Protector of the Small Quartet

by Tamora Pierce

  “Milady!” called Sergeant Connac, who had the command of the watch on the walls. “We got company!”

  Kel and Neal raced up the closest steps to the walkway. Kel didn’t even notice the open air to her left, though normally she was always aware of it, the last echo of her old fear of heights. Her skin prickled as she reached the top of the wall. Had the enemy come already?

  She turned to order the men to close the gate, but Sergeant Connac had already done so. Let him do his job, she scolded herself. You have enough of your own to do.

  On her first complete day at Haven, she had lent her precious spyglass to the sergeant commanding the watch. Now Connac passed it to her and pointed east. A line of horsemen and wagons approached on the Giantkiller road, led by a rider on a black-and-white horse, the kind known as piebald. Behind him on a lead rein plodded a bay cob laden with packs. An assortment of wagons followed.

  Kel frowned. They’d gotten no word of exactly when the refugees would begin to come. With the enemy and their mages due to arrive any day, she might be looking at an elaborate illusion, one that would trick them into opening the gates.

  She passed the spyglass to Neal. “Is that an illusion?” she demanded.

  Neal put the glass to his eye and adjusted it. Suddenly he yelped and turned away, pushing the spyglass at Kel with one hand as he rubbed his eyes with the other.

  “Neal?” she asked, horrified. What if he’d been magically attacked? “Neal, are you all right?”

  “Oh, I’m fine,” he grumbled. He groped in his breeches pockets, gave up, and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He was squinting; tears streamed down his cheeks. Kel produced one of her many pocket handkerchiefs and thrust it into his hand. “Thank you,” Neal said, blotting his eyes. “He’s got warning and alarm magics around that train for—Mithros, it’s got to be at least fifty yards. I couldn’t manage ten feet. Those are our refugees, all right, and Master Numair at the front.”

  Kel’s jaw dropped. “Numair Salmalín?”

  “That’s who I said,” her friend replied, grumpy. “I’d know the look of his Gift anywhere, even if it didn’t half blind me. You thought he was an illusion?”

  “We’ve had no word the refugees were on the move,” Kel reminded him. “And disguising Scanrans as a refugee train would be a good way to get them close enough for an attack.”

  “Well, that’s no disguise. And since when do you need a mage to see through illusions?” Neal inquired. “Where’s that griffin-feather band?”

  Kel blinked at him. “Band?” she asked. Then she remembered: last year she’d learned that if she held griffin feathers over her eyes, she could see through magical illusions. She had promptly stitched a number of the feathers she had gotten for looking after a baby griffin onto a cloth band. When tied over her forehead and ears, it gave her protection from magical falsehoods. Neal had helped her test it, which was how they knew the band also protected Kel from spoken magic. “The griffin band,” she said, understanding. “Well, yes, I have it . . .” She realized what she was about to say and closed her mouth, feeling sheepish.

  “Where?” Neal prodded.

  Kel cleared her throat. “In my room.”

  “Where it will do you much good, I’ll wager,” Neal replied. “It looks like our guests should be here soon. Time to warn everyone we’ll have company for supper.”

  Kel looked around for Jump or Tobe and found the boy. “Tobe, in the kit I use to clean my weapons you’ll find a red silk bag. Would you get it for me, please?” Tobe nodded and clattered down the steps.

  “I’m going back to the surgery,” Neal said, returning Kel’s handkerchief. “Father and I are ready to work on that man’s heart.”

  “Good luck,” Kel said, then looked at Sergeant Connac. “We’d best tell everyone,” she said. “Send a rider out to Sir Merric, so he doesn’t think we’re having trouble.”

  “Don’t you worry, milady,” the man assured her. “We’ll have the new folk settled before you can say ‘Gods all bless.’ ”

  Kel, the griffin-feather band now on her belt in its pouch, was helping unload a cart when she spotted one of the cooks nearby. His eyes were fixed on her. She handed off a crate and turned to him. “What is it, Einur?” she asked.

  The man cleared his throat and scuffed the ground with his shoe. “Milady, if, if I might be havin’ a word,” he said after a moment’s hesitation.

  “So are the men all after you, then, milady?” demanded Fanche. She stood in the door of the barracks where her people were to stay, hands on hips, brown eyes mocking. “Couldn’t find a husband in the south, so you came here to pick and choose.”

