Part 12 (2/2)

”They sound like sensible people. Do they hold banquets?” Raoul asked wistfully.

”Better,” Kel told him. ”They have parties where they view the moon in reflecting ponds, or fireflies in lanterns, or patterns of cherry tree blossoms against the sky, and they make up poetry about it.”

Raoul shuddered and changed the subject.

The tournament, held just before Kel's sixteenth birthday, was educational. It was also the first time Kel squired for Raoul in the traditional way. Since Raoul was scheduled to joust in the afternoon, she had all morning to inspect, clean, and polish his armor and that of his warhorse, black Drum. The metal pieces were clean - she had scoured them at the palace - but an extra rub of the polis.h.i.+ng cloth never hurt. She also checked each of his weapons: an a.s.sortment of lances, should one break, his sword, and his mace. He shouldn't need the last two - these were exhibitions, not true combat - but Kel wanted everything ready, just in case. She shook out Drum's saddle blanket and went over his tack, polis.h.i.+ng and testing each join and st.i.tch. Lord Wyldon had pounded it into the pages' heads: equipment not in perfect condition was a danger to the one who used it. Kel took his words to heart.

Raoul came to the tent after a light midday meal and changed clothes behind a screen. Wearing breeches, hose, and a loose white s.h.i.+rt, he walked to the center of the room. As he pulled on his quilted gambeson, Kel fit and buckled the leg plates of his armor. Piece by piece they went, Kel snugging the leather straps comfortably, checking the fit of each plate with him before they went on to the next.

”If it were Jerel alone, I'd stick to the padded stuff, not all this clank,” Raoul said as he raised his arms for the breastplate. ”He knows exhibition rules. But Myles says a couple of charmers from Tusaine are threatening to give me a try. And one of the conservatives has put it about that he'll bash my head in because I, oh, what was that phrase? Encouraged your pretensions, that's it.”

”Then I should fight him, sir” Kel tightened a buckle.

”Nonsense. I'll ram some manners into him and tell the king I can't attend the banquet because I pulled a muscle.” When Kel didn't reply, Raoul gripped her shoulder and waited until she met his eyes. ”Please don't deny me my fun,” he said with a smile. ”Conservatives haven't found the, er, courage to joust against me in years. Now they'll come out of the woodwork. They think the G.o.ds will withdraw their favor from me because I picked you. Haven't you ever noticed that people who win say it's because the G.o.ds know they are in the right, but if they lose, it wasn't the G.o.ds who declared them wrong? Their opponent cheated, or their equipment was bad.”

Kel grinned. She had heard something like that.

”And the money I win from them in penalties will buy armor for you. That's rather fitting, don't you think?”

It was fitting, put that way. Kel still shook her head at him. What could she say? He clearly loved to joust; just as clearly he hated the artificiality of the progress. Who was she to deny him some entertainment? When he let go, she picked up a pauldron, or shoulder piece. ”Left arm, sir,” she told him. Obediently Raoul lifted the requested limb.

Kel watched the jousting from the field itself, where she waited in case Raoul needed her. Cleon, Merric, and Owen kept her company. For the first time in her life she saw knights and squires vie against one another with a variety of weapons.

Compet.i.tions like this served more than one purpose. They gave knights who did not live in troubled areas a way to keep their battle skills sharp. Squires got a chance to hone their fighting techniques in a warlike setting. A squire who won combats might earn enough in prize money and penalties against the loser to buy horses and outfit himself and his mount. Monarchs and n.o.bles who spent their time at court could see which of the country's warriors possessed unusual ability and courage: such warriors might be invited to guard the kingdom for the Crown. n.o.bles settled quarrels at tournaments as an alternative to blood feuds that might last for generations. n.o.ble families showed off marriageable daughters, and the people saw another aspect of the monarchs.

Until nearly ten years ago tournaments, with their padded, guarded weapons and elaborate ceremonies, were seen as interesting but useless exhibitions of old-fas.h.i.+oned skills and a risk to the lives and limbs of those who competed. Then the immortals began to reappear in the human realm. Suddenly tournaments were vital, a way to find those who could best protect the realm. Kel wasn't sure that she liked these contests with their possibilities for injury. At the same time she knew how important this practice was. She gave up trying to decide how she felt and simply prayed that no one got hurt.

Raoul and Jerel of Nenan had their exhibition match. Raoul knocked his friend from the saddle easily. That afternoon he beat one of the two knights from Tusaine, unhorsing him even more swiftly than he had Jerel. A conservative challenged him, Wayland of Darroch. He remained in the saddle after the first charge; Raoul's lance broke. On the second charge Wayland's lance shattered. On the third pa.s.s Raoul knocked the conservative from the saddle and collected fifteen gold crowns from him.

”In the old days you could keep the armor and horse of the man you beat,” Owen said to Kel. Living in Tortall his whole life, he had seen plenty of tournaments. ”Now, though, most people would rather pay in coins.”

”It's simpler,” Cleon replied absently. It was his second comment of the afternoon, the first being, ”h.e.l.lo.”

Raoul went to his tent to drink a pitcher of water and change his clothes, Kel following while Owen and Cleon stayed to watch more contests. Once Raoul left for a bath, Kel hung out his sweat-soaked garments and went to Drum. Lerant was there already. Drum was spotless, testimony to a long grooming. Kel met Lerant's possessive glare with a friendly nod and cleaned the horse's tack. Lerant might think they competed for Raoul's time, but Kel knew better. Her relations.h.i.+p to her knight-master was simply different from, not better than, the standard-bearer's.

The next day she and Raoul did the same tournament routine. She watched him alone as Owen and Cleon entered other compet.i.tions. Kel had no interest in risking her own bones to prove her skill. She was content to wait on her knight-master.

