Protector of the Small Quartet

by Tamora Pierce

  Over supper, news from the palace and the border was traded. Kel let the others do the talking as she sneaked bits of meat to Jump. At last Lord Wyldon pushed his plate away. Duke Baird had finished some time ago, and Captain Elbridge was nearly done.

  “Keladry,” Wyldon said quietly. “Time.”

  “Yessir,” Kel said automatically. She extracted herself from her seat between Neal and Merric, then wiped her hands on a handkerchief. For a moment she nearly forgot and raised her hands to check her hair but stopped herself in time. It would not do for men whom she was to command to see her do something so feminine when her mind should be on business.

  I can’t do this, she thought desperately as she took a last swig of cider and set down her cup. I’m eighteen! Someone should be commanding me, not the other way around! Wyldon’s trusting me with their lives, and me with the paint still wet on my shield. . . .

  Somehow her feet and legs carried her down the long rows of men and tables, past Tobe and Saefas to the open part of the hall. Before her now sat four squads of soldiers, forty men in uniform, and about sixty-five civilians who were all refugees. These were the first people she had to deal with in her new position, and they would carry their impression of her to those who would arrive soon.

  Kel looked for something to stand on and found a wooden box. She wiggled it when she put it in position, just to make sure it could bear her weight. The men, who had watched her come their way, chuckled quietly.

  Kel looked up and smiled. “There’s so much of me,” she explained. “It would be undignified if I stepped on it and it broke.”

  Another, louder chuckle rose from them. One of the knots in her chest came undone. Just like the men of Third Company, they liked a joke at an officer’s expense. Carefully she stepped onto the box: it held her. She waited as men set down their forks and knives.

  As she waited, she looked them over, face by face. None of them, not even the healthiest soldier, was untouched by the hard times of recent years. She recognized the convict soldiers: they bore a silver circle on their foreheads. It would shine under hair, mud, or face paint; it could not be cut out with a knife. The only way to remove it was to use spells that were carefully guarded by palace magistrates. Even without the mark, Kel would have known the convicts. They were the thinnest of all, hollow-eyed and gaunt-cheeked. Right now they looked to be near exhaustion from a day of guard duty and unloading wagons.

  She would have to feed them up if they were to manage any serious fighting. They were criminals, of course. They’d no doubt deserved their sentences to the mines and quarries. She’d known two men who had been sentenced to prison, and she’d hated them for their crime. Presumably the men here were guilty of the same or worse, but surely the officers knew starved men had no strength to fight.

  One convict stood and walked between the tables, peering at Kel.

  “You, there,” Captain Elbridge called. He fell silent; Kel guessed that Wyldon had told him to let her manage this. She kept her eyes on the approaching man. There was gray in his coarse-cut black hair, gray in the stubble on his chin, too. His nose was a long prow of bone, his eyes shadows in their sockets. From the darkness of his skin and from his features, he was kin to the tribes of the southern desert. He was too pale to be full-blooded Bazhir, and as he drew closer she saw his eyes were gray, not brown. His uniform was patched and worn; of course they wouldn’t give convicts the best, she realized. That irritated her. Are they supposed to come here to fight and die quickly, so we can make more room in the quarries and mines? she wondered, keeping her face mild and blank.

  “Can I help you, soldier?” she asked when he stopped a yard from her.

  He rubbed his chin with bony fingers. “I begs pardon for my forwardness, lady knight,” he said, awkwardly gallant, “but was you anywheres near the River Hasteren in summer, seven years gone? Hill country?”

  “Yes,” Kel replied, puzzled. “Lord Wyldon took the pages there for summer exercises in camping and field craft.”

  “You seen any fighting, them days?” the man asked. “Nothin’ big, just a scramble, like. With hill-men?”

  Now Kel was curious as well as puzzled. “We rode with the army when they cleaned out some hill bandit nests,” she replied. “And some friends of mine and I got into a little trouble, which is how we learned bandits were in the area.”

