That is, until Sir Garvey of Runnerspring decided to be an idiot.
The prince was explaining the concept of the Trials of Knighthood to Kalasin, who thought they sounded fairly torturous. He was stating how there were some deaths every year – usually, he said, they were not from any of the fighting components, the jousting or fencing, but most commonly drowning during the swimming races.
Sir Garvey, just recalled from his home fief and about to head north, snorted, “You must be joking, your Highness! Either that or Imperials must be poor fighters!” he sneered, despite the evidence on the field.
Yevgen raised his eyebrows and looked down his nose (it’s a very nice nose thought Kally, who then, had to take a good hard look at herself) at the shorter knight. “You are?” he asked.
“Sir Garvey of Runnerspring.”
“Well, Sir Garvey of Runnerspring,” the prince seemed more amused at Garvey’s ignorance than insulted at the slight to his home, “have you ever swum a mile and a half, in full armour, against a current? You haven’t? You should try it sometime. It’s very invigorating.” He smiled.
If anyone looked as though they were losing their cool, it was Garvey, who seemed incensed at the prince’s polite, dismissive, slightly condescending tone. By now, a crowd had gathered, and the Imperials on the field had stopped, several of them coming nearer to hear the conversation. Garvey looked as though he had never expected things to get so far, and was now backed into a corner.
“I need no advice from those who bow to women!” it was a fairly lame argument, and Garvey knew it as soon as the words left his mouth.
Yevgen refused to be insulted. “Of course I do. It’s only polite, you know.” His tone indicated that he thought Garvey was simple minded.
Garvey flailed for a suitable retort. “Any country that loses more knights to a little stream than it does in combat has got to be pathetic on the battlefield.”
“It appears you are determined to challenge the honour of my home, are you not, Sir?” Yevgen, still polite, straightened up from the fence for the first time and walked towards Garvey. He stopped within touching distance and frowned. “Could you tell me, please, the etiquette involved in this sort of thing in Tortall? I must confess that it’s not the thing I studied coming here. Is it a strike to the cheek, or is it done in the Imperial manner? No matter, since I’m the one issuing the challenge to a duel.”
No one quite saw the prince’s next movements. What was certain, however, that Garvey ended up on the other side of the fence, narrowly missing Princess Berenice’s destrier, who stepped aside for him, and with a rumpled shirt front. Yevgen was dusting his hands as he moved towards the fence. “As challenged, you have choice of weapons.”
Garvey, who was stupid, but stubborn, muttered something.
“Splendid, my favourite. Carl,” he turned to a nearby Imperial, “could you fetch my longsword please? Your highness,” he bowed to Kalasin, “is there a specific place for this sort of thing? I admit that I cannot accurately recall the plans of this most magnificent Palace.”
He turned back to Garvey, who was picking himself up, having waved off help offered from various Imperials, “First blood. It would be dreadfully rude to my host to make a mess on his floor, not to mention one of his knights, when he seems in such need of them.”
An out-of breath Owen of Jesslaw (he really wondered about the wisdom about accepting Lord Wyldon’s offer sometimes. Yes, hunting bandits every summer was jolly, but it meant that he spent the rest of the year running errands and being shunted off to desk knights) stormed into the Council Chamber.
“Sirs, Ladies, please, come. Garvey of Runnerspring’s managed to insult the prince into issuing a challenge.”
The response was immediate. The room emptied, and Owen had to step aside quickly to avoid being run down. Only Sir Gareth the Younger had the presence of mind to check in mid step, grab his papers, and lock the door before hurrying down to the largest of the indoor fencing courts.
Alanna was having the strangest case of déjà vu as they made their way down the steps. It was over a quarter of a century since her famous bout against Dain of Melor from Tusaine, but the courts were still the same –the walls had been repainted, and floor redone, but it was still the same court.
However, if their previous look at Imperial standards, and her own observations of Garvey of Runnerspring was anything to go by, the result would be very different.
Kally met them at the entrance.
“Garvey was being an idiot. He came up to us and went completely out of his way to insult the Imperials,” she said as she accompanied her parents, and other members of the Council down to the seats. “Yevgen was the one who tried to be reasonable but Garvey left him no choice.”
Thayet raised an eyebrow “Yevgen?”
Kalasin blushed. “His Highness” she corrected.
Garvey was doing his stretching exercises with a dazed look on his face. His friends, those that were still at court, crowded around him. Prince Yevgen waited a little before beginning his. He was certainly a lot more flexible than Garvey, as most of his stretches could have done a contortionist proud. He then began a series of tumbles that would have had an acrobat green with envy, especially considering his six-foot frame.
King Jonathan approached the prince, but Yevgen made it clear that no, he did not hold Tortallan chivalry in general in any sort of doubt, but that this was a personal matter between Sir Garvey and himself. A philosophical difference of opinion. The King then spoke to Garvey in a tone that indicated that he was in serious trouble.
By this time the court was almost overflowing with spectators. While they had seen the quick jousting matches between Imperials and Tortallans, and a few practice bouts with the first delegation, this was the first chance to see a full display of skill.
Carl trotted down the steps to the court with the prince’s sword.
Even from the distance between the two duelists and the spectators, it was apparent that Imperial weaponry, at least, was at least as advanced as that of the Eastern Lands. The prince’s weapon shone with the gleam of the finest quality steel, forged to perfection, and from the way his sister touched the blade then reached for a handkerchief before giving it to him, sharpened to a razor’s edge.
At length, though the clusters around prince and knight sat at the edges, the princess folding long legs under her and sitting in front of the first bench with Kally, Roald and Shinko, who had just arrived. Berenice was still in full armour.
