First Test

by Tamora Pierce

  Nealan stared at the girl, his slanting eyes taking her in. Seeing him up close at last, Kel noticed that he had a willful face, with high cheekbones and arched brows. "Believe me, you wouldn’t have liked Joren as a sponsor," Nealan informed her. "He’d drive you out in a week. With me at least you might last a while, even if I am at the bottom of Lord Wyldon’s list. Come on." He strode off.

  Kel stayed where she was. Halfway down the hall, Nealan realized she was not behind him. When he turned and saw her still in front of her room, he sighed gustily, and beckoned. Kel remained where she was.

  Finally he stomped back to her. "What part of ’come on’ was unclear, page?"

  "Why do you care if I last a week or longer?" she demanded. "Queenscove is a ducal house. Mindelan’s just a barony, and a new one at that. Nobody cares about Mindelan. We aren’t related, and our fathers aren’t friends. So who am I to you?"

  Nealan stared at her. "Direct little thing, aren’t you?"

  Kel crossed her arms over her chest and waited. The talkative boy didn’t seem to have much patience. He would wear out before she did in a waiting contest.

  Nealan sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Look—you heard me say I’ve lived at court almost all my life, right?"

  Kel nodded.

  "Well, think about that. I’ve lived at court and my father’s the chief of the realm’s healers. I’ve spent time with the queen and quite a few of the Queen’s Riders and the King’s Champion. I’ve watched Lady Alanna fight for the crown. I saw her majesty and some of her ladies fight in the Immortals War. I know women can be warriors. If that’s the life you want, then you ought to have the same chance to get it as anyone else who’s here." He stopped, then shook his head with a rueful smile. "I keep forgetting I’m not in a university debate. Sorry about the speech. Can we go eat now?"

  Kel nodded again. This time, when he strode off down the hall, she trotted to keep up with him.

  When they passed through an intersection of halls, Nealan pointed. "Note that stairwell. Don’t let anyone tell you it’s a shortcut to the mess or the classrooms. It heads straight down and ends on the lower levels, underground."

  "Yessir."

  "Don’t call me sir."

  "Yessir."

  Nealan halted. "Was that meant to be funny?"

  "Nossir," Kel replied, happy to stop and catch her breath. Nealan walked as he spoke, briskly.

  Nealan threw up his hands and resumed his course. Finally they entered a room filled with noise. To Kel it seemed as if every boy in the world was here, yelling and jostling around rows of long tables and benches. She came to a halt, but Nealan beckoned her to follow. He led her to stacks of trays, plates, napkins, and cutlery, grabbing what he needed. Copying him, Kel soon had a bowl of a soup thick with leeks and barley, big slices of ham, a crusty roll still hot from the oven, and saffron rice studded with raisins and almonds. She had noticed pitchers of liquids, bowls of fruit, honey pots, and platters of cheese were already on the tables.

  As they stopped, looking for a place to sit, the racket faded. Eyes turned their way. Within seconds she could hear the whispers. "Look." "The Girl." "It’s her." One clear voice exclaimed, "Who cares? She won’t last."

  Kel bit her lip and stared at her tray. Stone, she thought in Yamani. I am stone.

  Nealan gave no sign of hearing, but marched toward seats at the end of one table. As they sat across from one another, the boys closest to them moved. Two seats beside Nealan were left empty, and three next to Kel.

  "This is nice," Nealan remarked cheerfully. He put his food on the table before him and shoved his tray into the gap between him and the next boy. "Usually it’s impossible to get a bit of elbow room here."

  Someone rapped on a table. Lord Wyldon stood alone at a lectern in front of the room. The boys and Kel got to their feet as Wyldon raised his hands. "To Mithros, god of warriors and of truth, and to the Great Mother Goddess, we give thanks for their bounty," he said.

  "We give thanks and praise," responded his audience.

  "We ask the guidance of Mithros in these uncertain times, when change threatens all that is time-honored and true. May the god’s light show us a path back to the virtues of our fathers and an end to uncertain times. We ask this of Mithros, god of the sun."

  "So mote it be," intoned the pages.

  Wyldon lowered his hands and the boys dropped into their seats.

