Protector of the Small Quartet

by Tamora Pierce

  In Kel’s room, Tobe sat dozing against the wall, afloat in her shirt. When Kel shut the door, his eyes flew open, sky-blue in a pale face. “I don’t care if you was drunk or mad or takin’ poppy or rainbow dream or laugh powder, you bought my bond and signed your name and paid money for me and you can’t return me to ol’ Alvik,” he told her without taking a breath. He inhaled, then continued, “If you try I’ll run off ’n’ steal ’n’ when I’m caught I’ll say I belong to you so they’ll want satisfaction from you. I mean it! You can’t blame drink or drug or anything and then get rid of me because I won’t go.”

  Kel waited for him to run out of words as water trickled off her hat and cloak onto the mat by the door. She gave Tobe a moment after he stopped talking, to make sure he was done, before she asked, “What is that about?”

  “See?” he cried. “You forgot me already—me, Tobeis Boon, whose bond you bought tonight. I knew you was drunk or takin’ a drug or mad. But here I am an’ here I stay. You need me, to, to carry your wine jug, an’ cut the poppy brick for you to smoke, an’, an’ make sure you eat—”

  Kel raised her eyebrows. “Quiet,” she said in the calm, firm tone she had learned from Lord Raoul.

  Tobe blinked and closed his mouth.

  Kel walked over and blew into his face so he could smell her liquor- and drug-free breath. “I’m not drunk,” she told him. “I take no drugs. If I’m mad, it’s in ways that don’t concern you. I went out to get you clothes, Tobe. You can’t go north wearing only a shirt.”

  She tossed the sack onto her bed and walked back to the puddle she’d left by the door, then struggled to undo the tie on her hat. Her fingers were stiff with cold even after grooming Hoshi and treating her to a hot mash.

  When she removed the hat, a pair of small, scarred hands took it and leaned it against the wall to dry. Once Kel had shed the cloak, Tobe hung it from a peg, then knelt to remove her boots. “I have clothes,” he said, wrestling off one boot while Kel braced herself.

  “I saw,” she replied, eyeing the heap they made on the floor. “I wouldn’t let a cat have kittens on them. I ought to take Alvik before a magistrate anyway. Your bond says you get two full suits of clothes, a coat, and a sturdy pair of shoes every year.”

  “It does?” he asked, falling on his rump with her boot in his hands.

  Kel reached inside her tunic and pulled out his indenture papers. “Right there,” she told him, pointing to the paragraph. When Tobe frowned, she knew Alvik had neglected something else. “You can’t read, can you?” she asked.

  “Alvik said I din’t need no schoolin’, ’acos I was too stupid to learn,” Tobe informed Kel, searching for a cloth to wipe her boots with. He was practiced at this: the innkeeper had taught him to look after guests’ belongings as well as their horses, Kel supposed.

  “Lessons,” she said, folding the papers once more. “After we’re settled in the north.” She yawned. “Wake me at dawn. We’ll try those clothes on you then. And I’m not sure about the, the”—she yawned again—“shoes. I’m not sure these will fit. If we stop on the way, perhaps . . .”

  She looked around, exhaustion addling her brain. Her normal bedtime on the road was much earlier than this. She eyed the door, her dripping hat and cloak, her boots, Tobe.

  “Lady?” he asked quietly. “Sounds like you mean to do all manner of things for me. What was you wishful of me doin’ for you?”

  “Oh, that,” Kel said, realizing that she hadn’t told him what duties he would have. “You’ll look after my horses and belongings, and in four years you’ll be free.” A will, she realized. I need to make a will so he can be freed if I’m slain. She picked up her water pitcher and drank from the rim. “For that, I am duty bound to see that you are fed, clothed, and educated. We’ll settle things like days off. You’ll learn how to clean armor and weapons. That ought to keep you busy enough.”

  He nodded. “Yes, lady.”

  “Very well. Go to bed. I’m exhausted.” Unbuttoning her shirt, she realized he hadn’t moved. “Bed,” she said firmly. “Cover your head till I say you can come out. I won’t undress while you watch.”

  She took her nightshirt out of a saddlebag and finished changing once Tobe was on his pallet with his eyes hidden. In the end, she had to uncover him. He’d gone to sleep with the blanket over his head. Kel banked the fire and blew out the last candle that burned in the room.