Alanna felt that she was fifteen again, facing a taller, heavier, arrogant, slightly drunk opponent. This time, however, she was the spectator. This time, it was not Jon’s father who made the announcements as the two fighters bowed, but Jon himself. Jon, sounding very, very displeased with his knight.
The prince was taller, but Garvey was heavier, they stood, two sword-lengths apart, waiting. Garvey, as she had expected, lost nerve first, and lunged. He was easily parried.
Alanna continued to watch, looking for the little movements of muscle in shoulder and chest that indicated a fighter’s next move. Garvey’s were clear, plain even to a non-fighter. Her eyes widened as she noticed that the prince fought with no signals whatsoever, not even in his most complicated moves. Alanna had known only a few who fought without signals – and two were dead. She turned to the nearest.
“Your grace,” she said quietly to her old training master, “have you noticed the prince?”
“I have,” Gary’s father, despite his need for a cane, still had the eyes of a hawk, “he’s holding back. He could have wiped the floor with young Runnerspring in the first pass, but he’s stretching it out. Defensive, not offensive. It’s making Runnerspring nervous.”
Garvey was sweating buckets, but the prince looked barely concerned. He could have been discussing the weather.
Evidently, the prince grew bored of toying with the Tortallan, as Garvey’s sword went flying into the far side of the court, and the prince’s sword was presented at his throat. Garvey stepped back and slipped in a patch of sweat, landing with an undignified thud, sword still at his throat.
Someone giggled.
Garvey swallowed as the prince kept holding the sword at his throat. It was not an easy task.
“I apologise for whatever remarks I may have said that caused you offence,” he managed to croak out eventually,”
The prince cocked an eyebrow, but withdrew the blade, saluted, bowed, and walked back to his end of the court.
Most of the Tortallans were focused on Garvey, mainly telling him what an idiot he had been. Only Kalasin happened to be looking at the opposite end of the court.
The prince was lying on the polished wood floor, face contorted in pain. Several of the Imperials were clustered around him. Kally was just about to go and ask what the matter was when the aide – Radanae, that was her name – stood up and said something in a language that Kally didn’t understand, but from the tone was certainly not ‘Have a nice day.’
“Carl, get a healer – and hurry!” she yelled to the young man who had brought the prince’s sword.
The princess, meanwhile, had her hands on a section of her brother’s midsection – in the middle of his ribcage. The Tortallans were turning their attention away from their defeated knight to the more romantic image of the injured victor.
“You’ve definitely aggravated them again. One of them is completely out of whack. How many times have I got to tell you not to do the party tricks when you’re injured?”
Duke Baird, chief of the Tortallan healers, approached. “Your highness, if you will permit, I am a healer of some note…” the princess exchanged glances with her brother, then moved away.
The prince gasped as light fused under the Duke’s hands, then sat up. “Thank you, sir,” he managed, then staggered to his feet.
“Of course, the fact that he’s probably been travelling with barely healed ribs with nothing more than a few painkillers for weeks is worrying enough. Though, I guess, they may be like Shang and Yamani and only use healers in dire situations. What’s more worrying is that he probably injured himself during his warm up rather than the bout itself and fought with a cracked rib digging into the muscle. Aside from that, sir,” he bowed to the king, “in case you’re wondering, he’s a perfectly healthy and…umm…fit…young man.” Duke Baird finished his report to the Council after the fight.
“Great,” Gary tallied a few notes in front of him, “putting everyone’s information together, we have a nation that has an exceeding large number of Yamani-stoic, Shang-standard knights with University degrees and wild magic, not to mention the Gift, and prepared to lend a large number of those self-same knights to help us fight Scanra. Am I the only one who thinks that a few bolts of silk, a nice sable or two, and pepper isn’t really what they want in return?”
****************
Chapter 8 – To the North
Kally paced her room, trying reconcile the pleasant, polite young man she had known for the past few days, with the young man they’d seen in the scrying bowl – indifferent, resigned to his fate, and, in the last, very much in love – with someone else.
Then the news that he was probably, like Daine, able to turn himself into any animal he chose any time he chose. Then today, when she had discovered that he was a magnificent swordsman – as good as Lady Alanna had been in her prime – and equally impervious to physical pain or crude insults.
His calm, even temperament intimidated as much as it reassured her. Yes, he was a good deal more refined, a good deal more polite than many of the other candidates were, but what was he like under the veneer of impeccable manners? The temperaments of the Scanran, the Tusaine, the Gallan nobles, and, of course Emperor Kaddar, were far easier to judge. Even their spying on him had shown that he was usually polite.
A knock at the door heralded the entrance of her mother, and Kally knew that those questions weren’t going to be answered any time soon.
“Right. So they have at least one bloody good healer,” Dama Kjerstina Sebastia, who was the highest-ranking medic in the Imperial forces, finished going over Yevgen in minute detail and let him get up off the couch in his rooms.
Feeling poked, prodded, and thoroughly violated, Yevgen sat up with a scowl and reached for his shirt. “I told you that it was fine. All I felt was the ribs going cold, and then stop hurting.”
“You should have told me that they were cracked,” she lectured, “you know I can’t give full examinations to everyone every day, it would make things a good deal easier if you lot actually told me you were injured. You do not all have to be bloody stoics, you know!”
Kay hid a smile behind her hand. Kjerstina took her responsibilities as chief healer in this force very seriously – at thirty, she was unusually young to take charge, and, like most of the members of the party, stood to gain a great deal from this assignment. With thousands of personnel, it was often difficult to gain the attention of the higher command without a prominent mission such as this – which had the personal attention of the Empress and Crown Heir.
She was also the only one in the entire party with the classical healing Gift – it was as rare as any of the other, older magics now. There were about twenty or thirty in the party who had the same ability with animals, and, could, at a pinch, treat humans, though neither they nor their patients particularly enjoyed the experience.