  Einur turned on her with a glare. “You ain’t been here these last weeks, so you keep silent till you know who you’re talkin’ of. She’s been workin’ curst hard—”

  “Enough,” Kel ordered, secretly pleased by his defense of her. She took him by the arm and led him a few yards away from the cart and Fanche. “None of that,” she told him. “Let’s not start any brawls.”

  “But milady, she’s wrong,” protested Einur. “She’s not seen you laboring like one of us.”

  “She’ll get her chance,” Kel said firmly. “What did you need to say?”

  “Oh.” Einur grimaced. “Lady, it might, it might be easier, if, if you great folk took supper at headquarters, like the captain done. At least until—well, just for a time.”

  Now it was Kel’s turn to prop her hands on her hips. “Spit it out, Einur, there’s work to do. Why change our meals?”

  The man scratched his head. Finally he muttered, so quietly Kel had to lean in to hear, “Till that mage is gone.” The word “mage” sounded like curdled milk in his mouth.

  “Which mage? We’ve got sev—” Then she saw it. “You mean Master Numair.”

  Miserable, Einur nodded.

  “But he’s a fine man,” protested Kel. “He taught Sir Nealan and Sir Merric and me. He’s a little scatterbrained, to be sure, but he is a black robe—”

  Einur raised pleading eyes to Kel’s. “Milady, you wasn’t here that time he croaked and the land just moved around, like giant snakes was under it. He makes us nervous, and nervous cooks burn soup.”

  Kel had not missed that “us.” “All the cooks feel this way?” she asked.

  Einur nodded.

  “We’ll need someone to serve, if we’re to be formal,” she pointed out.

  “Your boy says he’ll help,” replied the cook instantly.

  Kel sighed. “Very well. Notify everyone who’s to dine at headquarters. I have to talk to the new people in the morning, you know. I wanted to do it like I talked to you men, only over breakfast.”

  “We can send for you, when folk are finishing in the morning.”

  Kel smiled crookedly. “An answer for everything, it seems. Go on, then. Back to work.”

  “Bless you, lady,” the cook said with a deep bow. “Thank you.”

  Kel went back to the business of unpacking the wagon. Once that was finished, she went in search of Fanche. The woman was outside her building, helping a man and a girl to build a firepit and line it with stones. While the cooks would manage for the entire camp that night, normally the inhabitants of each building would fix their own meals outside their sleeping quarters. Kel had thought it would be good for the refugees to build their own firepits. It might help them to feel part of their new home.

  “Mistress Fanche, I would like a word in private, if you please,” she said as the older woman set the stone she carried in place.

  Fanche looked up at Kel, hair in her face. “I’m busy.”

  Kel held Fanche’s eyes with her own. “If you please, Mistress Fanche.”

  The woman straightened and dusted off her hands, then followed Kel down the long strip of earth between the refugee barracks. When Kel reached the open ground between the buildings and the wall, she turned and faced the older woman.

  Kel had put a great deal of thought into this moment, knowing that she and Fanche would h
ave such a conversation at some point. Kel preferred to do it right away, at the first chance offered, before Fanche got settled and confident here. Only once before had Kel dealt with someone who didn’t accept that she had been appointed to lead, but she didn’t think physical force would do the task here. Fanche was no anxious soldier who doubted a squire’s ability to command. Fanche was worthy of respect, the headwoman of the Goatstrack refugees and the one who had kept them together on the flight to Giantkiller. So far, her experience of lords and ladies was that they collected taxes and refused to share their wealth and lands with homeless people. Force would be just what Fanche expected of a noble.

  As Fanche opened her mouth, ready to attack first, Kel said, “It doesn’t matter what you think of me. If you have a criticism or an insult you’d like to deliver, then take me aside and tell me, I don’t care. Though I must say, I do get bored with folk claiming I became a knight either because I’m a slut or I’m desperate for a husband. You’d think people would try to be a little more original. I’m surprised to hear such talk from you.”

  Fanche grimaced. “Why? Because I’m another woman, and everyone knows women are sweet and helpful with each other? Because we’re all sisters under the Goddess?”