  The killing device moved in her dreams. Blayce the Nothing Man watched it. He pointed to a child who cowered under his worktable: it was Tobe. The metal thing reached under the table and dragged the boy out.

  Kel sat up, gasping, sweat-soaked. It was still dark, still night. The rain had stopped. She was at an inn on the Great Road North, riding to war.

  “Lady,” Tobe asked, his voice clear, “what’s Blayce? What’s Stenmun?”

  “A nightmare and his dog,” Kel replied, wiping her face on her sleeve. “Go back to sleep.”

  The rain returned in the morning. The army’s commanders decided it would be foolish to move on. Kel used the day to finish supplying Tobe, making sure that what he had fit properly. Tobe protested the need for more than one set of clothes and for any shoes, saying that she shouldn’t spend money on him.

  “Do you want to make me look bad?” she demanded at last. “People judge a mistress by how well her servants are dressed. Do you want folk to say I’m miserly, or that I don’t know my duty?”

  “Alvik never cared,” Tobe pointed out as he fed the sparrows cracked corn.

  “He isn’t noble-born,” Kel retorted. “I am. You’ll be dressed properly, and that’s that.”

  At least she could afford the sewing and shoe fitting. She had an income, more than she had thought she’d get as the poorly dowered youngest daughter of a large family. For her service in the war she received a purse from the Crown every two weeks. Raoul had advised her on investments, which had multiplied both a legal fine once paid to her and her portion of Lalasa’s earnings. Lalasa had insisted on that payment, saying that she would not have been able to grow rich off royal custom if not for her old mistress. It was an argument Kel had yet to win. And it did mean that she could outfit Tobe without emptying her purse, a venture Lalasa would approve.

  The rain ended that night. The army set out at dawn, Tobe riding pillion with Kel. Once they were under way, Kel rode back along the line of march until she found the wagon that held the gear of the first-year knights, including Hoshi’s tack, spare saddle blankets, weapons, and all Kel needed to tend her arms and armor. She opened the canvas cover on the wagon and slung the boy inside with one arm.

  “There’s blankets under that saddle, and meat and cheese in that pack,” she informed him. “Bundle up. It’s a cold ride. I’ll get you when we stop for the night.” She didn’t wait for his answer but tied the cover and returned to her friends.

  They ate lunch on horseback as cold rain fell again. Knights and squires huddled in the saddle, miserable despite broad-brimmed hats and oiled cloaks to keep the wet out. Kel had extra warmth from Jump and the sparrows, who had ducked under her cloak the moment the rain had returned.

  They were crossing a pocket of a valley when Neal poked Kel and pointed. In the trees to their left, a small figure moved through the undergrowth, following them. Kel twitched Peachblossom off the road and into the woods, cutting Tobe off. He stared up at her, his chin set.

  “I left you in the wagon so you wouldn’t get soaked,” Kel informed him. He was muddy from toes to knees. “Are you mad?”

  Tobe shook his head.

  “Then why do this?” she asked, patiently. “You’re no good to either of us if you get sick or fall behind.”

  “Folk took interest in me ’afore, lady,” replied the boy. “A merchant and a priestess. Soon as I was gone from their sight, they forgot I was alive. Sometimes I think I jus’ dreamed you. If I don’t see you, mayhap you’ll vanish.”

  “I’m too solid to be a dream. Besides, I paid two copper nobles for your bond,” K
el reminded him. “Not to mention what we laid out for the sewing and the cobbler.”

  “Folk’ve given me nobles jus’ for holdin’ the stirrup when they mounted up,” Tobe informed her. “Some is so rich, a noble means as much to them as a copper bit to ol’ Alvik.”

  Kel sighed. “I’m not rich,” she said, but it was for the sake of argument. Compared with this mule-headed scrap of boyhood, she was rich. It was all she could do not to smile. She recognized the determination in those bright blue eyes. It matched her own.

  She evicted the sparrows from the shelter of her cloak and reached a hand down. When he gripped it, Kel swung the boy up behind her. “Not a word of complaint,” she told him. “Get under my cloak. It’ll keep the rain off.”

  This order he obeyed. Kel waited for the sparrows to tuck themselves under the front of her cloak, then urged Peachblossom back to their place in line.

