Someone had to get close to it.
She yanked the warhammer from her belt and grabbed a fist-sized rock. “Mithros, don’t let me die,” she pleaded, and ran to the trapped monster. Turning her warhammer so the long spike faced out, she dug it into the cables and bone of the monster’s torso and pulled herself up like a mountain climber.
The men yelled for her to stop. “We can hold it!” one insisted. Kel knew they were wrong.
To the monster that had just tried to bite her she said, “You don’t scare me.”
The thing turned its head toward her, its mouth on the same level as her face. “Mama?” it asked in a child’s voice. The visor opened; razor-teeth snapped. Kel jammed the stone between them. She’d picked the right size: the monster couldn’t close its mouth. Kel heard metal grind as it kept trying to shut those visor-lips.
She took a deep breath. Grabbing the cables of one arm with her free hand, she dug a toe into a metal crevice and worked her warhammer free. She raised her weapon and smashed the hammer’s spiked head onto the monster’s metal crown. It dented—the spike was made to pierce armor. Kel raised the hammer and smashed it down in the same place. The monster thrashed, fighting its bonds.
One more blow ought to do it, she thought.
Kel wedged one foot in the slot between the monster’s outstretched arm and the boulder. Bracing her knee on its shoulder, she extracted the other leg and pulled it up onto the thing’s opposite shoulder. She balanced shakily, freeing both hands. Third time for luck, she told herself, and drove the warhammer down into the thing’s head with all that remained of her strength.
The spike caught. Yanking it free, she lost her balance. Down she fell, twisting an ankle and landing flat on her very sore back. She yelped and struggled to her feet.
White steam, or something like it, hissed from the hole in the thing’s skull. It formed a pale, wavering shape that cried, “Mama?” in the same voice as the monster. The wind blew the shape apart. The creature collapsed against its ropes.
Kel pressed a hand against her aching side. “You, and you.” She chose men who had not been forced to wrestle the thing. They looked fresher than those who had. “Get more ropes on this creature. Wrap it up like a spidren’s supper. I don’t want it waking to cut our throats.” She looked up at Wolset, who had dragged himself to the top of the boulder. “You’re promoted to corporal,” she croaked. “For understanding that the head had to be trapped. What have we forgotten?”
He blinked at her, then looked at the men. “Weapons, positions, eyes front,” he ordered as he slid to the ground. “We don’t want the enemy following this thing to us!” He faced Kel as the men scrambled back to their places. “That was right, wasn’t it?”
Kel nodded.
“Then, sir—lady, may I ask something?”
“Ask,” Kel said, and coughed.
He pointed to the thing as Kel’s chosen men cocooned it in rope. “Is that enough kraken for you?”
It was dark when men in army uniforms reached them with torches. Lerant came too. “We can stand down,” he told Kel. “General Vanget rolled up our friends, including the other giant. My lord already did for one. Dom’s going to be fine.”
They all sighed their relief. Kel hadn’t thought the wound deadly, but it was always good to know.
Lerant goggled at their prize. “What in the name of Torsen Hammersmith is that?”
“Good question,” croaked Kel, whose voice was raw. She must have been shouting, though she hardly remembered it. “So happy you asked. Give us another, if you like.”
Lerant shook his head. “You get more like my lord every day. I suppose you’ll want combat pay for the dog and birdies next.”
“They earned it,” Wolset told him. The other exhausted men nodded.
Lerant went away, still shaking his head. The squad discovered that the army reliefs had brought soup and bread as well as torches. The soldiers had to be reminded to hand over the food as they stared at the Own’s prize.
Kel and her men ate as if they hadn’t done so in weeks, feeding Jump and the sparrows as well as themselves. Kel knew she ought to tell the birds to go to sleep, but it hurt too much to talk. She sipped her soup cautiously, letting the warm liquid soothe her throat.
Footsteps made her look up. It was Raoul. His head was bandaged; another bandage on one arm showed a red stain. Kel waved to him weakly.
“My lord bagged himself another giant, we hear,” said Wolset with admiration.
