by Jocelyn Fox
“Regardless of what I’ve said before, the fact remains that Andraste is the Crown Princess and therefore wouldn’t be allowed to try for a sword even if women were admitted into training,” said Finn.
Ramel shrugged slightly. “I’ve heard that in the mortal world, princes train to be knights and lead their troops on the battlefield.”
“One of the hazards of being an anointed member of a race that so loves to make war on one another,” said Finn with a shake of his head.
“Bearer Gwyneth is a member of that race,” pointed out Ramel. “She’s a mortal, a woman and trained with a sword. Well, the Sword, actually.” He shifted his weight, clearly trying to restrain his enthusiasm for the topic. “Is it true that the Bearer went on a patrol and killed one of the wolf-creatures herself?”
“Yes,” replied Finn. There was no use in avoiding his squire’s fascinated questions; an infatuation with the Bearer wasn’t an uncommon occurrence among the squires and younger Knights and Guards. It was almost seen as a rite of passage. “She called it a garrelnost.”
“Her word?”
“No. Actually a Seelie word.”
Ramel straightened. “The Seelie have seen these creatures on their lands as well?”
“Yes, in addition to some other monstrosities. There has been mention of a bone sorcerer who was banished from one of the Northern tribes, that perhaps he is attempting to catch the attention of those who scorned him by creating these strange and twisted animals.”
“And no one is overly concerned about this?” said Ramel slowly.
“We have seen rogue sorcerers before. We have hunted dragons and tracked trolls through the mountains. There are many things you haven’t seen yet, but that does not mean you should be alarmed at new threats.”
“I’m not alarmed, I’m just thinking that perhaps there is a point when the poison that is creating these monstrosities needs to be tracked to its source,” replied the squire.
“I am sure the Queen and her Three have it well in hand,” said Finn, trying to sound more reassuring than he felt. In truth, he let Ramel’s words sink into his mind. His squire’s perceptive observations only added to his certainty that the lad was ready for the gauntlet and his sword. He saw things from the perspective of a Knight, and he offered candid remarks without allowing himself to get caught up in the sensational, as he would have done when he was a page or even a young squire.
“Aye, sir,” Ramel replied dutifully, but Finn could see that the squire was still thinking about the garrelnost and the Bearer.
“So,” Finn said, steering the conversation back to a more reliable topic, “tomorrow we will go over the maps.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll ensure everything is in order before the review.”
“Go study,” said Finn with a small smile. Ramel bowed and wasted no time in exiting the room. Finn had to admit that he’d miss having a squire so attuned to his moods and inflections. Sometimes it seemed that Ramel could almost read his mind…but the lad was just discerning.
He sat down in his chair by the fire, kicking off his boots with a sigh. Andraste’s words echoed unbidden in his head, and he remembered the way she stretched the word love into a song that purled about them like a velvet ribbon, twisting and turning about them until they were bound together.
Queen Mab hadn’t spoken to him directly about his personal life since that night almost two years ago now, when she’d forbidden him from consorting with his beautiful tree nymph. A pang of longing struck him when he thought of Shaleh, but that always happened when she entered his thoughts. It was a comforting, familiar pain, soon soothed by the fond memories of their time together. But then he brought his thoughts back to the Queen. Would she expect him to formally ask her permission to court Andraste? Hadn’t the Queen silently given him permission already with her small smiles and glances at Andraste when he dined at the high dais? And what had been her severing of his relationship with Shaleh, if not removal of the only obvious obstacle to his courtship of Andraste?
He sighed again. When had life gotten so complicated…and so sweet? His blood heated as he thought of exploring physical pleasures with Andraste…though that would have to wait until after their formal betrothal and perhaps even a handfasting. Some families at Court held to different traditions, and as the Queen had never taken a consort, Finn wasn’t entirely sure of her views.
But all that would come after their journey to the White City. In truth, he was glad for the task. It would be good for Andraste to spend some time away from the pageantry of Court life, and she would see much of the lands that someday she might rule. Perhaps the journey would alleviate her feeling of being caged, he thought hopefully. Not for the first time, he wished that he could ask Kieran’s advice. His best friend had always seemed to have a better handle on the ways one could approach a lady…though Kieran had died without ever knowing a woman’s touch. Unless Kieran broke his oath, he amended.