  Kel met her eyes steadily. “No. Because I expected you to know what it’s like, to be a woman and command. Lord Wyldon said you rallied your people when Goatstrack fell. You took charge and fought till you got them to Giantkiller. I know you must have had men who argued and balked and nearly got you all killed. I’d hoped you’d see you and I are in the same boat, and keep your disagreements between the two of us.”

  “You break my heart, little girl,” Fanche replied. “So they told you to command here. You know what you command? A killing ground. Those northern leeches will batten on us whenever they like. Gods forbid our mighty nobles would pay to feed and guard us inside those stone walls that our families built. They can always replace commoners. So they give us walls of twigs, protector knights so green I can smell the sap, and a handful of guards recovering from wounds or half dead from the mines.”

  Kel shrugged. “Don’t you think I know that?” she asked. “I see it just as plain as you. What I’d like you to see is that if we aren’t all united inside these walls, noble and common, soldiers and cooks, male and female, then the enemy will take us all. So think about that, will you? And insult me in private.” Kel waited for the woman to reply. There was no way to guess the thoughts behind the woman’s tired brown eyes. When she said nothing, Kel nodded. “Welcome to Haven, Mistress Fanche.”

  She walked back to headquarters, where she found Numair lounging on the bench outside her small office. There was a lot of him to lounge. With his legs stretched out before him, he nearly blocked the narrow hall through the building. “Master Numair, I’m sorry—you should have sent someone to find me,” she apologized as he got to his feet. “It was me you wanted, wasn’t it?” He might only be daydreaming, or thinking.

  Numair smiled. “Yes, I am here to see you. I have dispatches for you from Raoul, Wyldon, and Vanget. I also brought you clerks.” He pointed through the open door opposite Kel’s office.

  Clerks? she wondered, peering at the newcomers in the room. Do I need clerks?

  Three men, five teenaged boys, and two young women, all in the pale gray outer robes of the royal bureaucrat, were there. They had shifted tables and benches and set out slates, ink pots, sheaves of paper, and other tools of their trade. Then Kel understood. Clerks made lists, wrote letters, kept accounts, drew up work rosters—all the things she did now.

  “Gods be thanked,” she told Numair with relief. “The way the soldiers carry on when you ask them to write things down, you’d think it was worse than fighting. I’ve been doing a lot of it myself rather than argue with them. Excuse me.”

  She went over to the open doorway. “Well met!” she told the clerks. They turned, startled, obviously not knowing who she was. “I’m Keladry of Mindelan, in charge of things here. Welcome.” The two women bowed first, then the men and boys. “Let me or Nealan of Queenscove know what you require, and we’ll see about getting it for you. You can sleep upstairs. My boy Tobe will get you cots and whatever else you need.” She glanced at the sparrow on her shoulder—she always seemed to have at least one with her. “Bring Tobe?” she asked the bird. The sparrow cheeped and flew off.

  “Thank you, lady knight,” the oldest man said to Kel. “We look forward to serving you. I am Zamiel. These are my colleagues . . .” As he named them, each one bowed.

  When Tobe arrived, Kel turned the clerks over to him and led Numair into her office. “Tobe will see them right. Please”—she indicated one of the rough chairs—“sit down. You say you have dispatches?”

  Reaching into the saddlebag he carried, the mage produced folded and sealed documents. “This is for you, and this, and this.” He turned them over to Kel and took the offered chair.

  Kel sat and, with a murmured apology to her guest, cracked the seals on the documents and began to read. Once she finished, she re-read them all. They held a mixed lot of news.

  The topmost dispatch came from Raoul. He requested that Dom and his squad go to Fort Steadfast. The serious fighting was about to begin. Already King Maggur had sent an army to besiege the port city of Frasrlund, at the mouth of the Vassa River.

  General Vanget wrote that the enemy was everywhere, from the seacoast to the Gallan border. In addition to besieged Frasrlund, Seabeth and Seajen had fought off ship raids. Raoul’s Fort Steadfast had turned back a probing attack of about two hundred warriors. Along the northeastern border, small parties of Scanrans had all struck on the same day, resulting in major tangles as the army tried to defend every threatened village and fort. The City of the Gods on the same border reported killing devices seen in their hills. Kel imagined armies on the move and hated the walls that surrounded her, keeping her from the real fight.