“Those big fellows are all alike,” Raoul said with a weary smile. “Smash ’em on the toe and they turn into kittens.” He approached the monster, now wrapped in rope, and inspected it thoroughly. Then he turned to Sergeant Balim, who had come with him. “Send for General Vanget. He should see this, but tell him I also want Numair Salmalín up here, now. I don’t care where he is or what it takes, I want Numair here yesterday.” As Balim hurried off, Raoul turned to look at the thing once more. “Tell me, someone,” he ordered.
Kel looked at Wolset and nodded. He squared his shoulders and tried to stand.
“Oh, stop dancing, stay sat, and tell,” Raoul said impatiently. Wolset obeyed. The others added details as they saw fit. When the report was done, Raoul hunkered down beside the thing and pulled coils of rope aside for a better look. Kel gripped her warhammer; she saw the men reach for their weapons. The monster remained a dead pile of metal and bone, no more alive than the rocks on which they sat.
Finally Raoul looked at Kel. “So here’s one of those machines that Myles spoke of.” Worry filled his eyes. “What are they cooking, up there in the north?” he asked very quietly. “How many of these things are they going to send us?”
Kel shook her head. She had wondered the same thing.
Winter, in the 20th year of the reign of Jonathan IV and Thayet, his Queen, 459
eighteen
ORDEAL
The Scanrans were not beaten, or even mildly inconvenienced. Kel was in groups that fought them once more before the end of August and once in early September; other squads added four more clashes to the total. Around mid-September encounters with the northerners dropped. There was a nip in the air. Unless the Scanrans chose to stay, this was the time of year to pack their loot and sail or march home.
One morning near the end of September Kel was working on Third Company’s account books when Raoul entered the new command hut rubbing his hands. “Frost last night,” he commented, pouring a cup of tea. “The leaves will . . .”
Kel looked up when he didn’t finish his sentence. “Sir? Leaves?”
Raoul went to the table that served as his desk and checked his almanac. “Kel, it’s the end of September.”
“Yes, sir.” She wasn’t sure why this was important, though his tone said it was.
“How long to finish what you’re doing?” he asked.
“I’m nearly done,” she said. “Just one more page.”
“Good. You need to pack.” Reading her puzzled look correctly, he told her, “We have to go to Corus—unless you’ve changed your mind about that shield and want to join us. I won’t say no if you do.”
The words left her breathless. December. Midwinter. The Chamber of the Ordeal. “Oops,” she said.
“We’ll leave in the morning,” he said. He strode out of the hut. A moment later he stuck his head back inside. “I don’t want to get rid of you, mind. I could certainly use you. It’s just that the realm needs you more as a knight.” He vanished again.
Kel heard him call loudly for Flyndan and Lerant.
The next morning Lerant came to the stable as Kel saddled Hoshi. He clapped the girl on the shoulder. “Good riddance,” he said. “Don’t mess up your Ordeal. If you do and you come back here for a place, I’ll have to hurt you.”
Kel grinned. She and Lerant understood each other quite well these days. “Now that I’ve shown you how, look after my lord when he gets back,” she retorted, and swung herself into the saddle. Lerant got out of Peachblossom’s way as Kel tugged on the g
elding’s lead rein.
Third Company turned out to see her and Raoul off. They said little, but scratched Jump’s good ear, or fed the birds, or slapped Kel on the back. They patted Hoshi, though not Peachblossom. To Kel’s surprise, even Flyndan wished her luck. Her Yamani training kept her from crying as they rode through the gate, but it was a closely fought battle. If she leaked a tear or two, Raoul pretended not to notice.
Kel enjoyed the ride south. She and Raoul set their own pace, not having to rush to a crisis or dawdle in a dusty train of nobles. They had chosen a perfect time to go: the realm was dressed in fall gold and the air was heady.
One day in mid-October they halted on top of a bluff. Corus sprawled on both sides of the Olorun below. Opposite, on the southern heights, was the palace.
Kel sighed. Raoul looked at her. In reply to his silent question she said, “I was wishing we didn’t have to stop.”
He nodded. “I thought the same. But you know, Buri might object.”
