared." George Cooper skipped the idle chat and dove right in as soon as they sat. "We only have so much time, but I'd like to teach you some of the more prominent tricks of the trade. Moving silently, using hand signals and code words, thinking like someone you're not, going by unnoticed, controlling your expressions. Now, I won't do this alone. Tara, over here, will help," he gestured to a chair behind his right shoulder, previously empty, Kel could have sworn, but now occupied by a young, brown-haired, unremarkable woman. Nondescript was the only way to describe her mousy brown hair, pulled back; brown eyes, dull and downcast; average build, neither dumpy nor willowy; maid's garbs, indistinct in their color.


"No, she wasn't there before," the former Rogue answered Neal's incredulous stare with a devilish grin. "I provided the distraction, and she slipped in. Hopefully, by the time I'm done with you, you'll be able to achieve something like that. Tara will be your maidservant in Scanra, the only Tortallan the Tusainians allowed in your little group. She's been to Hamrkeng twice disguised as a servant and has brought back valuable layouts and information. She has her own purposes in Hamrkeng, that have nothing to do with heroics, and is no way under your authority. Ask her for advice, if you need it, but otherwise she'll just dress you and look after your rooms.


"Now, any questions?"


Kel and Neal shook their heads.

"Well then, let's begin with how to resist a truth spell..."

*~*~*~*~*

Your last lesson of the day would be magic lessons with Numair—use of it for Nealan and how to deal with it for Keladry—but he is in Port Legann performing a task for the Crown. Lessons will commence as soon as he returns.

You will begin the next day with culture lessons with Sir Myles, promptly after an early breakfast.

*~*~*~*~*

She and Neal sat in their old history classroom, dwarfing desks meant for pages before their growth spurts. Finally, the shaggy knight entered, carrying a tome on Bazhirian dialect and a stack of unorganized parchments.

"Sorry, I'm late, fledglings," Sir Myles apologized, setting his stack on his desk along with a cup of strong tea. "I'm not used to this early a morning. Could you close those shutters for me, Kel? Thank you, the light gives me an awful headache.

"Now, I'd like you to know that I was against this mission. It's too risky and could end up wasting two of our future's finest knights. But Tortall is in need, so I will help prepare you as much as possible so you don't go to Scanra and get your little heads chopped off. Let's start with a preliminary test, just to see where we are. I assume you two learned Scanran language and Tusainian history, correct?"


"You taught it to us yourself, sir," Neal answered.


"Yes, well, we'll see how good of a teacher I was." Sir Myles handed them each two sheets of parchment, full of questions about what Kel thought was Tusainian wars and kings. She wasn't sure though... "Here's a review. Complete as much as you can without any help. Circle the ones you don't know and look them up for tomorrow. Go ahead and begin."


Myles turned his back to them, arranging himself to sit at his desk, so he did not notice Neal's hand up in the air.


"Yes, Sir Queenscove?"


"But, sir, it's in Scanran."


"I see that we have a lot of work to accomplish."


*~*~*~*~*

Next you will take a break to dress properly and then report to Master Oakbridge for lessons in Ambassador etiquette, Tusainian manners, and Scanran etiquette. In the library, ask one of the attendants for texts entitled Tusainian Faux Pas and Modern Scanran Protocol.

*~*~*~*~*

"For the last time, Sir Nealan! In Scanra, to bow at the waist to the monarch would be the gravest of insults. One must kneel, like so. Did you read your manual at all?"


"Who knew there would be so much to learn about manners in a country where bathing is a weekly routine?"


Kel knew that Neal was just pulling his chain and quite effectively, too. She had never seen Master Oakbridge turn that bright a shade of purple.

*~*~*~*~*

For tea, Keladry will join Princess Shinkokami and Princess Kalasin, for the finer points of finishing school. Nealan's presence is not required here, and he has no such equivalent classes, having been taught his station.

*~*~*~*~*

Next to Shinko, Kel sat in the Royal Chambers on sapphire blue velvet cushions, lined with silver borders, and felt very out of place with a princess pouring tea for her.

She studied Kalasin of Conté's raven's wing, wavy hair and proud-boned face, belonging to the would-be second lady knight in the realm had her father not intervened. "Excuse me, Shinko, your Highness, but I know how to wear a dress and curtsey. Embroidery isn't a known art in Scanra so I needn't learn that, and I will have maids to dress my hair and tell me the difference between a dinner and ball gown. I don't want to sound ungrateful, but what is there left to learn about being a lady?" Kel asked.

Princess Kalasin smiled kindly, and if Kel hadn't been so nervous, she would have noticed Shinko take out her fan, covering her face to hide her mirth. "Please call me Kally, and never your Highness. That sounds so stiff. And, to answer your question, first we'll take you shopping for a wardrobe befitting your supposed station, get your ears pierced—hopefully you won't faint like Mother says Alanna did—and have you grow your hair out. Sorry, I know it's dreadfully bothersome, but no Court lady cuts her hair above shoulder length. Then me and Shinko have been charged with teaching you how to weave, speak, dance, and walk like a Court lady."


"What's wrong with the way I walk? I can walk with a book on my head without it dropping."


Kally rose to retrieve something, and Shinko patted her knee. "That was first year work in school back in the Islands," she explained as Kally came back carrying a small chessboard, pieces laid out as if a game was about to start. "By the time we were ready to be married, we had to be able to balance that without a piece moving from its square."


Kel gulped.

*~*~*~*~*

That will be the end of your lessons. Do not speak with anyone about them, make up excuses. Work hard, for what you learn can be life instead of death of yourselves and the people of Tortall. Relax today, for it all begins tomorrow.

*~*~*~*~*

Kel traipsed back to her room after the second day, whispering her name, and throwing open her door without a thought but a hot bath before bed. She was so preoccupied with all that had happened in the short span of three days that she barely noticed the letter from Cleon sitting on her desk.

*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: Good, bad, ugly? Review and tell me!