She watched the second Tusaine knight tilt against Raoul and lose, wincing in pity every time Raoul's lance smashed into his foe's s.h.i.+eld. It looked as painful as she knew it felt. She could have warned Raoul's challengers, but they didn't think to ask her.

Stigand of Fenrigh also lost: he was carried off the field. Once they returned to their tents, Raoul dispatched Kel to check on him.

Duke Baird, chief of the royal healers, was in Stigand's tent. Though the servants refused to talk to Kel, Baird did after he left his patient. ”A cracked skull, that's all,” Neal's father told Kel. ”You'd think it was a thrust to his heart, the way he carried on. He'll be fit to ride in the morning.”

”I didn't think anything could open up Stigand's head,” Raoul said when Kel brought the news back to him. ”It just shows, miracles still happen.”

Once Raoul was napping and his armor was clean, Kel went to visit the Yamani ladies. They served her green tea, played with the sparrows and Jump, inquired after the griffin back in Kel's tent, and talked. Finally s.h.i.+nkokami stood and asked, ”Anyone for a game of fan toss?”

”I haven't played in years,” Kel demurred, but she followed the Yamanis outside.

s.h.i.+nko produced a fan, offering it to Kel. The shukusen was as heavy as she remembered, cherry-red silk on thin, elegantly pierced steel ribs that were dull at the base, razor sharp on the ends. Kel opened the fan, thought a prayer, and tossed it up, giving it a spin to flip it over. She caught it, the base thunking neatly into her palm.

”See?” asked Yuki. ”Your body remembers.”

”My body also remembers days in the saddle in the rain,” Kel said, straight-faced. ”That doesn't mean I like it.” The ladies hid their smiles, but their eyes crinkled with amus.e.m.e.nt. They liked Kel's humor.

The four young women formed a circle on the gra.s.s outside s.h.i.+nko's tent. They started by throwing the fan low. Kel missed the proper flip twice, sending the open fan edge-first into the ground. She retrieved and cleaned it, hiding embarra.s.sment while the ladies hid smiles.

On they played, throwing the fan a little higher each time it completed a circuit of the group. It looked like a giant scarlet b.u.t.terfly as it turned and spun in the air. The Yamani ladies were as graceful as dancers, s.h.i.+nkokami in a pink kimono for the afternoon, Yuki in pale blue, Lady Haname in cream with bamboo printed in green. Kel didn't try to be as graceful. She stood well braced, her eyes on that whirling crimson silk. At last she found the rhythm and was catching it one-handed herself.

When they had it ten feet in the air, s.h.i.+nko gave the Yamani command, ”the blossom opens.” Now they could throw to anyone in the circle. The fan went from one to another, the players speeding up until it was a crimson blur. s.h.i.+nko called the word for ”sinking sun.” They slowed. Now they dipped as they caught the fan, whipped it around both hands, then dipped again before wafting it to the next player. They had a chance to breathe, and the slower pace was a different kind of exercise.

”This is the prettiest thing I've ever seen,” Kel heard Neal remark. ”May I play?” He stepped among them to catch the fan. There was no time to stop him. The women gasped - and Neal caught the shukusen base down. He nearly dropped it, not expecting the weight of steel.

”What is this thing?” he demanded, staring at the fan with wide green eyes.

Yuki walked over to him. ”There is a saying in the Islands,” she told him stiffly. ”Beware the women of the warrior cla.s.s, for all they touch is both decorative and deadly.” Taking the fan, she went to a pile of tent poles and picked one up. She carried it back to Neal, unfurled the fan with a snap, and slashed the open edge across the pole. A piece of wood dropped to the ground. She folded the fan with another snap and entered the princess's tent.

s.h.i.+nkokami and Lady Haname followed her, bowing politely to Neal as they pa.s.sed, their eyes crinkled with hidden laughter. Neal still had not recovered from the sight of the pretty fan slicing the pole like sausage.

Kel patted his back. ”Don't worry,” she said. ”Yuki cools off pretty quickly.”

Neal looked at her. ”She's angry?”

”I think you frightened her,” Kel replied. ”You frightened me. Meathead.” She cuffed him lightly. ”Didn't your mother teach you not to grab things? You could have lost all of your fingers. I doubt your father, good as he is, could put them back on.”

”What was that?” Neal demanded.

”A shukusen - a lady fan,” Kel told him. ”If a lady thinks she's in danger, but doesn't want to complicate things by openly carrying a weapon, she takes a shukusen.”

”I want one,” the queen said. Kel looked around. They had gathered an audience during their game. It included her majesty, Buri, some local ladies who looked appalled or fascinated, and a stocky female a head shorter than Kel. She wore a dark blue silk tunic over a white linen s.h.i.+rt, full blue silk trousers, and calf-high boots. A sword and dagger hung at her belt: they looked expensive and well used. Coppery hair brushed her shoulders; she regarded Kel with violet eyes.

Kel swallowed. Alanna the Lioness, King's Champion, Baroness of Pirate's Swoop and heir of Barony Olau, gave her the tiniest of nods, then walked into the crowd.

Kel took a breath, remembering Queen Thayet's comments. ”I'm sure the princess would be glad to have one made for you, your majesty.”

”I'm going to ask right now,” the queen said. She entered the princess's tent.

”You could have said the Lioness was here!” Kel whispered to Neal.

”Well, I'm here, aren't I? And I didn't exactly have the chance,” he pointed out dryly. ”We just rode in. Since when do you call me Meathead?”

”Since you act like one,” retorted Kel. ”Let's find something to drink. I'm parched.” She dragged him to the food vendors' tents as the crowd broke up.

eleven.

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