Kel shivered. “As much as I like you, my lord, I’d sooner deal with the objections of a cobra. It’s safer.”
Chuckling, Raoul led the way back to the road. It was time to go home.
To Raoul’s disappointment, Buri was in the south with her Seventeenth Rider Group. Kel expected the K’mir’s absence would mean uneven numbers in the morning glaive practices, but instead she found no lack of partners. Several young noblewomen had joined the group. Being part of the circle around Shinkokami, Kel was also called in on plans for that spring’s royal wedding: after allowing the realm to recover from the Grand Progress, Roald and Shinkokami would marry at last. Kel thought asking her for wedding ideas was like asking a cat how to raise horses, but she did her best.
She did not visit the Chapel of the Ordeal. She would spend the night there soon enough.
Raoul continued her lessons as winter set in. Using their tactical experience of the Scanran raids in their district, he helped her put them together with the reports from all the other districts on the northern border. From that knowledge they worked out the Scanran warlord’s overall strategy for the summer—Raoul called it the eagle’s-eye view, instead of the vole’s. Kel liked this as much as she did chess.
The King’s Own was recruiting: Captain Linden of Second Company had assembled candidates for Raoul’s approval. If they were accepted, they would begin training with Second Company among the Bazhir. Kel sat in on Raoul’s interviews, taking notes and giving her impressions of each candidate at his request. He called it part of her continuing education in command. She still thought he was optimistic.
Neal and Merric returned in early November, the Ordeal clearly on their minds, though they talked of everything but that during meals and time off. Kel worried about them: Neal and Merric were the most imaginative of all those in her year. She understood their nerves, of course. No one could forget Vinson or Joren, and her own experiences of the iron door gave her dreams that woke her gasping in the night.
Buri and the Seventeenth returned. So did other knights and squires, most from the north. Cleon did not come, but wrote instead. General Vanget had ordered him to drill local boys in the defense of themselves and their villages. The best time for such lessons was in the winter, when the crops were in. Kel wrote back that she knew orders were orders, though she had to throw out three efforts before she had a letter she could send. The others had splotches on them.
Six knight-masters prepared their part of the Ordeal ritual. The timetable was that followed by knights and squires for centuries: a bath, instruction in the code of chivalry by two knights, a night-long vigil in the chapel until the first ray of sun touched the wall, then entry into the Chamber. One instructor would be the squire’s knight-master, who also found the second knight for the ritual. The other could be a family member, but it was more proper if he were someone less closely connected. Lady Alanna had bespoken the king for Neal’s instruction that summer. The lady, Neal told Kel in his wry drawl, left very little to chance.
Kel was afraid to ask Raoul if he’d approached anyone for her. She didn’t want to hear that he’d been refused. What if she were the first in memory to be instructed by one knight? It was bad enough that her own ritual differed slightly from the others’. As Lady Alanna had done, with knights who knew she was female, Kel would bathe alone, and be instructed in the code after she dressed.
She knew she was silly to worry about bad luck following any changes in the steps of the rite. Clean was clean, no matter who did or did not see her wash. Many knights owed Raoul favors and would help him, if not The Girl. When she caught herself worrying about things she couldn’t fix, she found work to keep her busy. Raoul would say if there were a problem.
One December morning he returned from a meeting to find Kel in his study, sorting his notes about the Own’s applicants. “Well,” he said, digging his hands into his pockets, “we have a second knight. I don’t know what you’ll think. I took him up on the offer. I thought he had a point.”
Kel stared at him. “He who?”
Raoul grimaced, a sheepish look in his eyes. “Turomot of Wellam.”
She knew that name, though she hadn’t thought of its owner as a candidate. Turomot of Wellam, when did she . . . “The magistrate?” she cried, her voice squeaking.
Raoul nodded.
“The Lord Magistrate?” she persisted.
Raoul nodded again.
“The conservative?”
Raoul nodded a third time. “Kel, it was his idea.”
“He hates me,” Kel said, her knees wobbling. “And he isn’t a knight. Is he?”