  Pouting about it won’t help me in the least, she told herself.

  Lord Wyldon wrote that Numair carried a verbal report to be heard by Kel, Neal, Merric, and Duke Baird. He also wrote that enemy patrols had been seen near Fort Mastiff, but none had been caught. Finally, he told Kel it was time for her to report in person about Haven’s progress. He expected her and an escort at Fort Mastiff in seven days, when he would have more supplies for her. In the meantime, the refugees from Tirrsmont and Anak’s Eyrie were on the road and should reach Haven soon.

  “My lord says you have spoken messages to deliver?” Kel asked Numair. “Can they wait until after supper? That way you’ll have all of us together.”

  Numair smiled. It was the first time he’d ever really met Kel’s eyes. In all her years at the palace and with Raoul, she’d had little to do with this quiet mage, apart from lessons and one memorable encounter during a fight with bullies. Numair was both scattered and brilliant. He would begin a lesson on illusion runes only to be sidetracked by the habits of basilisks or the nature of tides in the air. Now Kel got a tiny glimpse of what lay under his vague exterior, and she could not make herself look away.

  He blinked, and she was free. “Of course,” he told Kel. “It will be far easier to talk with all of you at once.”

  Her mind scrambled to remember what he was talking about. “Oh . . . oh, yes.” She frowned, relieved and intrigued. No mage had ever affected her like that. “Sir, can other mages do what you just did—hold someone with their eyes?”

  “I did?” he asked, startled, then sighed. “I’m sorry, I must have, for you to mention it. I was just thinking that you are a good choice for this post. I apologize for, ah, forgetting. If a typical mage wants to hold your attention, usually he needs something bright and shiny in his hands. He’ll play with it, catching the light. You’ll be unable to look away, or to refuse his orders, until he releases you. Or she. Didn’t I teach you pages about that?”

  “I don’t recall it if you did, sir,” Kel admitted sheepishly.

  “We have to make sure they are taught that, first
thing every year. It can be done with something as ordinary as a coin. You have to watch for it, and not be trapped. Listen, Keladry, I’m not just a courier. I want to spell your walls and gates while I’m here. I must see the areas I need to protect. Could you get someone to give me the tour?”

  “If you don’t mind interruptions, I’ll take you around,” offered Kel.

  Numair smiled. “I would appreciate that. I’m sure by now you know every nook and cranny here.”

  They were a third of the way around the inside wall, having been interrupted by no fewer than five newcomers with questions for Kel, when she heard familiar loud peeping. Three sparrows zipped over the wall crying the alarm and homed in on Kel. From the gate the trumpeter also sounded an alarm. Those soldiers who had been doing chores or relaxing after lunch grabbed their weapons and raced up the stairs to the wall. Numair followed the soldiers, his long legs quickly covering the ground between him and the nearest stair.

  Kel ran to headquarters, meeting Tobe near the gate. He clutched Kel’s mail shirt and helm. Her quiver of arrows was slung over his bony shoulder, dangling almost to the ground. Jump, beside him, gripped Kel’s bow in his jaws.

  Kel slid into the mail shirt, donned the plain open helm, and accepted bow and quiver from her helpers. “Tobe, find Saefas,” she ordered the boy. “Tell him I said to get everyone who can use a bow on the ramparts.”

  Tobe nodded and ran. Kel, Jump, and her sparrows climbed to the walkway over the gate. There she took a moment to string her bow.

  Connac, the sergeant in command of the watch, passed the spyglass to her. “There, milady,” he said, pointing. Kel looked. The enemy galloped across the open meadows on the western side of the valley. With one ear she listened to the horn calls as special combinations told Merric and his patrol of the attack. More trumpet blasts summoned those who had been plowing the fields east of the river. They raced across the bridge and up the inclined road to the gate.

  With the glass to her eye, Kel did a rough count of the foe. This was a raiding party of thirty or so warriors, mounted on nimble, shaggy-coated horses. Among the warriors, two wore the pointed fur hats of shamans, or mages. Fumbling one-handed at her belt, Kel drew out the griffin-feather band. Sergeant Connac took the glass and her helm. Kel tied the band in place and slid the helm on over it. “Two shamans,” she told the sergeant.