“Of course, my Faro.” Strange, but he felt comforted.
• • •
Ker had pulled all the linens off the three beds in the inner chambers and spread them out to air. She had the windows open, though the breeze was cold; the rooms needed to lose their shut-in smell. She looked around the sitting room, hands on hips.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to say I’d clean the place myself,” she muttered. Not that the work was beneath her—Candidates at Questin were expected to keep their rooms clean—it was just that she couldn’t find so much as a broom in the place. The knock at the door came as she was wondering which of the pillowcases was the oldest and therefore the best to use as a dusting cloth. She opened the door to find a girl about her own age staggering under a pile of bed, table, and bath linens, with a broom and dustpan tucked under one arm.
“Oooo, thanks, much appreciated. Wondered how I was going to manage the door, truth be told.” The girl staggered in and made it by what must have been instinct to the table, where she almost overbalanced before dumping her load on the surface.
“Whew, that’s better. Almost tripped on the outside step. Why are the storage rooms always so far from where things are needed? Can you answer me that?”
The girl who appeared from under all the supplies proved to be the minimum height for a soldier, with bright red hair, the whitest skin Ker had ever seen, and the bluest eyes. When she saw Ker staring at her, she sobered.
“Oh, sorry. I’ve never actually served a Talent before. I don’t know the protocol. Am I allowed to speak to you?” But there was still a smile creeping around the corners of her eyes, and Ker found herself smiling back.
“Kind of difficult to get anything done if nobody spoke to us.”
“Well, that’s what I thought, truth be told. Here.” The girl turned back to the pile of material on the table. “Fresh linens for the beds, though, between you and me, the ones you’ve got here are perfectly clean.” Her hands deftly sorted out sheets and pillowcases, towels and washcloths, as she spoke. “Where are the others? Out spying around?” She glanced over her shoulder on the way to the bedchambers. “Oh, I guess I shouldn’t have said that.” This time she really did look serious.
“No, it’s just me.”
This stopped the girl in her tracks, and she turned back to face Ker. “Just you?” She looked Ker up and down, her eyes narrowing. “Then I guess I’d better find you better clothes, and if you don’t mind my saying so, first thing I’m going to organize is a bath.”
Ker wasn’t sure exactly how it was done, but the girl—“I’m Wynn Martan, Second Barrack, Blue Company, Pearl Cohort, Eagle Wing”—soon had two others bringing in hot water for the tub hiding behind what Ker had thought was a tapestry, the beds made, the place dusted, and the white shirt and red trousers and tunic of the Halls of Law laid out on one of the beds.
“That’s a Full Talent’s uniform,” Ker pointed out. The bath had been incredible, the best one she’d had since childhood, but now all she had wrapped around her was a toweling robe several sizes too large.
“If you’re the only Talent we’ve got, that makes you full enough for me. Besides, this is what the Badger sent, so this is what you’ve got.”
“The Badger?”
“You know.” Wynn gestured at her forehead. “Tall? Good-looking? Silver streak of hair? He’s that Gulder, by the way. You know, his grandad was condemned for stealing with the old Faro of Wolves back in the dawn of time.”
Ker sat down on the edge of the bed, considering. “He’s not that tall, actually. And I think it’s called embezzlement.”
Wynn laughed. “I notice you don’t say he’s not good-looking?”
Pulling the robe more securely around her, Ker hoped she wasn’t blushing. “I notice you’re a lot more careful with your speech when there’s other people around.”
Wynn straightened the perfectly straight quilted cover on the bed farthest from the window. “Sure, well, protocol and discipline, right? Don’t want to be put on report for being cheeky with the Talents, truth be told.”
Ker laughed. “Figured out there’s not much likelihood of that with me, have you?”
The girl bounced upright. “So do you want help dressing? Want me to do your hair?”
“What are you, a ladies’ maid?”
“Not now, no. But I could have been.”
Ker thought of meeting Tel Cursar in the kitchens, and what she’d said to him about being a kitchen serf. “And now?”