“Actually, yes,” Raoul told her. “He hasn’t lifted a sword in fifty years, of course. And he doesn’t hate you. At least, I don’t think he does. What he hates, what he told me, is that people meddled with his procedures to validate pages. He’s going to make sure no one tries that with you again. Look, if he’s there, no one will dare say anyone gave you any help.”
“The vigil?” Kel looked at Raoul with pleading eyes.
“He’s, um, going to sit up with you. That’s been done before, so you don’t have to worry about a jinx.”
Kel’s head ached. “He’s too old to be up all night. That place isn’t even heated.”
“Gods above, don’t tell him that! He already told me he wasn’t in his grave yet and he’d thank me to stop hinting he was decrepit!”
The day before the holiday, the knight-masters of the squires to take the Ordeal met for their own ceremony with the new training master and the king and queen. They drank a toast to the new year, wrote the squires’ names on bits of paper, and shook them up in a plain clay bowl. The order in which the queen drew names was the order in which the squires faced the Chamber. When Kel heard the results, she thought that the Yamani trickster god Sakuyo had danced in that bowl.
Neal was first. She was last.
As candidates for the Ordeal, they were excused from Midwinter service. Kel wondered if someone had miscalculated—it couldn’t help them to have more time to imagine the worst—but that was the way it was done. She also knew Neal. If he wasn’t distracted, he would make himself sick with worry.
She enlisted Yuki to help her. Neal and Yuki always had something to talk, or argue, about. That Midwinter day the three of them went to the city for an early supper and a visit to the winter fair. They played games, watched jugglers and fire-eaters, and listened to a storyteller relate the birth of Mithros. By the time they climbed the hill to the palace, they had to rush; the sun had set.
The girls left Neal in the squires’ wing and walked on through the palace in silence. Kel was about to bid her friend a good evening when she realized that Yuki’s silence might not be due to weariness. The Yamani’s mouth was drawn tight and her eyes were haunted.
“You’re afraid for him,” Kel remarked as they crossed the main hall.
Yuki automatically reached for her fan, popped it open, and hid her face behind it. It was the Yamani way to say the fan holder was embarrassed.
“I’m not a Yamani anymore. I’m allowed to be rude. Foreigners don’t know any better,” Kel pointed out. She pushed the trembling fan aside. “Yukimi noh Daiomoru, it is going to be a long night. You’re worried for him. So am I. We’d best sit it out together, don’t you think?”
Yuki furled her fan and traced the pattern on one slender steel rib. “I was there, when they carried the beautiful Joren out. Not—as a sightseer. But there were shadows in him, for all his beauty. I wanted to see if this Ordeal purged them.” She tucked her fan in her obi. “He looked as if he’d lost all hope of sunrise. Neal . . . If something happens . . .”
“I wondered,” Kel admitted. “But you flirt with so many men that I wasn’t sure.”
“Neither was I,” Yuki said with a shaky smile. “Not until today.”
“Time for glaive practice,” Kel said, glad to have someone to look after. “Then a bath, a massage, some archery in one of the indoor courts. If you don’t sleep after all that, I will admit defeat.”
Yuki did sleep, in one of her armchairs. Kel stayed awake through the long night, deep in meditation. She woke Yuki before dawn and helped her change into fresh clothes. The sun was half over the horizon by the time they reached the Chapel of the Ordeal.
They weren’t alone. The chapel was crowded. Even though last year’s squires had taken their Ordeals without problems, everyone remembered Joren and Vinson.
It felt like forever before the iron door to the Chamber creaked open. Yuki grabbed Kel’s arm.
Neal stumbled out. His hair and the undyed cotton garments he wore were dark with sweat. His face was gray, his green eyes hectic and red-rimmed, as if he’d wept.
Lady Alanna wrapped a blanket around him and led her former squire toward the door. They were passing Kel and Yuki when Neal halted and turned toward them. There was a question in his eyes for Yuki. The Yamani girl looked down, then drew her folded shukusen from her obi and offered it to him, dull end first. Neal took the fan with trembling fingers, then let Alanna guide him out of the chapel.
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