Kel bowed.
“Wonderful. Take this to the king for me, will you?” He handed over a sheet of paper. “He’s scrying at the top of Balor’s Needle. Don’t be nervous,” he added, misunderstanding the look on Kel’s face. “He isn’t doing anything that can’t be interrupted.”
Kel bowed again, trying not to show that she was frightened. She had to do it, she realized as he walked away. She was a page; pages ran such errands when requested to.
But the Needle! she thought, wiping sweat from her forehead. She forced herself to turn and walk steadily down the path. Balor’s Needle was an architectural marvel, soaring a hundred feet over the palace roofs. Sightseers, mages, and astronomers went there because it lifted them clear of magical residues and ordinary smokes from palace and town, granting them a view of the entire valley where Corus lay. From there mages could scry, or see, places and other mages at a distance; powerful mages could actually speak to their colleagues.
She walked into the courtyard before the tower entrance. There were two ways up. One was an iron outer stair, which twined around the tower on the outside, with no walls to protect the climber. People on dares and would-be suicides went that way. The outer stair was a beautiful thing, decorative iron wrought in lacy shapes and far stronger than it looked. Kel would admire it only at a distance. She went through the open doors in the base and found the inner stair. It was the twin of the one outside, except that it wound in the opposite direction. There was a magical reason for that, something to do with balancing forces, but Kel couldn’t remember what it was.
Like the outdoor stair, this one sported only a thin railing between the climber and open space. All of the inner tower was hollow. Light came from an immense candle-and-crystal chandelier fifty feet up: servants changed the candles by lowering it. Kel stared at the chandelier, transfixed, then forced herself to look at the stair.
I can do this, she told herself, folding and refolding Sir Gareth’s message. Of course I can! It’s a stair. I’ll just keep my eyes on the steps and the wall. It’ll be easier than the climb to that cave, when I had to watch those bandits.
For all her brave thoughts, it was the knowledge that this message was for the king that got her moving. Gritting her teeth so hard she could hear them creak, Kel stepped onto the inner stair. Slowly, doggedly, she began to climb.
Like the outer stairs, these were ornamental iron, wrought in the shape of flowers. If she looked down, she saw the gaps in the steps, and open air below. A couple of mistakes showed Kel that her best course was to focus on the corner where stair met wall. When she halted to rest—she was in good shape, but the stair was steep and seemingly endless—she did so with her eyes closed.
After what felt like years, she stepped onto a level wooden floor, blessedly solid underfoot. She walked through open doors and onto a stone platform. The way to the outer stair was an opening in the platform beside the door—Kel looked quickly away from it and wiped sweat from her face. The wind that blustered up here made it feel cold on her skin.
“Yes?” The king had heard her arrive: he left the waist-high railing to walk over to her. “What is it?” As Kel straightened from her bow and the king saw her face, he smiled. “It’s Keladry of Mindelan, isn’t it? I’ve been hearing about you, young lady.”
Little of it good, I’ll bet, Kel thought. She murmured the polite phrase, “Your majesty is kind to remember me.”
“Is there a message? Though I see you’re not in uniform yet.”
“My lord Gareth of Naxen knew me for a page, sire.” She handed the message over. The wind whipped at it. The king gripped the paper tightly and called a ball of light from the air so he could read. The sun had just set, and natural light was fading quickly.
Kel looked around. She could stare across distances if she didn’t look down. At such times she felt no fear, only appreciation of the beauty before her. Ahead lay the hills that separated the capital from Port Caynn. Still, steady glows of light identified houses and inns. Moving globes would be the lanterns of travelers. Darker masses in the growing twilight were groves of trees and the Royal Forest itself. It was like a tapestry of the land at dusk, if anyone had cared enough about only light and shadow to weave such a thing.
“This could have waited until morning,” the king remarked dryly, tucking the paper into his belt-purse. “That’s Gary, though—never put off what can be done right now. This is for you,” he added, offering a coin to Kel. “For your courtesy. There is no return message.”