  Kel, frowning, was less quick to sit. Had Lord Wyldon been talking about her? "Don’t let his prayers bother you," Nealan told her, using his belt-knife to cut his meat. "My father says he’s done nothing but whine about changes in Tortall since the king and queen were married. Eat. It’s getting cold."

  Kel took a few bites. After a minute she asked, "Nealan?"

  He put down his fork. "It’s Neal. My least favorite aunt calls me Nealan."

  "How did his lordship get those scars?" she inquired. "And why is his arm in a sling?"

  Neal raised his brows. "Didn’t you know?"

  If I knew, I wouldn’t ask, Kel thought irritably, but she kept her face blank.

  Neal glanced at her, shook his head, and continued, "In the war, a party of centaurs and hurroks—"

  "Hur—what?" asked Kel, interrupting him.

  "Hurroks. Winged horses, claws, fangs, very nasty. They attacked the royal nursery. The Stump—"

  "The what?" Kel asked, interrupting again. She felt as if he were speaking a language she only half understood.

  Neal sighed. There was a wicked gleam in his green eyes. "I call him the Stump, because he’s so stiff."

  He might be right, but he wasn’t very respectful, thought Kel. She wouldn’t say so, however. She wasn’t exactly sure, but probably it would be just as disrespectful to scold her sponsor, particularly one who was five years older than she was.

  "Anyway, Lord Wyldon fought off the hurroks and centaurs all by himself. He saved Prince Liam, Prince Jasson, and Princess Lianne. In the fight, the hurroks raked him. My father managed to save the arm, but Wyldon’s going to have pain from it all his life."

  "He’s a hero, then," breathed Kel, looking at Wyldon with new respect.

  "Oh, he’s as brave as brave can be," Neal reassured her. "That doesn’t mean he isn’t a stump." He fell silent and Kel concentrated on her supper. Abruptly Neal said, "You aren’t what was expected."

  "How so?" She cut up her meat.

  "Oh, well, you’re big for a girl. I have a ten-year-old sister who’s a hand-width shorter. And you seem rather quiet. I guess I thought the girl who would follow in Lady Alanna’s footsteps would be more like her."

  Kel shrugged. "Will I get to meet the Lioness?" She tried not to show that she would do anything to meet her hero.

  Neal ran his fork around the edge of his plate, not meeting Kel’s eyes. "She isn’t often at court. Either she’s in the field, dealing with lawbreakers or immortals, or she’s home with her family." A bell chimed. The pages rose to carry their empty trays to a long window at the back of the room, turning them over to kitchen help. "Come on. Let’s get rid of this stuff, and I’ll start showing you around."

  Salma found them as they were leaving the mess hall. She drew Kel aside and gave her two keys. One was brass, the other iron. "I’m the only one with copies of these," Salma told her quietly. "Even the cleaning staff will need me to let them in. Both keys are special. To open your door, put the brass one in the lock, turn it left, and whisper your name. When you leave, turn the key left again. The iron key is for the bottom set of shutters. It works the same as the door key. Lock the shutters every time you leave, or the boys will break in that way. Leave the small upper shutters open for ventilation. Only a monkey could climb through those. Don’t worry if any of the boys can pick locks. Anyone who tries will be sprayed in skunk-stink. That should make them reconsider."

  Kel smiled. "Thank you, Salma."

  The woman nodded to her and Neal, and left them.

  Neal walked over to Kel. "If they can’t wreck yo
ur room, they’ll find other things to do," he murmured. When Kel raised her eyebrows at him, he explained, "I learned to read lips. The masters at the university were always whispering about something."

  Kel tucked the keys into her belt-purse. "I’ll deal with the other things as they come," she said firmly. "Now, where to?"

  "I bet you’d enjoy the portrait gallery. If you’re showing visitors around, it’s one of the places they like to go."

  After leading Kel past a bewildering assortment of salons, libraries, and official chambers, Neal showed her the gallery. He seemed to know a story about every person whose portrait was displayed there. Kel was fascinated by his knowledge of Tortall’s monarchs and their families; he made it sound as if he’d known them all personally, even the most ancient. She stared longest at the faces of King Jonathan and Queen Thayet. She could see why the queen was called the most beautiful woman in Tortall, but even in a painting there was more to her than looks. The girl saw humor at the back of those level hazel eyes and determination in the strong nose and perfectly shaped mouth.

