Kel sank to one knee, still hanging on to her glaive. Awkwardly she put her wounded arm around the girl’s velvet-clad shoulders. “There would be something wrong with you if you did,” she said quietly, thinking of the men she had killed. “Try to think of the young folk who will live because he and his master are dead. And come on. It’s time to go home.”
In the end it took Loesia and Dom to get Kel on her feet again. Her people gathered around her with that look on their faces, the one that said they trusted her to see them through the next bit of madness. Kel took a deep breath and plunged in. “We need to get out of here sooner rather than later,” she told them. “I want the torch put to the keep - make sure the level where Blayce kept his workroom burns in particular. Take nothing out of there. I mean nothing.” Her worst nightmare was the chance that someone might find Blayce’s workbooks and commit his crimes all over again. She watched as a handful of men and women ran to take care of the keep, then continued, “The keep burning will be a torch for the countryside. The quicker we go, the safer we’ll be.”
Tobe brought Peachblossom to her. Dom and Zerhalm helped her to mount up. She was steadier in the saddle, more clear-headed. She took part in the prayers for the Tortallan dead from Peachblossom’s back, and watched as Owen lit their funeral pyre. The young squire’s chubby face was set, his mouth a grim line.
Slowly, one by one, her people mounted up. Some formed strings of free horses and placed them on a lead-rein. They would carry the rest of their company, the children, back to Tortall.
By now the upper floors of the keep were burning well. Smoke poured from every window. The heat of the keep and the funeral pyre slowly drove Kel and her people back towards the gate.
“Lady Kel?” asked Saefas. He was still on foot. “The Scanrans? Douse ‘em with oil and light ‘em up?”
Kel looked at the bodies of the soldiers, who had carried children into Blayce’s grasp, at Stenmun, who had commanded them and who had killed so well and efficiently for pay, and at Blayce, the most commonplace monster she might ever meet. Was it a curse on the world, Kel wondered, that Blayce managed to find empty men like Stenmun to carry out his wishes? But if that were so, what manner of curse harmed so many unrelated people, Scanran and Tortallan?
No, she decided, the gods always had good, clear, plain reasons for curses and blessings alike. The bloody triangle made by Blayce, Stenmun and Maggur was sheer, clumsy, human bad luck.
She lifted her eyes to the walls. The Stormwings were restless, watching the fire consume the Tortallan dead. They sidled to and fro, one eye on Kel’s people and their bows. Only the female who had insisted on talking to Kel all along remained still, her dark eyes fixed on Kel’s face.
“Someone ought to get some good for this. Leave them for the Stormwings,” Kel told Saefas, and rode out of the gate.
18 June, 460 HE The Tortallan border
It took them five days to return to the Vassa River. The children, those villagers who refused to stay in a place that had so many painful memories of their dead, the freed castle servants, and the seer-child, Irnai, couldn’t ride for as long as warriors. Kel’s band took as much care to hide their presence leaving as they had on their way north, the sparrows and the dogs alerting them to any human presence. They lit no fires as they worked their way down the Pakkai and along the Smiskir road. When they set watches, the servants and villagers from Blayce’s domain stood guard alongside the soldiers.
At last they reached the Vassa. Neal disappeared briefly with Dom and Owen to find the Scanran relatives of their smugglers. These men and women looked every bit as hard and wary as their Tortallan counterparts. Kel would have grinned at the obvious shock on their faces when they saw how many children were in their company, but her painful left shoulder left her with almost no sense of humour. She knew she would be better once a healer was able to finish the healing Neal had started, though she didn’t look forward to being made healthy only to face execution.
Once they were in sight of Tortall she had considered deserting her people, but knew that she couldn’t. She owed it to the children to get them to a place of safety, for one. For another, flight meant that she took no responsibility for what she had done. That was unacceptable. She had done what was necessary. She would take the consequences.
Owen and Neal, who had as much to lose as she did, made no mention of flight. Kel thought that was simply the result of what they had gone through: Owen was still too griefstricken over the loss of Happy, Neal too exhausted from keeping a number of wounded people alive to reach Tortall. Kel wondered if she should ask them if they meant to run, but decided not to in the end. They were grown men; they knew the risks as well as she did.