Kel thanked him and bowed, tucking the coin in her pocket. She turned to go, and stopped. The opening to the outer stair was just a foot to her left. The stair itself fell away so steeply that Kel could see rooftops below. Her ears buzzed; her head swam. She forced herself to take a step, then another, until she passed through the open doors. Inside, the first thing she saw was the great hollow space on the other side of the platform. Dizziness overcame her. She backed up against the wall by the door and clung to it, trying to tear her eyes from the chandelier’s streams of light.
This is ridiculous, she told herself repeatedly. You climb up and down trees. You climbed down from the cave. Just look where the stair meets the wall. Stop goggling at the space, look at the wall! You’re going to count to three and take a step. One, two, three.
She couldn’t take the step. Nothing she thought helped. She could not force herself onto the stair.
She did not know how long she stood there, trembling and sweating, trying to get her courage together. It was too long, she knew, because the thing that broke through her fright was the king saying, “Page Keladry, look at me right now.” Firm hands drew her from the wall’s protection, turning her until she stared into the king’s face. “It’s the height, isn’t it? Don’t be ashamed, my dear, it’s perfectly natural. You can’t get the queen up here for love or money. Now, listen to me. I can arrange it so your body will take you down without your mind being any the wiser. I don’t recommend it—in that state someone else might order you to kill your king—” He grinned, inviting her to share the joke. Kel tried to smile. “In any case,” he continued, “I think it’s best for you right now, but you must be willing. I swear on the heads of my children that this is the only thing you will do under this spell, and that once you are on the ground, the spell will be gone. Will you accept that? Are you willing?”
Kel squeaked, “Yes, sire.”
“Never agree to this from anyone else unless you are sure of them,” the king told her.
She nodded.
“If you like, I could have a talisman made which will help you to deal with this fear.” He folded his hands and waited for her reply.
Kel swallowed twice—terror had dried her mouth to paper—before she could say, “No, thank you, sire. What if I lost it? I—I am learning how to do this. Truly I am. It’s just such a long way down.”
The king nodded. “Very well.” Blue fire glinted around his fingertips. “You will feel as if you’d lost track for a moment, but you’ll be on the ground.” He pressed cool fingertips to Kel’s forehead.
She blinked, and found herself at the foot of that impossible stair. She looked up. The king was leaning over the platform rail, checking to see that she had made it down safely.
“Thank you, sire!” she called. He waved and walked back outside.
Kel trudged back to her rooms in a black mood. She had never forgotten that the king had allowed Lord Wyldon to put her on probation. It was the king who had ordered Alanna the Lioness to have nothing to do with Kel. I’m really finished now, she told herself bitterly. Oh, he was nice enough up there, but he’ll soon think the better of that. He’ll go straight to Lord Wyldon and say he was right, I’m not as good as the boys, send me home. I’ll never be a squire or a knight—they won’t even wait to see if I fail the great examinations!
And I would be a danger. What if I froze like that someday with people in my care? I could get them killed because I can’t control myself.
Thoroughly depr
essed, she reached the pages’ wing and saw that her door was open. She heard her friends’ voices. Kel straightened her tunic and tried to rub color into ice-pale cheeks. She wouldn’t say anything about this.
Kel waited all night, but no word came from Lord Wyldon. Somehow she got through the next day—helping friends who were sponsors show the first-years around—and the day after that, when training commenced. Fighting practice helped— with four new weights on her harness, she barely had the strength to think about her weapons and her horse, let alone Balor’s Needle. She nearly dozed off in afternoon classes.
That night the king came to supper as he did every year to look them over and talk to them briefly. He dined with Lord Wyldon on the dais, then urged the pages to pursue their studies and train hard. In years before, he had left the mess hall before the pages could even rise to bow to him. This year he did not. He waited until they were on their feet, then said, “Might I see Keladry of Mindelan? The rest of you may go.”
Kel felt her skin go numb. This was it, she realized. She was about to be dismissed. Blindly, leaving her tray on the table, she walked to the dais. Jump followed, tail wagging.