  “I knew it!” he cried, jubilant. “I thought ’twas you, but there’s more of you now. You should’ve seen the likes of her, boys,” he said, turning toward the other convicts as he pointed at Kel. “We was all outlaws, livin’ on the edges, and this bunch of pages stumbled into our camp. We chased ’em back in a canyon, and her ”—he jabbed his finger at Kel—“she gutted ol’ Breakbone Dell, and him the meanest dog skinner you’d ever hope to meet. Stood there afoot, her and her spear, cool as meltwater with Breakbone ridin’ down on her with that neck-cutter sword of his. First time she got ’im in the leg, second in the tripes, and he was done. Her and six lads held us all back, just them. There she was, eyes like stone and that bloody spear in her hand. Lady.” He bowed deep.

  Kel looked at him, not sure what to say. Finally she asked, “What’s your name, soldier?”

  “Me? Gilab Lofts—Gil. Lady. It’s—it’s good to see you well.” He bowed again and returned to his seat, whispering with the men on either side of him.

  Kel waited for them to quiet once again before she said ruefully, “I’m not sure that being known for gutting a man is exactly a recommendation for a commander.”

  “It is in the north!” cried someone. Several men laughed outright; others grinned. Kel felt the very air in the room lighten.

  “Well, perhaps it is,” she admitted. “I’ve been away all winter, so I may have forgotten.” This time they were quick to fall quiet, curious to hear what she would say. “So you won’t be calling me the girl that gutted Breakbone, my name is Keladry of Mindelan. Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan. And it’s no good thinking I’m a southerner who’ll squeak at the sight of a mountain, either. My home fief is almost due west of here, by the sea. I’m a northerner by birth.”

  She surveyed them, making sure they were with her now. She’d thought long and hard about what she could say. Back at Giantkiller she’d imagined herself delivering a blood-stirring speech full of fire and dreams that would have them all on their feet, cheering her, ready to take on the entire Scanran army. That had lasted all of two breaths; then she had giggled at her own folly. She didn’t have fiery speeches in her; they would make her extremely uncomfortable if she had. In the end, she’d decided to keep it short and simple.

  “You all know why we’re here,” she told them. “You know the enemy. He will be on us soon. When he comes, we will fight not for some glorious cause, but to survive. The gods have given us time to prepare, and we must take advantage of every moment of it. Once the enemy comes, how safe we’ll be is determined by these walls and the people in them.

  “You’ve built our home well. It’s true what they say, that northern woodsmen build the very best.” That made the civilians happy; they grinned and clapped one another on the back. Kel smiled. When it was quiet again, she continued. “We’ll finish building together. The more we do before our guests come, the more time we’ll have for weapons training with everyone, including civilians, who can hold a bow—or a spear.” The convicts chuckled. She went on, “If you have problems, or questions—officers, note this—you will see me every day. You must tell me. I won’t know anything if you don’t speak up, and if it’s something that can be fixed, I’d as soon fix it right away. You look at me and see I’m young. I look at me and see I’m young.” All of them laughed as their eyes remained fixed on her. “I have seen combat in my years as squire to the Knight Commander of the King’s Own. And I’m willing to learn more, if you will be my teachers.”

  Kel took a deep breath. “That’s all I have to say. We’ll hammer the rest out as we build this haven for those who have lost their homes. Now I’ll let you go to you
r beds. Tomorrow comes soon.” She looked down, then had an idea. “Who’s the best woodworker here? Signs, and suchlike?”

  There was a murmur among the civilians. They pointed at one man, a burly fellow with straggly red hair.

  “First thing in the morning, will you make us a sign? It’s got to be large enough to be read across the river. It should carry the word ‘Haven.’ Not Fort, just Haven. Because that’s what we are.” The man nodded as a pleased murmur swept through the room. “I thank you for your attention,” Kel said, and stepped off the box.

