Squire. Tamora Pierce

a bowl of noodles in broth. Kel was so hungry she nearly inhaled the food, looking around as she ate. She counted twenty beds, most filled with sleeping men. The two beside Kel held female Riders.

      She was about to put her bowl on the floor when something small and wet struck her cheek. She wiped it off, then inspected it: a ragged bit of fish skin. With a frown Kel wiped it onto a napkin. She put the bowl next to her cot; when she straightened, something wet struck her eye. Kel removed it. More fish skin.

      She looked into the metal cage. ‘Stop it,’ she told the griffin. She was impressed with the little thing’s aim. It must have taken innate skill or lots of practice …

      Inspection of her blankets revealed pieces of scaled skin and fish bones in their wrinkles. Kel touched her pillow and the sheets around her head, to find more samples of the griffin’s target practice. She leaned over to glare at the creature.

      A large, smelly scrap hit her squarely in the mouth. Kel picked it off with a grimace and dropped it into the cage. The griffin bowed its shoulders, lifted its head, opened its beak, then spread and fluttered its wings. Kel had raised young strays; she knew begging when she saw it.

      ‘Ridiculous,’ she told the griffin. ‘You’ve been feeding yourself from your dish. Keep on feeding yourself.’ She lay down with a thump. A gobbet of fish entrails landed in her ear. She sat bolt upright with a cry of disgust, wrenched off her blanket, and threw it over the griffin’s cage.

      The griffin began to shriek. Even with the blanket to muffle it, the hall echoed. Seeing other patients sit up, Kel snatched the blanket off the cage.

      The griffin opened its beak and fluttered its wings.

      Kel lifted the cage onto her lap. ‘Little monster,’ she growled. She opened the grate and reached in for the dish. The griffin lunged and clamped its beak on the tip of her index finger. Kel bit her tongue to keep from waking anyone with a scream. She fought the griffin for possession of her finger. The moment she shook it off, the griffin assumed the begging position.

      Kel glared at her charge. It was still filthy, shedding feathers, its keelbone stark against the skin of its chest. It was half starved. Keeping a watchful eye on it, she took a fish off the plate. The griffin opened its beak and tilted its head back. Kel let the fish drop. In three bites the prize was gone. Once again the griffin begged. Kel fed it two more fish without problems. When she fumbled getting the next fish out of the cage, the griffin hissed and swiped at her arm, leaving four deep scratches.

      ‘I guess you’ve had enough,’ Kel said grimly. She closed the cage and put it on the floor. The griffin began to scream again.

      Five fish, a bitten finger, and three more scratches later, the griffin stopped begging. It closed its eyes and went to sleep in its cage. This time, when Kel put it on the floor, it didn’t protest.

      She was still picking fish remains out of her bed when the nurses came to light the night lamps. With them came the shepherd’s boy, Bernin.

      ‘You look better,’ he told Kel frankly, parking his behind on a stool beside her cot. ‘You was green when they brung you up.’

      ‘I’m not surprised,’ Kel replied. ‘I felt green.’ Her ribs and leg were bruised, but the deep aches were gone. The vile liquid must have been a healing potion.

      ‘The mayor di’n’t even want you here, ’cause o’ that—’ Bernin pointed to the griffin. ‘My lord roared at ’im an’ the mayor changed his mind.’ He grinned so infectiously that Kel had to grin back.

      ‘I’d do what my lord said if he roared at me,’ she admitted.

      ‘Well, you got to, bein’ his squire, an’ all,’ he pointed out. ‘That little ’un you saved? The girl?’

      ‘Jump saved her,’ Kel said firmly. ‘I just distracted the centaur.’ Jump, asleep on the opposite side of her cot from the griffin, thumped the floor with his tail.

      Bernin rolled his eyes at this city girl nitpicking. ‘Anyways, her folks is charcoal burners, caught in the woods by them bandits. They took a bunch of lone folk, them that on’y come into the walls for winter. Cowardly pukes.’ He spat on the floor, winning a disapproving glare from a healer. ‘But the little’s fam’ly wants to show you gratitude. They wanna know what they could do.’

      Kel winced. She’d done nothing to be thanked for. Jump had saved the child. She’d simply killed a centaur and almost got killed herself, because she had forgotten he was part horse. Any thanks would only grind it in that it was a miracle any of them had survived.

      ‘If they want to give Jump a bone, or thank Captain Flyndan, who put me there, that’s fine,’ she told the boy, smothering a yawn. ‘I just did what I was told.’

      ‘Don’t you want to be thanked?’ Bernin asked, baffled. ‘I’n’t that what you go heroing for?’

      ‘No,’ replied Kel. Remembering her manners, she added, ‘Say I thank them for thinking of me.’

      Bernin wandered off, shaking his head. He passed Raoul on his way out. Kel watched her knight-master walk along the rows of beds, talking with those who were awake. Hers was the last cot he reached.

      For a moment he looked down at her, hands in his breeches pockets, shaking his head. ‘Young idiot,’ he said, amusement in his sloe-black eyes. ‘You forgot the forelegs, didn’t you?’

      Kel smiled wryly. ‘Yes, sir.’

      ‘You’ll remember next time.’ He spotted Bernin’s stool and lowered himself onto it. It was so short that his knees were at the level of his chest. He straightened his legs with a sigh. ‘A pretty trap, though. The rope was a nice touch.’

      ‘I got lucky,’ Kel said, shamefaced. ‘If he’d fallen wrong, that child could’ve died. Or my friend, here.’ She nodded at the griffin’s cage.

      ‘You can “if” yourself to death, squire,’ he said, patting her shoulder. ‘I advise against it. You’re better off getting extra sleep. Once you and the others are up and about, we have to take these charmers to the magistrates for trial.’

      He grinned as Kel made a face. ‘When people say a knight’s job is all glory, I laugh, and laugh, and laugh,’ he said. ‘Often I can stop laughing before they edge away and talk about soothing drinks. As for the griffin …’ He looked down at the cage and sighed. ‘I’m surprised he’s still in there. Griffins usually don’t put up with cages for long. We heard testimony from the robbers we captured. They knew about the griffin, of course – the centaur killed the pedlar who stole it from the parents. Did they teach you about griffin parents killing anyone who’s handled their young?’

      Kel nodded.

      ‘Until we find them, I’m sure the Own can protect you long enough that we can explain things. And I’ve sent for Daine. She can search for this one’s family.’

      Kel sighed with relief. She had thought she might have to leave Lord Raoul’s service and work in the palace until the griffin’s parents were found. ‘Then I can go on tending it, I suppose,’ she said, not looking forward to that beak and those claws.

      Raoul grinned. ‘Think of it as a learning experience, Kel,’ he advised, eyes dancing with mischief. ‘I’d suggest you get a pair of heavy gloves like the falconers use.’ He got to his feet. ‘Now sleep. I expect you to be walking around in the morning.’

      In her dream, Kel faced Joren of Stone Mountain, Vinson of Genlith, and Garvey of Runnerspring, the senior pages who were her greatest enemies in the palace. They had made her first two years as a page into a running battle with first Kel, who could not stand by while others were bullied, then with Kel and her friends. Vinson had even attacked Kel’s maid, Lalasa. Once they became squires, with knight-masters to answer to, Garvey and Vinson seemed to lose interest. Joren changed, too. He claimed to have seen the error of his ways and wanted to be friends.

      Although she rarely saw them, Kel still dreamed of them, and they