  Neal, seeing her approach, opened his mouth.

  “Not one word,” Kel warned. “Tobe and I have reached an understanding.”

  Neal’s lips twitched. “Why do I have the feeling you did most of the understanding?”

  “Why do I have the feeling that if you give me a hard time, I’ll tell all of our year-mates your family nickname is Meathead?” Kel replied in kind.

  “You resort to common insult because you have no stronger arguments to offer,” retorted Neal. When Kel opened her mouth, Neal raised a hand to silence her. “Nevertheless, I concede.”

  “Good,” Kel said. “That’s that.”

  “You got anything to eat?” inquired a voice from inside her cloak.

  April 1–14, 460

  near the Scanran border

  three

  LONG, COLD ROAD

  It was well past dark when they reached their next stop, the village of Wolfwood. “We’re here for a few days,” Raoul told the younger knights. “Lady Alanna and the troops for the coast leave us here. So will the troops and knights meant for the eastern border. Maybe we’ll even be here long enough to dry out.”

  “What’s dry?” asked Faleron of King’s Reach wearily.

  “Good question,” Lady Alanna said, stretching to get the kinks out of her spine. She and Neal chorused, “Next question.” The lady grinned at her former squire. “You rode with me too long, Queenscove,” she pointed out.

  “And I learned things every step of the way, lady knight,” said Neal with a bow.

  Tobe offered to groom Peachblossom and Hoshi. Kel watched as the boy worked.

  “You think he’s a horse mage?” Neal murmured. He’d tended his mounts and was ready to go inside. “He’s got wild magic with horses?”

  “It seems so,” Kel admitted, gathering her saddlebags. “Look how easy Peachblossom is with him.” Satisfied that Tobe needed no help, she followed Neal into the wayhouse, Jump and the sparrows trailing behind.

  Messengers had warned their hosts of their arrival. There was a tub of hot water in Kel’s room. She scrubbed, changed, then went to find her charge. She found Tobe in Peachblossom’s stall, though both the gelding and Hoshi had been groomed and fed.

  “You’ll sleep in my chamber like last night. There’s a tub there now. Go wash,” she ordered. “The servants take meals in the east wing of the house. Eat properly, vegetables as well as meat. And drink some milk.”

  Tobe grinned at her. “He said last night you’re a bear for vegetables—Sir Nealan, that is. Auld Eulama were the same.” He went to do as he was told. Kel returned to the wayhouse, thinking. They needed to come to an understanding. She couldn’t let him walk, but she didn’t like to share a saddle. Perhaps he could ride Hoshi? Normally Kel would have ridden the mare on a journey like this, but she needed Peachblossom’s strength to help open the road in spots. Hoshi would barely notice Tobe’s weight, and she would keep him out of the mud.

  In the common room, Kel picked at her supper, too weary to eat. She was about to go to her room when someone came in. A servant rushed forward to take his wet things; the innkeeper followed to see what the new guest required.

  The newcomer was a big fellow, a knight from his tunic badge, with red curly hair and gray eyes. Kel froze. It was Cleon of Kennan, her sweetheart. But something was wrong. She looked at him and saw a brawny knight she knew. Where was the joy of looking at him that she had felt the last time they met? Cleon was as attractive as ever, but he didn’t make her skin tingle as he once had.

  Kel bit her lip. As a page she’d thought she was hopelessly in love with Neal. Then, a newly made squire, she’d spent a summer with Lord Raoul and Third Company. Seeing Neal after months of separation, she’d found he looked like just another man, not the bright center of her heart. Now it had happened again. She and Cleon had kissed, had yearned for time and privacy in which to become lovers. He’d wanted to marry her, though she was not sure that she wanted marriage. Here he was, but she didn’t feel warm and eager at the sight of him. Friendship was there, but passion was gone.

  Worse, a part of her wasn’t surprised by the change. They’d been apart for such a long time, with only letters to keep their feelings alive. So much had happened, too much, all of it more vivid and recent than her memories of him. She didn’t want Cleon as a lover now, of that she was sure. There was work to be done. She wanted no lovers until she had settled the Nothing Man’s account.

  Kel looked down at her plate. Maybe Cleon wouldn’t see her.