  The men began to rise from their benches. Brief words of welcome and greeting followed Kel as, limp with the release of tension, she walked back to the seated nobles. Tobe patted her arm awkwardly when she passed; she rested a hand on his bony shoulder. When Kel met Wyldon’s eyes, he nodded, once, in approval. Neal clapped her on the back; Merric punched her shoulder lightly; Dom bowed his head.

  “Now all I have to do is live up to it,” she pointed out to her friends, and collapsed onto the bench.

  April 15–23, 460

  the refugee camp

  on the Greenwoods River

  five

  CLERKS

  The next day Kel rose before dawn and used the quiet time before sunrise to take her glaive outside onto ground still hard from the night’s cold. There she practiced, working her way through the complex pattern dances that were combinations of strikes, blocks, and feints strung together so the warrior could build strength and stamina with each step. When she finished, she cleaned the glaive and stowed it in her tiny bedchamber. After that she went to the mess hall, where the morning cooks had started breakfast. As they stirred porridge, fried ham, and set out bowls of honey, bread, and pitchers of milk, Kel thought about her day.

  Baird, Wyldon, Merric, and Elbridge took their breakfast in headquarters with Owen to serve them. Neal staggered to the cookhouse after the dawn trumpet sounded. “Figured you’d be here,” he said, yawning, as he slumped onto the bench across from her. Tobe, then Dom arrived shortly after he did.

  Wyldon, Elbridge, and Owen rode north after breakfast, taking the extra soldiers and several wagons of supplies on to the new fort, Mastiff. Before they left, Wyldon and Kel settled on a schedule of meetings and messages so they would keep up to date with one another.

  Once the district commander, his squire, and the captain had gone, Haven’s residents learned that their officers ate not in headquarters, as the captain had, but in the mess hall: Baird and Merric joined Kel and Neal on that second day. Once everyone was at least half awake, they discussed the day’s schedule, making plans so they didn’t interfere with each other’s duties.

  Kel’s first act was to put herself on all the work lists to cook, wash up, clean out latrines, do laundry at the river, and serve on guard detail and patrols. This was something she’d learned from Raoul: if the commander did something, few would object to performing the same job. The only lists she did not put herself on were hunting and fishing: they were popular with everyone in camp. Whatever she did, Tobe was somewhere close by, passing tools, helping as she lifted heavy objects, scrubbing, feeding animals. As they stood watch, pounded sheets, or dumped noxious tubs into the honey wagon and went out to bury its contents, men would drift by for a word or two. Some of it was complaints. Most was just a quick greeting or question, a way to size up the new commander. Kel made sure to answer each of the men courteously.

  She tried to put herself on carpentry detail only to be politely refused. The third day the carpenters said no, she demanded to know why. She had experience, after all. She didn’t want the men to think she would do some chores and not others, though she knew she was a terrible woodworker. The master carpenter explained politely that Sergeant Dom had said Kel was a disaster with hammer, axe, or saw, and they did not have wood or nails to spare. Kel spotted Dom up on the walkway, grinning down at her. He’d seen her approach the carpenters. She gestured rudely at him. She also stopped asking the carpenters for work with considerable private relief.

  Each night, everyone—nobles, men of the Own, camp soldiers, and civilians—took supper in the cookhouse. Each night, Kel ate at a different table. At first the men were wary, not sure if she had come to lecture or to eavesdrop. They soon relaxed. Kel was very good at eating as if she thought about nothing else. As the men got more comfortable, they talked to her. They told her of their families, their experiences in the north, and their guesses as to the enemy’s next move. Kel fixed faces with names and what she knew of each man in her mind.

  She also bet on the contests held in the early evening: archery matches, footraces, and wrestling. When Merric suggested the time would be put to better use if the men continued to work, Duke Baird replied before Kel did.

  “They need play, Merric,” the healer explained. “People need a release for tension. They need a reminder that not all the world is a fearful, war-shadowed place.”