  "She’s splendid," Kel breathed.

  "She is, but don’t say that around the Stump," advised Neal. "He thinks she’s ruined the country, with her K’miri notion that women can fight and her opening schools so everyone can learn their letters. Anything new gives my lord of Cavall a nosebleed."

  "Still determined to go to war with the training master, Nealan?" inquired a soft, whispery voice behind Kel.

  She whirled, startled, and found she was staring at an expanse of pearl-gray material, as nubbly as if it were a mass of tiny beads melted together. She stumbled back one step and then another. The pearl-gray expanse turned dark gray at the edges. Looking down, Kel saw long, slender legs ending in lengthy digits, each tipped with a silver claw.

  She backed up yet another step and tilted her head most of the way back. The creature was fully seven feet tall, not counting the long tail it used to balance itself, and it was viewing her with fascination. Its large gray slit-pupiled eyes regarded her over a short, lipless muzzle.

  Kel’s jaw dropped.

  "You’re staring, Mindelan," Neal said dryly.

  "As am I," the creature remarked in that ghostly voice. "Will you introduce us?"

  "Tkaa, this is Keladry of Mindelan," said Neal. "Kel, Tkaa is a basilisk. He’s also one of our instructors in the ways of the immortals."

  Kel had seen immortals other than the spidren on the riverbank, but she had never been this close to one. And it—he?—was to be one of her teachers?

  "We basilisks are travelers and gossips," Tkaa remarked, as if he had read her mind. "I earn my keep here by educating those who desire a more precise knowledge of those immortals who have chosen to settle in the human realms."

  "Yes, sir," Kel said, breathless. She started to curtsy, remembered that a page bowed, and tried to do both. Neal braced her before she could topple over. Once she had regained her balance, the red-faced Kel bowed properly.

  "I am pleased to meet you, Keladry of Mindelan," the basilisk told her as if he hadn’t noticed her clumsiness. "I shall see you both the day after tomorrow." With a nod to Kel and to Neal, he walked out of the gallery, tail daintily raised.

  Neal sighed. "We’d better get back to our rooms. Tomorrow’s a busy day." He led her back to her room, pointing out his own as they passed it. "We’ll meet in the mess hall in the morning," he told her.

  Kel used the key as Salma had directed, and entered her room. Everything was in place, her bed freshly made up, curtains and draperies rehung. A faint scent of paint still drifted from the walls. "Gods of fire and ice, bless my new home," she whispered in Yamani. "Keep my will burning as hot as the heart of the volcano, and as hard and implacable as a glacier."

  A wave of homesickness suddenly caught her. She wished she could hear her mother’s low, soothing voice or listen to her father read from one of his books.

  Emotion is weakness, Kel told herself, quoting her Yamani teachers. I must be as serene as a lake on a calm day. It was hard to control her feelings when so much was at stake and she was so far from home.

  But control her feelings she would. If anyone here thought to run her off, they would find she was tougher than they expected. She was here to stay.

  To prove it, she carefully unpacked each porcelain lucky cat and set it on her mantelpiece. Only when she had placed each of them just so did she scrub her face and put on her nightgown.

  Climbing into bed, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She imagined a lake, its surface as smooth as glass. This is my heart, she thought. This is what I will strive to be.

  three

  THE PRACTICE COURTS

  The next morning Kel heard the chatter of birds. She crept over to her open window and peered outside. It was nearly dawn, with the barest touch of light coloring the sky. Before her was a small courtyard with a single bedraggled tree growing at its center. On it perched house sparrows, drab in their russet brown and tan feathers, the males with stern black collars. Several birds pecked at the circle of earth around the tree. Kel watched them as the pearly air brightened. Poor things, she thought, they’re hungry.

  In her clothespress she had stowed the last of the fruitbread Mindelan’s cook had given her for the journey south. Kel retrieved it and broke it up into crumbs, then dumped it on the courtyard stones. She was watching the sparrows devour it when the first bell rang and someone rapped on her door. She opened it and said a cheerful good morning to the servant who stood there with a pitcher of hot water.