“Now I’m an archer.” Wynn pulled up her left sleeve to show her leather bow guard. Archers got so they slept in them, Ker knew. “But when it isn’t battle stations, I don’t know much else—I can’t train people, animals don’t really like me, I’m not an armorer and I’ve no head for numbers and letters—so I’m a Boots.” The girl sat down, tucking her right foot under her. “While I’m in camp, anyway.”
Ker nodded. Soldiers often had specific camp duties which had nothing to do with their military usefulness.
“The Halians have been here—did the Faro tell you?” Wynn’s voice had gone still and quiet, and her eyes were fixed on the toe of her left boot.
“You must have been surprised to see them.”
“Surprised?” Wynn looked up from under her brows before letting her gaze fall back to the contemplation of her boot. “Surprised doesn’t half cover it, truth be told. This isn’t a fortress, for all the walls and gates.” She looked up again. “There hasn’t been an enemy at the gate since long before any of us were born.”
“It’s been much longer than that since any fighting was done in this province.”
Wynn’s grin faltered, and she let both feet slip to the floor. “We get the distress signal from the Peninsula, and we pass it on, and four Cohorts of Bears arrive. Faro Sweetwater keeps Ruby, and sends off Carnelian, Onyx, and Coral. Most of us Eagles go, too. Just the bare minimum of us stay to hold the fort against an attack no one ever thought would come. We almost let the invaders in. They were dressed like us.” Wynn shook her head. “They were us.”
Ker thought of the men on the road, dressed as Eagles and Bears, and nodded. “What happened?” she asked. “Why weren’t they let in?”
“Would you believe they didn’t know the password?”
Ker understood immediately what Wynn meant. Even though the Camp had never been under attack in living memory, the walls and gates were there, and the standing orders of a military fort would have been also. Passwords and signals would have to be exchanged, even here.
“And when they weren’t let in?”
“They told us the Luqs was dead and that we should surrender, and when we didn’t, they attacked.” Wynn got to her feet and went to the window, where she straightened the rug on the window seat. Everything she said next she said with her back to Ker. “There were enough of us to hold the main positions, and we’ve lost very few. And the signal goes, smoke by day and fire by night. But you have to understand, the people attacking—some of them were our own people. Some of them had been stationed here.”
So that was why the Faro hadn’t asked more questions about the men she and Tel had left on the road. She already knew.
“But you held out,” was what Ker said aloud.
Now Wynn turned back to face her, lowering herself to the seat. A shadow of the smiling girl who’d come into the room a few hours before settled on her face. “We held out,” she said, the satisfaction plain in her voice. “We archers did our jobs, I can tell you.” She nodded—short, sharp nods—and the sparkle came back fully into her eyes.
“Tell me about Faro Sweetwater.”
Wynn shrugged. “Smart but cold. Tough, like all of them, but there’s a distance you can feel, truth be told.”
“Jakmor Gulder seems happy enough to be near her.”
“Oooo, Jakmor is it?” The transformation b
ack to the cheeky Boots was complete. The archer of the Pearl Cohort only existed in the uniform, and the crest on her left shoulder. “I didn’t realize you and the Kalter were on such terms already! Fast mover. I like that in a person.” Wynn sobered, but not much. “She values talent, does Faro Juria Sweetwater. When she finds it, she puts it to work, sometimes near her, if that’s what she needs. Those that are near, well, it’s like a family, they say, and then again it’s not.”
“How not?”
“They don’t bicker.” Wynn laughed. “Who knows of a family where there’s no bickering? Her second, the Laxtor Surm Barlot, has been with her for ages, and they’re like the mum and dad, and it’s him you want to go to if it’s cookies and hugs you need.”
“Better to go to the cook,” Ker said, with a grin of her own.
“Speaking of which, if there’s nothing else just now, Talent Nast, I have duties elsewhere.” She gave a mock salute and headed for the door.