When she reached the dais, Lord Wyldon and the king were seated. Their page—Yancen, Kel noted—had cleared away everything but a pitcher and three cups, which Lord Wyldon was filling. As Kel bowed to the men, the king raised his brows.
“Pages weren’t allowed pets in my day,” he commented. “Have a seat, Keladry.” He waved her to an empty chair. Kel looked at Lord Wyldon, startled.
He gave her the tiniest of nods and told King Jonathan, “The dog’s not a pet, sire—he’s a palace stray who attached himself to the pages. I see no harm, if he doesn’t distract them. He earned his way several times over during the incident I told you of.”
While Lord Wyldon talked, Kel eased herself into the empty chair. Surely if they were going to dismiss her, she ought to be standing. Her nervousness grew when Lord Wyldon put one of the cups before her. It contained grape juice with a touch of spice in it, she discovered as she sipped. She had to grip it with both hands to keep the men from seeing that she trembled.
The king was gently tugging Jump’s lone ear, a trick the dog loved. “Yes, that incident. Page Keladry, Lord Wyldon told me what passed this summer between your group and the bandits. I would like to hear the story from your own lips, if you would.” The king leaned back in his chair, his very blue eyes on Kel’s face. “You were a hunting party, I believe?”
“Just as you told it to me,” murmured Lord Wyldon.
She didn’t disobey, exactly. She did neglect to mention that the older boys had been too surprised to make the instant decisions that would mean their survival. She told it as if they all had agreed on their course of action—which they had, given a moment to think. Of course Lord Wyldon knew differently. They hadn’t even thought to check each other’s stories until he’d already talked to Faleron and Neal at the army post. Perhaps the king suspected the truth, too, but he said nothing while she spoke of those frenzied moments on the ground, and the scramble to reach and defend the cave until help could arrive.
When she was done, the king shook his head. “Amazing.” He bent to scratch Jump’s head: the dog had gone to sleep, his chin on the king’s foot. “Certainly you earned all the table scraps you can eat for the rest of your life, eh, boy?” Jump’s tail beat lazily on the floor. To Kel the king said, “Your parents tell me you saw this kind of thing in the Yamani Islands.”
Kel nodded. “Yes, sire. The land’s so mountainous that it’s impossible to round up all their bandits. Sometimes they think they can attack the emperor’s train when he’s on progress, and the company gets strung out between valleys. And you know about their problems from the sea. If it isn’t Scanra, it’s Jindazhen in the west. You almost get used to surprises.” Wyldon’s brows twitched, and Kel bowed her head. She didn’t want the training master to think she was a babbler. “Begging your majesty’s pardon.”
“Not that the Yamanis would say any of this,” replied the king. “They keep their troubles to themselves.” He sighed. “A proud people... And you are much like them, Page Keladry. Lord Wyldon tells me you work hard to overcome your fear of heights.” Kel was afraid to look up, afraid this was the moment when he sent her away. Instead, the king told her, “I admire someone who tries to master something which defeats other people all the time. Keep up the good work.”
She knew a dismissal when she heard it—and this was not the dismissal she had expected. In her rush to get to her feet, she almost knocked her chair over. Somehow she managed to bow and leave the mess hall without tripping. Her friends waited outside.
“What did he want?” demanded Neal. “You were in there forever!”
Kel sagged against the wall. “He wanted to hear about the fight, about how we handled those bandits.”
“Gods,” mumbled Faleron, covering his face.
“I told him how you led us to the cave, and kept blowing the horn for help,” Kel said, hoping he wouldn’t be offended. ’’And how Neal and Prosper made it hard to see us, and what we all did in the fight. And he mentioned the Yamanis, and then he told me I could go.”
“Better you than me,” commented Merric, shaking his head. “Talking to royalty makes me sweat. We’d better get to that book Master Yayin gave us if we’re to read the first chapter by morning.”
