Part 12 (1/2)
”How many fighters are with them?” asked Raoul.
”Four Rider Groups,” replied Dom. ”The Fourth - the Queen's Rabbits. The... First. They don't have a nickname,” Dom said when Kel made a questioning noise. ”They're just the First. The Fourteenth, Gret's Shadows, and the Seventeenth, Group Askew. There's Commander Buri. Oh, splendid - Captain Glaisdan and First Company. He looks as sour as a pickled beet.”
”If he's wearing his old-style armor, probably his face is the same color,” Flyndan said. ”Why couldn't that fusspot stay at the palace? First Company's all wrong for this.”
”If I pretend I like you, squire, can I use the spygla.s.s?” Lerant asked Kel.
”Please don't try,” she replied. ”You're not that good an actor. Dom, he can look when you're done.”
”Some people are c.o.c.ky ever since they killed a whole centaur,” Lerant remarked to the air.
”Some people are annoying,” Dom retorted, giving him the spygla.s.s. ”So, Kel, about the Yamani ladies...”
The royal courier who had twittered at Raoul's elbow all the way from Corus said, ”My lord Knight Commander, why do we hesitate? The king was quite firm - ”
”So you've said. Often,” Raoul growled, black eyes smoldering. He raised his voice. ”My dears, there's no help for it. Let us join in the panoply.” He urged Amberfire into a careful walk.
Lerant handed the spygla.s.s to Kel and hoisted the Knight Commander's banner, setting his mount forward. Flyndan joined him, his doughy face as gloomy as Raoul's.
”Not too fast,” called Raoul. ”Lets not scare anyone.”
”His majesty said with all deliberate speed!” chirped the courier. He flinched under Lerant's glare.
”That's how we're doing it,” Raoul told him. ”Deliberately.”
Kel hid a smile. Raoul had argued that one company of the Own on progress was sufficient. The king had overruled him and here they were. They merged with the progress, Third Company behind the ranks of n.o.bles as Raoul, attended by Kel, caught up with the monarchs.
The king glanced at Raoul. In a less exalted man his expression might have been called a scowl. Prince Eitaro let Raoul take his place.
”Master Oakbridge has found you hosts to lodge with in the city,” Kel heard Jonathan say coldly as they approached the main gates. ”Near the governor's palace, so you won't have any excuse for lateness at the social events.”
”As my king orders,” said Raoul, his voice blandly pleasant. Kel glanced at him. What was he up to? The griffin squawked, and she returned to their game: trying to wrestle a rawhide strip out of his beak. He rarely bit or scratched her while playing. The king was also suspicious. ”It is, eh?” Raoul indicated the immortal, who growled as he wrestled with the leather. ”Did Oakbridge mention our friend?” inquired Raoul. ”Where Kel goes, he goes.”
”No one's going to want a griffin in his house,” the king snapped. ”Most folk don't believe it's just people who actually handle the thing who get attacked. She'll have to camp with the rest of the progress.”
”I'm to attend b.a.l.l.s and banquets without my squire?” demanded Raoul, all innocence. ”I can't handle things like requesting water to shave with, or getting my clothes pressed. I need Kel.”
”You managed for twenty years,” growled the king, blue eyes flas.h.i.+ng in anger.
”This is different,” Raoul informed him.
Jonathan stared grimly ahead, drumming his fingers on his saddle horn. Finally he ordered, ”Tell the Lord Seneschal to give you a place in the camp, then. And I expect you to be on time for social events!”
”Sire,” Raoul said, bowing deeply in the saddle. He motioned to the side of the road with his head, and turned Amberfire out of the main parade. Kel followed, her face Yamani-straight.
The Lord Seneschal nearly screamed when he realized he needed to find a place in the camp for the Knight Commander. Drawing up these camps required tact, diplomacy, and quick thinking. Obviously enemies could not pitch their tents side by side, and the most important n.o.bles would not take it well if they camped cheek by jowl with soldiers. For a moment Kel feared the Seneschal was going to have an apoplexy as his face turned a rich plum color. He grabbed a map on a parchment and hurriedly drew a square, putting Raoul's name on it. He squawked a servant's name, then turned to his next problem.
The man he'd summoned did not turn colors or raise his voice. He gave a few commands, then led Raoul and Kel down a gra.s.sy lane between tents, explaining the customs and layout of the camp. By the time he'd shown Raoul and Kel the privies and open-air kitchens and escorted them to their a.s.signed s.p.a.ce, servants had set up a large tent for Raoul, connected to a smaller one for Kel.
”And they say a stolen griffin's unlucky,” Raoul told her smugly as they inspected their new domain.
At Whitethorn castle a servant directed Kel to an a.s.sembly room. She joined other squires to await their usual spate of banquet instructions from the palace master of ceremonies, Upton Oakbridge. He was in hurried conference with a man in Whitethorn colors and a woman who bore the smears and s.m.u.tches of a cook.