  The next evening, Merric joined the archery competition and came in third.

  After games, the men formed small groups, building little fires around the bunkhouses and barracks. Kel, Neal, and Merric used that time to meet in the headquarters dining room to plan and to read any correspondence or reports. These came in almost every day. Couriers spelled to be invisible and noiseless brought messages from Forts Steadfast, Mastiff, Giantkiller, and Northwatch. The three young knights read each one and wrote their own reports in reply. Sometimes they just listened as the men sang, particularly when Tobe’s unmistakable voice soared into the night sky.

  Kel looked forward to those nighttime songs. They made her relax. She could appreciate the stars, the growing softness in the air, and the scents of wet earth and coming spring without thinking of everything she had yet to do, or of Blayce out there making his devices. The mage was never far from her thoughts, but each time she caught herself grinding her teeth because she wasn’t hunting him, she forced her mind back to Haven. The safety of its residents came first, at least for now.

  Between work details she took out groups of refugees and convict soldiers to train with bow, staff, and sword. The regular soldiers were used to training with their officers and comrades; she was only underfoot with them. The refugees and convicts had been made nervous by the barking sergeants. Kel gentled them along, suggesting without insults, showing them the exercises she’d done to strengthen her own body. Tobe helped her there. Her students were reassured by her patience with her young servant, watching her show him the way to master the small curved bow she’d found for him.

  One by one, bunkhouses and storage sheds went up and the infirmary was completed. The first furniture to be built were the cots and stools for the infirmary, then the beds for the bunkhouses. Baird and Neal readied the infirmary. Baird also rode out on one of Merric’s patrols to mark the best places to bury the waste collected in tubs under the latrines. As he did, Neal spelled the latrines to keep any sickness inside the tubs. He thoroughly explained to Kel and the men that human waste bred powerful disease and must be carefully disposed of.

  Neal also began a thorough examination of Haven’s residents, spotting future health problems, strengthening weak lungs and hearts, working cures on sniffles, sores, and splinters. One day after he’d checked one of their two squads of convicts, Kel took him for a ride outside the walls. She had watched the signs of Neal’s blooming temper and knew he needed a break. If he was going to explode, she wanted him outside, far from the hearing of anyone else.

  “There’s no excuse for it, none,” he yelled, green eyes blazing, once they were on the far side of the river. “Yes, they’re criminals, but they’re supposed to be soldiers now. You don’t send a man with a hole in his heart to fight! You might as well execute him and have done with it!”

  Kel listened and kept Neal talking until he calmed down. Sergeants Vidur and Oluf, regular army soliders who commanded the convicts, were hard. They had already told Kel that her ban on flogging was a sign of female weakness. She knew they would take their anger out on
their men if Neal turned his scalding tongue on them. There was only so much Kel might do about the way the sergeants handled their troops. She preferred to avoid battles with them now so she would have authority with them later if she needed to use it.

  They never say it’s one thing to be given command by your superiors and another to be given it by the men under you, she thought as she and Neal rode back to Haven. You have to decide what’s important and what you have to let go. They can pretend to take your orders, then dawdle, or lose equipment, or claim they misunderstood, and laugh behind your back when you get frustrated. We’re told the commoners will respect our nobility and our shields, but they don’t, mostly. They only pretend to.

  Kel could understand that. She had seen the way many nobles dealt with commoners. No wonder the common folk responded as slowly and awkwardly as they could. Her sympathy made her careful with those she commanded, soldiers and refugees alike. She found ways to firmly suggest things to the men so that they came to believe that what she’d asked had been their own idea all along. It meant she didn’t need to use physical punishment as a goad.

  Tobe waited by the gate to take the reins of their horses as they rode back into camp. “You’ll be all right?” Kel asked Neal, a hand on his shoulder.

  “Don’t worry, Kel,” he said. “I won’t make your job harder. You probably won’t see me or Father at supper, though. We’re going to try to fix that man’s heart. It’s—”