With healing-magic so rare, it was usually only used in life-threatening situations, most things being treated conventionally, whether with surgery, splints, or herbs. Not even Yevgen had managed to merit a Gifted healer after his two broken legs and broken ribs at his Trials until the healers had done all they could for the more serious injuries – which, in one case, was to give them a fatal dose of sleepflower. Even then, exhausted as they were, the healers were able to do no more than to ‘speed up’ his body’s natural healing processes and drug him half-senseless to stop him screaming in agony so that the public could see that there were still three reasonably healthy Imperial children.
Tortallan healers could take care of minor injuries – bruises, colds – as a touch. There were also a great many more of them than in the Empire, even taking into account the difference in size– minor healers, hedgewitches or midwives – were present in almost every village and hamlet. Even the smallest healing-Gift, these days, in the Empire, was so rare that any such Gifted individual would find themselves besieged with scholarships to study at the Imperial University, or the various vocational schools, and offers from religious orders, private hospices, the military, and even various guilds and wealthy individuals. Not a few of the healers that had started life in abject poverty now had children or grandchildren in the Knights’ Academy, such was the demand, status and rewards for Imperial healers.
The news that Princess Kalasin herself was an extremely powerful, and fully trained healer had only confirmed that the alliance with Tortall was going to be very beneficial. If only Yevgen was a bit more enthusiastic about it, Kay thought. At least, she supposed, he was talking to her of his own free will.
“He seems pleasant enough,” Kally toyed with the glass of grape juice in her hand.
Thayet thought that Kally sounded as though someone was pulling her teeth out, but said nothing.
“The Imperials have proposed to delay the wedding until after the Scanran campaign. The prince and the other Imperials are joining the initial force going north with Roald.”
Crown Prince Roald was technically in command of the initial troops heading north to bolster the northern armies, Own, and Riders fighting in the Grimhold Mountains. However, as it was his first command, it was an open secret that the real orders would come from the existing generals and commanders, or Lady Alanna, who would head north as her godson’s adviser.
Should it become necessary (and they all hoped that it would not), the King himself would lead additional forces north, with the Queen and Crown Princess remaining behind to govern the realm.
As Kalasin would remain behind, only she wouldn’t have anything even half so remotely interesting to do.
Kally didn’t bother to hide her relief at the requested delay. Another day before her fate was sealed was one more day of freedom. Well, comparatively, at least.
Daine had been trying to get information from the Imperial animals for several days. They, at least knew her for what she was, and were polite to her, but did not give her any useful information on their human companions. The Imperials had their destriers, of course – huge, war-trained animals as close-mouthed and serious as any human warriors, and equally massive mastiffs, equally disciplined. The smaller hounds or terriers, trained to track the enemy, were more talkative, but more inclined to ask questions then answer them. The Imperials also had several large birds of prey, but they, too, while as polite as raptors ever were, did not give her any useful information. As Daine was far from the first wildmage they had seen, they did not treat her as most other People did. At least, though, Daine thought after her umpteenth civil nothing-conversation, Imperials did treat their animals well. All the knights, from the prince and princess down, cared for their animals as they would another human. There were more animal healers in the party than human medics.
She was discussing just that fact with a small party – that included Sir Myles, Princess Kalasin (who was around an awful lot these days), Sir Gareth the Younger, and several others on a small balcony near the stables when they overheard a far more informative conversation.
It was Prince Yevgen, who walked beside the large bay destrier Kally now knew was called Everglade, and apparently having a conversation with thin air. Well, that was what it seemed to all but Daine, who could hear both sides of the conversation between knight and horse, and Daine was more concerned with listening to the conversation than relaying it to the others..
“It’ll be like the Great Barrier – so we’ll have to get the ice-shoes out.”
Some snorting from the horse.
“I know they’re uncomfortable. You spent all of last year telling me that. However, it’s got to be better than sliding down a bottomless crevice, don’t you think?”
The horse had a serious expression on his face as he nudged his rider.
“Yes, but it can’t be helped. You know the reasons as well as I do. Yes, I know that it’s because I’ve been moaning to you all spring and summer. She’s what? Oh, yes, Radanae did tell me. She’s a year younger than me. Nineteen. No, it’s not, humans age differently from horses, remember?”
Another pause, as though he was listening.
“I don’t know,” he said, at length, “she is intelligent, I guess. Polite, at least. Pretty? Very. I won’t dispute that. No, I don’t see how that’s an issue. It’s not as though I’ll ever see Lara again. Ris was very clear about it, even if she didn’t come straight out and say it.”
There was an abrupt pause, and the Tortallans turned to Daine, who looked very shocked.
“That’s a very rude joke, even by horse standards,” Daine coughed, turning red.
Below them, the prince was saying “Well I never! That’s practically obscene, and I don’t see how it’s any of your business!” man and horse moved off.
Kally turned to Daine curiously, then, curiosity overcoming her feelings of stupidity, asked, “What did the horse say?”
Daine, uncharacteristically enough, looked prim, “It doesn’t translate well,” she said, at last, “suffice to say, it’s about the difference between geldings and stallions. Everglade, as you’ve noticed, is a gelding and…well…the prince…isn’t. It’s very rude.” She repeated.
Kally decided she didn’t want to know about horse standards of taste.
They rode out several mornings later, the Imperials (basically all of them save the Ambassador and her personal aide) riding side by side with the Tortallans north on Trebond Way, their troop-carrying ships helping to ferry supplies.
Kalasin, watching them leave, had mixed feelings. On one hand, marriage, especially marriage too a stranger, even a perfectly polite, young, handsome (that, at least, she had to admit) stranger was not something to look forward to. On the other, she knew that the only way she was going to avoid it was if he was killed. And, as little as she knew him, she knew, at least, that she didn’t want him dead.
