Fall that year was warm. Heat lay in a blanket over the
basin of the River Olorun, where the capital of Tortall
covered the banks. No breath of air stirred the pennants
and flags on their poles. The river itself was a band of
glass, without a breeze anywhere to ruffle its shinning
surface. Traffic in the city moved as if the air were
thick honey No one with sense cared to rush.
Behind the royal palace, eleven-year-old Keladry of
Mindelan stared at the rising ground that led from the
training yards to the pages' wing and decided that she had
no sense. She felt as if she'd let people beat her with
mallets all morning. Surely it was too hot for her to do
as she normally did -run up that hill to reach her rooms
and bathe. After all, she would be the only one to know if
she walked today.
Who would think this cursed harness would make such a
difference? she wondered, reaching under her canvas
practice coat to finger broad leather straps. At some
point during her first year as page, she had learned that
second-, third-, and fourth-years wore weighted-
harnesses, and that more weights were -added every four
months, but she had never considered it in terms of
herself Now she wished that she had donned something of
the kind in the empty summer months, when she made the
daily trek to the palace to keep up her training. If she
had, she wouldn't ache so much now.
She wiped her sleeve over her forehead. It's not even like
you're carrying a lot - of weight, she scolded herself.
Eight little disks- maybe two pounds in lead. You trained
last year and all summer with lead-weighted weapons, just
to build your strength. This can't be that different!
But it was. Hand-to-hand combat, staff work, archery, and
riding took extra effort with two pounds of lead hanging
on her shoulders, chest, and back. I've got to run, she
told herself wearily. If I don't move soon, I'll be late
to wash and late to lunch, and Lord Wy1don will give me
punishment work. So heat or no, I have to go up that hill.
I may as well run it.
She waited a moment more, steeling herself. She hated this
run. That slowly rising ground was torture on her legs
even last spring, when she'd been running it off and on
for more than half a year.
No stranger, looking at her, would have thought this
disheveled girl was the sort to cause a storm of argument
at court. She had a dreamer's quiet hazel eyes, framed in
long lashes, and plain brown hair that she wore cropped as
short as a boy's. Her nose was small and delicate, her
skin tan and dusted with freckles. She was big for a girl
of eleven, five feet three inches tall and solidly built.
Only someone who looked closely at her calm face would
detect a spark in her level gaze, and determination in her
mouth and chin.
At last she groaned and began to trot up the hill. Her
path took her behind the mews, the kennels, and the
forges. Men and women in palace livery and servants' garb
waved as she ran past. A woman told some kennel
workers, "Looka here- tol' ya she'd be back!"
Kel smiled through pouring sweat. No one had thought that
the old-fashioned training master would allow the first-
known girl page in over a century to stay after her first
year. When Lord WyIdon surprised the world and allowed Kel
to stay, many had assumed Kel would "come to her senses"
and drop out over the summer holiday.
You'd think by now they'd know I won't quit, she thought
as she toiled on up the hill.
She was lurching when she reached the kitchen gardens, her
shortcut to the pages' wing. There she had to catch her
breath. An upended bucket did for a seat. She inhaled the
scents of marjoram, sage, and thyme, massaging her calf
muscles. For the hundredth time she wished she could use
the palace baths as the boys did, instead of having to go
all the way to her room to wash up.
"Hi! You!" cried a male voice from the direction -of the
kitchens. "Come back with those sausages!"
Kel got to her feet. A cook raced out of the kitchen,
waving a meat cleaver. Empty beanpoles, stripped after the
harvest, went flying as he crashed through them. Metal
flashed as the cleaver chopped through the air. The man
doubled back and ran on, plainly chasing something far
smaller than he. Once he stumbled; once he dropped the
cleaver. On he came, cursing.
The dog he pursued raced toward Kel. A string of fat
sausages hung from his jaws. With a last burst of speed,
the animal ducked behind Kel.
The cook charged them, cleaver raised. "I'll kill YOU this
time!" he screeched, face crimson with fury.
Kel put her hands on her hips. "Me or the dog?"
"Out of the way, page!" he snarled, circling to her
left. "He's stolen his last meal!"
As she turned to keep herself between the man and his
prey, Kel glanced behind her. The dog huddled by her seat,
gobbling his catch.
"Stop right there," Kel ordered the man.
"Move, or I'll report this to my lord Wyldon," he
snapped. "I'll get that mongrel good and proper!"
Kel gathered dog and sausages up in her arms. "You1l do no
such thing," she retorted. The dog, knowing what was
important, continued to gorge.
"You'll hand that animal over now, my lad, if you know
what's right," the servant told her. "He's naught but a
thieving stray. He's got to be stopped."
"With a meat cleaver?" demanded Kel.
"If that's what it takes."
No," she said flatly. "No killing. I'll see to it the dog
doesn't steal from you."
"Sausages is worth money! Who's to pay for them? Not me!"
Kel reached instinctively for her belt and sighed,
impatient with herself She didn't wear her purse with
training clothes. "Go to Salma Aynnar, In charge of the
pages' wing," she said loftily. "Tell her Keladry of
Mindelan requests that she pay you the cost of these
sausages from my pocket money. And you'd better not
overcharge her," she added.
"Kel ... Oh, Mithros's"- he looked at her and changed what
he'd been about to say-"shield. You're the girl. Being
softhearted will do you no good, mistress," he informed
her. "Be sure I'll get my money. And if I see that animal
here again" -he pointed at Kel's armful-"I'll chop him up
for cat-meat, see if I won't!"
He thrust his cleaver into his belt and stomped back to
the kitchens, muttering. Kel adjusted her hold on the dog
and his prize and headed for the pages' wing. "We aren't
allowed pets, you know," she informed her passenger. "With
my luck, all those sausages will make you sick, and I'll
have to clean it up." She passed through an open door into
the cool stone halls of the palace. As she trotted along,
she examined her armful.
The dog's left car was only a tatter. He was gray-white
for the most part; black splotches adorned the end of his
nose, hiยง- only whole ear, and his rump. The rest of him
was scars, healing scrapes, and staring ribs. His sausages
eaten, he peered up into her face with two small, black,
triangular eyes and licked her. His tail, broken in two
places and healed crookedly, beat her arm.
"I am not your friend," Kel said as she reached her door.
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