  "Good is as good does, Page Keladry," he said, his long face glum. He placed his burden on her desk. "I’m Gower. I’m to look after you." He began to sweep out the hearth as Kel took the water into her dressing room.

  A new fire was laid when she returned to the main room, her face washed and her teeth clean. "If you’ve anything special you require, soap or cloths or such, tell me," Gower said sorrowfully. "Within reason, of course."

  Kel blinked at him. She’d never met anyone this gloomy. "Thank you, Gower," she replied, intimidated. "I don’t need anything just yet."

  "Very good, miss," he said, then shook his head. "I mean, Page Keladry."

  She sighed with relief when he left, and hurried to dress.

  Undiscouraged by Gower, she wished Neal a good morning when she found him in the mess hall. He looked at her through bleary eyes and mumbled, "There’s nothing good about it." Kel shook her head and ate breakfast in silence.

  The day flew by. It began underground, where the palace stores were kept. A tailor took Kel’s measurements. Then his assistant dumped a load of garments into her arms. She got three sets of practice clothes, sturdy tan cotton and wool garments to be worn during the morning. She also received three changes of the pages’ formal uniform—red shirt and hose, gold tunic—to be worn in the afternoon and at royal gatherings. Shoes to match her formal gear were added; her family had supplied boots for riding and combat practice. Neal took the cloaks and coats she was given for cold weather.

  Once she had stowed her things, Neal took her for another tour. They spent the morning inside, visiting the classrooms, libraries, indoor practice courts, and supply rooms like the pages’ armory on the first level underground. After lunch, Neal took her to the outdoor practice courts and stables; the gardens, where she might wait on guests; and last of all, the royal menagerie. That night she dreamed the hooting calls of the howler monkeys from the Copper Isles and the chittering of brightly colored finches.

  The next day she woke not to the gaudy finches’ calls or the songs of Yamani birds, but to the friendly gossip of the courtyard sparrows. In hopes of seeing them again, she’d swiped a couple of rolls from the mess hall. Now she tore the rolls up and put the scraps outside the window for the birds.

  As she finished, the bell rang. Gower rapped on her door as he’d done the day before, bringing hot water. Once he had cleaned the hearth and gone, Kel got dressed and ran to the mess hall. Her first day as a page had begun.
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  After breakfast, the pages flocked to one of the practice yards. Kel would take her first steps on the path to knighthood in these wood-fenced bare-earth rectangles and their adjoining equipment sheds. I’ll work hard, she promised herself. I’ll show everyone what girls can do.

  Two Shang warriors, masters of unarmed combat, awaited the pages in the first yard. One of them sat on the fence, looking them over with pale, intelligent eyes. Her short-cropped tight gray curls framed a face that was dainty but weathered. She was clothed in undyed breeches and a draped, baggy jacket.

  The other Shang warrior stood at the center of the yard, his big hands braced on his hips. He was a tall Yamani, golden-skinned, with plump lips and a small nose. His black eyes were lively, particularly for a Yamani. His black hair was cropped short on the sides and longer on top. His shoulders were heavy under his undyed jacket. Both he and the woman wore soft, flexible cloth shoes.

  "For those who are new," he said, no trace of accent in his clear, mellow voice, "I am Hakuin Seastone, the Shang Horse. My colleague, who joined me this summer, is Eda Bell, the Shang Wildcat."

  "Don’t go thinking you can bounce me all over the ground just because I look like somebody’s grandmother," the woman said dryly. "Some grandchildren need more raising than others, and I supply it." She grinned, showing very white teeth.

  Kel saw the redheaded Merric swallow. She agreed: the Wildcat looked tough.

  "You older lads, pair up and go through the first drill," ordered Hakuin. "Grandmother here will keep an eye on you. As for you new ones..." He beckoned them over to a corner of the yard. Once they stood before him, the man continued, "Your first and most important lesson is, learn how to fall. Slap the ground as you hit, and roll. Like this." He fell forward, using his arms to break his fall. The boys jumped; the sound and the puff of dust he raised made the fall appear more serious than it was.

  The Horse got to his feet and held a hand out to blond Quinden. When the boy took it, he found himself soaring gently over Hakuin’s hip. Only after he landed did the boy remember to slap the ground.