What, of course, she would have preferred, was that he remained in the Empire, and was happy, perhaps with the mysterious ‘Lara’ he seemed to love so much, and who his family approved of and favored, and out of Kalasin’s life. It was an impossibility, she knew. Like her, he was a child of a royal house, and the price they paid for their privileges was obedience to the wishes of others. Unlike her, however, Kally thought with gritted teeth, he was obeying them without question, and would no more defy them than he would defy the gods.
Mindelan fell before Roald’s force could reach it. The Own and the Riders had been lured away to deal with a Scanran advance on another sector, fooled by the apparent quiet of the troops laying siege on Mindelan.
It had been nothing more than a diversionary tactic, for, as soon as the Own and the Riders were far enough away that they could not return easily, Scanrans attacked and overran the mountain stronghold in force, slaughtering all inside. At court, Baron Piers and Baroness Ilane, who had to be ordered to stay there by the King, were in despair for their eldest son and his wife, and the people of their fief. The only consolation was that their grandchildren had not been at the castle, instead kept at their various schools as soon as news of the siege had reached Corus.
Kally wondered how Keladry, one of the knights in Roald’s personal unit, would react to the news once she found out.
It was not easy for Roald to tell his friend about her home, or her brother. The only consolation was that the rest of the family was safe – right now, other commanders were giving the bad news to Sir Inness and Sir Conal, both serving in other units along the northern border. He wondered if they felt the same way.
He had wanted to tell her as soon as the messenger pigeon had reached them, as soon as he had unwrapped the tiny slip of the paper, but his future brother-in-law, riding beside him, had advised against it. Yevgen, it turned out, had done a similar sort of thing before. As a junior officer, he’d had to inform friends and families of deaths and injuries to their loved ones, and he felt that it was always better to tell them in a more private environment, be it home or a tent, rather than in the open. It was especially important, he’d said, with proud people like knights, who didn’t want too many witnesses should they get upset. Lady Alanna, on Roald’s other side, had nodded in agreement.
Roald thought Yevgen was a good sort – not quite good enough for Kally, of course – but certainly a better option than most others his parents were considering, and took his advice. Despite being less outspoken then Princess Berenice (and the princess, these days, seemed to be making an active effort to seem no more than a military commander, leaving most of the diplomacy to her brother), he gave good advice when it was requested of him.
He waited until after camp had been set up before sending for Keladry, making sure that there were as few people in the tent as possible. Yevgen and Berenice, though they were technically Roald’s equals, both socially, and militaristically, politely vanished to ‘take care of their horses’. Besides Roald, there was only Lady Alanna and the elderly Duke Baird, who would again set up the field hospitals. It would be, he said, his last campaign. If there was ever the great misfortune of another war, it would be his youngest and now only son, the healer-knight Sir Nealan who would take charge of the grisly remains of war.
Roald, after much pacing and soul-searching, decided that the direct approach was best. His father had told him that informing the relatives was a part of being a commander, but Roald had not thought it would come so soon, nor with a person he knew so well.
Kel had known something was wrong from the too-polite note that Roald had sent as soon as they had settled in at the camp. Though Roald’s manners were impeccable no matter what the circumstances, the note was painfully civil even for him. She didn’t have to wait long, however. She was ushered into the tent, had tea pushed into her hand, then Roald, looking distressed, had told her about Anders, about Tilaine, about Mindelan, and every living creature that had once called it home. Even her old pony, now retired to pasture. The cats she had rescued from drowning. Everyone and everything. Gone.
She didn’t remember leaving Roald’s command tent, didn’t remember walking through the camp, ignoring her old friends, whether they offered comfort or curiosity, only remembered sitting on the rocky bank of the stream.
She didn’t know how long she had been there, crying without tears, until she felt someone lightly sit down beside her. She started, then relaxed, recognizing the Imperial knight, Justinia, even though the other woman’s dark skin, dark curly hair, and dark-lacquered combat armour made her little more than a mere outline in the night.
Justinia was holding out a cloth and a canteen. “Drink,” she said, “it’s just honeyed water with herbs and spices. We’re not allowed alcohol on campaign, but this gives a good approximation.”
Kel obediently took a gulp, then gasped as the liquid burned her nasal passages, coughing into the cloth provided.
“I’m very sorry about your home,” the other knight said, at length, “was it very beautiful?”
“If you like mountains and rocks, yes,” Kel said, “but I haven’t spent much time there. I spent six years in the Yamani Empire when my father was ambassador, then I went straight to the Palace as soon as we returned. Mindelan wasn’t really land, except as another part of the realm, another mountain fief. Mindelan was people. Anders…he was always kind to me. He tried to give me advice about becoming a knight, and I gave the same advice to his son…oh gods…it was only the year before last. Tilaine…well, she might have called me a cow, but surely…Why?”
Even in the dark, Kel could see Justinia shrug. “Why anything? I remember when my father was killed. I blamed my mother, if you can believe it. I thought she should have been a proper noble, a proper married female knight (which she’s not by the way – a knight, that is) with her child already in the Academy, fighting alongside her husband, helping him. Instead, she’d renounced her House titles, her position as scion to one of the greatest Houses…to be a barrister…well…now I understand. She was in the capital, co-ordinating the intelligence that saved many more lives. When I became a knight, I went back to the same province my father was killed in. I helped put down that rebellion for good.” She flung a stone into the stream.
“I don’t know how I should feel,” Kel confessed, after a period of silence, “shock, mainly, but I know that a knight can’t indulge in that sort of thing for long. I’m angry, too, that so many people should have died, that someone lured away those troops who could have stopped it, that those troops let themselves be fooled.” She sighed, and flung a pebble into the stream, letting it skip. “But I don’t see what revenge will do. We can kill all the Scanrans we like, we can push them back so far into their territory that they’ll freeze outside at noon in the summertime, but none of that will bring Anders back.”