“There’s something I don’t understand,” remarked Seaver as they headed down the hall. “Why assign a book about a war fought two hundred years ago?” His confusion was understandable. Master Yayin always gave them books that were literature, reports, poetry, or histories in which battles were seldom mentioned. The pages were certain that changes in their teaching were made only for the most sinister motives.
Neal drew to the rear of the pack and pulled Kel aside as the others turned into the pages’ wing. Just the touch of his hand made Kel giddy.
“I saw your face when you went up there,” he commented softly as he let her go. “You look like you were climbing Executioner’s Hill. What did you expect?”
She hadn’t told him about her experience with Balor’s Needle. She did so now, keeping her voice low.
“Silly!” Neal said with a grin, cuffing her head gently. “The king doesn’t think you have to be perfect—you’re the only one who’s dolt enough to expect that!”
“I’d like to be perfect,” Kel said plaintively as they followed their friends. “It would be nice.”
’’And so daunting for the rest of us, trust me,” Neal assured her. “So why do you think we’ve been assigned a book about old battles?”
“You mean there has to be a reason for the masters to give us hard work?” she retorted. “I thought that was their idea of fun.”
Yayin’s change to the kind of reading that Owen classified as “jolly” was not the only difference in how they were taught that fall. The next evening, as the pages and a handful of squires finished supper, Lord Wyldon stepped up to the podium.
“I would like to announce a change in our present schedule. Sunday nights, during the first bell after supper, I wish the fourth-year pages to report here. We will explore combat tactics—how to use ground to your advantage in the positioning of troops, which types of weapon achieve certain effects in battle, and so on.” He held up a hand; the pages stifled their groans. “This is not a course on which you will receive marks; it is required only for the fourth-years, though any other pages or even squires who wish to attend will be welcome. Sunday evening, the first bell after supper. You are dismissed.”
“As if we needed more studies,” Seaver grumbled to Prosper.
Neal ran his fingers through his hair, thinking. “Well?” Kel asked him. “I want to go, at least to see what it’s like.”
“I think I’d like to go, too,” he replied, surprising her. “I wonder why they’re doing this? Usually they leave that kind of teaching for knight-masters and squires. Of course, the army has an actual school for officers, to teach ba
ttle tactics and strategy.”
“Tactics and strategy? I thought they were the same thing,” Kel commented.
Neal shook his head, a comma of hair flipping into his eyes. Kel longed to touch it but kept her hands locked behind her.
“Tactics, my dear girl, is what you did with those bandits. It’s immediate planning for the immediate problem. Strategy is the long view, the movement of armies and a plan that covers an entire battle or war.” Seeing her inquiring look, Neal grinned, shamefaced. “My mother’s father was one of old King Jasson’s generals. He used to tell me about their battles, and all the things that went wrong.”
Owen drifted back to walk with them. “Things go wrong?” he asked, startled.
“Grandfather Emry said once the battle starts, everything goes wrong,” Neal told him. “You plan strategy and tactics ahead so they won’t go as wrong as they could.”
“Your grandfather was Emry of Haryse?” cried Owen, delighted. “He’s a hero!”
“Yes,” Neal said dryly, making a face, “I know.”
Sunday night came. Faleron attended the new class—as a fourth-year he had to. Neal, Kel, Owen, Merric, and Esmond went out of curiosity. They found something totally different from their other lessons. Lord Wyldon had servants set up a model on a table: it showed the city of Port Legann during the climactic battle of the Immortals War. Metal figures shaped like soldiers, knights, immortals, ships, and catapults were placed to show the positions of each. Daine and the king were there, too. They explained how troops were employed, and asked the pages to suggest why certain types of soldiery had been put in one spot and not another. They learned that Daine had seen the area around the city, mapping enemy positions from dragon-back. The thought of flying made Kel feel sick, but she could see that Daine’s work had given the Tortallans a tremendous advantage.
The next bell rang too soon. Some pages complained and would have stayed, but Lord Wyldon asked them if they had completed their classwork. By then enough assignments had gone half-done that only Neal had no extra work; they were sent back to their rooms to study.
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