“No,” she said. “But make sure one of your witnesses tells me he saw and heard you do it, today.” She turned Peachblossom, wanting to get away from this man and his poison. At her side of the field, she returned her lance to the monitor with thanks.
He gawped at her. “Is something wrong?” Kel asked, wondering if she had missed anything.
He shook his head and smiled oddly. “This is your first challenge, my lady?”
Kel nodded.
“Your first, and you won,” the monitor told her. “Well rode, Lady Kel, well rode indeed.”
Kel waved him off, embarrassed. Looking at the stands, she saw that Raoul stood with Sir Gareth the Younger. He was holding out a hand. The scowling Gareth counted coins into Raoul’s palm.
“So he meant it,” Kel murmured to Peachblossom. “He said he was going to win money on me.” She hoped he wouldn’t bet on her too often. How many times could she fight someone as overconfident and careless as Ansil? Other knights would learn from this. Probably next time she would be the one to fly.
She saw to Peachblossom first. Qasim offered to groom and feed him, but Kel wanted to do that. As she worked she murmured compliments to her wonderful horse. Only when she’d picketed him near enough to Hoshi to gossip but not so close that he could nip, did she return to her tent. There she stripped off her armor and plunged her head into a bucket of cold water. Feeling like herself again, she began to care for her things.
Cleon found her testing her lack of fear of heights in a tree overlooking the lake. “You could have been—gods, Kel, you’ve seen how jousters get hurt! I thought I could watch, I thought, she’s just another squire, but when your lance went . . .” He shook his head.
“He was overconfident,” she told him. “And I won, so the gods must have thought I was right. Otherwise they’d have made me lose. You know how trial by combat works.”
“You won because you’re good,” he corrected her. “I find it hard to believe the gods sit forever about the Divine Realms betting on jousts and trials by combat.” He looked around to make sure no one was within earshot. “At least come down and let me hold you, make sure you’re in one piece,” he called softly.
Kel shook her head. “You come up, and no holding. We have to talk about that.”
The sparrows cheeped encouragement as he clambered out onto Kel’s thick branch. When she repeated what Raoul had said, he nodded. “He’s right. We should be careful about . . . anything that might happen. My sister had the same trouble. She’s in the Riders,” he explained. “I should have thought of that—and of your good name, for that matter.”
“Have I got one?” Kel wanted to know.
“You do with your friends, and you’d better with anyone who talks to us,” he said bleakly.
His tone made Kel look at him. Someone had said something, she realized. Someone, or many someones. And my friends got in fights over it, but never told me.
“I don’t deserve my friends,” she remarked quietly.
“Sure you do, opal of happiness,” Cleon said. “We’d’ve failed mathematics to a man without you, for one thing.”
That made her grin. A rolling grumble made her look at her belly. “I’m hungry,” she remarked, surprised.
Cleon dropped to the ground. “Me too. Let’s go eat, O queen of squires.”
That evening as Kel ate with her friends, a servant gave her a note that bore the Tirrsmont coat of arms. Sir Voelden, who’d been with Ansil and Joren, invited her to joust the following day. This was a match, not a challenge in answer to insult—Kel refused it. That afternoon she had confirmed what she had always thought: jousting was serious business, not a game. As she and her friends left to return to camp, Voelden stopped them in Castle Naxen’s inner courtyard. He slapped Kel lightly with a riding glove.
Cleon lunged for the knight with a snarl. Neal grabbed the big redhead. Jump seized Merric of Hollyrose’s tunic before Merric could attack, while Owen hung on to Cleon with one hand and Merric with the other. Kel looked at Voelden, feeling cold inside. “I accept,” she said quietly. “Ten gold crowns if you lose.” As the challenged she could name the penalty.
Kel and Cleon wandered away from Neal, Owen, and Merric once they left Castle Naxen. It did no good. Every time they thought they were alone, others wandered by. They exchanged only two quick, clinging kisses in the shadows, jumping apart both times as people approached.
“It’s like having a train of chaperons,” Cleon grumbled as he walked Kel to her tent. “Does anyone go to bed here?”