  Merric of Hollyrose, at the end of her table, jumped to his feet. “Cleon!” he yelled. Everyone looked at the newcomer and called out greetings. Prince Roald waved him over. Kel fixed a smile on her face.

  Cleon too smiled when he saw Kel, but he didn’t seem to notice that Neal offered him a seat beside her. Instead, Cleon took a chair near the prince.

  “Why are you here?” asked Faleron of King’s Reach. He was one of the knights destined to defend the seacoast. “You’re headed the wrong way.”

  Cleon glanced at Kel, then looked at Faleron. “I got a mage message asking me to come home soonest. You’ve heard there’s flooding in the south-west hills?”

  Faleron, whose home was near Cleon’s, sighed. “It’s bad,” he said. “Father said a lot of fiefdoms lost their entire stores of grain—oh, no. Yours?”

  Cleon nodded, his mouth a grim line. “The Lictas River went over its banks and wiped out our storehouses. I’ve got to help Mother raise funds so our people can plant this year.”

  Kel met Cleon’s eyes. They had often talked about his home. She knew his estates were short of money.

  Abruptly, Cleon stood. “May I have a word, Kel? Alone?”

  She couldn’t refuse. Her thoughts tumbled as she followed him outside. They stood under the eaves that sheltered the inn’s door, the wind blowing rain onto them. She wondered if he’d noticed she hadn’t moved to kiss him, then realized that he had not tried to kiss her, either. Suddenly she knew what was coming.

  “I’ve just one way to get coin for grain and the livestock we lost, Kel,” he said. “The moneylenders only give Mother polite regrets. I have to marry Ermelian of Aminar or my people will starve this winter.” He turned away. “I’m so sorry. I’d thought, if we had time . . .”

  Relief poured through Kel. She wouldn’t have to hurt him. “We knew our chances weren’t good,” she said over the rattle of sheaves of rain. “We did talk about it.”

  “I know,” he said hoarsely, standing with his back to her. “Even knowing I couldn’t break the betrothal honorably, I went ahead and dreamed. That’s the problem with being able to think. It means you wish for things you can’t have.”

  Kel wished she could comfort him. Even beyond kisses, he was her friend. She laid a hand on his back. “Cleon—”

  “Don’t.” He twitched away from her touch. “I can’t—I’m as good as married now. It wouldn’t be right.”

  Relief flooded her again. Cleon was too honorable to kiss her or let her touch him now that he’d agreed to his marriage. She felt shallow, coldhearted, and sorry for him.


  “You said you liked her, when we were on progress,” she reminded him. “You said she’s nice. It could be much worse. People do find happiness, when they’re married to someone good.”

  The awful grinding sound that came from his throat was supposed to be a laugh. “That’s you, Kel, making the best of it,” he said. He rubbed his eyes with his arm before he turned to face her. “You’re right. I saw her while we were on progress. It was after you left to help that village after the earthquake. She is nice. She’s also pretty and kind. Some of our friends can’t say as much about the wives arranged for them. She just isn’t you. She isn’t my friend, or my comrade.” He tried to smile.

  Kel’s heart hurt. Cleon was still her friend, if not her lover. “Come inside,” she told him. “Dry out, and eat. We’ll do our duty, like we’re supposed to. And we can be friends, surely. Nothing changes that.”

  “No,” he whispered. “Nothing will ever change that.” He raised a hand as if to touch her cheek, then lowered it and went inside.

  Kel didn’t cry for her friend and the sudden, hard changes in their lives until she was safe in bed and Tobe was lightly snoring on his pallet. She thought she’d muffled herself until he said, “It’s awright, lady. I’d be ascairt, too, goin’ off for savages to shoot at.”

  Kel choked, dried her eyes on her nightshirt sleeve, and turned onto her back. “It’s not the war, Tobe,” she replied. She groped for the handkerchief on her bedside table, sat up, and blew her nose. “I’ve been shot at. I can bear it. I’m crying because my friend is unhappy and everything is changing.”

  “Is that what you’re ’posed to do?” he asked. “Cry for your friends, though they ain’t dead? Cry when things change?”

  “If the changes are hard ones,” Kel replied. “If they take away the things you knew were good.” She wiped her nose, trying to decide what else to say. How could he not know about sorrow for a friend? “Don’t you cry when your friends are hurt?”