I wouldn’t quite call it breaking the oath, I would call it bending, said the voice that sounded like Kieran in his mind. Besides, you gave your own squire tacit permission to do some bending of his own…
“Perhaps I’ve come to realize that not all rules should be followed to the letter,” murmured Finn. He stretched his legs, enjoying the simple pleasure of the warmth of the fire.
Ah, growing up, said Kieran.
“One of the two of us needs to,” said Finn with a fond smile, which faded as he realized that Kieran would never grow up. His friend was dead, and no amount of pretending that he could still talk to him would change that. He sighed and stared into the fire, wondering if pain was the toll collected by the years, a price that had to be paid if one wanted to keep on living.
Chapter 27
The day of the Princess’s departure from Darkhill dawned cool and clear, curdled clouds rippling across the early morning sky like the pelt of some great predator. Ramel checked his packs on his faehal for what felt like the hundredth time, his hands lingering for a moment on the short sword scabbard buckled to the left side of his saddle. Knight Finnead had obtained a special dispensation from Knight Balaron to allow Ramel to carry a sharp-edged blade during the journey. It was not a Knight’s sword – it was less than half the length of his blunt training blade, which was strapped across the back of his pack, but even to be able to carry a sword at all was an immense privilege.
The two Guards, Elias and Halin, had seemed to Ramel fair sorts. Elias was slender and quiet, with a silver seam across his jaw where he’d taken a bone-deep cut during his gauntlet. Halin had followed the emerging fashion at Court, growing his hair longer than the strict discipline of a squire allowed. Ramel wondered suddenly if this trend had emerged from Knight Finnead’s longer hair, which he’d grown at the behest of Princess Andraste. He filed the amusing thought away to examine later. There would be plenty of time on the road to think, he was sure.
A dozen Guards dressed in their ceremonial uniforms rode their decorated mounts out of the gate, all of them bearing a staff with a magnificent flowing standard emblazoned with the Queen’s sigil.
“Glad we’re not traveling in full ceremonial,” said Halin in an undertone to Elias. The slender Guard didn’t chuckle, but Ramel thought he heard a slight exhalation that could have signified amusement.
“Don’t say that too loud,” Elias said dryly. “There’s always time to change before we step off.”
Halin snorted and shook his head, turning back to checking his mount. Ramel patted his mare’s neck and walked over to their one spare mount, who seemed indignant at his use as a packhorse.
“We all must suffer these little insults from time to time, eh?” he murmured to the gray faehal, pacifying him by sneaking him half of an apple. The faehal grudgingly accepted the peace offering, staring at Ramel with still-accusing eyes. “I know, I know,” Ramel sighed. “I can’t change your assignment. Maybe if you’d like I can take you for a gallop every now and again.”
The faehal snorted and shook himself t
horoughly. Ramel wasn’t sure if that was acceptance or rejection of his proposal.
Elias glanced up at the sky as a break in the dappled clouds offered a view of the sun. “Almost time.”
The two Guards swung gracefully into their saddles, and Ramel hurried back to his mare, which gazed at him reproachfully.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered as he leapt onto her back. “I don’t get angry when you have other riders.” She flicked her ears at him. “Well, that’s true, you don’t have any other riders. Good point.”
“Wonder which poor bastards have to blow the horns,” said Halin. Ramel wondered if the Guards even remembered that he was there, or if they simply didn’t care that he heard their sarcastic comments. He also realized that it was a very real possibility that Knights said similar things during tournaments or other mandatory events, and the revelation knocked him off balance a little. It was like when he realized as a page that Knight Balaron actually slept and ate as he did. At this point, he understood that Knights and Guards were members of the Court, but he hadn’t expected to find out that not all of them were completely enthusiastic about their tasks and grateful for the opportunity to serve.
The two Guards closest to the gate raised large, polished black horns at some invisible signal. The curving horns looked like they had once belonged to some massive animal – Ramel remembered a sketch from one of his books about the flora and fauna of Doendhtalam depicting a shaggy beast with curving tusks. Perhaps the horns had been imported from the mortal world, because he’d never seen a creature possessing anything like them in his studies of Faeortalam. Unless, he thought musingly, they were really bones carved to look like horns, in which case perhaps they belonged to the dragon Ralclyf the Red. He’d heard that the bones of some dragons were black as tar.
