fighting experience than any first-year knight, even Neal. If she had to wait to pursue the mysterious Blayce and his guard dog, Stenmun, she wanted to spend that time fighting.
She swallowed hard to fight off the urge to cry, then cleared her throat. A knight didn’t complain. A knight did her duty even when the duty was distasteful. Even when everyone would say Wyldon had so little confidence in her that he was tucking her away behind the front lines.
“Who’s to command this place, sir?” she asked, forcing her voice to remain even, her features smooth and calm.
Wyldon raised his brows. “You are.”
For a moment her ears felt very strange. That feeling promptly spread to the rest of her. “Forgive me, my lord, but - I could have sworn that you said I will be in command.”
“I did.” Wyldon’s eyes were direct. “It’s work, Mindelan. Half of the men I can spare to build and guard the camp are convicts. They agreed to fight if we took them from the quarries and mines. They must be watched and further trained. All have mage marks to expose them as convicts if they run, so you shouldn’t worry about desertions, unless they’re fool enough to go to Scanra. The other half of the men I could find ” - he shrugged - “I did my best.”
Kel looked at her hands as thoughts tumbled wildly in her head. She voiced the first thought that came to mind. “I expected to serve under an experienced warrior. In combat.”
“You are more useful with the refugees. You will have advisers. Duke Baird will reside with you temporarily, to help in matters both medical and social,” Wyldon said drily.
Panic rose in her chest. “Sir, I’m only eighteen; I don’t know anything about refugee camps! Everyone says it, first-year knights are so green, we’re better off ploughed and planted with something useful!”
“You are not a typical first-year,” Wyldon replied firmly. “The Knight Commander of the King’s Own trained you in matters like supply, the building and defence of a fort, and how to command. You helped him to recruit new personnel for the Own, and he says your work in supply and logistics is superior.”
The words fell out before Kel could stop them: “He also trained me for battle.” About to apologize, she closed her lips tightly. She had meant it.
Wyldon rubbed his bad arm, staring into the distance for a long moment before he said, “If this were last summer’s war, I wouldn’t expect much danger. Raids don’t get far without help. But this isn’t last summer’s war. The border will vanish. King Maggur wants to keep the ground he takes. There is no safe zone within a hundred miles of the border. You’ll see combat. I guarantee that.”
Kel met Wyldon’s eyes with hers. “Sir, you’ll have forts and patrols close to the Vassa - between me and the enemy. I still feel like you’re trying to keep me safe. That’s not why I became a knight.”
Wyldon sighed, levered himself out of his chair, and went to the door. “Come with me.”
Outside, Wyldon led the way to a large building near the rear wall. Its windows, covered with hides to keep out the weather, leaked bits of light. Wyldon found the door and entered, Kel on his heels.
The large building was filled with sound: conversation, babies’ and children’s crying, the clatter of wood. Rows of three-tiered bunk beds lined the walls. There were lofts overhead on either side, with railings to keep anyone from falling to the ground floor. Rope strung across the open space between them held drying laundry. Bags of winter fruits, garlic, bundles of dried herbs, and vegetables also hung from the rails. The air was filled with the scent of rarely washed human, burned food, cooking fat and animal urine. Cats and dogs hid in the shadows, lay on the beds, or played with anyone who would bother. At the far end of the barracks a giant hearth provided warmth and cooking fire.
Silence fell as the door closed behind Kel and Wyldon. Those people
She swallowed hard to fight off the urge to cry, then cleared her throat. A knight didn’t complain. A knight did her duty even when the duty was distasteful. Even when everyone would say Wyldon had so little confidence in her that he was tucking her away behind the front lines.
“Who’s to command this place, sir?” she asked, forcing her voice to remain even, her features smooth and calm.
Wyldon raised his brows. “You are.”
For a moment her ears felt very strange. That feeling promptly spread to the rest of her. “Forgive me, my lord, but - I could have sworn that you said I will be in command.”
“I did.” Wyldon’s eyes were direct. “It’s work, Mindelan. Half of the men I can spare to build and guard the camp are convicts. They agreed to fight if we took them from the quarries and mines. They must be watched and further trained. All have mage marks to expose them as convicts if they run, so you shouldn’t worry about desertions, unless they’re fool enough to go to Scanra. The other half of the men I could find ” - he shrugged - “I did my best.”
Kel looked at her hands as thoughts tumbled wildly in her head. She voiced the first thought that came to mind. “I expected to serve under an experienced warrior. In combat.”
“You are more useful with the refugees. You will have advisers. Duke Baird will reside with you temporarily, to help in matters both medical and social,” Wyldon said drily.
Panic rose in her chest. “Sir, I’m only eighteen; I don’t know anything about refugee camps! Everyone says it, first-year knights are so green, we’re better off ploughed and planted with something useful!”
“You are not a typical first-year,” Wyldon replied firmly. “The Knight Commander of the King’s Own trained you in matters like supply, the building and defence of a fort, and how to command. You helped him to recruit new personnel for the Own, and he says your work in supply and logistics is superior.”
The words fell out before Kel could stop them: “He also trained me for battle.” About to apologize, she closed her lips tightly. She had meant it.
Wyldon rubbed his bad arm, staring into the distance for a long moment before he said, “If this were last summer’s war, I wouldn’t expect much danger. Raids don’t get far without help. But this isn’t last summer’s war. The border will vanish. King Maggur wants to keep the ground he takes. There is no safe zone within a hundred miles of the border. You’ll see combat. I guarantee that.”
Kel met Wyldon’s eyes with hers. “Sir, you’ll have forts and patrols close to the Vassa - between me and the enemy. I still feel like you’re trying to keep me safe. That’s not why I became a knight.”
Wyldon sighed, levered himself out of his chair, and went to the door. “Come with me.”
Outside, Wyldon led the way to a large building near the rear wall. Its windows, covered with hides to keep out the weather, leaked bits of light. Wyldon found the door and entered, Kel on his heels.
The large building was filled with sound: conversation, babies’ and children’s crying, the clatter of wood. Rows of three-tiered bunk beds lined the walls. There were lofts overhead on either side, with railings to keep anyone from falling to the ground floor. Rope strung across the open space between them held drying laundry. Bags of winter fruits, garlic, bundles of dried herbs, and vegetables also hung from the rails. The air was filled with the scent of rarely washed human, burned food, cooking fat and animal urine. Cats and dogs hid in the shadows, lay on the beds, or played with anyone who would bother. At the far end of the barracks a giant hearth provided warmth and cooking fire.
Silence fell as the door closed behind Kel and Wyldon. Those people
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