They halted before Raoul’s banner. “Bed is where I should be, with a griffin to feed and a challenge tomorrow,” Kel pointed out.
Cleon looked around. The lane where Kel’s and Raoul’s tents stood was filled with nobles returning from the banquet. He sighed. “G’night, moon of my dreams. Send him flying tomorrow.”
I hope I can, Kel thought, watching him trudge sadly off. Her nerves, fizzing pleasantly after those kisses, twitched: she faced an unknown knight in the afternoon.
The griffin was wide awake. Lion-like, he paced as Kel lit her lamps and opened a packet of smoked fish. He ate only half of his meal, did not even try to bite Kel, and flew-hopped between his platform and her cot as she cleaned up after him.
Suddenly he began to fly around the narrow confines of the tent, not stopping. The sparrows hid under the cot; Jump barked his objections. At last the griffin dropped onto his platform bed, curled up under spread and trembling wings, and went to sleep. The sparrows came out of hiding to stare at Kel.
“I have no idea,” Kel said in response to their unspoken query. “Maybe he thinks he needs practice.”
“Whatever that was, it looked really strange,” Owen said. He stood in Kel’s open tent flap.
Tired as she was, she smiled at him. He’d barely said a word around the others. “Come in,” she invited.
Owen shook his head. “You need sleep. I just wanted to ask, could I help you arm up? Myles, he’s a good fellow, but . . . It may be the only time I can arm someone for combat.”
Though she would rather get ready alone, Kel wasn’t coldhearted enough to resist that doleful face. She would feel the same in Owen’s shoes. “Would you?” she asked. “I’d like it, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Owen brightened. “Mind? Not me! Really? You’re sure? Wonderful! I’ll see you at lunch!” He ran down the lane with a whoop.
Kel shook her head, smiling. She went to tell Raoul, since he’d helped her to arm for Ansil. He agreed to let Owen do it. Kel bade him goodnight, and returned to her quarters for a better night’s sleep than she’d had the night before.
The next day Kel sent her friends away again, making them leave her and Peachblossom in the waiting area to watch the jousts that preceded theirs. Owen had done a good job of arming her. Now she settled her gauntlets and took a deep breath. The joust before hers had ended. Monitors cleared the lanes.
The herald in charge came to give Kel her instructions. He had gone and Kel was in the saddle when something ungainly and orange flapped over the stands and glided to the field. The griffin reached the end of Kel’s tilting lane as she did, perching clumsily atop the wooden barrier. He panted, beak open, as he glared at Kel.
“Do you feel clever?” Kel demanded. “I thought you couldn’t get out of the tent.”
The griffin rose on his hind legs, fanned his wings, and voiced a screech that echoed the length and breadth of the tournament field. Kel shivered; the hair stood on the back of her neck. “Stop that,” she ordered. “Behave. I mean it. Otherwise I’ll chain you next time.”
Sir Voelden was ready at the end of his lane. Kel lowered her visor and waited for the trumpet call. “Charge,” she whispered to Peachblossom.
Voelden was more sure of himself than Ansil, but he was slower and heavier. Kel adjusted her grip and struck his shield squarely, just as his lance struck hers. They swerved and returned to their original ends of the field.
The griffin shrieked as Kel passe
d him, his cry ringing in the air. The people in the stands were so quiet that Kel heard alarm calls from distant jays and crows. The griffin had frightened the birds; he’d made Voelden’s stallion rear; but Peachblossom’s only response was to blow at the immortal as he went by.
In position, Kel waited. The trumpet called.
Peachblossom charged without Kel’s saying a word. Rising in the saddle, she aimed at Voelden’s shield and shifted to put more force behind her lance, a trick she had learned from Raoul. Voelden’s shield ripped free of its straps and went flying. Something hit Kel’s ribs like a hammer. She gasped for air. A man shouted, “Foul!” People roared in disapproval. What happened? she wondered, swaying in the saddle.