Taking great breaths that even Ramel could see, the two Guards blew the horns, and their clarion call sounded surprisingly sweet for such imposing instruments. Another column of Guards, these without standards, rode out of the gate, followed by a column of Knights dressed in full armor. Ramel thought it a bit strange that there was so much ceremony to send off a party of nine, even if it did include the Princess, but then again, the Queen loved her beautiful displays of pageantry. The Queen’s Three rode in an arrow formation, the Vaelanseld riding ahead and the Vaelanbrigh and Vaelanmavar flanking him. Queen Mab rode a gleaming black faehal, her delicate mount bedecked with silver trappings and fresh flower wreaths, the train of her scarlet gown spread over the faehal’s flanks like a cape.
Princess Andraste rode beside Queen Mab, wearing her simple traveling gown, her mount already packed with her personal supplies. Ramel appreciated the fact that the Princess didn’t give in to the temptation of becoming a part of her sister’s show, but he wondered how much conflict that generated between the two women. Knight Finnead rode behind Andraste, Lady Rye beside him on her own mount. The travelers all seemed plain compared to the Guards and Knights in their flashy armor and ceremonial garb, but their faces gleamed with anticipation at the start of their journey.
They had added a Walker to their party, Orin, who also happened to be Halin’s brother. Ramel could see the clear similarity in their features. Murtagh had assured him that Orin was a good sort, one of the full Walkers who still made time for the questions of the apprentices and journeymen. One of the Princess’s other ladies rode beside Orin; to Ramel’s vague relief, Lady Emilia had not been included in the traveling party. The ladies that the Princess had chosen tended to enjoy the outdoors and a few had even taken up archery as a pastime as well.
The procession flowed out of the gate and between the two lines of Guards. The Guards saluted the Queen smartly as she passed them, and she smiled graciously at them, looking to each side in turn. Princess Andraste looked slightly annoyed at the whole pageant, but she managed a passable smile. The Knights and Guards who had ridden out before the Queen wheeled their mounts smoothly as they reached the end of the formation of Guards, forming another line behind the Guards and then a third line behind that. Finally, there was only Queen Mab, the Princess, and the rest of their traveling party approaching the end of the formation. Queen Mab halted her faehal with barely a touch and turned to the Princess. She spoke too softly for Ramel to hear, but he watched Andraste’s face warm with a genuine smile at her sister’s words. The Queen gracefully leaned over and embraced the Princess. She then turned to Knight Finnead and said something that made him incline his head in respectful acknowledgement.
Princess Andraste, Knight Finnead and the rest of their little band of travelers rode forward to join the two Guards and Ramel. Queen Mab raised her hands to give them her blessing.
“May your journey be sped along by the wind at your back. May the sun warm your faces by day and the moon light your path at night, and may you see all the beauty that our lands offer.”
She lowered her hands, the two Guards sounded the polished black horns again, and the Queen wheeled her mount. The procession folded in upon itself, following the Queen back into Darkhill with breathtaking speed. Ramel blinked and glanced at Knight Finnead. It felt as though they’d been dismissed rather suddenly, but he found that the Knight was smiling. He looked about the party and found that all the Queen’s ladies were smiling as well, Rye grinning openly. Even the two Guards didn’t look as bored as they had while watching the procession.
“Well then,” said Princess Andraste, reaching up and unpinning her braid from its bun. She shook her head to toss the long dark braid over her shoulder and grinned at the rest of the travelers. “What are we waiting for? The sooner we start, the sooner we’ll arrive in the White City!”
The two Guards touched their heels to their mounts’ sides and smoothly cut in front of the Princess as she turned her faehal’s head. They’d clearly had some experience anticipating her mercurial nature, and Ramel thought he’d learn much from observing them in the coming weeks.
“Ramel, rearguard,” said Knight Finnead, positioning himself beside Princess Andraste as their little band began to move forward.
“I’ll join you,” said Rye, wheeling her faehal to pull alongside Ramel.
He grinned at her. “Certain you want the boring duty of rearguard? It’s dusty and thankless.”
“Well, there shouldn’t be much dust on this path,” she pointed out pragmatically, “and interesting conversation will be thanks enough.”