The smugglers took for ever to get them across: they had not anticipated being used as unpaid ferrymen for crowds of escapees and their escorts, they told Kel. She realized they did not just mean her and her group. When she asked, they told her that Merric and his people had crossed three days before. They were quarrelling with each other non-stop, according to the smugglers, but all were alive and well. Kel was freed of that worry, at least.
She, Jump and Peachblossom were on the last boat with Neal, Dom, Owen, Tobe and their mounts. If the crossing was as bumpy as it had been on her way north, Kel didn’t notice. She was asleep by the rail before they cast off.
As the boat ground against the river’s Tortallan shore, Neal shook her awake. Kel groaned, stood, and led Peachblossom on to solid ground. Only then did she see that a welcoming committee awaited them: Lord Wyldon, Lord Raoul and Duke Baird. Behind them stood Merric, Seaver and Esmond.
Kel knelt and bowed her head in submission to Lord Wyldon, waiting for his judgement. Neal and Owen knelt on either side of her. Jump and the sparrows put themselves in front of Kel. She felt Peachblossom’s warm breath on the back of her neck.
“Sergeant Domitan, tell me these children aren’t the result of your squad’s Scanran frolics,” Kel heard Raoul say cheerfully. “Though I do admit, some of them look a little old to be yours.”
“Well, sir, my men helped,” Dom said, the picture of boyish mischief.
Kel almost smiled. At least Dom would get away from this with a whole skin, it seemed. She’d wondered if his tale of Lord Raoul’s sending his squad to help had been just that, a tale. It was a relief to know it was the truth, and Dom had been acting under proper orders.
“You missed a tidy fight,” Raoul said. “Smashed one of King Maggot’s little armies all to bits. Come along and I’ll tell you about it.” Dom and his remaining men followed him up the path.
Kel looked sideways when she picked up movement on the edges of her vision. Duke Baird was gathering up the children who had already landed. He was telling them, “We’ll just have a look, to see how well you are. I know some mothers and fathers who are eager to see you all.” To the civilian adults, Scanran and Tortallan, he said, “And you look as if you could use proper meals and beds. Come along.”
Kel lowered her head once more. Only she, Neal and Owen remained with Lord Wyldon and the friends who had brought the adult refugees home.
Owen was the first to break the silence. He looked up at Lord Wyldon, tears running down his face. “My lord, I’m sorry, but I got Happy killed. I didn’t mean to - he fought as hard as any knight - but he got killed anyway, and I never wanted that.”
“Is that all you have to say to me, that your horse is dead?” Kel heard that familiar, cool, measured voice say over her head.
“No, my lord.” Owen bowed his head. “I disobeyed you. I betrayed you. And I’d do it again, under the circumstances, not meaning any disrespect, sir. But I miss Happy.”
“And you, Sir Nealan, have you any comments?” Lord Wyldon enquired, his voice quite mild.
“No, my lord,” Neal replied.
“I believe, Owen, that you are familiar with my dislike of needless dramatics,” Lord Wyldon said. “I am not about to declare you a traitor because the mount I gave you was killed in battle. He did what he was trained to do. I am sad for the loss of the horse - he was one of the best I’ve raised - but I would be sorrier still for the loss of a squire in whom I can take pride.”
“Sir?” chorused Neal, Owen and Kel, all staring at their former training master.
Wyldon stood iron-straight, arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes observant as he looked at them. “One of the hardest lessons for any commander is this: it is a very bad idea to issue an order one knows will not be obeyed. Lady knight, had my mind not been on other things, I would have known better than to forbid you to rescue your people. I had placed them under your care, knowing you would protect them with every skill at your disposal. I cannot now say I didn’t want you to take your responsibility too seriously. The same applies to Sir Nealan and to Sir Merric, who were also charged with their well-being. If I do not punish you, then I cannot in fairness punish those who aided you.”
Kel glanced past Lord Wyldon to Merric, Seaver and Esmond. All three looked sheepish.
“But my lord,” she began to protest.
A hard arm wrapped around her head; a callused palm sealed her mouth. “Not a word,” Neal whispered in her ear. “For once in your life, will you take a gift without arguing that you aren’t worthy of it?” He looked up at Wyldon. “She took a blow to the head, I think,” he said, falsely earnest. “It leads her to say odd things. She needs a stay in the infirmary, just until she comes to her senses.”