Peachblossom lunged at Voelden over the barrier. “No!” Kel whispered. She hauled on the reins, trying to breathe. “Peachblossom, curse you, stop it!” she yelled. The command emerged as a breathy squeak. She turned him and headed to their starting point, then checked her breastplate. There was a dimple the size of a fist under her heart. Voelden had tried to run her through.
Kel asked her field monitor for water and a fresh lance. It gave her time to catch her breath. She inhaled, refilling sore lungs, and wondered how to answer Voelden. Deliberately trying to kill an opponent unannounced was dishonorable.
“You can retire from the lists.” The monitor passed her a fresh lance.
“Thank you, but no,” Kel replied, trying to speak normally. She turned into her lane and waited.
The signal came; Peachblossom charged. Kel rose and braced herself. She angled her shield so Voelden couldn’t slide his lance past it, and struck his shield hard. Her lance shattered; so did his. Kel rammed her shield forward and hooked it behind Voelden’s. Slamming her body sideways behind the locked shields, she heaved. Voelden popped from his saddle to hit the ground.
The crowd roared and came to its feet.
Kel dismounted and walked over to him, drawing her sword. He hadn’t moved. She flipped up his visor with her sword point and pressed the sharp tip to his nose.
“Yield,” she advised, her voice even. “Or I carve my initial right there.”
He raised gauntleted hands. “I yield.”
Kel smiled coldly. “And they say conservatives can’t learn.”
She walked back to Peachblossom, her ribs making her wince as she ducked under the barrier. Rather than remount, she led Peachblossom back down the field. All around her she heard a chant, and raised her head. Groups of people in the stands were on their feet, crying, “Mindelan! Mindelan! Mindelan!”
Queen Thayet and a group of women that included Kel’s mother bore her away despite her protests. Peachblossom would be groomed and watered, Thayet said firmly. Kel was to be quiet and await a healer’s inspection. She worried about the griffin until her mother said he now sat on the peak of the queen’s tent, having followed them.
Inside, efficient hands unbuckled her breastplate, removed her helmet, and stripped off her mail and gambeson. Her cotton shirt was peeled away to reveal a sweat-soaked breastband and a huge, spreading bruise on her right side. The women hissed in sympathy.
The healer laid gentle fingers on the bruise. Coolness radiated from her touch, easing the ferocious pain. “Nothing’s broken,” the healer told the queen. “The bones are bruised, but I can handle that.” She rested a palm on Kel’s bruise. “Don’t fight me,” she warned.
“My children don’t fight healers,” remarked Ilane, “or I’ll know why.”
Kel rolled her eyes. “Mother,” she said with disgust, “I haven’t done that in years.”
“Good,” Ilane replied, unperturbed. “If you forget, there are plenty of fans here for me to whack you with.”
Coolness turned into cold on her side. Painlessness sank into her abused ribs; Kel almost felt them pop in relief. “Ouch,” she said as an unexpected sharp pain bit into her side.
“I was wrong; one rib is cracked. Hold still and be quiet,” ordered the healer.
Kel stared at the canvas overhead until the healer made the bone whole. At last the woman stepped away. “Sleep, food,” she ordered. “Sleep will probably come first.”
Already Kel’s eyelids were drooping. “The griffin,” she murmured.
“I’ll mind him.” Daine’s face appeared in Kel’s view. “I need to see why he’s so upset.”
Kel nodded her understanding, and slept.
Kel returned to her tent late that night after she’d eaten, still groggy. The sparrows were asleep for the night. Jump, who had found Kel as she ate, curled up under her cot. Only the griffin showed any desire to be awake. Standing on the ground rather than his platform home, he paced back and forth. If Kel hadn’t been exhausted, she might have been kept awake by the soft padding of his feet. She had just enough will to remove her boots before she rolled herself up in a blanket and slept the night away.
The camp was nearly quiet when Kel rose. The monarchs had set a rest day with no special events. Once Kel had tended her animals and her gear, she decided a visit to the lake was in order. The griffin needed a bath.
Carrying him, she negotiated the narrow, grassy streets with ease. Everyone moved out of the way rather than risk touching the griffin. He ignored them, trying to groom himself with little success. At the lake Kel sought a large, flat stone she had noted when she and Cleon talked in the tree. There she set up her operation: Jump, drying cloths, a corked bottle with the mildest soap available, and jerky strips for bribes.