“You’re right, revenge isn’t the answer,” Justinia said seriously, “but while we are waiting for the answer, we need to get these invaders out of your home, and make sure they don’t kill any more of your people. Agreed?”
Kel nodded.
Justinia must have seen, for then she said in a brighter tone, “Now, the other reason I came to see you – we’re having a competition, Imperials and Tortallans, to see who can come up with the soppiest love song. Coming?” she stood, and held out a hand to help Kel to her feet.
They returned to the camp just as Merric started some piece of tripe about waiting for his lady in an enchanted circle for fifteen years (it seemed to take him fifteen years to sing it). In all the ridiculous hand wringing, the bad rhyming and worse prose, the giggling, the howls of laughter, and the backslapping between Imperial and Tortallan, Kel let herself, just for one moment, forget her pain.
It seemed no question that the King would now need to lead a further force north, and preparations took on an accelerated speed in the capital, while mages worked around the clock to ensure that there would be adequate communication devices – whether mirrors or scrying bowls. While news that the combined force of the Crown Prince and the Imperials had retaken Mindelan was welcome, intelligence, from both Tortall and the Imperials, indicated that more Scanrans were coming over the mountains.
The King, and most of the available knights left as soon as possible, leaving only a small force to guard the capital. Queen Thayet and Crown Princess Shinkokami had their hands full running the everyday concerns of the realm.
Perhaps, then, it was excusable that they didn’t notice the absence of one young woman for several days.
This is not the most intelligent thing I’ve ever done, thought Kally ruefully as she pounded up the rocky path north, there are those with far more training than me already up there, and it won’t change anything. Yevgen…the prince, she corrected, is hardly going to be appalled at the idea of women in combat. But this is something I have to do. It’s my home, and it may be the one and only time I can defend it.
If she thought that it was the perfect opportunity to ‘disappear’, she did not bring it to her consciousness.
She was dressed in the uniform, such as it was, of a Rider, reasoning that no one would question her presence, assuming she was either a courier or an advance scout. It had been easy, among the confusion, to get hold of a uniform, of weapons, and to take the two best unclaimed ponies, and follow the troops north along less-used paths.
It did not take long to reach the Grimhold Mountains. The ponies were fast and tireless, and she changed between them regularly, so their wind was unbroken. Her Gift allowed her to keep track of the forces of her father and her brother, and, more importantly, concealed her presence from them.
There was a mountain stream bubbling, and both ponies looked at her. Even without wild magic, their request was clear, and Kally tethered them both near the stream, allowing them to forage for what little grass there was while they drank. She was more than ready for a drink and a wash too, so taking her water flask a little upstream from the ponies, she refilled it.
She caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye, and had just realized that she was in the worst possible position to fend off an attack when a strong arm grabbed her and rendered her immobile. A knife appeared at her throat, just as a male voice said, “Don’t move…or I’ll gut you right here and now.”
***************
Chapter 9 – Hello Again
“Let go of me,” she choked out. The arm stiffened in surprise, and the knife moved fractionally, before he shoved her away.
“Your Highness?” he said, as though he couldn’t quite believe it. “Princess Kalasin? What are you doing here?”
It was, of course, Prince Yevgen. Of all the people to catch me, Kally thought miserably, it’s him. He was not dressed as she had seen him before, in riding clothes, or armour, or court finery. Instead, he was in muted colours of green, grey and brown, perfectly suited to blending into the mountains, lace-up climbing boots, carried a knapsack, and short recurve bow. The knife disappeared up his sleeve.
He was waiting, his face polite but expressionless.
Kally put her chin up, “I’m watering my ponies,” she said, at last.
He raised an eyebrow as both ponies approached, nuzzling Kally to make sure she was all right. Kally felt distinctly left out of the conversation as they spoke to the young man instead, while he ‘hummed’ and ‘ah-haed’.
“Is that so?” he said, at length. “They think you’re being very silly,” he told her, just a bit smugly. “There’re Scanran irregulars all over these mountains. It’s only luck that none of them have found you – they do have wizards, you know. That’s why I’m out here,” he explained. “The main camp is too visible – we’re sitting ducks for their raiding parties, so nearly everyone with a talent has peeled off to scout.”
“Talent?” Kally asked warily. He didn’t seem upset at her appearance.
“You would call it ‘wild magic’ I think,” he said thoughtfully. “It’s rarer, here in the west than it is in the Empire, so the Scanrans aren’t looking for it the way their wizards are scanning for the Gifted.”
Kally, remembering the large amounts of magical energy she’d used to shield herself, blanched.
“Ah, you did that too?” raised eyebrows again – they were darker than his hair, a light brown like his eyelashes. “Now, what are you doing here, your Highness? I was under the impression that your Highness was neither knight nor a member of her Majesty’s personal unit, which, I understand, are the only two combat positions open to Tortallan noblewomen. Do their Majesties know that you’re here?”
“No, they don’t.”
“And are you given to heading straight into battle zones?” he was a little more relaxed, even slightly teasing.
“No. It’s the first time. Since it’s my last, time, I thought I might as well see what it’s like.” The last slipped out without her noticing until it was too late.
“That, too? I comprehend completely.”
Kally was surprised. “You do?”
“Of course.” He shrugged. “Most women I know would do the same in your position. Hells, I would do the same. Your highness, you don’t really need to spare me. If he’s in the Own, I’m afraid they’re further north with Lord Raoul, chasing the survivors fleeing back to Scanra. The Riders are scattered all over the place. However, if he’s a knight, they’re all quartered in the main camp near Mindelan, waiting for the scout reports.”