Neal wasn't present. Cleon was, smiling at her in a way that made her feel odd, warm and s.h.i.+very at the same time. She wasn't sure that she liked it and welcomed the distraction of greeting the others. Her five year-mates were present. So were the newest squires.
”Owen, you've joined our ranks?” Kel teased. Of course he'd pa.s.sed the big examinations. She didn't have to ask if he'd found a knight-master. His clothes told the tale: he wore the blue s.h.i.+rt and hose and the silver tunic of a squire attached to palace service.
”I've got the t.i.tle, but not the work,” Owen said glumly. He was a plump fourteen-year-old, two inches shorter than Kel, with unruly brown curls and gray eyes. He loved books and had no sense of tact. He also had a wild courage that led him to plunge into battle outnumbered. Gloom was not his natural state.
”What happened?” she asked. ”I thought surely you'd be chosen.”
”Lord Wyldon says it's like last year,” Owen told her. ”You had the congress, so everyone took their time picking. Now it's this progress. There are squireless knights everywhere, but they're in no rush. It stinks. And in the meantime I get to answer to him.” He nodded toward Master Oakbridge, who was sending the Whitethorn man and the cook away.
”Attention!” called Oakbridge. Kel hugged Owen around the shoulders as they faced the master of ceremonies. Oakbridge did his work with dramatics and prophecies that all would go horribly awry. Having dealt with him over Midwinter, Kel wondered why the man hadn't died of a heart attack. Instead he seemed to thrive on disaster and finding people seated in the wrong places. The thought of Owen's having to report to him day and night made her wince in sympathy.
Briskly Oakbridge gave instructions. These banquets were only a little different from page service: squires were a.s.signed to a table where their knight-masters were joined by a dinner companion and other notables. Once the feast was over, guests roamed while squires remained at their posts, refilling gla.s.ses, offering sweets, fruits, and cheeses, and providing finger bowls and napkins.
Kel listened, committing what Oakbridge said to memory. When he finished, she found Cleon beside her. He followed Kel to the table where finger bowls and towels were laid out.
”I thought you would never get here,” he said as they took up towels and bowls.
”Lord Raoul was just finis.h.i.+ng up a few things,” she replied, eyes fixed on her bowl. It quivered; she was trembling for some reason, and much too aware of Cleon's warm body at her side.
”Finis.h.i.+ng up? Hah,” said Merric of Hollyrose behind them. He was a wiry, lanky boy with very red hair, Kel's year-mate and friend. ”Everyone knows the king sent him a message saying catch up now.”
”Well, is social scheduling what you thought you'd do as a knight?” Kel asked as they started for the banquet hall.
”I didn't think,” Merric said cheerfully. ”I just did what my parents told me, for once.”
They split up, going to the tables where their knight-masters sat. Kel looked for Owen, who went to the table where Prince Roald and Princess s.h.i.+nkokami sat and got a smiling welcome.
Kel was edgy, as she always was when she had new social duties, but tucked it behind her Yamani mask. Raoul had no bland face to hide behind. With the pretty eighteen-year-old daughter of a local baron as his dinner partner, he turned into a block of wood. His companion, made nervous by his rank, age, and silence, chattered. Numair and Daine, seated with them, were too busy talking about books to rescue them.
Kel looked around to see who she could recognize. Buri was as wooden as Raoul. A local guildsman was her partner; he had no trouble talking at the wordless K'mir. The king and queen looked as if they enjoyed talking with the Whitethorn governor and his lady, while the Yamani ladies kept those who shared their tables politely occupied.
At last came Kel's favorite part of a state banquet. Artful creations in jellies, cakes, and sugar called subtleties were served between courses for diners to admire and eat. The first ones were simple, like the spun sugar crowns that represented the four royal personages in attendance. By the end of the feast they were works of art.
Whitethorn's cooks surpa.s.sed themselves. Their last subtlety was a silvery winged horse of molded sugar and marzipan. It reared on its hind legs, bat-like wings extended, forelegs pawing the air. Before it stood a foal, wings hanging limply, legs hardly strong enough to support it. But for the size they could be real, thought Kel as she joined the diners in applause. She wished she could make beautiful things like that.
Musicians took the center of the room. Raoul excused himself to his dinner partner and went to greet his friends. As soon as he left, a young man came to lead Raoul's dinner partner into a group of people their own age.
Kel remained at her post, talking with Numair and Daine and waiting on those who came to sit with them. At last Raoul signaled that he was ready to go. Kel turned in her pitcher and tray and ran to fetch Amberfire and Hos.h.i.+.
They were halfway back to camp when Raoul broke their comfortable silence. ”They're holding a tournament over the next two days. I want you to have a look before we enter you in the compet.i.tions - you're about ready. Have you seen one?”
Kel shook her head. ”The Yamanis don't have them. They just beat each other half to death in training.”