“Wynn?” Ker waited until the girl turned back around. “Why did you stop being a ladies’ maid?”
The girl’s grin froze for an eye blink. “Truth be told, my auntie, who was to train me, changed her mind, and like I said, there’s not that much I’m good at.” She mimed pulling a bow, and winked. “What’s a girl to do?”
• • •
Jak Gulder stepped out of the Faro’s offices into the cold evening air, finally released from duty. He stretched his arms over his head and twisted from side to side. He’d stayed close the whole day, and he didn’t know any more about what was going on than before the Talent and her soldier boy arrived. Though, now that he thought of it, the young woman herself might be a source of information if she was over her shock and ready for some sympathetic company.
He set off across the street but slowed as he approached the Talents’ quarters. It looked as if someone else had the same thought. From the man’s height, it had to be Tel Cursar. Well, what more natural? Though they hadn’t seemed all that easy with each other when he’d last seen them, they had been traveling together for days. Just as Jak was about to call out, three soldiers came around the far corner of the Talents’ quarters, barely slowing down when they saw Cursar at the door. Jak moved forward, hugging the wall as he got close enough to listen.
“You’re the third officer from the Carnelian Cohort, aren’t you? Just returned?” That was Second Officer Akimri of Yellow Company, a burly, fair-haired man quite a bit older than the Cursar boy. He was smiling at Tel as though they’d been friends their whole lives. “What news can you give us?”
The Cursar boy straightened. It was easy for him to look down on the other man. “None.”
“Come now, you can tell us.” This came from one of the other men, one Jak didn’t recognize.
“Not according to my orders,” Cursar said.
The Yellow Company officer held up his hand, silencing the other two. “I don’t know how things are done in your Company, boy, but in ours, junior officers answer the questions of senior officers.” His voice had been hard before, now it was cold.
Looked as if it was time to step in.
“You people have business with the Talent, have you?”
It was almost funny to see how they all froze in place, even Cursar, who certainly wasn’t guilty of anything.
“No, Kalter. That is . . . no, sir.” This was one of the soldiers he didn’t know. In the field they might not be so ready to obey him, but here in camp a Kalter ranked more or less as a Cohort Leader.
“Then I suggest you be about your duties. This man has duties of his own.” He waited until the others had turned away before adding, “Oh, and Second Officer Akimri?”
“Yes, sir?”
“No matter what Company you’re in or Cohort, for that matter, Faro’s orders take precedence.”
“Yes, sir.” All three men touched the crests on their left shoulders and were gone.
Jak turned to Tel, inwardly sighing. He could hardly grill the man himself, now that he’d stopped others from doing so. And the other men’s actions put another, more unpleasant look to his coming to visit the Talent. “Well, Cursar, have you eaten yet?”
“No, Kalter.”
“Come with me. If there’s one thing the Wings have taught me, it’s that everything looks better on a full stomach.”
KER had managed to pass the whole of yesterday and most of this morning without actually putting on any of the Talent’s clothing. But the Faro was likely to want her, and Ker knew she couldn’t show up in a dressing robe, no matter how splendid.
The Full Talent’s white shirt, red tunic, and trousers were still laid out where Wynn had left them. Ker examined the white shirt closely without touching it. It was made of the best lawn, something her own mother would have chosen to wear, though her mother would have embroidered any such shirt on the cuffs and fronts in white thread with the panthers of the family crest. The trousers and half-sleeved tunic were made from a fine weave of linen and wool, but Ker hoped there was an equally fine cloak somewhere, since these wouldn’t be all that warm for the current weather. Luckily, there were also leggings set out. Her own were too worn to even think about.
Ker was reaching out to feel the thickness of the tunic’s fabric when she stopped, her fingers hovering over the cloth. She could be a coward about it. She could put on shirt, tunic, and trousers without Flashing them. She wiped her palms off on the skirt of the robe. Paraste.