Kally didn’t quite understand what he was getting at until he listed the locations of each of the units. She wasn’t sure to be insulted at his assumption she was going to see a lover, or his indifference about the existence of said lover. “Oh no,” she gasped, “nothing like that. I’ve known since I was nine or ten that I wouldn’t get any say in my life. One doesn’t form those sorts of attachments to anyone else in those circumstances.”
“I imagine not.” He had his arms crossed. “They didn’t tell me until early this spring,” he said abruptly, uncharacteristically blunt. “I can’t really think which is worse, knowing for half your life, or having it sprung upon you suddenly.”
Kally was about to say something, but a noise at the end of the little gorge caught both their attentions. A small group of men – no more than a squad or so – but mounted, and dressed in the furs and leathers that marked them as Scanran – moved into the stream. They caught sight of the ponies, then the young man and woman. Screaming battle cries, they charged over the rocks.
“Damn!” Yevgen exploded, and shoved Kally behind him reflexively, stringing the short bow. “Can you shoot?” he asked, then nodded as she strung her longbow. “I’m sorry, I know it’ll be uncomfortable, but I’ll have to send to ponies back to camp – and tell your father and brother you’re here.”
At this point, being alive and having to make those uncomfortable explanations, no matter how awkward, was infinitely preferable to being unable to make those explanations at all.
They shot arrows into the knot of Scanrans, some falling, some continuing to charge, as Yevgen must have told the ponies the location of the camp as they scrambled in the opposite direction. “The camp’s not far if they take the short-cut,” he told Kally, loosing another arrow – he was a very good shot, as she had expected, and he seemed impressed with her skill. “But they won’t be able to make it if we’re riding them,” he explained.
They were swiftly running out of arrows – and the raiders continued to come. They’d all been unhorsed – whether through the arrows or Yevgen speaking directly to their mounts – which at least was a small blessing. Kally had no other weapons except her knife, so Yevgen produced a pair of the long bladed daggers similar to the ones Kally had seen Dama Justinia use, and handed her one. “It can be used as a knife or a shortsword,” he shouted as he engaged two of the three remaining raiders. Kally took the other.
At length, they were finished. Yevgen wrinkled his nose slightly as he pulled his dagger out of one raider, shaking it to get the lice off. He grinned, slightly. “They’re considered a bit girly, so most male knights don’t use these,” he told her, accepting the other dagger and wiping both of them, “but I find that they’re useful in these situations – more versatile and more reach than a knife, but not as clumsy to carry or conceal as a proper sword.” He didn’t seem perturbed at the ten or so men lying in the riverbed, dotted with arrows, bleeding into the once-pristine mountain stream.
Kally, however, once the rush of the battle wore off, looked at the carnage that marred the pleasant little gorge, and was sick to the stomach. She hadn’t eaten much that day, but what little she did came up. Her vision cleared to the prince offering her a canteen and a rag. “Lots of knights do that after a fight,” he told her. “Radanae – one of my year-mates, the Ambassador’s personal aide – does so every single time without fail. That’s one of the reasons that the Department of Foreign Relations dragged her off combat duties – even though she’s a bloody nasty fighter as well as smart enough for two of anyone else - the minute her compulsory service was up.” His eyes went unfocused for a second. “The ponies are through. Meanwhile, your Highness, we’ll have to find someplace a little less exposed and get that slash in your arm taken care of.”
Kally hadn’t even noticed the long gash in her arm until he mentioned it, and turned to see blood seeping th
rough the rough linen. It seemed barely seconds after that that her vision grew grey, then black.
When the first message arrived, the King’s roar of fury could be heard clear across the camp. Kel, who was now quartered with the female Imperial knights (due to a shortage of tents, and the still-lingering impropriety of her sharing with an inevitably male Tortallan knight. Lady Alanna, like the other senior commanders, had a broom closet of a room (in fact, it probably was a broom closet) in what had once been Mindelan itself. Kel could not bear to go to the keep.), heard it even as she tided up around the cramped tent.
“Your King has certainly got a better bellow than the Empress,” Justinia remarked matter-of-factly, as though she heard monarchs bellow every day. “She always has trouble not screeching when she raises her voice.” The other knight was folded up on her cot, cleaning a breastplate. Seeing Imperial combat arms up close for the first time, Kel noticed that there were subtle differences between the gear of male and female knights, and made note to mention them to her armourers. With the increasing numbers of female knights who would, she hoped, pass through the palace in the next decade or so, one armoury or another would like to corner the market in such a lucrative area.
There was barely enough room in the tent for Kel and Justinia to both stand up at the same time, and they had to move weapons and armour in order to get out the flap, but they managed. Kel’s consolation was that it was far nearer to the women’s latrines from the section of the camp assigned to the Imperials than it was from her Tortallan friends, for the very obvious reason that most of the female troops were Imperials. There were female Riders, but they seemed to use the camp as little more than a place to sleep and eat occasionally before they went out scouting again.
The Imperials, too, had sent out their scouts – all the ones with moderate to strong ‘talents’ – their name for wild magic. They included, to Kel’s great surprise, the Prince himself. The Princess went sometimes, too, but she was more often conferring with the King, Roald, Lady Alanna or the other commanders as to alternative plans of action.
“She’s missing?” King Jonathan shouted into the scrying mirror for the eleventh time, “How does a princess go missing in a guarded palace, I’d like to know? Where were her guards? Who took her? Have there been any demands?”
“Yes, I don’t know, obviously not doing their job, we don’t know, and no.” Queen Thayet, looking haggard and drawn, answered all the questions at once. “No signs of a struggle, nothing out of place, nobody noticed anything suspicious, until Onua found two Rider ponies missing and wondered if Kally saw anything – since she’s around the Rider fields so much.”