She was lowering the griffin into the water for a last rinse when he whirled and raced up her arms, digging into clothes and flesh as he climbed. Kel, half off the rock, yelped and clung desperately as the griffin rose to his hind feet on her back, fanning his wings so hard she felt the breeze. He shrilled, his voice rising and falling in a series of notes that made her skin creep. She scrabbled back from the edge and turned slowly. The griffin dug in, then leaped over Kel to stand on the rock, still voicing that eerie cry. Jump faced the land, growling deep in his throat, his one good ear flat. Kel sat up.
A huge, winged creature, its feathers brindled gold and black, spiraled down from the sky to land beside Kel’s rock. A second creature the color of newly minted copper touched the ground ten yards behind the brindled one. Seated, they towered over Kel, the brindled griffin nearly seven feet tall at the shoulder, the coppery one six feet at the shoulder. Kel gulped. She was in very serious trouble with no Third Company or Daine to protect her.
She pulled the young griffin toward her. If these two had sensed him in their territory, they may have come to kill him or drive him off, as mortal predators did with intruders. She did not like their large claws and their cold gazes. Their eyes were intelligent, the brindled griffin’s gold, the other’s a darker copper than its feathers. If they were the griffin’s parents, she was about to die. She only had her belt knife—their claws were longer than it was.
The young griffin screeched and struggled from Kel’s hold, leaving long scratches on her arms and chest. He stood on the rock in front of her and rose to his hind legs, wings spread for balance. Kel stayed very still, not sure what was going on.
An eagle hurtled from the sky, landing between Kel’s rock and the griffins with an undignified thud. It immediately began to change shape until a small form of Daine’s head perched on the eagle’s body. “Kel, it’s all right!” Daine said without turning away from the griffins. “They’re his parents. That’s why he was so restless yesterday. They were close enough he could sense them.”
Kel looked from one griffin to the other. “Parents?” she whispered. She had thought Daine would never find them. Her charge had been with her for over a year.
The youngster trotted over to the brindled adult, twining between its large forelegs like a kitten. Now the copper one hopped ten yards to land beside its mate. It peered under the larger griffin’s ribcage to inspect Kel’s charge. The young griffin butted his head against the copper griffin’s nose. The copper one reached out a forepaw, dragged the little griffi
n to itself, and began to wash him.
Daine clapped her wings to her human ears. “Please, lady, gently,” she said, tears in her eyes. “No need to shout. It hurts.” After a moment she took her wings away and looked at Kel. “They gave me their names, but I can’t pronounce them. The brindled one is his father. The copper one is his mother.” She winced and continued, “They thank you for all you’ve done. I said you’ve been searching for them all this time, through me. I also told them you killed the centaur who was going to keep him.”
Kel looked at the griffin. Seeing him now with his parents, she realized he was still tiny, still an infant in griffin terms. This had happened before, with wild mortal animals she’d rescued as babies; the time always came when they had to rejoin their kind.
The brindled one—his father—reached over the copper griffin’s wings and worked a cloth bag loose of its ties with his beak. He dropped it in front of Kel.
“This is just a token, they say,” explained Daine. “They can’t really thank you for what you did, but they know humans value their feathers.”
The female yanked a trailing feather from her son’s tail. The youngster squalled—Kel could have told them he hated to have loose feathers yanked—until his father set a forepaw on his shoulders and pressed him down.
“They say he has learned bad habits,” Daine told Kel. “They never allow a young one to make so much noise.”
The female laid the orange feather on the bundle. Mother and father traded looks, then nodded to Daine and Kel. Grabbing his son by the scruff of his neck, the male took off first, the young griffin secure and squalling in his beak. The female joined them in the air.
Kel sniffed. She was rid of the little crosspatch, and his mess, and his temper. She ought to be celebrating, not sniveling. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered. She found the handkerchief she kept in her boot and blew her nose. “He’s with his own kind. I don’t even like him.”
“You did the right thing,” Daine said.