Wyldon sighed and resettled his sword belt. “It appals me to say this, but for the first time I find myself in agreement with Sir Nealan.” He warned Neal, “Do not let it go to your head.”
Kel, Neal’s hand still firmly over her mouth, blinked up at Wyldon. She was free? She wasn’t to die a traitor, or be forced to leave Tortall?
Wyldon looked at Owen, then at Neal. “I would like a moment alone with the lady knight,” he said more formally. “Go with your friends.”
Slowly Neal withdrew his hand as Owen looked suspiciously at his knight-master. “You’re not going to yell at her, are you, sir?” he asked. “Because you can’t.”
Wyldon looked at the younger man, brows raised. “I beg your pardon?” he enquired. Kel expected frost to issue from his mouth with the words.
The Owen of a month ago might have ducked his head and fled. This Owen remained where he was, meeting Wyldon’s stare with resolve. “She doesn’t deserve to be yelled at, not after losing so many people and killing Blayce and being wounded and keeping us alive.”
Wyldon sighed, and fingered the raised scar on his temple. “I do not intend to yell at her. Now will you go away?”
Before they went, Neal and Owen dragged Kel to her feet. As they obeyed, Kel tried to knock away the pieces of grass and damp earth on her knees. Once she knew they were out of earshot, she straightened and met Lord Wyldon’s eyes. “You have every right to yell at me, my lord,” she said. “Go ahead. I deserve worse.”
Wyldon took a step closer to her, cupped her head in both hands, and kissed her gently on the forehead. “You are a true knight, Keladry of Mindelan,” he told her. “I am honoured to know you.” He steered her down the path her friends had taken. “Interesting news came from the battle fronts this morning,” he said. “Apparently the killing devices at Frasrlund and the City of the Gods collapsed in the field and move no longer. King Maggur’s troops are plainly frightened, though he is still in control. The spymasters plan to set it about that a powerful new mage has entered the war on our side, one who did away with the devices.”
Kel smiled crookedly.
“Not that we’re done fighting,” Wyldon continued. “Frightened Scanrans are dangerous, and Maggur is still king. Have you thought about your duties now, where you will be assigned?”
His question took Kel by surprise. She searched for a coherent answer until at last she said, “My lord, up until we landed I assumed my next assignment would be on Traitor’s Hill, and not as a guard.”
Wyldon nodded. “Very proper. As your punishment, then, I assign you to find ground for a new refugee camp, build it, and run it. Continue to instruct the people in how to defend it. I give you the entire valley of the Greenwoods River as your subdistrict of my command. You will hold it and make it safe against Scanrans and anyone else who thinks those people will be easy pickings.”
10 September, 460 HE
EPILOGUE
Kel swung herself into Hoshi’s saddle, taking one last look around her. After two months or so the fortified town of New Hope still looked raw, but it was starting to resemble an actual town rather than a logging camp thrown together in a week. The sight of cart after cart bringing their hard-earned harvest to the storage barns filled her with profound satisfaction. Not for the first time she blessed Lord Raoul for waiting until the crops were in before he set his wedding date. She wouldn’t have been able to enjoy herself at Steadfast if her people had still been in the fields. With the crops taken care of, she could feast with a carefree heart.
“Stop fussing,” Fanche commented. She stood near Kel, hands propped on her hips, her dark eyes amused as she looked up at the younger woman. “You’ll be away for a week - if we can’t manage for that long, what good are we?”
Kel grinned at New Hope’s headwoman. “Actually, I was trying to remember if there was anything I hadn’t done. Shutters left open - “
“Shutters closed,” said Tobe, mounting a small, spritely piebald mare who had taken a liking to him in Scanra. The greatest change the events of June had made in him was that he no longer trusted Kel out of his sight unless they were inside New Hope’s walls. Kel understood, and hoped he would relax as the winter’s snows made it possible for none of them to go very far. “Shutters closed, bed made up, leave-behind weapons and armour cleaned,” Tobe continued to rattle off. “Don’t have to worry about feedin’ your animals because they’re coming along with us. Duty rosters for the week in Master Terrec’s hands.” Terrec was the clerk who had taken Zamiel’s position.
“She’s fussing, isn’t she?” Merric strolled out of headquarters, his hands tucked comfortably in his breeches pockets. “You women are forever fussing.”