Ramel chuckled as she launched into her latest theory about the Seafarers, a subject that had caught her imagination in the past weeks. It seemed her passion for foreign, wild cultures extended beyond the ulfdrengr, though he knew that she still loved the Northerners fiercely and would return to them in an instant. Her company alleviated the boredom that he normally associated with rearguard – riding last and staring at the backs of all the other travelers would have been torturous without the lively discussion that Rye refused to let die into silence. Ramel realized that he truly enjoyed their conversations. He liked the fact that Rye expressed her smart and dynamic opinions without apology; it was a trait uncommon among the courteous and well-bred ladies of the Court.
Rye tilted her head and narrowed her luminous eyes. “Why do you look at me like that?”
Ramel shook himself. “Like what?” he asked guiltily.
“Like this.” Rye performed a clear imitation of his expression: eyes slightly unfocused, a strange smile on her lips, looking like an awestruck young page.
“I don’t look like that,” Ramel objected with a surprised laugh.
“Truly! Cross my heart, that’s the best I can copy it.” She arched an eyebrow at him. “Careful when you let your focus wander. Mustn’t slip in your duties as rearguard.”
Ramel tried to suppress the small flutter of panic in his gut. Did Rye suspect the depth of his affection for her? Did his mooning expression give him away? Rye let him flounder for another long moment, and then smiled.
“You know, if we were in the North, I’d go kill a deer and drag it back to your doorst
ep.” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.
Ramel straightened in surprise. “I thought the men were the ones who did that.”
“Women train alongside the men. Women can initiate courtship too…especially if a man is being too slow about it.” She smiled.
Ramel felt the blood rushing to his cheeks and was helpless to stop it. He swallowed against a suddenly parched tongue, and tried to think of a proper response. “I have my oath,” he finally stuttered.
“Not so silver-tongued when you’re caught off guard,” Rye murmured.
“No,” admitted Ramel, wishing the shadows of the forest would envelop him in blessed darkness and hide him.
“It’s rather endearing,” said Rye.
Ramel cleared his throat. “I’m glad you think so.”
“And as for your oath…well, I’ve heard that shouldn’t be a problem after the Solstice.”
“Good Lady willing,” agreed Ramel, swallowing hard. Stars above if his breeches didn’t suddenly feel tight at the mere suggestion of anything happening with Rye. He took a deep breath, willing himself to regain his composure.
“I think we could perhaps test the boundaries a little bit,” she said in a low voice, leaning a bit closer to him. She looked at him with an expression that reminded him of the Queen’s hunting hounds as they closed in on their prey, and he shivered with strange anticipation.
“Perhaps,” he croaked.
Rye smiled. “We’ve come a long way since that first night on the hill, eh?”
“Of course,” he managed, feeling obscenely grateful when she deftly turned the conversation toward a discussion of the merits of a double-edged axe versus a single-edged.
Over the next days, the traveling party slowly perfected their daily routine. They rode until about an hour before sundown, halting at the next acceptable campsite. Rye and the other ladies proved surprisingly adept at setting up the small, enchanted tent that housed them each night. Ramel suspected that Rye had led the other three ladies in practicing the setup before they left Darkhill. He glimpsed the interior of the tent on the first night, when Princess Andraste invited Knight Finnead and the Guards to have a drink with her. To his astonishment, he saw a rather large, well-appointed chamber with a table and chairs, a fire roaring in the hearth and the ladies all moving about preparing the evening meal. When the tent flap fell back into place, he stared at the exterior of the tent, searching for signs of smoke from the fire and finding none. With a sigh, he accepted the tent as a gift from the Queen to her sister, and reminded himself to be grateful for the opportunity to travel and carry a real sword, even if he did have to sleep rolled in his cloak by the embers of their smoky, small fire with the other men. Occasionally, Rye and one of the other ladies would join them, staring up at the stars and talking in low voices as the fire died down and the rest of the party drifted into sleep. Ramel always half-hoped that Rye would spread her cloak next to his, but he knew she wouldn’t risk his chance at the gauntlet by igniting any breath of controversy around his reputation as a squire. After the first few days, they all ate the same plain traveling fare: bread and cheese and preserved meat, along with dried fruits and cold water from the streams in the forest. They’d each brought some fresh provisions from the kitchens, and Ramel sadly ate his last meat pie on the third day, relishing it despite the slight staleness of the crust.
