Squire. Tamora Pierce

she said.

      He reached into a pocket and withdrew a handful of dried cherries. ‘I hoped they would,’ he admitted with a smile. The birds grabbed the treats. ‘Come.’ He led Kel into Raoul’s quarters.

      The Knight Commander occupied a suite of rooms. The one connected to Kel’s was a study, complete with a desk, a number of chairs, and full bookcases. Maps of Tortall and its neighbours were mounted on three walls. Beyond the study was a dining room of sorts, though the table was covered with armour and weapons. From her tour that morning Kel knew Raoul’s bedroom was on the other side, with its dressing room and privy.

      Raoul sat at his desk, stacks of paper and books spread around him. He grinned at Kel. ‘I see you remember Qasim ibn Zirhud. He’s a corporal now, in Volorin’s squad. I don’t think you were properly introduced to Flyn, though – Captain Flyndan Whiteford.’

      The man who sat in a chair opposite Raoul nodded curtly. He was stocky and fair skinned, his red-brown hair cropped short on the sides and left tightly curled on top. His brown eyes were set under thin brows, over a small nose and small lips. His voice, a light baritone, carried a hint of a northern burr, all but erased by years with the King’s Own.

      ‘This isn’t a menagerie,’ Flyndan objected as Jump and the birds explored the study.

      ‘The sparrows carry their own weight, Flyn,’ said Raoul. ‘Or did you forget, they led us to the spidren nest?’ He reached down to pet Jump. ‘Her gelding’s a piece of work, too.’ To Kel he said, ‘I’m glad you stopped by. I forgot to see to your kit. Do you have an hour? I know you’ll want to sup with your friends, but we should handle some things while we can.’

      Kel nodded.

      ‘We’ll see to personal armour tomorrow, but as you know, such things take time. Qasim will help you draw pieces to tide you over when we’re done talking,’ Raoul explained. ‘Until you get your own weapons, use company issue. You need a sword and dagger, a small axe, a shield. That’s a company shield, Qasim – I’m having a proper Goldenlake shield made, but that takes a week. Kel, which are you better at, longbow or crossbow?’

      ‘Long, my lord,’ Kel replied. ‘And I have a bow, sword, and dagger.’

      ‘Let Qasim review them,’ Raoul said. ‘He may ask you to use ours for now.’ He nodded to Qasim. ‘Standard field kit. Now, long weapons …’ He gazed at Kel thoughtfully. ‘Lances are good for tournaments, giants, and ogres, but they’re unwieldy in a scramble. Most of us carry spears—’

      ‘A third use halberds,’ Flyndan added.

      ‘I know you can use a spear,’ Raoul continued, thinking aloud. ‘Have you tried a halberd?’

      Kel hesitated. Lord Wyldon had never let her use her favourite weapon, which was similar to a halberd. I won’t know if I don’t ask, she thought. ‘One moment, my lord?’ she asked. At his nod she returned to her room.

      ‘She’s polite enough,’ Kel heard Flyndan say.

      ‘What did you expect?’ Raoul was amused. ‘Wyldon trained her. He’s serious about manners.’

      Kel’s wooden practice glaive and a standard glaive hung on a rack behind the connecting door. She took the edged weapon down. The five-foot-long staff was teak, the base shod in iron. The blade was eighteen inches long at the tip and broadly curved. The blue ripples under the polished surface marked it as the best steel money could buy. It was a gift from her mother and Kel’s prize.

      ‘I can use this, my lord,’ she said as she returned to the next room. The three men were talking. When they stopped to look at her, Flyndan’s jaw dropped. Qasim smiled.

      Raoul walked over to her, eyes on the weapon. ‘May I?’ he asked, holding out his hands. Kel gave him the glaive and stood back. He spun it in a circle, as he might a staff. ‘Nice weight,’ he commented. ‘Hey, Flyn, look here.’ He extended his arm and balanced the glaive on one finger. It remained steadily horizontal. He picked up a quill and set the end on the blade’s edge. The steel cut it in half without Lord Raoul pressing the feather down.

      Flyndan whistled. ‘What’s this?’

      ‘It’s a glaive, sir,’ Kel replied. ‘The Yamanis call them naginata. Noblewomen fight with these. Since we were at court, we learned, too.’

      ‘Can you use it?’ Flyndan demanded. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but that looks awkward for a—’ Flyndan swallowed a word and finished with ‘youngster’.

      Raoul handed the glaive to Kel and pushed back some chairs to make room. Kel began the cuts, turns, and swings of a pattern dance. She picked up the pace, until her blade was a silver blur shadowed by the longer dark blur of the staff. She finished with a rapid spin and halt, the blade stopping just short of a chair.

      ‘Captain Whiteford.’ She offered him the weapon. Flyndan took it in one hand and nearly dropped it; he’d been unprepared for the weight.

      ‘So you’ve got a long weapon,’ Raoul said calmly, resting his behind on his desk. ‘Chain mail?’

      ‘I will find something to fit,’ Qasim promised as Kel shook her head.

      Flyndan, expressionless, returned the glaive to Kel. Qasim dusted his hands – the birds had eaten every cherry – and jerked his head towards the door. Kel bowed to Raoul and followed Qasim, her animals in their wake. She stopped to put her glaive on the rack.

      ‘I chose a tent and bedroll for you already,’ Qasim remarked. He pointed to a tightly wrapped bundle on Kel’s clothespress. ‘The bedroll is inside the tent. So too are the stakes and rope you will need. May I see your weapons? I need also to look at your travel gear.’

      Qasim checked everything, eyes sharp as he tested edges and cleanliness. He then inspected her travel packs. ‘This is all very good,’ he said. ‘I am envious.’

      Kel wasn’t sure if she ought to tell this man, however kindly disposed he was, about her anonymous benefactor. That person had sent her gifts during her page years, from exercise balls to help her strengthen her grip, to weapons. She decided to be quiet for now. There was a Yamani saying: ‘You need never unsay anything that you did not say in the first place.’

      They went to the stables, then to the armoury that served the King’s Own. All of the equipment she chose passed Qasim’s painstaking inspection. He loaded her with things she did not have – tack for Hoshi, a chain mail shirt, a padded round helm, even a square leather carrier that fastened onto the back of her saddle. The men of the Own often travelled with hawks and dogs in case they had to hunt or track. Like the company’s terriers, Jump would ride in style.

      Putting her gear away, Kel realized that an important moment in her life had come and gone as she chose a riding saddle and inspected shields. For the first time a warrior had thoroughly tested her knowledge of equipment, and she had passed. Qasim had rejected none of her choices. It was all the more startling to Kel because he’d done it in such a matter-of-fact, commonplace way.

      Today she’d dealt with two men who took her on her own terms. Thank you, Mithros, for this gift, she thought to the god of war and law. Then she remembered that she was at her window, grinning foolishly. Shaking her head at her own folly, she got back to work.

      It was nearly suppertime when Kel finished putting everything away. She had one more thing to do concerning Peachblossom. She had thought to go to Daine – the Wildmage was home, Kel knew – but she chose to talk to the gelding on her own first. She didn’t know if this was because she respected Peachblossom so much that she thought he might listen, or because she resented the idea that he would listen to Daine and not his rider. Whatever the reason, she prayed this would work. Like other palace animals, Peachblossom had grown more intelligent in human terms over the years. By this point, surely, Kel didn’t need Daine to translate.

      The stable was deserted. No one was there to snicker at her. ‘Um, Peachblossom? Could I have a word?’ she asked the gelding. She hadn’t