the raiders cleared the district, but they could be stupid enough to stay around. Keep your eyes open.”
He wheeled to face the gates, raised a kid-gloved hand, and brought it down, nudging his big bay mare into a trot. A brunet young man with a snub nose rode on his right, carrying the flag that announced they were Third Company of the King’s Own. Captain Flyndan rode on the standard-bearer’s right. Obeying her instructions, Kel followed Lord Raoul on his left. Behind her she heard the thunder of hooves as the riders took places in a long double column.
Kel felt a thrill of pride. I could be a general, leading an army to war, she thought, and smiled. She had no particular interest in armies, but it was fun to imagine herself a hero from a ballad at the head of a mighty legion.
Except that ballads never mentioned horses like Peachblossom, or one-eared, ugly dogs like the one who sat behind her. Nor did they mention sparrows perched in a neat row on a horse’s mane. Used to these passengers, Peachblossom ignored them. Crown had claimed her place on Kel’s shoulder.
Once they rode through the Least Gate and across a bridge into the greater world, Kel looked back. The company made an impressive display; two columns of fifty men, each in the white, blue, and silver of full members of the Own, followed by ten men in blue and white. These were the servingmen, who led the remounts and supply train. In the predawn light she could see that five of the Own rode with hunting birds on their shoulders.
“You mind those hawks,” she told Crown. “You’re safe while they’re hooded or caged, but keep out of their sight when they’re hunting. At least we’ll eat well enough.”
“We do try to eat,” Raoul called back to her. “I go all faint if I don’t get fed regularly. Only think of the disgrace to the King’s Own if I fell from the saddle.”
“But there was that time in Fanwood,” a voice behind them said.
“That wedding in Tameran,” added the blond Sergeant Osbern, riding a horse-length behind Kel.
“Don’t forget when what’s-his-name, with the army, retired,” yelled a third.
“Silence, insubordinate curs!” cried Raoul. “Do not sully my new squire’s ears with your profane tales!”
“Even if they’re true?” That was Dom. It seemed Neal wasn’t the only family member versed in irony.
Suddenly Kel’s view of the next four years changed. She had expected hard work mixed with dread for the Ordeal of Knighthood at the end of it. Never had she guessed that other Tortallan warriors might not be as stiff and formal as Lord Wyldon. Never had she thought that he might have.
Thank you, Goddess, she thought. Thank you, Mithros. I’m going to learn, and enjoy myself while I do!
They followed the Conte Road southwest into the forest as the sun rose. About the time Kel used to eat breakfast, Raoul held up his arm. Everyone slowed to a walk, Kel a beat behind the others. She had to learn the hand signals. Maybe Qasim would teach her.
Third Company halted beside a river to rest and water the horses - Haresfield lay farther still inside the forest. Kel dismounted, Hoshi’s and Peachblossom’s reins in her hands. When Raoul climbed down from the saddle, Kel whisked his mare Amberfire’s reins from his grip and led the animals to the river. Caring for a knight-master’s horses was a normal part of a squire’s duties. She glanced back: Raoul grinned and raised his hands in surrender.
Once all three horses had drunk, Kel turned them. Her path to Raoul was blocked by the snub-nosed standard-bearer. He was an inch taller than Kel, a broad-shouldered eighteen-year-old with level brown eyes and a firm chin. He wore his blond-brown hair cropped short at the sides; his bangs flopped over his forehead.
“My lord only took you because he felt sorry for you,” he informed Kel icily. “I did his chores before you came. I was good at it.”
Kel returned his look with Yamani calm, her emotions hidden.