Ker picked up each piece separately, skipping quickly past the maker of the cloth, and the tailor of the clothing, both women from New Atenas Province. It was far more important that the clothing had all been worn by the same Talent, a woman much older than Ker, who had traveled with the Bear Wing almost all her professional life. A woman named . . . Celian. With another Talent she had a daughter, who had been sent to live with her father’s people. Celian hadn’t forgotten her, although it was forbidden. She’d died still wearing a pendant that they used to send back and forth between them. If her daughter wore it for even a week, and sent it back, Celian could Flash from it anything she needed to know.
“Good for you,” Ker said, stroking the shirt. Celian had found a way to get around the rules imposed by the Halls of Law. Maybe all those years living with soldiers had given her a different view of the world. These articles of clothing had been in the laundry when Celian had been sent back to the Halls, and she hadn’t bothered to take them with her, she’d been that sure she’d be coming back.
There had been five Talents posted with the Bear Wing. All of them had made it to Temlin Hall, but like everyone else there, Celian and her friends hadn’t made it out again.
Terestre. There really wasn’t anything more to know.
Ker massaged her temples, muttering a prayer to the Mother to hold these Talents in particular in her arms. She pulled the shirt on over her head and hugged herself, more to keep from taking it off again than because of the sudden chill that made the hairs on her back and arms stand up. She would wear Celian’s shirt. She would remember the dead Talent with respect. She brushed the garment straight. It was a little long, but it wouldn’t matter when it was tucked in. Ker sat down on the edge of the bed to pull the leggings on. She was turning up the cuffs on the trousers when a knock came at the door.
Tel. Ker had avoided thinking about him. Now she swallowed, brushing her hair back off her face with both hands.
“I’ll be right there.” She tugged on her boots and grabbed up the tunic.
He’d be coming to apologize, or at least give some better explanation for his actions. Maybe he’d done what he’d had to do, but that didn’t change the way she felt, and her anger still smoldered. However, the hours alone had persuaded her that she’d listen to an apology if it was thorough enough. That much had changed for her. Maybe it was because, wearing Celian’s clothes, she felt she knew something about how that woman would have handled the situation. Still, K
er yanked the tunic on over her head, thrusting her arms through the half-sleeves and pulling it straight. No need to forgive him too quickly. She fixed what she hoped was a cold smile on her face as she went to the door and pulled it open. Her smile faded.
“Well. So glad you’re happy to see me.” Jakmor Gulder stepped past her into the room and let her shut the door behind him.
“I’m sorry, Kalter. I was expecting Tel Cursar.”
“You were?” Jakmor tilted his head to one side, and Ker wished she could be sure she wasn’t blushing. “Ah, of course, I’d forgotten that you’re still a Candidate. And you’ve forgotten that I’m Jak.” He grinned. “Under normal circumstances, lower ranks don’t associate with Talents.”
Ker thought about Wynn and wished the girl was here with her. She would probably find Jak Gulder’s teasing more enjoyable than Ker did. And there was something about what Jak had said that struck her as wrong.
“I would have thought that Talents chose their own associates.”
“Ah. True.” Jak leaned against the edge of the larger table, studying her with narrowed eyes. “What I meant was, if Talents want to talk with someone from the lower ranks, they go through their Company Commander or Cohort Leaders. Tel Cursar has neither, at the moment.”
In other words, the Faro thinks she’ll see if she can control who I speak to and when. Ker drummed her fingers against her thigh. The problem was, she didn’t see what she could do about it. And there’s no point in arguing with Jakmor Gulder. Juria Sweetwater seemed to be using Jak as the link between herself, Ker, and Tel Cursar. Was that because of some innate ability? Ker wondered. Did the Faro assume that because Ker was young, she could be swayed by a handsome face and a lock of attractively placed white hair? Ker’s lips pulled back, but her smile felt grim.
“If you would come with me, the Faro Juria Sweetwater requires your counsel.”
Jak’s switch to formal speech told her this was an official summons. She stood. “Please lead the way, Kalter.”
Halls of Law Page 21