“Blast!” the king looked as though he wanted to say something worse, but with two women in the room – even if one was Alanna – he could not.
He was interrupted by Daine, or, at least a crow that turned into Daine, and two ponies who shoved the guards aside. It took Daine a moment to catch her breath.
“Scanran…irregulars…two valleys over, in a gorge. The two,” she meant the ponies, “came up with Kally, and then they ran into Prince Yevgen, and then they were hit by a squad or so of Scanrans, and the prince told them to go and bring the news here.”
“Blast!” the king repeated, understanding what had really happened to Kalasin, “Of all the times she chooses…never mind…get my personal units, and all the Own and Riders in any shape to come. Kally, girl, if the Scanrans didn’t get you I’ll wring your neck myself.”
It was dark when Kally’s vision finally cleared. Her arm was cleaned and bandaged, and there was a fire crackling in the early evening chill. The prince was at her side within moments.
“Are you all right?” he asked anxiously, “Your highness, I’ve got messages from Daine the wildmage – your father and brother are coming.”
“I think, in these circumstances, titles are a bit silly,” Kally groaned, sitting up, “it’s Kally, anyway.”
He bowed slightly, “In that case – I am Yevgen. I don’t have a nickname – none, at least, that I like anyone calling me. I’ll have to remind Kay not to tell you what she and Rislyn dubbed me when we were small.”
“Are you close to your sisters?” Kally wanted to know.
“Kay – Berenice – is my twin, so yes. She’s the elder, by the way. Rislyn – not so much. Ris is very conscious about being the next Empress.” He sighed, and put a few more twigs on the fire. He appeared to be in the process of cleaning his daggers properly. It was then that Kally noticed that the small enameled discs set into each pommel were not the arms of the Imperial family, nor his personal arms. Those, ironically enough, were a silver sword and crown on blue, and bordered with the intricate purple and red design that indicated the year he’d graduated from the Knights’ Academy. The design of the disks was of green leaves on black, with the same purple and red year-border. He caught her looking at them. “These aren’t mine,” he explained, “most male knights who do use these have plain ones. These are given to the women when they’re knighted, while the men get rapiers. These were a gift to me from…a friend.” The slight hesitation made Kally think that the ‘friend’ must have been the mysterious ‘Lara’.
“A good friend?” she probed gently.
“Very.” He said firmly. “A year-mate. We were…good friends.” He repeated.
“I’m sorry,” Kally said, after a pause.
He looked at her sharply, then realized that she had guessed. “No matter.”
There was noise of scores of hooves, and Kally realized that they were perched some thirty or forty feet up the sheer cliff face, in a little sheltered alcove. Yevgen put out the fire, then leaned out to investigate, every muscle tensed. He relaxed after determining who it was.
“It’s your father,” he said quietly then stepped out to signal.
It was Kay who pointed up one side of the sheer gorge. They had passed the bodies of a squad of Scanran irregulars, and several broken arrows, but there had been no sign of either prince or princess. On one side of the sheer cliff face, an outline was just barely visible, waving a white rag that might have once been a scarf.
A swift hand signal brought tens of torches to life, as they managed to see the prince there, perched on a ledge. Kay frowned as though concentrating. “He’s coming down now with her Highness,” she told Jon, who was somewhere between fury and relief. “She’s been wounded, but it looks like mainly shock and loss of blood.”
“How are we going to get down?” Kally glanced down at the ring of torches below. While she had a head for heights, she had no idea how they were going to descend the slippery rock. “For that matter, how did you get me up here?”
Yevgen was a little further away securing something to a heavy rock formation, and testing it. He stood up, and appeared to be tying a rope to a stout harness around his waist, hips, and thighs. “I carried you,” he said simply, “I’ve done more difficult ones. It’s easier down than up,” he said reassuringly. “Just hold on.”
Kel was not the only one to gasp as the prince descended the cliff face, apparently dangling by a rope, with Princess Kalasin hanging on for dear life. It took only a few seconds, and apparently only a few springs from the cliff, but it was longer than any of the Tortallans wanted to face. Yevgen appeared to have more difficulty disengaging the princess’s death-grip around his neck than he had stepping out into empty space.
Kally passed out at the foot of the cliff. The Imperials, meanwhile, swarmed around their prince, helping him out of the harness, pulling the rope down from the rock he’d anchored it to. Kel shuddered as she saw the rope easily loosen and fall to the ground with a few tugs. She knew there had to be a trick to it, but she really didn’t want to know.
Everglade shoved through the crowd to reassure himself that his rider was all right, and the prince responded by throwing rope and knapsack across his destrier’s back and pulling himself up as well. He was far more exhausted than his neutral exterior showed, thought Kel, like a Yamani.
Kally recovered somewhat, and a spare horse was brought to her. She met the worried and furious eyes of father and brother, and stared back resolutely. Jon gave the tiniest of nods that said later, then ordered them back to camp.
“It appears that abseiling is new to Tortall,” the calm, neutral voice of the Princess Berenice was somewhere to the King’s left. She had dismounted to check her brother, but Jon had not seen her come up beside him. “If your Majesty is agreeable, we could instruct those of your knights, squires, or other warriors who may be interested. It’s a very popular hobby in the Empire.” She added.
“People do that for fun?” Kel could not help the words spill out.
The princess turned to face her. “Well, yes. We’re taught rockclimbing and abseiling as part of our training, and our capital is surrounded by mountains, so cadets from the Academy – you would call them pages and squires – often go there when they have a day or two free. It’s very good training for scaling fortifications.” She added.
Jon thanked the princess for the offer, but all his attention was on his eldest daughter.
“I’m not going back.” Kally was firm, even though she was virtually white with pain. She hadn’t had time to work her healing Gift on herself. “I’m a fully trained healer, and Duke Baird will need more helpers.”
“You’re not safe here!” Roald argued, “Didn’t that run in with the Scanrans teach you anything? You’re just lucky that Yevgen happened to be around. You would be dead or worse right now if he hadn’t come along!”
“But I’m not. I’m here, and you’ve just said it, it’s not safe to move around alone, and you can’t spare the men for an escort. What makes you think I’ll be any safer at the Palace? Shinko caught a Copper Isle assassin outside her window just last week…oh, she didn’t tell you…never mind that,” she said hastily as Roald blanched. “Everyone and their dog is testing the defenses at the Palace now that most of the army’s coming up here. I can look after myself. I can shoot as well as any of the Riders and I can use a sword.”
“Very well,” Jon threw up his arms in defeat, surprising his two children, who were still arguing. “Report to Duke Baird at dawn tomorrow.” He told Kally. “We’ll finish this discussion at another time,” he warned as he left the room.
Roald and Kally gaped after him in shock. He never gave in so easily, especially not to them. Kally remembered the long row that had resulted in her unable to follow her brother into page’s training. That, more than anything else, told them how worried he was about the Scanran threat. With a chill, Kally realized that she might have been right about at least one of the reasons he was permitting her to stay. Tortall, even with the addition of six-hundred-plus highly trained troops, could not spare an escort to ensure her safely back to Corus. In fact, they might not even have enough troops for the campaign.
Back in Corus, Myles was wondering if it was the right time to share his information, when everyone was so occupied with the Scanrans. His agent in Bersone, disguised as a tourist, had sent back messages – coded, cleverly, Myles thought, as a dutiful son’s letters to his parents. But beneath the apparent frivolity about the chicken not as good as how mother made it, or that he was changing his socks at least once a week, was some interesting information. About the training and the testing of knights, and the very high standards that all of this year’s crop had apparently reached. A slightly disturbing report about a ritual after the knighthood ceremonies, where several hundred condemned would be publicly executed by the ten top-ranking new knights. It sounded like a combined grand festival and public execution. Suddenly, one of their scrying sessions on the Imperial Family, with the Empress and Heir dressed in finery, and the Heir remarking about a bloodbath making her ill, made sense.
Myles shook his head and went back to their small store of intelligence on the Scanrans. Imperial ‘scouts’ – the Tortallans accepted the euphemism for ‘spy’ – were well trained, and sending back information, but it was not enough. Never enough.
At the camp near Mindelan, things continued to stew. Knights and soldiers continued to mill around camp, waiting for news from returning Rider and Own squads, waiting. Mercifully, the field hospital set up by Duke Baird was still quite empty, much to the relief of the healers. The worst injuries had come from a few overconfident young knights, who, after a few initial lessons in rock climbing and abseiling from their Imperial allies, tried a far more difficult section of cliff than the one they had been tutored on without supervision. Thankfully, they had only broken bones, but it could have been far worse.
The King was furious, of course – they could not afford to lose even one needlessly, and especially not a knight. However, the lessons continued, watched by an ever-increasing crowd.
Kel gritted her teeth. Why do I have to do this to myself? She asked. She had gotten over her fear of heights, but that didn’t mean that she enjoyed them. She could feel the coarse rope bite into her hands, even with the stout leather gloves that Justinia had insisted that she wear. She couldn’t forget how it had taken barely seconds and a few tugs for the Imperials above to secure her rope to a rock. She couldn’t forget that the harness she wore, and the Imperials swore was safe, was little more than a few straps of braided leather with iron buckles and rings to pass the rope through. Most of all, she couldn’t forget that the ground below was rock, and that it was only her grip on the too-thin rope that kept her from falling. Her arms were getting tired, yet, she could not let the rope slip past her right hand, behind her back, and through her left hand, which steadied the rope, even though she knew it was the only way she was going to get back onto the ground.
She must have stayed, halfway down the sheer cliff face the Imperials had declared ‘ideal’ for beginners, and to the Tortallans had looked intimidating, for far too long. A movement near the ledge - it was actually the edge of a goat track they could walk up to from the camp, and which they were using to start the desent - preceded a fast, dark shadow leaping out just to her side and plummeting down the cliff.
Justinia looked as though she was in free-fall, though, much to Kel’s envy, she reached out and grabbed the rope behind her during her descent, and stopped at precisely the right spot to look Kel in the eye. She looked as relaxed there, more than a dozen feet above the ground, with nothing more than rope and leather holding her, as she had around the mess tent.
“Kel, look at me,” her tent-mate commanded. “It’s perfectly normal to need a few tries to get used to it. It’s not something that’s done very often, and it sometimes takes years to do it properly. It might look easy, but it’s not. His Highness practiced every day for a year before he could do it.”
Kel, remembering the way the prince could literally jump off a parapet much higher than this cliff, grab a rope, and with nothing more than a pair of thick gloves similar to the ones she was wearing, be confident at reaching the ground safely, swallowed, and nodded.
“Good, now, just loosen your right hand a little…”
Kel couldn’t hold back a gasp as she slipped down several inches.
“Good, that’s very good. Now, take little steps down the cliff face, like you’re wearing one of those ridiculous Court gowns you can’t move in, that will make it easier…”
With coaxing from the surprisingly patient Justinia, Kel managed to get onto the ground, arms and shoulders aching from the effort, to cheers from the crowd watching. Above her, she saw her rope being loosened, then thrown down, as Neal started down the cliff face. He was accompanied, she was interested to see, by an Imperial knight, who was clearly giving him instructions as he made his way down. After that, all of the Tortallans who wished to learn the art of falling off a mountain holding a rope had such a teacher float down with them. Things went more quickly after that, as nobody froze in mid-air, and any mistakes could be corrected on the spot.